#i finished this with less than an hour til submission ends girl help

[yukiranine]

Yes he’s shooting the ruin giant backwards. No he will not hit it.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Study Buddies (Sternclay)

I got several requests for this prompt as a meet ugly for Sternclay: you caught me doing something a few weeks ago but didn’t report me and now you’re trying to blackmail me into secretly tutoring you even though you and your friends have always been assholes, no I don’t ‘owe’ you.” Fill is SFW

“I saw that.”

Stern freezes, hand still on the now-shut back door, “saw me putting out the garbage?”

“Nope” his coworker Barclay rumbles, “saw you taking the leftover pastries and giving them to the homeless guys who hang out in that plaza.”

“A few of them were from that batch you baked three hours ago, they were barely old, going to waste was ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you know Haye’s rule about that.”

“Yes, and I think it’s ridiculous too.” He crosses his arms, staring up at Barclay and daring him to tell him it isn’t.

“I agree. But you still got caught.”

“By you, not by him, now move so I can start wiping down the tables.”

“What, uh, makes you think I’ll keep my mouth shut?”

Stern turns, startled, “are you trying to fucking blackmail me?”

“No, uh, I mean-” Barclay’s gaze darts to the front of the coffee shop, where his friends make several encouraging motions.

“Of course” he groans, “Christ, Barclay, I didn’t think you’d stoop this low.”

“Look” the larger man takes a step, bringing him into Stern’s space, “I have a massive midterm paper due in a few weeks, and I need help. Big time.”

From this distance Stern can smell laundry detergent and burnt sugar, see a pleading tint in those deep brown eyes. He wants to punch him in his aggravating, handsome face.

“You owe me, Stern.”

“Like hell I do.”

“I’ve covered your ass more times than I can count when you’ve run late because of your internship.”

“And I’ve covered your ass all those times you were late because you were giving your friends rides.” He jabs his finger into Barclay’s chest and his hand is instantly enclosed in one of Barclay’s own

“I don’t want to tell Hayes anything, Stern, but I really, really don’t want to fail this fucking class.”

“Fine. I’ll help with your essay.”

“Not just mine, my friends need help too.”

“Oh no, no chance, deals’ off.” Stern pulls his hand away, “I can tolerate you, but they” he points to the group still sitting at the table, “have been nothing but awful and rude to me”

“They’re not-”

“They are too that bad, at least to me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It wouldn’t be those guys, it’d be some friends of mine from the LGBT center on campus.”

“Fine. But if one of those ones shows their face, I leave. Shake on it.”

Barclay talks his hand again, shakes it, and tells him to be at the LGBT center at 7 p.m tomorrow. 

--------------------------

Stern arrives at five til, finds Barclay sitting on a beanbag chair near a low table with four other people. One, a blonde girl in a green dress, pops up and walks over to him. 

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m here for him.” He points to Barclay.

“Oh! You’re the essay guy.”

“Yep, that’s me.” He smiles as politely as he can muster and joins her at the table. 

“Glad you came.” Barclay smiles at him.

“I didn’t have a choice.” He glares and the smile disappears.

“Everyone, this is Stern-”

“Joseph. Most people call me Joseph.”

“-and he’s gonna help with the midterm essay for our comp class.”

“Sweet!” The other girl at the table, black hair streaked with red, raises her hands triumphantly. 

“Do all five of you need help?” Stern looks around.

“Nope, just me, Duck” she points to a stocky guy in a Yosemite’ shirt, “and Barclay. Indrid and this cutie aren’t in that class.” She kisses the blonde’s cheek. That makes Indrid the guy with messily dyed silver hair and sketchbook, who’s currently laying with his head in Duck’s lap.

“Alright, that’s not too bad. Does someone have the assignment?”

Duck pulls it up on his laptop so Stern can read it. 

“Okay, so, it’s time to start outlining how you want to approach your topic.”

“Uhhhh.” Barclay looks at this friends, who shake their heads.

“None of you have a topic yet.”

“Nope.”

“When is this due?”

“Three weeks from yesterday.”

“And it’s worth how much?”

“45% of our final grade.”

Stern allows himself a few moments of vicarious stress, then gets to work. By the time the center closes, they all have topics selected, and Stern has instructions to come back on Monday.

He does just that, comes back Wednesday too. By Friday, he’s learned that he and Duck actually share a chem lecture and that Aubrey has many classes in the same building he does, as she always waves to him when they cross paths. On Friday night, he arrives to help them flesh out their outlines. 

“Colors?” Aubrey says as she braids pieces of twine while studying her notes for her midterm. 

“What?”

“Your pride colors; I’m making bracelets for everyone because it helps me focus.”

“Oh, um, trans pride ones. Please.”

“Good, already got those out.” She slides a pink, blue, and white bracelet across the table to Duck.

Barclay arrives with cookies, and they settle into their usual working rhythm, Stern bouncing between the three to see what they have and offering editorial advice. He’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with Barclay, enjoying the contact more than he cares to admit. 

“This is a little clunky here, I think I see your point but it’s getting lost.”

Barclay taps the table, then deletes and re-writes the section. 

“That’s way better.”

“What can I say, got a good teacher.” Barclay smiles at him, subdued yet charming, and Stern’s heart flips several times before he whacks it into submission. 

A week later, he turns up at the center to find the room rearranged and a larger group present. There’s a screen hung up on the far wall and Dani is tinkering with a laptop and projector. 

“I think I missed a memo.” He says to Duck as the other man is pouring two cups of soda. 

“Yeah, we decided to have a movie night and watch Dracula’s Daughter because Aubrey insists it’s a gay classic.”

“It’s quite good. I’ll, um, I’ll just head out then.”

“Y’know you can stay right? You ain’t just essay help, you’re our friend.” Duck gives him a look stuck between reassurance and concern.

“I guess I can, since I have tonight blocked off.” He goes in search of a seat and finds the only free spot is, of course, directly next to Barclay. 

Dani dims the lights and the move starts. There’s a rustle near his lap.

“Popcorn?” Barclay whispers. 

“Sure, thanks.”

As the movie plays on, their hands keep going for popcorn at the same instant and bumping each other. A few weeks ago this would have annoyed him to no end. Now he just wants to hold his hand. Barclay is different around these friends; gentler, funnier, his generosity given plentiful outlets. He’s been different at work too, less inclined to needle Stern and more interested in talking with him as they clean than in enabling his friends to stay late and make a mess. Stern’s noticed said friends do their fair share of shit-talking Barclay, the larger man seemingly so used to it he doesn’t react. But more and more Stern sees the flashes of exhaustion and hurt on his face. 

“You're not their servant, Barclay.”

“I know, I’m just being helpful.”

“That was half your cut of the tips they scammed off you.”

“It’s fine, Stern.”

“But”

“It’s fine.”

The group opts to watch Frankenstein meets the Wolfman next, and Barclay adjusts so his hand is flat on the ground on the other side of Stern. Stern leans to the side, resting against him, and lets himself pretend he could feel this safe and wanted all the time. 

----------------------------------

“Stern, wait up!” Barclay catches up to him as he walks home. It’s Wednesday night, meaning everyone’s essays are finally finished. When Aubrey asked if Stern was going to keep hanging out with them, he said he’d have to see about his schedule, and ignored the fact she knew he was lying. 

“What was that line about your schedule? You could still make time to hang out with us.”

“I’ll come back when you all need help on your finals.”

“....do you seriously think that’s all we care about? All I care about? Stern, they really like you, and it seemed like you were getting along with everyone.”

“I was, and I do like them. But I can’t keep being around you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Barclay steps in front of him, barring his path. 

“It means that I like you too, but am well aware of how you really feel about me. You act kind, you talk to me like I actually matter, like we’re actually friends, but deep down I know you still think I’m uptight and nerdy and deserve to be mocked for it.”

“I don’t, I swear” Barclay puts his hands on Stern’s shoulders, voice earnest, “I like you a lot, I’m so fucking glad we started hanging out more, I, I really care about you.”

“Care about me? How the fuck am I supposed to believe that when you still won’t even call me by my name!” He hisses, not wanting to wake the nearby apartments. 

“I...I was just using it like a nickname. I didn’t know it bothered you. I’m, uh, I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely chagrined and the fire in Stern’s chest flickers out. He stares at the ground, not knowing what else to do.

“Joseph?”

He looks up in time to see Barclay bend forward, bringing their lips millimeters apart.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Do you” he exhales so intensely a nearby moth gets blown off course, “do you really want to?”

“Haven’t been able to think about anything else all night, babe. All week too.”

Stern closes the distance, Barclay’s hands gripping his arms when he does. The kiss is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and he lifts his hands up to Barclays cheeks, stroking them in a plea for more. 

Barclay obliges, slides his hands onto his back and pushes him forward, sighing soft and shaky when the kiss deepens. When it ends Stern stays put, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder as he hugs him, shuddering with want.

“I gotcha babe, don’t worry.” Barclay pets his fingers through Sterns hair.

“Not worried your friends will see us?”

“Fuck ‘em. They were guys I knew in high school who knew how to manipulate me and I can do better. Like you, for starters. Plus Dani thinks their dicks too.”

“Knew there was a reason I liked her.”

“Now, if those friends saw us, we’d know because we’d hear Aubrey yelling ‘called it’ from a mile away.”

“Not that I’m opposed to sidewalk hugging, but it’s getting kind of cold.”

“C’mon” Barclay kisses his forehead, “let’s get you home.”

“Feel like joining me for some ‘coffee?’” Stern makes air quotes as Barclay takes his hand.

“Hell yeah I do. Can think of a lot of places I’d like to put cream.” 

“Not just yet, big guy, though I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Stern pauses his walking to kiss him, “tonight I think you and I have a make-out date on my couch.”

Another kiss, full of promise and the barest hint of heat, “sounds good to me, Joseph.”

[sickdaysofficial]

29: Good Samaritan

Written by @sickandvomiting, with my OCs Neil, Nell, and Rocky.

Word Count: 1,955

Trigger warning for vomit

Trigger warning for vomit

Trigger warning for vomit

Neil’s eyes opened, blinking slowly at the sunlight streaming in through his half open window. The breeze made his white curtains billow out, rolling and furling as the gentle gusts caught and released them. He stretched and yawned loudly, then turned and blearily looked at the clock on his bed stand. 10:47.

“Shit!” he yelled, and practically vaulted out of bed and frantically dressed himself. He checked his phone as he attempted to comb his shaggy blond hair into submission; he had 18 texts and 6 missed calls, all from his boss and coworkers. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed. His shift was supposed to start at 9:00. He was nearly two hours late! He pulled on the nearest socks and shoes, not caring that the socks were both dirty and mismatched. He stumbled down the stairs, stopping only briefly to grab something- a leftover sandwich made of stale bread, wilted lettuce, mayo, and some unidentifiable deli meat- out of the fridge and shove it into his mouth as he darted out the door. It was raining, but he didn’t have the time to grab his umbrella, so he just continued toward the train station, occasionally tripping over his untied shoelaces.

He arrived at the train station with just second until the train doors shut, and he swung himself into one of the carriages with a relieved sigh. Made it! He collapsed, dripping, into one of the empty seats and tried to catch his breath. He had practically sprinted the last block and a half, and if that wasn’t exhausting enough, his work day was going to be terrible as well. He had a factory job that was about a 45 minute train ride into the city, and he was not looking forward to getting chewed out by his boss for arriving nearly three hours late, not to mention the endless ribbing he’d receive from his coworkers. As the train lurched into motion, he seriously considered just faking his own death and leaving it at that. It would certainly be less draining than the day ahead of him.

His shift went quite as expected; he was berated by his boss for a half hour starting the moment he set foot in the door, and the rest of the day was spent moving heavy boxes onto shipping palettes and getting teased by his coworkers. Even though he only had a half day to work because of his tardiness, he was thoroughly exhausted by the end of it. He was sore all over, felt weirdly weak and shivery, and he was kinda dizzy; that was probably just from the stiflingly hot and humid air in the packaging area. In fact, he was probably just dehydrated. He hadn’t thought to grab a water bottle before dashing out the door.

Yes, that’s probably it, he thought to himself.

After apologizing to his boss on last time and bidding his coworkers a hasty adieu, he ducked out the door and into the pouring rain. It had gotten hot during the day, and the humidity from the rain wasn’t helping. It felt like the air was sucking out the very last of his energy and then suffocating him to top it off. He felt suddenly very dizzy and stopped momentarily to steady himself on a nearby wall. He felt a pit forming in his stomach, his shitty work lunch settling heavy at the bottom of it, refusing to digest properly. His head was beginning to spin in earnest, and he shook it in an attempt to quell the buzzing in his ears, but it only served to make things worse.

“I definitely should have drank more water today,” he mumbled to himself.

He started off walking again, the rain soaking into his clothes and dripping down his face, adhering his long fringe to his forehead and cheeks. He was grateful when he reached the train station, for both the shelter and the place to sit and collect himself. The train arrived shortly after he did, and he boarded with the end of the work day crowd, taking an empty seat close to the end of the car. Just before the door shut, a girl and guy darted into the car, also sopping wet and out of breath. They took the only two seats left; directly across from Neil.

The train took off as they sat down, and Neil leaned back in his seat, long legs splayed out in front of him. The two paid him no mind. On any other day, Neil would have tried to make conversation, as the ride back to his place was long and boring, but his stomach has started churning and gurgling now, and he just didn’t have the energy. So he studied them in silence. The girl was chubby, with short blond curly hair. She was wearing a bright sweater and a mermaid print skirt and large glasses, and carried big quilted bag. The guy was slight, Asian, and had a multitude of piercings and a punk rock kind of style. Neil quickly decided it was good that he didn’t try to talk to them, as they started signing animatedly to each other.

One of them must be Deaf, he thought, but tore his eyes away when the girl glanced over and caught him staring. He leaned back, defeated, and closed his eyes, hoping to get a short nap in before they reached his stop. His stomach, however, had other ideas. He felt his stomach contents slosh with every bump of the train, and every time he thought he might be able to get to sleep, it gurgled ominously and a wet, sick sounding burp was forced up his throat. He could taste acid in the back of his mouth as he clamped his mouth shut, trying to will his stomach into submission. He placed a hand on his bloated, sick belly and rubbed a little, hoping that would help.

The nausea got progressively worse as the ride went on, and the frequent stops and starts certainly weren’t helping his case.

Only 20 minutes til I’m home, he thought. He just hoped he’d be able to keep it down until then.

“H-urrrrp!” A loud belch slipped out and he felt his lunch trying to crawl up his throat. He sat forward abruptly and clamped a hand over his mouth, dangerously close to spewing on the floor of the carriage. He glance up and saw the girl and guy staring at him, but they went back to signing quickly. He tried to sit back and not draw any more attention to himself, but as he moved his stomach flipped and he felt his cheeks flood with foul tasting sick. He looked around frantically as other riders scooted as far from him as they could. He stomach cramped hard and just as he pitched forward with the force of it, the girl shoved a large plastic bag under his chin. She held it open for him as the sick spurted out between his fingers, and he let go of his mouth and let the rest of it fall into the bag. He hung his head over it and heaved up another forceful stream. It splashed onto the girl’s fingers and she grimaced.

Neil took the bag with shaking hands and held it over his mouth and nose as he burped up another stream of sick. The girl signed something to her friend, who handed her a wet wipe from her bag and crossed the car to sit next to Neil and rub his back comfortingly. Then the girl spoke.

“We’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Just get it up,” she murmured as she brushed the hair out of his face. She signed something to her friend with her free hand.

“I’m sorry,” Neil choked out between gags. “I’m sorry.” He ducked back into the bag with a quiet retch and more of his lunch dripped from his lips. He shuddered at the sensation and his eyes burned with tears of exertion and embarrassment. The girl tutted sympathetically as one slid down his cheek.

“God, you poor thing,” she said as she thumbed it away. Neil didn’t bring his eyes to meet hers, but he could hear the concern in her voice. Her friend signed something to her with the hand that wasn’t on Neil’s back, and she translated. “Rocky wants to know if you want any water. He’s got a bottle in his backpack,” but the only response Neil could manage was to gag up another stream of sick into the bag.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Rocky signed, and patted Neil’s back when he choked and spluttered on a piece of sandwich that caught in his throat. The girl smiled sadly, and turned back to Neil.

“What’s your name, love? I’m Nell, and that’s Rocky,” she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it with her thumb. When he thought it was safe enough to speak, he pulled the bag away from his face.

“Neil,” he croaked out, throat raw from the acid and straining heaves. Nell turned to Rocky and spelled out N-E-I-L. “I would say it’s my pleasure, but there are better ways to meet.” Nell translated this for Rocky and he laughed.

When Neil looked back, Rocky mouthed “You finished?”, and when Neil nodded shakily he took his hand off the sick boy’s back. He signed “That looked awful. What happened?”, and Nell spoke for him.

“I don’t know, I think my breakfast was bad but I ate it so fast I couldn’t even tell,” Neil said, and Rocky made noise of sympathy.

“Poor thing,” Nell said. “Hopefully your stop is soon.”

“About ten minutes. Two stops from here.” Neil said, and zipped the bag shut. The smell was making his stomach start to turn again, and he didn’t think these kind strangers would have any more bags on them.

“That’s our stop too,” Nell said, signing as she spoke so Rocky could keep up.

“We should probably drive him home,” Rocky said. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting him drive himself.”

“Can we drive you home?” Nell asked. “You probably shouldn’t be on the road in your condition.”

“That would be great, thanks. I wasn’t going to drive, but I don’t feel particularly up to walking.” He was a little reluctant to burden these strangers, and even more afraid that he would puke again in their car. “Though we might want to grab another bag beforehand, just in case.”

Rocky nodded and dug through his backpack, producing another bag and handing it to Neil.

“How do you sign ‘thanks?’” Neil asked, and Nell showed him. He thanked Rocky, who responded “No problem”.

Neil sat back in his seat again, cradling his stomach with one arm, and closed his eyes. Nell put the used bag in the waste receptacle at the end of the train, and sat on Neil’s other side when she returned. He had dozed off quickly, completely spent from the day’s events, and his head was resting on Rocky’s shoulder.

“Cute,” Nell signed.

“Shut up,” Rocky shot back.

When the train pulled into their station, they helped Neil to his feet and escorted him home, where he collapsed into bed immediately. They left Nell’s number with him, just in case he needed anything, and told him to call whenever. He nodded his thanks from his bed, and they left.

As they walked back to the car, Nell looked at Rocky and signed “You know, I think he’s pretty cute. Let’s teach him sign and set you two up!”

Rocky signed “Shut UP,” but his face burned red and betrayed him. He was pretty cute…