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boatem-probler · 4 months ago

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These Aliens Have Been Watching Too Much Anime in... Tokyo Soul!

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / You Are Here!

It's been a while, huh? Yeah, I'm taking a summer class, and that started, so I've been a little busier than I was when I started doing this. This report is actually backlog, I wrote it up... I don't even know, like a month ago or something? So yeah, these are definitely gonna come out slower from now on.

In these episodes, the Chupacabra summons Cthulhu to find out the winning lottery numbers, Taurtis hits explosives with a gun, and the most useless aliens fail to invade Earth (not the aliens from last time, different ones).

This report contains mentions of: stalking, violence, guns, death, and splarging (i.e. sexual humor).

Previously on Tokyo Soul:

Sam: “You guys have problems, you know? I just wanna point that out. Everyone here, except for myself, clearly, has very serious mental problems.”

This Time...

Episode 33 – SHES BACK!

Dom and Jerry have gotten the house a new TV. It’s a motivational poster with a sign pointing to it that says “TV”.

Taurtis is still missing.

Jerry has one of the giant alien swords now, which he apparently got by strangling some random old guy.

Sam decides to wake Grian up by making out with him. Grian is distressed by this.

Sam and Grian open the front door to go to school and BAM! Taurtis with a giant gun!

It seems like Taurtis was captured by aliens, given a gun, and told that Sam and Grian had been replaced by aliens, or something like that. Correction from later: he stole the gun.

Regardless, they all head to school together. Grian and Taurtis share an umbrella.

Also, Sam got a letter in the mail from a “secret admirer” telling him they’ll be looking for him at school. Grian points out that Sam having admirers hasn’t tended to go well for him or the admirer.

Taurtis: “That’s why I don’t admire you. Too dangerous.”

Geode has stolen and is wearing Señor Loro’s Christmas sweater.

Invader is at school! She’s in town to see her uncle, who is apparently Dr. Nurse MD. He’s also “technically” not related to her.

Mr. Chupa has Igbar von Squid in a cage in the middle of the classroom. Mr. Chupa says he found some old books in a back room of the school and recreated a ritual from one of them.

Grian insists this is a very bad idea, while everyone pressures him to read out the ritual text.

Grian: “Are you not listening to me?” Taurtis: “We never listen to you.”

Grian reads out the ritual text. It’s basically a bunch of nonsense that’s obviously meant to sound more comedic than ominous.

Igbar starts moving around in the cage. His eyes are red now. Mr. Chupa picks a random student to go in the cage too. “Igbar” eats the student. Specifically “swallows him whole” according to Grian. Or “consumes his soul” according to Sam. Eyewitness accounts differ. Either way, Igbar is now Cthulhu.

Also, today I learned that Cthulhu is spelled with two H’s. Actually maybe I didn’t learn that, because it was autocorrect that told me to spell it that way and it’s been a bit unreliable. Whatever.

It turns out that Mr. Chupa summoned Cthulhu because he wants to know the winning lottery numbers.

Episode 34 – JERRY IS CRAZY!

Mr. Chupa allows the students to ask Cthulhu some questions. They’re pretty much entirely inconsequential. Taurtis wants to know Sam’s “true motives” for being friends with him and Grian, but Sam’s secrets, if there are any, are saved by the bell.

Dr. Nurse has started thinking about how valuable the elderly are after some “pranksters” killed a bunch of them at his hospital, so he has the class interview an old man who is very obviously an alien.

Sam, for some reason, has two of the “wire” textured head blocks from a few episodes ago in his locker, and they are in fact named “C4”. Grian is a bit horrified to learn that he recently had a bomb strapped to him.

Also, Mr. Chupa has been running around in the background for a while, as he has apparently lost Cthulhu.

I’m pretty sure whatever explosive these kids have isn’t C4, which means Taurtis definitely shouldn’t be smacking it with a gun. C4, as we all know, is a stable exp-

Grian gets shot in the leg again getting the bomb away from Taurtis.

Invader was apparently rummaging around in Sam’s closet, and found his old school uniform.

Geode is participating in gym class for some reason.

Jerry announces they will be playing Monster Tag, which is basically like sharks and minnows or zombie tag, and involves Jerry chasing everyone with his giant sword while wearing a monster mask.

Episode 35 – TERMINATOR!

Monster Tag turns out to be pretty mundane and not sinister, but we do get to hear Grian having a very good time being on the chasing team.

Geode and Dom are just playing Splatoon in Geode’s classroom. Also, the old guy from Dr. Nurse’s class is in the test tube in the back.

Geode tries to teach the class how to identify aliens, but he only knows one type of alien, so he can only conclude that the old man isn’t that type of alien.

As the bell rings, someone named Rowan Artifex types in the chat that they’re looking for Sam and Grian. Sam and Grian are confused and a little disturbed by this, because Rowan is dead.

Taurtis has been neutralized, Rowan says, which the boys figure is because the original, non-cloned Taurtis is in fact dead.

Also, Rowan is the Terminator now.

Also also, J the Star from the FUTURE is outside the school, he’s here to take the boys to the FUTURE in his FUTURE car. Unfortunately, he crashes the FUTURE car.

Also also also, there’s a giant spaceship hanging in the sky in the middle distance.

They run to the police station to get help from Okami.

The SWAT members try to hold Rowan off, but he is naturally unfazed by being riddled with bullets and just starts killing his way through.

FUTURE J the Star blows a hole in the police station wall with FUTURE TNT so they can all escape. FUTURE TNT looks a lot like a powder keg.

Okami drives them all away in the SWAT van.

ONE PUNCH MAN SPECIAL

Okami parks directly under the spaceship. This also happens to be right in front of the hospital, which Dr. Nurse is NOT happy about.

J the Star fucks off.

Okami explains that in order to defeat the Terminator, they’ll have to destroy the “source”, which is probably in the spaceship.

Grian: “I hate getting all SWATed up, I usually get shot.”

Taurtis has somehow changed into a One Punch Man cosplay instead of a SWAT uniform. He’s even shaved his head.

They head into the hospital to get up to the roof, now being chased by Rowan, but Sam decides to hang back and shoot at him for some reason, which means Rowan is able to shoot Grian a couple times.

They get in a helicopter on the roof and fly up to the spaceship. Okami tells them to destroy the “core”. Jerry stays on the helicopter, but he throws Taurtis his giant anime sword.

The insides of the ship are… Fleshy.

They come across some aliens standing around in front of a tube of lava labeled “Free Alien Repellant”. These aliens are not little green guys. They are Doraemon, the Pillsbury Doughboy, and someone named Jeice who I think is supposed to be from Dragon Ball Z. They are all wearing uniforms.

They attempt to defeat the humans, but they accidentally end up killing two of their own number with an off-screen buzzsaw in the process, and the humans quickly dispatch the third.

Grian is pretty sure these guys have nothing to do with the Terminator. He’s still up for killing them though.

There’s another Doughboy. He says he’ll give them a “splarging” if they let him live. They come across two other aliens “splarging”, which apparently involves one of them hitting the other one with a stick.

Guys I don’t know what the hell’s going on anymore. I would say it was probably just because this is a special but I’ve watched bits and pieces of the episodes after this and it all just turns into mush, guys. I am in miseryyyyyyyyy-

Anyway the boys get Doughboy 2 to lure the splarging aliens into a hallway so they can kill them.

Wait oh my god is that Joel Smallishbeans’s old Shrek skin. It’s not exactly the same but like, there’s definitely a resemblance. It might just be that they’re both supposed to be Shrek though.

Anyway there’s a room with a bunch of aliens in it and Grian shoots one while the leader guy is doing an Anime Villain Speech. Leader Guy starts charging up, but all that does is kill all the other aliens in the room. Leader Guy dies in one hit.

They get a different alien to show them where the core is, but this turns out to be a trick, and they’ve just been led directly to the actual leader, Boros. Boros pretty much just wants to fight one of them. Apparently it was foretold by prophecy. Sam and Grian volunteer Taurtis.

Boros wants to know his “terms”.

Taurtis: “How about, the first person to kill Sam wins.” Grian: “Ooh, I like that one!”

They just end up fighting to the death like normal though.

Grian decides that he’s “the prize”. He jokes that he’ll give Taurtis “a good splurging” if he wins. Then he takes it back when Taurtis and Boros take a break and just start chatting.

Also they’re on top of the spaceship now, so Grian runs over to where Okami’s helicopter is.

Taurtis and Boros decide to fistfight instead of swordfight, and Taurtis kills him in not one, but two punches, which is still pretty impressive.

Grian: “I changed my mind, Taurtis, I’m gonna splarg you real good tonight.”

Taurtis wants to keep the ship, but Sam put the rest of the “C4” in the control room, so they helicopter out of there before it blows up.

Doughboy is still with them. Grian tries to assign him the basement dungeon room, but Doughboy decides he likes Grian’s room better, and says Grian should have the dungeon. Sam and Taurtis insist Grian should go in the dungeon as a “sign of trust”. Grian reacts very strongly and violently to all of this, and he mentions Sam locking him in the dungeon as a reason why he feels so strongly about it. They’re not backing down though, so Grian runs upstairs and locks himself in Sam’s room instead and starts going through all his stuff.

Grian Trauma Count!

Deaths Witnessed:

1 Student

An Indeterminate But Large Number of SWAT Team Members

10-ish Aliens

Injuries Sustained:

Shot a good few times (there is NO way this kid's legs are normal after all this)

Traumatic Events:

More harassment from Sam

Peer pressured into performing an eldritch ritual which gets someone killed

In the process of this, his friends straight up tell him they never listen to him

Also he finds out he had explosives strapped to his head yesterday

More guns and being shot at, yippee

Teacher from his old school is brought back to life specifically to kill him and his friends

Whatever the hell is going on with these aliens should count I think

The way he reacts to Sam and Taurtis trying to pressure him into giving up his room is telling I think

Next Time... Minions.

#al's unhinged tokyo soul summaries #tokyo soul #yhs

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davidmariottecomics · 9 months ago

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Stuff That Sucks, Part 2 (Not Everything is Terrible)

Hello!

This is going to be a long one covering a lot, so y'know, feel free to take breaks, stretch your legs, get some water. Take care of yourself. Because I took one week off and man, there is toooooooo much to talk about! One of my first blogs on my site, way back when was called "Stuff That Sucks, Part 1" in which I went over a bunch of stuff in the world that was bad. This time, I'm kinda revisiting that idea, but am also trying to put some silly or nice or just life-updatey things inbetween the bad stuff to have some balance, as much for myself as for anyone else!

Palestine

Since I've last posted about Palestine, a ceasefire agreement has been floated. Early reports were expecting it to be resolved this weekend, but we'll see. It's hard to be optimistic (generally, given the state of the world) after 120 days of violence and an agreement that's still seeking pause more than permanence (and, in that, seems more for the benefit of the aggressor). But maybe something good can come of it.

I also believe that it is because of the actions of brave people all around the world that we're starting to see more pressure and movement to resolution. Obviously, there are plenty of people and places who got it right in the first place, like South Africa bringing Israel to the International Court of Justice on genocide charges (still in review, but the ICJ did impose their rulings to not continue to kill people or commit war crimes and Israel... has ignored that). But there have also been so many protests, actions like last week's Global General Strike, and continued efforts in hitting them where it hurts (the pockets) with concentrated BDS plans. Even if it's happening slowly, minds are changing. The latest AP poll shows 1 in 2 adults in the US thinks Israel has gone too far, which I'm sure is bolstered by the repeated statistics that over 27,000 people have been killed, over 66,000 wounded, 85% of the population has been displaced, 25% is facing starvation, aid continues to be blocked, and hospitals and journalists continue to be targeted.

But, even if things seem to be developing, don't slow down on the pressure and the help.You can still contact your representatives: Call. Fax.Email. Contact the White House. Join actions from organizations like Jewish Voice for Peace, American Muslims for Palestine, and the Democratic Socialists of America, or whatever local organization is making efforts near you. If spending money brings you any comfort and you feel a need to put something into good practice, the Cartoonist Cooperative's page still lists a ton of resources for E-Sim cards.

The other thing that feels obvious to say, but I won't not say it anyway, is even if the coming week does bring a ceasefire and some sort of agreement or resolution, the work's still not done. There will be so much rebuilding to do and aid needed in Palestine. There must be measures taken to not allow this to happen again. Even if Palestinians are given full free unfettered access without the threat of violence to Gaza and the West Bank, they're still living under colonization. There're so many other places that are getting wrapped into this in various ways (like the US getting into it with Yemen and Syria). And, of course, there are still so many other places under similar circumstances, like Ukraine and Sudan. The work will change, but it won't cease.

(SIDE NOTE: You'll notice that one of the organic boycotts noted by BDS is Wix. I know a lot of people, particularly young people who are in school/freshly out of school use that for their portfolio sites. Might be worth looking into other options)

Barbie and Godzilla Okay, I'm going to try to alternate serious things with less serious ones. Because I didn't post last week, I am late entering the Oscar conversation, but my two cents is that Barbie did just fine (though... really, nominating Ryan Gosling for Ken???) with what they got. If there was one significant snub this year, it's that Godzilla Minus One only got a single nomination, when it rightfully should've been a contender in all major categories. Like, it was certainly the best picture I saw last year.

KOSA and the Invest in Children Act

I've talked about KOSA a few times here. It's the "Kids Online Safety Act" and it's notable for being bullshit. So, tell your reps to vote no. The reason KOSA sucks--as if the CEO of X being in favor of it wasn't enough--is it doesn't actually addresses the problem it claims to, but is a tool of censorship overreach. As has always been the case, preventing access to information doesn't stop people from seeking it, it stops them from getting accurate information and limits who is in the conversation. So, while KOSA seeks to "hold companies responsible for eating disorder and suicide content" or whatever to protect the kids, as co-sponsor of the bill Senator Marsha Blackburn has LITERALLY SAID, (quoted here from the Melissa Mira Grant article linked above) “Protecting minor children from the transgender [sic] in this culture and that influence,” is one of the most important issues conservatives can take a stand on now, Blackburn said, in an interview with the Family Policy Alliance, a group pushing anti-LGBTQ rights laws. “And I would add to that, watching what’s happening on social media. I’ve got the Kids Online Safety Act.” This bill, she claimed, “would put a duty of care and responsibility on the social media platforms, and this is where children are being indoctrinated.… They’re getting onto YouTube to watch a video, and all of a sudden this comes to them.”

Other advocates against KOSA have pointed out that not only is it seeking to further marginalize queer folks, but it'd also be bad for sex workers (who we'll get back to in a second), and potentially abortion information, as well as actual resources for people who are seeking help with disordered eating or suicidal thoughts. The only "good" that comes from this bill is, well, if you're an evil person in a governmental position looking to suppress information, you can do that if it passes. And if you want points for "protecting the kids", the name says you get them to people who don't know what's actually happening.

BUT, with all that said, instead of just saying to reject KOSA, we now have legistation we can point to as what we want instead: the Invest in Children Act! Unlike KOSA, or it's shitty predicessor, EARNIT (which I've also previously rallied against), the ICA actually seems interested in fixing the problems that do actually exist in the gaps between internet companies that already widely report issues of child sexual abuse online and a lack of action from NCMEC and the DOJ. But, y'know, the name isn't as snappy and this bill would actually protect children (something that given their response to what's happening in Palestine and the US, most of our representatives don't actually care about) and would do good for the world, so unfortunately my expectations are low.

(SIDE NOTE: Because this literally just happened while I was writing--I was listening to music on YouTube [not that they're great either because, I guess just everything is terrible now, but nominally better than Spotify???] and the video for Collective Soul's The World I Know was next in my queue and it paused. Y'know why? Because the website's already set up to tell me if a video may have references to suicide or self-harm! A thing that is already in place and doesn't need KOSA to happen!!!)

Original Comic Art

Be on the lookout for a couple original pieces by J.G. Jones that were stolen from him at OAX. Poor guy had these commissions stolen from his table during the show and I'm sure everyone in the situation (barring the thief) would like to see this beautiful Poison Ivy and Fairchild go to their proper homes. And, semi-relatedly, there have been a lot of creators this week announcing they're parting ways with their current art dealer and if you'd like a commission or to buy their art, you should contact them directly. I don't have a full list, but if you were in the original art market right now, might be worth double-checking where you can make your purchases from.

The War on Porn and Trans People

As if KOSA wasn't enough, it's been a bad few weeks for y'know, most people. In Oklahoma, a bill was introduced that sought to criminalize porn on an incredibly wide definition, brought forth by the sort of far-right Christian who despite being a preacher, has literally 0 understanding of what the Bible actually says because to him, religion is not about practice or belief in a shared understanding of how the universe was formed and how we got to this point, it's a tool of control.

There's a report that the owner of OnlyFans pleged $11 million to a pro-Israel group in the last few months. He has denied that claim. Regardless, as these things so often do, it has dragged performers on the site into the conversation despite A. OnlyFans not (yet) being a BDS target and B. with everything else going on, there are only so many places to move to left. At time of posting, PornHub is blocked in... 6 states. There are a lot of walls being thrown up to try to limit our access to adult material and further deplatform and marginalize sex workers, which was already a massive problem and it sucks.

Meanwhile, this week, Florida's trying to revoke trans people's driver's licenses and Ohio's banning trans kids from sports or gender-affirming care in their quest to ban trans people from existence entirely. And these are part and parcel of the pattern of trying to further criminalize, censor, and legislate women's bodies, trans bodies, sex workers, and anyone who isn't a cis straight white man. In the US, the New York Times, and in the UK, the Guardian are both doing the Tim Robinson hot dog "we're all trying to find the guy that did this" thing despite how much anti-trans bullshit they've spread.

As there are more bills introduced that forbid (or have to shield against consequences for) interstate travel of trans people and people seeking abortions, we're really reaching a breaking point and coupled with the dissatisfaction of both promient Presidential candidates for their records of *checks notes* inaction or hostile action toward the majority of the American people... let's just say I'm not looking forward to how this year shakes out for the most part.

Wedding Plans One exciting thing, though, is Becca and I soft-announced our wedding plans. We'd still like to try to organize something in San Diego for our friends and family presumably around SDCC time, but tha'ts up in the air because that's expensive and coming up much quicker than I think either of us would like with no plans firmed up. But our plan for the wedding itself has largely shifted to doing it internationally.

We were always thinking of a honeymoon in Japan and now have kinda figured that if we're going to do that, instead of trying to do a ceremony in the US and then also pay for a trip, it's cheaper and maybe more special for us to roll it into a single plan. Becca's been looking a bit at Sanrio PuroLand, the Hello Kitty amusement park, because they have reasonable packages and you can bring in an outside coordinator (and we'd love to find someone who has experience with queer weddings in Japan, if anyone might have any recommendations). I'm not quite as sold, but that is generally what we're looking at.

As things maybe solidify around SDCC or otherwise we get our picture all figured out for Japan, I'll share more news.

Virgilio Mendez Virgilio Mendez is a 19 year old migrant who has been held for a crime he obviously didn't commit. He's been charged with aggrivated homicide for a cop who confronted him for the crime of being brown and not speaking English. Mendez was literally just on the phone, repeatedly communicated that he does not speak English (and recently the court found the case couldn't move forward because, as a product of that, he has no understanding of the American justice system), the cop harassed him, ultimately called back-up, the cops proceeded to batter and tase him, and then the original offending officer had a heart attack and died, as the coroner has reported, of natural and pre-existing causes, and all of that has been pinned on this poor kid's back. It's just depressing and despicable.

Baldur's Gate

Okay, so... at one point I thought this was going to be shorter (haha, I don't know why I thought that) and I was going to talk about how I've been playing a lot of Baldur's Gate 3 and my thoughts on it. But I've run out of room for this time, and soooo... next week. I'm going to talk about BG3, Persona 5, Honkai Star Rail, and the ways that things that might activate similar sensations can leave you with very different impressions in the long term. But that'll be next week, so see ya then!

New Releases (2/7/24) Godzilla Valentine's Day Special (Editor - IDW)

Announcements: Happy Black History Month! This week, I want to spotlight Clarence Matthew Baker! He is notable for being one of the first successful Black men in American comics and one of the first successful gay men! That's a lovely little profile of him and his work, including some classic Phantom Lady and It Rhymes With Lust! The man had gorgeous art and influenced comics so much, not in the least because his art was one of the primary examples of the "seduction" of Seduction of the Innocent, the famous anti-comics book that turned comics into a witch hunt for pornographers because the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Check out my Patreon where you can access this blog as well as a ton of cool other stuff! Some recent highlights include the holiday catalog I made at the end of last year is now available to all backers (though $10+ backers got it almost 45 days early) and I've previewed some materials for something I'm working on and hoping to launch in the next month or two. Patreon will also be where I start posting some of my new original comics work later in the year, so keep an eye out for that too!

You can also check out my webstore, my Kofi (I still need to throw up my updated Anti-AI Zine), and Becca's site (also pending a new update)!

What I enjoyed this week: Nancy (Comic), Yu-Gi-Oh: Duel Links (Video Game), Baldur's Gate III (Video Game), Blank Check (Podcast), Dungeons & Daddies (Podcast), The Traitors Season 2 (TV show), The Sopranos (TV show), Almost Famous (Movie), Heartburn (Movie), the mango pineapple chicken from the local Indian food place, getting new comics and making friends with an employee we don't know at the comic store (If you ever read this, hi, Clay @ Nuclear Comics North Park!), having had a good first couple of weeks at the new job!

Pic of the Week: Feels like it has been a while since I did this, but here's a cute picture of Tiansheng for what it's worth, but Hourly Comics Day was this week and Becca put together some strips. First one's linked and you can find the rest on their Bsky page!

#minus one snubbed #oscar snubs #godzilla #barbie was nominated for a lot and deservedly so #dumb cats #matt baker comics #wedding plans #personal update #world news #comic art theft #free palestine #free gaza #fuck kosa #stop kosa

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yourarmsmyhome · 1 year ago

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Okay, had to work through the worrying news, by writing things...

Here is a short little story, mostly fluffy and comforting but with some anxiety sprinkled in, because that's how I process my own.

Minsung-centric because I love my little chopsticks, but others are mentioned too. And I hope with all my heart that everybody involved is actually doing okay and it's as minor as JYPE announced.

Didn't proofread cause I do not care right now, but feel free to point out the mistakes if you want to :)

Baiii

They were in the studio when the call from their manager came in. It was late, or early, depending on who was being asked. For a second Jisung thought Chan wouldn't pick up, they were almost finished with the last edits to one of the comeback tracks, and they both wanted to be done for the day. There was a moment of hesitation, but then Chan accepted the call and put the phone on speaker.

"Everything okay?"

There was a rustling noise on the other side of the line, followed by a lot of voices in the background, before they could finally hear their manager "Chan-ah, bad news, we're in the hospital, there was a small accident."

Jisung's heart dropped, he jumped up from the chair he was sitting on, making it tumble over with a loud rattle in the process. Chan, held his hand out for Jisung to hold onto, waiting for more information, anything else.

The manager took another breath, before continuing: "Sorry to call you this late, but I think there's going to be a bunch of changes in the schedule. And I know you like to be informed right away. Everybody's getting checked up now, so we should know details soon, but I still wanted to call."

Chan's voice was raspy when he shook himself out of his stupor "How bad was the accident?"

Jisung's hand darted to his phone, he hadn't checked it in the last few hours because they were in the zone. He thumbed through a few notifications, before landing on a text from Minho: 'Hi Jagiya, finally on our way home. Hope you had a good studio session.'

Jisung was shaking, he couldn't hear the manager's response, or Chan's further inquiries. His throat went dry, throat and chest constricting, his breathing growing more and more shallow. What if something really bad happened, what if they could never perform again, what if they couldn't be Stray Kids anymore, what if Minho got terribly hurt, what if he couldn't dance anymore, what if they would lose everything they worked so hard for, what if something terrible happened, what if they died, what if. Chan was in front of him, holding his shoulders, eyes fixated on Jisung's face, he was saying something but Jisung had to blink multiple times and shake himself free from the looping thoughts to finally hear.

"Hannie, they're okay, they're going to be okay. It was a small accident, they're bruised and shaken up, they're being checked for anything serious but they're okay. You're okay Hannie! Come on breathe with me!"

Chan wrapped him into a tight hug and started breathing in deeply, gently counting to 4, holding for 4, breathing out for 4, holding for 4. After a few rounds Jisung's brain finally recalibrated and allowed him to relax into Chan's arms.

"Can we? Can we go see them?"

Chan nodded his head, "Manager-nim send me the address. He said they should be done soon but to text him if we're on our way, so we can go now if you want."

Jisung nodded "Please Chan Hyung, can we please go?"

Chan just grabbed Jisung by the arm and pulled them out the door. The cab ride was way too slow, Jisung's knee trembling, his hands flexing and unflexing, knuckles white from the pressure of his nails digging into his palms, eyes staring out the window but not registering anything. Chan's side was silent, except for the soft notification sounds of texts coming in. When they got to the hospital, Jisung darted out of the car, only to realize that he didn't know where to go and was again stopped in his tracks, breath coming in in short bursts, his lips pulled between his teeth.

Chan was next to him a few seconds later, grabbing him by the arm and leading him into the brightly light hospital. They stopped at the front desk for a moment, the conversations like jibberish to Jisung's brain, then they were moving again, taking an elevator, walking through a corridor, until they finally knocked on a door. Jisung's breath caught once it opened and a tired but standing Minho opened the door. Everything released in him in that moment, a sob pushing it's way out of his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks. And Minho was there, arms wrapped tightly around Jisung, warm hands on his back, Minho's scent mixed with desinfectant and hospital air in Jisung's nose, his voice reaching the deepest places in Jisung's heart.

"I'm okay Jagi! We're all okay!" Jisung sobbed against Minho's neck again, not allowing their embrace to losen, not allowing Minho to leave him for one second.

"I'm sorry we scared you Jagiya, my phone broke in the accident and it's just been non stop. I wish I could have called you or texted you to tell you that I'm okay. Please breathe baby. Hyunjin and Seungmin are next door waiting for results, but we're all okay. Thank you for coming though." Minho smiled against Jisung's cheek and pressed a soft kiss against the heated skin.

Jisung's body felt fuzzy, not real, like he was a ghost floating in Minho's embrace, alive, still alive, slowly connecting the dots, reconnecting with the sensations of his body. Slowly remembering how to breath, how to blink, how to feel Minho's body pressed against his own, and then finally the thought sunk in. Everyhing was mostly okay, his friends were okay, his Minho was okay. Everything was going to be okay!

#minsung #anxiety #b writes #han jisung x lee minho #han jisung fluff #han jisung #lino yah #channie

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artificialqueens · 1 year ago

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🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Pt.2 - Lita

In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living

Lmao I had you in the first half, this is not just a cutesy slice of life family AU and actually gets fucking awful and tragic from here on out, you have been warned. This was originally meant to be a single story but I decided to chunk it into two halves just so it's not unreadably long, which means ALL the suffering gets to be consigned into whatever this is. Anyway, see other part for author notes and shit, apologies in advance xo

Summary: Adore is an adult now, and life is simpler for Bianca. Until an unexpected tragedy shatters her world, and her relationship with her daughter.

TW: Major character deaths, parental loss, accidental overdose, suicidal thoughts

[1] NEW MESSAGE Ben Putnam ✨🏳️‍🌈 12/9/46 19:08 jinkx is about to call you freaking tf out - don’t listen to them, im basically fine. got into an accident driving home, i look kinda banged up and i think my shoulders dislocated but nothing serious. pls call adore and tell her - if she says shes gonna ditch her concert or anything like that dont let her, she doesnt need to worry. if ur not busy and feel like coming to see me id like that (and i think jinkx could use some moral support lol, theyre taking this harder than i am) but don’t let j convince u that im on my deathbed. love ya, bitch! b xoxo

*****

November 12th, 2046

“Bea…”

Jinkx stands up as Bianca enters the waiting room. Their voice is cloying - too sickly. Too sympathetic.

Of all of Ben’s various partners since the divorce, Jinkx was definitely Bianca’s favorite. Bianca had been Ben’s maid of honor (or ‘cunt of dishonor’ as he’d affectionately christened her) at their wedding last spring. Jinkx is kind, sensitive - their eccentricities line up perfectly with Ben’s, they’re a good step-parent to Adore, as resistant as she’d been to having a step-parent. However, Jinkx under pressure is prone to amateur dramatics - Ben’s text prediction regarding the nature of their impending phone call had been totally spot-on.

So Bianca is surprised to see that they look drained - not sad. Not scared. Just tired - their shock of red hair disheveled, eyes puffy and face moist with half-dried tears. Bianca grips the strap of her purse a little tighter. She hadn’t expected this. They had been all catastrophe and hysterics on the phone - sobbing like their life depended on it. Why are they so calm?

Per Ben’s instructions, Bianca hadn’t dropped everything to go to him. She’d been working late, supervising a bunch of bored, annoyed teenagers doing stocktake - she hadn’t exactly bided her time, heading straight for the hospital as soon as she’d clocked out, but she also hadn’t exactly rushed.

Two lanes of the freeway were closed because of a car wreck. She figured it wouldn’t be the same one - it couldn’t have been that bad if Ben was awake, coherent, and texting her. As the backed-up traffic crawled past the remains of the scene at five miles an hour, she’d tried not to look. She knew she shouldn’t have looked. But she looked anyway - she’d caught sight of the remnants of Ben’s car at the front of a pile-up, crushed from behind by a smoldering pickup truck, and felt the sting of vomit rising up at the back of her throat. The driver’s side door looked intact. That was something. Ben was fine. Ben had told her himself that he was fine. So Ben was fucking fine.

On the drive to the ER, Bianca called Adore - anxiety twisting below her ribcage, visions of shattering glass and crumpling metal scorching into her eyelids every time she blinked, desperate for a distraction. The phone had been picked up by her weirdo manager, Winona or Wilma or whatever her name was, who’d decided that a call from her mom, regardless of the matter at hand, wasn’t important enough to bother Adore with before a gig, and had hung up.

And now she’s been taken into a side room that feels like a fucking morgue, and Jinkx is acting so calm and kind that it’s nauseating. This feels weird. There’s a bible on the table in the middle of the room. What the fuck is happening?

Jinkx reaches out, and pulls Bianca into an oppressively tight hug. Bianca squirms, determined to extricate herself from the stifling embrace and start asking questions. She’s never known Jinkx to act anything but weird, but this was bizarre even by their standards. When they break away, Jinkx takes Bianca’s hand. It sets her teeth on edge.

“Jinkx, what’s going on?” Bianca’s voice comes out sterner than she would have liked.

“Did you call Adore?”

What kind of fucking response is that?

“I tried. Her manager picked up - she’s at a gig, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“I really think you should try and talk to her now.”

Bianca really doesn’t like Jinkx’s tone. She also doesn’t know what to do with herself. She figured she was here as emotional support for Jinkx, who seems fine if a bit off-kilter and cryptic - or as a proxy for Adore, who was performing and/or wasted in Austin, enjoying the sudden and somewhat random success of her previously struggling music career.

“Jinkx, where’s Ben? What happened?”

Jinkx grimaces. They try to convince her to sit down - urging her towards a ugly upholstered chair with their lips pursed. Bianca doesn’t move.

“Jinkx.” Bianca repeats herself more insistently, folding her arms. Jinkx sits down, clenching their jaw and breathing shakily. “Where the fuck is Ben? I need to see him."

“…he died, Bea.”

Bianca’s blood turns to ice in her veins. She takes a sharp breath in.

“What do you mean he died?” Bianca’s voice is thin. Jinkx doesn’t say anything. “He texted me - he was fine like, an hour ago.” Jinkx stays silent. Bianca feels like she’s going to throw up. Why won’t they say anything? “He’s- Jinkx, what do you mean he fucking died?”

“They thought he was fine,” Jinkx sniffs. “There were other people from the wreck who were hurt worse than he was - he kept saying he was okay so the doctors would focus on them, and then he coded out of nowhere. I think they said he was bleeding in his abdomen or something - nobody realized until it was too late. He was sitting up and talking to me, then he…” Jinkx stops, swallowing hard. Their eyes have welled up.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have tried to get here faster.” Bianca’s knees are shaking. She can’t move - can’t admit to the failure of her emotions. Frightening and all-consuming as they are. She’s still wearing her work lanyard, and it feels utterly stupid. Why hadn’t she just fucking left? Why had locking up a goddamn store she could burn to the ground without losing sleep been more important than this? Than Ben?

“I didn’t know how to.” Jinkx won't make eye contact with her. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone - it didn’t feel right.”

Bianca sits down before she collapses. Her hands are shaking. Her throat hurts like she needs to cry, but there are no tears. She isn’t crying, and she won’t - not until it’s essential.

“But you were- you shouldn’t have waited all this time on your own. I would have been here sooner.” Bianca is barely able to talk. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t even know what she’s talking for - trying to fill the awful, empty air with some sort of noise, even if it is wilted platitudes. She’s horribly aware of her own breathing; how hard it is, how much effort it’s taking, how it feels like she’s choking. It’s like she’s drowning in the air and the silence - like a goldfish dropped out of the bowl.

Jinkx puts an arm around her shoulders. There are tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I really think you should call Adore again.”

Adore. Adore didn’t get to say goodbye - Adore didn’t fucking know. That was her fucking dad, and she loved him, and she’d never-

Bianca stops. Something in her brain ticks. A somber conversation at the kitchen table.

“His, uh- his advanced directive. San Juni-whatever - Cookie heaven-“ Bianca blurts out, ejecting the words as soon as they appear in her head. The comfort feels cold, but it’s comfort nevertheless.

She looks at Jinkx. Their face has crumpled. They’re shaking their head. No.

“They tried - it all happened too quickly, it didn’t work. He was gone before they could…” Jinkx bites their lip. “I’m sorry - I know how much it means- meant to him, I know he wanted…”

Bianca shakes her head, trying to get Jinkx to stop talking. It isn’t fair - they’ve just lost their husband, and yet it’s them trying to comfort her?

“It’s okay.”

It’s not. But Jinkx rests their head on Bianca’s shoulder anyway, and Bianca takes their hand, even though she feels like she’s only making everything worse. What warmth is she capable of? Her presence isn’t doing anything besides forcing Jinkx to stir up their own raw emotions, and reminding them both of the cavernous space between them that Ben’s daughter should be filling.

Bianca fumbles her phone out of her purse with her shaking hands as Jinkx cries a wet patch into her collar. She needs to call Adore.

*****

November 24th, 2046

The silence in the kitchen is uncomfortable. Neither Adore nor Bianca knows how to fill it. Ben’s funeral was yesterday morning. Bianca doesn’t know if Adore is okay, but she doesn’t know what to say to her either. She hasn’t seen her cry yet.

She’s exhausted. The last couple of weeks have been a terrible, sleepless headfuck. All of the funeral planning and formality had fallen into Bianca’s lap - Jinkx had been too distraught to try and think about it, and she couldn’t ask Adore. It was the only real help she’d been able to offer; if there’s one thing that Bianca knows for a fucking fact, it’s that she’s awful at providing comfort. But as usual, she’d taken too much on, and she hadn’t had time to process what had happened - time to grieve, or even just to fucking take a breath and figure out where her own head was at.

Bianca feels hollow. And Adore won’t speak to her. She’s sitting at the dinner table, with her bright blue hair piled on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail, wearing some tattered band shirt that doesn’t really fit her, and she seems…fine. She’s been home since Ben died, but they’ve been floating around the empty house on two completely different planets; barely making eye contact with each other, let alone talking. There’s a mug of coffee turning cold in Bianca’s hand, and her daughter won’t meet her gaze.

Adore fidgets with the hair-tie around her wrist. She looks nervous.

“Listen, Mom-”

“Are you okay?” Bianca blurts out, and then cringes - Adore looks at her with frustration in her glazed-over eyes.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What’s up?” Bianca tries to inject some warmth into her voice.

“I know I said I’d stay for a little longer, but I’m…”

Oh god. Bianca already doesn’t like where this is going. She clenches her teeth, trying to contain the stupid, defeated little whimper she can feel rising into the back of her throat.

“I got a call from my manager this morning. My new single drops in a week, and there’s- this big-deal band wants me to open for them on their tour. It’s two months on the road, and I know that I shouldn’t- I mean, it’s a huge opportunity, and the money is really fucking good, and I’m…” Adore’s words are stilted and awkward.

Bianca takes a second to compose herself.

“When would you be leaving?” Bianca eventually says. It’s the most neutral question she can think of, and her words come out flat and unbothered. She can’t say what she really wants to - can’t beg her to stay, can’t argue back. Can’t take this from her.

“Day after tomorrow,” Adore says to the floor, still wringing her hands awkwardly.

“And why do you sound like you’re asking for permission to go?"

“Because- I don’t know.” Adore says, equally lacking in emotion. It’s felt for the last couple of weeks like she and Bianca have just been going through the motions of their relationship without any feeling. “I mean- fuck, you’re my mom. And everything is just- I can’t leave you right now. If you said no, then I can’t...”

“Why do I have to say no?” Bianca tilts her head. Her neck is stiff from the sleepless nights.

“Because I don’t want to.”

That answer frustrates Bianca, and she can tell from Adore’s body language that she knows it. Adore picks at a loose thread on her shirt - she’s never been able to sit still. Bianca pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not gonna be the bad guy, Dorey - even if you want me to. We’re talking about your career here - not doing it would be fucking stupid,” Bianca says, toneless and insincere again. She pauses. “Do they know that your dad just died?”

“…No,” Adore grimaces. The first small twinge of emotion flashes across her face for a second, and then it’s gone. “They might give it to someone else. They’ll think I’m gonna be unstable or unreliable or something.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe,” Adore purses her lips. “It’s kinda still not real. Maybe it’ll stay like that if I’m distracted.”

“And maybe it’ll get real when you’re on the road - you need to think about yourself.”

Adore murmurs something unintelligible by way of response, shakily trying to affirm that she can do it. Bianca stares into her coffee cup. They seem to have reached some level of nonverbal understanding that they’re not gonna talk about this any more. Adore is leaving tomorrow, and Bianca better make peace with that.

“You’re not mad about me leaving you by yourself, are you?” Adore’s meek voice cuts through the icy reticence.

“What? No - I’m a big girl, I’ll survive,” Bianca shrugs her shoulders. Why does Adore default to the assumption that she’s always mad? Why does she have to be the villain all the goddamn time? Can’t she just be upset?

“But like…do you have friends?"

“Yes, I have fucking friends, Adore.”

And then she thinks about it. Her family doesn’t give a shit, and Raja had broken things off with her a couple of weeks before Ben dropped dead out of fucking nowhere - and yeah, maybe she’s close enough with a couple of people from work that she’d be able to talk to them, but the thought makes her squirm.

She’d not so much asked Adore to stick around for a couple of weeks after the funeral as she had begged her to. The loneliness is choking her, and her daughter is the only person she can face - because they never really talked about their feelings, and even this wasn’t enough to make them start. She just needed someone to be quietly sad alongside. The more that she thinks about it, the more she realizes that the only person she wants to talk to about the pain inflicted by Ben’s death is Ben himself.

Which she should be able to do. She’s grown more attached to the San Junipero concept than she ever wanted to be. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’d gotten comfortable with the two of them never having to live without each other. Except that didn't work, and now he’s gone. Forever.

Bianca had friends. A friend. She’d never needed anyone else, and so she’d never bothered trying to find them. She hadn’t planned for an eventuality in which he’d be dead by forty-six.

Bianca is crying. Horrible, huge, ugly floods of tears. Adore looks nervous - like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. This isn’t fair. She can’t make Adore deal with her like this. But she can’t stop. Twelve days of awful emotional blockage are clearing themselves all at once, and Bianca’s face is soaking wet and there’s snot running down her chin, and she feels about as disgusting as she probably looks. Adore’s chair scrapes the tiled floor, and she’s standing behind Bianca - wrapping her arms around her, resting her sharp chin on Bianca’s shoulder.

Adore’s body is starting to heave against hers, and as Bianca tries to blink through some of the blur to her vision and catch her trembling breath, she realizes Adore is crying too. Is this progress?

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, baby.” Bianca takes one of Adore’s hands in hers, running a thumb across her tattooed knuckles. “It’s okay - it’s okay to be sad.”

“I’m not sad.” Adore’s voice is thin. “And I have to go. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here without him.”

Adore mutters the admission like it’s blasphemy, and Bianca doesn’t like it, but she knows. Ben’s ghost lingers in every brick and board and fiber of this house. It hurts - that she isn’t capable of being what Adore needs right now. But she understands.

*****

June 7th, 2047

“Don’t fucking put that on me - don’t screw up my childhood and then keep making me miserable as a fucking adult, it’s not fair-"

“Ob, cry me a fucking river - you had a great childhood!”

“Did I? Getting dragged up by some fucking idiot who didn’t know what she was doing-"

“I was a fucking kid, Adore - I was trying my fucking best-”

It’s dark outside. Bianca feels like shit. She wishes Adore hadn’t left.

She hasn’t been able to sleep without sedatives since Ben died, and she hates it. She also doesn’t know why - she wasn’t there. It didn’t happen to her. It’s not her tragedy. She fishes the blister pack of xanax out of her purse and swallows one with the tail end of her glass of wine. Sleep. She needs sleep. She needs this shitty, awful, horrible day to be over. Maybe when she wakes up, Adore will be over her tantrum.

She drops the pills on the kitchen counter. The last dregs of the wine are eyeing her up through the bottle. Bianca hesitates for a moment, refills her glass, and swiftly empties it down her throat.

She walks through the empty living room, put off by the silence. It’s too quiet in this house. She wishes she hadn’t kept it. Ben deserved it more - he had a partner, and a good life, and hope for the future. Not the pathetic remains of half a dozen short-lived, shitty relationships, and a dead-end job. Adore loved him - she clearly can’t fucking stand Bianca. There would still be life in these walls if he’d taken it, and Bianca had hiked all her stupid clothes and coffee table books and vanity and venom to a crappy bachelor apartment.

It was Ben’s fucking house - it was his career that had paid for it. Bianca felt sick enough with guilt and frustration that he’d insisted she stayed and he left, and then kept ‘forgetting’ to cancel the mortgage auto-payments when he was still alive - just like he kept ‘forgetting’ to stop making her car payments, or kept sending her cheques from some ‘investment account’ they’d apparently set up years ago that she had no memory of. She’d stolen a better quality of life than she was owed from a guy that she was tethered to based on one night of bad decisions when they were in their twenties. It would have been easier on her conscience if Ben had resented her for it. But he didn’t. He’d looked out for her and loved her right up until the ugly end and she didn’t deserve any of it.

If Ben had stayed here, he would have had to drive a different route to work. That’s why they bought the house - it was close to his job. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe it would have been her that died after a rush hour car wreck, of an internal hemorrhage that every medical professional in the vicinity was too busy and too stupid to notice. Maybe things would be better that way.

The house is too quiet, and there’s too much space - Bianca traipses up the stairs, her fingers brushing over the lingering texture of Adore’s childhood crayon-on-wall scribbles, long since painted over.

The wine is making her feel worse. She’s angry - hurt, frustrated, upset. But not with Adore. With herself for making her this way.

Ben was warm, Ben was supportive. Ben could never see a single fault in her - not like Bianca. Bianca was the Bad Cop; the enforcer, the prison warden. Bianca nagged Adore about her homework and her curfew and her room being a mess - Bianca questioned her judgment, Bianca shat on her fashion choices. Bianca tried her best to make sure the kid didn’t turn out like she had. And she’d done it - Adore was successful, she was living a life she could look back on and be proud of. So, no fucking wonder Adore’s ideal future was one that didn’t have Bianca in it.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t a kid, you were in your twenties-“

“I was two years younger than you are, you think you’d be great at raising a child now? Forget about finding out you’re pregnant when you were twenty-one and having to give up everything you’ve ever wanted in life for-“

“Nobody asked you to do that.”

“No, they didn’t - but I had to do what was fucking best for you. Fuck my dreams, fuck what I wanted. You think anybody is working in a goddamn Urban Outfitters age forty-fucking-seven because they want to be?”

“I’ve been out of your house for five years, you’ve had time. Go live your dreams, since I’m not a fucking burden on you any more-“

“You’re not fucking getting it - the ‘living my dreams’ ship has sailed, since I had to drop out of fucking college for you. I had to put my life on hold indefinitely for you, and so did your father, so stop being such an ungrateful little shit-“

Bianca keeps replaying the fight in her head. Tonight had started well. Adore was back in town between tour dates and album sessions - not for Bianca. To see friends, and to meet with some record execs that Bianca was too uncool to know the names of. But when Bianca had asked if she had a free night, Adore had humored her. They’d ordered pizza, bought a couple bottles of wine, and for a moment, things felt the way they used to. Bianca was happy, for a fleeting second.

Adore had been her best friend until she was thirteen. Then some awful melting pot of Adore’s pubescent bitch tendencies and Bianca’s stubbornness and short fuse had kicked off a bizarre ongoing war between the two of them that only seemed to mellow out once Adore left home and they weren’t constantly in each other’s way. It was normal teenager shit - Bianca remembered things being the same way between herself and her mother when she was in junior high. Her mother that she doesn’t fucking speak to any more.

Bianca loves Adore so much that it’s physically painful, and she felt like a monster the entire time they were at odds. But she didn’t know how to stop it - she didn’t know how to be whatever Adore seemed to need from her.

Not that there hadn’t been good moments. Adore’s first concert. The family vacation to Cancun. The weekend shopping sprees. Every so often, Bianca caught a glimpse of the fully-formed human being that Adore was starting to become, and she…well, adored her. But sooner or later, the shit would start again; Bianca could feel herself failing her daughter in real time.

Just like when Adore was a teenager, things had fallen apart tonight just as Bianca was starting to enjoy the good.

It was her fault. Like usual. Bianca had too much to drink too quickly, and she got emotional. She’d phrased some stuff poorly. She’d upset Adore. It was always her fault - it was always her that made the first wrong step. Adore just reacted to her shitty parenting. ��

She’d made an off-handed comment about Adore ‘abandoning’ her. Which, in her crappier moments, she often felt but resolved never to say to her. Adore was an adult with her own life and her own burgeoning fame to deal with, and she’d lost her dad less than a year ago. Bianca’s feelings didn’t matter; she should be seeking her emotional support from someone her own age. So fucking what if Adore had better things to deal with than her mom’s grief and loneliness?

But she’d said it anyway, and then she’d doubled down. Just like she always did. Adore started crying. Bianca got frustrated. God, she misses Ben. He wouldn’t have let this happen.

“Leave Daddy the fuck out of this, he’s the only person I never doubted cared about me and I-"

“Yeah, he did. He really, really fucking cared about you - enough to spend nearly his entire adult life closeted because he wanted to give you some semblance of a normal childhood, enough that the night he fucking died he didn’t want me to call you because he didn’t want to worry you-“

“That’s not a good thing! I wish I’d been there! I wish I knew, instead of coming offstage to find out that my dad had fucking died and my stupid, selfish, uptight bitch of a mother didn’t think it was worth her time to tell me that he was in that accident-“

“I told Willam - she said it wasn’t important enough to get you on the goddamn phone! Blame her!”

“You should have tried harder!”

“I didn’t think I had to. Your dad didn’t know how bad it was, he didn’t know what was going to happen - none of us knew, obviously if we did I would have put you on a flight as soon as I-“

Bianca has been trying to write that stupid fucking San Junipero bullshit out of her will for months now. If Ben wanted it and didn’t get it, she’s sure as shit not doing it now. However, the process is a fucking nightmare - eight hundred stupid phone calls to eight hundred useless morons who need to refer her to the next person, to try and sell her on an upgrade or ask her if this is because she wants the payout for the unused credit on her plan. It’s demoralizing and exhausting - the evil spiritual stepsister of canceling fucking cable, but a hundred times harder and with constant reminders of her fucking dead ex-husband and the last request he never got.

Everything is depressing and shit, and she’s tired. She wants it to end - she wants to return to a normal that she can never get back.

Bianca lingers at the open door of Adore’s teenage bedroom. It’s a shitshow. She hadn’t tidied up after herself when she left after Ben’s funeral - if anything she’d made more mess, rummaging around in her things and packing and unpacking for that fucking tour she had to go on. Which had done good things for her. In the last six months, her opening spots had turned into festival headliners and talk show appearances; she had an album in the works, and was watching her teenage dream blossom in real time to heights she’d never imagined it would reach. Bianca is glad that she went. Even if she hates her for it a little bit.

Bianca doesn’t want to touch anything. She treads carefully across the messy floor, trying not to disrupt anything; trying to preserve her daughter’s chaos, learn to live in it and love it as she did. Adore’s bed is unmade. The sheets smell like her.

There’s a framed picture by her bed - a print of a blurry selfie taken at Ben’s niece’s bat mitzvah. She remembers that night. Adore had just turned twenty-one and her hair was purple. They’d gotten irresponsibly drunk on kosher wine, and Adore had climbed into Bianca’s lap to take the picture, pressing her gloss-sticky lips to Bianca’s cheek and telling her she loved her. They’re both smiling like maniacs.

Adore had just turned twenty-one. That picture hadn’t been there when Adore last occupied that room - she’d moved into her college dorm a few days before her nineteenth birthday. She’d brought that here. And left it here. Bianca feels queasy. She picks it up gently, like it’s a precious artifact. The frame is bright red hard plastic, shaped like a heart - painted on one side, in Adore’s endearingly shitty handwriting: LOVE YOU MOMMY XO

Bianca’s eyes well up. It was a fucking gift that Adore never gave to her. Probably because she’d ruined Adore’s last visit home. Just like she ruined tonight. Just like she ruined her. Bianca drops the frame like it burns to touch, and she hears the glass shatter against the hardwood floor.

She closes the door as she leaves, hearing it slam and her own breath becoming frantic. She feels that familiar ache, a sob building up in the depths of her chest.

She’s pressed against Adore’s wall and staring directly into Ben’s old room. She’d transformed it into a pitiful sewing workspace that she’d barely used when he moved out - a weird attempt to kick some sense of purpose back into her life when Adore had flown the nest and Ben was out living his own life, picking up an old hobby that had dominated her teens and fuelled her plans for the future. Plans that had died a death in the bathroom of her old apartment downtown. The mannequin torso sits gathering dust, half-finished sketches litter the table. A waste - like everything else.

She can’t do this. She doesn’t want to be here. She wants Adore back. Wants to hold her in her arms, breathe in her scent and her warmth, and tell her she forgives her for every horrible thing that had come out of her mouth tonight.

No, she wants to tell her that she’s sorry. For everything.

Sleep. She needs to sleep.

“You just don’t want to admit that you screwed me out of a chance to say goodbye! You feel like I’ve abandoned you? Fuck you! You didn’t love him!”

“I did-"

“He was your friend - he was my fucking dad. Don’t try and pretend that what you’re feeling right now is anything like what I’m feeling, because it’s not.”

“It doesn’t have to be - Dorey, we can deal with this together. I want to be there for you. I want to help you. And I miss you, is that such a fucking crime?”

“You miss being a bitch to me - you miss telling me that I’ve wasted my life. You miss having someone else to boss around, because that’s all you wanna do.”

“Adore, I tried my fucking best for you. I didn’t have it in me to be a perfect mother - I didn’t have one, I wasn’t set up to be good at this. I tried my best, and if you feel like I’ve failed then I’m really fucking sorry. But I love you, and-“

Why the fuck are her pills on the kitchen counter? Bianca pops one out and swallows it dry, desperate for her mind to shut the fuck up. She’s drunk and confused and alone and fucking sad, and she wants to sleep.

Should she call Adore? No, that feels desperate. She needs to leave her alone; let her get over this at her own pace, let her come back on her own. If she wants to come back. She’ll come back.

Bianca didn’t come back. Bianca didn’t forgive her mom for the sin of setting her expectations too high, so why the hell would Adore do the same? Maybe her mom feels the same way about her - maybe she feels deprived of a presence in the life she created, and maybe she loses sleep and paces around the house at night like a madwoman and cries over her too. That feels vindicating - so why does it hurt so much that Adore is probably gonna commit her to the same fate?

Bianca collapses into the couch. Her body feels heavy. The clock on the wall says it’s just after midnight. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Adore’s lipstick is stained onto the rim of her glass.

“God, can you not go five minutes without trying to make me feel like shit? I know. I know you tried, I’m sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to-“

“Do you think this is what your dad would have fucking wanted?”

“Don’t talk about what he would have wanted - what he would have wanted doesn’t matter. He’s dead, mom. He’s fucking gone. He’s gone, and I’m never gonna get him back, and now I’m stuck with you.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘stuck with’ me?”

“You know exactly what I fucking mean.”

“What, you wish it was me? You wish I was the one that had fucking died? If that’s what you mean, say it.”

“If I have to choose one of you then yeah. Yeah, I wish it was him that was still here.”

The couch is soft and warm and Bianca is falling asleep. She’s comfortable - but she feels wrong. Her head is swimming.

It’s getting dark outside. Bianca watches for headlights in the driveway. Maybe Adore will come home and forgive her. Bianca is tired, and her head is heavy, and she wants to go to sleep. Sleep and forget. Maybe Adore will love her again when she wakes up.

*****

[1] MISSED CALL Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:21

[3] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:23 mom im rlly sorry. i love you. can we talk <33 mom are you okay? talk to me

[3] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:29

[4] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 00:34 mom PLEASE answer ur phone im sorry talk to me please im coming over

[5] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:58

[3] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:01 im outside answer the door mommy i know ur mad at me but i want to talk to u, im rlly sorry i love u so much pls answer the door mom MOM

[8] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:07

[2] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:11 mommy please im sorry. i love you.

****

Pride Challenge Points: 6662

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mr-ribbit · 7 months ago

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so idk why I keep putting posts here about it but idk how to bring it up in any other setting

my dad got checked into the hospital about two weeks ago after a fall, with additional complications from alcoholism as they realized he had fallen after having 800% the driving alcohol limit in his blood test. after which they determined his liver is absolutely fucked and dying and a bunch of other shit too. he didn't just Fall, he fell which made them realize he was in a near deadly body shutdown

a year ago he almost had a heart attack also related to this and he lied to my mom about quitting and started drinking again.

ive had a bad relationship with him for a long time and I've always known he's an alcoholic, but apparently he's been drinking at least a 24 pack of beer a day +hard liquor my mom can't keep track of. and that's just been happening for who knows how long now. he drives around (presumably not sober) in the morning when my mom's asleep to go buy more in secret.

they are putting him through detox and now he's in a "rehab facility" which I believe is mostly an assisted temporary living place for his injuries/health stuff. when it first happened my mom said they were going to make sure he got into alcoholism classes or counseling or Something to help, and he agreed to it, but now that he's in the facility he's saying he wants to go home and I'm 99% sure he's going to ignore any advice he agreed to before

or maybe he won't and he'll get better. which is great. but idk my bad relationship isn't just bc of the drinking it's bc of years of shitty behavior, verbal abuse, and other stuff. so like my mom's asking me to come see him and coddle him and be nice and I'm like. why the fuck should I, my brother already does and pretends he doesn't know about all the bad stuff and enables all of this behavior.

i finally said like yea ill come see him to tell him how I feel about this, and if he's promising to get sober then maybe I'll visit more. but now my mom is lording this over me to make me come and celebrate my fucking birthday with them in the hospital and when I tried to say that sounded awful she got super manipulative and crazy at me

and idk there's a bunch of other shit involved that I don't want to get into here but no matter how many boundaries I try to set or whatever my mom just calls back and pretends to be surprised when I'm not happy that she's pressuring me to do the thing I said no to already

I told her I wanted to tell him the next time I see him that I'm not gonna keep visiting him if he ever drinks again. I don't want to watch him die in front of me and I don't want to become his full caretaker, like he's trying to do to my brother who apparently gets calls at 2am a few times a year now bc my dad fell drunk in the night and couldn't get up. and apparently he's just been DOING that and no one's been drawing any lines or getting him help or telling him to stop or anything. they just keep saying "you know how he is" and I'm like. I fucking do which is why I refuse to come to christmas with him anymore, it's why I hate being around the family, it's why I have disorders

but now they're using my literal birthday as ??? bait to manipulate me, bc apparently MY birthday is about MY PARENTS because they CELEBRATE HAVING ME and I'm a fucking TERRIBLE PERSON if I say I don't want to fucking open presents and pretend to smile and laugh and eat cake in front of them while my dad refuses to address the fact that he almost killed himself 2 weeks ago

#more vent/personal stuff #not depression shit in here just kind of unpleasant to read about stuff about my family #but idk i gotta put it somewhere bc idk #if friends r ok reading i guess id appreciate it just bc i want ppl to know where my heads at lately if i act weird or flakey or sensitive #but im just vagueventing out into rhe world on tumblr so clearly im not expecting any specific audience

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kaykay8776 · 1 year ago

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Brother, I Am With You - Ch. 2

Hi, me again. Yes, I’m uploading two chapters in one day. I’m excited for this story, sue me.

Ch. 1 is here, and if you prefer AO3, it’s there as well. Onward to the fic! Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Needles, wound medical care, hospitals

The rest of the day went somewhat as Mario expected it to. When he finally showed up, the doctor assessed his wound and determined what Mario probably could’ve figured out himself; there was soft tissue and muscle damage and deep bruising. But since his range of motion and sensation was unaffected, there wasn’t any tendon or nerve damage. For some reason the doc felt the need to tell Mario that the dog barely missed hitting his brachial artery as well as one of his major nerves. He guessed it was his weird way of trying to make him feel better, but it just freaked him out.

When the doc decided he’d done enough poking and prodding, he said he wanted to clean the wounds out and stitch them closed. Then he wanted Mario to get an x-ray to make sure there wasn’t any bone damage, and then he could be on his way.

When the time came, they got Mario laying down and had him stretch his arm out on a table with a blue drape on it. He saw the big syringe full of lidocaine next to a bunch of other torture instruments and his breath seized in his chest, but Lucy saw and promised him they would be fast. He turned his head the opposite direction and practiced one of the breathing exercises Luigi had taught him before.

He definitely regretted not bringing his brother with him, because damn, he could’ve really used a hand to squeeze. But he’d caused him enough trouble already. He was on his own. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

They started injecting the lidocaine then, and honestly, it was awful. He felt the pinch of the needle in his already sore and tender skin, and the lidocaine itself burned and stung, taking way too long to finally give way to a cool numbness. They put a little into every puncture and tear, and there were 11 in total. By the time they were done, Mario’s eyes were damp. Lucy, bless her, handed him a tissue without saying anything except that the worst part was over now.

Thankfully, that was indeed the worst part. They cleaned the wounds out next, which wasn’t that bad. He felt the sting of the antiseptic in a couple of spots, but it still wasn’t as bad as the lidocaine, and it faded away before he even had a chance to react to it. Even the stitches weren’t bad; he expected them to be worse. All he felt was some pressure and tugging, but the sensations were easy enough to ignore. He just kept looking away and studied the big poster on the wall about the human skeletal system. Who knew that a person’s hands have 27 bones each?

Finally, they finished and let him sit up. 31 stitches all together. Mario squinted at them, his stomach lurching just a little, before Lucy put a clean dressing over them and forced him to stop looking. Then a new lady poked her head in the room and informed them that they had an open spot for him to get his x-ray. He hastily followed her, eager to get moving and walk some of his nerves off.

Mario denied her offer to walk him back after they were finished, which was a stupid thing to do because he got lost almost immediately. He felt like a little kid lost in a grocery store as he looked around and tried to remember where the hell he came from. Eventually, he relented and asked the DI unit clerk for directions. Turns out he was literally right in front of the hallway he’d come from, his dumbass just couldn’t find the sign. He left in an annoyed huff and went back to the room he was in before, sitting in one of the stiff armchairs instead of on the table this time.

Soon, Dr. Asher returned alone, holding an iPad. He said Mario’s x-ray came back normal with no signs of bone damage, which was good. The talk soon turned into a long lecture; he wanted to see Mario again in 10 days to see how it was healing and to remove the stitches. It would take a long time to heal, and he walked Mario through the best ways to help speed up the process. He would likely need physical therapy to rehab the limb, and would possibly need to see an orthopedic specialist to assess the muscle damage. Then came another lecture about the signs and symptoms of infection and sepsis and when to go to the ED; Mario did his best to pay attention, he really did, but a lot of the big words and medical jargon flew right over his head. But he gave him a small package of papers that summed everything up nicely, so he didn’t feel that bad.

Really all he had been able to think in response was how much he now hated dogs.

“So, are we done? Can I leave now?” Mario asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“One last thing,” Dr. Asher looked at his tablet. “It says in here that you had your last tetanus shot when you were in the 9th grade, is that correct?”

Damn. Mario was afraid of that.

“Yes.” He answered begrudgingly, crossing his arms.

“Then I recommend you get a booster today, since it’s been more than 5 years.”

“Come on, it’s been 7. You can’t let me squeak by?”

Dr. Asher pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “You can refuse, if you wish.”

Mario groaned. “No, I’ll get it, whatever. If it means I get to go home after.”

“Yup, that’s everything.” Dr. Asher got up to leave. “Take care, Mario. Feel better, and come back if you have any concerns.” He smiled kindly. Mario half-heartedly smiled back, and the door closed behind him.

Mario inhaled a big breath and released it, stretching his legs and rolling his stiff neck. He was so ready to go home and jump into his bed and not leave for days. He pulled out his phone, and almost as soon as he did, a text came from Luigi.

So what’s the deal? Did they amputate?

Mario smiled and shook his head fondly, punching out a reply. No, just 31 stitches.

I bet you’ll have some awesome scars.

I doubt it. You’re such a dork.

The dorkiest. What are you waiting for now?

Just a tetanus shot.

Uh oh, you need me to come hold your hand?

He audibly snorted. Fuck off, I’m not 6.

You sure? I think you’re short enough.

Mario chuckled and sent a long string of middle finger emojis, and Luigi replied with a longer string of laughing ones. He turned his phone off, sighing quietly and putting his head back, closing his eyes.

Mario sat there alone for long enough that he’d curled up and had just about dozed off. Finally, Lucy came back, poked him in his deltoid, gave him a brief rundown of his wound care, and finally let him go. He saw the front desk clerk and hastily scribbled his signature on the discharge form, then ran out of there before anyone else could come up with more reasons to keep him.

He found Luigi happily snoozing away in the waiting room and couldn’t help but laugh; the guy had a gift. He could sleep anywhere. After sneakily snapping a picture to add to his ever growing collection, he woke him up and they took a cab home.

During the ride, Luigi started talking about who they should go to about getting the van fixed. Mario had made up a lame excuse that he was tired and sore and wasn’t really up for discussing it, when in reality all he could think about was that they actually couldn’t get the van fixed right now because they didn’t have any money. And that was all because Mario had stupidly convinced Luigi to let him blow it all on their commercial.

Which, Mario learned later that evening, wasn’t even good, as far as his family was concerned. Tony and Arthur had laughed right in his face, just like Spike had. He had tried to stick around for dinner, but after all the laughing, the mushrooms on his plate, the guys asking to see his stitches even though he kept telling them he wasn’t supposed to take the bandage off yet, and his father’s remark as the cherry on top, he left the table using the same excuse of being tired and sore and just wanting to lay down. He felt bad for being so rude, but he’d had a long and crappy day. Sue him.

It wasn’t a total lie by any means; he definitely would’ve liked to lay down and sleep, but he was a side sleeper and he doubted he’d be able to find a pain-free sleep position now that both of his arms were sore. He settled for turning the lights off and playing video games, but it still didn’t do much to distract from the words that kept running through his head. The words wrought with disdain and disappointment.

I think you’re nuts. You don’t leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.

Mario growled and threw his controller down as he died yet again, turning the TV off and giving up. He rubbed at his eyes, placing his elbows on his knees, sighing in exhausted agony. There it was again, the gentle burn in his eyes, the wobble in his breath.

Once again, Luigi managed to interrupt him when his defenses were down. He poked his head through the door of their shared bedroom, holding a plate of mushroom-less pasta and a bottle of red gatorade. Mario sat up, taking a steadying breath.

“I thought you were laying down.” Luigi smiled knowingly.

Mario shrugged weakly. “Tried, but everything hurts.”

“Did you take some meds?”

“Yeah, just now.” He’d taken two Advil and two Tylenol tablets after leaving the dinner table.

“You should probably eat something, big guy,” Luigi murmured softly, using the same tone he used whenever Mario was the one hurt or knocked out with a cold. He was being so sweet, and Mario’s chest panged. “Or at least drink something.”

Luigi handed him the gatorade, and he took it, lazily taking a swig even though he wasn’t really thirsty.

“I wish I could have something stronger than this.” Mario admitted quietly, turning away so he wouldn’t see Luigi’s reaction. He knew he really couldn’t, but still, it was the truth. Right now, all he wanted was to sit down with a bottle of his favourite white wine and drink until he couldn’t remember his own name.

“Well, you aren’t getting anything stronger, not on my watch.” Luigi replied after a few beats, undoubtedly surprised at Mario’s remark. “You aren’t serious, are you?”

“Relax, of course not.” Mario shook his head.

Luigi was silent for a few more tense moments, and Mario could feel his concerned eyes boring into him. He didn’t look back; he couldn’t.

“Mario, are you sure you’re okay?”

There was that tone of voice again, so caring, so soft. How lucky was Mario to have someone who cared about him so much? Someone who kept reaching a hand out even after he kept pushing it away?

And what had Mario done for Luigi in return? Risk his safety by taking him into a stranger’s home and almost getting him attacked by a stupid dog. All to achieve a dream that was Mario’s, not his. It wasn’t fair; Luigi deserved better.

Unable to help himself, he cleared his throat and hid his guilt with another snotty remark. “So far. My arm hasn’t fallen off yet, but we’ll see what happens.”

“Would you–” Luigi stopped and took a frustrated breath, trying again. “Stop dodging, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Mario sighed. “And I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Another tense silence followed. Even though he still refused to look at him, he knew exactly what Luigi was thinking, and his heart seized. He hated that he was worried, but he couldn’t let him in. This whole mess was his own fault; when he was feeling better, he would figure out how to clean it up himself. There was no other choice.

Luigi took a breath to speak, then–

“Luigi! It’s your turn for dishes tonight!” Ma hollered from the kitchen.

Mario hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t audible. Luigi frowned, not moving for a few moments.

“Go on, get outta here,” Mario ushered. “Don’t make her mad.”

“Fine.” Luigi grabbed the uneaten plate of pasta with one hand–Mario had already decided he wasn’t eating it–and squeezed Mario’s shoulder with the other before sliding off the bed and heading to the door. Before closing it, he turned and looked at Mario again.

“Just yell if you need anything, okay?”

It was such a mindless gesture, something they said to each other in different variations all the time, but hearing it from Luigi even after all the grief he’d caused him today made him want to cry all over again. But he clenched his jaw and nodded stiffly. Luigi hesitated, worry and concern evident in his vibrant blue irises, but he ended up leaving.

Mario inhaled and released a heavy sigh again, frustratedly rubbing at his eyes and throwing himself back on his pillows, narrowly missing bonking his head on the headboard. He hated all these damn feelings.

Luigi should’ve been pissed at him. Mario had made him promises and hadn’t kept them. But instead he was worried about him and his well being. He truly didn’t deserve Luigi.

Now that he knew Luigi would be occupied for enough time, he let himself have his moment. He rolled on his less sore side and curled up, pressing his hands against his face to silence the pathetic sounds he made as he cried. He was a complete and total fool for ever thinking that this would work; he felt like the worst brother in the world.

He swiped at his face, sniffing wetly and taking a few breaths, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. This mess was his fault; he wasn’t allowed to cry about it.

But he felt too shitty to try to fix it right now. He switched the TV to some random cop show, exhaustion and depression weighing heavy on his bones. He fixed his pillows and blankets, fidgeting for a while before he finally managed to make himself comfortable on his back. It wasn’t how he liked to sleep, but it would have to do for now. He haphazardly watched, slowly relaxing, and after 10 minutes, he was out like a light.

#super mario bros movie #super mario bros movie fanfiction

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the-firebird69 · 8 months ago

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There are other things happening here and abroad on it is Wednesday night overseas and they're ahead of us

-this place is going to bust out open wide today and the morlock is going to be hunted and it is for what they're saying and doing and yeah okay John remillard interrupts and he says and we're going to say it to you I said well be careful saying stuff and Denny's going to say no then he's saying we're going to do stuff and our son says good I get to kill you I hate you true try something on him he's going to hit you a bunch of times and we will help him with it and not you Trump at all believe it or not

-they're a bunch of uppity old senile retards and it sounds and looks very bad because it is we need to move in on them right now

-we need to give the announcements out and here in Charlotte county the sheriff's department has decided to fire John remillard and it is the government of Florida it's a governor's office and it's being handed down today. And he's saying he wants to try and do it while he's at the laundromat so everybody is prepping

-also the police department is going to get shaken up local police also report to the governor's office and his firing several people from there and no not his grandfather

-is also trying to prevent prepare eviction papers for John remillard and Dave and he is serious about it and he has several other papers ready for idiots in the neighborhood and is going to try and have Stan allow them into the apartments people say it might happen

-there's other items happening around town the comptroller is laying off half the building department no they're laying off the remainder as they won't let them do anything and they're unkind they're mean they're stupid they don't have any real reasons just think that have the power and they don't and they're out and they're going to be running around they're trying to do it while he's at the laundromat

-we do have reinforcements moving in now we need more but we are moving in

-several other things they are trying to pressure the clones to move this morning while he's at the laundromat and they've been doing this each and every time sometimes they line three up sometimes four sometimes 10 it doesn't do anything and they're fighting themselves and they're ridiculous assholes and they need to leave they do it all the time and frankly we're all sick of it the world is sick of it and they're moving in too to mess up these losers and I mean you too Mac and your brother Ben and really you know your s*** now

-there's a huge chance for success Stan says probably not it's so remote and what you do is really backwards and we use it but boy is that s*** annoying just imagine being a boy a young person going in and listening to all that horse s*** I don't know about you but I wouldn't put up with it so he's reporting everything and we have a lot of agents working with him and he's reporting every single stupid comment and look and a lot of people that look at them wrong die everyday make comments they die every day bushels of them and today is no exception we're going to nail tons of you

-also today in Charlotte county there is an alert on books people want to bring fake books in and there's an alert on the water and other health systems and we are mobilizing to come and take it over and force you out the power generation too sewer treatment all of which you're falling down on repetitively in hospitals too you'll be forced out and you'll have nowhere to go and nothing to threaten he had to leave or you'll be brought to prison it's going on today

-the pseudo empire is listening who is wanted and they're saying to haul you in for real and they're telling people why and they want it done today and that kind of thing they're offering bounties on you with stuff and it's going to work people need it and they're hiring deputies who hate you

-there's a few uses for some people and they can do it but for real there's other news and it's pretty big but he's got stuff to do

Frank Castle hardcastle

There's a few things we got now there's a couple others as comptroller he can fire practically anyone and he's doing it using the law and you guys break the law it's either you go or you go to jail and today he said if you come back you're going to jail and he's fired about five people from the board of sleckman and five more from the councilman and it's only 12 on each board and that's punta Gorda and soon he's going up to Port Charlotte to do it and the idea is not to arrest him and hold him but they like to do that to clear people out and it's just not going to work it went backwards when they did it before and they're doing it the right way and they seem to have forgotten we have a couple other things to note we do not want our son to be dejected treated like a mental patient forced to buy things he can't afford and forced into poverty and all those things you keep doing we need you out of here pretty much all of you we do not want you here pestering him at all and you insisted on it and you still do and you're going to go to hell fairly soon you are not going to come back we do have a plan to do that to you as you see many of you die in movies that are upcoming pretty quick some of you have this long drawn-out death that gets rid of your entire clan and family and clones and that would be the selfish pig Trump and he doesn't have enough to get to be president now which is good he's just going to get worn out

-several things to note we are moving out right now but the comptroller is also laying off people in the tax assessor's office and they did last week and he's doing it again he laid off five there's 20 each town and he's going to lay five more off each town and you're ridiculous people you don't go into work anyways he's also laying off several people from the State Assembly he's doing that with the power of the governor and Jason approved it and it's mostly trumpsters and their reps who go to the state Congress and Senate they're in the process also of laying off the US senators and without a vote and it goes to an alternate which is not you people you have about 70 out of 110 congressman and that's not good it's 40 to 70 so they are going to lay off 20 that brings you to 50 to 60 which is still not good they're going to lay off centers it's 80 out of 150 which is not as bad they're laying off 10 it makes it even and they're doing it today none of them are trumpsters that are replacing them that's going forwards today is very big so we're going to publish

Thor Freya

Olympus

Is Justin time we really need this and a lot of it is Tommy f he's hitting the living crap out of these guys and we have to too

Biden

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bugbyte · 1 year ago

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Medical nonsense! Spent my evening crying about it. That’s becoming my new hobby.

Some of this discusses needles and medical trauma, and even though I’m tagging those I also want to be up front because it’s pretty heavy.

Got a letter from an office I haven’t been to yet that’s doing yet more genetic testing for something that’s for sure confirmed to run on one side of my family and will also Mess You Up, and instead of being informed by a person it’s just. Like 3 sentences that vaguely explain this other test they want to do.

It’s a nerve conduction test, plus an electromyogram, both of which involve sticking a bunch of needles into muscles and then either putting electricity in to see what happens or measuring electrical output on an oscilloscope. Which, because I love electronics sounds fascinating on the surface except for the needles part and realizing that those suckers are going to have to go deep to actually touch muscle (which I learned from trigger point injections) and so yeah no I am filled with a copious level of nope and dread. The nah cup runneth over. I’m going to try and speak to a human and see if this is actually necessary because I don’t have symptoms of the genetic thing presently, but I was advised to test for the gene now because it appears later in life. And if I can do anything or science improves before then, I want to know.

Then I thought about it too much and had a panic attack, which took a while to put 2 and 2 together, but it’s trauma, it’s always trauma if you keep peeling back layers. I had surgery in mid-2020, sort of unexpectedly, and at the height of the pandemic. I had never had surgery before, so I was in the hospital, alone, cut off from family and support people because they took my belongings to a locker, so my phone was out of my hands. At the time I was much worse about dealing with needles than I am now and got a bunch of surprise blood draws and injections and several failed IVs in pre op when I had mentally prepared for…one IV.

Anyway, I was having a panic attack because I had been told not to take my meds beforehand and they threw my spouse out of the waiting area even though I had been told he could stay with me because of my anxiety. I tried to communicate all of this to the nurses setting me up but, man, these two just had some kind of good cop/bad cop routine going on and Bad Cop was trying to get blood from my hand and slapping my veins viciously. The other nurse was in my other arm placing the IV but the tube size was incorrect and instead it started leaking everywhere, so Bad Cop came over to help and just applied an excessive amount of pressure to keep the IV in place while a new tube was put in but man, it did not need to be nearly that rough. I was not bleeding and it wasn’t meds going in, just saline. All of this did not help my panic attack. She was just clearly pissed about having to deal with me and got away with just enough physical violence that could be written off as necessary for the blood draw and me exaggerating because of the panic attack. I wasn’t exaggerating though. I had bruises for over a month. I bruise easily, but this was something else.

The first person there to show me any kindness was the anesthesiologist who spoke kindly to me and talked about the procedure and then dosed me with versed to help with the panic. Here’s the thing: versed is supposed to calm you down and make you forget what’s happening. My anxiety was so high that she had to come back for another dose. I clearly remember everything up to being put under. My brain was fighting that hard, under the impression it was going to die, because panic attacks do that. I felt like a wilted plant but I had total awareness in a limp body, which was also a mildly terrifying experience.

Anyway, dropping a weird new test on me this week with very little information or justification, that’s apparently needle based and described as “mildly uncomfortable” (one of the greatest lies in medicine) just slapped every button on my console like a kid in an elevator.

I’m just, not willing to put myself in a room alone with people I do not know who are going to stick me and tell me “it doesn’t hurt that bad.” Baby, I have a connective tissue disorder, everything hurts that bad. Trigger points leave me bruised for a week. I sublux my shoulder on the regular and have to straighten my fingers because the joints have popped out and my free floating fingers are point more sideways. Tightly-focused, sharp, drawn-out pains are my kryptonite, but at least I’m self aware.

So. You know. Crying it out and trying to parse where all this defense mode came from, and what do you know, it’s hospital trauma. Chalk that up as a new one. Or an old one. Brains are awful. I’ll get through, I always do, but I feel like I keep re-emerging as a new person every time which is a confusing feeling.

#blog #healthposting #cw medical #medical #needles #cw blood #hEDS #hypermobility #genetic engineering #electromyogram #nerve conduction test #hospital #bad nurses #surgery #medical trauma

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friendrat · 1 year ago

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Thanks for the tag!

1. Where you named after anyone?

No. My older brother was named after someone in the Bible, but my older sister and I were just names that my mom liked. My twin sister died before we were born, and my mom let me name her when I got older, so she is named after a character from the Oracles of Fire books by Bryan Davis.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I'm not really sure. I tear up sometimes during cheesy movies or shows, or when I'm reading, so probably then. The last time I remember full-blown crying, though, was when my sister got together with a bunch of aunts and cousins (like intentionally planned event, not spur of the moment thing) and I wasn't invited, I found out after the fact on Facebook in a post where they shared pictures and went on about how nice it is to spend time with family, and how they need to do it more often, etc etc. (I'm not salty. Ok, that's a lie, I'm totally still salty about it. They're trying to make it a regular thing, and I still haven't been invited.)

3. Do you have kids?

Only four. 😆

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

No, never.~ (Obviously, I do. 😆 We really need to bring the sarcasm punctuation into popular use because sometimes it's hard to tell in text format.)

5. What is the first thing you notice about people when you meet them?

I don't know... I think I just see them as a whole person? There isn't really any particular thing that jumps out at me in particular.

6. What is your eye color?

Blue, sometimes they're like a blue gray and sometimes they're brighter.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. Hands down. I'm not really a scary movie person. I can count the number of scary movies I've actually watched on one hand. But who doesn't love a happy ending?

8. Any special talents?

I can make an elephant trumpet sound. It makes babies laugh and never fails to impress toddlers. 😆

9. Where were you born?

I am a mystery wrapped in an enigma. (OK I will give a "real" answer... I was born *dramatic pause* in a hospital. 😂)

10. Have any hobbies?

Reading, writing, board games, dnd, video games when I have the time.

11. Have any pets?

2 cats, a dog, and a fish. They all have nerdy names except one of the cats. The dog is Oberon, the fish is Fezzik (we used to have a second fish named Inigo, but he died), and the girl cat is a calico named Piper (she's the pied piper... get it? Lol), and the not nerdy cat is a tuxedo cat named Everest. Everest is also nicknamed the wizard kitty because he likes to perch on people's shoulders like a familiar.

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

Bible quizzing. It counts, ok! 😆

13. How tall are you?

5'6"

14. What was your favorite subject in school?

Science. I disagreed with a lot of origin stuff because it's very based on worldview interpretation of the evidence, but I loved natural science and how stuff works. I could test reliably over 90% in science without really trying.

15. Dream job?

Writing. Although anymore that involves a lot of self-promotion on social media, and that intimidates me. The networking with other authors isn't so bad, but making graphics and reels and stuff just seems overwhelming. But yeah... I've wanted to be a writer ever since I was a kid. I also had a lot of fun working on a couple of amateur short films, so something in filmmaking would be really cool too! I would love to see more Christian fantasy stories be make into movies and shows, so working on something like that would be great!

Tags: @a-republican-mind @birdwithinternet @crestofnobility @dimsilver @faeriefully @faithfire @fairytale-lights @greater-than-the-sword @heckin-music-dork @katco-cereal @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord @queenies-corner @rose-red-ink @wynterwind @xxxcertifiednerdxxx (no pressure! I just think these are fun!)

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

Thanks for the tags @peony-pearl and @sleepyghoststories 💖💖💖

1. Were you named after anyone?

A fictional character from a movie my parents watched while dating.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I don't remember. Which means I'm due for a breakdown soon.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

It's how I cope

5. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Usually their appearance/outfit

6. What is your eye color?

Dark brown

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings ❤️

8. Any special talents?

I can roll my eyes to the back of my head. Makes for excellent zombie impressions.

9. Where were you born?

illinois

10. Have any Hobbies?

Drawing, writing, cosplaying

11. Have any pets?

No but I always wanted a cat

12. What spots do you play/ have you played?

I used to do track and volleyball

13. How tall are you?

5'7"

14. What is your favorite subject at school?

Art class

15. Dream job?

In a perfect world, writer and voice actor.

Tags: @avatardoggo @exhaustedhope @wingchunwaterbender @friendrat @trashfactorysstuff @emmelinekahuyan @love-airy @love-n-purple @longing-for-rain @moonlitxeuphoria @its-booklovr @monochromeswirl @fireliliesstuff @evsalonyx @ekwolfwriter-blog

#tags #tag game #tag games #ask game

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lost-between-letters · 2 years ago

Text

Irritating People, The Family Business

Pairing: Crowley X Reader (he/him)

Requested by: anon

Written for: my 300 follower celebration (open)

Warnings: canon typical levels of violence, blood, injury, talk of stitches, reader being Bad At Feelings™

Word Count: 1,308

Summary: Y/N got hurt on a hunt. Crowley seemed to take it not as cool as anyone else thought. Arguments, some shouting and a confession here and there ensues.

"Oh for God's sake, moose! The blood won't stop flowing just because you stare at it!"

His mouth was awfully dry. Ironically, that was the first thing Y/N noticed upon waking up.

Or coming back to consciousness. The next thing he noticed was his pounding headache. Oh, and his side feeling like someone was pushing a candle inside his ribcage.

It didn't help that Crowley and Sam were arguing loudly right now.

"I'm not staring, I'm trying to figure out if he needs stitches or a hospital!" Sam was past pissed, Y/N didn't even need to open his eyes to see that. Where were they again? Last thing he remembered was fighting off the ghouls and one of them drawing a knife on him.

Suddenly there was a lot of pressure on his side. Y/N groaned weakly and attempted to roll away from the pain. It did not work. While one pair of hands was seemingly disposing a nice little car on top of him, another was holding his body in place.

"Maybe if you'd heal it, we wouldn't need to have this damn fight!" That was Dean. It solved the riddle of who was pushing him through the ground as well. His voice was coming from right over him so Y/N took a wild guess and said that the older Winchester was currently practicing his patchin-up-skills on him while cussing out Crowley.

Who huffed from somewhere behind his head. "I'm a demon. We destroy things, not put them back together. If I would put my magic hands on your boy, I'd do more damage than good."

"Then leave and let us work dammit!" Sam was speaking quietly by now which was always a sign for whoever he was talking to to run.

This time around, the room was quieter when he woke up. It was less painful too. To wake up - not the room. Luckily, it was his own room back at the bunker which meant that they travelled a great deal while Y/N had been sleeping. Or unconscious.

And Crowley was a smart demon apparently. The last thing Y/N heard before he felt the cold needle pierce his skin was Crowley taking off. Then, the world became black once again.

But it wasn't silent. People were taking outside, Sam's deep rumble against Dean's agitated exclamations.

Crowley had been working together with them on the job as they had suspected Lucifer-allied demons rather than the bunch of ghouls they got instead. Well, jokes on them, the ghouls were working with Lucifer as well and took great fun in using them as punching bags.

What was surprising about the situation was that Crowley actually kept being helpful. Sure, he'd never outright pushed them into the danger zone but that didn't mean that he hurried to save them.

Okay, apparently he did do that. Y/N had the distinct memory of someone smaller, someone more his size taking his weight before he hit the ground. He knew how it felt being carried around by the Winchesters and Y/N was pretty sure that it had been neither of them who stopped him from kissing the ground.

Which left Y/N with the questionable knowledge that it was entirely possible that the demon had carried him out of the lair. The feelings somewhere in his chest area that bloomed at that realisation were a whole old new cans of worms Y/N firmly pushed to the side.

"Feeling better, Love?" Crowley asked and pushed himself off the wall.

Y/N startled and immediately cursed himself for it. Movement irritated the stab wound. He really needed to remember that.

It didn't go unnoticed by Crowley either. He was next to him in a heartbeat, hands pushing him back down into the mattress. It was a surprisingly gentle touch. "Hey, easy Y/N. Don't want you pulling the stitches right after Sam invested so much energy into them, would you?"

The dry statement had Y/N snorting which of course only led to more pain. "Shit, stop making me laugh."

"Well what should I rather be making you do?" Crowley stepped back, sarcasm deeply laced into the words. Y/N wasn't entirely sure if that wasn't just the way he spoke.

But his body language didn't match the tone. He was stepping back already, his fingers troubling his sleeve and his eyes jumping between Y/N's ribs and his face.

Almost like -

No, Crowley surely wasn't nervous.

But-

"Are you worried for me, Crowley?" Y/N asked incredulously.

Crowley scoffed and momentarily was able to look him in the eyes. "What do ya think, love?"

Two times in a row. Two times Crowley now had used that endearment - no that nickname, endearments were for people that were, y'know dear to him - for him.

That didn't stop Y/N's palms from getting sweaty and his mind from producing rosy day dreams. Who knew, maybe Crowley actually did mean it like he hoped he was.

That thought process alone threw him enough off balance to blurt out what ran through his mind. "Wait, you do?"

"I think I'm in love with you, Y/N, of course I care about you," Crowley stated as if that was the most normal thing in the world. The only clue for his supposed inner turmoil was the fact that he still wasn't looking at Y/N's face and rather a point over his shoulder, "Now would you do me a favour and stop fidgeting around so your stitches stay where they are?"

Out of sheer self preservation he did. Or maybe that was just the shock. Y/N was pretty sure that his jaw might have met his blanket intimately now.

Nope. He was hallucinating. That had to be it. Dean gave him some of the good pain medication, that was for sure.

"You're not looking very smart right now," Crowley pointed out though Y/N didn't know how he could tell as he was still not looking at him.

For some reason that sold it for him. This was real and Y/N would be chopping his head off if Crowley was playing power games right now. "Did you just say that you're in love with me?!"

"Based on your reaction that's not what you wanted to hear so no, I said that I think," Crowley emphasised the word especially which was just ridiculous, "that I'm in love with you."

And because Y/N was just about as emotionally constipated as the hunters he was living with, he didn't confess his own undying (and embarrassing) love and instead huffed annoyed. "And how am I supposed to understand that?"

"My God can you be irritating," Crowley groaned and drew his hand over his face.

Oh yeah? Well how about that?

With a force Crowley didn't expect and Y/N bitterly regretted, he yanked the demon down by his tie and into a kiss. His stitches were burning up from the strain he put them through but the squeak Crowley let out was worth it.

Y/N pushed just about every ounce of hope and anger into the kiss and worked his way to Crowley actually returning it. It was a moment of struggle and the dawning feeling that Y/N just made a horrible horrible mistake but eventually his lips relaxed and he started moving them against Y/N's. A heartbeat later, there was a hand on his neck, gently tilting his head for better access.

"I think I'm in love with you too," Y/N said once they broke the kiss for some air.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Oh, do you now?"

"Don't be smart with me mister, I saw how nervous you were." Y/N grinned confidently leaned back into the pillows.

Y/N was pretty sure that Crowley would have slapped his shoulder now if he hadn't been injured. But he was so Crowley had to resort to exasperated glaring.

This was going to be fun.

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideeee , @fandomfoodiedancer , @lovesfandoms , @nyotamalfoy , @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Crowley Taglist: @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Join a Taglist

#crowley x male!reader #crowley x reader #crowley x you #crowley supernatural #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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lucy90712 · 3 years ago

Text

Finding out the gender (pregnancy series)

Authors note: obviously gender isn't biological and I'm aware that this chapter talks about the sex of the baby but conventionally it is called the gender so that's what I'll be referring to it as but that doesn't mean that if you don't identify with you gender that you are invalid because you aren't and I love you all platonically of course. If I say anything you think is wrong please correct me and I'll change the wording. Thanks everyone

Series masterlist

George:

The all exciting appointment is here we get to find out what we are having. George thinks it's a girl but I think we are having a boy because people have told me that I look like I'm having a boy which is a little weird but I trust them, slightly.

We are so excited to find out not that it matters to us but it will be exciting to know so we can buy things for the baby and decorate the nursery. Oh and decide a name I forgot about that part thats so much pressure but also just so exciting.

At the appointment the nurse went through a bunch of things first like looking at how the baby is doing and make sure it is healthy which luckily it was. She was having some trouble seeing the part she needed to but the baby did move a little bit which allowed her to see what we were having.

"Do you guys want to know?" She asked

"Yes please" I responded

"Well congratulations you are having a little girl" she said

I couldn't believe it we were having a little girl and George was right. I should have seen it coming that man is always right for some reason. I looked over at George and his mouth was wide open and a smile was on his face.

"We're having a baby girl oh my gosh thats so exciting" George said

"I know I'm so happy right now" I whispered back not having the voice to talk normally

Dream:

Clay has been bouncing off the walls all day today because we are going to an ultrasound where we should be able to find out the gender of our baby. He has been guessing what he thinks we are having but every other day he changes his mind from boy to girl and today he has finally decided on girl. I have been thinking its a girl for a while but I don't like to interrupt his fun, to me it was kind of obvious I have been experiencing things all the stereotypes that come with having a girl like bad skin and dry hair.

By the time we actually had to leave Clay had told me all the different ways this appointment could go. In the car I had to try and get Clay to stay calm and drive properly by playing music to distract him slightly. We got there and walked in not too long before our appointment so the nurse came out just a few minutes after we sat down.

The nurse went through all the usual checks before looking to find out the gender for us after asking if we wanted to find out. Our baby moves around quite a lot so when to start with she couldn't see it didn't take long for the baby to move to a better position.

"It's a girl" she said

"See baby I knew it" Clay said like he hadn't changed his mind about a million times

"Yeah you did can you believe that we're actually having a baby girl though" I said

"No I can't that's going to take some getting used to" he replied

Sapnap:

Me and Sapnap are going to get my 20 week ultrasound today where we should be able to find out the gender of our baby so we have been doing some old wives tales for fun to see if they are correct and the results leant towards a boy. Sapnap has secretly really wanted it to be a boy because he wants a son that he can teach different things to and honestly I wouldn't be too against that because the thought of seeing Sapnap with our son is really cute.

We walked to the hospital for our appointment because we felt like getting some fresh air after not going out for the past few days. It also gave us more time to talk about the appointment which we are kind of worried about because the doctor said that there is a possibility that our baby is not growing properly but it was too early to tell last time.

We got into the appointment and nervously awaited the doctor to check out the ultrasound to make sure everything was going as it should which luckily for us it was and our baby has grown a lot since our last appointment. The nurse then looked back over and asked if we wanted to know what we were having which of course we did.

"It's a boy" she exclaimed

"We get to have our little boy to play football and stuff with" Sapnap said

"We do and I can't wait for those days "I said

Quackity:

Me and Alex had kind of forgotten about the fact that we could find out the gender of our baby today and when we did remember we considered if we actually wanted to find out or not. In the end we decided we did want to find out so that we could buy things and family could know but neither of us cared what we were having as long as our baby was healthy.

At the appointment everything looked good and our baby was wriggling around in there and overall just having a great time which I was glad about because sometimes it isn't fun for me but as long as the baby is having fun that makes it all better.

"Would you like to know what you are having?" The nurse asked

"Yes we would love that" I replied

"You are having a .... little girl" she said

"Thats so exciting there's a little girl inside there" Alex said grabbing my hand

"I know its weird to think that there's a little human being inside me "I said

Karl:

Karl was busy this morning but he made sure to get at least a bit of time off this afternoon to take me to my ultrasound where we should hopefully be able to find out the gender because at our last appointment our baby was facing the wrong way for them to be able to tell.

We got there and went in after waiting about 20 minutes because they were running behind schedule which made the whole thing so much more nerve enducing that it would have been. The nurse got right on with it though and did what they normally do as quick as possible before getting to telling us what we were having.

"It's a boy" she said

"Oh that means Tucker will get to have a little friend" I said

"Yes I can't wait to tell Chris and to meet him" Karl said

Wilbur:

Me and Wilbur are going to my 20 week appointment today and we might be able out to find out what we are having as long as bean cooperates. We still call them bean and will continue to even though they've grown we just like the nickname.

The both of us walked to the appointment to get some fresh air and to kill time because the both of us were so excited to go and walking takes longer. We got there about 25 minutes before the appointment but the nurse was ready for us so we got to go in early. Our little bean popped up on the screen and was moving around in there.

"Would you like to know what your having?" The nurse asked

"Yes please" I replied

"Looks like you are having a little girl" she said (Was going to make it a boy to be even but Wilbur with a daughter was too cute not to)

"Aww I can't wait to meet her this is so exciting" Wilbur said

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asahipleaseloveme · 3 years ago

Text

A Light in the Dark

Soulmate AU

Asahi x reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: this is my piece for @gg9183 soulmate au collab! Congrats on your milestone and thank you so much for letting me join 🥲. In this AU, people see the face of their soulmate in their dreams. Some people see a face sooner than others. As always, feedback is appreciated!

"I don't know, Asahi. I think this whole soulmate thing is just a bunch of bs," you stated matter of factly. "Everyone claims that they see the face of their soulmate in their dreams. And it’s the only face they see until they find them. Pff, yeah...okay. I'm sure some people do. But there's no way everyone can see it, right?" You questioned more to yourself than to your companion who joined you for coffee.

"Maybe you're just a late bloomer? Or it could be that you're a little impatient. But it’s most likely because you’re a goober,” Asahi playfully ragged on you. “I'm sure you'll see a face in no time," he reassuringly stated.

"That's easy for you to say. I bet you've already seen your S.M.'s face. And they are probably beautiful and perfect. I wouldn't expect anything less for you, ya big softy," you teased as you poked him in the side, causing him to jolt away from the sudden contact.

"Hmph, even if I told you I haven't seen a face yet, you wouldn't believe me. But, you're still dreaming about nothing? Just total blackness?"

You stared at your drink for a few seconds to think of how you wanted to answer his question. It's true; for the past six or seven months you've been dreaming in total darkness. It's like you're in there, but there's just nothing. Almost like a void. For a while you were really concerned that it meant you didn't have a soulmate. No one you've talked to had experienced what you were currently going through. Everyone has been dreaming about a face. Some of them have been united with the person in their dreams, while others were still waiting to find theirs.

"Actually," you cleared your throat, "last night was a little different. A light started to shine through the darkness. I woke up before it could get too bright. But I don't know what it means, you know."

You looked up at Asahi sheepishly. You felt a little silly talking about this with him. You know he's been dreaming about his soulmate, but he's just too polite to tell you.

"A light, huh. Maybe that means your soulmate is a lightbulb or something. Ohh, or the sun!" Asahi chuckled.

"Shut up, Asahi," you chuckled along with him.

Your laughs subsided, and your eyes focused on his face.

"Hey, we will still be friends after we both find our soulmates, right," you broke the silence. You panicked as you didn’t want to come off as needy or jealous. "It's just that, I've had some friends who broke off their friendships with others once they found their S.M.'s. I was hoping we wouldn't have to. You're, like, my best friend," your face was getting hot and you could tell it was glowing red.

"______, you're my best friend, too. I'd like to keep it that way," Asahi smiled so softly at you. Even though he was usually the anxious friend of your group, his words felt so relieving and calm. You let out a sigh and smiled back.

"Oh, shoot. I gotta run or I'll be late for work!" Asahi said in a panic. "Uh, I'll text you later. See ya, goober!"

“Bye, goof. Have a good day at work!”

You spent the rest of the day at the library scouring through any book or online article you could find regarding dreams. Specifically soulmate dreams. You couldn’t be the only person who was experiencing the weird phenomenon of dreaming of nothing. The more you searched, the more disheartening it became. There were plenty of stories out there. Articles about people dreaming about a face for a few months before finding them. Articles about people dreaming about a face for decades and not finding them. Accounts of people marrying someone who they didn’t dream about and still finding happiness. Even reports about people who got married to someone other than their soulmate and divorcing their “non-soulmate” once they found them. There were even studies that gave the percentage of the likelihood of ending up with a soulmate. None of these findings were able to quell the uneasiness in your mind.

You threw your hands up in the air with a disgruntled sigh. “This is hopeless. I’m hopeless.”

You began packing up your things when Ashai texted you.

~You shouldn’t worry about this whole dream thing. I’m sure it’ll come to you soon 😊 ~

-I doubt it 😠-

~Lol you’re just grumpy. Go eat some food.~

- >:P -

~Are we still on for the park tomorrow grumpy pants?~

-Duh, goob. The park is the best part of my week. I wouldn’t miss it.-

~Me neither. I was just making sure.~

You grabbed a quick bite to eat at the convenience store around the corner from your apartment building. You made your way up the three flights of stairs to get to your little flat. “Home” was starting to feel a little lonely. Maybe that’s why you tended to spend most of your days somewhere else. You chucked your keys on the counter and tossed your shoes off by the door. As you were heating up your microwaveable meal, you received another text from Asahi.

~______, I know it’s easy to say, but keep your head up. I have faith you’ll see your soulmate 🙂. ~

You smiled at his kind words. He’s always been such a good and supportive friend. He’s always so patient with you. Hell, he’s even started to tease you back when you initiate it. You weren’t lying when you told him that he was your best friend. You didn’t want to imagine him not being in your life. Maybe that’s why you were so worried about the whole soulmate thing. Once he found his soulmate, he would probably start to treat you differently. Would you do the same when you (if you) found yours? What if-

Your thoughts were disrupted by the microwave going off. You quickly ate your dinner and then got ready for bed. You stared at Asahi’s text before deciding to just leave it alone. Sleep soon hit you. Again, you started out in the darkness like you have for the longest time. A light starts to appear and the intensity is getting stronger and stronger. It’s almost too bright for you to even look at. Suddenly, a fuzzy shadow of a head blocks the view of the light. The face begins to come into focus when you wake up with a shooting pain in the back of your head.

“Are you...kidding me? A blurred out face? Typical,” you rubbed your eyes and stretched. “Can’t wait to tell Asahi about this one.”

Asahi was waiting for you by the entrance of the park with a coffee for you in one hand and a coffee for him in the other. You called out to him and ran over to meet him.

“What’s this, Asahi? Need that extra dose of caffeine to walk with me today,” you smirked.

“Oh, I-I just felt bad about poking fun at you yesterday. I just wanted to make it up to you, so you know that I was just kidding.”

You giggled, “Asahi, we poke fun at each other all of the time. I think we know each other well enough that we understand it’s just in good fun. But I will gladly accept your peace offering this time.”

Both of you turned into the park and you began your weekly stroll. Ever since the two of you met years ago, you had a weekly walk through the park to discuss anything that was on your mind.

“So, uh, I saw a face in my dream last night,” you stated ever so shyly. “But, I didn’t actually see the face. It was blurred out. I don’t even know what that means!” You expressed the words with such anger, you stopped in your tracks. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you must be tired of me talking about this all of the time. I’m getting kind of tired of it, too. But this whole thing has me scared. What if my soulmate is someone who I won’t even like? What if they hate cats? What if they won’t even remember my favorite coffee order? What if they are mean to other people? I just don’t think I can handle that. I-”

“______, it’s alright. I know it can be scary, but you just have to believe that your soulmate is someone you’ll like. Even if you don’t like them, there’s nothing that states you actually have to marry them, ya know? I think that-” Asahi was cut off with the warnings of distant Heads up shouts, but by the time they were heard, a soccer ball crashed right into the back of your head.

You found yourself on the ground, coffee spilled all over your pants, and a massive pain shooting through the back of your head. You can faintly hear Asahi calling out for you, asking if you are okay. You look up at him, but the sun shine was so intense that you had to squint. The shadowy figure, the same figure from your dream, blocked out the sun and your eyes started to focus on the face. The figure blocked out more of the light, the face becoming more in focus.

“Asahi?” you sat, puzzled.

“______, oh my gosh! You don’t remember me. Did the ball hit you that hard? Oh no, we need to get you to a hospital now!” He panicked as he grabbed you around the waist and lifted you up to your feet.

“No, no, no. I remember you, ya goof. It’s just that...you...your face was...is...you’re my soulmate,” you stared at him with doe-like eyes.

He smiled down at you and wrapped you in a warm embrace.

“I’ve known for a while that you were mine,” he stated with happiness erupting from him.

“How long have you known?”

“Do you remember the day you spilled coffee all over my pants? Yeah, I started dreaming about you that same night.”

“Asahi, that was the first day we met...that was over two years ago! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I guess I didn’t want you to feel pressured to like me. You could have been dreaming about someone else and I didn’t want to get in between that. And part of me wanted you to like me because I’m...me. Not because you felt obligated to. ”

You smiled at him, “You’re, like, the biggest goof I know. How long would you have waited for me to, you know, finally catch up?”

“For you,______, I would’ve waited forever. Because there is honestly no other goober out there for me.”

You laughed as you gave him a hard nudge to the ribs. All of the fear and anxiety you had melted away the longer you were wrapped in his embrace. Your head started to go fuzzy and you weren’t sure if what because you were so relieved or because you just got donked in the head with a ball. Either way, you knew that you and Asahi were going to make each other happy.

“Thanks for waiting for me, Asahi. And thank you for liking me as I am. I know I can be a little overbearing and grumpy at times. I’m glad that you’re my goof. Oh, my head,” you sighed before letting out a groan.

Asahi looked down at you and smiled. “Let’s get you to a doctor, goober. You got hit pretty hard.” He kissed you on your forehead gently before scooping you up in his arms. This wasn’t how he had imagined this reveal going down, but he couldn’t help to be happy that he was your soulmate and you were his. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life making you happy. And you felt the same way.

#asahi x reader #azumane asahi x reader #asahi #azumane asahi #haikyuu!#haikyuu! soulmate au #gracie's soulmate collab #ahh i hope this is okay #i always get really nervous when i post my stories #🥲🥺#i kind of based this off of the song head over feet by alanis morissette lol

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toosicktoocare · 4 years ago

Text

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?”

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably.

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.”

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open.

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous?

“Young man, do you know what day it is?”

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue.

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all.

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.”

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat.

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on.

The hell?

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it.

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.”

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him.

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies.

“This young man fell from the roof!”

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels.

“Well, hello there, not dead person.”

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet.

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm.

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences.

“From up there?”

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head.

“Um, yeah. I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid.

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him.

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.”

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Enough, Tony.”

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly.

“What’s your name, son?”

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment.

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit.

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer.

“Peter?”

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.”

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.”

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens.

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him.

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.”

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man.

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?”

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging.

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later.

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?”

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that.

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow.

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?”

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment.

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand.

“It’s all you had.”

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face.

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?”

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.”

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan.

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.”

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?”

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway.

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out.

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.”

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit.

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

Text

Anonymous requested: Alex gets hurt and ends up breaking his arm, and Willie takes care of him. It really gets Alex down because he can’t drum and feels like he let the band down and he can’t use drumming to help with his anxiety and he feels useless because he can’t do much himself. Willie helps him with stuff he can’t do and tries to help him use other ways to cope with his anxiety. Lots of overprotective and soft caring Willie.

Snap

Alex had known it was a bad idea from the very beginning. Maybe it was the glint in Reggie’s eye, or the mischievous way Luke was biting his lip as he grinned, or the way they introduced the idea with, “You’re probably going to say no,” that had tipped him off. The point was, Alex had known that it was the worst plan his bandmates had ever come up with right from the get-go.

What he didn’t know was why he agreed to go through with it.

“You’re probably going to say no,” Luke had said when he and Reggie had entered the studio that morning. Alex had been trying to set up his drum kit, but looked up as they came in. He was immediately wary of the grin on Luke’s face. “But at least hear us out.”

“I’m worried,” Alex told them, glancing between each of them.

Luke waved a dismissive hand. “You’re always worried. Listen, it’s a great idea, I promise.”

“And,” Reggie added, “we’ve already got everything set up so it’ll be a total bummer if you say no now.”

Alex frowned. “What is it?” he asked warily.

“Just come with us, bro, I swear it’s awesome!”

Luke’s enthusiasm was hard to say no to, so Alex sighed and reluctantly stood to follow them out of the studio. He didn’t like the way his friends kept giggling at each other, then glancing back at him, and giggling even more. He didn’t like how this was a spontaneous adventure that he hadn’t had any time to prepare for. He didn’t like how he had no idea what the boys were planning.

But that didn’t stop him from following them.

They walked for a while, Luke and Reggie a few steps ahead of Alex, muttering conspiratorially between themselves. Eventually, they came to the top of a hill from which Alex could see the beach in one direction and the city in the other. Luke and Reggie stood side by side, then slid apart from each other in a grand reveal, announcing, “Ta-da!”

They moved apart to uncover a shopping trolley. A rusty, grimy shopping trolley that was missing a front wheel and looked as if it wouldn’t even be safe to push around a supermarket - somehow, Alex doubted that was what Luke and Reggie wanted to use it for in any case.

“Where did you get that?” Alex asked, eyeing the trolley.

“Washed up on the beach by my house,” Reggie said excitedly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“You could say that,” Alex muttered. “You two seriously pushed it all the way up this hill?”

“Yep,” Luke said brightly, popping the ‘p’. “It took, like, three hours because the missing wheel kept making it turn and roll back down. We got it here though!”

He and Reggie high-fived.

“Uh-huh.” Alex had a dreadful sense in his stomach that he knew exactly where this was going. “And, uh... why did you want to show it to me?”

Luke grinned. He pointed to the trolley and said, “You’re gonna get in and we’re going to push you down the hill.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!” Luke whined. “It’ll be fun!”

“I’m not concerned about it being fun, I’m concerned about it being dangerous!”

Luke scoffed and Reggie made a ‘pfffft’ sound. He slapped the side of the trolley. “This thing is perfectly safe! It’s sturdy - it survived being in the sea, remember?”

“It didn’t survive, it’s missing a wheel, which is the very thing that makes it dangerous,” Alex countered. “I’m not getting in that death-trap.”

“What if either Reggie or I go first?” Luke suggested. “You’ll see it’s safe, we can push it back up the hill, and you can have your turn.”

Alex shook his head. “You just said it took three hours to get this up here, I’m not waiting that long just to meet my certain doom.”

“There’s no doom,” Luke said.

“Alex, please,” Reggie said, breaking out the puppy-dog eyes. Alex felt his defences weaken.

And then Luke had to go and join in. BAM! Double puppy-dog eyes, both of his bandmates silently begging him to do that one simple task that would make them happy.

He sighed begrudgingly. “Fine. But if I die, you need to make sure my drum kit goes to someone who will appreciate it.”

“Gotcha,” Luke said, grinning from ear to ear. He slapped Alex’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

Against his better judgement and his choice, Alex steeled himself and clambered into the trolley. He felt the metal groan against his body weight, the cold rust digging into his bottom and back. It was probably staining his favourite pink hoodie, he thought with a grimace.

“Did you bring a helmet?” he asked, a nervous hitch in his voice. Now that he was in the trolley the hill looked a whole lot steeper.

Luke and Reggie laughed, readying themselves on either side of the trolley. Reggie said, “No. You won’t need one - we told you, it’s totally safe.”

“Are you ready?” Luke asked.

“Will it even matter if I say no?” Alex deadpanned.

“No. Okay, Reg, let’s do this. Three, two, one, go!”

Luke and Reggie, both clutching the trolley, took a great running start across the hill. As they gained momentum, Alex began feeling less and less steady and secure. He gripped the bars of the trolley for dear life; his eyes were open as they neared the edge, but only because it was an “I don’t want to look but I can’t not look” situation. As they drew ever closer to the drop, Alex felt the need to eject himself from the trolley but couldn’t make himself move.

And all of a sudden he was hurtling down the side of the hill, the trolley swerving unpredictably beneath him, running smoothly for a moment but then shooting off to the left or right with sharp turns that flipped Alex’s stomach. He collided with rocks, roots, and tree stumps that sent him and the trolley flying through the air for just a second before they landed without grace and sped down the hill once more.

Alex saw the main hazard long before he reached it but by that point it was about three minutes too late to do anything about it. As he gathered yet more speed, he found that he was headed directly towards a high barbed-wire fence. His mouth opened to scream but no noise came out.

Alex and the trolley smacked into the fence. In what Alex could only assume had looked like a spectacular acrobatic display, he was launched from the trolley and pinwheeled through the air, arms and legs star-fished around him. He landed in a heap on the other side of the fence, awkwardly jarring his arm on an unfortunately placed rock and then, because luck was not on his side, landed with the rest of his body weight on it.

Snap.

That didn’t sound good.

It didn’t feel good either. Immediately, Alex was aware that he couldn’t feel his right arm - the only sensation was a faint buzzing in it as if he had pins and needles.

He sat himself up, using his other hand for leverage, and looked at his arm. It was... not the shape an arm was supposed to be.

He had known this was a bad idea.

Six hours later, most of which had been spent in a hospital with a frantic Luke and an inconsolable Reggie, Alex had made his way to Willie’s place. The two of them were on the couch, Alex laying with his head on Willie’s lap and his face buried in Willie’s t-shirt, Willie gently carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. Alex’s right arm was wrapped in a pink plaster cast and hoisted up against his chest with a sling.

“This sucks,” he mumbled into the fabric of Willie’s shirt for what had to be the twentieth time that day.

Willie sighed. “I know, hotdog. Broken bones are never fun. But it’s only six weeks, right?”

“Six to eight,” Alex groaned. “That’s six to eight weeks where I can do pretty much nothing.”

“Hey,” Willie said gently. “Don’t give up so easily, it’s only been a few hours. I’ve broken a ton of bones skateboarding, and I know a whole bunch of fun things we can do while you’re all bandaged up.”

Alex harrumphed. “I can’t drum. So no band.”

“No playing with the band. That doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with them or go to rehearsals.”

“Great,” Alex said sarcastically. “That’s one really fun and exciting thing I can do - watch my friends have fun without me.”

“Stop it,” Willie said, voice a little firmer. Alex stopped. “They won’t be having fun without you because you’ll be there. A broken arm doesn’t stop you being their friend.”

Alex muttered to himself, “It’s stops me being useful.”

“What did you say?” Willie prompted.

Alex sighed haggardly and sat up, shuffling around to face Willie. “I said it stops me being useful. To them, to the band. I’ve let them down! We had three gigs lined up next week and now we don’t have a drummer so those will all be off. And what really sucks is that all of those gigs had managers and record execs coming to watch them, now they’re not going to see us. It’s my fault!”

Willie took his hand, the one that wasn’t strapped up to his chest with the sling. Alex felt him thread their fingers together and told himself to breathe. Breathe and look into Willie’s eyes. Calm.

“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Willie said, and as always whatever he said immediately made sense in Alex’s mind. Of course it wasn’t his fault - why would it be? “It’s nobody’s fault. The guys pressured you into getting in, you did, Julie wasn’t there to tell you all how stupid you were being, and I wasn’t there to at least offer you my helmet. We’re all a little to blame, but it’s not anybody’s fault, least of all yours.”

“I’m still letting them down,” Alex said quietly, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Willie shook his head. “You know that isn’t true. You’re Julie and the Phantoms - none of you have the ability to be disappointed in each other or let each other down. You’re like one person; if one of you is down, you all are.”

Alex was unconvinced, and it must have shown on his face because Willie sighed and continued.

“Remember last year when Reggie tried to fix his amp in the rain, got electrocuted, and then couldn’t play that school dance? So instead of getting mad at him you all took turns staying by his bedside, fetching him whatever he needed, keeping an eye on him, even helping him to the toilet and stuff like that?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “That was different. He could have died.”

“You could have died today,” Willie pointed out. Alex shuddered at the thought. “But okay. What about when Julie had a throat infection? You all started learning sign language to try and communicate with her. Sure, you all remembered that she could still hear you and that she could just write down what she wanted to say, but you were willing to learn a new language for her.”

“That’s still different!” Alex protested. He tried to throw his arms up in the air in frustration, but one was tied to his chest, so his left arm just flopped pathetically by itself.

“Why?”

“Because it’s Julie. We’d do anything for her.”

Willie fixed him with a glare full of love, unnerving and endearing at the same time.

“And they would all do anything for you too,” he said. “You know that. Tell me you know that, Alex.”

Alex swallowed thickly. “I know that,” he admitted quietly.

“And I would too,” Willie added, still gazing at Alex. “We’ve got this, hotdog.”

Finally, Alex felt the barest beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. He squeezed Willie’s hand.

“We’ve got this.”

It was all well and good saying “we’ve got this” but the actual “getting this” part was easier said than done. It hadn’t been a day and Alex had already caved.

It had started that morning. He had woken up and been hyper aware of the cast on his arm. He could feel it like a hand clasped around his forearm, a sensation that couldn’t be shaken off or rubbed away. It had made his head tingle and he couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything.

When he’d gone downstairs, his father had tried to clap him genially on the shoulder, but being touched had felt like being suffocated. Alex hadn’t said anything, just tried to shrink away.

Then, inevitably and despite the nice greeting he had attempted to give, his father had launched into a spiel about why it was so awful that Alex had chosen to have a pink cast. It had sent his mind reeling, made his legs numb, and started his eyes watering.

So he had been feeling stressed. He had needed to get out of the house so he had gone on a walk - the nice breeze and the warm summer sun had been helpful, but there were so many noises outside. Birds chirped, bees buzzed, car horns honked, people laughed, footsteps echoed, leaves crunched, wind whistled, dogs barked, and every other noise the outside world created seemed stuck on an endless, repetitive, painful loop that attacked Alex’s ears and brain.

He could feel his anxiety beginning to spike. If one more thing touched him (in the metaphorical or literal sense) he was sure he would break.

He got a text from Willie: Going to be late but will bring a fun surprise!

Snap.

The floodgates opened and Alex began to cry. All he wanted was for things to be normal - he wanted his arm out of the cast, he wanted to drum with his band, and he wanted to see his boyfriend right now like they had planned.

So he did something stupid. He went to the Molinas’ house, let himself into the studio as he and the other boys regularly did, sat himself down beside his drum kit, slipped his cast-covered arm from the sling and began to drum.

It wasn’t the easy release it always was. It just hurt even more. Alex should have expected it; using a broken arm to whack a drum didn’t sound fun when put bluntly. But usually drumming helped so much, usually it made the tight feeling in Alex’s mind loosen. Not today.

Still, he kept drumming, because now it almost felt like he couldn’t stop.

It hurt.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there when the doors to the studio opened and Julie popped her head in. “Alex?”

Finally he let his arms fall to his sides, knackered and aching. His right arm was throbbing and there were tears running down his cheeks.

“Hey,” Julie said gently, hurrying towards him. She held her hand out, an offering for him to take it, but Alex shook his head and she withdrew it.

“Alex,” she continued. “I need you to put your broken arm back in the sling. Here, give me your drumsticks.”

He did as she said, grateful for order and instruction. He handed her his sticks, then winced as he manoeuvred his arm back into its sling.

“Is there anything you want me to do?” Julie asked softly.

Alex shrugged. How was he supposed to know?

Julie made the decision for him. “I’ll see if I can get hold of Willie.”

As she left the studio, Alex couldn’t help but laugh. Of course that would help and of course Julie knew that.

It wasn’t five minutes before Willie pushed the doors to the studio open and skated inside in one smooth move that Alex might have found impressive another time. He propped his board up against the wall and headed straight in Alex’s direction, crouching down beside him.

Alex fumbled to take Willie’s hand.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Willie said quietly. “Julie said you were drumming?”

Alex nodded.

Willie huffed an affectionate laugh. “That was a dumb thing to do.”

Alex felt a smile tug at his lips. “I know,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Willie said soothingly. “I know how hard this is for your. But, when your anxiety spikes we’re going to have to find other things to do in the meantime. Drumming isn’t going to do you any good.”

Alex nodded again. “I know. It hurt.”

“Do you want to head up to the hospital?” Willie asked, gently touching Alex’s broken arm where it was safely in its sling. He was probably imagining it, but Alex could have sworn that the pain went away when Willie touched it. “Make sure you’ve not done any more damage?”

“I think it’s fine,” Alex told him. Willie looked up at him, disbelieving. “I didn’t go hard, I’m not that stupid.”

“Okay then. I believe you. I’ve got something planned, but is there anything you want to do first? Or do you still need a little time to calm down?”

Alex squeezed his hand. “Can we just... I don’t know. Can you just sit with me for a while?”

Willie smiled and Alex felt his heart burst. “Of course, hotdog. Whatever you need.”

They moved to the couch and cuddled up together. Willie positioned himself so that he could easily press gentle kisses to Alex’s forehead - Alex didn’t know whether Willie had done that for his own enjoyment or for Alex’s, but he didn’t mind either way. Just having Willie there, holding him, supporting him, made him feel a whole lot better than he had before.

Alex hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he found himself yawning as he woke up. He tried to stretch his arms, then remembered one of them was bound to his chest, and awkwardly let the one arm that had moved fall to his side. He heard Willie giggle and turned to face him where he was cuddled practically beneath Alex.

“Tired, sleeping beauty?” Willie teased, brushing hair out of Alex’s face.

Alex felt his face flush. “I’m not sleeping beauty,” he said. “I’m not any princess.”

“You got that right,” Willie said, pointing to a wet patch on his own shirt. “Princesses don’t drool on their boyfriend’s shirts.”

Alex rolled his eyes and laughed a little, pushing himself into a sitting position. Willie sat up too, and pressed a quick kiss to Alex’s cheek.

“Right,” Willie said, pulling Alex to his feet. “Ready to do what I had planned?”

“Okay,” Alex said, grinning.

Willie tugged on his arm and led him out of the studio. They walked together for a while, Willie talking his ear off about this and that and everything in between. Alex was grateful for Willie all the time, but especially in times like this - times when Alex was struggling for words and wasn’t feeling quite up to talking at all, and Willie would simply know when he felt like that and do all the talking for him.

Eventually, Willie came to a stop so sudden that Alex walked straight into him. Willie laughed and clutched Alex’s hand, pointing to the building they’d stopped outside.

It was a museum, one that Willie had taken Alex to many a time before. Alex knew how much Willie loved this place - the way his face lit up when he talked about all the different exhibits was endearing and downright beautiful. Alex didn’t ‘get’ art himself, but he would never pass up an opportunity to visit the gallery with Willie.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

Willie shrugged. “I was brainstorming ways to help you combat your anxiety while drumming isn’t an option, and I remembered that they just opened a new temporary feature here. It’s all about noise being its own form of art and they’ve added an area where you can make your own.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Your own noise or art?”

“The point is that it’s both,” Willie explained, leading him inside. “And I think the way they’ve designed it could be a very effective stress-reliever. Come on.”

Willie led him through all the exhibits, wending his way through the bustling crowds with ease. He didn’t stop to talk about all the paintings and sculptures like he usually would, so Alex’s curiosity was piqued.

Willie pulled him into a room. Which was really all it was - just a room. It was relatively large with a plain white ceiling, floor, and walls (except for one which was entirely glass and showed the bright spring sunshine outside). Alex looked around for some instruction of what to do; Willie had said the exhibit was all about noise, but there was literally nothing in the room that could be used to make a sound.

“So... what do we do?” Alex asked.

Willie grinned. “You make your own noise.”

And then he screamed.

It was a long, loud, sustained note and when Willie finally finished he was grinning from ear to ear, looking absolutely exhilarated. Alex (impressed that Willie had held the note so long and now weirdly curious about his lung capacity) stared at him, dumb-founded.

“This is really what we’re supposed to do?” he asked sceptically.

Willie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, man, and it’s awesome! You just... let go! Shout all your worries away. Now you try!”

Alex nervously let out a weak little, “Ahhhhh.”

Willie laughed loudly and took hold of Alex’s shoulders. “Come on, bro, you’ve got to put some effort in. Come on, like this, ready?”

He screamed again.

Alex screamed back.

And for god knows how long, the two of them stayed together, screaming into each other’s faces, competing to see who could scream longest and loudest, and Alex hardly noticed that his worries were dissipating as he let himself be confident and have fun with Willie. The minutes ticked by into hours and they only stopped screaming when they were totally out of breath.

Willie blew his hair out of his face, eyes shining hopefully. “Feels good, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, pulling him into an awkward one-armed hug. “It does.”

Alex spent the night at Willie’s, not feeling up to going home. When they woke up to Alex’s alarm the next morning, Alex felt Willie shuffle into his side, head on Alex’s shoulder, clearly not wanting to get up.

“It’s, like, five o’clock in the morning,” Willie grumbled, throwing an arm across Alex’s midriff. “I want to stay in bed.”

“We’ve hit snooze a dozen times and it’s nearly eleven a.m.,” Alex returned, smiling fondly. “I’m very sorry but it’s time to get up.”

Willie sighed and rolled himself out of bed, grumbling about Alex interrupting his dream. Alex just laughed and sat up too, automatically looking for his own wardrobe and then remembering he was at Willie’s and had nothing to wear.

“I should have headed home and grabbed some clean clothes,” he thought out loud. A moment later he was struck in the back of the head by one of Willie’s t-shirts and a pair of trousers.

“Put those on,” Willie said as he pulled on a tricolour jumper. “I’m pretty sure they’ll fit.”

Alex picked up the clothes (a tie-dye crop-top and a pair of acid wash ripped jeans) and began his attempt at getting dressed. There were many things Alex had found that were hard to do one-armed, but putting clothes on was the biggest challenge, bordering on impossible. How was he supposed to get his arm through the hole if he wasn’t supposed to use his arm?

He heard Willie giggle somewhere in front of him and was glad that the shirt jammed over his head covered up his blush.

“Need any help, hotdog?” Willie teased.

“No, no, I’ve got this,” Alex lied. He shimmied a little, trying to get the shirt to fall down over his face.

There was another quiet little chuckle, and a moment later Alex felt Willie’s cold hands on his skin as he gently maneuvered Alex’s arms and head to go through the right holes. When the shirt finally was on properly and Alex’s eyes were uncovered again, he was greeted with the lovely sight of Willie smiling down at him affectionately, eyes bright and smile wide.

Willie finished helping Alex dress, ignoring Alex’s insistence that he really could do it by himself (”I think you’ve just proved that you can’t, hotdog.”) and the two of them left the house. Willie told Alex that he had planned another something to take Alex’s mind off the cast, this time down at the beach; Alex had no idea what it could be, but didn’t find himself stressing out at the thought of not knowing.

It was strange, but it made sense. After all, having Willie there to help him over the past few days had made Alex’s life a whole lot easier. Having Willie in his life at all made it that much more enjoyable. With Willie, Alex felt safe and able to trust himself and his boyfriend. He felt free, even though he was trapped by the cast.

He was certain that whatever Willie had thought up would help him get through the pain and the anxiety, and he couldn’t wait.

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