#trans caretaker | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pigeonwhumps · 4 months

Text

Christmas

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

In medical training, Aaron tries to protect Joseph in what's possibly the worst way. Joseph is not happy.

Joseph belongs to @i-eat-worlds. Mention of the Pride Knights playing cards by @/prideknights.

2.9k

CWs: burns, power blocking, brief mention of past transphobia, fake medical stuff, emeto, past minor whump

It's Christmas Eve when Aaron finally finds the cuffs.

He's cleaning out an old storage cupboard in the HAL training centre, because someone needs to do it and also because he has his suspicions, and lo and behold there they are. The cuffs they need.

Their powers are getting stronger the more they use them, and they can't, they won't, hurt Joseph. They need to use their healing powers. But it's the Christmas holidays and he doesn't need his electrokinesis anyway.

He finishes the cupboard hurriedly and puts the cuffs in a pocket. He needs to find a bathroom, and there's one just down the corridor, which he barricades himself inside.

They pull out the cuffs with trembling hands and sit down on the toilet, trying to steady themself. They need to do this. It's the only way to stop them hurting Joseph.

But that doesn't mean it's going to be pleasant. It's not just the cuffs themselves, it's the memories, the staff with cold eyes boring into him, implacable as he asked them not to do this, not to make him so cold and burning and empty and hurting.

They seem to be moving in slow motion. The first one isn't too bad on its own. It makes them shiver, but it's okay. They can handle it easily, they're used to that feeling.

And then they snap the second one shut around their other wrist.

They feel empty all of a sudden. Something's gone, something integral, something that's been a part of them for so long they don't really know how to be without it. It's been years since they left school, after all.

The good thing about an oversized Christmas jumper is that it hides the cuffs when they pull the sleeves down, and they do so, hoping Joseph doesn't get suspicious. He shouldn't.

He almost falls over as he stands up. Woah. Did his balance really used to go like that when he wore the cuffs before? His stomach churns.

Back they go, back to the flat they share with Joseph. The world seems duller and more overwhelming at the same time, now, and the emptiness is turning into an aching burn.

He enters the largish studio flat, where Joseph's already sorting out his own bed. He turns around and smiles when he sees who it is.

"Thought you weren't coming. I've made you hot chocolate. It's still warm and everything."

"Thank you." Aaron's not sure he's up to drinking it right now but he takes the mug anyway, dropping onto the bed and warming his suddenly-cold hands on it.

Joseph frowns. "Are you okay?"

"Just a little tired. Cleaning that cupboard was really boring," Aaron lies.

Well. It's not quite a lie. The cupboard was boring. But most of the problem is the cuffs sapping his energy.

"Happy Christmas Eve. Did you want to play those games?"

"Yes, but not if you're not feeling great." Joseph's brow is crinkled in concern, and it occurs to Aaron that maybe he doesn't entirely believe them.

"I want to. Might make me feel better anyway."

"Knew it." Joseph pulls a colourful box off the shelf and holds it up. "Snakes and Ladders to warm up?"

"Sure, why not."

Aaron falls asleep as Joseph is preparing their third game of Cards Against Humanity. Just conks out right on the floor.

His dreams are confusing and strange, nightmarish in a way that makes him jerk awake, heart pounding, never wanting to sleep again.

Wait. Didn't he fall asleep on the floor? That's the last thing he remembers. What's he doing tucked up in bed?

Oh. Oh fuck. Did Joseph see? Did he–

No. No. They're still wearing their jumper. That makes it very unlikely. They hope, anyway.

They turn, looking over at Joseph, and a wave of nausea washes over them. They throw themself out of bed and dash to the bathroom, leaning over the sink to splash cold water over their face.

Oh god. Oh god. They feel cold, and hot, and hollow, and burning, burning, burning, nauseous but they can't throw up.

They press their forehead against the cold white ceramic of the sink. Their wrists. Their wrists. Surely a small break would be okay? They don't know what time it is but it's got to be early, Joseph isn't awake. Just five minutes.

Luckily the cuffs aren't locked, because his hands are shaking and he'd never unlock them without help.

He shoves them in his pocket.

His insides warm, filling with that intrisic part of him that was previously blocked, and... and the nausea's unlocked too.

He bends over the sink, retching, vomiting up what little's in his stomach until he's dry-retching. It feels like an eternity until he's able to stop.

"I didn't realise you were this ill," says a quiet voice behind them. They spin around and wobble, falling into the person's arms.

Pale skin... short brown hair... strong arms...

"Joseph?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"Mmm. I'll fetch you some clean clothes. Do you want to clean yourself up a bit?"

Now Joseph mentions it, he notices the clammy stickiness everywhere. He nods.

"I'll be right back."

Aaron doesn't think he has the strength to stand in the shower. He wets a flannel with blissfully cold water and presses it to his forehead.

Oh. Oh, that's so much better. He wipes the rest of his body carefully, trying to ignore the pain in his wrists as he touches them. It's... nice, to cool down like this.

There's a knock at the door, and Aaron wraps a towel around himself before opening it. Joseph's left a pair of pyjamas outside, soft and short sleeved, with a fleece-lined jumper and underwear. Aaron picks them up, shuts the door again and puts them on.

That's better. They feel more like a person again now.

Whoever put them on their bed last night (because they're lucid and awake enough now to realise it must've been a person, probably Joseph) was thoughtful enough to put their hair in a silk wrap. So it's probably not too bad. They put their glasses on and blink a few times as everything becomes clearer.

Joseph is waiting to one side of the bathroom, unnoticed earlier, and gives Aaron a small smile.

"Feeling any better?"

Aaron nods. His head swims. Best not to do that for a while then.

"How did you find me?"

Joseph shrugs. "You'd vanished. You were ill last night, and the door was unlocked, the sounds of vomiting inside. It wasn't hard to deduce. Like you'd be up and about yet anyway, unless it was an emergency. Merry Christmas, I guess."

"Merry Christmas."

Joseph hands Aaron a tablet and a glass of squash. "Something to settle your stomach, and squash to take away the taste."

"Thanks."

"It's no problem, honestly." Aaron slumps back on his bed, noticing vaguely that Joseph seems to have changed the sheets and why is he so thoughtful anyway? It's warm in here, and they absently roll up their sleeves. "You're my friend, and ill. I'd be a poor medic if I didn't help. I have a present if you're up to opening it, let me just put this on your forehead, and– are those fresh burns on your wrists?"

Joseph says the last part with such force that Aaron flinches, rolling down his jumper hurriedly as if by doing that he can make Joseph forget the evidence of his lack of stamina. He shakes his head. Joseph raises an eyebrow. He looks away, ashamed.

"Dammit, Aaron. What the hell did you do with the cuffs?"

"Trouser pocket," he murmurs, biting his lip. Joseph picks them up and digs around until he finds them, then throws them across the room in disgust.

"Where did you even get them?"

"Old storage cupboard."

Joseph nods, looking unhappy. "Makes sense. But they should've got rid of them all years ago, the effects are well-known." He fetches the first aid kit, spreading it out on the bed. "Give me your wrist."

Aaron holds one out, and Joseph starts wrapping a clean bandage around it. After a moment, he says quietly, "Why?"

"My powers have been getting stronger. And the stronger they are, the more likely they are to get out of control, and I don't want to hurt you. These are the only things that make it better, and I– I don't care if it hurts, if it makes me feel ill, I don't care, as long as you're safe."

"They are not the only thing that works."

"But in school–"

"In school you were an untrained kid, and the staff slapped cuffs on you because they didn't care and didn't want to bother with referring you for training or anything else that might've actually helped," says Joseph tightly. "You do not need to severely injure yourself to control your powers. Other wrist."

Aaron holds it out. "What else is there?"

"Training. You've already had some. They're like a muscle, and now you're using your powers they'll be easier to control anyway. Please, Aaron. I don't want you getting permanent damage on my behalf, from something you don't even need. The cuffs have probably already made your control worse, from the excessive childhood use."

"What– how do you know–"

"Pat," Joseph says, simply but sadly. "Also, in the last chapter of our textbook it talks about the dangers. Must be a recent addition."

Aaron swallows. "Can you... will you read it to me?" They don't think they can do that themself right now.

"Sure."

Aaron slumps back as Joseph fetches his textbook. The burns hurt. The bandages aren't tight but even so.

He still thinks the cuffs would've been safer.

"Okay. Here we go. Ready?" Aaron nods. "Right. Power-restricting cuffs are a traditional way of blocking a patient's powers if they reach a point where they're dangerous to themself or others, however recent research has changed academic views on that. Most doctors believe that they should no longer be used in any circumstances due to the effects. In the short-term, these can include burns, nausea, fever, fatigue, seizures, overwhelm, and a feeling of emptiness and dullness. Long-term usage can cause these same effects to be exaggerated into chronic illnesses or disabilities even when the cuffs are removed, as well as mental illnesses such as depression, and making the patient's powers less predictable and harder to control.

"The effects of the cuffs varies based on the root of the patient's powers. For example... hang on... ah, here. For example, humourous-based powers, most commonly exhibited in healing form, are more likely to cause fevers and confusion, whereas... nosebleeds and severe burns are more likely to be caused by energy-based powers. For all patients, the higher the strength of their powers, the worse the effects of the cuffs."

"Wait."

Aaron pushes himself up and rubs his eyes. Joseph frowns.

"Yeah?"

"Stop. Stop. I can barely understand a word."

"Confusion's still getting to you then. Shall we do presents and Christmas pizza, and you can try again later if you like? Or another day, if you promise not to try and use the cuffs."

"Promise."

Aaron reaches under the bed to pull out their presents and almost throws up again. Joseph hauls them back upright and shoves one of those cardboard hat-like things under their mouth.

"'m okay. But thanks. Sorry for ruining Christmas."

"You haven't, I promise." Aaron makes a sceptical noise, and Joseph finishes ordering their planned pizza order (it's a lot) before chucking his phone down and coming over, two presents in hand. "I promise. And I always mean my promises." He brushes against Aaron's wrist as he sits down and they wince. His face turns a little harder. "Could you write me a list of everyone who made you think the cuffs were the best and only option? For academic purposes."

Aaron coughs out a laugh. "There's a lot of them. Anyway, it's okay, we settled in the court case. That's how I manage to afford half the things I do, and how I got in here – I didn't pass by nearly enough but they saw that, I think. It's fine. It's over now. You don't have to do whatever you were planning, they had consequences anyway." And they still don't think they were wrong to use the cuffs, but that's an argument for another day.

"It might be over, but it's not okay. It should never have happened in the first place. You were just a child."

Aaron swallows. He needed the cuffs, but it's true, to an extent. They were a child who no-one ever explained anything to. And there was discrimination going on, they know it, or they wouldn't have ended up sharing with Sophia (not that they disliked that specific effect exactly, but she is a girl and the dorms were meant to be single sex).

He still needs the cuffs, though.

"Presents?"

"Sure. Two each, perfect. We'll alternate."

Aaron passes a present over before Joseph can object. "Merry Christmas."

It's a fairly thin rectangle with a small square on top, and Joseph peels the tape off curiously.

Once he sees what it is, he looks up at Aaron, grinning, eyes bright and shining. "How did you know?"

"I saw you looking at the Kickstarter. You looked sort of sad that you couldn't afford them, and I still have settlement money left, so I thought why not?"

"And you– you got me a framed print of the trans card. Thank you."

"Well. I mean. Queer playing cards are nicer to play with than ordinary ones, right?"

"Right." He wipes his eyes. "You're making me feel outdone."

"I'm sure you're not." They take the large, light, lumpy package and tear off the paper.

It's a very large, very fluffy, deep blue blanket. Aaron wraps it tightly around himself, hugging it. It's so soft.

"I take it you like it then?"

Aaron nods, then remembers why he wasn't doing that as their head swims. "Thank you. I... you'll need to pick yours up."

"Okay." He frowns a little at Aaron and opens the parcel carefully. "It's... Aaron, oh my god." His laughter is a little choked. "This is... I didn't know these even existed."

"Is it okay? I was worried it might be a bit insensitive, but you were a bit insecure and I thought– maybe..."

"It's perfect. You're perfect. At buying presents, I mean. I... Aaron, I love it."

A weight lifts from Aaron's chest. They were very worried Joseph would find a toy testosterone hormone bad taste, because just because Aaron's trans and would like it doesn't mean Joseph's the same, but it turns out the worry was for nothing.

"You're way better at buying presents than I am, but here you go."

Inside the paper is a mug that changes when the temperature changes. According to the outside of the box, a TARDIS appears in the starry sky pattern when it's hot. And it's glow-in-the-dark too.

He opens the box, more careful than with the wrapping paper.

Joseph appears to have carefully unsealed the box, placed a marshmallow-filled hot chocolate bomb inside the mug, and resealed it. It's impressive. He smiles.

"Thank you. I'm going to try it out."

"Yeah, but you're going to let me make it. I'll get you a chair and you can watch the hot chocolate bomb melt."

Aaron nods, letting Joseph help him over to the countertop. They very rarely actually sit here, so a chair has to be fetched (and they rarely sit in those, either).

"Why is it so much worse today?" murmurs Aaron, as Joseph heats the milk. "It wasn't so bad when I was a kid."

Joseph's knuckles go white on the handle of the mug. "You hadn't used your powers so much then, I think. They've grown as you've used them, and so has the severity of the cuffs' side effects. At least you're not bad enough to have seizures. Right?"

"Right."

"I'm going to give them to a friend to destroy later. Please don't go looking for a new pair and hurt yourself further."

Aaron's not sure how to answer, watching the hot chocolate bomb bubble and melt instead. The mini marshmallows look very tasty. He's not going to have whipped cream today, he doesn't think.

"Aaron. Promise me."

"I promise."

Joseph nods firmly. "You'd better stick to that."

Afterwards, they eat most of the Christmas pizza order sprawled out on cushions and duvets on the floor, and play a few card games with Joseph's new cards (the present wasn't entirely selfless). Then Joseph boots up his laptop and they both climb onto his bed, Aaron wrapping their new blanket around Joseph too.

"Since you're hurt, you get first choice."

"The Muppet's Christmas Carol?" asks Aaron hopefully. He's in the mood for a light-hearted musical. Which is odd when the original isn't at all.

"Sure," smiles Joseph, loading it. Aaron leans on his shoulder to watch.

They make it as far as the Marley song, both of them singing along, before their eyes start to droop. They try to open them again but they just can't.

The last thing they hear before drifting off is Joseph's low chuckle.

#whump #whump writing #immortal cannon fodder #phoenix oc #joseph not my oc #whumpee and caretaker #trans whumpee #trans caretaker #protective caretaker #christmas

14 notes · View notes

alittlemxchievous · 4 months

Text

One of my favorite things to do is scam bait all the fake sugar daddies that message me. @bigdadablog was my most recent victim. I would happily accept a real sugar mommy or daddy or caretaker, but I will always waste the time of scammers.

#scam baiting #scammers #scam #suger daddy #suger daddy scam #suger baby #sugar mommy #sugar caretaker #trans #trans swer #transfem

61 notes · View notes

larrythefloridaman · 5 months

Text

WOAH, HE'S BIGENDER? I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!

#hey. hey. im just saying. he LITERALLY 'transed his gender' in a diagetic bit in orange. and if that wasnt enough.#in blue he disguised himself as squid jenny specifically with larry's powers (the only thing hes done with them on screen)#got caught by his god-assigned roles-obsessed caretaker. and was given the label of being something intrinsically unescapably deceitful.#while 'pretending' to be trans girl.#like. if i wasnt pretty sure it was all an accident i might even call the allegory here slightly heavy-handed.#with the nccts emphasizing a theme of 'youre not just what people say you are #you can be more than one thing at the same time' with crim #i think crimson can have boygirl swag. some bigender pizzazz. i think he deserves it.#is it REALLY a cpu kerfuffle arc without a subversive narratively relevant gender-transing.#am i supposed to believe the spirit of deviance himself is cis? get fucking real. grow up. /silly #also a lil crimtoinette in there. just for flavor. because i cant help myself.#also sidenote the nccts have given him this cute lil tendency #to tip his hat down to hide his face when hes trying to be Genuine or Thoughtful or Poignant. and i enjoy that little touch #i maybe like this guy a little too much. hes most of what ive drawn for months.#but what do you want from me. i read him as a queercoded villain deconstructed at the metanarrative level.#am i just supposed to be normal about that.#me and zia talked about this in dms and discovered. we came to a lot of the same conclusions. completely independently. lmao

41 notes · View notes

adhdslugcrimes · 1 year

Text

Dick: I think I'm coming down with something, I've been feeling nauseous all day.

Wally: or your pregnant.

Dick:

Wally:

Dick: I don't know who's the idiot here, you suggested us, a t4t couple, got pregnant or me having a heart attack forgetting you are a trans man with me for a second.

#dick grayson #wally west #birdflash #the struggle of t4t relationship when you forgot your partner is no amab #he just got sick from biding in the hot sun #wally the caretaker to the rescue #but also wally just forgot he's not cis either #making birdflash trans Bec I'm trans #this is my comfort ship I'll do whatever i want with them #that's making them trans and autistic/adhd

182 notes · View notes

whumble-beeee · 3 months

Text

A New Enemy Has Entered The Arena

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 6

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, (brief) dissociation, noncon partial undressing, noncon touch, attempted noncon

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters Dr. Vaughn Verhulst

["Make them fear the wrath of god, then remind them the only god they should fear is you."]

* * * * * * * *

“So, this is the capture, huh?” The new voice drawled. Despite the exhaustion and the agony lacing throughout every part of his body, Stan's managed a look up at the new situation. Directly into a pair of steel blue eyes that made his breath stutter. “Not much to look at, huh?”

Stan scooted backward, but Deeby seemed to beat him to the same idea, stepping in front of the man and completely blocking him from view.

“There's no way you're the one doing the pickup. What are you doing here?”

The new man tried to side-step Deeby. “Don't worry, I'm not trying to interrupt your smooch-fest, just wanna make sure you aren't breaking our new toy–”

Deeby stepped in front of the man again, the man barely stopping short of crashing directly into him, just long enough for Stan to gather his scattered bearings and realize there was a new person here and all the distinct possibilities of what that meant for him.

And suddenly he felt lightheaded again.

“Dude…”

“What.” Deeby insisted slowly. “Are you doing here?”

This new guy… honestly, not much to look at himself, from what Stan saw. He couldn't have been too much older than Stan, fluffy light brown hair, an accent he couldn't quite place, but… probably European? He also wasn't wearing any sort of mask or anything to hide his face, which was only vaguely concerning, Stan decided to believe. Not to mention, this new guy had been wearing a knit sweater vest? It looked soft. Stan almost had to remind himself that the guy must be a threat, just like Deeby, or why would he even be here?

He just looked so corporate.

“I told you, checking on the capture, getting some intel. Making sure you didn't crap up the very simple plan, or kill him. It’s a real concern with you, I'm sure you understand.”

The man tried to side-step Deeby once again, and once again the mercenary blocked him. Stan started to scoot back away from the two, his ankle chain softly clanking as it dragged across the floor. Whatever was going on between them, he wanted no part of it.

“He's secure. And alive. Not fatally wounded, and will continue to stay that way.” Deeby stated. “You can leave now.”

Sweater-vest ventured an exaggerated glance over Deeby's shoulder, just barely giving Stan another view of his steel-colored eyes. Something about them made his heart skip a beat.

“You sure about that, big man? Kid doesn't seem to be doing so hot.

“Yup.” Deeby didn't even entertain a glance back. “Buh-bye now.”

Stan could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied the groan that Sweater-vest let out. “Well excuse me for not trusting you as far as I can throw you. Look, I'm not just here to mess with you, I'm here on Lana's orders. She wants you to call her.”

Stan stopped scooting dead, an icy coldness surging through his chest, a sudden darkness swirling around his head. Lana. That sounded like a real name. Why was this man using real names? Deeby didn't use a real name, he was very dead set on that! Why was this new man using real names?! Real names were bad why was he using real names–?!

Deeby also stiffened at the name. He hand clenched for just a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Why didn't she just call me instead of sending your sorry ass to deliver the message?” Deeby finally seemed to settle on.

Sweater-vest's eyes flicked over Deeby, up and down, before an unnerving grin spread across his face. “I know something you don't know~” he sang slowly, like some sort of horror movie villain.

“You planning on telling me? Or you just gonna stand there like a skin-walker.” Deeby look just about ready to blow.

“Soon as I verify the little super lives up to our wildest hopes and dreams.”

“Y’know, technically we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

The man sidestepped Deeby one last time, and this time, the mercenary just let him pass by. Stan shrank back as the piercing gaze of Sweater-vest appraised him, looking him up and down as he slowly walked closer.

“A bit worse for wear, no?” Sweater-vest noted, almost to himself.

“Yeah, little shit tried to escape. Got pretty far too, he's stronger than I thought. Got me right–” Then he noticed Stan had backed up halfway across the room instead of stayingin place on the floor right behind him. And sighed. “Kinda a wuss though…”

“Die.” Stan growled, scowling at the mercenary even as he clutched his knees to his chest.

“Oooooh” Sweater-vest cooed, and Stan nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized how close the man had gotten to him. “Feisty little guy, huh?”

Stan kicked out at him and skittered back, only to realize he was almost out of room to skitter. So he reluctantly stood his ground. Well, sat his ground. “Get away from me!”

“He's mostly talk,” Deeby called again. “Mostly…”

Stan barely even registered what Deeby said. His vision completely tunneled on Sweater-vest as he slowly advanced on Stan, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Dang, Dick Biscuits, you really got a handle of him, don’t you?” Sweater-vest's eyes never once left Stan's. “Leashed and collared, like a little puppy dog… “

Stans cheeks turned a bright red. He glared at the man as hard as he could, jaw clenched so hard it could have broken, because honestly, how dare he?!

Deeby sighed, like he'd rather be anywhere but where he was now. Stan could relate.

“Yeah… It's necessary.”

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.”

The man crouched directly in front of the trembling Stan. “Hi,” he said softly, disarmingly, giving Stan just the slightest tilt of the head. “My name's Vaughn, its–”

“Christ man, would you cut it out with the names!” Deeby yelled, causing the both of the smaller men to jump as he marched over. Stan reflexively curled up into a little ball, gut swirling with a new and terrifying form of dread and suddenly very aware of his restraints once more, while Sweater-vest–... Vaughn… sprung up to face down Deeby.

As much as Stan was absolutely terrified of Deeby, he had to admit he agreed with the bounty hunter on this one. The way Sweater-vest threw out names like that felt… Dangerous. On a visceral level. He hugged his legs closer to his chest.

“Why?” Sweater-vest taunted. “It's not like he's gonna live to tell anyone.”

“Nothing's ever 100% with these things,” he growled. “Unless you want to get fifty to life here as well. You'd be doing me a huge favor, honestly, and bring Lana down with you while you’re at it. But leave me out of it.”

Sweater-vest hummed, considering. Glanced Deeby up and down. Then scoffed. “Don't you have an important phone call to get to, Deeby? I’d hate to have to tell Lana that her least favorite ex disobeyed her direct orders and needs to be dealt with.”

The mercenary stared down Sweater-vest. The intensity of it almost entranced Stan, it seemed to go on for an eternity. Then, finally, Deeby let out a small grunt, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Stan!” he yelled. Stan nearly yelped. “If he tries anything, kill him, he deserves it. And you.” he turned his attention right back to Sweater-vest before Stan could stutter out some sort of question or affirmation. “Don't fuck with him.”

“Aw, so protective, falling in love already?”

“I'll be back in a few, don't try anything!” He yelled as he made his way toward the door. Then, only slightly under his breath, “Pinche pendejo.”

The smile on Sweater-vest's face immediately dropped and he whirled around.

“Krijg de tering, vuile teringleier!”

The door slammed shut, the crack of metal against metal deafening in the sudden silence. And they were alone. Together.

Stan stared at the floor and clenched his fists, trying to calm his racing nerves. Did his best to keep his breathing even. Be still, not show weakness while also not challenging the man he was now alone with. He never thought he would ever actually miss Deeby's presence. But here they were.

“Brute.” Sweater-vest seethed under his breath as he sauntered back over to Stan. “Should've just put him out of his misery years ago, swear to God.”

Then his demeanor completely shifted once more as he stood over Stan. More professional, more cold, more demanding.

“Anyway, stand up, let me get a look at you.”

“Are you ‘The Guy?’” Stan blurted out before he had time to even realize he was doing it. Anything to break the sudden unbearable tension.

Sweater-vest tilted his head with a raised eyebrow and a small laugh. “The Guy?”

“Yeah…” Wow, suddenly he wished he never said anything. “The uh, the guy. You know the guy…” Stan's voice wavered as the man scrunch his nose at him. As if Stan was speaking an entirely different language. “Like. Like the guy. The guy who, uh, who…”

He took a deep breath, and blurted out “The boss guy who had me kidnapped!”

A brief pause. The man stared at him.

“No,” he snorted. “No, I'm not ‘the guy’, as you so eloquently put it. And your ‘guy’ is actually a lady, the lovely Ms. Lana who I mentioned earlier. And I'm Dr. Vaughn Verhulst, you can call me Vaughn. Pleasure to meet you.”

Stan shrank into himself slightly. “Oh…”

Again with the names. They made his skin crawl, like tiny ants crawling up and down his arms. The full name this time too, Dr. Verhulst. And Lana. Where had he heard that name before? Lana...

Stan didn't have time to ponder the question, though, as the man surged forward and reached down toward Stan's vulnerable neck, and Stan screeched and jolted back trying to get away.

But the man was surprisingly fast for a guy who could be mistaken for an office drone.

“Alright now, stand up.”

Then suddenly Stan was choking as the two fingers looped under his collar and dragged him upward, squeezing Stan's windpipe fully shut with Stan gasping and clutching at the collar trying to free himself and allow his body the sweet air it so desperately begged for the whole short distance up. And when he was finally standing and the collar loosened just slightly, Stan coughed and wheezed and tried to double over on himself to lessen the pain, if only the man wasn't still holding him straight up by the collar. He finally managed to get his own fingers under the collar just enough to pull it away from flush against his throat, his body shifting from world-shaking coughs and gasps for air to shuddering wheezes and shivers, and only then did he realize that Vaughn’s other hand wasn't just sitting idly by. No, instead it settled on his arms and ribcage, pressing into the tender bruised flesh that marred his entire body.

He felt a sudden sharp pain at his side and twitched away from it, only for a steadying hand to fall on straight onto another bruise on his waist and press in, clutch at it, holding him in place and sending jolts throughout his entire body that made him dizzy. All the breath left his body. He froze.

“What– What're you–?... Stop, let go…” It felt almost taboo to break the sudden stillness. He tried to pull away, but the grip on his collar just tightened, knuckles pressing harder into his neck as Sweater-vest continued to press into his side.

“Shhhhhh, dropje. Just let me do my work.”

“Your work?...” The hand pressed into his broken rib, and Stan yelped out and shoved the offending hand away from the tender area.

“STOP! Stop touching me! Stop!” Stan cried. This was too much. What was even happening here?

Vaughn's dark gaze fixed on the place that had made Stan cry out, calculating, jaw set. Stan withdrew into himself sightly before he remembered himself, and stared defiantly right back. Then the gaze drifted slightly lower, softening with an almost mischievous smile and a low hum before he finally, finally, looked Stan square in the eyes.

“Take your shirt off.”

Stan's heart turned to ice.

“WHAT?! No! You’re insane!”

Stan managed to rip free of his grip and launch backwards, only for his back to slam directly into the wall. Damn it. He saw stars, and the world rocked around him.

He pressed into it regardless, held his cuffed hands up in front of his torso as some sort of measly defense. “Get– Get away from me! I'm not taking my shirt off! You're crazy, get away!”

He scowled, then reached into his pocket with a deep sigh. A glint of steel gleamed in the light as Vaughn pull out a pair of very sharp-looking scissors and waved them lazily at Stan's chest.

“You are.” Sweater-vest stated simply. “I'm a doctor, dropje, I have to take a look at your body, make sure that ass didn't leave any lasting damage. You worry too much.”

Sweater-vest suddenly went to reach around his arms and get at the top button of his shirt, and Stan slapped them away, earning himself a glare from the man as he stepped closer once more and boxed him in completely.

“Stan… Schatje…” he spoke lowly, voice sickeningly sweet. The scissors drifted so close to his throat. “I'm going to make this so simple for you, yeah? I'm cutting your shirt off now. If you make things difficult, then your shirt won't be the only thing cut, got it?”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to become so small. Small enough that the threat wouldn't see him anymore and he could run away and never have to deal with it again. This was insane. This was insane, right? This guy was insane!

“No, no, no, no, no, don't, get away from me, get away from me.” He tried to inject as much hissing venom as possible into the words, but they still didn't come out much above a squeaking, shaky whisper.

Vaughn reached for his top button, and though Stan pressed into the wall as much as he could, arms up and ready to strike at any moment, this time his fingers weren't stopped from undoing the top button. Then continuing down from there. Then he gently grabbed Stan's wrists and moved them downward and continued unfastening, all the way down until the front of his shirt was completely open, the cool air giving Stan goosebumps.

“Oh.” Vaughn said, almost to himself, running his finger over the strap of Stan's chest binder. “I didn't realize you were transgender, Stan.”

The swirling mass of thoughts in Stan’s head finally meet the one overwhelming his gut and crashing down upon him, breaking the fragile spell keeping him paralyzed.

“DEEBY! HELP!!” Stan cried out, loud as he possibly could. As if Deeby would ever help him. As if he would save him. All Stan knew was that in that very moment, he would prefer the physically abusive mercenary a hundred times over this guy, the guy who looked at him like a lion at an antelope, the man who feigned kindness, whose smile seemed just a bit too perfect, who made weird cryptic comments and who threw names around as if it didn't matter whether or not Stan knew them. As if Stan would never live to escape. As if the horrors Stan would endure were cursed to echo the walls in which they occurred, never to be heard by another soul.

“Oh calm down, Stanny, he's not going to come save you.” Vaughn dismissed, quickly pulling down the sleeve of his shirt and cutting it open down the seam, the quick repetitive snip snip snip of the scissors filling the room completely. Stan's weak attempts to slap away the scissors or otherwise stop his disrobing were all but brushed off by the ‘doctor.’ A quick but very intentional blade to the neck was all he needed to freeze Stan up and allow him to continue.

Very soon, Vaughn had the shredded fabric that used to make up Stan's shirt sprawled across the floor at their feet. Stan didn't even feel the coolness of the room goosebumping his skin anymore, not with the burning red in his cheeks and the again wandering hands of Sweater-vest to keep him unbearably warm.

He could scarcely breathe. His brain started to feel farther and farther away from his body. His hair was standing on end, shivers running throughout his entire body making him twitch. And he wondered if he should even put in the effort to ground himself. Maybe it would be easier if he was far, far away for all of this anyway.

“It's not like I care, Stan. It doesn't matter to me. I'll even let you keep your chest binder thing on, if that’d make you more comfortable... Hey.”

He snapped a few times in front of Stan's eyes, and Stan despairingly snapped back to reality. So close too. Just for Sweater-vest to smile his weird creepy smile at him. There was no way to misconstrue the malicious gleam in his eyes, the one that made Stan's own eyes go wide and his breath halt entirely as he stared into them. His other hand was on Stan's back now. He was practically holding Stan in a facsimile of a hug. Pressing in his lower back. Lower. Just a bit too low for comfort.

“I'm serious, I can work with that,” he reassured, hand now dipping under Stan's waistband, and before Stan could react, he pulled the captive in close to him, pressing his pelvis securely into Stan's lower stomach while brushing to closed blades of the scissors along Stan's jawline and up his cheek. “It's not what I was expecting, but it doesn't change what I'm going to do to you.”

And that's when Stan pulled back and punched him square in the jaw.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

20 notes · View notes

whumpy-kitkat · 7 months

Text

Does your whumpee have mommy issues? Are they hiding from someone/something? Do they need a place to stay while they recover?

And, most importantly, do they happen to be stranded in the middle of nowhere?

If thats the case im glad to anounce you that Kat's home for whumpees is open and ready to take in it's first guest!

31 notes · View notes

nothingenoughao3 · 1 month

Note

Is there a dream fanfiction project you've always wanted to tackle but haven't had the chance to yet?

Actually, uh, yeah, I do! I even have an esoteric title!

The dream project is called "a wonder and a terror", in reference to Keanu Reeve's answer for how it feels to grow old. I want to go back and revisit most of the worlds I used to visit in fanfic. That would include Final Fantasy 7, Sorcerer Hunters, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Hellsing, Slayers, Gensoumaden Saiyuki, Gundam Wing, Cowboy Bebop, Evangelion, Trigun, Gargoyles, and Generation X--aaaaaaaaall stuff I once obsessed over.

The thing is, I was writing/reading fic for those works when I was a teenager. And most of these works also feature teenagers, or very young adults. In a lot of cases, these shows are literally about child soldiers, or extremely young/inexperienced adults being forced to take on The Good Of The World.

The theme I'd take on in all these fics will be threefold:

What happens to child soldiers when the war ends and they grow up?

What happens to folks who thought they'd die on the battlefield who live long enough to experience aging?

What happens to characters who became powerful/famous under one gender identity who try to transition?

In addition to flipping characters' genders or their cis status, I plan on doing a LOT related to characters having chronic disabilities, physical as well as mental. And there will be a lot of shipping, many of it for ships I never explicitly wrote for in the past. (Specifically, I'm very glad that Barret/Cloud's time has come 'round at last.)

Some fics are already released on my account. "Entering King" is where I introduce the idea of trans man!Sanzo, which ties into some of the stuff I wanted to do for the Gensoumaden Saiyuki fics. My Gen X work is going to take place in the same canon already established here. Not a lot has been completed yet, but I do hold out hope that I'll get there!

11 notes · View notes

angrelysimpping · 6 months

Note

how do you think in a relationship Bailey and cat Bailey would react to a trans SO (specifically trans masc)

Honestly, I don't think they'd care one way or another. Like, their treatment of you wouldn't be too different than if you were cis? Maybe a bit more aware of things like if you usually wear a binder and can't for one reason or another.

Ok SO

I like to think Bailey very begrudgingly wants you to take care of yourself. They don't want to do it themself and also you're their partner. They don't want you weak in any way. Makes you more of a target for anyone holding a grudge against them. So, yknow, if you're binding, you better not go over how long it's healthy to bind for. Do your stretches. Don't use ace bandages for the love of god, they will find out and there will be repercussions.

Might chip in to get you any gender affirming medical care.

Has extra binders stashed in with his clothes if you ever need one on short notice and don't have one for one reason or another.

Does correct people who missgender you. Is it because they like you or is it because they see missgendering you as a slight against them? The world will never know (i'd say its both, tbh)

Main difference between regular Bailey and Cat Bailey is if you start hormones

Cat Bailey takes a while to get used to it because it changes your scent. As a result, they end up scenting you way more often, pressing their face into your neck to get used to the smell and calm their nerves that it's you they're smelling.

#cat bailey #bailey the caretaker #animal au #trans pc #transmasc pc

20 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 1 year

Note

do you know of any good whump series with transgender (including nonbinary and such) characters? whumpees, whumpers, caretakers, it doesnt matter. especially if theres significant attention paid to their being transgender, or it effects their character arc and/or motivations. just about any genre will do.

thanks a million, and no pressure or anything.

yes!! thank you for asking!! the first 2 here pay the most attention to the character being trans, but all of them acknowledge it in some way!

Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset by @not-a-space-alien - 18+ and heed the warnings! but one of my fave whump series ever

Eden by @zillastar13 - new series with regular updates!!

With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch - nonbinary whumpee, everything else on this list features trans men*

No Longer Asking and Seal the Deal by @emmettnet - as well as all other series involving Dirk! i believe a bunch more of emmett's ocs are trans too.

Linden and Colton Part 1 / Part 2 by @whumpzone - 18+, and this is the only one on this list where the trans character is a caretaker instead of a whumpee

*there are a lot of nonbinary whumpees, but most series with nonbinary whumpees usually just use they/them and don't acknowledge the character's transness otherwise (which ofc is totally valid!), and i don't know of any whump series with trans women, which prob has to do with this since people tend to write about characters most like themselves

#ask #i am also gonna start a series with a trans whumpee soon :)#and have one planned with a trans whumpee + trans caretaker but thats for later

106 notes · View notes

pigeonwhumps · 7 months

Text

Hospital stay

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinggrounds @painful-pooch

Whumptember day 28: "I never should have let it come this far" | failed hero | hospital stay | begging for help

Set in the future, when Phoenix has been with Kai's team a while. After being kidnapped together and tortured for, Phoenix and Aaron have been rescued, Kai injured while doing so.

Joseph belongs to @i-eat-worlds, from their story Alex and Friends. Please go read it if you haven't yet!

1.5k

CWs: immortal whumpee, hero whump, caretaker turned whumpee, trans whumpee, mentions of superpower overuse, mentions of waterboarding and whipping, past torture, medical setting, coma, low self-esteem, self-degradation, wish to have committed self sacrifice, something that could potentially come across as a death wish but isn't, past self sacrifice, emeto, past temporary character death, past whump reveal (I guess? Idk how to label it)

Phoenix blinks back tears as they watch Aaron, still and silent in the medbay bed in front of them. He's lying on his stomach, trailing with monitors and IVs and all manner of medical equipment, swathed in bandages. They should've done better. They should be there instead of Aaron, but their stupid healing factor, their immortality that's been so useful in the past, means that he was the one who almost died.

It's not fair. He could've escaped if it wasn't for them. But they're stupid and they failed, and now people are worried about them, too.

"They're definitely out of the coma?" whispers Phoenix to the nurse currently taking Aaron's vitals.

"Yes. Just asleep now. They're safe, everyone is."

"It's my fault."

"No. No, it's not, kiddo."

"It *is*. They used me to control him, he could've, um, escaped. And to check they were right. If I'd died quicker then he would've been less hurt, I should've, um, I should've–"

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare talk about yourself like that."

Phoenix blinks, then bursts into tears. The nurse is so fierce.

"Why do you care? Aaron's yours, I got him hurt, you should–"

A hand falls onto their shoulder. "Do you think that after what we've seen of you over the past few years, how much you've helped, how much you've hurt, do you honestly think that we wouldn't care for you too?"

Phoenix cries. They watch Aaron's too-still body and they cry. Everyone else shouldn't care. But as they watch the nurse tend to Aaron, they can't bring themself to point it out again.

"You're sure they'll, um, they'll be okay?"

"Yes. He's recovering nicely. They should be awake in about six to twelve hours."

They're still too bandaged, too still, too too too, too little Aaron in there. Phoenix tries to comfort themself with the thought that he'll be awake soon, but it doesn't help much. What if he doesn't want to see them again? It's all their fault. They're a failure of a hero, a useless, stupid–

"Hey. Whatever you're thinking, that's enough. Joseph's sent you another cat meme if you want a distraction. Are you in pain?"

The answer is yes, everywhere still aches and hurts whenever they shift (and when they don't), but they can't say that. They know why the nurse is asking. But they're a waste of resources and they deserve this anyway.

"No, sir."

"Are you saying no because you really aren't in pain or because you don't want painkillers? I have standing orders from Aaron to remind you that, although you can of course refuse medication, it's perfectly fine to take painkillers or anything else and it's not a waste of resources."

"I'm, um, I'm okay without, sir," murmurs Phoenix, unsure whether they want the nurse to call them out on it or not. She sighs knowingly.

"Alright. Let me know if you need any. Do you want to see Joseph's cat meme?"

Phoenix nods. "Please. And, um, can I move over to Kai's bed? It's, um, it's his turn."

"Of course."

The nurse fetches Phoenix's phone and wheels them over to Kai's bed, then adjusts their saline IV.

"We'll start you off trying to drink again soon. No water for a while yet though."

Phoenix nods, feeling a burning shame. There's no physical reason they can't drink, they're fine. But mentally...

Mentally, they've spent too long without Kai or Aaron reassuring them on anything, and they didn't realise just how much they relied on that. They're useless on their own.

They clutch Mr Frosty to their chest, smiling weakly at Joseph's new message and making sure to reply. They barely see it, but they know now that he'll worry if they don't answer for too long.

It's their daily cat photo. They don't know what they ever did to deserve Joseph.

They slide their phone onto their lap and sink their chin down onto Mr Frosty's head, observing Kai. He's unconscious too, but a lot of that's because he overused his powers. The medics weren't worried about his unconsciousness so much as the stab wound.

Kai looks peaceful. Phoenix isn't sure if that's true.

They look between their two best friends and guilt wells up inside them. Guilt, and grief for something unknown, bubbling over like an old stone well, overflowing and unstoppable. They've both been hurt, everyone's been hurt, because of them.

"I wish I'd been tortured instead of Aaron," murmurs Phoenix, stroking Mr Frosty's fur. "He didn't deserve it. But it's partly so I wouldn't have to watch, so maybe that makes me selfish. What do you think, Mr Frosty?"

"Mr Frosty thinks you shouldn't be so hard on yourself," croaks a voice from the closest bed, and Phoenix looks up, heart in their throat, to see Kai squinting at them.

"Kai! You're awake! Oh." They press a small red button on the side of Kai's bed. "The nurse said to call if you woke."

"How long have I been out?" he asks weakly, as Phoenix helps him with a sippy cup of water.

"A few days? Not entirely sure," they reply quietly. "I was unconscious too for some of it."

Kai tries to sit up, a concerned look on his face, but he can't manage it. "Are you okay? I thought you'd be healing faster, what's wrong?"

"Dehydration, mostly. I'm fine." Kai's gaze flickers pointedly to the IV line in their arm and back, and they sigh. Can't Kai ever miss anything? "I'm... struggling to drink, after... well. It's simpler this way." Phoenix hesitates, and then reaches out a hand hopefully, laying it on top of Kai's uninjured one. Kai turns his own over and squeezes it gently.

Kai's hand is rough, and warm, and large, and it fills Phoenix with relief, to be able to hold it again.

"Where's Aaron? How are they holding up? I don't remember that well but I'm pretty sure they were in bad shape."

Phoenix's eyes dart to the next bed, and Kai struggles in another fruitless attempt to sit up.

"He... he, um, he took the last whipping for me. After everything else he took it, I don't know why, I'm, um, I'm immortal, I'd have been fine, but he– anyway, they're, um, they're out of the induced coma now. Asleep. They're healing. I've, um, been switching between you."

Phoenix is dreading the point where they have to find out exactly how bad things are, how much Aaron hates them now, but they know they deserve it.

"Okay. Phoenix? Firstly, being whipped and waterboarded counts as torture, yes, to you too. Stop being mean to yourself."

Phoenix frowns. "How do you, um, know about the waterboarding?"

Kai squeezes their hand. "They sent videos. To anyone who might care that they had you both. Our team, Joseph, Electrocus, Aisling and Gemma... and Aaron's parents and Alicia. Nobody's told you, huh?"

Phoenix shakes their head, but everything's muted, like they're underwater. They're drowning and they have no idea how to come up for air.

They understand why no-one would tell them. Everyone knowing... that's far too much for their mind to hold.

They gasp, trying to grasp onto something, anything, looking for a lifeline their mind can hold. Everyone knowing...

And they don't even know how much.

"My... my parents?"

"No idea. We haven't contacted them, they haven't contacted us. If they know they're not saying. But no-one can share either of your identities further."

Phoenix takes a deep breath, trying to steady themself. This means Aaron doesn't know either.

Of course he doesn't. Of course he wouldn't. He hasn't woken since the rescue.

"Stop, um, stop trying to reassure me when you were stabbed."

"Then stop claiming you weren't tortured."

"Wasn't bad torture."

They were experiments anyway. That doesn't count as torture.

There's footsteps from behind Phoenix and they cower down, throwing their arm above their head even though it'll do no good. He's going to hurt them, he's going to stretch their limits and kill them and hurt Aaron and–

"Easy. It's just me, I'm here to check on Kai, breathe."

Phoenix does so obediently, blood rushing past their ears still but seeing the medbay as if from miles away, someone in a white coat entering their field of vision.

"Hello Kai," the voice says warmly. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Tell Phoenix there's no such thing as "not bad" torture."

"There isn't. But Kai, I asked about *you*."

"Thirsty, tired, sore. Not dying." He coughs. "What happened?"

"Let me check your vitals and monitors." There's a pause. Phoenix puts their head between their knees, trying to remember how to breathe. "You remember the rescue? Well, you got Phoenix and Aaron, but you had a dagger thrown in your back on your way out. You're damned lucky you were in wolf form. The healers patched you up, but you had a way to go on your own."

"And the others?"

"Lian's been in and out of sleep, Morfydd's in a sensory deprivation chamber, and Santhiya's recovering in a power-blocking room. You all overused your powers drastically, but you'll be okay."

The floor is mostly white with splatters of colour, swirling swirling splatter, and Phoenix throws up on the medbay floor.

30 notes · View notes

zensations35 · 1 year

Text

A Working Cold

Okay, yall voted for it. Here it is. A super indulgent Leo fic. He caretakes Ren and Sasha here, so those two both sneeze as well. Leo gets sick pretty fast in this fic (because I have no self control or concept of time). There's also some kinda heavy family stuff and I touch on some of Leo's trouble with being trans. Hope yall enjoy! I know I did ^_^

Leo

I tap the door, listening for movement within. “Ren?”

“HzzTXN!”

Yep, he’s awake. I read once that you can’t sneeze in your sleep. What a weird thing to Google.

I push the door open, squinting into the dim room. The windows are covered with blackout curtains but they’re sloppily installed. Like Ren just half-assed it in an attempt to get rid of as much sunlight as possible.

He was probably drunk when he did it.

I balance the bowl of soup I made on a bamboo tray--one of a set of five I got him as a housewarming gift. Apartment warming? Moving in gift!

Ren is in bed, covered in what looks like three separate blankets, two on top of him and one twisted up under his head and around his arm.

“Ren,” I murmur as I park my rear on the edge of the bed. When I sit, a few balled tissues flutter to the floor, joining a pile of them under Ren’s outstretched hand.

“Mmmh,” he shifts, burying his head deeper into the blanket-pillow.

“Come on, you need to eat,”I say. “It’s that bean soup you like!”

That gets his attention. He actually lifts his head and looks at me. When I see his face, it’s hard not to cringe. Ren’s fever broke but he’s clearly still sick. He looks both dried up and too wet at the same time. His eyes are watery but his lips are feathered with chapped skin.

“Does it have rutabaga substituted for potatoes?” he asks, voice gravelly, like apple seeds in his throat. Somehow his voice sounds sexier than normal?? Hah. What kind of people are sexier when they’re sick?

I nod, “It sure does.” I offer him the bowl.

Ren pulls it toward him, setting it on the bed, nestled right under his cheek. He doesn’t even attempt to sit up as he brings a spoonful sideways to his mouth. It spills and he growls.

“You’re going to have to sit up.”

He huffs, “Then I do not want to eat at the moment.” He shoves the bowl next to his bed and rolls over.

I sigh. “Ren, come on…”

His deltoids flex and he buries his face into the blanket, “Hwf’MMMKSCh!!” His arm swings out, patting the mattress, fumbling blindly. I scoot the tissue box into his hand and he palms one. He blows his nose thickly but it only leads to another, “HR-SCHZZZ!!” He groans and flops back onto the bed, facing away from me.

He’s getting better, but it’s slow-going. If he would just stop drinking.

I’m not feeling so hot myself to be honest. I can feel a constant rawness to my throat, always on the edge of a cough or a sneeze. I bat one away, a quick nose scrub. Subtle, in case Ren sees. I don’t want him getting worried and sending me home.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slip it out and see messages from Cassie.

Sigh. Not again.

I really wish I could just ignore her. I mean, I moved here to escape my family. But I can’t. She holds too much over me. At least, for now.

“C’mon, Ren,” I nudge the bowl of soup. “Eat. It’ll help.”

“There is no helping me.”

Oh my gods what a drama queen.

I plant a soft kiss on his brow and whisper, “Get some rest, then. I’ll be back.”

Ren blinks woozily. “Who messaged you?”

“Just a random notification,” I stand up.

“You are lying.”

“Got to sleep, Ren.”

I tug on my jacket and hurry to the door. I’m relieved to get outside because I really need to sneeze.

I take a heaving breath, feeling it deepen my chest. “HgSHK! Aex-TGn!” The first two solidify the pressure in my sinuses and I slip, losing control with the final “H-EXSchh-ieu! Augh…”

Whoa. I blink away tears. Gods, I sneeze a lot when I’m sick. And those were messier than usual. I can feel the congestion in my chest and coughing does little to clear it.

Press on. Things to do.

I get into my car and stare at my phone screen, willing myself to make the call.

I was hoping to get out from under my sister’s thumb with my modeling job. It’s hard to get gigs though. I used to be a pretty big name in modeling back in Italy. But I wanted to distance myself from that, and for the most part I have. But occasionally my contracts get wind of who I used to be. It either goes one of two ways: they want me to do more, or they dump me.

I just got back from a job that went south because they wanted me to do a topless shoot, and, well…my surgery didn’t leave me without lingering marks. I plan to see someone about fixing that, but I haven’t gotten around to it.

It’s fucking cold in this car. I jam on the heat to chase away the chill creeping into my bones. I gear the car and drive a few blocks away, just in case Ren checks outside for me. I grab a napkin from the glovebox and blow my nose to get rid of any lingering sick voice. It chugs out of me, less clear than normal. Wonderful.

Then I facetime Cassie.

She answers, her face a mirror of mine--or as close as possible.

“Hey Cass.”

She sweeps her rich brown bangs from her eyes. Her hair is similar to my length. That’s one thing I didn’t feel the need to change. I love ponytails and man buns.

Cassie’s lips press into a firm line. “Leo,” my name jangles around in her mouth. “How are you?”

“Surviving. What’s up?”

“Come now,” she flickers a hand, “No details?”

“Do you actually care?”

Her lips twist. I can’t tell what the answer is, nor why she doesn’t want to admit it.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a sign of annoyance and also a good cover for chasing away a sneeze. “What do you need?”

She seems to relax a bit. Down to business. Cassie got that from Mom--neither of them care for niceties.

“I need you to call Mom.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“I…made a mistake. She’s threatening to cut me off.”

“What?” The word bursts from me. “What did you do?”

“It’s not as bad as--” she bites off the sentence and chews. “I just…trusted the wrong person.”

“Cass…”

“I got swindled by some guy. We met a week ago. I invested in his company. He was persuasive.”

“So you slept with him?”

“Don’t slut shame me, Leo.”

“Sorry,” I say. And I mean it. A gut reaction from years of being taught that chastity matters. “How much did you lose?”

“Enough to upset Mom. Enough to make her hit pause on my allowance.”

“So that means…”

“I won’t be able to send you money this month, unless you fix this.”

Of course. I have to fix it. Cassie can’t be bothered to figure it out for herself. Then again, I’m no better, still unable to figure out how to live within my means.

“Alright, I’ll call.”

“Do it tonight. Tell her you advised me to make the investments. Maybe the guy was a friend of yours--”

“I’ll handle it, Cass.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Yep. As expected: No “thank you”.

She stares at me, a flicker of something akin to pity in her gold-flecked eyes. “You don’t even look like me anymore.”

I snort, “You miss looking at yourself every time we spoke?”

“We got along once.”

“Yep.”

Cassie frowns. She’s probably reminiscing about ages gone when our mom would dress us in matching outfits and brag about being able to tell us apart.

“I gotta go, Cass.”

Her lips hover apart, looking on the edge of speaking. She sips a small breath, almost a catch. “I..I’m sorry, Leo.”

“Wow, an actual Cass apology.”

Her face hardens. “You know what, nevermind. Bye.” She ends the call and I slump into myself. I toss the phone angrily onto the passenger seat. Fuck her. I really need to get my shit together. Maybe get another job on the side.

I press my palm into my nose, scrunching it hard as a shudder runs through me. “Hhh-GSHH!” Eugh. I grab a napkin and wipe my hand before heading to Sasha’s. I’ll call Mom later.

When I pull up to Sasha’s I feel giddy. I haven’t been to Sasha’s new place yet. I have an open invitation though. The entrance leads directly into the open-plan kitchen on the right and living room on the left. Down the hall, her bedroom is on the left. The door is open and even from here, I can feel sickness in the air--a swell of almost humidity. It envelops me as I enter the dim room. She must have a headache too.

I take stock of her room . I can’t help it. Her barely-there desk is sheeted with papers--half drawings, notes, a book called Juliet Takes A Breath. Her walls are lined with posters of beautiful women, artwork from indie creators she’s met from fairs and galleries. On her bed are creased papers with sloppy sketches, cluttered with balled up tissues. A bottle of dayquil lazes against her pillow.

I let my fingers wander along a shelf, mindlessly touching the items--the waxy string of a dreamcatcher still in progress, the fat nubs of a succulent.

She lays piteously on the bed, her hair pulled back and wrapped in a cloth with little ketchup bottles on it. Her yellow tank top clings to her skin, the grooves of her shoulder blades showing through it. She’s half covered with an anime print blanket--one leg in, one leg out.

I fell for Ren shortly after we met, but it’s always been a pining love. Almost forbidden, both of us lost in our power struggle of being the least ‘needy’ person. Our relationship is always in flux. Even when I’m fucking him, I'm thinking “Yeah but what does this mean??”

It’s exhausting as hell.

But Sasha…she’s like sunshine during a light drizzle. Where Ren twists my heart, Sasha stretches it. I feel like a goofy teen around her. I want to hold her hand, watch her eat strawberries, make her a mix tape. Or I guess, nowadays, a Spotify playlist? That doesn’t sound as romantic.

“Sasha…” I whisper over her prone form.

“Hnggg…” I can hear thick congestion in her voice. Ugh. That’s going to be me soon. Not looking forward to that.

“Hey,” I keep my voice cool and soothing, gliding onto her mattress and rubbing her bare shoulder. “I don’t want to bother you, but you need to eat.” I unwrap the cylinder of liquid. “I brought bean soup.”

She pushes herself up, propped on her elbows. Her face turns a millimeter and she pushes thick words out.

“Is…hhh…is it…” her nostrils scrunch, forming a V in the middle of her face. She jerks her head, smothering her cheeks in her pillow. Her body heaves under my fingers, “Hih-ESSHHHH! ESHHH!!” a snarl escapes her lips and a fist slams into the bed. “Dammit!” she lets out a staccato of angry coughs.

I can’t for the life of me understand why she’s so mad. But maybe I’d be if I were this sick.

She stuffs her splotchy face into a napkin, give it a hearty blow. She moans.

“Hang in there,” I say.

“Ugh,” she drinks in a liquid sniff. She eyes the soup. “Is it Rend’s beand soup?” The n’s sound more like d’s and the p pops her lips.

“It is.”

“With, *snf*, rudabadgha--”

“Instead of potatoes, yes,” I finish for her.

“Mmmb…” she seems to sink back into the mattress, a soft sigh fluttering through her lips. “I love thad soup.”

“Well, I’m leaving you some.” I set the warm soup on her bedside table and give Bailey a head scratch. “Don’t eat her soup, Bailey. Come on, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Bailey tumbles down, her bulk bumping into me with an “oof!” She trots alongside me and I head into the kitchen to scramble some eggs.

I make sure they’re cool before scraping them into her bowl. I added a little cheese. I can’t help spoiling her a bit, especially when I know she’s worked up about Sasha being sick. I pat her on the head.

“Don’t worry, baby. She’ll be better soon.”

When she’s done, she rewards me with a sloppy kiss, her oil-slicked tongue glazing my chin. I chuckle, a small gust of air slipping through my nose. It’s enough to ignite the bud of an itch, pulling a deeper gasp from me. I snap to the side, my arm flying up to cover, “Hieh-EXSH’TUE!” My forearm bumps my nose, leaving it feeling bruised. “Egkh…”

“Leo?” I hear Sasha’s weak, raspy call.

“All good!” I holler back, feeling my throat close on a hitch. “Aih-HX-NG!!” I pinch that one tightly between my lips, my lungs revolting in the form of dry coughs. But Sasha doesn’t call me again.

I should leave before I start having fits. The further along my cold gets, the more I’ll sneeze.

I grab my bag and wrap myself in a wool coat, fussing with it as I bite the bag to hold it so I can get my arms into the sleeves. I’m stepping outside, my foot hooking the door when I slam right into a warm body.

We both oof! and my head whips up, meeting her eyes.

“Skye?” the bag falls from my lips when I speak. She looks terrified, like a deer in headlights. I slide to the side, cautiously, as if moving too fast will spook her.

She looks physically the same--thick thighs wrapped in sporty jeans, a billowy chocolate blouse showing off ample cleavage. Her hair cascades down her back and shoulders in a waterfall of golden sunlight.

But her face is threaded with emotion, the weight of burdens stacked upon burdens. She dusted light makeup on--a rose lipstick, touch up cream.

She doesn’t move. I wait a few beats, watching her chest rise and fall.

“Sasha’s sick,” I say, “I’m sure she’d feel better seeing you.”

Her eyes bulge as if I told her a tiger awaits her inside.

“Or not…”

She wets her lips and breaks eye contact. She bends to pick up my bag. I take it from her with a wary, “Thanks…”

“Is that your bean soup?” she asks, her voice sounding brittle as dried bark.

“Yeah.”

“With rutabagas instead of potatoes?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Seriously, you should see her. You’ll feel better. She misses you.”

Skye reaches for the knob, resting tentative fingers on the brass. The door is cracked enough to hear the distant, wrenching sound of Sasha’s sneeze tumbling out of the door.

Skye stills, her lips pressing firmly together like a rose-colored bud. She pulls the door closed and backs away.

“I can’t,” her voice cracks. “I just can’t.”

I feel the pull of her grief, her knotted emotions. I wonder if I should reach out.

As if there’s any point dwelling on it. Of course I am.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready. Really.” I gesture to the parking lot, “Would you rather…grab lunch?”

Skye cocks her head at me.

I hold up my hands, “I swear, no guilt talk. Nothing but lunch.”

Her mouth is the size of a penny as she contemplates. Then, a nod. “Sure. Lunch.” She tucks hair behind her ear. “I like bread.”

“Bread?”

“Yes. Take me anywhere with bread.”

I laugh. “You got it.”

I’m Italian. Yes, actual Italian. My mother lives in Italy. My twin sister and I moved to America for…opportunities. I actually moved to get away from my family and Cassie followed me.

But, I know Italian food. I make sure to take Skye to a good Italian place, not just a fancy pizza parlor. One that has orgasmic garlic bread.

I snag a mask from my bag. I know I’m getting sick, and I always have one with me to go out to public places when I’m feeling ill. Skye gives me a weird look when I put it on.

We order food--or I do. Skye follows my lead. We titter about the cold weather, which Texans can really drone on about. My gods, can you believe that tiny layer of ice we got that shut down half the state! It fills the time we wait for food.

Eating gives us an excuse to be silent. Skye makes eating bread look effortless--only picking off airy chunks at a time and popping them in her mouth, yet eating half a dozen slices in minutes.

I get it. I know what it’s like to hide guilty pleasures for fear of judgment. I want to tell her I don’t judge her for eating what she wants but it would sound patronizing coming out of nowhere.

“Ugh,” I massage my temple. A headache is building. That cloudy feeling fogs my face, I feel a sneeze creeping up. It feels like my nose is dizzy.

I rub knuckles under my nose, hoping my sniffles catch any seepage. “Hg’NjK!”

“Leo?” Skye’s normally husky voice is soft and shy. “Are you sick?”

I snort, brushing sweat from my brow, “Yeah, sorry. I won’t get too close or anything.”

“How long have you been sick? Was…” she swallows dryly. “Was it from Sasha?”

“Actually I got this from Ren. We both did.”

Her eyes flash. “Sasha? Got sick from…Ren?” she stares into the center of her plate like it’s going to reveal the secret of the garlic bread.

“Yeah? Why?”

She blinks and shakes her head. She swipes angrily at her eye and I see the glassy fill of tears.

“Skye, no,” I say, “They weren’t--it wasn’t like that. He was sick, I was out of town. I asked her to stay with him for a bit. They didn’t do anything.”

She looks away. “You don’t understand.”

I bite my lip. There's a lot I don't understand.

The rest of the meal goes by awkwardly. I try to start conversations. Skye answers questions lethargically. A couple times she tries to dig at the Sasha/Ren thing. I shut it down. I know Sasha, I know Ren. They’re not doing what Skye thinks. Maybe she feels betrayed because Sasha isn’t ignoring Ren like she is?

I don’t want to interrogate or lecture her. That’s not what I invited her out for. But it’s looking more and more like it was a bad idea.

The server comes over when we’re done and I put on my mask before I ask for the check. A sneeze chooses the perfect time to check into hotel nose. I pinch it through the mask and sniffle.

Skye pulls out cash but I wave her away. “I got it.”

She thanks me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I appreciate the lunch, Leo, but I need to head out. I can get an Uber.”

I look put-out but I’m not sure if she can tell because of the mask. “Okay, if you’re sure. I can drive you somewhere--”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” She loops around toward the restroom just as the server returns.

And of course I have to sneeze again. I spider my fingers over my mask to catch the next jaw-wrenching, “Hiat-ishhh! He-iek-TSHuu!”

“Bless you!” the server laughs. “Are you allergic to me?”

I chuckle and meet his eyes. Oh, he’s cute. I hope my spray hasn’t leaked through my mask. “Oh, no, I’m just feeling a bit off.” I gesture to the (hopefully not soaked) mask.

“Very thoughtful, thank you,” he hands me the check. “I hope you feel better!”

I thank him back and tip him well. What’s the point of having this much disposable income if you don’t make a server’s day a bit better?

I sigh as I exit. I stretch out my back. It’s already starting to ache--a sure sign I’m getting sick. I feel bad about Skye, but that lunch was awkward. I get why she wants to go. Besides, I need to call Mom, and I’d rather do that before I can’t speak normally.

I’m back to my car, heat drizzling through the vents.

I do not facetime her. She doesn’t want to see me and I don’t want to see her look at me with derision.

“Hi mom.”

She addresses me with the wrong name. “I assume you are calling me about your sister.”

“Look,” I gear myself up, “I told Cass to give him the money. I knew the guy. He delt in legit business. I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d ghost her with the funds.”

“And that is the truth? She was duped by you and this ‘Con man’?”

I know she can tell I’m lying. I may be smooth, but this isn’t the first mistake I’ve called in for Cass. Mom can tell. But she will believe me because she wants to. Because she wants to cling to at least one daughter, and I am the perfect scapegoat.

“Very well,” she says. Crisp. Astute. “Have her call me. Tell her we can discuss repayment, and I will not discontinue her allowance.”

“Thanks Mom.”

She makes a disdainful sound. “I do not expect another call like this.”

Did she mean a call about money? About Cassie’s troublemaking? Or just a call from me in general? I’m afraid to ask. So, “Yes ma’am.”

“Mh. Good day, Leo.”

She hangs up and I slump forward, head resting on the steering wheel. Tears leak from my eyes and I hate that she can pull this much emotion out of me without actually insulting me. I hate that I’m still dependent on Cassie and through her, Mom. I hate that I still want to please her. Beg her to love me. Knowing she never will.

A pathetic sob wraps my throat. I need to get home. Push through this. I wish I didn’t have to be alone though.

Is it so much to fucking ask that my mother care about me?

A knock on the window makes me jump so hard, I bang my head on something. Skye stands at the car, peering in at me with clouds of worry puckering her soft dewy cheeks.

I grab a handful of napkins and press them to my face. I’m still visibly crying, fluids running over my face. I’m sure I look like hell.

When I roll down the window, her lips press together. “What happened?” she asks.

I let out an obviously fake laugh. “Nothing, I just--” I stop when I see her hooded gaze. Skye doesn’t appreciate me lying to her. I let my shoulders drop. “I just…had to call my mom.”

“Rough talk?”

“I was definitely not drunk enough for it.”

Skye clicks the back door open and slides in. “Let’s go get some booze, get wasted, and bitch about our families.”

I don’t normally get wasted. But with all the crap going on, I want to. Besides, Ren’s doing it every damn day. What would one bender possibly do?

We go to Spec's. I grab a decent tequila and a beer I've never heard of. Skye sticks with wine, as usual. Then we go.

I take Skye to my place. She seems less awed by my house than most of my other friends. When we get inside, she sticks to the shelves along the walls, eyes drinking in my taste in art. In decor. In random cute shit I find at craft fairs. She’s absorbing it all, seeing this new glimpse of me--just as I had with Sasha.

“Did you grow up with money?” I ask.

Skye laughs. “Why? Because I’m not dropping my jaw or my panties upon seeing your huge mansion?"

I snort. “No, just…well, yeah.”

Skye’s fingers trail over a clay wolf. “I did grow up well off. My mom wants me to finish school and get the same degree as her. Do what she did. Take over her business.”

“And you don’t want to.”

She flashes me a smirk over her shoulder. “Not even a little bit.”

“Don’t stray from the path,” I let the sarcasm seep into my tone. “You’ll become a problem child.”

“Too late.”

I prep our drinks, grabbing a cocktail for me in a glass goblet and wine for Skye. I’m rounding the corner to the sitting room, but I barely get a step inside when the sharp ping of an incoming sneeze lights up my face--like a text: OTW!

I feel my nostrils widen preemptively and I bite down to stretch the itch, hoping to get a little further so I can set down the drinks before I--

“Hhiegh--S-Skhhh--” I’m leaking tears, my teeth chitting together. “I’m gonna drop thahhh--I’b godda drop thehhh-ih!” I manage to get the glasses into Skye’s hands before my entire face revolts, firing sneezes out of me as revenge for stalling their great entrance.

“Hieg-SHHHK! EX’SHH-iehhh--HG-Eshhh-ieuu! Eughh…”

I hear the glasses thunk down on the table. I cast bleary eyes to Skye. Her face is a blank mask. She stares at me like she’s mad. Did I spill wine on her blouse? That would suck--it’s a really nice blouse.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping that covers everything I could have done. She just sits and curls herself up, sipping her wine. Okay.

I’m excited to try the new beer from this place. It’s citrusy and a bit sharp. When I sip it, it starbursts in my mouth, a surprise cough bubbling it into my nose. It stings.

I slam out a few curse words before doubling over into my elbow, “Hg’dsh! Tsh-IEHhh…ehh…” Ughhh, it’s becoming exhausting to sneeze. I feel my energy drain with each one.

Skye gulps the rest of her glass and quickly pours another. Damn, she’s thirsty.

I focus on the lingering itch just above my nostrils. It keeps gliding up and down inside my nose, like tiny fibers dusting the edge of my…

“Hgk…” I squeeze my eyes shut and rub, palm chasing circles around my nose. But it won’t come. “Hih-eh!” another peak and then I sag into a sigh.

“False start?” Skye says.

“Huh? Is that what they’re called?”

“Uh…” she flushes pink and takes a gulp of her drink.

“O-kay, well this ‘false start’ keeps happening. And it’s getting annoying.” I take another scrub at my nose.

Skye sidles closer to me. “Hm.” She looks glazed. I realize the wine bottle is almost gone.

“There’s something you can do…”

I unscrunch my nose. “What? To sneeze?”

She nods, a strained hum escaping her lips, like an untuned violin. “Look into the light.”

Interesting. “Where did you hear that?”

She coughs, “Google.”

Hah, she recently researched sneezing facts too? What are the odds?

I do what she advised though. I peer into the sunlight clawing through the window. It works almost instantly.

“Wh-hoa--XXST’NN! Holy--Hiex-TShhIEU!” I catch them both in my hands and use my fingers to sweep the lingering itch away. “Sorry,” I sniff, “I can’t believe that worked!” I wipe my hands on my pants. “Gross.”

She titters a single giggle. “I don’t think you’re gross.” She’s giving me a look I know well, but not one I’m used to seeing from Skye. The heat filling her eyes looks foreign to me.

Is she…flirting with me?? I feel my throat close over a cough. I strangle the words out, hoping they sound confident.

“Skye…is this about Ren?”

Her cheeks dimple, lips pursed. She’s flushed with a mixture of alcohol and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You don’t deserve that. I--I suck.”

I place a hand on her arm. “I get it, Skye. I’ve done worse.”

She eyes me with suspicion. “You? No way.”

I laugh, “You have no idea the stupid, asinine shit I’ve done.” I say. As if to prove it, I follow up with the question. “Skye, why…”

“Am I avoiding everyone?” her lips are dark, wine-stained, pursed into a determined puff. She sighs and it feathers down her shoulders. “I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.”

My brow crinkles.

“Like,” she fidgets with a loose string on her sweater, “my friends will all have opinions on what happened. Literally everyone I know also knows Ren. I don’t want to talk about it--at all. I don’t want anyone’s thoughts in my head but my own.”

That is a very Skye response. And I guess it makes some sense, but I wish there were another way. I’ll respect her. I definitely won’t give my two cents.

“So,” I pick up my drink, “What’s it like at your mom’s?”

“Sasha told you where I was?”

“Or I assumed because of our earlier convo.”

“Hm,” she ticks her lips up, “Good save.” She tucks a leg under her and pulls the other up so she can rest her chin on her knee. Skye has a large frame but she is quite flexible.

“Well, I have a temp job at a Game’s Workshop. Mom’s not happy about that.”

“I bet not.”

“I’m paying rent though, so she’s not making demands. Just lecturing me every other day about how my life will never get any better and that I’ll be poor and destitute forever. And it won’t be her fault because she gave me ‘every opportunity’.”

“Meaning, opportunities to take over her business.”

“Yep.”

I lean back and take a sip. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Well,” she shrugs.

“Does she know why you came back?”

Skye takes a swallow of wine. “Yeah. She’s…pretty much the reason I don’t want to hear anyone else ‘on my side’ or otherwise.”

I feel my insides ice. “What did she say?”

Skye lifts her other leg and tucks it under her chin too, wrapping her arms around them. “She said he’s an addict who…” her voice cracks, “deserves what’s coming to him. That I should call the police and have him locked up to ‘straighten him out’.”

“Jesus fuck.”

“Yeah,” she rights herself and rubs her pant legs. “I’m…getting better at ignoring her.”

We sit in a meditative silence for a moment, sipping. But I can’t leave it alone.

“If you don’t want to hear any more or talk about it, why were you at Sasha’s?”

Skye sniffles. “I miss her. So much.” She shakes her head. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. Just trying not to drown.”

“I think we’re all in some form of mourning.”

“Is--” she pops her lips closed. Looks down.

I don’t push. I already feel bad for how far I’ve dug. A small silence creeps over us, making my neck prickle.

Skye swirls her glass, wine looping around the bowl as her voice lilts into a song: “Let me go, Master I hate you so…”

“How can I sleep my nights when my whole being cries…” I say the next lyrics with more gusto than she did.

Sonata Artica. Wolf and Raven.

The song harkens me back to the time we went to a power metal concert together. Ren and Sasha tolerate my wild music. Skye gets it.

She smiles at me, and it’s easy. Comfortable. I feel the earlier tension lift, and it’s like before. Before the breakup.

We chat a bit more and then I put on a movie. It’s one we’ve seen a million times with Sasha and Ren: The Gamers, Dorkness Rising. A fucking classic.

Skye falls asleep during the movie. I’m kind of grateful because I’m exhausted. I feel in a stupor, the alcohol and illness swelling around me like the heedy grasp of an ocean wave. I can practically feel the internal gunfire of my immune system at war.

I cover Skye with a fuzzy blanket and head to bed. My body barely hits the mattress before I zonk out.

The next morning, I can’t breathe through my nose. Already? Ugh. My face is playing a drumbeat with my sinuses. I feel swollen, clogged. I honestly prefer my sneezing fits to this.

Skye’s still asleep. I’d love a shower. The steam would break up my congestion and chase away this chill.

Ugh. I can’t resist. I sneak into the bathroom and throw on the hot water.

The shower feels great. Halfway through, my nose clears. Just snnnkk--suddenly the pressure vanishes and I can breathe. But that comes with it’s own problems in the form of an intense fit.

“HI-D’shh-ikh! Hiek-NGSHH!!” They're big too. Spine-bending harsh. “Kt’IESHH!! HNGSHH-ieu!!” I find myself stumbling from the weight of them, bold and harsh and so wet I can’t tell the difference between my spray and the rain from the showerhead.

I feel better though. I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel. Yeah, trans guys can like pink. Eat shit, gender stereotypes. I’m busting up two at once.

As I’m exiting the bathroom, squishing down another fit with my fist grinding my nose, I bump into Skye.

“Oh, sorr--” I stammer at the look on her face. She’s wide-eyed, mouth agape, as if she caught me doing something obscene.

Now, I know I look good. I exercise. I eat healthy. I take care of my skin. But I don’t look that good. Jaw-dropping good. I am sick after all, and I feel extra goopy. And a little…”Hhh…” itchy.

Before I can speak, I feel my lower lip shiver, and I know I have that dopey look on my face. You know the one--right before a sneeze. And my face just fucking…lingers like that, because I can’t…”Hhh-!” seem “ehhggh…” to fucking “ihhhhh-h-h!” sneeze!

I swat at my nose. I feel my towel slip down below my collarbone and I snag it quickly. I faintly hear Skye say something like “Jesus fucking--” but at that moment the sneeze peaks and I finally “HhhgSHKK!” Get “Hd’TSHH-ekg…” Relief. “Ah-Hshhh-IEU!!”

I feel dizzy. I blink blearily at Skye who is bright pink in the face and neck, her fingers smushed against her round cheeks like she just witnessed a horror show.

“Oh!” she squeaks and spins to scurry off into the other room.

Fuck. Did she see my scars? Did she put two and two together? Did I just royally freak her out??

Heat crawls up my chest, my neck. I bustle myself into my bedroom, intending to get dressed, but when I approach my dresser, I just…can’t. A fugue of depression and fatigue latches onto me. My face throbs and a raw, ratty cough snickers through me.

Gods, what a miserable fucking day.

I flop onto my bed, still naked and wrap myself in the cool TARDIS blue sheets. It feels so good. I could lay here all fucking day. Clean, safe, cozy…

Before I know it, I'm weeping. Silent but (sloppy). Coughing and sneezing welly and forcefully as I try to reign in my body wrenching sobs to keep them silent.

I exhaust myself, head dizzy and foggy, like I'm drifting in congestive clouds. My eyelids feel heavy, (lashes wet quote). I'm so fucking tired.

I wake up feeling like my head is surrounded by cotton. I don’t know what time it is. But there’s a warm bowl of my soup on my bedside table, paired with aspirin and orange juice. A scrawled note is next to them.

Leo,

Get better. I mean it. Text me soon. “I was never meant to lead but to follow. We are like double shining shooting star! Unheard of things in earthly radar!!”

-S

Heh. Excalion. The Wingman. I’m surprised she’s heard that song.

She didn’t ditch me. If she knows my secret, she’s obviously okay with it. That relaxes me. I grab my phone from my desk and text back: “I could speed up and soar too high! A dying star would light the sky!”

I can’t blame her for leaving. I wasn’t necessarily guest-friendly today. Still, I hope I see her again soon. I hope we all do.

Leo's Bean Soup Recipe:

1 large Ham bone (ham meat optional)

2 Rutabaga (instead of potatoes)

1 onion (yellow or white)

1 pkg baby bella mushrooms (sliced)

12 bean soup (1 pkg)

Garlic (3-5 cloves)

Onion powder

Cumin

Rosemary

Salt/Pepper

Fill crockpot with water. Slice up the rutabagas into cubes, dice the onion, slice the mushrooms into thirds, dice the garlic. Throw everything into the crockpot and fill with water. Add seasonings to taste. Cook for 6 hours. Shred the ham meat if used, and then enjoy with your sick friends.

#snz #snz fic #LSSR #zen oc #oc leo #oc ren #oc sasha #oc skye #illness #snz kink #fet character #trans character #angst #caretaking #whump

36 notes · View notes

dirt-str1der · 1 year

Note

just wanna say im obsessed with your mind and i read your posts about kiryu like the morning paper. thank you for your service

(Sweats) e-even the ones about him laying eggs ?

#Thanks for the ask !#HIIIIII thank you for reading my posts im really a serial rambler so that is no easy feat. i just had a lowkey nightmare that was insect #based so its nice to think about different kinds of eggs once in a while. sorry for the eggs i just learned the word gravid and i cant stop #saying it !!! i literally opened tumblr to make another post about kiryu i was gonna say he was probably antisocial in his childhood which #is really a miracle any girls managed to notice him at all. and i believe that he was very dismissive of his clothing and appearance because #you know when youre young and trans and havent realised it but you just randomly hate everything about your appearance and dont even knowwhy #i think his hair was always too long and too shaggy and he would let nishiki comb it sometimes because he really could not stand his mane #and sometimes when it gets wayy too long and shitty the sunflower caretaker would drag him outside and just cut a chunk of it off with a #knife and kiryu would have shoulder length hair for a little while... anyway i need to give him a little girlfriend like how rikiya had one #when he was in school because all trans guys need a little girlfriend or an all girl group of friends to be his girlfriends when hes a kid #so he can carry their shopping bags and wait for them outside the changing room etc and kiryu cant resist a girl so he gets a letter from #nishiki and he tells him yeah this is probably a prank to have you wait there for hours or there might be guys waiting to ambush you and #beat the crap out of you. and kiryus like Nobody beats the crap out of me except our dad. and goes to meet this girl and he actually agrees #to go out with her and this is the thing that keeps him in school because otherwise he would literally not go. like hed walk with yumi and #nishiki and the rest of the kids at sunflower that he doesnt care about to remember the names of. and he would just wave them off at the #gate and wander the town in his school uniform and then after school he’ll meet nishiki and possibly yumi at the gate (yumi probably makes #other friends but its a Must to walk nishiki home because he’ll get lonely) and when kiryu starts going out with this girl hes obligated to #walk her home so he already broke rule one but nishikis like happy for him But he has to walk home with some other random guys now and #eventually theyll broach the topic of ‘his psycho sister’ and nishiki literally has to beat a few guys up to defend kiryus honour and when #he comes back with news of how unpopular kiryu is with the rest of the guys because he looks better with short hair than they do and has a #girlfriend whos super cute. kiryu is just like damn did you commit social suicide to protect my honour? youre my best friend. but whatever #kids get over it fast. but parents dont!! and kiryu walks his girlfriend right to her front door and soon enough her parents are going to #find out that the boyfriend she keeps gushing about is a girl and straight up take her out of school to make her stop being gay and kiryus #like but ... im a boy ... punches the ground and screams to the sky. anyway enough about dysphoria simulator im here to talk about this guy #when hes a bit older because im salivating and shaking over the thought of his bootyass rip kiryu you woulda loved thongs. i think hed hate #ripped jeans but only because he thinks theyre a waste of manufacturing. its literally better for the world that kiryu decided 2 transition #because can you imagine if she was a girl and needed to wear a bra? like she would literally have an itchy back all the time which would #give her a hair trigger temper which means kamurocho a&e room will be very healthily plush indeed. god my battery is dying i need to take a #shower noww anyway really thank you for the nice message you are so sweet ... hi ...

20 notes · View notes

echosofhorrorxx · 7 months

Text

I have a horror movie/Halloween horror nights discord server!! DM me if you're interested!! :))

Minors/agless blogs DNI

#horror #slashers #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #slashers x trans male reader #slasher x trans male reader #lgbtqia friendly #2slgbtqia+#hhn #hhn icons #hhn jack the clown #hhn the usher #hhn the director #hhn the Caretaker #hhn chance #halloween #halloween horror nights

10 notes · View notes

kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 2 years

Text

Thinking of ways that chest binding could be used in a whump scenario,,,

These mostly pertain to transmasculine characters, but they could probably apply to any character of any gender with reason to bind.

Prompts might have content triggering to those with gender dysphoria.

The obvious: Whumpee getting a broken rib from unsafe binding.

Whumpee not taking off their binder for days on end. Doing this long enough to develop back and breathing problems.

Whumpee is afraid that Whumper will take away their chest binder, so they never take it off.

Whumpee binding to hide their sex/gender from Whumper. Maybe they’re a transgender man who is trying to hide that they’re trans. Maybe they’re a woman trying to hide that they’re a woman. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Whumpee not having access to their usual chest binder so they have to make an impromptu one out of the materials they have with them.

Whumper only lets Whumpee bind as a reward for when they’re good.

Whumpee doesn’t want to bind, but Whumper forces them to for whatever reason. They have to keep it in even when they get broken ribs and develop breathing problems.

And for a little comfort: Whumpee comes out as transmasculine to Caretaker, and Caretaker gifts them a binder.

#whump #whump prompts #whump ideas #tw gender dysphoria #my prompts #I would kinda like to see more trans characters in whump #but also I dont #cuz I can see how it could go very wrong #but also I can see a lot of potential with transgender characters in whump #especially with whumpee being transgender #like maybe a pet whumpee is struggling with gender dysphoria #they wouldn’t question whumper’s view of their gender at all #but they still long to be another gender #and then they kind of say this to caretaker #and caretaker is really supportive #and as whumpee comes out and maybe transitions they start to feel more like themself then they ever did #also I think whumper using whumpee’s gender dysphoria against them as a lot of potential #could make for some pretty brutal whump #but I can see why people don’t really write that #anyways these tags should probably be their own post ngl #transgender people for the win <2

108 notes · View notes

whumpy-kitkat · 7 months

Note

willow had been running for hours. she could barely stand by the time she reached the house on the hill. she didn’t have time to weigh her options, to consider if this was a trap or not, before she passed out on the ground.

- 🪴 (also pls tag my whump acc instead of my main!! ty <3)

She sighs and carries the unconscious girl to the couch where Ridley is sleeping. she decides to put another mattress in the room where Ridley was staying, also, she manages to find some blankets and pillows so he and the girl can rest comfortably. She moves the girl into her bed and tries to gently wake up Ridley to tell him the news. "Hey, wake up, you´re getting a roomate"

@sleepy-dogboy @whumptea

#kat #oc #oc rp #ocs #original character #trans girl #whump prompt #whump roleplay #whump rp #whump writing #mole interest #whump art #whump #whumpee #whump community #whump tropes #caretaker #whump scenario #whumper

17 notes · View notes

parsnips-and-meth · 10 months

Text

Like a Rainbow in the Dark - Ch. 2 (Extract)

... When Eddie woke, he was certain he was dying.

He’d been dreaming of a red sky, of air like ash, of a biting cold. Could smell blood. His own blood. His guts were being torn to shreds, swallowed by all those sharp little mouths; he was dissolving into the gruesome, sticky soil of the Upside Down.

Another stain on the eldritch map.

And then he was back in his living room. Back to early evening darkness, warmed by a singular lamp. Steve was there, next to him, pushing on his shoulders, why, so close, why –

His guts were still, still being torn to shreds. The bats chewing up his organs, the pain astronomical, tearing through him over and over and over again. He couldn’t breathe. Could hardly see. And Steve was pushing still, pushing him upright, and Eddie felt something crawl up this throat –

Steve held onto him as he vomited, using his free hand to tuck loose strands of hair behind his ears. There was a bucket, one that hadn’t been there before. And he was sobbing. Could not remember ever sobbing quite like this, except maybe when he was a child.

“Breathe, Eddie.” Steve was so close Eddie could feel his breath on his neck. “You need to breathe.”

And Eddie tried, he really did. But then the pain in his stomach and his back and his everywhere was skyrocketing and he was lurching further into the bucket, spitting up nothing but water and bile.

“Jesus, dude. Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

“No hospital.” It came out garbled. Eddie spat into the bucket, lifted his head. “’S fine. Normal.”

“Fuck off,” Steve said, but continued his ministrations. Stroking back Eddie’s hair, rubbing his arms, breathing a deep and controlled example. Eddie stayed where he was, whimpering and trying hard not to retch as he rode out the cramps, sometimes successful, sometimes not.

Once he was finished, Steve handed him some water. It spilt immediately over his lap. He wrapped his hands around Eddie’s trembling ones, guiding the glass to his mouth. “Slowly,” he instructed, though Eddie didn’t need to be told. He felt too sick to take more than a few sips at a time.

Steve emptied the bucket and brought it back rinsed out, putting it down on the floor next to the couch. Whilst the pain was less intense than when Eddie had woken up – his guts were being torn to shreds, swallowed by all those sharp little mouths – he was still struggling to get a grip on it. He got onto his knees and bent over them, burying his head in the blankets, trying to breathe through it, failing, choking instead on half-formed sobs, whimpers, and all other kinds of mortifying sounds. Steve’s hand on his back only made him cry harder, broke him down that little bit more, had him crumbling into millions of tiny useless pieces.

“What can I do?” Steve sounded lost. Perhaps a little scared. Eddie just shook his head, continued to rock with his head on his knees. He heard Steve walk away, thought, he’s left, finally, thought, come back, please, and then Steve was there again, sitting on the sofa in front of Eddie, putting his hands on his shoulders, hushing, soothing.

He sat him up, pressing a fresh hot water bottle into Eddie’s belly and then pulling him onto his lap, laying him down. Eddie clutched at the bottle, wrapped his arms around himself, only half registering what was happening as Steve moved a pillow underneath his head, ran a hand along his spine. It was warm. Eddie’s breath hitched as it reached the small of his back, and so Steve let it rest there, moving his thumb back and forth, applying the lightest of pressures. The other hand stroked Eddie’s hair in a slow rhythm, and every now and then it wiped the tears and snot from his face with a soft hanky. Duck-egg blue. And behind his head, Steve Harrington breathed evenly, deliberately, until Eddie was doing the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick and a little hoarse, once the aching had eased enough for him to think again. “I’m really sorry.”

“Shut up, Munson. You’re delirious.”

“No.” He tilted his head up to meet Steve’s eyes – took a moment to think, my head is in his fucking lap – “This is too much. You shouldn’t have to, to… You shouldn’t have come. Why did you come?”

Steve was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eddie hiccupped, shaking harder. “Why did you come? Why are you still here?”

"Why did you call?” Steve shot back. “If you didn’t want me here, why did you?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie was close to sobbing. Again. “I don’t know. It was – I was – It hurt! I wanted someone here. I just wanted someone… here.”

“I’m here, Eddie.” Steve brought out the handkerchief again, ran it so gently underneath his eyes. There were navy initials embroidered in the corner – SH. Steve Harrington.

Who are you, Steve Harrington?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said again, quieter this time. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“What if I told you,” Steve said, the corners of his lips quirking upwards, “that I wanted to?”

“I’d say you’re full of shit.” Eddie laughed, sharp, sudden, then brought a hand up to cover his mouth. He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. “Sorry.”

Steve was thinking, a crinkle between his brows. From where Eddie was laying, looking up, Steve’s face simultaneously a little shadowed and yellow blazing in the lamp light, he looked like a hazy photograph. Warm, soft, the world on pause. He was… Well. Eddie didn’t dare finish the thought.

“I know that it’s… easy to think the worst of me,” Steve started, glancing away from Eddie and looking somewhere far away. “I get it. I do. And, I can’t say that I understand everything. I don’t know much about… it, either.” Eddie didn’t need to ask what ‘it’ was. “But I want to. Because, well, you’re my friend. And I care about you. So, I want to understand, better. And know about it. So that I can… know about you.”

Eddie stared up at Steve, stunned. He had known Steve was good, was especially good, but Eddie… Eddie had always been the limitation. He’d assumed Steve was here out of duty; saw Eddie as another person to protect, regardless, in spite of. Because Steve was a hero – this was what he did. And once he was done being Eddie’s hero for the evening, he’d walk out the door and never speak to him again, cut him out, come to terms with his disgust. Maybe tell Robin, or Dustin, or everybody who Eddie really was, what he was, what lay underneath it all.

But, no. Steve wanted… Steve wanted to –

“… Know about me?” He curled his knees up tighter, dug his nails into his sides. “Even though… even though –”

“Yes.” Steve pulled at Eddie’s hands, loosened his fingers, held onto his palms. “Yes. That’s why you’re worried, right? You think… I see you different. Like you less.”

“You don’t?” Eddie hated the way he sounded. Pitchy. Bewildered.

“No,” Steve said. “I don’t.”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” he choked out, and then was crying, for the millionth time. “I was getting all worked up.”

He laughed. “I could see that.”

“You’re strange,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “You’re so strange.”

Steve smiled, going back to running his hands through Eddie’s hair, wiping his tears, circling his back. Tending to him so carefully. “Yeah,” he murmured, so low Eddie nearly missed it, “I guess I am.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #whump fic #whump #hurt/comfort #trans eddie munson #sickfic #vomiting #emeto #caretaking #ao3 #ao3 writer

7 notes · View notes