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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just A Friend

The response to this story has been lovely, so thank you all for reading. liking, reblogging and commenting on this piece of fluff. Hope you continue to enjoy.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 6: From Irritation to Interrogation

And just like that, we’re friends, Jamie and I. It’s strange how quickly you can go from strangers to acquaintances to friends. After that walk in the park, something seems to have clicked with us, there’s an ease in our friendship that doesn’t happen too often. Despite our vastly different upbringings, we have many things in common: a shared love of irreverent comedy, a fondness for very good quality chocolate and wine and a determination to succeed in our chosen careers.

Of course, it helps that we don’t have the whole fancying-sexual-tension-romantic thing lurking in the background. As I’ve said before, Jamie is not my type and, judging by the pictures on his Facebook timeline, I am definitely not his, which appears to be doe-eyed, tanned, petite blondes— their pneumatic breasts frequently struggling to break free from their restraints. No tall, wild-haired brunettes with only-slightly-above-average breasts usually firmly encased in sensible lingerie.

I may even invite him to Geillis’ wedding as my plus one. We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll be dating by then, I quite fancy a few months without any of those complications.

********

One of life’s pleasures, for me, when I’m not on-call, is to walk to the local newsagents on a Sunday morning for the newspaper. If it’s fine, it’s another opportunity to sit on my balcony and read it at my leisure. A mug of freshly brewed coffee and a cinnamon bun enhances this experience.

Today, it’s not so fine, but sitting on my sofa while listening to the rain pounding against the window is pretty good too. I’m just about to start the crossword when my phone rings. I quickly swallow my mouthful of bun and glance at the screen—private number. I offer up a silent prayer that it’s not the hospital as I answer it.

“Claire Beauchamp?” The female voice sounds familiar.

“Yes.” I answer cautiously.

“Jes’ a wee word of warning. Karma can be a bitch, ye ken.” The voice grows louder and angrier. I recognise that tone, last heard berating Jamie. “Ye’ll get what ye deserve. Ye canna trust James Fraser, but ye’ll find out soon enough—the hard way, like I did… thanks tae ye.”

“Look, I—“ I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, she’s gone.

My initial reaction is irritation. Laoghaire, no doubt looking around for someone to blame for her recent break up, has cast me in the role of home wrecker, clearly using my carefully honed feminine wiles to lure Mr. Fraser from her clutches. Like Frank, she can’t quite believe that anyone could break up with her, without there being another waiting in the wings, ready and willing to take her place.

My irritation dissipates as I begin to see the funny side of this. She’s obviously thought long and hard about this—checking his Facebook friends, keeping records of his phone calls when they were together. Perhaps she sees herself as Jennifer Aniston against my Angelina. I hope Jamie can see this for what it is and laugh. Besides, in this scenario, that makes Jamie what? Brad Pitt?

*****************

Two days later, Jamie and I have arranged to have a quick drink after work in a mutually convenient bar. Summer has not yet returned to the city. Whilst not actually raining, the air is damp and there’s a definite nip in the air. I do a cursory check of the outdoor seating, just to see whether Jamie is heroically braving the elements, but there’s no sign of him.

I make my way into the bar and have a quick walk around before snagging a corner table. The seats are comfortable and it’s in a prime position for me to keep an eye out for his arrival. This bar has always been one of my favourites in the city. It feels grounded, like it’s been here forever. The stone walls and dark oak beams are unchanging and watching the inebriated trying to negotiate the uneven wooden floor on their way to the toilets always makes for good entertainment. In fact, people come from miles around to marvel at its very crookedness.

I check my phone for any messages. There’s one from Geillis, accepting my invitation for girls’ night on Friday at my flat. I reply and put the phone down just in time to see Jamie heading toward me. He’s obviously come straight from work as he’s still in his navy blue suit and white shirt. I’ve come straight from work too but am not nearly so smartly dressed. Having worn my blue scrubs all day, I’m now clad in jeans and a wrap around top which used to be orange, but has faded to a light amber colour. I feel somewhat underdressed next to him.

“Drink?” He asks, before even sitting down.

I nod. “I’m parched. Think I’ll have a shandy, please.”

“Lager shandy? Half pint?”

“Bitter,” I clarify, not being a great believer in girlie drinks. “And pint.”

He returns a couple of minutes later with a pint and a packet of crisps in each hand.

He takes a huge slug of beer. “Sae, what do ye ken? What’s new wi’ ye?”

And so, I recount my day of surgery to him. And, bless him, he looks interested all the way through my narration. He does turn a bit pale as I begin to explain my use of the bone mallet and chisel, and his crisps remain untouched, but he soldiers through.

“In other news,” I change the subject as his colour returns and he rips the crisps open. “I had an anonymous phone call from your ex, warning me about you and blaming me for your break up. But, never fear, I’ll get what’s coming to me when you do the same to me—“

A bout of coughing from Jamie breaks into my conversation. I get up and thump his back a couple of times. The coughing stops as he takes a swig of beer.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and continues. “Crisp stuck in ma throat. She did what? How does she ken who ye are?”

“Presumably she kept a record of your phone calls and is monitoring your Facebook friends. Maybe you need to check your phone, see if she’s set up any other little apps so she can track where you are or what you’re doing.”

He shakes his head. “Aye, I’ll do that. I canna believe she would go tae such lengths. Although…” he pauses for a moment. “... mebbe I can. She was always the, er, suspicious type—asking me about women at work, convinced they were ready tae pounce on me. Perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, Claire. Ye need tae advise me.”

I laugh. “Ok. I’ll be your wingman, if you like. Or vet all your potential girlfriends. How about that?”

Jamie joins in with the laughter. His eyes twinkle and it’s funny the way he wrinkles his nose as he laughs.

“How about you? How’re the Spanish influenced dinners going? What are you up to?” I ask him.

“The plans are going grand. We’ve three dinner options planned out.” As usual, his face lights up as he explains the various menus to me.

“They all sound delicious. I’m looking forward to trying them.” And that's the truth.

“Weel, funny ye should mention that. We are looking fer people willing tae test them. How about it? Fancy trying one out? This week, mebbe? Free, of course.”

My weekend plans are getting better and better. Girls’ night at my flat could be turning into a bit of a Spanish fiesta, a mini replay of our Barcelona trip.

“I’d love that. Thanks. I’m having Geillis, Mary and Anna ‘round on Friday for a catch up. I could give you their opinion on the meal too.”

Jamie types something into his phone. “Great, I’ll sort it. So, good weekend plans then?”

“Oh yes, what about you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a sort of date type thing,” he mumbles into his pint and, to my surprise he goes a little bit red. Is he worried about telling me? Does he think that I will mind?

“That’s nice...isn’t it?”

“I dinna ken, really. I… I suppose so. It’s ma sister, Jenny’s, idea. A friend of hers from university. Ma sister canna quite believe that I’m no’ yet married and she keeps trying tae make it happen. And Jenny, weel, let’s jes’ say that she’s a force of nature. Ye dinna want tae mess wi’ her.”

***************

I’m not exactly the most gifted cook, but I think it would be hard to go wrong with the box of food and wine that Jamie has delivered. The asparagus is waiting to be cooked, the mouth-watering smell from the simmering chicken and chorizo fills my flat and bowls of juicy Spanish olives— some plain and some with garlic and chilli are dotted about the dinner table. Feeling inspired, I root out a large jug and begin to cut up fruit for sangria.

Like alcohol-seeking missiles, I’ve no sooner prepared the sangria when the doorbell rings. With many hugs, Geillis, Mary, Anna and I greet each other. I accept their gifts of wine, chocolate and flowers as we head into the flat.

As usual, everyone gravitates to the kitchen as I pass the drinks around, complimenting me on the wonderful aromas. Geillis’ stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.

When the four of us are together, the conversation flows as freely as the wine. Honestly, you would swear that we had not seen each other for months, when, in fact, I saw Anna on Tuesday in theatre, and squeezed in a coffee catch-up with Mary and Geillis only two days ago. The topics we cover are wide-ranging and random. Sangria and olives are accompanied by Anna’s search for a new flat, then the conversation turns to the destructive tendencies of Mary’s kitten as I serve the asparagus and Serrano ham starter.

For the main course, we have the tale of Geillis’ father refusing to wear a kilt for her wedding—he is prepared to don tartan trews but, according to Geillis, that will spoil the whole symmetry of the wedding photos. Neither, at the moment, seem willing to back down but, having known Geillis for so many years, it’s obvious to me who will win.

By the time I bring out the selection of Spanish biscuits and turrón, the conversation has moved on to men, more specifically Mary’s crush on a locum doctor newly arrived in the department. There’s a lot of good natured teasing about this—Mary seems to develop a new crush every couple of weeks, and why not?

Geillis drains her wine and turns to me. “Fantastic meal, Claire. Better than yer usual offerings.”

She pulls me close to her as she says this, and squeezes my arm to show she’s joking.

“Well, I have to confess. I did have a bit of assistance. I mean, I did the cooking, apart from the cookies, but everything came from FraserFood.”

“In that case, give me those chocolates back. I’m no’ sure ye’ve earned them.”

“But I have,” I moan. “I did all the cooking…and made sangria.” I reach across Geillis and help myself to another biscuit. They are melt-in-the-mouth delicious.

“It’s part of a new range they’re launching,” I try to explain as Anna and Mary start to squabble over the last biscuit. “Three course dinner party boxes. Everything you need. Jamie asked if I would test one of them out—“

Immediately Anna and Mary shut up, the last biscuit now abandoned on the plate.

“Woo-hoo,” Anna grins at me.

Geillis nudges me in the ribs. “Jamie, is it? And what else has Jamie given ye, eh?”

“Nothing, we’re friends, that’s it.”

“But we’ve seen pictures of him. Don’t ye want there tae be more tae it? I mean, c’mon look at him.” Now Mary joins in the questioning.

I sigh. “We can just be friends, you know.”

“Friends with benefits, mebbe?” Geillis isn’t giving up.

“No, just friends. Although…” my friends lean forward expectantly, perhaps awaiting some heartfelt confession from me, as if I’d suddenly realised my undying love, or, at least, a good bit of lust for Mr. Fraser. They’re going to be disappointed.

“...Although, I suppose you could say this free food and drink is a benefit. So,yes, I guess that makes us friends with benefits.”

Anna and Geillis look as if they don’t believe me, but say nothing. Mary isn’t prepared to drop the subject.

“So,” she starts. “So, suppose I meet yer—“

“Not mine,” I mutter under my breath.

Mary shrugs her shoulders and continues, “—yer Jamie Fraser. And suppose he asks me out and one thing leads tae another… ye’re telling us that ye wouldna mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind. Might be a bit awkward if you break up. I mean, can I still be friends with both of you?”

Geillis, laughing, joins in now. “Suppose our Mary marries Jamie Fraser and asks ye tae be a bridesmaid. Would ye mind then?”

I pretend to give this some thought. “Ah, now that does depend. Just how awful will the bridesmaid dress be, Mary?”

“Och, just hideous. We’ll be having a Disney themed wedding.”

All talking and laughing at once, we try to decide which would be the worst Disney outfit for a bridesmaid and finally settle on Moana.

I get up from the table to go and make coffee, but not before making one final statement on the whole platonic situation with Jamie.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I have no romantic interest in Jamie and neither does he. In fact, he told me that he’s got a date this weekend and that’s totally fine with me.”

Geillis grabs my hand in passing. “Ok, as long as ye’re fine. We jes’ dinna want ye getting hurt, Claire. We love ye too much fer that.”

I smile at my closest friends gathered around my table and feel a rush of warmth and love for them too. They’re my family, these girls, and, for all the joking and teasing, they have my best interests at heart.

“I know. Thank you for looking out for me. But, Jamie and I are friends, nothing more.”

And with that I head into the kitchen, giving Anna, Mary and Geillis, no doubt, the opportunity to continue to speculate about Jamie’s and my friendship. But really I don’t mind, they’ll get fed up soon enough when they see I’ve been telling the truth all along.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just A Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 6

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oimoi-op · 3 years

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when were you diagnosed with t1d?

Ok, so storytime! Short answer is, as of today, barely over two months ago.

(Very long post warning y’all, contains hospital mention and extensive, possibly upsetting descriptions of health conditions, specifically DKA)

My family doesn’t really have a history of T1D or even T2D, though my second-cousin-once-removed has had T1D for over a decade now. So, there was never any reason for me to try and get tests done for it. The only sign I really had up until last semester was two copies of a variant of an HLA gene that I knew about from a 23andMe report (which, according to the report, put me at a higher risk for celiac’s and nothing else), but of course at that time I had no idea that that could mean anything serious; after all, that sort of thing only happens to other people, right?

My college started in-person classes in the latter half of August. By October, I started feeling tired, having a lack of appetite, and needing water very, very badly. I actually went to my school’s clinic, and my erratic heartbeat prompted the doctor to recommend me for a Covid-19 test. My school’s protocols meant that I had to quarantine at my home (since I live within two hours of campus) until I got a negative test result. At home, I was drinking water all the time and sleeping constantly, and my parents had commented on how I’d been losing weight. I thought these were all good things. I had been slightly overweight at my high school graduation, and I’d always heard that drinking a lot of water is good for you, so I thought I was actually in excellent health even if I kind of felt like shit most of the time.

Well. Uh. I was wrong.

When finals came around in mid-November, I was just fucking tired. I’d get a decent eight hours of sleep and still have to take naps during the day. Hell, I was even late for work because I slept through one of my nap alarms. Studying was a pain in the ass. Attending classes was a pain in the ass. Staying awake for Zoom classes was a pain in the ass. I was waking up at 5 am to go to the bathroom, and then I would drink the rest of my water, refill it, drink half of it again, and then go back to sleep. Finally, November 20th rolled around, and I got to leave campus. It was my birthday (yeah I am a Scorpio and that weirds all of my friends out lol), and my parents took me to Fusion. And I just...couldn’t eat at all? I love hibachi, but I couldn’t even eat half of my food. The chef even got me a delicious banana split that I had to basically bully my younger sister into eating with me.

For the next week, I was sleeping about 18 hours a day. I didn’t think this was weird because I’d just had finals so yeah, it makes sense that I would be tired after exams and whatnot. I went shopping with my mom, sister, and sister’s bff. We were only out for a few hours, but I was fucking wiped out y’all, like in pain. Thanksgiving arrived, and again, I love food, I love eating, but I was not hungry in the slightest. I basically had to force myself to eat some of my favorite holiday foods just so I wouldn’t offend my mom, and then I didn’t eat for the day.

The very next morning, I was puking my guts out.

This started a pattern for the next few days: I would eat chicken noodle soup or some other food, sleep like the dead, and throw up every morning and every night. I started chugging large bottles of Gatorade constantly (which, if you know about diabetes and its health complications, did not help my situation in the slightest). I started breathing erratically after very little exertion. Like, I’m talking standing up and stretching brought about heavy, labored breathing. I weighed myself on my parents’ scale, and I was under 130 lbs. Now, for some people this might seem like a lot, but due to my height and build I could fucking see some of my ribs. That was when I started to realize that something was very, very wrong, but “losing weight is good” and I didn’t want my parents to laugh at me for voicing concerns (though, for all their faults, in hindsight, I doubt they would’ve). Yeah. Don’t do that, folks, that’s not a good mindset to have.

On Sunday, my mom took me to town to get tested for Covid. This was despite me saying that I didn’t have symptoms (which I knew very well due to some of my friends catching it at school). Rapid test came back negative, so I did a culture test. Hell, while I was sitting in the damn chair, I was about to pass out. I asked for a nausea pill but my mouth was too dry for it to dissolve. I got a cup of water, downed it all, and felt like my throat was on fire. For the rest of the day I felt so, so awful. At some point I was walking toward my bed in my room and I fucking fell. I’m fucking lucky there was carpet.

Regarding the rest of that night, things start to get blurry, for the lack of a better term. I legitimately cannot recall everything that happened that night or the following two days, so I will just try to explain it in the way I remember it best.

Around...midnight or one??? I was on fucking fire, so I went to my bathroom and decided to lie on the floor. The floor was hardwood and not at all cold, and it wasn’t fucking comfortable even in that state, but I was just in so much pain I didn’t even care. My mom must’ve heard because she found me there and asked me what I was doing. I said something about the floor. She asked me to go back to bed, but I must’ve scared her because she asked me if I wanted her to lie in the bed with me. I don’t remember what I said to her, but we were in the bed and she was trying to hug me, but she was too warm and so I told her to stop. I kept feeling this burning just below my chest, like there was acid in me (which I guess wasn’t too far off), so I would randomly sit up to try and alleviate the pain and not cry. I remember asking my mom to take me to the hospital in the morning.

My mom put me in the truck (I think around 5 am is what she told me). I remembered hearing my dad. I was lying down. Then I was awake, but I was on the floor. I thought this was wrong so I tried to tell my mom that but I guess I couldn’t talk. Then I was in a hospital bed, the ER I assume. My mom gave me some water with a sponge, and I was just so fucking thirsty. Then I was in the ICU hooked up to a bunch of machines. I didn’t know what was going on, but my mom kept giving me water with that sponge. That is all I remember from Monday.

I remember a little bit more from Tuesday. My mom said something about diabetes, but that didn’t make any sense to me because I wasn’t “fat” and I’d been losing weight, even! What had I done to get diabetes? I was thirsty and tired, so I slept a lot. At some point I really needed to use the restroom so I unhooked my IV???? (I mean I must’ve disconnected myself somehow but I can’t remember the details) which set off a shit ton of alarms and people were Very Concerned and kept asking me Why Did You Do That? But I just needed to go to the restroom, and they told me to use the Red Button to Call the Nurse (it was already there, and I now realize that we’d probably had a similar conversation about the Red Button to Call the Nurse possibly multiple times before this) in the future. A Chopped Teen Tournament from 2017 was playing on the TV nonstop. There were commercials for CGMs. I thought that God wasn’t being very funny about the whole thing.

As of now I remember even less of Wednesday, but I know that felt better. There was this diabetes specialist who kept talking about insulin and life at college moving forward, but I wasn’t really there, either because of being so out of it for health reasons, disassociating, or a combination of the two. My mom told me she had emailed a professor so he would give me an extension on an assignment that was due by then, and I remember crying because I thought that was just so nice of him. That night, this guy got me in a wheelchair and put me in another room, which I would later learn was the ACU. My night nurse was this nice woman named Tanya, who had a very thick Eastern European accent. She got me orange juice to take some potassium pills, but it felt like swallowing rocks. I didn’t really get a lot of sleep, so I was awake when the nurses changed shifts. I remember one of them expressing surprise that I was out of the ICU so early.

My mom took longer to come that day because nobody had told her I’d been moved. I’d had plain Cheerios and orange juice for breakfast, but I couldn’t really eat because my throat hurt so badly. I talked to a lot of doctors. I guess at this point or somewhere near it I accepted that I had diabetes, but it wasn’t really real until the same diabetes specialist was going over carbs. I thought I was never going to eat shit I liked ever again. I really wanted a fucking McChicken sandwich. I signed some papers for Medicaid because I had aged out of the CHIP while in the hospital. I finally texted my friends and explained to them what had happened. I was so fucking tired.

I got out the next day, so that was Thursday. Normally, I would’ve been in the hospital much longer (especially because my Medicaid hadn’t been approved, meaning no insurance had approved of my insulin yet), but Covid cases were on the rise and the hospital wanted me out of there. The diabetes specialist and one of my nurses snuck me two fast-acting and two basal insulin pens, and I was out. I ate half a McChicken, a small fry, and drank my first Diet Coke. It tasted like diesel mixed with piss.

That’s the gist of it. The hospital staff was very nice and thoughtful the entire time, I think. I felt as though everyone involved cared about my health a lot.

For those of you who aren’t T1D or just don’t know, what I experienced is called DKA, short for diabetic ketoacidosis. To simplify, I was very close to entering a diabetic coma. My sister later told me that our dad had said (I assume a doctor had told my mother, who, in turn, had told him) that I was “approximately 45 minutes” away from death. DKA happens when a diabetic (usually a T1D like me) has too much blood sugar in their body due to them lacking the insulin necessary to break the sugar down, so their body breaks down their fat reserves and muscle to get the energy it needs. This is why I lost around 50 pounds over the course of a few months (I was 118 lbs. when I entered the hospital, the lowest I’ve been since grade school). I was officially diagnosed with T1D on November 30th, just ten days after my 19th birthday, which is a little older than normal I believe. It’s...well, it’s not fun, but I feel very grateful for my large support system, and tomorrow I’m trying out a CGM for the first time and applying for both it and a pump, so things are really looking up

#personal #iamapincushion #t1d #type one diabetes #type one diabetic #dka #diabetic ketoacidosis #tw hospital #tw dka #i don't think you meant me for to respond with such a long answer #but #well #it's something i've been wanting to post for a while now and this seemed like a good opportunity

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colossalsummer · 4 years

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KOTLC book one READ ALONG part 2 of 5

I read the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book and annotated every page. Here are the highlights. (Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5)

Chapter 11

Tiergan: “I’ll see you Tuesday.” This is a weird thing to focus on, but… they have a seven day week like we do?

Soooo okay okay okay why are they giving her a top-level education gratis? Do they plan to use her once she graduates? Nothing in life is free.

Sophie: “What am I supposed to tell my family? They’re not going to let me disappear every day with no explanation.” Alden: “About that, Sophie. You and I need to have a talk.” OH-HO the truth come out

The sorrow in his eyes made her feel like she’d swallowed something slimy. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. Ah—so this is a kidnapping. Cool.

Her registry pendant, Della explained. Everyone had to wear one, so they could be easily found. Oh so a collar. I’ll be ditching that come time for the revolution

Sophie: “But… why does anyone work, then—if they already have money?” Della: “What else would we do with our time?” Sophie: “I don’t know. Something fun?” Della: “Work is fun.” Spoken like somebody who’s never worked retail on Black Friday. Some work is dangerous and boring. Who’s doing that stuff?

Chapter 12

Alden: “Now that the Council knows you exist, they’ve ordered that you move here. Effective immediately.” Oh, I see. A kidnapping.

She didn’t belong in the human world, and she was tired of pretending she did. It feels a little messed up for all these elves to keep insisting that she doesn’t belong with humans. She probably won’t feel like she totally belongs with elves, either, and then she won’t feel like she fits in anywhere. Y’all gonna give this child a complex.

Sophie: “You’re going to kill me off?” Alden: “As far as your family and the rest of the humans are concerned… yes.” IT IS A KIDNAPPING

Chapter 13

Sophie: “I drugged my family.” Fitz: “You did the right thing.” Sophie: “It doesn’t feel like the right thing.” HELLO *looking around fandom* ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS??

To be honest I don’t have a lot of notes for this chapter because it was just so heartbreaking and distressing. Like I have one note at the end of the chapter and all it says is “oof”

Someone protect this child

Chapter 14

Alden: “Fitz can help you get settled in here while we’re gone.” Sophie: “Here? I’ll be living here?” Sweetie, Fitz can’t be your step-brother ’cause then there won’t be a love triangle

Elwin: “Whoa, that is some serious damage. It’s not permanent… And it’s not your fault. Toxic food, toxic water, toxic air.” Fluoride, smallpox vaccinations, 5G…

Elwin: “Now, try not to let this worry you, but your body needs a major detox. We’ll start with these.” …My essential oils

Chapter 15

Alden: They run an animal preserve at Havenfield, so they always have all kinds of exciting things going on.” COOOL

“We’ve even had to collect endangered species—gorillas, lions, mammoths—” YES THANK YOU SHANNON

“Grady and Edaline train the animals to be vegetarians by feeding them gnomish produce; that way they won’t hunt one another once they’re moved to the Sanctuary.” mmm good luck obligate carnivores

“Another roar interrupted their conversation. Whatever it was sounded like it wasn’t happy about its new diet plan.” It is dying slowly because it can’t produce its own taurine but OK

Hopefully elf veggies are different than earth veggies. That’s just what I’m going to keep telling myself.

The path lead to a wide meadow, where gnomes were using thick ropes to lasso what looked like a giant lizard covered in neon green feathers. UNNH YES I DON’T DESERVE THIS

Also no wonder nobility work for fun, they got gnomes out here doin’ the dangerous jobs

I’m not going to bore you with my breakdown of this dinosaur reconstruction but as a person who worked in a museum as a paleontology educator these bits are the most exciting parts of the book for me. I rate this tyrannosaur 6/10 for scientific accuracy and 10/10 for handsomeness. Shannon Messenger gets 20/10 for popularizing feathered theropods.

…she couldn’t decide if he reminded her more of James Bond or Robin Hood—which felt wrong. He was so unlike her chubby, balding dad she wasn’t sure how to relate. Sophie, meet your new, hotter dad.

Chapter 16

At Sophie’s nod she conjured up a bowl of orange glop and a spoon. Why do elves eat so much goo? This whole time it’s been nothing but goo

Della: “Our world is ‘talent-based’.” AH-HA

Sophie: “Seems kind of unfair.” Yeah, who decides which talents matter and which don’t?

“Get ready to add the amarallitine, Dex.” Oh, I’ve heard of YOU

Grady: “I wouldn’t be surprised if he pushes for you to get transferred to Exillium—and let’s just say it’s somewhere you don’t want to go.” Oh, so there are BAD schools… it all comes together…

So if Edaline and Juline are sisters, is Dex like Sophie’s foster cousin?

Chapter 17

Dex: “The Leapmaster 500. You’re lucky. My parents aren’t nobility, so they’re only authorized to have the 250—it’s missing tons of cool places.” Like bad Netflix. I don’t love that this society limits where poor people can go.

Dame Alina: “First and foremost, whoever put the reekrod in my desk over the weekend will—It’s not funny!” *the camera slowly zooms in on Dex*

A spotlight focused on Sophie. Well, first day ruined. Only took fifteen minutes.

Her name hissed around the room like a viper’s nest. “Ssssssophie.”

Stina: “You left it open, idiot. I guess remembering to close doors is too hard for the son of a bad match to remember.” Ah wonderful, eugenics. I love elf school

Chapter 18

“Mastering all the elements is one of the steps toward entering the nobility.” Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked

“Dude.” Is this a human-obsessed thing or is there straight-up an elvish word for dude

Sophie: “What exactly is a ‘bad match’?” Marella: “A couple that was ruled genetically incompatible. Usually that means their kids will be inferior.” THERE ARE SCREENINGS??

Sophie: “What’s Exillium?” Marella: “The school where they send the hopeless cases.” Yep I want to go there

Chapter 19

Telepaths were in high demand. Once she’d proven trustworthy, she’d receive assignments from the Council. OH OKAY so they send her to wizard school and when she graduates they don’t miss a beat, just scoop her on up and enlist her

If a prodigy hadn’t manifested by Level Four, they might be expelled—and even if they stayed at Foxfire, they couldn’t take the elite levels, which meant they’d never be nobility. Most ended up working class.

But once again it didn’t escape her notice that Grady avoided telling her what his special ability was. It couldn’t be something bad. Could it? The man has dinosaurs so if he was going to do something bad I feel like he’d have done it already

Chapter 20

Sophie: “Prentice?” Marella: “Yeah. He was this supertalented Telepath, but he got exiled like twelve years ago.” Oh as old as I am hm how interesting go onnn…

Lady Galvin: “Don’t you know anything about alchemy?” FFFF that’s why I’m HERE you old BAG

Lady Galvin: “Dame Alina probably thinks this is funny, forcing me to teach such basic serums. Well, I won’t have it.” You know, you aren’t getting paid, you can quit. I don’t mind.

“I’m Keefe.” Will this bad boy help us lead the resistance?

Keefe: “Did you do any damage?” Sophie: “Only her cape.” Keefe: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you have any idea how epic that is?” I really like this lil anarchist.

Keefe: “Destroyed Galvin’s cape.” Elwin: “Wish I could’ve seen that!” I’m recruiting this man for the rebellion. Keefe and Elwin get sorted in the Chaotic Good pile for the day of reckoning.

Stay tuned for Part 3.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #read along #part two #kotlc funny #kotlc memes #kotlc sophie #kotlc alden #kotlc dex #kotlc keefe #kotlc book 1 #keeper 1 #shannon messenger #kotlc read along with me #tw: eugenics #kotlc spoilers #kotlc tiergan

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such-a-random-rambler · 4 years

Text

Birthday Surprise

heeeeyyyyy @lenle-g

Happy Birthday!!!! - sorry that this is a bit late, but I didn’t intend it to be quite this long so had to finish it today.

(Prompt was John and Stabbed and boy did I have sooooo much fun with this. I might rewrite this one day into something much longer because I loved this idea so much. So thank you for the idea!)

Hope you enjoy.

“So, then I pulled her up off the floor - “ Gordon explained, getting into the swing of it now.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I said ‘Hold on tight’.”

“I know.”

“And I fired a grapple hook off, getting the angle just right to wedge it into the top of the cliff face, not an easy shot I can assure you.” Gordon gestured upwards sharply, now with less than half his concentration on the selection of root vegetables in front of him. They would all need chopping to roughly equal sizes to roast evenly but they could wait a second while he recounted his latest feat of heroics.

“I know Gordon.” John said, reaching round behind him to get to the pots of fresh herbs for the basting of the turkey. “I was there.”

“No you weren’t.”

“Ok.” Gordon could hear that eyeroll. “Maybe not physically, but I was listening.”

“Yeah, so let me tell it, because I say something really funny in a minute.”

John nipped back round him to the refrigerator for butter or something. “You’re not meant to be joking about on the job.”

“It’s not joking around, it’s lightening the atmosphere and putting the rescuee at ease in a tense situation.”

“Fine.” John reached round for a mixing bowl. “Before you carry on and tell me everything I already know, have you preheated the oven yet?”

“No.” Gordon turned back to his vegetables. It wasn’t often they got a house full but tomorrow was a special day at the end of a good week. They’d only had half a dozen dispatches, no fatalities, not even a broken bone. Virgil, Alan and Scott were on the way back and weren’t they going to be pleased to see that John had descended in their absence. Particularly Scott as it was his birthday tomorrow. If Gordon played it right he might even be able to play it off as Gordon’s present to the eldest: coaxing John out of the heavens and a full Thanksgiving-style roast even though it wasn’t the time of year for it.

“I’m going to get so many brownie points for this. You here, Scott’s favourite food already in the oven: this was all my idea.” Gordon grinned, giving a particularly tough carrot a few enthusiastic chops. They went soft and sweet on a long slow roast – delicious.

“Do you need those brownie points for anything in particular?” John squeezed past him again, back to the refrigerator.

“Well. There might have been a slight incident on Tuesday.” He paused. “No wait Monday.” Gordon counted back the days since the thing with the sock, conducting his thoughts. “Definitely Monday.” He whipped around, triumphant to have caught John out. “But I thought you knew anything anyway, so surely -”

The words died in his throat. John was close. Very close. Right behind him. Eyes wide. Bowl in one hand, with the butter rub that would be pushed under the skin of the turkey to make it moist and flavorful. Too close. Gordon had frozen at the slight pull of resistance from the knife in his hand as he turned. The knife that he had sharpened to tackle the carrots and potatoes and parsnips and sweet potatoes. The one he had been gesturing with for the last fifteen minutes.

Gordon’s gaze drifted downwards and for a moment thought he had imagined the soft gasp from his brother. He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing. John. Too close. His knife. Where John was. Blood, creeping across the front of John’s shirt.

John’s shirt was almost brand new. Not that new in fact, probably a few years at this point but it still had that soft new feeling of something that hadn’t been laundered too much. It was one of Johns favourites, but he wasn’t here enough to wear his civilian clothes a lot. Certainly not to wear them out, so they were always fresh and neat and clean. But now this one was covered in blood.

CRACK

Pottery dropped to the floor, the aroma of parsley and basil and rosemary and more blooming into the air.

Gordon was still gripping the knife. He moved, just a fraction of an inch, and John’s hand darted out to grab his wrist.

“Don’t move it.” he breathed.

Gordon knew that. One of the basic tenants of first aid. Don’t go pulling objects out of wounds if you’re not prepared to deal with the bleeding that will follow. He wasn’t going to just rip the knife out. He wasn’t. He knew that. But. It had been instinct, just for a moment there to get it out.

But John, who saw everything, who knew everything, knew what to do. Had stepped up even with a knife in his gut.

Slowly, forcing each finger carefully back Gordon released his grip on the knife handle, with John’s grip still firm around his wrist and red filling Gordon’s vision.

Gordon locked shocked eyes with John, noting his normally suntan-free skin had lightened by several shades.

“I -” John started, swallowing heavily and continuing shakily. “I need you to help me sit down.”

“You need to lay down.” Gordon corrected, first responder instincts kicking in from somewhere in his subconscious while his conscious was still largely frozen.

Gordon stepped around to John’s back, where he could take most of his weight in a controlled descent to the floor, then pulling him back until he was horizontal. There was a med kit in the book case. But there were dish cloths here. Gordon grabbed the nearest clean one as a compress: laid carefully around the knife so as not to dislodge it put then pushed firmly to stem the bleeding.

John gave a reflexive flinch, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a low groan.

“Thunderbirds One and Two on final approach.” Scott’s voice boomed across the room. He sounded happy, relaxed: back from another successful mission after a pretty damn good week. “We’ll be landing in five.” He didn’t know.

“This was all my idea.”

Scott took the steps up to the gantry two at a time, heart light. He was already in a good mood when he had landed: yet another day where he barely got his uniform dirty. In and out, quick and easy, that’s the way he liked his peril. Virgil was taxiing Two back in and wouldn’t even need to do a medkit restock today. He was loath to say anything out loud, but Scott offered silent prayers that this was yet another day they had come back home with barely a scratch.

Walking across the hangers he paused mid stride at the space elevator resting on it’s own pad, tucked neatly into the corner. Scott usually had to wrestle John down for his scheduled rest days, of which today was not one. John always, without fail, notified him if an unscheduled visit was needed for health and safety reasons and there had been not so much as a whisper of anything wrong on Five for weeks. Which meant this was a social visit.

Scott broke out into a broad grin and lengthened his stride, making quick work of the several flights between the hanger and the house. With John down that would make a complete set for the first time in who-knows-how-long. Scott wasn’t big into birthdays, his own in particular. They were just a reminder of how long it had been since the holes had been ripped in his family, and there was usually some sort of incident to attend to anyway. But maybe, just maybe, he might get a couple of minutes of them all together for his birthday.

He tried not to storm into the kitchen – the first place to look for John was by the bagels – but he was keen, so at first he didn’t notice a ginger mop of hair on the floor as it was six foot below where he would usually be looking. Was this some sort of post-orbital stretching? Almost continual space duty was taxing on the body but surely they could come up with something other than being a human trip hazard asleep on the kitchen floor.

Gordon was leaning over John, back to Scott. Typical for him to be involved in something inappropriate but he had picked up all sorts of weird things during his lengthy physiotherapeutic tour of the world after his accident. Scott shook his head, but frowned as his noticed a bright red pool of paint, spreading across the plain while tiles. What the hell?

Gordon must have heard him come in, for he glanced over his shoulder. Scott had seen Gordon look that pale and shell shocked exactly twice before. Once for Mom and once for Dad, and it struck terror at Scotts core in an instant.

Like an optical illusion his perspective changed and a brand new and much more terrifying scene resolved before his eyes. John wasn’t asleep, he was unconscious or close to it. That wasn’t paint. He was lying in a pool of blood.

Scott didn’t remember covering the intervening distance but in a flash he was standing right next to his two brothers, where he could see the blood soaked cloth in Gordon’s hands. And the handle of the kitchen knife standing out from John’s side.

“Help me.” Gordon begged, looking up at him, face ashen.

Gordon and Alan leapt up from where they had been waiting on the stairs just out the medbay. Scott straightened from leaning against the wall. Scott looked worried. Alan looked worried. Gordon looked damn near terrified.

“He’s going to be fine.” Virgil said, giving his final pronouncement now the bandaging was complete. “It nicked a blood vessel but we’ve got that sown up and it didn’t perforate any internals. Muscle damage mostly. He just needs a bit of rest now.”

Alan immediately relaxed, shoulders lowering and a relieved grin spreading across his face. “See,” he nudged Gordon, “I told you he was going to be fine.”

“I.... I didn’t mean to.” Gordon stuttered, eyes on the floor.

“Gordon.” Scott said sharply, bringing Gordon’s eyes up to his, and Virgil shot Scott a warning look to take it easy on him, even if he had spent the last hour holding John’s stomach together for Virgil to stich, then cleaning up his blood from the kitchen floor.

“Whatever you are about to say I don’t want to hear it.” Scott said a little more gently but with uncharacteristic lack of tact. “Whatever you need to say, you need to say to John.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to see me.”

“He does,” Virgil said “he’s been asking for you.” As soon as he had been stable enough to talk John had started to ask about Gordon, and it was only a promise that he would see him soon that kept John in the bed while Virgil was trying to god-damn stitch him up. Painkillers always made John stubborn.

Gordon made no move to go in and Virgil heaved a huge sigh at the difficulty of having younger brothers. “He’s awake right now, but he needs his rest so get a move on.” Virgil grabbed Gordon by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. “We’ll be having pizza when you’re done. Alan go and put the oven on would you, you can see John later, when he wakes up.”

Alan nodded and scampered along the corridor. He was a good kid. Virgil gave Gordon another push through the door, and closed it gently behind him.

Scott looked tired. He always looked tired, but more tired than usual.

“Not what I expected to come home to.” Virgil said wryly.

“No.” Scott agreed. “I suppose it had all been going too well these last couple of weeks, we were due for a disaster. I thought someone had broken in or something at first.”

Virgil had heard Scott bellow for a medic from three floors away and as he had rushed in his first thought had been an attack from the Hood or the Chaos Crew as well. Amongst the application of a proper emergency compress and manouvering John down to the medical room Gordon had haltingly explained there was no intruder to pursue. Which stopped them putting the island into emergency lock down at least.

“Do we need to do anything?”

“With Gordon?” Scott raised a questioning eyebrow. “I doubt it. He’s had the fright of his life. So have I. I don’t know about one year, I think I’ve aged about ten years tonight!”

Virgil slung an arm around Scott’s shoulder as they followed in Alan’s wake to the kitchen. “At least he’ll definitely be down for your birthday.”

John was only half aware of the conversation going on outside the room, quite happy to let the wonderful drugs do their fine work, but the soft click of the door and tentative shuffling footsteps made him force his eyes fully open. Gordon stood by his bed, awkwardly swaying from side to side and not quite looking him in the eye.

“Hey.” John - mustering himself to say something a little more intelligent - sat a little more upright. Not much more upright though.

“Hey.” Gordon returned, eyes flicking to the almost empty blood bag. “Does it hurt?”

John was just going to reach round for a clove of garlic when Gordon turned, and at first it was like a punch. But after that initial impact the pain morphed from something blunt and bruising to sharp and breathtaking.

“No, I’m on the good stuff.”

Gordon nodded. Acknowledgement? Approval?

“Errrr..... Virgil said you wanted to see me, but, well I don’t know, if you want to rest, or whatever, I don’t mind - “

“I did.” John interrupted. “I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Gordon met his eyes in surprise. “Me? I’m fine. I’m.... I’m not the one who got stabbed. I’m the one who....”

Deer in headlights. John knew what that meant now. John was aware of every second they were frozen in that awful tableau, the slow spread of warmth outside, the frozen spear stabbing inside. The look of shock and terror and disbelief written across Gordon’s face. The big brother in him wanted to do something about that. He wanted to make the fear go away and promise that it would all be ok. The little part of him that was always on Thunderbird Five snapped at him to prioritise so he’d left that comforting for later and focused on the bleeding.

John reached out – being careful not to pull on the i.v. - to take one of Gordon’s hands in his. “I’m going to be ok Gordon. A bag of blood and a few stitches, a bit of bed rest and I’ll be right as rain.”

“I’m sorry.” Gordon whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have been running around right behind you like that.”

“I should have not been waving a knife around like that. I almost killed you.”

The kitchen floor was cold against his back, apart from where his own blood warmed him. It probably wasn’t even that much, but he’d lost enough to make him a little light headed and to be glad he wasn’t still trying to stand. He tried not to show how much it hurt when Gordon pressed down, but every breath jostled the metal protrusion. It might not even be that deep but his imagination was conjuring unhelpful images of being run through. John thought he had felt feint vibrations from the depths of the island and was hoping that wasn’t his imagination. His concentration was slipping and Gordon needed backup.

“You didn’t. And I’m going to be fine.” John peered into Gordon’s face to see if he was taking it all in.

Gordon nodded, slightly teary. He might have to be told it a couple more times, but he would get it in the end.

John let his head drop back against the pillow: exhausted, fuzzy and ready for sleep. “Look on the bright side though, neither of us is going to be given kitchen duty for a while.”

#lenle-g #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #tag #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #stabbed

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thedeevirus · 4 years

Note

Sugar daddy AU, except the opposite of what people normally do. Edward is the rich, older man and Oswald is the young boyfriend.

Professor Ed Nygma is set up with a ‘sugar baby’ by his Gotham U colleague Professor Kristen Kringle but things don’t go according to plan…

Added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

Hope you enjoy! But no prizes for knowing which song they’re playing on the piano LOL

***

‘Eddie?’

‘Huh?’

Ed flicked the whistling kettle off and Kristen obligingly repeated what he had missed.

‘I said, “I’m really sorry the date with Isabella didn’t work out”’.

Ed shrugged offhandedly as he sat beside Kristen on his couch. The weekly ritual of ‘Tuesday Tea Time’ after work at his apartment was somehow cleansing after the uncomfortable atmosphere of the previous evening. It had been the latest in a long line of blind dates Kristen had arranged for him. One of the only aspects of cold comfort was that it had been far from the worst one. Another was that his attempts at romance had, so far, stayed out of the vortex of campus gossip.

‘Me too’, Ed said, offering her a cookie, ‘It was just too weird’.

Kristen dunked the cookie in her tea, shaking her head.

‘Yeah, maybe not the best week for my darling sister to experiment with red hair dye or forget her contact lenses’. She held up the gingerbread man,nodded in approval at the creamy afro she had given it and bit its head off. ‘Unless she did it on purpose to mess with you. Wouldn’t be the first time come to think of it’.

‘Funny, she never mentioned that’.

‘Does she really wear it better? Be honest’.

‘Wait, you’re not a natural redhead?’ Ed said, hand held to his chest, aghast, ‘What other dark secrets are you hiding from me Professor Kringle?’

‘Very funny Professor Nygma’, Kristen said, chomping down hard on the cookie’s disembodied legs.

‘Anyway’, Ed said, ‘How are you doing on the romance front?’

‘Um, good’, Kristen smiled conspiratorially.

Ed raised an eyebrow and Kristen flashed an ‘ok’ sign with her fingers.

‘Very good actually’, she said with a cheeky wink.

‘Intriguing’, Ed smirked, ‘Anyone I know?’

‘Nope but he did have a friend I thought would be perfect for you’.

‘Really? Right now I’d settle for someone to take an extra concert ticket off my hands’.

‘I’m really sure this time! Can feel it in my gut!’

Ed laughed at Kristen’s sudden fervour.

‘Okay, okay!’ he said, resigning himself to yet another of Kristen’s attempts at matchmaking, ‘What are they like?’

‘You’ll see’.

‘Wait what’s that supposed to m-?’

The sound of the doorbell interrupted his sentence.

‘Oh jeepers look at the time!’ Kristen suddenly cried.

‘Kristen?’ Ed asked, instantly realising the doorbell and Kristen hastily grabbing her bag were connected, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing Eddie! I’m just dandy! Just need to head home and,uh…’

‘Think of an excuse for why you’re suddenly rushing out of my apartment?’ Ed deadpanned.

‘Exactly!’ she said brightly, pulling on her coat, ‘I’ll see you in the cafeteria tomorrow as usual breakfast buddy! Bye!’

She opened the front door and swept into the hallway like a tornado. Ed went to the door and was able to overhear a few seconds of barely audible conversation on the other side before he opened it. A young man dressed in a smart black suit was waiting outside, hand raised as if prepared to knock. To his credit, he recovered well.

‘Hello Mr Nygma’, the young man said, ‘My name is Oswald. I believe you’re expecting me?’

Ed, suddenly confronted with Kristen’s latest machination straight out of the 50’s sitcoms she enjoyed, decided he would also attempt a good recovery.

‘I suppose so’, he smiled and opened the door wide, ‘Please, come in’.

Oswald entered the apartment and Ed closed the door behind him.

‘Can I get you something to drink or…?’ Ed began but trailed off when he turned around.

Oswald was undoing his bow tie and licking his lips.

‘No thank you’, he said breathlessly, ‘B-but I would love something to…eat’.

As Oswald approached, hips swaying suggestively, Ed backed up against the door. Not out of fear but utter disbelief. When his supposedly massive intellect failed to provide him with a counter strategy to Oswald advancing on his position, he simply went to the source.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

Oswald halted, brow furrowed. Ed relaxed, about to proceed with followup enquiries but Oswald’s confusion did not last long.

‘Oh?’ Oswald said, lustful expression slipping effortlessly back onto his face, ‘Would you prefer things this way?’

He took hold of Ed’s limp hands and fixed them to his shirt. He abruptly pulled his arms apart, causing the shirt to tear open. Ed was begrudgingly impressed that not a single button popped off.

‘Heck yes I would’, Ed bluffed, moving his hands to Oswald’s shoulders.

Oswald’s eyes darted to Ed’s hands and now Ed was sure. Oswald’s demeanour was a front. He didn’t want to be here any more than Ed had been expecting him. But then why was he here by Kristen’s invitation?

‘Then…give it to me. R-right now!’

Ed bit back a laugh. What Oswald had intended as an order had come out sounding more like a child throwing a tantrum. It was oddly endearing how hard he was trying to be someone he wasn’t. Ed could sympathise with the smokescreen.

‘Give it to you?’ Ed asked, ‘Is that what you want? Really?’

‘It’s all I want’, Oswald begged, half-hooded eyelids fluttering, ‘Please, please, give it to me. Please. Please’.

Ed held up a hand to silence the increasingly frantic litany of ‘pleases’. It was time to put them both out of their collective misery.

‘You’re not gonna blink are you?’ Ed sighed.

‘Y-you mean close my eyes?’

‘No. Come on, let’s have some tea. And button your shirt’.

‘I am so embarrassed right now’.

Oswald’s head rose from where it had been resting in his hands to nod gratefully for the mug of tea Ed was offering.

‘Nothing to be embarrassed about’, Ed said reassuringly, pouring milk into his own cup, ‘I really was tempted for a minute. It’s, uh, been a while. I just didn’t realise Kristen knew that. Humbling’.

He cleared his throat as he sat down at the kitchen table, across from Oswald.

‘So what stopped you?’ Oswald asked.

‘How uncomfortable you were’.

Oswald rubbed the back of his head, discomfited. Ed offered him one of the gingerbread cookies as consolation. Oswald took it and dunked it head first. Ed wondered if Kirsten chose all of his prospective romantic partners by comparing how they dunked their cookies compared to her.

‘I’m really sorry for wasting your time’, Oswald sighed.

‘Don’t worry, you’re not. We may as well use the time Kristen paid you for. She saw your ad in the library?’

‘The agency’s got them up all over Gotham U’s campus. Prime recruitment ground’.

‘I never noticed’.

‘Think we’ve established you weren’t looking’.

‘Do you always come on that strong to clients?’

‘Actually, it’s, uh, my first day. I work as a waiter and a friend told me being a sugar baby was a good way to make extra cash’.

‘A what?’

‘You heard the first time’, Oswald sighed, eyes closing resignedly.

‘Like a-’ Ed halted for a second until he found an appropriately polite turn of phrase. ’-‘companion’ for hire?’

‘People hire them…us for all kinds of things’, Oswald shrugged, ‘Your friend Ms Kringle called and said to make you ‘feel special’ so I tried my best’.

‘Not into men?’

Oswald’s fingers drummed on the sides of his cup.

‘Not into anything actually. I thought it would be an advantage. That it would make the ‘hard core’ stuff easier but it didn’t. Not that you’re not aesthetically pleasing!’

‘Thanks’, Ed chuckled, waving a hand to show he was not offended.

‘No, thank you’, Oswald said sincerely, ‘I’ll refund this session when I get home. I don’t think I’m cut out for this line of work’.

‘Why?’ Ed said gently, ‘I’m getting exactly what I needed’.

‘But…we’re just talking’.

‘Kirsten’s an excellent lecturer in Library Sciences, an even better friend (albeit an overconfident matchmaker) but she’s always so busy and we don’t have the same hobbies. That’s great, don’t get me wrong, it’s good that people are different but sometimes I would just like to share my more intimate interests with someone’.

‘I thought this was going too well’, Oswald said with mock apprehension, ‘This is when you show me your sex dungeon, isn’t it?’

Ed burst out laughing. Oswald was proving to be full of surprises.

‘Much more mundane than that’, Ed said, ‘Not that you’ll be disappointed at the lack of one. Do you play video games?’

‘Not many’, Oswald admitted, ‘They’re an expensive habit’.

Ed indicated the piano against the far wall and asked, ‘What about music?’

Oswald sat down and pressed a key with one long finger.

‘My mother taught me but I’m a bit out of practice’.

Ed sat beside him, positioned both hands over the keys and began to play one of the tunes scheduled for the concert that weekend. After only a few notes, Oswald nodded in recognition.

‘I actually know this one’.

‘Jump in whenever you like’, Ed invited.

Oswald obliged immediately and Ed’s jaw dropped at the nimble harmony joining his own. He had never played with anyone before and as Oswald began to softly sing along, he thought he could get used to doing it more often.

‘It’s hard to let it go…’

Oswald trailed off as their fingers brushed against each other. Ed swallowed at the way Oswald’s pale cheeks coloured beneath his glass green eyes. Ed slowly stopped playing, letting the song come to an organic end as Oswald clasped both hands in his lap thoughtfully. It was strange. Oswald was a little older than his university students but sometimes he could seem so vulnerable.

‘You’re not that much out of practice’, Ed said.

‘You teach music?’ Oswald asked.

‘Forensic science. Very different ivories’.

He swelled with pride when the joke got a genuine laugh from Oswald. All it usually got was bemused confusion or ‘dadjoke’ groans from his students. It was so nice to see him relaxed. Ed’s eyes drifted to the tickets resting on top of the piano and, emboldened by how well things were going on this ‘not date’, he made the offer.

‘Do you feel like taking in a concert this weekend?’ Ed asked, ‘It’s the Gotham Symphony. On the clock of course’.

‘You mean it?’

‘I insist on it. Meet me here at six and I’ll include dinner before we head out, sound good?’

Oswald sniffed hard.

‘Dinner and a show sounds great Mr Nygma’, he replied.

‘Please, call me Ed’.

‘The customer’s always right, Ed’.

#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot ficlet #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot #sugar daddy au

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builder051 · 5 years

Note

Can you do a story where Steve drags Bucky out to go Christmas shopping without realizing Bucky doesn't feel well? He realizes Bucky is sick when he throws up in the store.

This is Powers/No Powers. It came out a bit dark. TW for anxiety/PTSD. But you know this kind of thing is my jam. :)

_____

Sometimes time doesn’t make sense to Bucky. He can’t think of a good reason for it; no matter what happened during the war or what he was doing, time was moving forward at the same rate as always. But all the same, he’s confused when Steve meets him in front of the VA after work with a smile and a Starbucks cup.

“Hey.” Steve claps him sweetly on the shoulder. “You ready for your mission?”

“Um. What?” Bucky takes the coffee, though. He likes the warmth, and the beginnings of a headache nag at the nape of his neck. Things like fluid consumption tend to disappear into the time void during his work hours.

“I don’t think weekends count toward shopping days,” Steve says. “Don’t quote me on it, but I’m starting to think it’s now or never.”

Shopping. “Oh.” Bucky nods, and the ache in his head flares. Christmas is…not tomorrow, surely. Monday? Tuesday? He isn’t sure. But he does remember telling Steve he wanted to personally choose his gifts for his friends. Clint and Laura, Sam, Nat, even Darcy deserve something more fitting than a fruit basket chosen from a catalogue. Bucky supposes he knew along it would necessitate a trip to the mall, but there went time. He hadn’t made the jump between planning and actually doing.

“Yeah,” he nods, trying to be emphatic. Or at least sincere. “Let’s go.”

“It’s probably going to be kind of crowded,” Steve warns. “Just want you to be prepared. Next-day shipping is still a thing.” He smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind Bucky’s ear. His knuckles brush lightly against Bucky’s cheek, feeling for fever or clamminess or something. It’s sweet. Or perhaps Bucky’s just paranoid.

“I know.” Bucky tries to say it without an attitude, but his voice sounds funny in his own ears, and he isn’t sure if he’s missed the mark. He sips his coffee, swallowing the warmth like it’s liquid courage. Which it is, just with the opposite effect of alcohol. “Let’s go.”

“Ok.” Steve holds the car door open for Bucky like a gentleman, then watches him wrestle his coffee into the cupholder. A bit splashes up through the opening in the lid, landing on the webbing between his forefinger and thumb.

“What?” Bucky licks the coffee off his hand. The attitude definitely comes through this time, even though he doesn’t mean it to. He tries to smile to offset it. He hopes it isn’t a grimace.

“Nothing.” Steve smiles too, really smiles. Bucky tries to compare the feeling of the creases in his cheeks with the look of Steve’s. He’s pretty sure he’s failed again.

It only takes five minutes to drive to the mall, but they spend twice as long trolling through the aisles of the parking lot looking for a space. Finally Steve crams the sedan into a spot beside a crookedly parked truck. There isn’t enough space on the passenger side for Bucky to open his door, so he climbs awkwardly over the center console to slip out the driver’s side.

“Ugh. Sorry,” Steve says, shaking his head and locking up. “Hopefully they’ll be gone by the time we’re done.” He jerks his chin toward the truck, then grabs Bucky’s hand and starts a purposeful stride toward the entrance to JC Penny.

“’S alright,” Bucky says automatically, falling into step beside him. But he thinks of his coffee left behind in the cupholder. His palm is slightly sweaty against Steve’s. He’d rather have it wrapped around the paper cup. He feels guilty for it, but at least then he could pretend the perspiration was from the heat.

True to Steve’s prediction, the store is packed. Bucky doesn’t think he’d mind if that was the only uncomfortable factor in play. But as soon as they walk in the door, the hair on the back of his neck prickles to attention. He’s reminded of long-forgotten training exercises, the kind that were meant to push him to his limits of sensory input while focusing on a singular task. Find the target. Neutralize the threat.

That was… Bucky isn’t even sure how long ago. He doesn’t do time. But the fluorescent lights that give everything a sickly greenish tinge, the scents of perfume and stale grease and warm bodies are familiar. And distasteful.

“So, what were you thinking you wanted to buy?” Steve takes half a step towards the menswear department, then stops and looks at Bucky.

Bucky blinks hard. Hadn’t Steve told him this was a mission? Or is that some other long-lost memory back to haunt him? It’s considerate of Steve to relinquish command, since it’s one of the few things they fight about now, but Bucky wishes he’d take control. He’s used to following orders, obeying his commanding officers. He doesn’t know how to make decisions on his own.

“Um…” Bucky’s head throbs. He tries to look into Steve’s eyes, but the glare coming off his face is too bright. He blinks again. Squints. Swallows.

A woman with a shopping cart almost runs into them. “It’s ok.” Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and guides him into the space between two racks of t-shirts. “Take your time.”

It’s not ok, though. Something’s gone wrong in his head. Not just the ache, though now it’s bad enough to pull the taste of bitter coffee up into his throat. Time is flicking on and off like a strobe light, moving forward and back with such speed that Bucky can barely believe he’s standing still.

He’s Christmas Shopping. With Steve. He’s fine.

But he didn’t grow up celebrating Christmas. He only started when he joined the army. No need to draw attention to himself as a gay Jew.

And his handlers don’t let him celebrate anything. He hasn’t seen calendar in… months? Years? He doesn’t know. Maybe that’s the point. It’s only the change in weather that gives him an inkling of the passing time.

It’s too hot in here, but Bucky’s hand and feet are freezing. Icy sweat drips down his spine then absorbs into a frigid wet patch on the back of his shirt. His head hurts. So does his stomach. It’s flying up through his chest, and he’s falling, he’s going to hit the snow in the bottom of the canyon—

“Buck, it’s ok.”

He doesn’t hit snow. He hits Steve’s warm chest. Arms wrap around him and hold him there. He’s only aware that he’s shaking because Steve’s perfectly still.

A wet noise comes from Bucky’s throat. He grits his teeth because he doesn’t want to cry. He can’t start sobbing in the middle of his mission.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re safe.” Steve’s chin brushes the top of Bucky’s head.

Of course he’s safe. He’s with Steve. How could he have forgotten? A rush of guilt breaks Bucky’s flimsy hold on control. His jaw goes numb and hot sourness coats his back teeth. He gags and tries to pull away. He can’t be sick. He can’t lose control.

“Ok, alright.” Steve’s feet move, but his solid grip keeps Bucky in place. Bucky opens his eyes just enough to see ropy spit and coffee collect in a pool on the worn carpet. He heaves again, feeling his eyes and nose start to dribble. Strings of bile stick to his chin. He’s a mess.

“I’m—“ Bucky chokes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He retracts his hand into his sleeve and scrubs sloppily at his leaking face.

“Hey, don’t worry.” Steve cups his hand against the back of Bucky’s neck, lifting his hair and inviting in a breeze that helps settle his stomach. “Let’s just go outside. Do you feel up to walking?”

Bucky nods, though he isn’t sure. He’s grateful for Steve’s arm around his shoulders, keeping him from tripping over his feet as they retrace their steps out of the store. There are a few old people and sullen teenagers sitting on a bench, waiting for rides. Somebody’s smoking a cigarette, and oddly, that’s what makes him feel better. That’s how things are supposed to be. Escaping into the back alley behind a bar, a little sick and a little sad, sharing a smoke and maybe, if nobody’s looking, a kiss…

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says again, clearing his throat and mopping his face with the inside of his elbow. “That was…I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “You don’t have to know. Or explain. Or go shopping.”

“I thought…”. Bucky grapples for words. He’s thought a lot of things in the last few minutes. “I thought I wanted to. But…I don’t.”

“Ok. I think I’d rather just go home, too,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah.” Bucky draws in a shaky breath. “I don’t know how I feel about… you know…”

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighs. “This. Christmas. Everything.” If there’s a term that somehow encompasses nostalgia and hope and joy and sadness and memories he wishes he still had and traumas he wishes he could forget, he doesn’t know what it is.

“You don’t have to, Buck.” Steve tightens his arm around Bucky, pulling him close enough to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “If you want to talk about it, we can. If you don’t…” He shrugs, his shoulder rising and falling against Bucky’s arm. “It’s ok. I love you no matter what.”

Steve isn’t speaking loudly, but Bucky still glances around. Nobody’s staring. Nobody’s even looking at them. Bucky catches Steve’s eye and smiles. The corners of his mouth hit the proper angles this time, and that makes him feel better. He doesn’t understand time, but he’s glad it’s passing. He’s glad he’s moving forward.

#marvel #mcu #captain america #bucky barnes #winter soldier #steve rogers #powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure #fanfic #fanfiction #stucky #sickfic #ptsd #anxiety #panic attacks #emeto #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #christmas #holiday

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mentalmimosa · 6 years

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you don’t play favorites

A continuation of an earlier Mental Mimosa ficlet, "Carried Away From the Shore."

For the purists among you, above the keep reading link is the original ficlet; below the link is the result of today's writing.

“I don’t like having to share you with the world.”

Steve shook his head and rolled out of bed, padded towards the bathroom. “Hardly the world, Tone. Just my eight AM class.”

“So you’d choose a horde of malcontent teenagers--none of whom want to be sitting in your class this early, babe, I’m sorry; not a one--over me. I see how it is.”

“Believe it or not,” Steve called, his voice bouncing off the tile, “this isn’t about you.”

Tony fell back with a sigh, turned over and buried himself in the warm sink of the sheets that Steve had so cruelly abandoned. “Yeah, yeah: your job, the kids, the future. Sure. That’s all well and good. You dash off to shape their minds and leave your boyfriend’s poor, lonely body cold and alone in this bed. Right.”

Steve stuck his head around the door jam, his toothbrush stuck sideways in his mouth. “I can turn up the heat when I leave.”

“Hilarious.” Tony shot his eyes up to the ceiling, at the first gray streaks of dawn there, waiting. “Never let it be said you’re not generous, Rogers.”

He lay back and listened to Steve’s familiar morning sounds: the sound of running water, a splash. The tap of a toothbrush on the edge of the sink. Then water again. The clink of a comb.

It was unusual for him to wake up when Steve did, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Steve crept out of bed before dawn. Usually, he’d stir a little when Steve said goodbye, when he laid his lips over Tony’s forehead or his cheek, but otherwise would pass the godawful early time as the Lord had intended humans to do: asleep.

But this morning, he’d been awake before Steve--a bad dream, maybe, or a good one--and wormed his way under Steve’s oak tree of an arm, pressed his head back against Steve’s chest, the place he always started the night and invariably drifted from, driftwood carried away from the shore by the tides.

His pouting was partly for show, partly because some part of him could never resist trying to wind Steve Rogers up, no matter how Sisyphean the task. The man was pretty unflappable anyway, most of the time, but when it came to his students--especially the 90-odd freshmen in his World History survey--his dedication and focus could not be shaken.

Or could they?

Steve stepped out of the bathroom, still shirtless, his khakis already pulled up and belted neat. He moved quietly, efficiently, as he no doubt did every morning while Tony was still dead to the world; stepped into the closet and rustled about for a shirt. A white one. He always wore white when he taught. He said--Tony pursed his lips; what was it he said?--that white hid the chalk dust best.

Tony had seen him teach before, had perched at the back of the class, high up in the lecture hall, and watched Steve navigate the room, the time, his audience like a performer; as much an actor, Tony thought, as an instructor. He was engaging and funny and stern as hell when they didn’t do as well on a test as they should have; a great listener and a tough grader; a giver of advice and counsel as often as one of grades. Steve was damn good at it, teaching, and even all Tony’s money and the lure of some carefree, fly-away life hadn’t been able to drag him away from this little New England town and back to New York where they’d met. So Tony had come here, stayed up in the admittedly picturesque boonies for weeks at a stretch before the song of the city dragged him home for a little while. But he could never stay away from Steve long.

Maybe that was what had him so moody this morning: he was supposed to go back tomorrow, he had to; there was a meeting of the executive committee that he couldn’t miss. Wanted to, very badly, because most meetings made him want to throw himself off a bridge, but couldn’t. It was part of the gig. Of his father’s legacy and all that.

But he was here now. And Steve was, at least for another few minutes. And maybe, maybe, Tony could persuade him to stay.

Steve stepped back into the room, a half-buttoned white shirt hanging from his shoulders. He was wearing his thinking face, too; no doubt already reviewing the day’s lesson in his head. Well. Huh. Tony could work with that.

He sat up and let the sheets fall by the wayside, tried not to smirk when Steve jumped a little, startled out of his reverie. “Tony, god,” Steve said. “I thought you’d gone back to sleep.”

Tony didn’t answer. Just stared in a way he hoped was baleful from under his eyelashes.

“Uh, sweetheart?” Steve squinted at him in the shadows. “You ok?”

“I need to talk to you,” Tony said, the words even breathier than they had been in his head. “Do you have a minute?”

Steve moved towards him, concern flickering over that broad, beautiful face. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Tony bit his lip and looked away and that got him a hand on his cheek, the open cuff of Steve’s shirt kissing his chin.

“Tony,” Steve said softly. “Hey. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Tony took a deep breath. This was either gonna be brilliant or a disaster. Maybe a double scoop of both.

He looked up into Steve’s eyes, made his own as wide and uncertain as he could. “I really need your help, Professor Rogers.”

Steve froze: his fingers, his face, the whole deal. But he didn’t stop touching Tony, didn’t recoil in horror or anything. Ok. Tony would take that.

“It’s my last paper,” he said. “The grade that I got, I don’t--I can’t take something like that home. My dad’ll kill me.”

His wince was real--he hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to let real life drift too close to whatever this was, fantasy--but so was the sigh that snuck out of him when Steve’s thumb found his lips.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve said in his lecture voice, the one that brooked no quarter, that knew all the answers. “But maybe you should’ve tried harder. I can’t give you credit for work that you didn't do."

Tony let his face fall. “Oh.”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be fair to the other students, would it, if I did something like that.”

“No, of course not.” Steve’s thumb found the turn of Tony’s jaw and stroked, a long, solid line, and it made sense for Tony’s character to shiver, surely. “I know you’re not like that, Professor Rogers.”

“Like what?” Steve asked.

“Unfair. Everybody knows you don’t play favorites.”

Steve laughed softly and edged a step closer. “Just because I don’t play favorites doesn’t mean that I don’t have favorites, though.” He slid his hand from Tony’s face and wound it instead in his hair and the look in his eye, the gentle force of his grip, made Tony feel like a butterfly caught in a tiger’s paw. “Like you. You’re one of my favorites, Tony.”

“I am?” He didn’t have to ape the short of breath thing now.

Steve’s fingers turned fist and he pulled Tony’s head forward the same instant that he stepped forward and drew Tony’s face between his legs, the tip of Tony’s nose just brushing the heat there, the familiar sweet swell. “Yes,” Steve said. “You are. Can’t you tell?”

Tony clutched at the back of Steve’s thighs, scrabbled at all that damn khaki. “Oh, oh. Professor, I--”

“So smart,” Steve rumbled above him. “You’re fucking smart, Stark. Never let me get through a lecture without raising your hand to argue with me, do you?”

“I’m not trying to argue with you,” Tony said. He rubbed his lips against the hot line of Steve’s cock, jolted when Steve let go of a moan. “I just want to understand everything in your class. Everything that you say. Every word.”

“You want to understand it or you want to get a good grade?”

“Yes, I guess. Both.”

“Right now, I can only help you with one of those.” Steve’s free hand caught Tony’s shoulder and now he was good and trapped and fucking hell, Tony was so turned on he couldn’t see. “You ok with that?”

With this, Tony heard. You ok with how this is going so far?

Tony sighed, leaned the sound over the swell of Steve’s cock. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“Good,” Steve said, unsteady. “Then give me your hands, Tony. Open me up.” He softened his grip just a touch, just enough for Tony to pitch back and slip his fingers over the zipper, the button. “Good boy. That’s right. Come on.”

Tony hesitated. He lifted his eyes up to Steve’s, made his own as uncertain as he could when he his whole body was screaming yes please take. “Professor Rogers, wait. I--I’ve never--”

“You’ve never what, honey? Never asked for extra help before? That’s all right. We all need it sometimes.”

“That’s not--no. I mean, I’ve never, uh”--Tony bit his lip--“I’ve never had anybody’s cock in my mouth before.”

And damn if he couldn’t fucking feel Steve’s dick twitch at that. He did his best not to grin. Oh, Stevie, he thought. My all-American blondie. I love you, you perv.

Steve’s whole face flushed, along with the long strip of his throat, but he kept his voice steady, each word like a rock. “You haven’t, huh? Well. Then maybe there is something I can teach you today.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now take out my cock.”

Tony fumbled with the button, then started with the zipper.

“Careful,” Steve said, his nails kissing the back of Tony’s neck. “Careful now. Pull it down slow.”

He did as he was told, scrunching his face in concentration. It was a little tricky, given how stiff Steve was. Didn’t help that he was tipping his hips up, either, practically shoving himself at Tony’s hands as he murmured: “That’s right. That’s right.”

And then all that heat was free, jutting towards his face, rubbing against it, and it took every bit of willpower Tony had left in his arsonal not to swallow Steve down right the fuck then. Steve cock was pretty, always, big and jauntily curved. But now, hanging out of his nice respectable khakis, the soft white of his boxers be damned, Steve’s dick was gorgeous. The head was already red, like Tony had been sucking at it, and the tip was wet, precum smeared pretty over the slit, and if Tony had known that student/teacher would get Steve so hot, he’d have stripped down and bent himself over a desk a long fucking time ago.

He petted Steve’s hips and took a deep, shuddering breath. “What do you want me to do?”

Steve speared both hands through Tony’s hair. “Lick it for me. From the root to the tip. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Tony whispered. “I want to. It’s just--”

“Just what, honey?”

“Can I see all of it? All of you? I want--” He slid his fingers into the waist of Steve’s boxers, gave them a little tug. “I want to see you, Professor. Please.”

Steve growled, a low, helpless sound. “Yes. Yes. Whatever you want.”

Tony moved faster now, with more surety than some eighteen year old virgin would, but fuck, he felt like there were fireworks going off in his body and Steve hadn’t even touched him yet, not really, not in anyway that counted, but he knew if he looked down he’d see his own dick, thick and eager, half crowned out of his boxers just from this, from teasing, from steadily driving Steve out of his goddamned mind.

He tugged Steve’s boxers down, sent them and those fucking khakis up and over the swell of Steve’s ass, and by the time the whole mess met the floor, his tongue was already busy tracing the hot lines of that gorgeous cock.

Steve’s hands cupped the back of Tony’s head, firm and gentle. “Oh, yes. That’s nice. That’s so good, Tony. Mmmm. Put your hands on my hips, huh, hold on to me there while you--yes.”

Tony lost himself in the sweet of it for a while, the slide; the warm, happy sounds Steve was making, the burning look in those blue, blue eyes. He circled the crown and lapped at the shaft and nuzzled the soft swell of Steve’s balls, traced them with short, tiny licks, and as much as he wanted to swallow and suck, he tried to keep his mouth tentative, just this side of uncertain, as if part of him were still a little afraid of how good this felt, how hot it made him to be tasting his professor’s big dick.

“Never would’ve guessed,” Steve murmured. “Never would have guessed that you wanted this.”

He breathed the word out over the head. “No?”

“No.” A soft, hot sigh. “You go out of your way to be such an asshole in class. I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m an asshole so you’ll talk to me,” Tony said. He bit a kiss into Steve’s hip. “So you’ll look at me. So you’ll notice. But you haven’t. I’ve sat in the front row all semester and you still didn’t--”

Steve’s hands hardened, forced Tony’s head up. “What are you talking about?”

There was a snake in Tony’s gut, a hot, crawling weight. “Why do you think I bombed my last paper?” he spat. “I wanted you to pay attention to me, damn it.”

Yes, he was pretending, but god, he remembered what that was like, when he’d first gotten to know Steve: feeling like Steve was looking right at him and still not seeing.

They’d met at a museum fundraiser where Steve was the keynote speaker and as the sponsor, it only made sense for Tony to ask for Steve’s contact info, for Steve to take his. They’d become friends that summer and it was great except Tony spent every goddamn second they were together and most when they weren’t aching to kiss Steve, to throw his arms around the man and have said man smile against his mouth and say: I thought you’d never ask.

But Steve didn’t look at him that way, gave no outward sign, and wary of chasing off the best friend he’d had in years, Tony clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way all summer long.

And then one hot August night, the frustration got the better of him and he’d let himself be goaded into a fist fight with some dumb society punk at a party. He knew better, of course he fucking did, but he was pissed off at himself, at Steve, at the fact that Steve’s job would take him away from the city nine months out of the year, and of course Steve was the one who pulled him off, who dragged him out of the party and shoved him into a car home and frog marched him upstairs and before Tony could get out two good words, Steve had him shoved in a corner, had Tony pinned to the wall with his hands and his hips and said: “Do you realize how stupid that was? Do you?”

It'd been impossible for Tony to think with Steve so close, to generate anything approaching coherency. “What?”

“That’s gonna be in all the papers tomorrow. You get that, right? Which is the last thing that you need. And you’re probably gonna have a black eye.”

“Ok,” he’d said, “so what? I’ve had worse.”

“God,” Steve had said, hot, right in Tony’s face, and only then did Tony realize Steve’s cock was pressing into his thigh. “You are the most infuriating human sometimes, Tony, I just don’t--”

Tony had clawed at Steve’s back, his nails digging into Steve’s dinner jacket. ”Yes, you do,” he’d said. “Now shut up and kiss me already.”

So that this kid, Steve’s pretend student, would need to go to similarly self-destructive extremes? Made total sense, Tony figured. To both of them.

“I thought you’d call me to your office,” Tony said. “I thought you’d yell at me. I thought you’d care. I thought you’d be mad.”

There was a storm on Steve’s face, a swirl of love and desire and steel. “Oh, honey,” he murmured. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“All of my attention focused on you?”

Tony closed his eyes. He had to; his cheeks were suddenly flame. “Yes, Professor Rogers.”

Steve caught a hold of his cock and traced the tip around the rose of Tony’s mouth. “So. You don’t want this, do you?”

Tony’s lids slid up. “Hmm?”

“My cock in your mouth.” He eased the tip over the crest of Tony’s lips. “My come in your throat or on your face. You don’t want any of that, is that right?”

Tony shook his head. “Do,” he managed. “Yes, I do.”

#stony #student/teacher roleplay #bossy!Steve #Steve Rogers is Perv Bless Him

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tumblunni · 6 years

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MORE UPDATES ON THINGS WHAT HAPPEN

The half week milestone of the hospital house thingie time! I think the term they use for it is "a residential stay"? Cos like its not a hospital its a shared housing block thats just full of doctors. I get to sleep in a real bed and there's a nice community room and board game nights and stuff. But its still really scary how intense the supervision can be! Like they have a window to look into your room once per hour every hour constantly. And they have to go through your undies and catalog them as part of the possessions check. I was not warned about that and it was mega embarassing trying to explain a binder to a bunch of old lady doctors! Oh and i had yo do a urine test today which was possibly the most fuckin embarassing thing in the actual universe. And you're not even allowed to take your own pills! They keep them locked in a big ominous wall of lockers and you have to come into the office and swallow the pill while theyre watching. I guess maybe because some people might be faking their illness and selling their pills on the black market or whatever? But that literally doesnt happen with antidepressants, they have no 'high' or even any effect at all on non-sick people. So it just makes no sense to me and its real embarassing cos like i said i suck at taking pills with plain water and without a straw. The ones i take are real damn chunky things the size of my thumbnail! I think i'l get better at not (literally) choking under pressure over time, tho. Hopefully.

Anyway that's all the bad out of the way! Now the good and the neutral and the just miscellaneous!

Its still nervewracking having to shower in a shared house but they have a cool walk-in shower and ive never tried one of those so it was vaguely interesting. And im allowed to take my showers early at 6am to minimize the chance of anyone else trying to use the door, lol. My biggest fear is having some staff member walk in on me when im naked like back in that homeless hostel. Oh or that time in the homeless hostel where the teenage boys filled the entire bathroom with inflated condoms wall to wall. Like wow so much damn effort to prank the stupid nervous bunni who probably would have been embarassed by literally anything else. Man this place is bringing so many memories of that homeless hostel but at least this time its a place specifically for sick people and they know i'm anxious doing shared cooking and board games and whatever so they dont make fun of me for it. But in a lot of ways that hostel had more freedoms too.. *shrug*

Anyway! A good! I get to have cooking lesson!! I know literally nothing about cooking and now i get to know several thing!! This nice doctor called Josie taught me how to make an omelette and i tasted ham for the first time! That is just how limited my life experiences are, lol. Oh and they want me to say that she's a 'mental health worker' not a doctor, but its all real confusing?? Like they have the staff that look after you and then the only ones we're supposed to call doctors are the ones who actually have the authority to prescribe pills and diagnosies. But like if youre in a hospital you'd call them all doctors, not just the actual surgeon? Or i guess theyre kinda like nursing home staff?? But they cant be support workers cos support workers are specific government assigned inspector type guys like Richard who only meet with you once a week.and i have to remember to not call him a social worker either cos social workers only work with family and custody related stuff. I dunno?? Basically the medical industry has a lot of names that dont really describe what the actual thing is, lol. Anyway the ham omelette was great and now im gonna try and remember so i can try and make it myself next time! HAM ACCOMPLISHED

Also i played bingo with a few other patients and it was fun but funny that i lost 6 times in a row when there were only 3 of us. I got a consolation prize of a pack of neon highlighter pens so hell yeah!!

I'm getting booked in to try some additional classes starting next week on monday and tuesday morning. The computer programming one was sadly unavailable, but i managed tp snag a place in "confidence building group therapy" and "basic how to use power tools". I wasnt really all that interested in that one but i thought it would be a useful skill even if its less fun. And maybe you get to actyally make something to take home at the end? A lil shelf to help organize this awkward lil room better, maybe?

And an unexpected bonus of being semi-hospitalized is that i get a free bus pass! And cos im here cos of my social anxiety theyre gonna help me get outside more and actually use this thing to the fullest! The first thing we did was the trip to actually get the bus pass itself. It was like "bus, take my money to take me to the place where i can never give you money again!" XD Ive been really stupidly nervous about going on tne bus in my old neighbourhood cos MAN it was really isolated there and everything just amplified my mental illness. An almost two hour bus ride to get to ANY SHOPS AT ALL, with only one bus for the whole town so it was always crowded and full of screaming kids and gossipy everyones. Social anxiety: maximum level proud mode!

So yeah i feel BIG ACCONPLISHED! I was able to take this bus for the first time with a doctor coming with me. Power Grandpa The Strong. His actual name is Paul and he has awesome sleeve tattoos of like anchors and dragons and sports teams and stuff! And he likes thrift stores and wearing silly hats too! Its like he's powerful enough to wrestle away everyone's anxieties! I was able to be a bit reckless too and i went out wearing my fave shirt thats like trans pride coloured plaid. A POWERFUL SHIRT IS REQUIRED FOR THIS QUEST! so we went to the office to register this bus pass and i panicked a bit cos apparantky we brought the wrong form and i wrote my name in the wrong box and then my passport photo looked terrible and aaa! But it all worked out and i was kinda freaking out for nothing. And he took me for a lil tour of the place and showed me this cool shop that does spray paint tye dye t shirts with spiderman on them?? Why does this incredibly specific shop exist and how have i never heard of it before?? There was also a new harry potter shop next to the disney shop, and the old used book store i used to visit as a kid was still there, complete with rickety spiral staircase and ominous basement trap door. I'm still not brave enough to go down there, but apparantly its just the history books section so meh. Then we actually went to a fancy coffee shop and i had this brain freeze mango ice frappucchino thing! Im trying all the new foods!!

And i was TOO HIGH ON DECADENCE and made a RECKLESS CHOICE! i blame power gramp's amazing tattoos, they were totally whispering to me that i shoukd screw the rules and ride off into the sunset on a metaphorical harley davidsen of mental health

So i was like Hey Paul I Am Totally Fine Getting Home On My Own, and it was like i was floating off in the distance somewhere begging my body to not speaketh these words. But it ended up working out okay! The excitement of it all and the sense of accomplishmebt from getting there all okay allowed me to mostly not freak out as i spent the day in town and looked at some shops and stuff. Basic Living Skills: Completed! I chilled out in the library (tho i dont have a card yet, alas!) and visited like five comic and anime stores, and got lost but found a Pizza Hut and that was SO NOSTALGIC FOR MY CHILDHOOD and it didnt taste quite as good as i remembered but the waiter guy was super nice and had a similar shirt and it was All Good! Oh and i gave all my money to a homeless person and that's why i'm broke now. And i bought a plastic slug! I just saw it from across the room and was like OH NO I AM BEING MAGNETISED TOWARDS IT OH NO IT HAS ALREADY BEEN BOUGHT. I need to think of a name for this new friend!!

So yeh i got home okay and i felt really acconplished and that was the furthest trip away that i've taken in ages! Man my mental illness makes me feel pathetic, but it also brings ridiculously big joys from the smallest of silly acconplishys!

Oh and thank you so much to the people who sent me emails! It really helped so much to keep me from giving up during the first few days before i made a bit of progress and felt like i could really do this, yknow? Especially big thanks tp the friend who sent me that mysterious super happy song that they found on a mystery disc in a german market?? Im still not sure whether its in greek or hasidic jewish but it sounds AMAZING and i hope someday i can figure out the band so i can hear their other singles!

Ok this is bunni out! BIG HUGS FOR THE EVERYONE AAAA

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meshugana1 · 6 years

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The sexual tourettes one was my favorite. So hot. A shy girl and a very not-shy prostitute find their personalities are slowly swapping

You got it buddy!

Saveta sat behind her counter and thumbed through a book, dying for a customer to come into her shop. She never understood why she couldn’t drum up more business, she’d been at this for over a hundred years so you’d think she would’ve figured it out by now. She sighed and her heavy breasts stretched the top of her dress and she rested her chin in her palm. She hated reading but she needed to do more of it, but she never felt like she understood the subtext or anything like that. Just then she heard her bell ring and she looked up at the door with an excited smile.

A young woman entered the shop this time. She stepped gingerly and avoided the worn out section of the floor, it was easy for her since her eyes never left the ground. She styled her hair long and it helped to obscure her face quite a bit but Saveta could she wore glasses and was likely much prettier than she thought she was. She wore a grey sweater thick enough that it gave no indication of her body shape. Coupled with demure posture she gave nothing away about herself at all. “Hello,” Saveta said, “welcome to Saveta’s curio shop! I’m the owner so if you need anything just let me know.” The girl nodded and gave a cursory glance to every shelf she passed.

After about fifteen minutes she balled her fists and walked up to Saveta. “Um…excuse me, but…do you maybe have like…a…necklace or…something? It’s ok if you don’t.” She never once made eye contact and Saveta thought she was so cute she almost started petting her. “As a matter of fact I do,” she said, “Just wait right there Alice and I’ll be back in a minute.” After that, she left behind a curtain into a back room. ‘How did she know my name?’ Alice thought. She was internally debating whether to leave or not. Jewelry was so expensive though and maybe this place was a little cheaper. She just wanted to break out of her shell a little and some nice jewelry might be a conversation starter.

Saveta came out of the backroom a second later holding a small box. “I think this particular item will suit you nicely.” She opened the box and pulled out a solid gold chain with a yin-yang symbol attached to it. Alice didn’t understand but her eyes were immediately drawn to it and it was a struggle to look away. “This is a nice little item, it was made in the—” Alice reached up and snatched the necklace from the woman’s hands and wrapped it around her neck. “I’ll take it,” she said taken aback by her boldness. The transaction was simple after that, Alice was shocked that this woman only wanted thirty dollars for it but didn’t ask questions. Saveta walked the girl out and reminded her to come back again soon. When she was out of sight the smile fell from her face and she cursed herself, she absolutely hated that she could only sell an item for whatever the person could afford. Whoever thought up that stupid rule? But she went back to her shop and her mind wandered to that shy girl. ‘She’ll be fine, all the necklace does is draw people to it. As long as she doesn’t give the other half away nothing would go wrong,’ she thought.

Alice was walking back toward her usual haunts when she slammed into a woman coming from the other direction. “What the hell you stupid bitch! Watch where the fuck you’re going!” The woman yelling at her was tall and had dyed platinum blonde hair. She stood on seven-inch heels and her skirt and tube top were barely preserving any what little modesty this woman had left. She removed a new cigarette from her purse and took a long drag from it. “What’s wrong? You looking to score little lady? It’s all yours for a hundred dollars a pop, haha!” she said accentuating her curves with her hands. Alice turned crimson and sat up as quickly as possible and left, walking as briskly as she could. Crystal hated girls like her, stuck up and scared of her own shadow. All the little brat needs it a pipe to suck on and she’d be fine.

She was about to move along and look for a John when she spotted a bit of gold on the ground. She picked up the simple chain and saw a cute looking symbol on it. It kinda looked like a white boob with a black nipple, without a second thought she wrapped the chain around her neck and found she liked the way it nestled into her cleavage. She looked over her shoulder to make sure that mousy bitch wasn’t coming to claim it and went to look for someone to milk her money from, neither one of the women noticed that their halves of the necklace took on a subtle glow.

Alice continued to walk to her favorite hang out at the Tardis bookstore, it was a Tuesday so she was excited to see what new books had released today. It hardly seemed abnormal, but for some reason, Alice had decided to wear her hair back. She walked in and immediately said hello to the manager Donald. Donald had worked at this store for six years and he had seen Alice come in at least three times a week every week and she had never once said hello to him, he absentmindedly waved to her. Alice was feeling an uncharacteristic skip in her step as she perused the shelves for anything that tickled her fancy. It was then that she spotted Tim in the corner checking out the new Thor comics, typical that now Thor is a chick he’s suddenly interested.

She had a thought then, she spent all her money on the necklace but there were quite a few books she wanted that came out today, but Tim always had plenty of scratch with him. She turned her back to him and took off her sweater, releasing her full DD-cups that stretched the fabric of her shirt. It was funny, she always hated wearing revealing clothes before, she just didn’t like the idea of being objectified but now she didn’t seem to mind the idea at all. She sauntered over to Tim holding her little stack and pressed her breasts into his back, “Hey Timmy, you liking your book there?” Tim spun around and was amazed to see Alice dressed like she was, he had never seen her in anything except her sweater but now that he could see her incredible tits he felt his blood rush around his groin. “Um…yeah, it’s uh, its ok. How are you?” Tim waffled. “I’m ok, I guess,” Alice said, her arms clasped behind her as she rotated her chest back and forth for him, “I’m just a little down that I don’t have the money to buy these books here today…”

“R…really? I mean…I could buy them for you, ya know. If that’s ok?” “I don’t know, I’m not sure I could take advantage of you like that Timmy.” “It’s no problem, really. I was thinking of getting some of those too. Who knows? Maybe I could come over and borrow them sometime? Tim said, sweating bullets and too caught up in Alice’s tits to realize he’s just about to pop a hole in his jeans. “Maybe, or you could just come over tonight and let me suck your big cock as a thank you?” Alice had a slight blush on her cheeks, she was so happy she found the courage to be so forward with someone. Tim seemed to lose his balance for a second when she said that and she looked down and saw a small wet patch on the front of his khaki pants. “Y…ye…yeah. That’d be uh cool. I’ll just go and pay for these.” He said avoiding eye contact and grabbing her things for her. She followed him to the register and watched as Donald rang him up. She was about to leave with her ill-gotten gains when she had another idea. She turned around and walked over to Donald and said: “Hey Don, I think I’ve got a fun idea for a job you could give me.”

Crystal felt off ever since that mousy bitch bumped into her. She had no idea how to explain it, she felt like she was showing way, way too much skin and she just felt so anxious. She remembered ladies she read about in books that hooked and she didn’t recall them having to show so much. She liked it when she left the house this morning so why did it bother her now. Her frustration was manifesting itself as fidgeting and she refused to stop much to the annoyance of the other girls. Her hands were alternating between trying to cover her big fake breasts or her bottom and especially her crotch. What made her pick a skirt that was so small? Every single person who walked by took a look at her. Before she enjoyed it but now it was like she could hear every single person's judgments of her. ‘What a slut’, ‘bet she’s cheap’, those clothes are gross’, ‘she’s not pretty enough to be out here’, all of these were playing on repeat in the poor girl's mind as the potential business pasted her by and she thanked God she never got picked. It reminded her of high school when she prayed that the teacher wouldn’t call on her to give the presentation that she never did.

But a moment before she could no longer take it and left, a car pulled up beside her and a man rolled down the window. “Evening, are you…uh, are you free tonight?” Crystal froze, she was paralyzed with anxiety but reflex kicked in and she shakily nodded her head. He looked at her and asked, “Is this your first time working?” Crystal didn’t want to tell him that she was a pro who had the yips or whatever was going on so she just went with it and continued to nod her head. “Ha, me too. So, would you like to come in?” Crystal said nothing and just operated on autopilot as she walked like a zombie around to the other side of the man’s car. Her eyes never strayed from facing forward as she sat next to him. He whole body trembled and she tried will herself to discuss her fee, but no words at all seemed to come from her. “Are you nervous?” He said, his voice was filled with genuine concern. “My name is Michael, what’s yours?” Crystal tried to swallow her anxiety as best she could and she managed to weakly croak out “C…c…crystal.”

Michael made no move to touch the nervous woman, he wasn’t even sure what to do himself. He had never paid for sex before but the loneliness had gotten to him and desperate times and all that. The humanitarian in him though compelled him to help this poor girl. “You know, I don’t really think I need…uh, your services right now. But how about I take you to dinner? My treat of course.” Crystal had never met a John that was so nice, she couldn’t take advantage but she was still too nervous to speak and before she could find the words they were off to a really nice street side restaurant.

Three months later…

Crystal walked down the street in her thick fleece coat and her skirt fell to about halfway down her calfs. She was still way too nervous to make eye contact with anyone and bumped into a few people, but thanks to her new boyfriend Michael she was making a lot of progress. She was very happy he liked her but all the self-doubt and insecurity never seemed to leave her. She was walking past a bookshop when a wall of people blocked her path. The bookstore was overcrowded and a line was trying to form on the street. She was too timid to try and make her way through so she merely waited until an opening was made. She looked into the store and saw what all the fuss was about. There was one of those cosplay girls in there and it looked like she was signing autographs or posing for pictures or something.

She looked almost familiar but her costume mad it had to tell. She wore a blood red singlet and some kind of armor on her arms and legs. The singlet was really tight and it made her boobs look really huge and it looked like it ran all the way in between her butt cheeks, making her look almost naked with how flushed it was to her skin. She turned to face the window and Crystal turned red as she saw the incredibly obvious camel toe the girl had. Space had finally opened for her and she darted past the crowd. She remembered when she wore revealing clothes like that without crying, she wished she was as confident as that girl.

The end. Hope Y'all like it!

#personality swap #mental change #request #submission

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londone-fog · 6 years

Text

Friday, Never Hesitate- Reddie Soulmate AU

AO3 Link

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

The next day, his mother told him to swallow a new pill. Oblong, slightly pink in color. It was bitter on his tongue, and he didn’t like it. The back pain went away after a couple of days.

But his Mama told him to keep taking them.

He didn’t want to upset her.

Chapter Four- Tuesday

Eddie hated chemistry. He hated it with every fibre of his being. Richie didn’t exactly make it easy on him either. He sat next to him in class, tapping his fingers against the edge of his desk, the repetitive noises drilling into his skull. He simply couldn’t focus. The teacher kept on droning and droning, and Eddie felt like his brain was going to explode. He ran his finger around the outline of his inhaler in his pocket, trying in vain yet again to focus on this class. Eventually, he leaned over to Richie, teeth gritted.

“If you don’t stop tapping your desk, I’m gonna shove my foot up your ass.”

“That a promise?” Eddie groaned in frustration, drawing the attention of the teacher.

“Mr. Kasprak, may I help you with something?” he asked, tone condescending in every sense of the word.

“No Sir,” Eddie murmured, looking down into his lap. Embarrassment burned hot under his cheeks, anger at Richie swelling in his chest.

“Now, starting with tomorrow, be will be talking about soulmates and how chemistry can be applied to them. How it plays a part in soulmarks and everything.” The bell rang just as he finished his statement, and dread couldn’t help but build up in Eddie’s gut. He hated it anytime anyone in his class would bring up the subject of soulmates. But that seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about, the only thing songs on the radio sang about, the only thing that showed up on movies and TV.

It was just a reminder that, even at 17, Eddie still had no soulmark, and by extension, no soulmate.

Richie jogged up next to Eddie as he exited the classroom, grin in place and hands fiddling with the straps of his backpack.

“What’s got you in such a tizz, Eds? That was pretty damn funny, if I do say so myself.”

Eddie mumbled a response, thoroughly agitated. Richie’s demeanor changed a little, his bravado halting and assessing the situation. He leaned a bit closer to Eddie so only he can hear.

“Is your back bothering you?”

Of course it was. It always was these days. The dull itch from his childhood had begun to morph into a low burn as he grew older, aching and raw at all hours of the night and day.

“I guess. I just feel like shit.” Richie nodded, deep in thought.

“Let’s go to lunch, yeah? I know I could use a pick me up.” Eddie nodded, allowing himself to be led outside to Richie’s car.

Richie’s car was truly something to behold. Bright orange, paint peeling from being exposed to the sun for too long. The pair climbed into the rickety vehicle, Eddie trying to ignore the flaps of seat upholstery that had peeled up and now poked at his legs. He didn’t want to imagine the amount of people who’d owned this car before Riche, or even the type of people they had been. Richie started the car, engine coughing to life and radio blaring whichever cassette they’d been listening to this morning.

Richie loved cassettes, and records, and just music in general. Eddie had boxes upon boxes of tapes his friends had made him over the years. Bev sent them from Portland, and she came up to visit them on holidays and for some time during the summer, always bringing tapes for the members of the loser’s club. Mike had only ever made one, Ben had made a few offhandedly, Bill a few more. But most were from Richie. Slipped into lockers, mailboxes, thrown through open windows, tossed into laps.

Thought you might like this.

And Eddie listened to them diligently, drowning out his mother’s cries and day-time TV with the loud drum crashes and guitar solos that Richie loved so much. It was all a little too harsh, but it stopped Eddie from thinking too hard while his headphones slipped over his ears.

Richie carefully maneuvered out of the parking lot, obviously being more safety conscious for Eddie’s sake.

“So what’s got your goat? You seem like something’s bothering you.”

Eddie brings his knees to his chest, scuffed shoes resting on the dashboard. He balls his hands in the hem of his sweatshirt, running his thumb along the seam.

“I just hate it when they bring up soulmates in class. It doesn’t even have to do with anything. You don’t need another person to make you happy.”

Richie gave a concerned sort of smile.

“I know that, Eds. Trust me, if anyone even has a little understanding of what you mean, it’s me.”

Eddie nodded. Richie’s mark was still just barely a whisper of a thing. There had been a few nights that he’d crawled through Eddie’s window in tears, fearing for whoever his soulmate was.

“I just wish there was something I could do. I’m the outlier. The .1% left on a hand sanitizer bottle. I’m tired of it.”

“I know Spaghetti Head, but think of it this way. At least you won’t be one of those ninnies who thinks their soulmate is the one and only person they need. You have friends who care about you, and that lovely mother of yours.” Eddie refrained from commenting on that last part. “What more could a guy want?”

“To not be ostracized in front of my peers.” Eddie murmured tersely. Richie gave another anxious sort of smile, patting Eddie on the kneecap. For once, he seemed to be at a loss of what to say.

Eddie once again sat in class, trying his best not to drift off into a deep sleep. Sure enough, his teacher kept true to his word. The board was filled with the chemical application of soulmates, from how the marks showed up to how the attraction of soulmates was unlike normal attraction. Eddie’s notebook remained empty. He was either uninterested, or already knew what the teacher would say.

He looked over at Richie, who for once took diligent record of the teacher’s lecture. He glanced back at Eddie, giving him the OK symbol with his fingers and raising an eyebrow. Eddie gave a sideways thumbs up. Richie grinned at him, attempting to elicit a smile.

It didn’t quite work.

Eddie thought back to the day he told his mother he didn’t have a soulmark. He’d been about nine years old then, sitting at the dining room table across from her, silent.

“Mama,” he said, oh so quietly. “Why don’t I have a soulmark yet? Everyone else in my class has theirs. They have for a long time.”

She paused, a thousand emotions running over her face.

“Well, sweetheart, you might not have a soulmate.”

“Oh.” The bottom of Eddie’s stomach dropped out of his feet.

“It’ll be alright. You don’t need a soulmate. You have me. A mother is better than any soulmate you could ever find. Eat your brussels sprouts.”

“Yes Mama.”

That night, he’d slunk up to his room, trying hard to ignore the irritated skin between his shoulders. He didn’t cry, too wracked with sorrow to let even an iota escape him. In that moment, he wished desperately that Richie was his soulmate. He was rowdy and sometimes annoying, but he was always at Eddie’s side when he needed help. He stopped people bullying him. He would be soft and understanding when the situation called for just that. They were best friends.

Eddie looked at Richie now. He still sometimes wished for just that.

“Mr. Kaspbrak.” Eddie jolted in his seat, facing the front again. The teacher stood, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed.

“Since you seem to know everything about this unit, would you mind telling us what exactly animoprophen is and what it does?”

Eddie burned hot, anger bubbling under his skin. But, the word was familiar. It was a drug, one sitting in his medicine cabinet at home. One he took every single day since he was seven.

“Animoprophen is a drug, sir. It helps ease back pain.”

“Only half right, Mr. Kaspbrak. It is a drug, but it isn’t for back pain. Not even close.”

Eddie’s fists balled themselves up, his frustration finally spilling over the edge.

“Excuse me, Mr. Green, I don’t think that’s right. I’ve taken that drug everyday since I was seven. I was prescribed it for back pain.”

“Will someone please tell Mr. Kaspbrak what exactly animoprophen is for?”

A girl in the back raised her hand.

“Animoprophen is a drug given to people with dead soulmates. It makes the mark go away so they are at less risk of depression.”

“Thank you, Cynthia. You must be confusing it with another drug, Edward.”

Eddie knew he wasn’t. People around the classroom did not make their chuckles and whispers a secret, talking behind hands and glancing his way. He could feel his airways closing, breathing growing rapid, fingers becoming numb with static.

The bell finally rang, releasing him from this absolute nightmare. He sprang from his seat, racing into the hallway. He needed to go home, he was going to be sick, he was going to die.

He took mighty puffs from his inhaler, one after another.

One.

Two.

Three.

He didn’t stop. Not even when he heard Richie calling to him from the hallway.

Eddie lay in bed that night, examining the pill bottle he’d palmed from the cabinet an hour ago. The light from his lamp shine through the yellowish plastic, turning the pink pills within a sort of orange color. His mom’s name was printed on the bottle. How had he never noticed before? All his other medicine had his name printed on the label. But not this one. Not this fucking one.

He’d run to the pharmacy immediately after chemistry, not waiting up for Richie to give him a ride. Panting, he slammed his palm flat against the counter, drawing the attention of the pharmacist.

“I need you to tell me something,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong Eddie. Out of your inhaler?”

“No. I have a question about animoprophen.”

The color quickly drained out of the older man’s face.

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

“My mother told me that it was for back pain. Back pain I’ve had since I was seven. But I was just told in my class just now that it’s to get rid of soulmarks? Explain.”

The pharmacist swallowed, obviously nervous.

“Yes, they are for soulmarks. They’re prescribed to your mother.”

“What about the other medication? is it even real? Am I taking things I don’t need?”

A pregnant pause swelled before them.

“They’re all placebos. Sugar pills. They don’t affect you at all. Except the animoprophen.” The pharmacist then looked above Eddie’s head at someone entering the store. Eddie turned to see Richie standing there, breathing a little heavily.

“Thanks. For everything,” Eddie said, turning back to the man before him. His words were sharper than an obsidian scalpel. He waited a beat before pushing a small display of brochures to the floor and turning to meet Richie.

“Let’s go.”

Eddie hadn’t confronted his mother yet. Every time he thought he might be able to, he couldn’t. It was his mother. How could she?

A loud thud sounded against his window, followed by muffled cursing. Eddie looked out to see none other than Richie. He also noticed a small crack in his window from the rock Richie has thrown. He lifted the pane, looking at his best friend.

“You’re going to break my window one of these days, Trashmouth.”

“Only if you break my heart first,” he crooned in a sing-song voice. Eddie smirked before racing downstairs to let Richie in, not caring that his mother lay sleeping in her chair.

Once they are safe in Eddie’s room, Richie released a barrage of questions.

“Okay, what happened at the pharmacy? You ran out of class, and so I followed you, and I find you going all bad cop in the drug store. And the amino-whatever? What’s that all about?”

Eddie let the confusion wash over him, again picking up the plastic bottle and running his thumb over the label.

“Animoprophen. It’s a drug used to get rid of soulmarks after your soulmate dies.” He holds up the bottle. “This is prescribed to my mom. She’s been giving it to me since I was seven.” He pulls his inhaler out of his pocket, throwing it across his room in anger. “All my medication is bullshit, Richie. It was never real. She’s been lying to me for nearly ten years. Ten years! That’s more than half of my life!”

Richie didn’t say anything, just rubbed small circles between his shoulders. Eddie leaned into the touch, grateful for the comforting touch.

“What are you gonna do, Eddie?”

“I dunno. Being in the same house as her makes me feel sick. Thinking about everything makes me sick.” He pauses. “I think she’s the fault I never got my mark. I think that medicine stopped it from coming in. It’s her fault. I have a soul mate out there who I might never find, because of her.”

Eddie was a gutted fish, a shattered window, a knife cut, a tornado, a raindrop. Open. Changed. Irreparably broken.

He did not cry.

Richie reached over and wrapped him in a rare embrace, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. I feel like I should do something, but I can’t. I haven’t felt this powerless since we fought It.”

He pulled away, placing Eddie’s hands in his. He traced the scar on his palm, running his thumb over the raised skin.

“Do you want to stay at my house tonight? My parents won’t be there,” Richie asked quietly, and Eddie though he could sense just a little shyness in his tone.

“I dunno. My ma…”

“She shouldn’t control you anymore. Not after what she did. If you want to go, let's go.”

Eddie nodded.

As they walked down the stairs, Eddie felt his life moving in slow motion. He didn’t avoid the third step. His mother stirred, demanding to know what Richie was doing there, where they were going. She tried to stop them, opening her mouth to yell.

“Mom, I know that you did,” he says plainly, placing the animoprophen in her hand. “I’m going to stay at Richie’s house tonight.”

And just like that, calm as the eye of a hurricane, he walked out the door towards Richie’s car.

ANNOUNCEMENT: So, my amazing friend, who’s read this fic from the start, is turning it into a comic! Please go check her out at @sekiims

Taglist: @anniewdoodles

#my writing #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #It (2017)#friday never hesitate

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builder051 · 6 years

Text

Jax Beach story arc part 1 (AKA we need to introduce Troy)

So… I wasn’t going to put this up until I finished the Mike& Co arc, but I couldn’t help myself. And @plotmatsu told me this was a good idea :)

If you have any prompts for Troy, I’d love to play with his character a little more.

_____

Troy drums his fingers on the bar and looks down into the melting ice at the bottom of his glass. He should probably drop a couple dollars beside his napkin and just go home. No one’s come to sit beside him tonight, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was a bit of a relief, though. He doesn’t feel like he’s much of a conversationalist tonight. He pulls his jacket closer around his shoulders and fights off a shiver.

Troy shifts to pull out his wallet. He doesn’t have any singles, so he takes a five and folds it between his fingers. It’s a big tip for just a ginger ale, but his head hurts too much for him to care.

“No hot date tonight?”

Troy looks up. A dark-haired young man leans against the counter. He hands the bartender his empty glass and nods to the vacant chair between them. “I see you here sometimes, and it seems like you’ve always got a cute girl with you.”

“Oh,” Troy says, blushing. “Well, yeah. I guess that is how it probably looks.”

“Looks?” the other guy asks, tilting his head. “That’s not how it is?”

“They’re not dates.” Troy flattens the bill under his palm. “I just like talking to people.”

“I bet people line up to talk to you.” He raises his eyebrows at Troy, but quickly looks away to accept his refilled beer.

Troy laughs. “Well… I don’t know about that.” He wishes he could think of something witty to say back, but even taking the compliment is a challenge. He’s starting to feel feverish; his brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. And something about this boy is making him all the more tongue-tied.

“But no girls tonight,” the dark-haired boy observes.

“Not tonight,” Troy echoes.

“Yeah, me either.” He takes a sip of his drink and gestures again to the empty chair. “Mind if I take this seat?”

“No, not at all,” Troy says. “Don’t know it I’m such good company tonight, though.” He instinctively pushes his stump arm into his pocket. He doesn’t like the habit, but it’s better than letting it become a conversation starter.

“Why? What’s wrong? I’m Mark, by the way.” The boy sits and props himself on one elbow.

“Troy. It’s good to meet you.” The eye contact comes too easily, and it carries on too long. Troy drops his gaze back to the ice in his glass.

“Can I get you another one?” Mark asks. “What’re you drinking?”

“Um. Ginger ale,” Troy admits. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Mark raises his eyebrows again. He laughs, and a dimple appears above the corner of his mouth. “And you hang out here on Friday nights?”

“I still like a good time,” Troy says. His head throbs. “Well, most of the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s going on? Hard day at the office?” Mark waves the bartender over and points to Troy’s glass.

“No, it was fine,” Troy says. He tucks his hair behind his ear. “Just kind of wiped out.” The hard chair is making his back ache. He should’ve gone home an hour ago. It would’ve been easy to say sorry, I’m on my way out when Mark had asked to sit down. But something about him keeps Troy glued to the uncomfortable seat.

The bartender slides a fresh soda in front of Troy.

“You want some cherries in that or something?” Mark asks. “It looks too plain for Friday night.”

“No, thank you. I don’t really like cherries,” Troy says. “Plain is kind of what I’m all about.”

“Really?” Mark’s eyes widen. “Man, I’d die without spice and variety.” He laughs and shakes his head. “So I guess you don’t observe taco Tuesday?”

“No.” Troy smiles too, though he’s not sure why.

“Oh, man, you are missing out!” Mark sits up straighter. “There’s this place right across from my office, Federico’s. Even if you don’t like spicy, it’s so good. Even the quesadillas. I don’t think anybody on earth makes them as good, except maybe my mom.”

“Hm.” Troy takes a sip of his ginger ale. Maybe it’s just the talk of food, but his stomach is beginning to feel as bad as his head. Troy pulls his stump out of his pocket and wraps his arm around his middle. He fights to keep a smile on his face. He really is starting to have a good time.

“I’m probably talking too much,” Mark says, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

“Uh…” Truth is, Troy doesn’t eat out much. But his head is suddenly floating, and his throat constricts against an onslaught of nausea. He knows better than to think he can fight it down, and embarrassing himself in front of Mark is not on his agenda. “Excuse me for a minute,” Troy mutters. He pushes his chair back and hurries toward the bathroom.

He locks himself in a stall and leans over the toilet, holding his hair back with his hand and still hugging his stomach with his stump. Troy gags harshly, but nothing comes up. “Dammit.”

He heaves again, and finally a dribble of fluid comes up. The sweetness of ginger ale mixes with the bitterness of bile, and the taste makes him retch. More splashes into the toilet, but it does nothing to calm the storm in his stomach.

“Troy? You ok, man?” It’s Mark’s voice, and the pair of docksides visible under the cubicle’s wall have to mean he’s hovering, probably concerned.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Troy manages. He can almost breathe again, though he’s not sure if he’s finished being sick.

“You sure?”

“I’m good. I’ll be right out.” Troy hiccups and quickly claps his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

“Ok.” Mark sounds doubtful, and his shoes go back and forth across the bathroom once before he leaves.

I’ll be right out. Why did he say that? If he goes back and sits down, things are only going to be uncomfortable. Troy’s already told him he doesn’t drink, so he can’t play it off as having had a little too much. Of course this had to happen tonight, when he’d been talking to someone so cute, so funny…

Troy spits into the toilet. It probably wouldn’t’ve worked out anyway. As intriguing as Mark is, he’s too different. Bold and energetic. Too far from Troy’s simple, comfortable life. And if Mark really got to know him, he wouldn’t like him. Troy wipes his mouth with a wad of toilet paper and steels himself up to excuse himself and head home.

The lights over the bar seem brighter than they were a few minutes ago. Or maybe his head just hurts that much worse. “Hey,” Troy says, coming back up to his seat. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m gonna head home now.”

Mark nods. “You need a ride?”

“No, thanks, I think I can manage.”

“You got a bug or something?”

“Maybe,” Troy says. “I just feel kind of…rough.”

“Some rest will do you good.” Mark pushes a to-go cup forward. “I had them put your drink in this. More plain soda will probably do you good too.”

“Thank you.” Troy reaches out to take it, but the outside of the cup is damp with condensation, and it nearly falls from his grip. He reflexively pulls his stump arm from his pocket and catches the drink before it slips completely.

“You got it ok?” Mark asks.

Troy does, but he doesn’t trust himself to hold it steady in his singular shaking hand. He nods, avoiding Mark’s eye. He’s suddenly apathetic. Exhausted. He’s not self-conscious about being an amputee anymore, but it doesn’t make situations like this any easier.

He waits for Mark to say something, but he doesn’t. So Troy murmurs, “Yeah. Thanks.” He wishes his voice wasn’t so weak. “Sorry for messing up your evening.”

“Oh no, no problem,” Mark says quickly. “Actually.” He stops to take a breath. “I was gonna try to be sneaky and write my number on a napkin or something, but that would give you something else to pick up and keep track of…” Mark’s voice goes up at the end of his statement, like he’s not sure his joke is working out. “So maybe it would be better if I just…put it in your phone?”

Troy swallows. “How about I give you mine. And you can send me a text?”

#Troy DeHaven #mark acosta #jax beach crowd #my ocs #oc fic #oc fiction #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #new ocs

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