#whenever someone sees me using my crutches and says

[raynewolferune]

Battle of the Not It

Just me pushing my personal agenda that the Battle for the Cowl makes no freaking sense once again.

I want to see the Battle of the Not It, Nose Goes, Worst out of 126+ Rounds of Rock Paper Siscors Takes It, etc. Basically, the Batfam throwing down in Bruce's absence to Not Be The One Who Inherits (TM). No one wants dear dad's emo fursona but they all agree someone has to take it. The resulting Loser Gets Batmanned sibling war throws Gotham into chaos, Oracle's keeping score of everything, the one with the lowest score at the end of every week is stuck with Batman Duty the following week.

Damian hates loosing his swords everytime he gets stuck doing Batman. Tim can't stand losing his tech. Jason misses his guns. Cass hates having to talk on can't use words days. Staphanie hates doing the voice. Dick can't tolerate being unable to smile. Duke needs his freaking sleep. The list goes on because they've all agreed they hate to embody Bruce's Batman, no one can put their own flare on it (Gun!Batman will not happen on their watch and they won't risk any other equally horrible variation either.) The resulting sibling war takes place 24/7 in the masks and the criminals and citizens of Gotham are as awed as they are horrified by it.

The strangest alliances form and disolve week to week. Dick cheats whenever he gets close to loosing and dips out because "Bludhaven needs him." Cass flits off to China on a last minute mission when too many of her siblings start forming up an alliance against her. Steph breaks her leg (she says it's an accident but Tim has very vocal doubts about that). Tim, Duke, and Damien start teaming up against Jason frequently and Red Hood gets stuck doing Batman practically every other week. Other weeks, Jason picks one of them as Robin for his Batman week (rotating between them as revenge) and forces a temporary alliance to make another of them Batman for the next week. Alfred encourages the four's little rivalry and manages to finagle them into all staying in the manor full time with him.

Just Batfam bonding shenanigans over how much they all Do Not want to be Batman.

And when Bruce comes back Babs naturally has a highlight reel waiting for him. Some of the gems include: Steph in a cast with crutches say "oh no, I broke my leg, however will I be Batman now" in the most deadpan voice. Dick 'answering' an obviously turned off cell phone pretending it's an emergency calling him back to Bludhaven. Cass saluting the security camera as she leaves with a full duffle bag in the dead of night. Jason in the Batsuit, minus cowl, storming into the kitchen shouting "you little shits are conspiring against me!" As Tim, Duke, and Damien are crowded around the island with a bunch of documents clearing planning something. A heated game of Rock Paper Scissors between Dick, Jason, and Tim with the rest of the batkids watching (having already won their freedom from the cowl for the following week). Duke wearing the cowl and asking Oracle repeatedly over coms if it's time for bed yet. Damien throwing a full on tantrum trying to get out of wearing the physical cowl "it's unnecessary and impractical!"

Oracle sends him the reel a day after his return during the standard Justice League team meeting, helpfully projecting it so everyone can see. The reels starts with an argument in the Bat Cave between all of Batman's (previously unknown to the Justice League) children:

"Well, Dickhead, I guess this means you're it now." The clip starts with a red helmeted man speaking.

"The fuck?" Nightwing asks on screen.

"You're Batman now." The teenager with yellow bandoliers replies from where he sits in front of an enormous computer. A girl in purple and another in black both nod. (At this point, it begins to dawn on members of the Justice League that this is footage from the fabled Bat Cave they're seeing.)

"Oh, fuck that!" Nightwing answers. "Not it!" He shouts. The boy with the bandoliers jolts and then says seemingly reflexively.

"Nose goes!" Bandolier boy calls out hand shooting up and touching his nose as he speaks. Both girls and Nightwing react immediately following suit. A smaller boy with a sword copies them a half second later. The red helmeted man sputters.

"Wha-that-NO! NO NO NO NO NO! I am not the one! Fuck no!"

"You snooze you loose, Bro." Nightwings tells him.

There's a pause, red helmet starts laughing, pulls the helmet off slowly to reveal a red domino underneath, and lazily touches his nose with a sharp grin.

"You're right, Bro." He says teasingly. "And Signal's still sleeping." A short pause and then all the people on screen are laughing.

"Oh," bandoliers gasps out between giggles. "He is gonna be so pissed in the morning."

[meazalykov]

injury on two continents

lena oberdorf x reader (requested)

warnings: injury

If someone were to tell you a few years ago that you’d be happy with your own girlfriend, you’d think that they’re lying. 

Throughout your career, you questioned if you’d ever have time for relationships. However, Lena came into your life unexpectedly when you joined Bayern Munich in 2021. 

She was your opponent during a game between your club and Wolfsburg. The German woman kept hitting on you and eventually, you fell for her. You guys have been happy together ever since. 

Now, it's June 2024, and as the international break begins, Lena is scheduled to play against Poland, while you prepare to face the Korea Republic. This break is particularly crucial for you, who is a key midfielder expected to be on the roster for the upcoming Olympic Games with the United States.

It's also the last game before you get a month-long break from soccer, so you’re eagerly looking forward to some downtime with your girlfriend on an upcoming Ibiza trip.

Due to the time difference between you two, you’re having breakfast with your closest teammates Sophia, Mallory, Trinity, and Tierna at a cozy coffee spot near your hotel– while Lena is playing a late-afternoon game against Poland. 

The atmosphere in the cafe you’re in is light and filled with laughter, but you look over to see Tierna's expression as you’re sipping on your iced latte. 

Your eyebrows knit together as you look at the Gotham player on her phone. Concerned, you ask what's wrong.

"Tierna, are you okay?" Y/N asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tierna looks up from the video on her phone, her eyes wide with worry as she notices that you asked her the question. "Y/N, you need to check your phone. Like, right now."

Puzzled, you pull out your phone and see numerous missed calls and messages. The other girls check their phones too out of curiosity. They didn’t see much which confuses them, but your heart races as you read a message from Lena’s mom: 

Lena's hurt. It's her leg. Call me whenever you have time.

"Oh my god," you whisper, your voice trembling. Injuries happen but the range could go from a simple blow to a full ACL injury. Maybe you’d know what was going on if you watched the game, but you promised your national teammates that you would spend time catching up with them. 

You tried calling Lena’s mom after seeing her message from 43 minutes ago, but it goes straight to voicemail. 

All of the girls at the cafe look ahead at you with worry. Your fingers go to dial Lea's number next. She is the second closest person to Lena after you, so that was your best option. 

After a couple of rings, Lea picks up.

"Lea, hey! What happened? Is Obi okay?" Y/N asks, her voice a mix of fear and urgency.

Lea's voice is calm but serious. "Hey, Y/N. She took a bad hit during the game. The doctors don’t think it's anything serious since she's walking on crutches now. But she told us to tell you not to worry, but I know that's impossible."

"Is she okay?" Y/N's voice cracks.

"She is honey. She really wants to talk to you, but her phone died."

Y/N takes a deep breath, steadying herself knowing that Lena’s injury wasn’t as serious as it could’ve been.

"Okay, thanks– wait is she around? Can you put her on FaceTime for a minute?"

Lea nods and you hear footsteps on the other end of the phone. The scenery changes as Lena's face appears on the screen, looking tired but smiling anyways. "Hey baby!" Lena says softly.

"Lena! Are you okay?" Y/N's eyes are filled with worry.

"I'll be fine, Y/N. It hurts when I run, but the doctors are looking over me. You focus on your game later, alright?" Lena tries to reassure her.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Y/N admits.

"We will see each other in a few days, Meine Liebe. Just promise me you'll play your best and stay safe," Lena says, her voice gentle but firm.

"I promise," Y/N says. 

Later that day, during the intense match against South Korea, you dribbled the ball around a midfielder before passing to Alex Morgan. As the ball left your foot and you ran into open space, a Korean defender pushed you hard and you fell to the ground, spraining your ankle in the process.

To the observant people watching on TV, they can see your foot go in an awkward angle as your body hits the grass. The scene mirrors Lena's injury from hours before, except no player fell on top of your body afterwards. 

You had to be helped off the field, causing great concern among your teammates and fans. Your team needed you for the olympics, Emma Hayes knew she needed you for the olympics. 

Back in the hotel room in Poland, it's late at night. Lena and your fellow Bayern teammates, who are watching the game on TV, are worried and anxious when they see your body hit the ground as you clench onto your ankle afterwards.

"No, no, no," Lena mutters, her eyes glued to the screen. She stands up in concern as the other girls continue to sit on the couch with looks of worry. Some of her teammates, like Laura and Lea, try to comfort Lena as they watch the medics attend to you. Their TV was a few minutes behind so you were already off of the field by that point. 

“She will be okay.” Lea rubbed Lena’s shoulders as Laura patted on her back, looking at the medics holding Y/n while she walked off of the pitch. 

Laura, trying to lighten the mood, then says, "Looks like she got an injury on the same leg on the same day as you, Lena. Maybe you guys are soulmates?" 

Despite everything, Lena chuckles. "Maybe we are," she says softly, her worried eyes still fixed on the TV.

Back in America, the medics cared for you and did some x-rays. You had a grade 2 sprain which isn’t the worst or best sprain– but you could make it on the olympic roster if your recovery process goes smoothly.

An hour after the game, you call Lena back to update her, after seeing that she tried to call you three times within the hour. 

Despite the pain, you reassure Lena that it's likely a grade 2 sprain, meaning you should be able to recover in time for the Olympics.

"Lena, I might have a grade 2 sprain. The doctors said I should be good before July," Y/N says, her voice filled with both relief and exhaustion.

"Oh, thank god. I was so worried," Lena sighs, feeling a bit of the weight lift off her shoulders.

"Same here. We really need to stop getting hurt at the same time," Y/N jokes weakly. This was the first time where they’ve gotten injured at one time, but y/n felt the need to say that. 

"Right," Lena replies, smiling through the screen. "I can't wait to see you and hug you once we’re back in Germany."

"Me too. We have to move your stuff into my apartment too so take care of yourself, okay? I love you," Y/N says, her voice softening. The couple were excited throughout the last few months, Lena is transferring to Bayern Munich and will live with y/n finally. 

"I love you too, Y/N. Rest up," Lena responds.

<3

[cant-get-enough-btr-forever]

"Big Time Amnesia"

Summary: One of the boys gets amnesia. Chaos ensues.

Notes: This is my alternate episode to “Big Time Interview” (which, frankly, wasn’t much of an episode). Also, I included the song “Show Me”, because I’m outraged that they never used it in the show.

Words: 9.2K (8 chapters)

Chapter 1: Big Time Bet

WHOOSH!

The puck sliced through the balmy air, zipped past Goalie James, and hit the back of the net. He groaned loudly—if he’d just dove a microsecond earlier!

“WOO!! Eat my dust, fellas!” Carlos rejoiced, waving his hockey stick around like a victory flag.

It was a cool Tuesday morning. Big Time Rush was playing a friendly game of hockey in Palmwoods Park. They were split into two teams: Logan and Carlos, James and Kendall.

“Face it, boys—I am the reigning King of the Rink, and I always will be.” Carlos gloated merrily.

“Okay, but do you really have to say it every time you score?” Kendall complained.

Logan smirked at the glowering James and Kendall. “Now do you see why I wanted to be on his team this time?”

James retrieved the puck and gave Carlos a long look. “You know what? It’s the helmet.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Your helmet is your crutch. Without it, you wouldn’t be nearly as confident. Or nearly as good.”

Kendall stood next to James and nodded. “It’s true, man. You couldn’t take that thing off if your life depended on it.”

Carlos jutted out his bottom lip. “That’s just your jealousy talking. Admit it.”

James crossed his bulkily padded arms, the corners of his mouth curling. “No, you admit it. You couldn’t go a day without that chunk of plastic.”

Carlos folded his own arms defensively. “Oh, really?”

Kendall inhaled a heavy, exaggerated sniff. “I smell bet.”

James continued, “How about this: If you lose this round, you can’t wear your helmet for the next two days.”

Carlos sucked in a breath; this was unthinkable to him. Still, the guys knew him all too well—he had never been the kind to pass up a bet. They took full advantage of this whenever possible. “Okay...but if you lose, you can’t use your lucky comb for two days.” he countered smugly.

James shrieked, a very high, very “James” shriek. He quickly collected himself and smiled challengingly. “Fine. You’re on.” To seal the deal, they shook on it—awkwardly, as they were still wearing hockey gloves.

…..

“Agh!” Carlos yelled, throwing down his hockey stick. He couldn’t believe it—he’d actually lost.

“Uh-oh! Looks like someone’s gonna be walkin’ around bald for two whole days.” James teased. He high-fived Kendall, their gloves making a ridiculous smacking sound.

Carlos gave him a look that, if looks could kill, would’ve incinerated him. “Yeah, yeah.” He grudgingly pulled off his precious helmet and sighed. “Until next time, mi amigo.” He brushed the dirt off before setting it on the grass.

“Man, you are such a drama queen.” James laughed as he watched this sentimental parting.

“First of all: Look who’s talking.” Carlos mocked. “And second: My papi gave it to me when I was six, after my first pee-wee hockey win. It’s like a part of me already—I feel like I just ripped out one of my eyeballs or something.” He gingerly crept a hand over his head, thinking about how strange it was to feel nothing but hair.

“Extreme object attachment,” Logan stated as he made his way over. “It is a thing, guys. Not that I support it, of course.”

Kendall rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s just two days. It’s no big deal.”

Carlos held up his hands. “Hey, all I’m saying is, I am not the same person without it.”

James sighed and took off his own headgear. “Would it make you feel better if we all took off our helmets?”

Carlos watched as Logan and Kendall followed suit, removing their helmets as well. His moue dissolved into a smirk. “I guess that’s fair.”

James shrugged. “Gives me the chance to show off these immaculate waves, anyhow.” He produced his ever-present mirror from some unknown place, eliciting bewilderment from the others.

Kendall clapped his gloves together, wrenching James’ attention away from his reflection. “Okay! How about another helmet-less game?”

The guys cheered and got into position. Kendall dropped the puck, and there was instant pandemonium. Dirt sprayed in all directions as he, Carlos, and Logan battled for dominance—a three-person duel with wooden sticks.

In an unexpectedly wild burst of energy, Logan’s stick came back and whacked the puck—

—and sent it soaring into a tree.

“Aw, come on—really?!” Kendall exclaimed.

“Uh. My bad.” Logan said sheepishly, clutching his stick against himself.

The four looked up at where the puck was wedged between two thin branches. Kendall blew a gust of air through his lips. “Welp, who’s gonna do it?”

Carlos let his stick fall to the ground and ripped off his gloves, grinning. “Step aside, boys. This is my territory.” He clambered up the tree, demonstrating all the monkey-like skills he'd developed over the years. The guys intently watched him swing onto the branch. It had to be at least 20 feet up.

“Okay—almost got it—come here, little puck—” he grunted as he inched across, straining to touch the runaway object.

James noticed something. “Uhh—Carlos?” he called, worry growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t—talk—right now—James—!” Carlos gritted through clenched teeth. His fingers were just barely skimming the puck.

James nudged his friends. “Look!” He pointed at the branch. There appeared to be a crack originating in the center, where it thinned out.

Now all of them began shouting Carlos’ name, desperately trying to warn him of the impending danger. He made a frustrated noise. “Guys! I am getting it! Be patient!” He scooted forward and risked a last, determined grab. This time, his grip closed around the puck.

“Ha-ha! Gotcha!”

Snap.

The three stared in horror as the branch finally lost its strength, taking a screaming Carlos along with it.

…..

“Carlos! Dude, are you okay?!” James cried as they gathered around their semi-conscious friend.

“Carlos, say something, buddy. Anything.” Kendall begged.

Logan stuffed his gloves under Carlos’ head and grabbed his wrist. “His pulse is weak, but he’s regaining consciousness.” He gently shook his shoulders. “Carlos. Can you hear me?”

Carlos slowly blinked. He looked curiously at the three ashen-faced boys frowning down at him.

“Eh—I say, what happened, lads?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re talking. You fell out of the tree, and you probably have a concuss—” Logan stopped dead. “W-Wait. Did you say ‘lads’…?”

Carlos propped himself up on his elbows. “Of course. That is what you all are, is it not?”

Logan exchanged a very confused look with James and Kendall.

James gulped. “Okay, please tell me a British accent is a good sign.”

Chapter 2: Big Time Doctor

Carlos stood up, brushed dirt and grass off his jersey, and smiled.

The other Big Time Rush members gave him the once-over. Logan cleared his throat. “Um, listen...” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Do you remember your name?”

Carlos nodded. “Certainly! My name is Carlos Geraldo Garcia the Fourth.”

“The Fourth? Wow, heh, that’s impressive. Sounds very, uh, royal.” James remarked, forcing a laugh.

Carlos chortled, shrugging. “I suppose so. But enough about me. What titles do you gentlemen go by?”

Their stomachs dropped simultaneously. The severity of his condition was growing more and more apparent.

“Uh, well, I’m Kendall Knight...the...the First.” Kendall ventured.

“I’m James Diamond. And, well, I’m always the first. At everything.” James chuckled, earning hard jabs from his friends’ elbows.

Logan wore his most composed smile. “And I’m Logan Mitchell. We are your friends, and we’re in a band together.”

“A famous band.” James made sure to impart.

“Called Big Time Rush.” Kendall piped up.

Carlos frowned. “Oh...I’m a singer, then…?”

Logan gently placed his hands on his shoulders, guiding him along. “Yes, but we can talk about that later. We have more important things to think about. You hit your head pretty hard just now.”

Carlos didn’t seem flustered by this; he merely nodded. “Ah, I see...”

“So, you should just sit here...” Logan led him to a park bench, “...and try to relax, while I discuss your, er, situation with these guys.” Carlos nodded again and observed the people walking past.

Logan immediately went serious as he turned to the others. Kendall threw his hands up. “Okay, Doctor Mitchell, diagnosis? Please?”

"Doctor Mitchell" puffed out a breath. “He appears to be suffering from a certain type of retrograde amnesia. Namely, he’s experiencing a sort of dissociative fugue. He’s overwritten some of his existing memories with new, completely fictitious memories.”

Kendall and James’ faces could not have been blanker.

“Logan, could you repeat that in Lebanese? I think we’d understand it better.” James snarked.

Logan turned his eyes towards the sky. “Carlos bonked his head so hard that he thinks he’s a British dude.”

The two boys nodded, finally getting it. “So now what?” Kendall inquired.

“Well, uh, we need to tell Gustavo and Kelly. Which, by the way, I am not looking forward to.”

They turned. Carlos had plucked a small yellow flower by his feet. He gave its petals a deep sniff and sighed happily.

Kendall snorted. “And say what? Carlos fell out of a tree, and now he thinks he’s a refined English gentleman?"

…..

“Guys, Carlos fell out of a tree, and now he thinks he’s a refined English gentleman.”

Gustavo smashed a loud, obnoxiously discordant note on the piano. Beside him stood Kelly, who was holding some papers (which now fluttered to the studio’s floor).

“That was a joke, right? Please say that was a joke.” Gustavo growled.

Kendall sighed. “Believe me, I wish it were.” He gestured to Carlos, who was standing between Logan and James. Carlos stepped forward with a smile, hand extended.

“Hello there! I’m chuffed to meet you—though, according to my mates here, this wouldn’t exactly be the first time.”

“Oh, well, uh...we’re very...‘chuffed’ to meet you, too!” Kelly tittered, nervously accepting the handshake. Carlos offered his hand to Gustavo, who regarded it with a cold stare.

He awkwardly retreated and tucked his arms behind his back. “Bit of a disagreeable sort, that one.” he whispered to James and Logan.

“But, hey, at least he still remembers his name!” Kendall quickly added.

“Carlos Geraldo Garcia the Fourth.” Carlos smiled, bowing.

Everybody cringed. Gustavo slowly rose, fingers kneading his temples. “Your next tour starts in less than two months. You haven’t even begun rehearsing. And now you’re telling me that Carlos has been bodysnatched by the PRINCE OF WALES?!?!”

“Gustavo, calm down.” Kelly said firmly. “It was just an accident. A very...inconvenient accident.”

“Inconvenient? No. A zit is inconvenient. Athlete's foot is inconvenient." He flapped his hands in Carlos' direction.

"This, THIS is a catastrophe. Just wait until the public sees!” he ranted, his complexion growing ruddier by the moment. “Actually, scratch that—we cannot let any of the fans see him. We’ll be the laughingstock of the entertainment industry!

“Not to mention Griffin. Oh, that man would just love to shred me to pieces over something like this.”

Logan spoke up. “He’s hurt real bad, Gustavo. He needs to see a doctor.”

Gustavo’s eyes lasered into him, causing the boy to instantly quail. “Gustavo Rocque Rule Number One: DO NOT tell me what to do!” He rounded on his assistant. “Kelly, Carlos needs to see a doctor. Take him to Doc Hollywood, STAT.”

…..

Kelly and the boys waited on pins and needles in the pristine doctor’s office. Carlos sat on the examination table's edge, his intertwined hands resting atop crossed legs. He was glancing inquisitively at the many black-and-white celebrity headshots adorning the walls.

Doc Hollywood entered the room, sighing heavily. He was carrying a large white poster board. "I am so sorry about the wait, guys. I just finished an agonizing procedure. It's never easy, but someone has to do it."

He wore latex gloves. Everyone's eyes widened—they were smeared a dark red.

"Oh my gosh—are they alright?" Kelly gasped.

He paused in the middle of peeling off a glove. "If by 'they' you mean the letters on my new sign, then yes, they are fantastic. Much better than the old, fading sign, if I do say so myself."

He spun the poster board to face them: In dark red letters, it boasted, "DOC HOLLYWOOD: DOCTOR TO THE STARS."

"It was agonizing work for me to paint them, though!" he continued, totally oblivious to their perplexed expressions.

"Now," he announced after tossing out the gloves, "what can I do for you guys?"

Kelly rubbed Carlos' shoulder. "It's Carlos. He has a head injury."

Once again, Carlos stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Doctor. I must say, that is a smashing shirt. Custom tailor, I presume?"

Doc Hollywood gladly returned the smile and handshake. "As a matter of fact, yes! Harold's Stitches, across the street. His prices are unmatched, too." He looked at the rest of the group and shrugged. "Seems fine to me."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Fine? He's completely forgotten who he is!"

The doctor let out an understanding chuckle. "Ah, well, we all need to be reminded of who we are sometimes. You know, I was originally a doctor of philosophy..."

Kelly shook her head in exasperation. "He has amnesia." She drew out each syllable, as though speaking to a toddler.

"Oh! It is serious, then." he exclaimed. He gently cupped Carlos' head, studying it. "And how did this happen?"

"It's all my fault. I hit the puck into the tree, and he had to climb up after it." Logan said, guilt visible on his face.

James shook his head. "No, no. It was my fault. I'm the one that made him take off his helmet, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but I think it's actually my fault." Kendall insisted. "The whole stupid bet was my idea."

Somehow, this snowballed into a mini argument. Kelly squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Guys!" she shouted, ending the bickering in its tracks. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is, okay? What matters is that Carlos gets better." The guys nodded and looked dolefully at their friend.

"She's quite right." Carlos agreed. "I hate to see you lot get so wound up over a thing like this."

Doc Hollywood affectionately smiled down at him. "And are you sure you really want to change him back? I mean, he's so darn polite!"

Just like that, he became the target of four withering glares. "YES!" they yelled, scaring the grin right off his face.

"Okay, okay..." he muttered meekly, holding up his hands. "Well. I happen to watch medical dramas—very informative stuff, by the way—and they all say the same thing: Unfortunately, amnesia has no surefire cure. He'll have to regain his memory on his own."

They traded worried looks. “So there’s nothing at all that you can do?” Kelly said sadly.

The doctor replied, "You want my professional opinion? I’d suggest skydiving. That adrenaline rush should jog his mind, keep him sharp." He snapped his fingers. "Ooh, or dirt biking! Dirt biking always cheers me up."

Out of all of them, Logan looked the most flabbergasted. "Or...maybe he just needs to take it easy?" he proposed, his voice dripping with “duh.”

Doc Hollywood shrugged. "Eh, I think my opinion is better. But, hey, it's worth a shot!"

Chapter 3: Big Time Charm

Everyone (minus Carlos) was seated at breakfast the next morning. Even though they were trying to converse normally, the pink elephant loomed in the corner: Poor Carlos had amnesia, and it was up to them to heal him.

Mrs. Knight was the first to offer comfort, as usual. "Look, guys. I know you're worried about Carlos. I am, too.” She refilled glasses of orange juice. “But all we can do right now is let him rest. I told him he could sleep as late as he wanted, if it meant he would feel better.”

Katie stirred her oatmeal, deep in thought. “You know, back in Minnesota, there was a kid in school who got amnesia after a snowboarding accident.”

The guys’ ears perked up. “Really? What happened to him?” James asked.

She paused. “Last I heard, he ended up in Duluth’s best asylum, where he apparently commits arson every time it snows.”

Logan choked on his cereal. Mrs. Knight shot her a scolding look, to which she averted her eyes and gulped a big spoonful of oatmeal.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” Kendall declared, waving his own spoon for emphasis. "I'm sure he's better already, and life will be back to normal in no time."

Carlos emerged from his room. As if on cue, everyone's mouths fell agape. Katie's spoon landed on the table with a clatter.

He was decked out in a charcoal gray cardigan, crisp white button-down, and pressed khakis. A black tie sat neatly below his collar. To top it all off, his dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with the faintest sheen of gel.

"Good morning, all!" he greeted, as cheery as ever.

Logan’s eyes looked as though they would pop. "Is...that one of my cardigans?"

Carlos glanced down and grinned apologetically. “Ah, yeah...sorry, mate. I riffled through my entire wardrobe. Didn’t much care for it. What was I thinking?” His gaze wandered over the table. “Anyway, what’s for brekkie?”

Mrs. Knight gave everyone a look that plainly said, “stop staring.” Once they had focused their attention back on their food, she smiled at him. “Good morning, sweetie! What are you in the mood for? Just name it.”

He thought for a moment. “Have you got any baked beans? Or some roasted tomatoes, perhaps?”

Her smile faltered ever so slightly. She shared a puzzled look with the others. “Uh...sorry, honey. No beans. Or, er, tomahtoes. Just oatmeal and cereal.”

She cracked open the bread box sitting on the counter. “But, uh, we do have...um...” She presented a plastic-wrapped package to him. “...English muffins.”

He examined the little round morsels and beamed. “Oh, that’ll do just fine! Thank you, Mrs. Knight.”

She breathed a silent sigh of relief as he sat down. “I’ll make you some scrambled eggs to go with them.” She hesitated. “That is okay, right?”

He nodded as he munched on his muffin. “That’d be brilliant. Could I have a spot of Earl Grey, too, please?”

Befuddled looks once again abounded across the table. Carlos chuckled nervously. “Uh, actually, orange juice will do.” With a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Knight nodded and began tinkering in the kitchen.

Logan had a hefty medical tome splayed in front of him. “Okay, according to this, a concussion victim must spend the first couple of days avoiding any activity.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Any activity? Like, at all?”

“So no dancing or singing? Boy, Gustavo is really not going to like this.” Kendall noted.

Carlos scoffed around a mouthful of muffin. “Well, fortunately, I feel swell. You can tell Sir Cranky that he has nothing to fuss over. I shall not let a lump on my noggin confine me.”

…..

Carlos was mummified in blankets on the Orange Sofa.

His three friends stood over him, their arms folded. He rolled his eyes at them. “Really, lads, this is absolutely absurd! Believe me, I have never felt more fine and dandy.”

Logan shook his head. “No, man, you are not ‘fine and dandy.’ You are ‘fragile and disoriented.’”

James put in, “What you need is a good long dose of R&R. Logan’s nerdy book said so.” Logan whapped his shoulder with said book, prompting an agonized cry.

Carlos glanced at the TV remote, which sat at his immobilized feet. He shifted around, trying to dislodge his arm. “At least let me peek at the telly—”

Logan immediately swiped the remote. Carlos glared at him. “Oi! What gives?!”

“Carlos, I’m sorry, but you can’t watch TV. For the first 48 hours after your concussion, you need to avoid screen time.” Logan explained sternly. He really did look sorry, though.

“And definitely no dancing, singing, swimming, or hockey. Which is what got us into this mess to begin with.” Kendall elaborated. Carlos fell silent, but he was clearly pouting.

The boys used this moment to deliberate. They faced away from the sofa, so as not to disturb him further. “Alright. One of us needs to stay here at all times, to make sure that Carlos doesn’t overexert himself. And, also, to ensure that he’s properly hydrated.” Logan whispered.

James gave a soft snort. “No problemo! You’re talkin’ to a human surveillance camera.”

“Yeah. After babysitting Katie for three years, you become an expert at these things.” Kendall assured.

Behind them, the door slammed. The trio whipped around.

He was gone.

“Oh, no.” they moaned.

…..

The elevator opened, and out walked Carlos. He hummed as he moseyed through the lobby. Occasionally, he offered a “good day!” to a bemusedly smiling passerby.

He passed Mr. Bitters, who was listlessly clacking away on his desktop. “How are you today?” he saluted.

The hotel manager did a double take. Upon sizing up the well-dressed young man, his eyes narrowed. “Lousy as always...Carlos.” Bitters’ wary leer never left him as he continued on his way.

Carlos lingered at the pool entrance. As he surveyed the many pool-goers, his vision settled on three girls. With a little extra spring in his step, he ambled onto the damp tiles.

The other boys tumbled out of the elevator. “Carlos! Where are you, man?!” James spouted as they tore across the carpet.

"Hey, uh—did a Brit come through here?" Kendall panted to a young couple walking past.

Bitters rolled his eyes as they dogpiled in front of his desk. “He’s by the pool. At least, I think it’s him.” he told them, his voice monotone.

They made a beeline for the double doors and screeched to a halt. Sure enough, there he was.

Carlos approached the girls' table. One hand was in his pocket, while the other lightly gripped “his” cardigan, as though it were a suit jacket. “Hello, ladies.”

They lowered their magazines at the same time. “What do you want?” they asked in equally perfect (and irritated) unison.

His smile was soft as he continued, “I am terribly sorry for disturbing you, but I just...felt the need to say something to you all.”

“Then say it and leave. And drop the dumb accent.” the blonde girl snapped.

Carlos hesitated. “Alright…well, I couldn’t help noticing how positively radiant your hair looks this morning. It’s as though the angels themselves wove it from the sun’s rays.”

They froze for a barely discernible beat. The curly-haired girl was the first to regain her attitude. “Listen, Carlos, we know this is some sort of prank. You can’t fool us that easily.”

He looked confused. “A...prank?” He chuckled. “I beg your pardon, Miss, but I assure you: I treat matters of the heart quite seriously.”

The third girl, who donned bangs, stood up. “‘Serious’?” she scoffed. “There’s nothing ‘serious’ about you, Carlos. You could never be ‘romantic’ if you tried. End of discussion.” And she held her palm in his face.

He responded by gently curling his hand around hers, a sad sigh escaping his lips. “Well, maybe you’re correct. Perhaps I truly am not good enough for an epitome of feminine beauty, such as yourselves. I only hope that we can reach a civilized compromise and...be good friends?” He brought her hand up and brushed his lips against the back of it. His eyes twinkled as he smiled into hers.

In spite of everything, all three of the Jennifers blushed. The other two rose from their chairs, smiles playing about their lips.

“I think he’s finally lost it.” Blonde Jennifer remarked. “And I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of like it.”

Kendall, James, and Logan watched in awe as the Jennifers linked arms with their friend. The four of them walked out of the pool area.

“Unbelievable!” James groaned. “He bumps his head, and now all of a sudden he’s the Palmwoods Casanova!”

“Well, look at it this way: Maybe talking to more people will help him recover?” Kendall suggested, but he sounded very unconvinced.

Logan’s face suddenly lit up. “Hold on—Kendall, that’s it!”

Kendall and James looked at each other. “Uh—what’s it?” the two asked curiously.

They could practically see the gears rotating in Logan’s mind. “This is kind of a long shot, but it might work: We could try recreating some of Carlos’ old memories! Maybe if he actually interacts with the events he’s forgotten, he’ll remember who he is.”

Kendall grinned. “The Big Time Brain always comes through! And I know just the person who can help us.”

Chapter 4: Big Time Acting

Kendall rapped on the door of 4J.

A few moments later, it opened. Camille beamed when she saw the three boys standing there. "Oh, hey, guys! What's up?"

Kendall hurriedly spoke. “Camille, we are in dire need of your acting chops once again.”

“Yeah, Carlos fell out of a tree. It really messed up his brain. Now he has amnesia, and thinks he’s someone else.” Logan explained.

Camille gasped. “Oh, no, not sweet Carlos? That’s horrible!” Her forehead creased. “But...how can I help?”

“Well, we’ve compiled a list of Carlos’ most important memories.” Logan went on, brandishing a paper filled with text.

James added, “And we want you to help us recreate them for him, so we can get our little buddy back.”

“Our non-British little buddy.” Kendall tacked on.

She nodded quickly and took the paper. After scanning it, she pointed at one of the typed sentences. “I could have a go at this one. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

They looked at her forefinger’s place. “‘First date with Abigail Jones.’” Kendall read.

James smiled wistfully. “Oh, yeah, the eighth grade. Carlos really thought it was a good idea to take her to see the blockbuster of that year.”

Camille raised a questioning brow. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It was ‘The Return of Dollareyes the Clown.’” Kendall informed her.

She flinched. “Oh. I still have nightmares about that one...”

Logan suddenly chuckled—a strange, skittery laugh. “Uh, a-are you really sure about this, Camille? I mean, I know you’re a trained actress and all, but, uh, that might be kinda hard to pull off...”

Camille waved a hand and scoffed. “Please. I’ve tackled roles way more challenging than this. Besides, I’ll do anything to help Carlos. I want him to be back to normal just as much as you do.”

The boys (except Logan, who still looked a little uncertain) smiled widely. “Now,” she said, her eyes roving across the paper once more, “I just need the character profile, and we’re in business.”

…..

Carlos skipped along the freshly mowed Palmwoods Park lawn. It was a gorgeous Wednesday—azure sky, birds twittering, sunlight pouring through the magnolias…

...and, unbeknownst to him, his every move was being watched. Under the shelter of their trusty tree hats, Kendall, James, and Logan peeked through binoculars. Their bastion of choice: the park’s hedges.

“Lilac, I repeat, Lilac! Do you read me? Over.” Kendall whispered into a walkie-talkie.

Camille sat on one of the benches. A book laid open on her crossed thighs. Her dark brown hair was in a French braid, held in place by a small lavender bow. She wore a cream-colored blouse and purple plaid skirt. As Kendall’s voice crackled by her side, she sighed and held up her own walkie-talkie.

“Yes, I ‘read’ you. But do we really have to use code names?”

Kendall pressed the device’s button again. “Affirmative, Lilac. And you’re supposed to say ‘over’! Over.”

She groaned. “Fine, ‘Emerald.’ Over.”

Kendall huddled next to Logan. “Raven, is the parabolic microphone in place?”

Logan discreetly stuck the microphone inside the dense hedge. “Aye aye, Emerald.”

James spotted Carlos first. He fumbled for his walkie-talkie. “Lilac, Oxford Blue is approaching. I repeat, Oxford B—”

“James, I can see him, okay? Just stay cool.” Camille hissed.

“Hey, that’s ‘Rose Gold’, to you—!” Logan snatched James’ walkie-talkie, cutting him off.

Carlos passed Camille and immediately backpedaled. "Pardon, Miss. I don't mean to impose, but...have we met somewhere before?"

She looked up from her book, a perfect expression of surprise written across her face. "Oh! Um, I don't think so?" She held out her hand. "My name is Abigail Jones."

He smiled and shook it. "I am Carlos Garc—" He stopped. He seemed to be considering something.

She looked at him worriedly. "Are you good?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Uh, it's nothing, Miss Jones. Your name, it...rang a bell, for some reason."

As these words came through the boys' microphone, they swapped excited glances. "That's it, Carlitos...come on, ask her..." Kendall said quietly.

Carlos smoothed his hands over his khakis, a seemingly anxious gesture. "Say...would you care to join me on my morning promenade?"

She stood up and smiled sweetly. "I have an even better idea. I hear they're showing 'Dollareyes the Clown: The Last Act.' Wanna go see it?"

He froze. The bells in his head were now ringing off the hook. "Ah...uh...certainly! That—that would be lovely." He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.

“We’re relocating to the movie theater. Move out, gentlemen!” Kendall announced. The three of them tiptoed away, tree hats bobbing over the hedges.

…..

Carlos sat bolt upright in the plush maroon seat. His eyes were wide and uneasy, transfixed on the enormous screen. He grimaced as the killer clown appeared, for what seemed like the twentieth time.

Camille winced as well, but she turned to him with a brave face. “You liking it so far?”

He swallowed. “Uh, well, I’m going to be perfectly honest: I’m not partial to horror films.”

The guys’ heads popped up two rows behind. “What?!” James hissed incredulously. “He once told us that ‘Dollareyes the Clown’ is the best movie of all time!”

Logan sighed. “James, he doesn’t remember that.”

Popcorn suddenly geysered all over the theater as a jumpscare flashed onscreen, accompanied by a very Carlos-esque scream.

“Now, that was more like the Carlos we know and love.” Kendall smirked. “I’d call that progress.”

…..

Later, Carlos and “Abigail” were walking back to the Palmwoods, hand in hand. The three guys followed cautiously, with Logan clutching the parabolic microphone. They hid behind whatever structure they could find—a tree, a mailbox, a parked car—while staying as close as possible. Every so often, Camille would toss an anxious glimpse over her shoulder.

As they peeked around a corner, Logan spotted something. “Check it out!” He jabbed his finger at an umbrella-shaded food cart up ahead.

“‘Willy Dilly Dogs.’ That’s where Carlos had his very first corn dog, back in Minnesota!” he reminded, showing them the list of memories.

Kendall swiped a pebble off the pavement. He flung it at Camille’s back, causing her to shoot him a questioning (and slightly annoyed) look. They frantically motioned for her to come over.

Camille sighed, plucked the little purple ribbon out of her braid, and dropped it down her blouse. Then, she put on her own frantic act. “Oh, dang it! I lost my bow.”

Carlos smiled chivalrously. “No worries, my dear—I can go back and search for it...”

“No!” she cried, flattening her hands against his chest. She caught herself with a flighty giggle. “Ah, I mean, let me do it, Carlos.” She speed-walked in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner.

“What now?” she asked.

“There’s a food cart back there called Willy Dilly Dogs. That’s where Carlos ate his first corn dog. If their dogs don’t hurtle him back to reality, nothing will.” Kendall explicated.

“And, just so you know, you can quit at any time.” Logan added, evoking smacks from his bandmates.

Camille winked as she pinned her bow back on. “Got it.” She turned and walked back, her Mary Janes clicking down the sidewalk.

“What’s the matter with you, dude?” James rebuked, glaring at Logan.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just—weird, you know?” he struggled to explain. “I mean, it’s my ex-girlfriend, and my best friend, who doesn’t even remember I’m his best friend...”

Kendall held up a hand, silencing him. “If it’ll get Carlos back, it’s worth it. Besides, this was your idea, remember? Now,” he ordered, “get that parabolic microphone ready.”

Chapter 5: Big Time Corn Dogs

“Found it!” Camille announced, flaunting her “salvaged” bow. “Hey, you know something? All this walking has worked up an appetite.”

She pointed at the food cart. “What do you say we grab lunch from Willy Dilly Dogs? I hear their corn dogs are amazing.”

Carlos regarded the cart for a moment. “Corn dogs?” He hesitated. “What are those, exactly…?”

Behind the corner, the guys facepalmed.

Camille was taken aback—he really was in bad shape. “Oh, um...well, it’s like a hot dog, but it’s...on a stick. It doesn’t really have corn, though.” She grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the cart. “You know what, just try one. You’ll see.”

She smiled at the man running the mini kiosk. “Hi! Two corn dogs, please.” After paying for them, she handed one to Carlos. “My treat.” she grinned.

Carlos evaluated the funny-looking food with something between curiosity and suspicion. He took a modest little bite.

And, somewhere in his muddled head, angels began to sing.

Camille chewed hers slowly, waiting. “Well…?”

He almost didn’t hear her. All he could think about was the symphony of deep-fried, hot dog-y goodness marinating in his mouth. “That...that’s...” His face broke into a huge grin. “That’s totally rad!”

The boys winced as their microphone whined feedback. But they were smiling. Had they finally unlocked a core memory?

Carlos’ eyes fluttered. “I—I apologize, Miss Jones. I...don’t know what possessed me just now.” He glanced abashedly at his wingtip shoes. The others groaned. Back to Square One.

Camille gave him a sad smile. “Hey, um, it happens to the best of us.”

He gazed at her intently. His face gradually moved closer to hers.

“Wha—wait, what is he doin—MMF!!” Logan’s yells were cut off by his friends’ hands, which had immediately clamped over his mouth and shoved his writhing form to the ground.

Once his lips were inches away from hers, Carlos paused. “Ah...listen, Abigail...”

Camille swallowed. “Are you okay, Carlos?”

“No...I mean, yes. I’m fine. But I think it would be best if we stayed as friends.” He bit his lip, anxiety darkening his features. “Please don’t be offended, Miss Jones. I wish I could explain why I feel this way...”

She shook her head, her smile rueful. “No, Carlos, it’s okay. I understand.”

They embraced tightly. Once he was far enough down the sidewalk, she sighed and trekked back to the corner.

“Well, that didn’t work.” she said unhappily. “He still thinks he’s British, and he just wants to be friends.”

“Good!” Logan blurted out.

They all stared at him. He cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s good that he sees her as a friend, because it means that he remembers her as Camille. Not Abigail.”

James frowned. “This is just great. What are we gonna do now?”

Kendall’s cellphone began sounding off the chorus of “This Is Our Someday.” He held it to his ear.

“Hello? Oh, hey, Kelly.” A few moments of silence. “Okey-dokey, we’ll be right over.”

He stuffed the cell back into his jeans and looked at the others. “Now, we are going to meet Gustavo in his office, for reasons that I don’t even want to imagine.”

…..

“Dogs. Status report.” Gustavo demanded the minute they’d stepped over the threshold.

“Carlos still has amnesia, and so far, none of our remedies are working.” Kendall said matter-of-factly.

“And neither is my band.” Gustavo snapped. “You three need to fix your friend ASA-Immediately, because Griffin wants me and Kelly to start adding tour dates. I cannot have one of my band members babbling the Queen’s English and waving crumpets in my boss’ face!”

“We just need a little more time, Gustavo.” Logan explained despairingly. He had his medical book tucked under one arm. Now, he began thumbing through it in a frenzy. “Here! It says that the majority of amnesia cases don’t last for more than a few days.”

“I’m gonna hold you to your little book, Doctor Geek.” Gustavo snarled. “In the meantime, none of us are going to breathe a word about this new setback to Griffin.”

“What new setback?”

The four of them jumped. There, in the doorway, stood none other than Arthur Griffin. Abdul, his deadpan assistant/servant, stood off to the side.

A panting Kelly appeared behind him. “I’m sorry, Gustavo...I told him you were in a meeting, but he insisted.”

Gustavo briefly glared at her. Then, he gave his manager an extremely fake smile. “Griffin! Uh...new setback? Pshhhh,” He strained out a laugh, “who said that? What I said was, uh, ‘duet track.’”

Griffin’s knifelike gaze fell on the three boys. They nodded hastily, their smiles just as plastic.

“I was thinkin’ that, maybe, one of the songs—‘Show Me’—would sound better as a duet. Don’t know who to duet with, though!” he rambled on.

The older man’s smile was as sweet as battery acid. “Ah, yes. Because you are the one who makes the decisions, is that it?”

Gustavo’s grin slid off his face. Griffin stepped forward and continued, “We will have a duet when I say we can have a duet. And besides: Collaborations cost money. Money that could be invested in more important things, like Big Time Rush’s upcoming tour. Or Elvis Presley's secret stash of freeze-dried peanut butter bacon sandwiches."

He ignored their confusion to say, “Now. Where is Carlos?”

“C-Carlos?” Kendall squeaked. “Um, well, he’s...uh...”

“Taking care of an injured baby deer!” James blurted, a little too loudly.

Logan, Kendall, Gustavo, and Kelly threw him looks that screamed, “have you lost your mind?!”, but Griffin looked pleased.

“Oh? Well, good for him!” he praised. “We could use more Good Samaritans like that. I happen to love deer.”

Gustavo stared at the ceiling. “Let me guess: You have a pet deer?”

Griffin looked at him, brow lifted. “Oh, I didn’t mean as pets.”

Their aghast expressions also went unnoticed by the CEO. “Anyway, I just came here to get a status report. So,” His eyes drilled into the sweating record producer, “Gustavo. Status report.”

Gustavo met Kelly’s gaze, silently pleading with her to save him. She mustered her resolve and cleared her throat. “The boys will start rehearsing on Monday, Mr. Griffin. Gustavo just...needs to go over some moves with the choreographer. You know how detail-oriented he is.”

“Correction: The boys will start rehearsing tomorrow.” Griffin asserted, adjusting his striped tie. “And not a day later. Chop-chop, Gustavo! We wouldn’t want these boys to forget their responsibilities, now, would we?”

With that, he and Abdul left the office. Five pairs of horrified eyes stayed glued on their retreating forms.

Chapter 6: Big Time Call

“Okay, Carlos is listening to classical music in his room. Why did you assemble this super-important pow-wow?” Mrs. Knight asked as she entered the living room.

The “pow-wow” included the boys, Katie, and Camille. Except for Kendall, they were all gathered on the Orange Sofa.

“Because things are gettin’ desperate, Mom.” Kendall explained, pacing across the area rug. “Tour rehearsals start tomorrow, so Carlos needs to be himself again. Fast.”

“Yeah, and not his posh, scary-movie-hating, classical-music-loving self.” James chimed. He tipped his chin in the direction of Carlos’ room, where the muffled works of Bach were floating through the door. “He’s still having a diminutive fluke.”

“Dissociative fugue.” Logan corrected him with a lour.

“Well, seducing him with his old school crush failed.” Camille mused, her legs crossed Indian Style.

“So did feeding him Willy Dilly Dogs’ famous corn dogs.” Logan added, waving the sheet of memories.

“So...what are we missing? What did we forget?” Kendall griped.

Katie sat up. “Just think: What did the old Carlos treasure the most? More than anything?”

As if by a light switch, everyone’s collective brain cell shone with understanding. “His helmet,” they synced in a perfect six-part harmony.

“Of course! Remember what Carlos said yesterday, after taking it off?” Kendall said excitedly to the other two boys.

Logan’s eyes sparkled. “He said that his papi gave the helmet to him when he was six.”

“After his very first hockey win!” James nodded.

Katie smirked at her brother. “I think you know what you have to do now.”

Kendall made a finger gun at her, grinning. “Right.” He faced Mrs. Knight. “Mom. I need you to make a call.”

…..

The next morning, a black-and-white motorcycle rumbled into the Palmwoods’ parking lot.

Its stocky rider sported a shiny white helmet and black police uniform. He snapped the kickstand into place and dismounted, swinging one heavy black boot over the seat.

Kendall, Logan, and James were already waiting for him. He leisurely trod over to them, his mouth set in a rigid line. Once he reached them, he simply stood there, not uttering a word.

Without warning, his granite countenance crumbled into a sunny grin.

“Chicos! So, so good to see you again...been far too long…!” he exuberated, crushing all three of them in a fierce bear hug. When they started gasping for air, he reluctantly freed them.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Garcia. I guess my mom already told you the bad news.” Kendall said sympathetically.

Mr. Garcia nodded, the grave look returning. “Yes. Flew down as soon as I heard. Mi hijo, been getting himself into trouble since he learned how to walk.” He paused, thinking. “Or crawl. So, how did it happen this time?”

Logan decided to answer. “It’s pretty silly, actually—he climbed a tree to go after our hockey puck.”

“Ah, well,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling warmly. “that’s my boy!”

…..

“That’s my boy?”

Mr. Garcia stood in 2J’s kitchen, not sure what to make of the sight before him. Carlos, looking preppier than ever in a white polo shirt (complete with a navy blue jumper tied around his neck) and tan chinos, was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. A set of tiny metal jacks was scattered in front of him, and he held a small red ball.

“Oh, hello there!” Carlos beamed. “Just having a quick game of jacks. Really sharpens the mind, it does!”

Mrs. Knight leaned close to the bug-eyed father, her face full of pity. “Um...I left out a few details over the phone. We figured you needed to see it to believe it.”

Mr. Garcia slowly approached his son. “Carlos! How’re you doing, mi muchacho?”

After catching the little bouncing ball, Carlos stood up and held out his hand. “I’m just splendid! It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. What might I call you?”

Mr. Garcia’s smile faltered. “Carlitos...I am your padre. Your father!” He hesitated. “Don’t you remember me…?”

The boy’s face was a blank, nonplussed slate. Suddenly, he brightened. “Ah, of course, Father. My sincerest apologies. Please, won’t you join me for a game? Or rummy, if you’d prefer?” Seemingly out of thin air, he flourished a deck of playing cards.

“Ay, dios mio...” Mr. Garcia moaned.

Kendall took this opportunity to intervene. “Actually, we were thinking about a nice game of hockey, in Palmwoods Park.”

Now it was Carlos’ turn to waver. “But...I thought I needed to avoid such activities? With my head being barmy, and all...”

“Yes, but, it’s been 48 hours since your concussion.” Logan explained, sliding into view. “So, you are officially free.”

“Listen to your friends, son.” Mr. Garcia urged. “Exercise is good for the mind, too, you know.”

“Well, uh...I don’t...” Carlos stammered. Before he could object further, all three boys began to practically carry him out the door.

Mr. Garcia watched them vanish down the hall. Then, he turned to look at Mrs. Knight and Katie. His eyes were quizzical and, understandably, concerned.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Garcia.” Katie reassured. “We’ve got a plan.”

“They always do.” Mrs. Knight suspired.

Chapter 7: Big Time Hockey

Carlos stood by a tree, clumsily putting on his hockey gear. Meanwhile, Kendall, Logan, and James huddled together on the grass.

“Now, remember: Carlos can’t lose. We need to play as badly as possible, so he can win. Got it?”

“Got it.” Logan and James agreed.

Their audience consisted of Mr. Garcia, Mrs. Knight, Katie, and Camille, who were seated on benches. They clapped and cheered words of encouragement as the boys got into position. Camille nudged Katie and whispered, “Do you really think this is gonna work?”

To which Katie sighed and replied, “I’d give it a fifty percent chance of success.”

As always, Kendall dropped the puck. His, Logan’s, and Carlos’ sticks fought for power once again, but Kendall and Logan were clearly playing as lazily as they could. Carlos was, too—except he wasn’t acting.

James wasn’t diving or trying to guard the goal—in fact, he was hardly moving. He simply stood there, in the center, playing the role of the World’s Worst Goalie.

Carlos finally smacked the puck, hard...it skimmed over the ground, gained speed, rocketed towards the goal…

...and bounced off James’ stomach.

“Really? Really?” James shouted, holding up his arms.

Katie sighed again. “Make that forty percent.”

…..

Things were not going well.

No matter how poorly the others played, no matter how much space James gave him, Carlos could not make a goal.

During the fifth round, Carlos did not clearly see where he was aiming. He only realized where the puck had gone when he heard the pained yelp of a Yorkie. The hapless little dog zoomed off into the distance, leaving its frazzled owner to sprint after it.

During the tenth round, he shot the puck into the path of Buddha Bob’s riding mower. The apologetic maintenance man ended up returning what was left of their useless, mutilated puck (luckily, they had a spare).

During the eighteenth round, he slipped. This somehow catapulted the puck into the net’s metal frame, which caused it to ricochet off the trunk of a tree, which sent it whizzing into Carlos’ filthy white helmet. The poor boy toppled over and landed in a vat of mud. All the spectators grimaced at the resounding squelch.

“I can’t believe it!” Mr. Garcia wailed. “He hasn’t scored a single time! Back home, my boy was the best on his team!”

Katie sadly looked on as the dejected Carlos laid there in a muddy, pathetic heap.

She took a deep breath—drastic times called for drastic measures.

She planted one foot on the bench, hoisting herself up. “What’s the matter, Carlos?” she yelled. “Are you too much of a pansy to win one game?!”

Everybody turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. As her eyes met Kendall’s, she winked. He smiled and winked back, catching wind of her plan.

“Yeah, man, I didn’t think head trauma could turn you into a loser!” he called.

From his crumpled position in the slimy dirt, Carlos blinked. What was happening? Why were they all screaming at him?

Camille decided to get in on the act, cupping her hands around her mouth. “You’re a disgrace to the jersey, Carlos! We thought you were better than this!”

Mr. Garcia’s eyes darted from this spectacle, to Mrs. Knight, and back again. “Wh—What are they doing to my son, Jennifer? Carlos does not deserve this!”

She put a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s all part of the plan, Senior. Just watch.”

Before Carlos knew what was happening, he found himself being bombarded by a cacophony of insults. How could his friends do this to him? It wasn’t fair...he couldn’t just lay there and take this…

He rose up, a fire blazing in his chest.

“I’m not a loser...” he growled, seizing his stick as though it were a sword. “I’m the KING OF THE RINK!!”

With an earth-shattering war cry, he charged at Kendall and Logan, knocking them over like giant bowling pins. He danced the stick from side to side, expertly dribbling the puck along the dew-sodden grass. His grunt was almost animalistic as he flung the black disc with all his might—

—past an unsuspecting flock of pigeons—

—over a misting sprinkler—

—between James’ padded legs—

—right into the net.

There was stunned silence. Half a second later, everybody stood up and cheered.

Carlos straightened and spun around. Kendall and Logan were still flat on the grass, mouths agape. “Kendall…? Logan…? A-Are you guys good…?” he said anxiously.

“Carlos! Your accent is gone!” Kendall exclaimed, scrambling off the ground. James trotted over to them and joined in the chum-hugging, back-patting festivities.

A small, confused smile curved Carlos’ lips. “Uh, what accent?”

The others looked at each other. “You...You hit your head, Carlos.” Logan explained slowly.

“Yeah—and it, like, rattled your brain so much that you thought you were British, dude! You were stuck in a destructive fruit for days.” James elucidated.

“Dissociative. Fugue.” Logan gritted out.

“You really don’t remember any of it?” Kendall asked, surprised.

Carlos shook his head. “Nope! But I sure do remember that epic goal I scored just now!” He unleashed a loud, triumphant hoot.

James slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, King!”

Shortly thereafter, a dazed but beaming Carlos was being swarmed by his friends and family. Before Mr. Garcia could smother his son in a hug, Kendall stopped him. “Here,” he whispered, handing him a small item. “give him this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed his father approaching. He was holding something—something very, very familiar…

“My boy,” Mr. Garcia grinned, “I believe this is yours?”

It was his helmet. His black, shiny, beloved helmet.

He looked into his dad’s face, gaping. “Papi…?”

Mr. Garcia nodded, his eyes glittering. After ridding himself of his mud-splattered white helmet, Carlos set the spotless black helmet atop his head. The two Garcias shared a loving grin.

“RAHHHH!!” they roared, knocking their helmeted heads together. Laughing hysterically, Carlos propelled himself into his dad’s tight embrace.

Katie noticed Mrs. Knight dabbing at her eyes. “Mom...are you crying?”

Mrs. Knight tearfully smiled at her daughter. “Oh, uh...it’s just the pollen, honey...” Katie shook her head, but she too was smiling softly. It was hard not to be moved by the touching sight.

The Jennifers sashayed up to the crowd, cutting the emotional moment short. They cocked their heads and scowled at Carlos.

"Ahem." Jennifer with Bangs said curtly.

"We have a date today, Carlos. Or did you already forget?" Curly-Haired Jennifer accused, folding her arms.

Carlos fell from his father’s hold and rushed to them, his face a mixture of shock and joy. "Oh! Uh, no! Of course not!"

He cleared his throat, tugged at his soiled jersey, and rearranged himself into his idea of a "suave" pose. "So, ladies. I heard through the grapevine that 'Dollareyes the Clown: The Last Act' is in theaters. How about we check it out...from the back row?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The girls' faces scrunched up, like they suddenly had manure under their noses.

"On second thought, the date's off." Blonde Jennifer snorted. "You haven't changed one bit."

Turning briskly on their heels, the Jennifers strutted away from Carlos' very puzzled face.

Mr. Garcia clapped his back. "Never mind 'em, son. They ain't worth it." Carlos smiled sheepishly, before engulfing him in yet another hug.

"And besides," Kendall said, stepping next to them, "we've got a tour to rehearse for."

Chapter 8: Big Time All Over Again

"I blaze the night, in harbor lights," Kendall crooned into his mic. "You dressin' light, it’s fittin' right..."

Big Time Rush was finally rehearsing on a small stage, in Rocque Records' studio. Standing by the stage was Gustavo, Kelly, and of course, Griffin. Gustavo and Kelly looked proud but anxious. Griffin was critically observing every dance move and vocal lilt, his arms crossed over his suit jacket.

"I, I, I, I wanna see you, you, you, you," Carlos sang (while proudly wearing his helmet), accompanied by Logan. "Telling me that, that, that you got what I need, do, pretty girl, don’t speak..."

All four combined their voices in pitch-perfect harmony: "Baby, show me, by the way you hold me, way that you control me, speed me up or slow me.

"Oh, when I’m lonely, full of stormy weather, can you make it better? I heard what you told me...so-o, oh, show me."

They ended the song with a classic "boy band" pose, mics lowered at their sides.

Griffin turned to Gustavo and Kelly. To their immense relief, he was genuinely smiling. "Gustavo, you have created four singing and dancing machines! I have to say, I’m impressed."

He faced the band with an even brighter smile. "Boys, I think All Over Again is going to be a bigger hit than your last album—and your world tour will be a smash! Where do you want Big Time Rush's first stop to be? Just name it."

The guys contemplated this for a bit. "How about...London?" Carlos tentatively suggested. Kendall, Logan, and James traded a private little smirk.

Griffin pursed his lips. "Done." He turned again. "Gustavo, you heard them. Make their first stop London...or else." He smiled pleasantly, while Gustavo made a strangled noise. Kelly laid a hand on her boss’ arm, trying to steady him.

"Um...we'll see what we can do." she chuckled awkwardly.

The boys let loose whoops of joy. "YEAH! LONDON, HERE WE COME!" Carlos exulted, throwing his hands up. As he did so, his mic flew above their heads and crashed into one of the spotlights.

Everyone tensed as the light made its slow-motion descent, lower, lower, and lower...

...and landed on Logan.

"Logan!" the guys exclaimed, almost in unison. Gustavo and Kelly dashed onstage. Griffin, in typical Griffin fashion, calmly trailed behind them.

Carlos shook his friend's shoulders. "Dude! You okay?"

Logan sat up groggily. The gang stared with bated breath, waiting for him to speak.

Instead, he grinned—a lazy, crooked grin. "Oh...howdy, y'all." he drawled.

Their jaws went slack. “Uh...‘howdy’?” said a flummoxed James.

"Y'all...?" added Kendall.

Logan mellowly scratched his head. "Well, yeah. This is Texas, ain't it? How do y'all 'spect a cowboy to talk?"

They hung their heads and released a collective groan. Incongruously, Griffin was still smiling. "I don't know about you, but I think a little Southern charm is just what this band needs!” he remarked. "Although, I would have preferred a refined English gentleman."

Gustavo, Kelly, and the three non-concussed boys froze. After exchanging some disturbed looks, Gustavo announced, "Alright, let's take the cowboy to Doc Hollywood!"

So, off to Doc Hollywood's they went, carrying the dopily smiling Logan like a sack of potatoes.

The End

[bloom-berri]

LEO/NEED HEADCANONS !!

for some context before the headcanons! These are ones I wrote down a while ago when i was finally first reading the stories and I did these after i finished their main story; so if they aren't super accurate to things up-to-date then thats proobbaabbllyy why, so bear with me! (Though i forever stand by disabled saki)

Random Leo/Need headcanons :

saki ofc got really sick and was in hospitalized for a few years, she was left very physically weak due to this so they gave her crutches to help stabilize herself so she can keep balance when walking and standing. She thought the crutches were too dull, boring, and ugly so before she went back to school she decorated them with stickers, ribbons, paint, and whatever else she could add without making them useless. Occasionally she'd redo all the designs just cuz she wasn't feeling it or didn't fit her aesthetic of the day and she'd just change it whenever she felt like it.

shiho maybe has bpd... it was my first thought when reading but I'm not 100% sure yet, she often pushes people away even the ones she cares for most. At times she can be really rude to them and say hurtful and blunt things, but other times she can be really genuine and kind to those closest to her. She has a habit of lashing out at people, often arguing with saki and honestly anyone who pisses her off in the slightest. This one I'm not sure about cuz it could be something else this is just my first thought

honami has social anxiety !!! She cares about what people think of her to an unhealthy amount, she always assumes the worst in social situations and that everyone will hate her if she makes one mistake, even if she seems to talk to people okay it makes her really anxious unless it's people she's really comfortable with

ichika has miku merch and she hides it under her bed whenever people come over... she pretends to be a casual fan, she is not though, she is drowning in her fixation

shiho likes her hair short cuz it's less to take care of, girl has places to be she can't spend to much time worrying about taking care of her hair

aannndd some sexuality/love headcanons: Ichika - aroace (make demiromantic) I feel like she'd be the type of aroace growing up trying to have a crush and thinking liking someone as a friend is the same as a crush and later thought something was wrong with her cuz she has no desire to kiss or really anything romantic with anyone; but hey who needs bitches when you can listen to hatsune miku Saki - questioning but most likely bi/pan with female preference she missed a lot of the important self discovery years since she was stuck in the hospital so she's figuring it out now and wants to try dating to get the full high school experience Honami - unlabeled or bi/pan with no preference if she loves someone then she loves someone! Never really thought about gender or anything In her people pleaser arc I think she was a bit of a hopeless romantic as well to cope with essentially leaving her best friends so she would use Love as a way to fill that hole (and since they're in an all girls school everyone just thought she was a raging lesbian) Shiho - Lesbian, demi-aroace (probably on the nonbinary spectrum too!) takes a lot for her to fall for someone considering how closed off she is and the fact that she doesn't really like people (I just can't see her with a man)

[deepsix-writing]

Fix You. Chapter 3 of 5.

After the events of Marble Hornets, Tim is left to pick up the pieces of what is left of his old life. One piece in particular comes back from the grave, and he starts to think that maybe he can do the same.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTER)  |  (NEXT CHAPTER) | (BEGINNING)

Tim peered through his bathroom window, tracing his finger over the jagged line across his temple. The wound was less angry now; it had mellowed down to a pinkish color after a few months of healing. Brian said it was turning out to be one hell of a scar.

Brian was still wheelchair bound (according to the doctor's orders, at least), but every now and again Tim would see him using the crutches around the house. The man would work his way up and down the hallway, starting at the window beside Tim's bed and doubling back when he reached the one by the front door. 

"I'm just getting a little stir-crazy," he'd say, going through the motions more and more with each passing day. "Got to do something productive."

Tim wasn't fond of the man pushing himself too hard, but Brian was making leaps and bounds with his progress. The man had even worked up the nerve to bang a crutch against the bathroom door whenever he was making his rounds, and Tim was inside.

"Finally shaving that beard yet?" Brian would ask him through the door every. Damn. Time.

But Tim never was. His razor was collecting just as much dust as it had been before Brian was raised from the dead. Tim kind of liked the way it looked; it was the most tangible way of proving to himself that things were different now. There was no faceless man stalking the two of them. There were no former classmates out to get them. The monsters under their beds had retired. 

Instead of worrying about their ghosts, the two made a routine. Tim and Brian made dinner in the evenings (with lots of rosemary), and in the night they watched old movies and talked. Like puzzle pieces, they clicked back in stride with each other like no time had passed between them. Sometimes in the afternoons, they'd go to the store or the walking path by the old playground. But Tim laughed out loud the day Brian suggested they go someplace else: Rosswood Park.

"It was people that hurt us. What did the park do wrong?" Brian frowned that day, and Tim's smile evaporated when he realized the man was serious. He shook his head.

"Nothing, I guess. But I don't want to test my luck." 

Brian hadn't pushed it, but he still took every opportunity he could to get some fresh air after the fact. Tim had found him settled out on the porch so many times that the man must have started to forget to lock the door when he came back inside. Brian denied it when Tim brought it up, but neither of them cared enough to push it any further. 

Other times, Tim would find him around the house cleaning things. The stains on the countertop had vanished, rings around the bathtub scrubbed away, buildup of some mysterious substance in the back of the fridge gone with no trace: Brian was thorough with it, but never prodded into private territory. Without fail, Tim would feel guilty about not having gotten to whatever mess Brian was dealing with himself, and without fail, Brian would shrug it off. 

"It gives me something to do," He'd say. "Plus, I don't want to die in my sleep from black mold." 

Tim was so appreciative of the work his friend was doing that he didn't smack him upside the head when he said that.

But Tim did appreciate it. Brian always shrugged him off when he said his 'thank you's or posed it as 'the least he could do', but Tim could tell it was more than that. It was written in his smiles, and in the way they would look at each other. Brian looked at him and saw an equal, a friend, someone he would and had gone to war with. Tim looked back and saw a god, someone he would give up his life for, a ghost.

But maybe Tim was the real ghost. Unlike Brian, he'd accepted the arms of death months before like an old lover he was destined to marry. The only thing that had ruined the union was Brian's resurrection. Tim's former coffin had become a home once more. It teemed with the world itself and he never dared again to even think about leaving orbit. His bank account drained in protest of the months he hadn't been working for his rent, but it held stable for the meantime.

One day, Tim ventured to his mailbox to pick up the thick stack of envelopes that had been collecting inside. He carried them inside and dumped them onto the kitchen table. Brian gave him a glance from the hallway on his way in, doing something in the closet.

Skimming over the envelopes, Tim found they were mostly bills, but one letter in particular had caught his eye. It was some pamphlet for his old college. It made him wonder...

"-Hey Tim, why do you still have this?"

Brian's call had Tim dropping the paper on the table in an instant. Confused, he turned down the hall. "Still have wha–"

Tim didn't make it another step down the hallway before he froze. Brian's body was half-covered by the open door to the closet he'd been rooting through, but the one arm Tim could see was holding up something he'd hoped he would never see again.

It was a mask, stark white save for painted black lips and thin brows.

And it sparked panic in him faster than a wildfire. 

His feet fell through the floor, and suddenly it was 2009 again. Suddenly, it was everything again. He was alone again, he was blacking out again, he was stabbing Alex in the neck again and again. Earth presses into his sides and makes it hard to breathe, and blood fills his mouth, his nose, his-

"...Hey. Hey." Brian's voice brings him back to the present. "So you didn't know. That's okay." 

Brian shuts the closet door and holds the mask carefully, like it's made of glass. Tim glares daggers at it sharp enough to shatter the thing into a thousand pieces. But it doesn't shatter. Instead, Brian brings it down the hall to him. 

"Don't worry about it. If we destroy it, it won't come back. Simple as that."

"...How do you know that?" Tim wants to believe him.

"Chalk it up to a gut feeling." Brian dons a reassuring look.

Tim relents, but doesn't mention he'd already thrown it away years ago.

...And Brian doesn't mention how deliberately tucked away it was, sandwiched between old tax filings and Tim's high school diploma in an old box that hadn't been collecting as much dust as it should have. But Brian wasn't scared. He knew Tim. He trusted him.

…

They got rid of the mask that night. The glint of fear in Tim's eyes didn't ease when Brian suggested throwing it out was enough, so Brian suggested they cut it up instead. After, they could smash the pieces with a hammer and burn whatever remained in a fire in the backyard.

That helped. It was enough to soothe the feeling of impending doom in Tim's chest; it made it a little easier to breathe. And as they sat in two ratty beach chairs facing the little campfire they'd slapped together just behind Tim's house in the wake of the glimmering twilight, Tim breathed in the smell of smoke and burning plastic and finally laid his fears to rest. Their shallow grave was more than they deserved. There would be no wake; there would be no flowers at this grave. 

Instead, there were marshmallows. At Brian's request, they had ran to the store to get all the makings for s'mores. It was just like they had done it when they were kids. But Tim was out of touch with his younger self.

"...Don't you think the burnt plastic might like… poison the marshmallows?"

"Marshmallows are already just sugar and plastic." Brian ignores him, immediately stuffing a finished s'more in his mouth. Tim raises a brow but surrenders to his own sugary, plastic-y fate.

The drone of cicadas and campfire crackles back up their conversation of the night: reminiscing about the ups and downs of their highschool days, the beginnings of their college time, and regaling each other with what happened to the both of them in the months after.

"…You didn't even give them two week's notice?" 

Tim shrugged. "I didn't know I was quitting until the night before. I would have, if I'd known, so I wouldn't be fucking them over, but… you know." 

Brian's reply is a meager hum. He's thinking of how to word his thoughts, and Tim gives him a suspicious eye. "...What?"

"Nothing, just thinking. You didn't enjoy the work at all? What about your coworkers?"

Tim's next shrug is more defensive. "I was there to make money, not friends. Figured I wouldn't be there too long, anyways."

"Because you were looking for a better job?"

"…No. I just… didn't see myself working there long term. I guess I didn't really see myself doing much of anything long term."

Brian substitutes his reply again with another pensive sound. Tim gave the campfire an uncertain look. "…But it's okay, right? Like you said. I have enough in my savings anyways."

"How much?"

"Enough for the next few months, at least. Haven't checked. But I can get another job before then." Tim's marshmallow is forgotten on his stick. The gooey glob dips threateningly close to the coals of the fire.

"Okay. I will too, as soon as the doctor clears me for it. How much are you paying? I'll do half."

"Brian–"

"I'm going to do my part, Tim. You've been kind enough to let me live with you for this long. I got to pull my weight somehow."

"...Brian." Tim turned to look at Brian with thoughts he didn't know how to vocalize filling his mind. You've already done more than enough. You brought me back to life. How could he possibly put that into words without sounding crazy?

"...You should probably worry about pulling your lame ass around without crutches first." 

Brian deadpans at Tim. Tim returns the look. Then Brian understands, and he laughs. The moon at the crest of the sky shines down on them with mirth, and Tim checks the time on his flip phone. 

"Shit. We should probably go to bed." He brandishes the screen to Brian and he nods and agrees. The man picks his crutches up from their resting spot on the grass by his feet and sets to folding up their chairs. Meanwhile, Tim stuffs the leftover chocolate and graham crackers into a plastic bag and douses the fire with a water bottle. He stamps out the embers and smiles when he feels nothing but fine ash under his shoe. 

Tim gets the best sleep he's ever had that night, stoked by a fire in his blood that is the knowledge that things can get better. He will work to make them better. And it will start with him going out to look for a job in the morning. 

…

The morning is lined with a chill Tim hadn't felt the night before. He is up before Brian, and showers and dresses himself in his Sunday best as quietly as he can. Last night as he stared at the ceiling before falling asleep, Tim had thought of what jobs he'd be able to stomach: he'd decided that one near downtown Tuscaloosa seemed ideal. It was an area he was already familiar with, and he remembered seeing a few shops sporting 'help wanted' signs. 

The first one he drove to was the most familiar: an antique shop that used the same building he used to see his old doctor at. Tim had always been fond of the architecture near this block of shops. He could see himself working here.

When he cracked the door open, the same brass bell rang for him just as cheerily as it had for countless years before. He relished the sound and the familiarity. But he didn't recognize the voice that followed it.

"Welcome!" The old lady that greeted him had a kind face with long hair that was graying at the roots. Tim returned the greeting and walked over to the counter. 

"I saw the sign outside? I'd love to work here, if you have an application or something I can fill out." 

"Oh, sure thing hon. Just a minute – Henry!"

Tim looked down the countertop to the open doorway the woman hard turned her yelling towards. Wherever it led was dimly lit and packed wall-to-wall with shelves full of stuff. Then, in came a young man.

He had light brown hair and glasses. He also had a striped blue jacket.

Tim's heart turned into a solid block of ice in his chest.

"Alex?" The word strangled his throat on the way out.

"…I'm sorry?"

That was not Alex's voice.

The haze that surrounded Tim faltered for a moment. He blinked, and suddenly the man changed form. Same light brown hair, but slightly wavier. His glasses were rounder than Tim had seen at first glance, and the blue of his jacket was a different shade. More green than anything. Tim stammered to recover.

"...Uh. Sorry. You look like someone I know."

'Henry' accepted his apology and Tim had been polite after that, but he'd made a beeline for the door the moment after he got a printout of the antique store's application form. After that, he needed some air.

Luckily, the downtown Tuscaloosa area was full of it. It was as bustling and cramped as any urban area, but there was still nature to be found wedged among it all. Trees dotted the streets, little parks and grassy outcrops laid here and there. It would have been perfect if not for Tim's mind replaying what had happened in the antique store. His feet bumbled idly down the cracked pavement, passing by shop after shop and stopping to peer into the windows of each. When he fixes his eyes on the people inside, he sees ants crawling around between two sheets of clear plastic, scrambling to work towards goals he isn't so sure he thinks is important anymore.

Something inside him feels wrong: twisted or bent out of shape, perhaps. Tim realizes with surprising clarity that he is not one of these people; he doesn't know if he can pretend to be again, either.

His old job – the shitty one he'd had back when he thought he'd killed Brian - wasn't a place he wanted to go back to, and he had a feeling any other place would feel just the same. 

Dead men can't work. It's a simple principle he'd only just grasped. Defeated, he drags his rotten feet back to his car. On the drive to his house, he thinks he sees Alex's face again, this time in a passing stranger. His throat is pockmarked, and crimson washes down his neck. 

…

"Find anything?" Brian calls over to him from the couch before Tim could even lock the door back behind himself. But it's only a fraction of a second that he freezes before he makes a decision. 

"Yeah, maybe." He holds up the application form that's doomed to go to the trash. "Antique store. It's in that same building I used to see my doctor at."

"That's great dude! I'm happy for you." Brian's smile is blindingly bright.

Tim can only manage a weak chuckle. "…Thanks."

When Tim goes into the kitchen and tosses the papers, he prays to god that it will be a long while before Brian realizes he lied. 

Tim checked: he's got a little less than ten grand in his bank account. Between rent and utilities and bills and groceries, it won't last the two of them half a year. But with any luck, it would still be enough time for him to find something that didn't make him want to put a bullet in his head again.

It wasn't ideal, but it was doable. And if he just kept looking for jobs, chances were that he would find one before Brian ever found out he lied.

In a few years time, they'll both be laughing about this in front of a campfire with marshmallows roasting on sticks. He'll start anew in the morning; in the meantime, he just needs a good night's sleep.

…

The morning begins a new cycle for Tim. He gets ready for a job he doesn't have, dresses in clothes that are too nice for him, and drives to downtown Tuscaloosa in a car he's soon to run out of gas money for. He stays out for hours roaming the city streets, peering into shops with hiring signs. Every time, without fail, he sees pieces of an all too familiar face: square glasses in one, dirty blonde hair in another, a malicious smirk in the next. And every time, without fail, he doesn't so much as stop to go inside. On to the next shop, only for it to happen all over again.

When he comes back home, it takes everything in him to keep up a mask around Brian. More and more, the man ends up making dinner for the both of them. They move to the couch to eat, they talk, they watch a movie, they go to bed. Then the cycle repeats.

The weekends are his only reprieve. The only time that he feels like anything important is happening is when he and Brian sit out in the backyard by the campfire. There's not much else Tim can afford for them to do, not when his bank account drains like an open wound. 

Tim could only tell how many weeks had passed by the amounts of bills draining from his wallet. He was down to only a few fives when he realized he really needed to try harder to get that job. 

Tomorrow, he vowed, I'll do it. It doesn't matter how shitty it is. I'll grin and bear it.

...But the next day, he didn't. The same for the next day. And the next day. The day after that, he got in his car with an empty wallet. He put his car in drive, pulled out of the driveway, and did nothing new. It was so much of the same that he zoned out and didn't come back to his senses until he was back in his bathroom afterwards.

The faucet was running, and Brian was calling him from the kitchen. 

"–Tim? You alright, dude?"

Tim blinks. His hands were gripping either side of the counter, and it took a concentrated effort to release them. "–Err. Yeah. Fine, sorry."

I don't even remember driving back here. Are the days really blurring together that much?

Tim craned his neck up enough to look at himself in the mirror. Against the sound of Brian muttering something he can't quite make out about dinner, he notices his hair is messier than it was that morning. His tan jacket is zipped up all the way, and his wallet sits oddly in his pocket. It feels thicker, almost. When he peels off his jacket, he takes it out too. And when he flips it open, he is met with a small book's worth of bills.

He has to hold back the startled sound that threatens to escape him. It's a lot of cash: hundreds of dollars, as Tim flips through it all. Some crumpled, some clean. Some fives, some twenties. It's enough to cover rent for nearly a month. It's enough to cover groceries. 

It's insane.

He flips the wallet closed and slides it to the furthest end of the counter. Tim watches the wallet as if it could disappear at any moment and quietly prays it will as he undresses and showers. But when he's finished, the wallet remains. And if that wasn't enough, his hands start buzz. His knuckles, more specifically. They ache.

...Tim decided to have dinner with Brian instead of thinking about what that meant. He left both his jacket and his wallet in a disgraceful lump in the bathroom and tried to enjoy the night with his best friend. 

They settle by the couch watching some old-timey romcom Tim didn't catch the name of. Brian made pasta, but the flavors were lost on Tim, as was the show. His eyes were pinned to the dingy carpet at his feet; all he could think about was what he remembered (and didn't remember) from the morning. When Brian asked if he was okay, he shrugged it off and forced himself to finish his meal. He sets the empty bowl on the coffee table and continues burning a hole into the carpet.

He shouldn't be alive.

Tim thinks the voice comes from the television at first. But when he looks up, the screen is frozen. Brian had brought their dishes to the kitchen. The show was paused.

Why did I just hear that? It wasn't true. Brian being alive was a miracle. If anything, Tim shouldn't be alive. 

He thought back when he was in therapy and he'd learned about intrusive thoughts. They were never true, and usually voiced the opposite of how he felt because of some fear or anxiety or something of his. He'd been told there were studies about how that tied into auditory hallucinations, too. That's what it must have been. Case closed. When Brian came back into the living room and put the show back on, Tim caught up with the plot and laughed as the main character fell into a hole he'd dug for himself. He wasn't going to think too deeply about what he'd heard. Not when there was a thick stack of cash that wasn't his in his bathroom.

[cal-gabes]

RUNNING HERE BC I SAW A POST AND JUST. Y’ALL ARE BEINF SUBJECTED TO MY SOURCE MEMORIES AND IDGAF WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT IT. THESE ARE SILLY 2 ME!!! 😾 (using cat emojis is so fun)

POST UNDER THE CUT SO YOU DONT SUFFER

( Hi! I feel the need to say; I’m aware i’m not my source. I just heavily lean towards it due to the comfort it brings! secondly, if you think i’m weird just don’t interact and move on? you have to SEARCH to find my blog. I don’t tag anything relating 2 my source so it’s kinda ur own fault really. Thx! )

— Ukrainian + Polish!!!!! Born and raised in america BUT YEAH

— I genuinely love sharks and trains; I use to ramble about my favorite shark, the lemon shark, all the time and yes I was punched bc of it (he cared about me I promise/silly)

— Snake bites + center tongue piercing were my dream ngl. still is but you get my point

— I had 1 tattoo and it was a stick n poke I did while high… it was a smiley on my inner thigh

— There was not a day at the kriegman’s that I did not actively try to cuddle with mel. whoever started the allegations that me and her didn’t get along are wrong; i babied her just as much as andre tyvm.

— Low iron would’ve been the death of me if it weren’t for ZD tbh. I forgot my meds so damn often and no, reminders did NOT help.

— Let rachel and my sister do my makeup one time; got deemed “Princess Caralyne” and have not let go of that sense even if i’m FtM. Forever princess caralyne. idc man. 🫶

— I did steal shit from andre a lot tbh. mainly random trinkets I found in his room and he never noticed???? he might’ve but honestly he never got onto me about it so 💀

— Mindlessly pressing my tongue to my cheek. Got yelled at often bc I’d zone out looking at the dumbass while doing it. Yeah…

— OKAY ENOUGH RELATING 2 ANDRE. My favorite thing to eat was pizza even tho i despised and continue to despise cheese. idk it tastes funny 2 me.

— I was forced to play uno with my siblings so many times and lost too many times for my ego to be intact but it still is bc I beat them in everything else.

— Broke my leg once and had to use crutches and threatened to wack someone in the head with them when I’d get fed up…

— DPD, ASD and ADD haunted me like the plague and still do. I can’t escape my suffering man.

— Being deadass, I bit everything I could any chance i got.

OKAY SHIT ABOUT ANDRE NOW + my weird ass relationship w/ him… HI BABE WHEN U SEE THIS ENJOY MY WEIRD MEMORIES OF U REGARDING SOURCE :3

— He had a freckle on the back of his neck that looked like a heart and I 100% kissed it whenever I could. got hit each time and nearly broke my nose too many times… but worth it nonetheless!!!

— Not much of a hugger, but did hold my hand if he thought I needed some form of affection which was nice!

— No, he really did lose it every time I said lieutenant. not just bc he was mad prior. he hated it and I loved to piss him off w/ it.

— THAT MAN NEEDED GLASSES ISTG. HE COULDNT SEE FOR SHIT HALF THE TIME.

— He would stare at people with murderous intent the second they mention any accent from him and it was honestly terrifying???

— Frog blinks. he frog blinked without meaning to and it was adorable. called him froggy for a very long while.

— He bailed me. he bailed me out of jail 3 times and we aren’t getting into that.

— Proper communication? nahhh. avoiding you for weeks then showing back up as if he wasn’t gone at all? mm. that’s it, that hits the spot./silly

I will probably post more shit like this about other stuff too because just wehlehfkdhdkfb happy

[rubydubydoo122]

Batfam Band Au

Jason Todd and Tim Drake are so Conan Gray coded. Proof? here,

Maniac - Jason: 'People like you always want back what they can't have, but I'm past that and you know that so you should turn back to your rat(bat) pack tell 'em I'm trash' Jason to Bruce after Bruce victim blamed his death Tim: 'Tell all of your friends that I'm crazy, and drive you mad, that I'm such a stalker, a watcher, a psycopath' Tim's speaks for itself, but like... probably Tim to everyone

Fight or Flight - Jason: 'something's gotten into you, you don't really look at me the way you used to' Him to Bruce. no explanation needed, 'Every single rumor that I've heard of you say, you were out with someone that I don't know' Jason when he saw the pictures of Tim as Robin 'fight or flight, I'd rather die than have to cry in front of you. fight or flight, id rather lie than tell you I'm in love with you' him with bruce. Him With Bruce. HIM WITH BRUCE. Like god, he's just a scared kid that wants his dad, but he'll never admit that, 'Now there's someone at my door, someone i've not met before, they've got, eyes like mine, a pretty smile and they've been crying for a while, cus they also didn't know' Jason with Tim after Damian became Robin (or a while after that ig, whenever they started to get along)

The Cut that Always Bleeds - Tim: 'Oh I, can't, be, your lover on a leash, every other week, when you need, oh I can't be, the kiss that you don't need, the lie between your teeth, the cut that always bleeds' Tim realizing that maybe being Bruce's emotional support child is no bueno for his mental heath. 'Say you love somebody new and beat my heart to black and blue, and they leave and it's me you come back to' Because Tim became Robin to essentially be Bruce's crutch until he could get back on his feet after Jason's death, and the problem with that is Bruce will never really get back on his feet because he's still limping from his parents death, 'But even though you're killing me, I need you like the air I breathe, I need, I need you more than me, I need you more than anything, please, please.' and that's kinda the case for all the Robins. Bruce pushes them so hard, almost to the point of breaking, and when they want to break away, Bruce gives them a sliver of validation creating a never ending cycle of them craving Bruce's approval.

Astronomy - Jason: 'cus socially speaking, we were the same, with runaway fathers and mothers who drank' Jason to Steph probably 'From far away, i wish i'd stayed with you. but here face to face a stranger that I once knew. I thought if I wandered, I'd fall back in love, you said distance brings fondness, but guess not with us' Jason to Bruce during UTRH, because Jason's death changed both of them so much, to the point where they can't recognize each other anymore . And maybe Bruce missed Jason while he was dead, but now that he's alive...'Stop trying to keep us alive, you're pointing at stars in the sky, that've already died, stop trying to keep us alive, you can't force the stars to align, when they've already died' Him to himself about continuing to forgive Bruce and running back to Bruce time and time again after all the shit Bruce has pulled

Footnote - Tim: 'I say if I waited, could that maybe help, you told me that patience won't change how you felt, for me' Tim to Bruce, knowing that he'll never be Jason, yet still yearning for that father/son dynamic (sh sh, Ik Tim doesn't actually see Bruce as his dad, but lets shift slightly into fanon) 'So I'll just take a footnote, in your life, and you can take my body, every line, I would right for you, but a footnote will do' Tim's entire Red Robin run, mainly to Dick, who is a little too busy trying to balance grieving and a feral child 'You taught me a lesson, that feelings are reckless, it's just like the novels, side characters end up alone.' Tim after loosing almost everyone he cared about within a year and turning cold and distant.

Winner - Literally this whole song is for the both of them and their parental issues Tim: 'Packed my bags at 14, I hadn't planned on leaving, but you haven't been back home for days' Like... we all do agree that Tim's parents were neglectful. They were literally never around. 'You don't really wanna hear the truth, do you? it's obvious to anyone who ever knew you. that all you ever want is to be right, even if that means you gotta lie to do it,' This is probably more fannon, but like Janet and Jack Drake Jason: 'Bask inside your victory, my heart that once was beating, bleeding in the palm of your hand' Under the Red Hood. batarang to the throat, 'Yet you have the nerve to miss me, how do I somehow feel guilty? when you're the one who let it get this bad' JASON TO BRUCE LIKE, TELL ME I"M WRONG. Bruce will claim to miss Jason, but then blame him for his own death in the same breath. "You don't really wanna hear the truth, do you? it's obvious to anyone who ever knew you. that all you ever wanted was to FIGHT. I WAS ONLY TRYING TO SURVIVE YOUR CHAOS!! WELL LOOK AT HOW IT"S PAID OFF' Jason got caught up in Bruce's "war on crime" AND HE DIED. HE DIED FOR IT. HE DIDN"T SURVIVE BRUCE"S CHAOS, HE"S STIL STUCK IN IT AND HE CAN"T GET OUT.

Family Line - THIS ONE!!! THIS ONE!!! I LITERALLY CRY EVERY TIME I HEAR IT BECAUSE IT FITS THE BOTH OF THEM TOO WELL Jason: 'My father never talked a lot, He just took a walk around the block, 'Til all his anger took a hold of him, and then he'd hit. My mother never cried a lot, She took the punches, but she never fought' Willis and Catherine. 'Scattered 'cross my family lineI'm so good at telling lies, That came from my mother father's side, Told a million to survive,' Father meaning Bruce. Lies meaning Robin and secret identies and stuff 'Scattered 'cross my family line, God, I have my father's mother's eyes,' Sheila's 'But my sister's when I cry, I can run, but I can't hide, From my family line' Do I have to explain this? Tim: 'It's hard to put it into words, How the holidays will always hurt, I watch the fathers with their little girls, And wonder what I did to deserve this, How could you hurt a little kid? I can't forget, I can't forgive you, 'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me' I can just imagine little baby Timmy following Batman and Robin, and then casting a glance at a family lighting a minorah, while he knows his family's minorah is sitting in the closet because his parents still haven't come home from their trip. Jason: 'Oh, all that I did to try to undo it,' All the crimes he did to survive, made him try so hard as Robin to undo that, 'All of my pain and all your excuses, I was a kid but I wasn't clueless' Maybe it's how he feels about Sheila now that he's grown. Jason was alone on the streets before Bruce. He even empathized with Sheila, and tried to help her. Jason was optimistic, not naive. Tim: 'Someone who loves you wouldn't do this' Jason: "All of my past, I tried to erase it,' His time on the streets, his time as Robin, Sheila's betrayal, The LOA, his villain era, 'But now I see, would I even change it?' Because all of those things shaped who he is now 'Might share a face and share a last name, but We are not the same' He would've never done what Sheila did, he would never do what Bruce did, or Talia, or Wilis or any of the other adults in his life who have let him down.

Anywho, yeah, Conan Gray writing music for Jason and Tim is on my mind a lot.

[littlelife-bigdreams]

Welcome to my blog :]

Good morning, afternoon, evening, or night! I'm Luca, otherwise known as Mr. Tomlinson, or "the librarian." Here are a few things you should know before interacting:

I am autistic! It's difficult enough for me to interpret tone in real life, so it would really mean a lot to me if tone tags were used for clarification :] I'm also semi-verbal, so if you have questions about that, feel free to ask!

I don't appreciate unkind attitudes or actions, so please be considerate and respectful when messaging or replying to me. This blog is not a place for hate.

If you have any questions about the library, ask them! I love my books just as much as I love talking about them.

I'm not as open around the kids about this, but I'm gay and happy with it! I'm not looking for a parter at the moment, though, so keep your virtual legs closed or I'm launching you off the face of the planet.

I have a condition known as Functional Neurological Disorder. It does what it says on the tin--there's a disorder with my neurological functions. It may be a point of contention within the healthcare industry, but it's very real and affects me daily. I'm more than glad to answer any questions about that as well, because Lord knows how many of my kids ask me about my crutches whenever I need them, lol.

OOC: Admin here! Hello! I'm Mitch, and Luca Tomlinson is my OC. Currently, he's in the FNaF Movie universe, alongside my friends' OC's, aptly titled The Fan-Fazgang.

Luca is 24 and a moderate-needs autistic. He's semi-verbal, and uses AAC and limited sign-language to communicate, unless he's comfortable enough to speak or deems it necessary for the situation he's in. He rarely masks, and because of this, the library is his dream job. A quiet environment, tons and tons of books, and easy, repetitive tasks that he loses himself in make him feel right at home. He got the job as a shot in the dark, as the previous librarian was retiring due to age, and Luca needed some form of income after moving back in with his mother, who herself was struggling.

Lo and behold, he got the job, and the town loves him! He mostly works with the schools in the area, as none of them have their own libraries, so his regulars tend to be children between the ages of 5 and 12. Due to trauma, he tries to keep himself scarce if any teenagers happen to stop by, but they've gotten nicer over the years. The kids are his favorite, though. They think Mr. Tomlinson is the coolest guy on the planet! At first, the parents thought he was an asshole (resting bitch face, thanks autism), but they immediately fell in love with him too after just a few visits.

Luca loves being a role model for the various disabled kids he sees throughout the day. Autistic kids, kids in wheelchairs, kids with crutches, ADHD kids--he loves teaching them and their parents about what it means to be disabled, and how it should be embraced. He's even made a little shelf where educational books about disabilities are stored, just in case someone wants to learn something new.

Deep down, Luca's biggest dream is to have a child of his own, someone he can love and support to help them become the best version of themself that they can be. Being the town's librarian is the closest thing he's got so far, and he can't help but flap his hands when he thinks about how exciting his future's going to be.

Luca loves life, and you should, too.

(Admin is 17, uses he/they/it, and lives in EST. Asks are open!)

[sunlightandsuffering]

I’ve just read RIP Luv and i had to come here to say you nailed down the angst. I felt so angry at both Eren and Mikasa so many times and their sheer stupidity. But also I could understand their motives and where they were coming from and so I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading their messiness. I’ll say that Mikasa is incredibly toxic and she needs a lot of therapy. And I’d say that they got together so soon, like Eren should’ve awaited at least to see her actually confronto by her family first before breaking up with Hisu. But should is the keyword here, the easiness with which they got together even though they were in a relationship is, the way I see it, an integral part of their codependence, and it’s not out of place. Ideally, in a healthy relationship, she’d first break up with Porco, and tell her family what she wants without any expectations from Eren. And Eren probably wouldn’t break up with Hisu on the spot, but she’d see his love for Mikasa and do the breaking up herself. However they never had a healthy relationship and I stress my previous point of their toxicity and codependence as the rule of their very mesy relationship. And if it had gone healthily from one moment to the next it not only wouldn’t be believable, but it wouldn’t be them. Which is why I think you also nailed the way they got together, on Mikasa’s whim and insistence and Eren’s devotion to believe her even when he had every reason not to. And for my final point: JESUS CHRIST that first depiction of Porco “dropping her off like a forgotten bag” WAS AMAZING. Peak angst and description here. And I’d turn up on the angst even more to still have Porco be like the is or even worse when he starts dating Mikasa. She dates him out of desperation, he treats her badly, and it’s a double edged sword: she wants to hurt Eren by being with a gig he hates, but she also thinks she deserves to be hurt by a guy like Porco exactly because of the way she’s treated Eren for so long. Porco mistreats her and uses her and she despises it and what it does to her, degrade her, but she loves to see Eren’s protective rage and concern in his eyes whenever porco drops her off drunk and full of his cum dropping down her thighs with her hair ruined and clothes disheveled, just for Eren to see her stumble into the apartment like this. She hates herself and the way she feels degraded and I’ve Eren’s attention on her. Forgive me if this part is too dark or angsty but I’d say Porco being nicer made things easier for Eren in the end when they could’ve been harder for deeper taste on angst, and it fits Mikasa’s problematic character. anyways, great job and great fic as always! Loved reading it! I was waiting for months reading and rereading those drabbles here and was delighted to see I knew some of them by heart while reading the fic! Thank you so much!!

OMG BABE I LOVE U ! THE MOSTEST FOR THIS VERY IN DEPTH REVIEW LOL!!! omg y'all give me too much credit 😂 but i have so many things to say back!!!! For your last point tho I honestly hadn't even considered that!! ANd now I very sadly wish I did lol!! It would have made so much sense and it would have been even more deliciously dramatic!!!!

I think if I can recall correctly my decision to make Porco a better guy was so Eren wouldn't murder him ahahah. And I also think because I didn't want to make it quite that painful for Eren, like ur totally right, nothing would sting more than her showing up fucked out of her mind with someone else's cum dripping down her thighs, I wasn't sure if it was too far and she wouldn't be redeemable anymore. Nice Porco was basically me softening the blow ahahaha 😂

But yes, poor bb boo Mikasa does need massive amounts of therapy lol, she's very toxic and I think u are right they're very codependent and Eren has always been her crutch. To that end though I totally agree with you about how unhealthy their relationship is 😂😂 I literally just discarded her breaking up with Porco he's such an afterthought he's not even a consideration lol. Meanwhile Eren has the actual good sense to break up with Historia, Mikasa doesn't give a fuck she's like give me my mans back. BUT IM GLAD THE ENDING MAKES SENSE AT LEAST! I really struggled with how to get them back together in like a believable way that wasn't too fast and for a while, I was like well maybe there needs to be some big event that forces it but in the end I kept writing and I was like no, these bitches just want to be together, let them be together, Mikasa won't let it be prolonged!

I actually deleted a whole scene where she was trying to seduce him again lol and I had planned to have that little arc go on for longer, but honestly it was feeling too unserious and more BTL Mikasa than angsty FWB Mikasa lol so I was like no, it's ending!! THEY JUST NEED TO HAVE DRAMATIC TEARFUL MAKEUP SEX AND GET TOGETHER DAMN IT!!! And thus, we have their very messy ending lol!

BUT IM HAPPY U ENJOYED THE ANGST, AND VERY PLEASED THAT U THINK I DID A DECENT JOB!! I haven't agonized over a fic like this in a hot minute lol so I appreciate the reassurance 💗💗🥰🥰

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

I mean...So... You Know?

(Speech Crutches)

Stephen Jay Morris

12/18/2022

Scientific Morality©

You should have heard me speak in the 70s. I had Apraxia, Dysphagia, and other behavioral impediments. I was put into a speech class, in elementary school, no less! My teacher was known as Mister Marx. (You see! The school system was woke, even in the 60s!) At any rate, I would speak and mumble at a very low tone so that I was barely audible. The most frequent requests I’d get were, “Can you repeat that?” “Could you speak a little bit louder?” Low self-esteem was the primary culprit. I had been taught, at home, not to brag about or love myself. Did this stem from some religious upbringing? No. It came from an abusive father who hated both life and himself. To all you Right wing, religious nuts, I fervently begged to God for a single mother to care for me. Not every family needs a father, especially one who is abusive. My dad constantly told me to “shut up,” which I did. Anybody who thinks that a father must behave like a boot camp sergeant is an ignoramus asshole! If I’d had a loving father, I’m certain I would have ended up a registered Republican, working for an accounting firm.

When I left my family at 17, to live with my maternal grandmother, my life notably started to ascend, thankfully, away from its decent into the darkness of hopelessness. The first thing I tried to remedy about myself was my speech impediment. Before long, I noticed that, while talking on the phone, my manner of speaking improved slightly. Also I admired people who gave speeches at anti-war rallies and I learned from those experiences. I knew, instinctively, that the only way I was going to completely overcome my speech issues was to give speeches myself or—even more terrifying—become a radio disc jockey. My community college major became broadcasting. I took a speech course in which, one of the first assignments given was to present a speech to the class. I was terrified! I was afraid I was going to puke in front of everyone, or pop a boner! I think my first speech was about human rights. It wasn’t a catastrophe, but it wasn’t great either. I remember, I didn’t make eye contact with anyone in my audience; I just read my paper, my eyes cast downward the entire time. After the speech, my teacher critiqued me and offered some advice. He spoke, not in a harsh tone, but an instructive one. “First of all,” he said, “nobody likes to watch somebody reading a piece of paper. Once in a while, look at the audience. One thing you do use often, Mr. Morris, is the phrase ‘you know.’ No, Mr. Morris, I don’t know. That is a bad assumption on your part. Don’t feel bad, Mr. Morris,” he continued, “most of your generation is using that expression excessively. Why does that happen? I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much marijuana consumption, or a crutch to allow you to think of your next sentence by delaying. The Beatniks, back in the 50’s, used to use the preposition, ‘like,’ a whole bunch of times. For example: ‘Like, I’m going to the store,’ or ‘Like, wow daddy-o, dig that crazy beat!’ To repeat a phrase over and over again will drive someone listening crazy! You know? Just kidding. Work on those two things and you’ll be fine. Oh, also, Mr. Morris, try to speak in an audible tone—so, people can hear you. You don’t have to shout, like John the Baptist. Just be audible. Go back to your seat.”

Did you know that President Biden had a stuttering problem? But he conquered it. I conquered my speech issues, also. I went from introvert to ambivert, all the way to extravert.

Now, whenever I listen to young folks talk, I notice that they preface their sentences and phrases with, “I mean” or “so.” I can imaging how aggravating it must have been for people when they’d hear me say, “you know” over and over again.

They say that we Homo Sapiens evolved from apes. I think we also evolved from parrots. Americans always copy colloquialisms or expressions. So-called Millennials and Generation Z’ers use the repetitious, “I mean.” This drives me up the proverbial wall! Can’t they simply use the opening phrase, “Well”? Blues singers always used “Well” to start a lyric. But “I mean.” Where in the fuck did that come from?! Is it because you think nobody believes you? Are you trying to be meaningful? When you say, “I mean,” is that a self-correction? “The world is flat! I mean, round.” Is that it? What I mean to say is, if you begin a new idea or statement with “I mean,” again, I will...never mind.

[conquisteu]

Chapter 1: Homesick

In a village, under the light of a torch, a masked humanoid was writing in a book.  The mask was cyan with the smile of a comedy mask, a line reaching down from the right eye and another reaching up on the other eye.  Her cheeks looked like silvery gills and the top of her head held antennae that twitched and twisted every so often.  She finished writing a chapter and sighed, resting her quill in an inkwell and stretching her fingers.  She lifted her mask slightly and gently blew, drying the ink.  She opened a drawer full of notes and reached in to grab one but she closed it quickly when she heard the door open.

Coming through the door was one of the villagers, this one wearing a book-like hat and had bifocal glasses.  She walked to the writer’s side and smiled, reading the words that had been written.  “Hey Vinegar, how’s the book coming along?”  She asked.

“Well, Cyne, very well.”  She responded.  “It’s been a while since I have ever written something of this, how you say, type.”  Her antennae twisted around each other as she tried to think of the most decent word.  “A month since.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Vinegar thought for a bit.  “I’m thinking of L Ama Ioa.  It’s in my native tongue, Arpesliga.”

“Reminds me of a book I read, L Ama Iuri.  Were you inspired by that?”

Vinegar hesitated.  “Yes.  Strongly.”

“That’s cool.”  Cyne paced around the room.  “Why do you think the author wrote everything but the name in English?”

“Honestly, now that I think about it, she should’ve translated the name into English too.”  She chuckled and kicked up her feet onto the desk.  “I mean, I don’t know many people around here being repulsed by girls kissing, among other things.”  She chuckled again and Cyne joined in.

“Yeah.”  Cyne turned to the door but paused halfway, she turned back to Vinegar.  “By the way,” she asked, “What actually brought you here?”

“Oh, the story’s long so, well, here, stay hydrated.”  Vinegar grabbed a cup of water she had on her desk and turned to give it to Cyne.  “Regardless,”

“Tuesday.  In a deep stronghold in which I and other Arpes resided, I had finished preparing a soup to give to our latest sniffer mother.  The soup encouraged healing and regeneration which would help the mother stay healthy to raise the child.  I was halfway to the pen when I heard a booming sound from a nearby room.  The Portal Room.  Since our ancestors arrived at the stronghold, we had no idea what it was for, so we did not think of it much.  That day, however, we saw what was on the other side.  Endermen.  Leading the army of them was an enderman in robes called Conquisteu, who held a purple clam-like thing.  Whatever it was, horrible spells would come from it whenever Conquisteu commanded.  It was a slaughter, and it soon fell to five against one; us against Conquisteu.  Then… someone made a move.  She tackled the purple thing out of Conquisteu’s hand.  We almost cheered for her.  But when she landed, the ceiling fell on her, crushing her.  Of course, without his magical crutch, Conquisteu was easy to push back into the portal.  But now there were only four of us left; we had little hope.  We left the stronghold through a twisting cave we dug long ago, a journey that took hours, and when we reached the surface we decided to split up, live our lives how we want knowing that when we die, our race may be extinct.  So I am here, writing in a village that loves like the people I knew back home.  It’s nostalgic.”

“Woah.”  Cyne reacted, shocked.  “Sorry your home was…”

Vinegar pat Cyne on the head.  “Don’t be, I’m happy to be welcomed here.  Sometimes, however, I wish I could see my home again, one last time.”

Cyne sat there looking at Vinegar.  She looked into the eyes of her mask and pondered, then smiled.  “There’s a stronghold under our village, if you want to look.”

Vinegar’s antennae perked up.  “Here?”  Vinegar stood up from her seat.  “Where?”

Cyn also stood up, grabbing Vinegar by the hand and leading her outside.  The breeze blew cold, getting Vinegar to wrap more of her scarf around herself.  After a few steps the two came across a massive hole that went deep underground.  “This is it.”

Vinegar looked down into the deep hole.  “Wow, it’s massive.  Never seen a hole this big.”  She turned to Cyne.  “Who did this?”

“A big, fluffy monster that came by.  He looked like a DILF but that’s beside the point.  Come, down his hole.”  Cyne guided Vinegar down the stairs of the hole, being careful not to fall.  Vinegar’s grasp on Cyne’s hand tightened as the two descended.

“Smells like my own stronghold.”  Vinegar mentioned, Cyne giggling a bit at the idea.  Vinegar looked around, taking in all the sights, smells and lack of sounds other than her and Cyne’s own footsteps.  As the two reached the bottom, Vinegar rushed forward.  As Vinegar saw the structures of the stronghold she paused, heart beating faster and antennae perking up.  “This… This is… MY home…”  Her voice started to break and tears dripped from her chin.  She rushed for Cyne and hugged her, spinning around in the air.  “Thank you, thank you!!  It’s my home!!!”  She got off and grabbed Cyne.  “I didn’t know this village was above my home!  Let’s look around!”

The two explored the stronghold, finding rooms collapsed and halls blocked by rubble Vinegar tried to break through.  One hallway, Vinegar was excited to show off.  “Villagers have their houses.  The Arpes live in rooms.  This is mine.”  She pointed to a room full of rubble.  “Or what’s left of it.”  She went in and dug through the rubble, expecting to find something.  “Huh, I thought my…  It’s fine, let’s check out the rest.”  Vinegar grabbed Cyne by the hand and brought her to the main room again, bringing her up some stairs and into another hallway.  The excitement could be heard in her breath as she pulled Cyne around the stronghold.  However, passing by one room she heard a low sound that turned her excitement into fear.  She froze in front of the large room and slowly turned, seeing the end portal in the center of the room before her.

“What’s wrong?”  Cyne looked into the room and realized.  “Oh, oh no…”

“It’s… how… when…”  Vinegar stood staring at the portal.  She was about to turn back to the entrance when she noticed a long, gangly, black arm reach from the portal.  It grabbed the side of the portal as another came out to do the same, pulling out to reveal the full figure.  It was an enderman in purple robes with a large purple wizard’s hat.  On his back was a large double-ended spear.  He hopped out of the portal and stared at Vinegar, recognizing the fact she was an Arpes.  

He smiled.  “I thought I killed you all.”  He pulled out his spear.  “So which of the four are you?  The ones that pushed me back to the purgatorius End!”

Vinegar drew two swords stored away in her back.  The swords had guards like rapiers and blades like katanas, though their blades were serrated.  “Conquisteu!”  She looked to Cyne and motioned her to run.  Vinegar approached Conquisteu and looked at him in his glowing purple eyes.  “I don’t know who lit this portal, I don’t know how you came back, but I will undo this, no, I’ll do you better; I’ll send you to hell!!”  Vinegar made the first strike, shredding Conquisteu’s sleeve and skin, covering the blade in shimmering, purple blood.

Conquisteu retaliated with a spear stab, barely missing Vinegar.  When he pulled back the barbed end of the spear tore at her scarf.  He tried to stab again but Vinegar parried and began slashing away, landing most of her hits.

“Remember your little friend?”  Conquisteu shouted.  “The one who sacrificed her life for your lives!?”  Conquisteu knocked Vinegar away with his spear, getting her on her back for a second before she got up.  “And for what, the prosperity of your race?”  He went in to stab Vinegar, but was parried.  Vinegar swung back, shredding up Conquisteu’s chest.  “Four can’t bring them back, no matter how hard you try, you bugs will never recover!”  Conquisteu stepped back, throwing his spear into Vinegar’s arm.

“Do you think I don’t know that!?”  Vinegar watched as Conquisteu ran back into the portal room, grabbing a rock on the way.  She grabbed Conquisteu’s spear and snapped it in half, allowing her to pull it out while reducing the damage.  She grabbed a bottle of water from her belt and poured it on the wound before grabbing some of the gauze around her arm to wrap up the wound.  When she finished she rushed into the portal room, sword in hand.  Stepping into its doorway her expression turned grim.  Before her stood a flood of endermen coming through the portal as Conquisteu looked at her, smiling.  “BARASTRO!”  She threw a bottle of water into the room, most of the endermen teleporting away while Conquisteu stood his ground.

Conquisteu looked to another enderman coming out of the portal, grabbing the spare spear on their back and rushing to Vinegar for a second round.

The sounds of metal clashing echoed through the stronghold as the two fought, Conquisteu managing to throw Vinegar through some rubble, revealing a dirt room with various skeletons of six-legged cow-like animals.  Conquisteu walked in, stepping on a skull and crushing it under his mutated foot.  Before he knew it, Vinegar was cutting and slashing at him with great ferocity.  Cloth torn, skin shredded, blood spilled.  Before she could do enough damage, Vinegar was slapped off by Conquisteu’s spear, Conquisteu himself teleporting away.

“Corbare(Coward)!”  Vinegar ran through the stronghold to the hole’s entrance.  She climbed the stairs, her heart beating and her breath heavy.  Her legs had started to tire but she kept climbing.  As she approached the surface she noticed a purple glow bleeding into the hole.  Her heart dropped and she climbed faster, fearing the worst.  When she reached the surface she saw as the village was set aflame.  Purple fire engulfed every other house, the temple was invaded by endermen crawling through the windows like desperate damned souls, upon stakes and stuck onto houses were limbless bodies vandalized with shimmering purple blood for ink.  In the center of it all was Vinegar who looked on in horror as her new home was destroyed in mere minutes.  She took a step back into the stronghold when she heard a horrible sound from below, like a bird trying to roar like a tiger.  

She looked down the stairs to find a horrible disfigurement of an enderman.  Its eyes were orange and pus-filled, its mouth locked open, its hands like talons that swelled to be paws.  Its legs bent backwards, its chest was depressed, and its back glowed orange as cracks on its skin crept from the back to the chest and belly.

Vinegar ran back up, trying to avoid every enderman in the area.  She heard the piercing scream again, followed by the sound of hissing fireworks and an organic pop.  She saw as orange fluid landed on the ground, burning and killing the grass it landed on.  Vinegar looked back and saw the beast bounding toward her like a snake with legs.  She ran faster, spotting a river just within reach.  She jumped.  She looked up to see the silhouette of the disfigured enderman staring into the deep lake, turning back when it realized it couldn't do anything.

Vinegar swam to the opposite riverbank and looked back at the village, now in ruin, claimed by endermen.  The sight soon seemed too much for Vinegar, who walked away defeated, only resting when her legs gave out at dawn, crying herself to sleep.

Next chapter: The Pale Garden

[swinging-from-my-cable]

your post with the sentence "and i kinda sorta have it worse because i'm on crutches i don't get the advantage of any kind of rolling" shows up right in the wheelchair tag on tumblr (i know you didn't tag it like that and i'm not saying you meant to i'm just trying to warn you) and i super understand the frustration with disability access but please be mindful of saying that sort of generalized thing when it can go right into the tag for something like that. i don't think it was meant maliciously at all and you should totally vent it out i'm really just trying to warn you how it's showing online to random wheelchair user passersby. i'm sorry your day was frustrating getting around and i hope your area gets better accessibility and that gundam is good

My blog, my posts, my opinions. I didn't tag it with anything even remotely relevant, so this is tumblr's fault, not mine. Take it up with them, not me. If someone hates me, they can debate off anon or, far more easily, just block me.

And yes, being on crutches is, in its own way, more difficult to get around. You're slower, just like you are with a cane. It's exhausting. Your weight is constantly in muscles it's not supposed to be in. I've hung out with folks in a wheelchair, not while I was on crutches, and yes, wheelchairs are hell to deal with. This building only has a ramp on the far side. The sidewalks only have cuts in the most inconvenient places. The lecture halls only have steps, so you're stuck in the back. You can't see the food in the cafeteria. You're in a bind during a tornado warning on the third floor of the building. Half or more of the time, you need a specialty chair but insurance sure won't pay for it.

But anyone who has any ability to use a rolling aid has the advantage of not being this slow (I was recommended a knee scooter, which would be way faster, but I basically can't go anywhere anyway), and not being totally off balance to the point of nearly falling over whenever they have to shift directions or certain positions. Their weight isn't being continually forced into their forearms and one leg. And I have strong arms and a decent pistol squat. Someone with a wheelchair doesn't have to go pick up meds at the pharmacy and hope the store has charged the cart. Sure, I can get up stairs sometimes, and I can go to the toilet without as much difficulty. Crutches have TONS of advantages over other situations. But I can't carry a popcorn bucket back to the theater. Everything is effectively three times as far for me, and I can't take advantage of momentum to keep moving. I can't ask someone to help move me unless they are willing to carry me the whole way.

Thanks for being respectful, but if someone in a wheelchair is offended by the fact that crutches are, in their own way, harder to use for the period we have to use them, I hope they can someday walk briefly enough to experience this unique hell.

[casspurrjoybell-27]

In a Heartbeat - Chapter 21 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Simon

It had been a few days since I fully woke up from being here.

Sam had mentioned something about a car accident, which explained my injuries but I still didn't remember exactly how or when it happened.

Had the driver been okay?

Were they the ones who brought me here?

I was surprised to learn that aside from Clara and Sam, there was only one other person who worked at the clinic.

An older lady named Ava who mostly handled the paperwork, supplies and front desk.

Despite how many animals that were here, the three of them seemed to manage all on their own.

Clara apparently was a technician, often helping Sam with the regular patients, while Sam had taken care of the rogues like me.

There had been a young pregnant she-wolf in one of the cages in the other room that Sam had introduced me too.

She never had a pack but her mate had been someone from my old pack.

She couldn't go back to the RCPP since she had a tracker but her pup was expected soon.

She had stumbled upon this place where Sam was willing to help her out for her delivery.

I was slowly moving around, still putting only a little weight on my back left leg, often just hopping around the clinic as the three of them worked together.

Despite having the splint off and the sutures removed, the leg was still tender, the muscles slightly atrophic since the surgery.

Apparently, my other injuries had healed just fine but the broken pelvic bone and fractured hip was still going to take a long road to recovery.

Sam said I fractured roughly three to four ribs from the accident.

He had shown me the x-ray but I honestly wasn't familiar with x-rays to see what he had pointed at.

Sam insisted I shouldn't shift, that it may exacerbate the injury but I was getting annoyed at not being able to ask questions.

Plus I wanted to help.

I hated feeling like a burden, another patient that they had to keep an eye on.

At least in my human form, I could use crutches to get around instead of hopping throughout the clinic.

Physical therapy sessions were actually quite fun.

Sam and sometimes Clara would help out, placing a blanket around my torso like a sling to help me slowly put pressure on the injured leg to build up muscle.

It was sore every now and then but I could tell I was improving.

********

Sam had given me the all-clear to shift today.

I don't know why but I was way too excited for it.

The bones had healed nicely, just a small hairline fracture was left from the pelvic bone but putting pressure on my leg was not a problem anymore.

Although walking a certain way caused occasional pain, it was easy to hide it and subsided within a few minutes.

I did my usual rounds by following Sam and Clara around the clinic or greeting guests near Ava at the front desk.

I didn't have to hobble around anymore and I actually felt never better.

It was a strange sensation.

I was happy here.

As seemingly mundane and boring as it was, I enjoyed the simplicity of it all.

And even though the clinic was open from nine in the morning till six in the afternoon, most of the time the three of them stayed late.

Sam practically lived here, only leaving to grab some food or supplies he had stored at home.

Most nights he slept in the office or on a cot in the operating room.

But most of the time, he'd be checking in on all the animals, giving them the same affection he had given me that night I woke up.

It was endearing, to say the least.

It was about six forty-five, well after closing but the three were still sorting out some files, Clara handling an emergency case that had walked in right before closing.

Sam was working in his office, so I sauntered over.

"Hey, you," he set aside the file he was looking at.

"My favorite patient. Don't tell the others."

Walking closer, I nudged his hand with my nose, where he quickly patted my head, giving my ears a good scratch.

"Feel free to shift whenever. There are spare clothes in that duffel bag next to the desk. You can shift in here if you like, I'll shut the door for you and be outside," he smiled, before standing up to leave the room.

It didn't take long for me to feel the shift.

It was a process, the bones needed to realign, muscles shift to accommodate the human anatomy.

For the most part, it was painless, aside from the brief sharp pain in my hip.

Luckily it subsided, I let the stiffness fade before reaching for the clothes.

They were slightly baggy, a little long, as expected from Sam's clothes.

Being in my wolf form for that long was bound to make things awkward for a bit in my human form.

I tested out my voice, making sure it didn't sound so groggy.

Aside from the slight limp, walking on two legs felt normal.

After double-checking everything was alright, I opened the door, Sam standing there expectantly leaning against one of the tables.

"Why, hello," he drawled, accentuating the 'oh' sound.

"It's nice to finally meet my patient's other half. It's a bit strange that you've been staying here for a few weeks and we still don't know your name."

I smiled at that.

"Simon."

[nope-body]

.

I think that my and my roommate’s friend might be stalking them? Like I know what he’s doing, I’m just concerned that it counts as stalking passed off to others as spending time with a friend. My roommate has a hard time saying no/establishing boundaries, and he knows this. He used to ask before coming into our room or like. Ask if we wanted to walk together or whatever. Because that’s what you do, you don’t just assume. Same with physical contact! Where a lot of consent training fails is that it never explicitly says that the responsibility is on the person initiating to ask for consent, every single time something is initiated, even years into a relationship or when changing where you’re touching someone when cuddling. It is never on the other person to just say no if they’re uncomfortable, you have to ask first. And that’s not happening anymore with him. He’s not asking. For anything. I use a forearm crutch or cane- I have to open my door wide enough that someone behind me could catch it and walk through because otherwise I can’t get through. But this means that he will just follow me into my room whenever he wants and I can’t stop him. And he lives across the hall!! He can hear every time our door opens or closes and has a peephole to see into the hallway! We don’t have a peephole! And he won’t listen when I do everything in my power to communicate that I don’t want to be around him- there was one time recently where I was overwhelmed and couldn’t really verbalize my thoughts and I was just going to go downstairs, grab food, and stay alone in my room because I didn’t want to be around people. I pre-lined like I always do and he was at the front of the regular line and I was going as close to running as I get when walking with a forearm crutch to just get back to my room, and he started following me and I couldn’t speak so I couldn’t say that I wanted space. I didn’t acknowledge him at all, and I kept trying to outpace him, but he’s super tall and could catch up easily, and then when I opened my door he just. Came right in. Didn’t ask, didn’t even make sure that I knew that he was there. And I couldn’t do anything! I just ignored him the entire time. And like. That was one time with me. This is daily with my roommate. Also if he knocks and you open the door, he will just walk right in. He won’t ask. I forced him to ask today because I didn’t open the door all the way so he couldn’t just come in, but that’s harder for me to do (just physically). And then I had to spell out that I was busy and that now is a bad time to get him to go away.

On a related note, it’s really not helping my paranoia. I don’t want to be worrying about whether or not someone else knows if I’m in my room or not. I’m also realizing that I had some low level paranoia last year because my roommate was so bad. (Different one, I’m friends with my roommate this year.) This is bringing that back but way worse.

[erthanion]

Ghosts

“Hard to see what you’ve done to me now”

Will you always come back around?

Do I just have to stop running?

Why can’t you just go, let go..

What are you still holding onto?

There’s a piece of my that will always empathize with you and that’s the piece of my I try to suppress.

For years I locked you away, blocked you, shunned you hoping that time will remove all ties.. so why can you still have this effect?

It kind of pisses me off..and I feel like an idiot because I’m not in love with you, I don’t want to be with you, and I know I love X more than I ever could have loved you.

This is all true, but whenever you pop your head up, there’s still a sore spot. A part of me that does continue to seek closure. I did love you. I really did. I couldn’t have hurt so bad if I didn’t.

It’s been four years since we departed.

Part of me thinks I didn’t give myself enough time before getting into another relationship, that’s why it’s taken me so long to rid of these emotional ties…

So what can I do now?

I seek answers..I tried not doing anything and I now have more self love than I ever had before. Enough to know that I have to chose for myself. I can’t use other people as a reference point. I can’t use X as a crutch anymore.

He was my barrier between you and I and now I’m starting to believe I need to tear that down.

I know what I want with X. Nothing can stop that. I know I’ll never go back to you. Nothing will change that.

I continue to doubt myself when you come into question, I start to doubt the way things happened.

I will say…the wound is not as sore as it used to be. I must acknowledge that…

It’s not easy to love someone and it goes to waste. I loved you  and it went completely to waste. I hate that I still write about you, and us, but X can not deny the mistakes we made when we jumped in so soon. I will not let him deny that, there are things we will have to overcome together because of our childish behavior in the beginning.

[silentmemories]

My heart is heavy. Its weighing me down. You’ve made everyone around you make me think im this cold hearted monster. You’ve won, you won this game. You broke me down, you’ve made me feel like i’m not enough, you’ve ruined my confidence, and why? Because you couldn’t admit 3 years ago that all you wanted was to be friends with benefits. No you couldn’t admit that because it killed you to see me with anyone else, but yet the whole time she was there sending you nudes, playing with her pussy on camera for you while you’re at work. I’m so happy that I fought my fucking ass off for us to workout just to find out that I wasn’t even an option in the long game. 

You’ll never be honest with me, but I have so many questions that weight so heavy on my heart and mind. Do you truly regret our relationship? Do you still love me and you are using this new girl as a rebound? Or did you never really truly love me, you just loved my body and loved having me as yours but continued to entertain these other hoes. I feel so stupid. I feel like the dumbest bitch on earth and I know that makes you feel so god damn proud. 

I’m losing my mind because you out of nowhere have a new girlfriend. How did this happen? How did you switch up so fast like that? You have sex with her once and you love her? Is it really true? Or are you playing her to make sure you still have that crutch while melissa is gone? 

I really want to pick your brain apart to know what the fuck is going on. But I can’t. You won’t let me ask you any simple question anymore without immediately attacking me saying some absurd comment that is just trying to pull me out of my character. And every time you tell me anything it feels like just another fabrication in your long list in order to make me feel better about whatever is going on. I wish you could be honest with me. I’ve been nothing but honest with you and thats why you are able to make me look like such a monster, because every mistake I made I owned up to and you used them against me.  Im losing my mind in the shadows of your lies. I just want truth and I know I will never get it and that eats away at me even more. I cannot wait to escape this suffocating relationship where I had no real freedom. I cannot wait to express myself in any way I want and not have someone tell me I’m cheating or lying whenever I try to. I cannot wait to be able to go out with friends and not have someone blowing up my phone calling me a whore because I’m not answering. I cannot wait to live near my family and be able to spend time with them and not have someone constantly texting me and then crying about how im ifnoring them and quesitoning how many of my “hoes” i got in contact with while I wasn’t answering. 

I wish i wouldn’t have been so dumb. I wish I would’ve stayed away from your fast ass when the first night you met me you grabbed my ass and kissed me in the parking lot of meijer after my 2nd shift at the westnedge store. As soon as you told me you lived with your “best friend” that you cheated on your ex wife with and had a baby with, I should’ve ran. When your divorce was finalized and you ran off and fucked around with one of your ex wifes best friends and brought home herpes & chlamydia for me, I should’ve ran. When i paid for an entire trip for us to celebrate my birthday, every cent came out of my pocket, you were exchanging naked pictures with your “best friend”, I should have fucking RAN. There were so many moments in between with the sneaky texts and the sneaky calls and the way you would speak to me, the way you and her interact with each other (wildly inappropriate), even after seeing what she had as her phone contact photo for you. I stayed, and yet I am still coming out as the monster. I am baffled and amazed at the way your brain has twisted this. I don’t know if it was your upbringing or if Vicci truly fucked you up, but you need some god damn help or you’re going to end up hurting yourself or someone else. 

I’m just hurt... I don’t know what to do or say anymore.