#i overdid it with the wall pushups

[watermelinoe]

as soon as my low back stops hurting it's over for all of u

[tiralja]

Physical update!

My weak ass armjoints can now support table push ups!!!! Slowly but surely im getting some muscles back!!!!

[takoichigo]

So I'm at MAGFest.

I didn't do anything today besides pick up my badge and my MAGFest merch. Which nearly fucking killed me. I was extremely dehydrated and at the end of my rope emotionally and it was NOT a good time. And then the guys brought me back lunch, which was a sub. Apparently all the bread at the sub place is absolutely covered with sesame seeds. Like a ludicrous amount of them. But I couldn't like, send it back or not eat it. I can't walk outside in the cold for more than a few steps so my options for food are pretty much limited to what I can get someone to bring me. It tasted good at least, but my insides are going to be incredibly angry when those hit my colon. I can't have seeds or nuts or anything of that nature. I didn't get dinner. They went without me and didn't ask if I wanted them to bring me back anything.

Because I overdid it this morning my body has just shut down, essentially. I have not had any energy to do anything beyond a little tidying. I missed my friend's panel, the one thing I really wanted to go to today. I've basically been in the same position for 10 hours because moving hurts. I've been lying on my stomach. Which is really bad for my elbows, which have been particularly scaly and dry lately, and I also scraped one of them on the stupid textured wall in the bathroom. Intensely painful for no reason other than there are about two positions I can lie in where it doesn't hurt too bad, and one is on my stomach, resting on my elbows. If I'm lucky sometimes I can hit comfortable. At the moment I'm closer to tolerable. I'm trying to go to sleep. My brain isn't having it.

I'm exhausted and not used to sleeping in a room with other people. Especially when one of them snores super loud. Even though this is a person I have shared a bed with several times. They're just loud. It sounds like a buffalo drowning in a mud pit.

Our room neighbors are VERY loud as well. Thankfully it hasn't been an issue while I've been trying to sleep. But they scream at each other instead of conversing. It's annoying, but not unexpected. I'm not gonna cause a fuss over it or anything. People are having fun. I hope they're having a great time. This is a fun event. Unless you have cancer and chemo has crippled you and made your hands and feet useless and stolen all your energy.

I told myself I was going to have fun here. I need to have fun. It is unacceptable for me to just be in this room all weekend. Pain has stolen one day of happiness away from me. It doesn't get to do that for the next three days. If it does I will feel like I have wasted my money, my time, and my energy on doing this, and I'll feel stupid for even thinking I could handle it. I don't want that.

Well my head sure was full of thoughts. This is a genuinely long post. And I could go on even longer about the stupid embarrassing things that have already happened to me. But I won't, because I don't want to think about them anymore. This is enough.

I did have some fun. The hotel TVs show "MAGtv" which is a feed of things that are happening around the fest. I watched three concerts that were happening downstairs and very much enjoyed two of them. They showed two or three panels that I wasn't interested in. They switched to the feed of their charity speedrun for a bit, and a very buff man was juggling things, and every time he dropped one, he'd have to do pushups based on how much had been donated. It was strangely riveting to watch. I enjoyed it.

Anyway, it's going on 2 AM and I took my meds half an hour ago so I should actually feel like sleeping soon. I should have taken them earlier, but I didn't want to miss hanging out with my friends if they came back to the room to chill. Which we did for a while. It was nice. I don't think I made my friend mad about missing his panel. At least I hope I didn't. He still hasn't told me what I did to irritate him. I'm trying to not be a pain. But it's hard. I feel bad that I complained a little about lunch. And also about sideways complaining about them not bringing me dinner. But what can I do? Things are so rarely under my control anymore. Just need to stay as mindful as I can.

Good lord this is a novel. I'm done now, I swear.

[stefciastark]

Metal Arm ~ Webpril Day 7

A/N: Here is Part 1 of what will be a 2 part mini-story. Doombots threaten Manhattan, but with a significantly reduced team and some bad luck, things don't go so smoothly for Peter. It only briefly touches on the 'metal arm' prompt, but this is also inspired by a request from Hannah on AO3 to write a bit of 'post-battle injured Peter hides his injury and won't admit anything is wrong.' I'm really excited to write Part 2 tomorrow, had a lot of fun writing this first part!

~Read on AO3

~Read on FFN

Peter had never really been strangled, yet today it had happened not twice, not thrice, but it was bordering on his fourth time being on the receiving end of a chokehold. The Doombot cutting off his air circulation ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time however, as three out of its four limbs were obliterated and sent to mecha-heaven. All except the one heavily bicep-ed metal arm that clung to his throat like shit to a shovel.

“Get. OFF,” he gritted through his teeth, tearing the appendage off of his throat and tossing what was now just a torso, head and forelimb onto the growing pile of Doom scrap metal.

He had to take a breather for a moment and remind himself that these were robots and not real people. Despite how convinced their A.Is were that they were in fact the real Doctor Doom, their suicide missions were nothing more than a result of malevolent - albeit skilled - programming.

“You good, kid?” The Ironman suit hovered a few feet away from Peter, appearing to dance slightly in the air as Peter’s brain started playing ‘catchup’ with oxygen. He felt himself nodding in response, muting his comms momentarily so that what was present of the Avengers wouldn’t hear his breathing; he was pretty sure the exhaust pipe on the old Vauxhall Cavalier his uncle used to own sounded healthier.

The team was small today; Thor was offworld, Bruce didn’t feel like having another near miss after almost levelling another city during an incident the week prior near Seattle, and Clint was - as Tony put it - too busy ‘playing house’ in the country. That left Tony, Peter, and Natasha Romanoff on the mission. Peter was unsure whether to call her Nat, Romanoff, or use her Black Widow alias, and instead anxiously settled for using none of the above and simply avoided using any moniker to address her whatsoever. It had worked out for him well so far.

While it was by no means a three person job, they would have to make do, and so far, they were making...something happen. The showdown had initially begun in Hell’s Kitchen and was progressively and concerningly migrating towards the Lower East Side. The closer the action got to the east side of Manhattan, the closer it got to Brooklyn, and the closer it got to Brooklyn, the more there was a chance of the threat moving to Queens, and Peter wanted to keep the rough and tumble away from his neck of the woods if he could. So far they had left in their wake twelve office buildings turned to rubble, eleven burst sewer pipes, and at least ten separate fires that he was pretty sure were still burning. All they needed now were nine civilian casualties and they were almost halfway to rewriting ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

Tony didn’t have time to follow up with Peter’s uncharacteristic lack of a verbal response as two Doombots that had split from the herd attached themselves to the red and gold armour, their green capes combining with the suit to make a metallic caricature of a Christmas tree. Tony had a whole three seconds of warning before their self-destruct protocols were activated, and everything within a 300-foot radius erupted in a shower of rubble, flames, and smoke.

The suit - for the most part - diminished Tony’s impact with the building adjacent to the Tenement Museum. Peter didn’t quite have the luxury of inches-thick armour, and as he sailed diagonally across Delancey St through the glass window of Double Chicken Please, he made a personal vow to make them his new go-to fried chicken joint as a form of apology.

“Stark, was that you?” Nat (Peter decided that was the name he felt most comfortable with) queried over the comms, the distant sound of shots being fired and the purring motorcycle beneath her leaking into the background.

A stream of expletives from the man in question poured in through his suit’s speakers. Peter found it funny that if it were anyone but Tony in any other situation other than their current predicament, the frankly obscene amounts of swearing would be concerning.

“How many left on your end, Rushman?” There was a groan and the uncomfortably familiar sound of shifting rubble. “I think we’ve just about wrapped up here.”

Peter had been working on gently extricating himself from where he lay in a supine position behind the bar, struggling to hold onto consciousness through a haze of pain. The wall between Double Chicken Please and Subway had collapsed, half of it inconsiderately laying across his chest. He noted wryly that he didn’t expect himself to be battling unconsciousness behind a bar until he was at least twenty-one, yet here he was, five years too early.

A large bang went off from what sounded like only a block away, which was then followed by a moment of complete and utter stillness.

“I think our last guests just left the party,” offered as an explanation from Nat, finally breaking the silence.

“Don’t you hate it when you have company and they don’t even offer to help clean up? I am sickened by the youth of today.” Tony had managed to disentangle himself from what could now barely be called a building. The engineer was able to identify the date of manufacture on the most recent wave of Doombots - they were only three months old. “Speaking of, Spiderling, let’s get this cleaned up. I have a date with takeaway and my favourite sweatpants waiting for me at home.”

“Try not to wreck any more buildings while I’m gone, boys,” Nat said, immediately beginning her commute to the Avengers facility.

Natasha had become the face of the Avengers during the inevitable PR followups that seemed to accompany any and every brush with threat since the Chitauri attack on New York. She was level-headed and presented well, and so far had the least amount of tallies on the “PR Fuck-ups” chart that hung in the communal kitchen in place of a calendar. It was the team’s personal inside joke that S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t approve of, which of course made them double down their efforts if it meant ruffling Nick Fury’s feathers.

“Try not to wreck my public image, it’s what funds those luxury bath bombs you keep ordering,” Tony shot back, no venom in his teasing words.

Peter was otherwise occupied during his teammates’ little exchange. He had his arms arranged in an upside down tricep pushup position, palms pressing against the sizable concrete slab that occupied the space from his waist to his sternum. As he lifted the offending cement off of him, he very nearly dropped it back down as the air rushed out of his lungs. Something in his chest shifted sickeningly, followed by a stabbing pain that burned everything from his ribs to his airways. Failure never an option, he persevered, relieved when the hunk of wall finally slid gracelessly down the pile of debris.

He thought having a literal chunk of concrete off his chest would feel better.

“Pete?” His name was said with such a mixture of impatience, exhaustion, and concern that Peter found his nerves standing on red alert. This would be the first hour of many on cleanup duties

Taking a wavering breath, afraid to breathe too deeply, he steadied his voice and activated his comms. “Sure thing Mr Stark, on my way!”

Peter winced; he definitely overdid it on the enthusiasm. With every step he took his discomfort grew until the pain from his chest radiated down to his hips and he had to stop himself from hunching over and limping his way back to the Delancey St intersection. There were only two of them now, a whole lot of city to tidy up, and not a whole lot of time to spend fussing over what was probably just some deep tissue bruising. Plus, this was his first call to action since July, and it was now approaching the end of November.

Bracing himself for the amount of suckthe next few hours would entail, he gritted his teeth against the throbbing that rolled like waves from deep within his chest, and prepared to put on his best Oscar-worthy performance he’d titled: “I’m Fine - A Teenager’s Pledge”.

There was no way he was going to let Tony down.

A/N: There we have it! Things didn't go so smoothly for Peter, and I know he has superior healing and all but this poor boy needs some more safety built into his suit. Tomorrow will be the Part 2 fill for this mini-story, so check back in for the concluding part :) Thank you for all your continued support, kudos, and comments. Please feel free to send any fic requests into my Asks! Sending hugs to you all <3