#got blender open. have had blender open for 2 days. ill probably finish this hair cc soon

[bowenoke]

if i just keep making textposts surely this project will finish itself in the background

[yikesharringrove]

oh god okay feel free to ignore this if you want, idk? but um ive been really struggling with eating lately (like i just kinda panicked about the thought of eating?) and you're really good at writing all this kind of stuff so maybe billy struggling with eating after starcourt (for medical and mental reasons) and steve helping but still bring gentle and encouraging (totally okay if this is a sensitive for you or if you don't want to write it 💕)

This is pretty heavy.

Under the cut for medical stuff, disordered eating, talks of throw up (nothing graphic), me projecting.

The first bit under the cut is my medical story, so skip that if you would like.

Read on Ao3

-

So, oof. A little background. I spent three years misdiagnosed when I was young. I was so sick and in so much pain (one of my organs had literally died) that I couldn’t eat. If I did, I was in such severe pain I would throw up. I was 5 feet tall and weighed 62 pounds. If I had lost 2 pounds, I would’ve had an intestinal feeding tube. The doctors thought I just had an eating disorder from doing ballet. They would look at my chart, see another chronic illness I have, and blame my pain on that. They found what was wrong BY ACCIDENT and fixed it within a few hours in one (1) surgery.

So this is based largely on that.

-

He pushed the mashed potatoes around the plate.

“I thought hospital food was supposed to be like, bad. This is pretty alright.” Steve had wolfed down the plate he had gotten himself, not paying much attention to how the plate he had brought Billy was still full.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” He had taken one bite.

He felt fucking sick.

The thought of food, of something in his sore stomach, made him want to hurl.

“You’re not eating?” Steve’s eyebrows were scrunched up, concerned.

“Don’t feel too good.”

“Would something sound better? I could get you whatever you wanted.”

“Um, just like a ginger ale or something. Then I’ll try eating again.” That was his go-to. Ginger ale or Sprite, the carbonation helped his stomach enough that he could force some food down for a while.

Steve got him a few cans from the vending machine.

He ended up taking three bites of potato.

-

Steve made dinner when he finally got to come home.

They had decided he would move in with Steve, “live” in the bedroom across the hall, but they both knew he would be spending the most time in Steve’s room.

He had just made buttered noddles, nothing that would be hard on Billy’s weak stomach, but he had made the noodles from scratch.

And Billy was just staring at them.

“You feeling okay?”

“Just, uh, you know. Stomach’s kinda off.” Steve got him a can of ginger ale from the fridge, slid it to him with a bright smile.

The gesture was sweet, but Billy just didn’t want to risk it.

Every night he spent heaving into the toilet, it made his muscles seize and hurt. It made his throat burn for hours, made him feel like he was wasting away to nothing.

-

He always used the same hole on his belts.

He knew it was the right one from the way the leather was stretched a bit, the buckle leaving indents on it.

But that was too big now.

Did nothing to hold up his pants.

His pants that used to fit.

He tightened his belt.

Two notches. He was two notches thinner.

-

Billy could hear the blender when he woke up.

He was curious as to what Steve was doing, what the fuck he was blending up.

He came downstairs, found Steve with grocery bags all around the kitchen.

“Hey! I’ve been doing some research.” He poured the thick smoothie into a blender. “I think this might be easier for you to eat and keep down. There’s protein powder and some ginger, that should help keep your stomach calm, and spinach and some fruit and stuff.” Steve was fidgeting with his hands.

“Thank you.” Billy sat down with it.

Steve let him take his time, let him drink it in tiny sips.

He was about halfway through when he threw it all up.

-

Billy hadn’t eaten in two days.

But he also hadn’t thrown up in just as long.

Steve poked a plate of plain toast towards him.

Billy stared at it.

Steve sighed.

“Will you just, take one bite? For me?”

He took the smallest bite he possibly could.

Steve let him wait ten minutes before he pushed the toast back towards him.

They continued that until Billy finished the toast, waiting a while between each bite in order to make sure it wasn’t on it’s way back up.

He kept it down almost the whole night, until the pain in his stomach flared again and he was heaving into the large mixing bowl Steve kept next to the bed.

-

Billy was laying on the bed, curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

Steve had been behind him almost all day, rubbing his back, talking in a low soothing voice.

He left when there was a pounding on the door. He left the door open, Billy could hear Max’s voice.

“Jesus, Max. You’re a mess.”

“It’s, it’s raining. And I fell.”

“Why were you skateboarding in the rain?”

“I um, I remembered, whenever Billy felt sick, he liked eating lime popcicles, and I went to Melvald’s, and I got some.”

She sounded hysterical.

“Alright, thank you, Max. Thank you. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He heard them coming up the stairs, going into the bathroom on the landing he kept the first aid kit in.

They were in there for a while before Steve came in, talking in that soft voice he always uses.

“Billy, Max is here.”

It felt like a feat for him to roll over.

Her knees were bandaged up, and her face was splotchy.

“Hey, Shitbird.”

“You look like shit.” He huffed a laugh.”

“Feel like it, too.” Her lip trembled. He didn’t want that. “Hey, thanks for the popcicles. Can I get one? Lime, right?”

“Yeah. Lime.” Steve helped him sit up, gave him one of the popcicles.

It tasted good, and the cold was nice on his throat.

And he even kept the whole thing down.

-

Steve was standing next to Billy as they waited for the doctor.

He had lost nearly thirty pounds since he’d been home. His muscle was nearly entirely gone.

“Steve, just, play it cool.”

“I will not.” He had his pissed off mom face on, and Billy knew he had no qualms about yelling at a doctor.

“Steve, this is just, my life now.”

“No. I refuse to accept that.”

“You yell at Owens every time we’ve come in for the past four months, Steve.”

“And I’m gonna keep yelling until shit gets fixed.”

There was a rap on the door before Dr. Owens let himself in.

“You need to help him.” Billy huffed as Steve started in immediately.

“Um, good morning to you both.” Dr. Owens looked between the two of them.

“Billy can’t eat without throwing up. Look at him. He’s fucking wasting away.”

“Steve-”

“No. I can’t take it anymore. There is something fucking wrong. It is your job to fix it.”

Owens’ eyes were wide, Steve was on a roll.

“Every day, every day he can’t eat anything. He won’t because he’s in pain, and he’d rather not eat than throw everything up. And you need to help him.”

Owens was quiet.

“Let’s run some tests.”

-

Billy was in imaging within a few minutes. He had an x-ray done of his abdomen, and Owens ordered several blood tests.

They were in another room, Billy was having an ultrasound done of his entire stomach.

The tech was looking at his intestines, finding everything normal.

“Look, you’re already doing all this, can’t you just kinda, poke around?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Just kinda,” Steve made a vague wiggling gesture around Billy’s stomach.

She gave him a look.

But she sighed, moving the wand up his body.

“Huh?”

“Wait, what’s huh?”

“Um, excuse me.” She left in a hurry.

“Wait, you think they found something?” Billy’s eyes were side.

“If they did, and I was right, you’re never gonna hear the end of it.” Billy rolled his eyes.

The tech returned with an older woman, pointing at the screen and discussing in low voices.

And then the doctor was leaving again, and the tech was wiping his stomach.

“So, we’re going to prep an operation room. We’re going to have you in there as soon as we can.”

“Wait, what?”

“His gallbladder is infected.” Steve was fucking grinning when he turned back to Billy.

“So, I was right?”

“Steve, read the room. Surgery.”

“Oh, fuck.”

-

Steve was biting his nails.

The chairs in the waiting room were stiff and uncomfortable.

They were given the run down. Billy’s gallbladder had become infected. Probably due to the traumatic situation of his injuries and the many surgeries it took to put him back together.

It was almost completely dead inside his body, causing severe pain and all the vomiting. The doctor had explained that his rapid weight loss had probably only hurt it more.

They said it would take about two hours to remove.

Steve had been staring at the large clock as the two hours clicked by.

It was creeping up on two and a half, and he was getting fucking antsy.

He scrambled to his feet when a nurse called him back.

“You family?”

“Yeah, I’m his brother.” It was easier to lie. He needed to see him.

“He should be waking up very soon. It’s easier if there’s family. His surgery went well, the surgeons were able to remove his gallbladder with no other complications. He may be in pain and delirious when he wakes up, put that will pass, and we can give him more medicine if he needs.” They had stopped in front of a nondescript door.

Steve let himself in, taking the seat closest to Billy’s bed, taking his hand. His eyes were already blinking slowly. He smiled softly when he saw Steve.

“Pretty,” his voice was soft.

“Hey, Baby. I’m right here for you.”

“Thanks for, thanks for fightin’.” Steve smiled back at him, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course, Bill. I’ll always fight for you.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Billy smiled again. “You feelin’ okay? Need more meds?”

“Nah. Feelin’ good. Feelin’ high.”

“Yeah, they gave you the good drugs.”

“Good drugs.” He laid back in the pillow, his eyelids looking heavy.

“Go to sleep if you’re tired, Bill.”

“Don’t wanna. Wanna see you.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Steve kissed his hand.

[teaandspacekittens-blog]

How to Rock an Apron (Part 2) - A Klance High School AU

I was hoping to finish this up in 2 parts, but alas, the words started getting away from me yet again.  i decided to break it up and post this part in celebration of S2 (there are no spoilers though, so you’re safe).  You can find part 1 HERE.  There will be one more part after this, and it’s almost finished, so yay!  Thanks again to the friends who cheered this on while it was happening.

The hell of it was, the bastard was right.  It was unfair - really, really unfair Keith's poor beleaguered sanity interjected - how attractive Lance managed to make the same apron every other student was wearing look.  The same criminally pink shade that made the rest of them look ill somehow complimented Lance's hair and skin and made them look luminous.  The cut that didn't work on anyone else made his shoulders broader, his waist thinner, and his legs longer - something about the lines it created suggested bendy to Keith's brain, but Keith suspected his brain was a filthy pervert.

He should look just as ridiculous as the rest of them - and in a way he did - but the way he owned it the way other kids tried to do and failed utterly took the absurdity and flipped it on its head and left Lance looking stupidly hot.  The combination of his brazenness and the frills and his dirty grin and his ridiculous fucking face somehow added up to an overall look that was somewhere between adorable and filthy hot to the point of obscenity.

The things Keith had imagined doing to Lance in that apron, on top of that apron, using that apron as a prop, would haunt him for the rest of his life.  Or until his dick fell off from over-handling.

Of course there was no way he was actually telling Lance any of that.  He was horny and pathetic not suicidal, thank you.  Although there was something in the air between them, something pregnant and pulsing, a tension that felt delicious in its pressure but so close to popping Keith didn't know if there was anything they could do to maintain it.  He really didn't want to anyway.  He raised a gently mocking eyebrow.  "Strangely, you have found a way to make it work for you."

Grinning, Lance fluttered his eyelashes outrageously.  "Of course I do."  He smoothed his hands over the stretch of the apron over his hips.  "I'm the prettiest princess in all the land."

He said that without an ounce of shame, or humor, or anything else that indicated it was supposed to be a joke or something.  Keith seriously fucking loved that about him.  Lance legitimately did not care about how "masculine" he was or if others perceived him as feminine. Their second week of school, some dumb jock had thought he'd come up with a real zinger when he told Lance, "only girls take Home Ec dude, you a girl now or something, Sanchez?" and Lance had just looked at him and said, "and if I am?  You say that like it's something to be embarrassed about.  I dare you to tell my mom or one of my sisters they should be ashamed of being female."  Keith thought that might have been the moment he got in so deep.

So yeah, it was stupid hot that Lance was comfortable wearing girl things and calling himself a pretty princess and it not really meaning anything other than that he liked those things - but it was also stupid fucking brave of him too, and that might be what really did it for Keith.  Either way, it gave him the courage not to laugh or play it off either.  He hummed thoughtfully.  "Huh, you might just be," he muttered like he hadn't been thinking that Lance was the prettiest boy he'd ever seen on a pretty much daily basis for months.

The bubble of whatever between them popped - it was clear as day on Lance's face.  Heat chased shock through his expression and he ducked his head a little like he was suddenly shy.  "Yeah, you think so?"  His voice was rough, like the words had been dumped into a blender with a pound of gravel yet somehow still fragile and hopeful.

In a flash the inevitability of this moment exploded in Keith's brain in a shower of electric sparks.  The saying went that you saw your life flash before your eyes before you died, and this wasn't a near death experience, and it wasn't his whole life, but Keith was definitely seeing still images like bursts of memory superimposed on this moment, a replay of everything that had led him here.

Like he'd been asked to make a timeline, Keith relived their first argument in the hallway, Lance's opening volley in their prank war, the escalation of their stupid rivalry, and the moment when Vice Principal Iverson had caught them both red-handed trying to pull off separate pranks at the same time in the teacher's lounge and arguing over who got there first.

They'd of course been immediately hauled to the office and subjected to a diatribe on their lack of discipline, but Keith couldn't remember any of the words Iverson had snarled.  It was the ghost of the self-satisfied smile Lance had flashed at Keith every time Iverson looked away the crept through Keith's brain now.  Followed by the stunned look of horror that had replaced it when the VP had dropped the bombshell that they would both have to attend a detention hour for their last period for the entire year.

No amount of pleading had been able to convince Iverson to change his mind about that and Keith remembered the apologetic look the guidance councilor had worn when informing the two of them that rearranging their schedules to accommodate the punishment meant the only elective available to them was Home Ec if they wanted to fit in all the requirements for graduation.

The images kept coming, so many overwhelming him: the first time he'd put on this ridiculous apron; the first time he'd seen lance in his; the day he realized sewing was a piece of cake, cooking he could do passably well, but baking was simply out of the question; the look on Shiro's face when he'd suggested Keith ask Lance for help with this cupcake assignment so he didn't fail (since Lance was inexplicably good at baking for some reason); the way Lance hadn't reacted like it was weird at all when Keith had caved and took Shiro's advice; the look of faint amusement on their teacher's face when they'd asked to borrow the classroom kitchen after school.

All of it was a clear path from that first moment to this one and Keith could see now that they had always been heading here.  The two of them were a runaway train headed for the bridge that was out - and there was no way they weren't gonna go over that cliff.  Once they'd set that first wheel in motion there was no getting off this track.  Keith could blame Iverson, or Shiro, or himself, or his hormones, or anyone else he wanted - but the truth of the matter was that fate was really the one to blame. They were destined to tumble over this edge together, go out in a blaze of glory - egging each other on the whole time.

Knowing that made it easy - so fucking easy - to take a step, get in Lance's space, crowd him against the counter and cage him in, bracing his hands on the table, one on either side of Lance's hips.  "Mhmm."  he leaned forward and whispered the rest straight into Lance's ear.  "I think you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

A fine tremor rolled up Lance's spine.  They were still close enough that it had their bodies just barely brushing against each other in interesting ways.  He sucked in a stilted breath that sounded like he only vaguely remembered how to do that breathing thing.  "I wanted you the first second I saw you," he blurted.

Keith pulled back enough to look at Lance, dying inside at how edible the faint blush staining the bridge of his nose made him look.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Oh yeah?"

Lance bit his lip and nodded, flushing darker.  "And then hated myself immediately.  Fingerless gloves.  Popped collar.  Mullet.  All things one should not have to list when describing their crush."

Keith just stared at him.  "You hung an eight foot poster in the gym before the first student assembly.  Of yourself.  Dabbing."  He gave Lance a pointed look.  "You think I'm not questioning my life choices constantly?"

That cocky little smirk of Lance's that seemed to exist just to test Keith's grip on his self control made a reappearance at that.  Lance leaned back against the counter and tipped his chin up.  "Yeah?  You come up with any answers yet?"

Keith leaned in closer, enough that all it would take to press their lips together would be one of them tilting their head a little.  He offered his own smug smirk.  "Is this a multiple choice question?"

Lance laughed, breath puffing against Keith's lips.  "A) I'm a powerful warlock that has cast a spell on you, causing you to become enchanted with me.  B) You're just really into delightfully tacky shit - as evidenced by your wardrobe.  C) This was Iverson's plan all along because he figured if we were too busy hitting on each other then we couldn't have time to keep our prank war going.  or D) This was always going to happen and even though it's insane and probably very ill-advised we should just go with it and crash and burn together."

Keith smiled and dared to move his hands from the table to Lance's hips, heart beating wild and fast against his ribs.  "You forgot a few."

Lance raised an eyebrow and lifted his hands, curling them into the fabric of Keith's t-shirt just above his waist.  "Enlighten me."

Was flirting supposed to be this much fun?  Was it supposed to feel this much like what they used to do when they were "rivals?"  Keith's blood sang with the thrill of competition, the hind-brain desire to prove his strength and cunning to a potential mate.  It was heady, and arousing, and addictive - but most of all it was just really, really fun.  He rubbed his thumbs absently over the ridge of Lance's hipbones, noting the way every part of Lance he'd touched so far seemed to fit perfectly in his hands.  "E) This was Iverson's plan all along, but it's going to backfire because the two of us teaming up will cause him far more hell than we ever could have separately.  And F) all of the above."

Lance curled his fingers tighter around the fabric of Keith's shirt, bunching it up so that his knuckles just barely grazed Keith's skin.  He smiled when Keith shivered at the light contact.  "You have a final answer, or do you need to phone a friend?"

A hundred witty responses pushed themselves to the forefront of Keith's brain, but he realized that the two of them could probably keep this game going forever if they wanted to.  And... Lance was touching him, skin on skin and they were damn near pressed together, they were close enough that Keith could kiss him if he wanted to (spoiler alert: he very much wanted to).  So why in the fuck would he worry about keeping this lively back and forth going when what he should really be trying to do was end it as quickly as possible in favor of trying to get his mouth on Lance's?  He snorted and answered, "All of the above."

Rolling his eyes, Lance whispered, "it's always 'all of the above,'" before surging forward and kissing Keith