#which A) sucks for me who has a shitty immune system

[silvertiefling]

&&. i thought my sore throat yesterday was just from working in a dry library, but alas, it seems i am actually sick, this world is cruel and unfair and i will be dealing with this like a man with a cold, thank u for ur time

[obsidiancreates]

Lily Livers And Bleeding Hearts

"It's been a while."

It had been longer than a while, in fact. Stede's pretty sure the only reason he hasn't bled out is the sword plugging him up. He almost doesn't want to have it removed by this point, lest the act spill his blood and innards all over the deck.

It wouldn't be so bad, really, if he wasn't stuck to the mast.

That was the real kicker. He couldn't even sit down with the blade stuck in him (or laying down would probably be better, for not getting him further sliced up by jostling the blade). Buttons offer of the rum was a long time ago now, and he hadn't even had enough to dull the pain in the first place, nor keep him very warm. His turtle neck is lovely and woolen, but not exactly made for nautical nighttimes.

Well, someone will probably think of getting him down by the next nighttime, at least. They need their bedtime stories to sleep, after all. How long did it take for those hostages to get crispy while tied to the mast, again? Stede has plenty of time before that happens to him. Right?

He can wait it out. Maybe this will finally be enough. Maybe if he just sucks it up and waits, the blade possibly going through his liver (he should probably check his anatomy book to make sure that's the right organ to be worrying about) will cut out the lilies in it. No more lily-livered rich boy, maybe. Maybe if he waits, by the time they remember him he'll have a liver of steel or silver instead. Which one is the blade made out of?

His arm stings, and he moves his head to look at it. Ah, right. Izzy got a strike there, too. Oh, that doesn't look good. It's already got something yellowish seeping out. His immune system is as shitty as everything else about him, isn't it? So much for becoming less lily-livered. At least he'll die of a successful battle, this time. Better than dying by falling for an, in hindsight, painfully obvious ruse.

He should have let them know where his family lives. Maybe if his father knew he died of his wounds after winning a duel against a vicious pirate, he'd finally be proud of Stede in some way. It'll have taken roughly fifty years, but better late than never, right? Maybe his mother won't lament anymore about why she had to go through the perils of childbirth just to produce him.

But is it really a victory if he still dies in the end? No, then it's just a lose-lose. Izzy is banished, Stede will be dead, and Ed will alone. Oh, that hurts worse than the blade and the infection. Poor Ed, all alone. Sure, the rest of the crew will probably be there for him, but they all still see Blackbeard more than Ed. They still see the man who's dad was killed by a mythical beast, not a man who's dad was killed by a broken boy trying to protect his mother.

Why does Ed say he's not a good person for doing that? If his dad was terrible enough to make Ed take such drastic measures, surely he should feel proud of himself. Right? Then again, Stede's father had never said a kind word to him, or anyone, ever, and he would still be upset if he died. Sort of. To a degree.

"Maybe bad dads just hurt in all the ways." Oh, did those words come out of his mouth this time?

He hears someone shout to the side, and then someone is roughly jerking his face up. Oh, that's Fang. "H'mllo F'ng." Oh, that wasn't the sounds he wanted his voice to make.

"Oh, shit!" Fang drops his face. "Ivan! He's still on the fucking mast!"

"What?! Boss is gonna go mental!"

"Help me get him off before he finds out! Sorry mate, fuck, we thought your crew would've taken care of this!"

"Bu' that's worry 'bou me," Stede slurs out again, feeling an intense heat shoot up his arm when Fang touches it. "People don' do that."

"Well Boss does," Fang says, grabbing a cloth from Ivan and gripping the sword handle. "How does Izzy usually do this?"

"Fuck if I know mate."

"Blackbeard keeps from bleeding out somehow!"

"Why don't you ask me?"

Fang and Ivan freeze, and Stede lofts his head and smiles brightly. "Ed! You don' worry abou' me, right? Not a-a th'ng. No-one... no-one worries about lily-livers an'... an' Baby Bonnets..."

"Fuck are you on about, mate?" Ed says, pushing past Ivan. "Shit, you've really been stuck here all night? What the fuck was I doing to not notice?"

"Trying to keep Izzy from killing everyone else," Ivan says.

"Fuckin' could've sent anyone to do that," Ed mutters. "Okay, on three, you pull it out Fang. Got it? Alright Stede, remember, relax your muscles, we're gonna do it quick this time mate. One... two... three!"

The sword is pulled through with a swift squelch, must faster than Stede had removed the sword from Ed. Stede collapses and Fang catches him while Ed and Iven both apply pressure to Stede's wounds.

"M' arm's... warm," Stede says. All of him is now, actually. "Can't... not be! Lily-livered... lily... blooded. Blood can't clot right... delicate blood, like me... stupid lilies..."

"Aw, fuck." Ed tears the sleve away from Stede's arm. "Fuckin' infection too? Get the fuckin' cook-doctor guy, man, this is fuckin-"

"Are you gonna tell them off?" Ivan asks as Stede is handed over to him and Fang goes to grab Roach.

"I'll let Stede do that, it's his crew. You'll tell them off, right?"

"Mus've been reason," Stede's head lolls uselessly when he tries to look at Ed. "Li' whe' th'y mutiny... di'n'... scold! No' constru'tive..."

"Mutiny? They actually planned a fuckin' mutiny?"

"No' pirat' 'nough..."

"This is- okay, let's get him to his cabin sonI can clean that up, it's fuckin' oozing everywhere already. Doesn't Izzy know how to clean his fuckin' blade?"

Stede blacks out for a while after that. But he doesn't mind. When he almost comes back to consciousness through the hours of Nothing, he thinks he hears Ed humming shanties and feels a cold cloth dabbing his arm and torso.

It helps his healing much more than the rum, he thinks.

(Another months-old fic finally released)

[quidfree]

can you Please write the scene with bakugou's piercing SGDHEFEH the concept is too funny to me !!!

anon you’re lucky 報復性熬夜 is a concept i am firmly attached to so here i am at 1 am rattling this off instead of getting my beauty sleep. please excuse the standard of writing as a result

by the second day, katsuki is seriously considering agreeing to todoroki’s earlier and ambiguously sincere proposal that they play i spy.

he doesn’t know what it is about this particular job that’s so unbearable. no, scratch that- of course he knows what’s unbearable; it’s sat right next to him on a too-small chair in their too-small room staring impassively out of a too-small window. but he’s been thrown into so much shit with icyhot you’d think he’d developed some kind of immunity by now, the way vaccines microdose you on viruses so you can resist the real thing. call katsuki an antivaxxer, he guesses, because he has overdosed on todoroki ever since he met the asshole and he’s still not ready for how far up the wall he’s driving him when they’re stuck together for two straight days without a breather or any contact with the outside world.

cards on the table: stake-outs aren’t his thing. he does them just fine, fuck you very much, but he doesn’t like ‘em. why would he? they’re some ungodly blend of extremely boring and extremely tense, where nothing happens right up until way too long into it and then everything goes to shit unprompted. it’s rare he ever gets called in on jobs like this- people tend to assume he lacks the temperament for it, for one, and for another he’s too useful to lock away for days on end. it’s only because their suspected target is so insanely volatile and dangerous that it’s the two of them waiting for her to show her ugly face- no one else is even allowed in the perimeter. which is fucking fine, but he just wishes the cops would get their shit together for once and actually have the proof ready by the time they call the pros in so he doesn’t have to wait before he goes in guns blazing. instead they talked some bullshit about how critical of a stage this was and blah blah fifteen years of (obviously mediocre) work had gone into setting this trap, etc etc. the point is that it’s led to katsuki stuck in the world’s most disgusting little apartment, staring out of a splintered window for two-going-on-three days with no one but the world’s most annoying prodigy to keep him company. the place is such a dump they’re sleeping on mats in sleeping bags. it’s like fucking UA summer camp, and at this point he’d take the kidnapping over the waiting.

day one wasn’t so bad, right up until he realized there would be a day two. day two is bad from start to finish. they’re supposed to take turns on watch but there’s fuck all else to do except sit on their phones, and katsuki can only quote tweet so much dumb shit before he gets bored. he can’t talk to anyone outside because of confidentiality bullshit, and there’s no point checking work shit when he can’t do anything from where they are. so it’s either silently watching the warehouse or talking to todoroki, and todoroki is a fucking terrible conversationalist.

the thing with icyhot is this: katsuki doesn’t hate him, okay. like, he hates him, but also not really. they’re, at a push, maybe, sort of, friends. verging on close ones. not that he’d say so, but after the amount of dramatic self-sacrifices and final stands against a joint enemy they’ve endured he can’t really muster the energy to argue otherwise. todoroki’s tolerable, sort of maybe. usually katsuki borderline likes working with him, because if nothing else he’s good at what he does, and they know each other too well to be anything but in sync in the field. if they were doing almost anything else he’d be relieved at the choice of pairing.

they are not, however, doing anything else, and todoroki still fucking sucks at talking like a normal person. when he’d woken katsuki up for his shift of night-watch he’d loomed over him ominously like a fucking ghoul and said, voice belying no humor: “do you think plants can feel pain?”

there’s fucking nothing to talk about. anything interesting is essentially vetoed because it’d inevitably distract them from the whole intent observation thing, and katsuki hates small talk on a normal day but especially when todoroki’s doing his ‘alien attempting earth dialect’ bit and asking him about weather or the tokyo transportation system or whatever. so they just sit in semi-silence and occasionally go on very stupid tangents katsuki is glad no one can witness and remain overall bored out of their fucking skulls.

by day three they’ve already exhausted i spy and also the alphabet game and hangman, and katsuki draws the line at tic-tac-toe. todoroki looks implacable as always but his eye has started twitching a little. katsuki tries to think of literally anything that could plausibly take up their time and not take their eyes off the window, comes up short. twister is not a good idea even ignoring their lack of a board. shop talk is so very tempting, but he’s not losing this villain and wasting two days’ suffering because they get carried away on some long-winded discussion, so that’s not an option either.

“how’s your ear?” todoroki says, and at first katsuki thinks he’s really fucking lost it if he’s started asking after the wellbeing of his individual body parts, but then he remembers the last time they saw each other katsuki was throwing himself into the path of some jackass with a trumpeting quirk who nearly blew out his eardrum, so he guesses half ‘n half’s not entirely insane yet. he shrugs, shifts in his chair.

“fine. couldn’t hear shit from it for like three straight days, though. and my balance was fucked.”

“it hasn’t scarred at all.”

“yeah. lame place for a scar,” katsuki says, flexing his fingers absently. they’re all of them more roughed up than they were at UA, but talent and good healers have kept him mostly intact, give or take a few big nasties like the time he got gutted in first year or his near loss of an eye around graduation. privately he suspects genetics have dealt him a good hand, what with his gene donor’s perfect skin, but then todoroki doesn’t have that excuse and he’s not scarred anywhere ugly except the obvious, though katsuki could point blind to most of the nasties he’s accumulated under his suit.

not that he thinks about what’s under todoroki’s suit. god, he needs to get out of here.

“i don’t know,” todoroki is saying now, thoughtful. “a lot of people have ear-scars, no? from piercings.”

“that’s different,” katsuki says, immediately contrarian, even as he thinks about it. by the warehouse a truck stalls, but then moves on, lessening his momentary excitement. “most people don’t let that shit heal. unless you’re a moron there’s no point getting a hole jabbed through your ear if you’re not sure you want it.”

“would you?” todoroki asks, mildly curious, and taps his ear where katsuki can see him in the window’s reflection. “get a piercing, i mean.”

“what’s it to you?”

todoroki rolls his eyes at him like he’s being pointlessly difficult, which he maybe is a little. “i don’t know. i think it would suit you.”

“yeah?” katsuki sniffs, mollified and trying not to show it. it’s always a mistake to let icyhot know when his obvious ploys are working. “been thinking about it?”

“i can hardly sleep at night for thinking about it,” todoroki deadpans, which makes katsuki scowl and stomp down on the extremely unwarranted flush crawling up his neck in response.

“fuck off. i guess i’d do like one or two.”

“really? you always say no to tattoos.”

“that’s different. i don’t trust some asshole to draw a fucking infinity sign on my knee or whatever. sticking a hole through an ear is hard to fuck up, and you barely register it after. if you get a shitty tattoo you have to think about it all the time.”

“if it’s easy then why don’t you have any?” todoroki asks, but he sounds genuinely curious more than like he’s trying to catch him out, so katsuki thinks about it honestly.

“don’t have the time. ‘s not like i can really afford to pencil in an afternoon to the nearest parlor or whatever just for that.”

“i read you can pierce your ears with a needle.”

“i guess i haven’t fucking thought about it that much, then,” katsuki grumbles, forever irked by todoroki’s smart mouth. problem solver his ass. the guy goes around making problems for everyone.

they sit in silence for a beat, watching the breeze rattle the wooden planks barricading a window opposite them, and then he thinks needle, and does some very quick mental arithmetics to reach the conclusion that todoroki is probably also landing on, judging by the way he blinks when katsuki briefly glances his way. 

he thinks about the job, and how close he’d come to throttling todoroki during i spy, and the great dawning nothingness ahead of them for fuck knows how long still. at the very worst, they have to start moving with a needle in his ear. 

“pass me your medikit.”

todoroki does, but when katsuki unzips the pack he shifts. “it’d be easier if i did it.”

“it’s not rocket science,” katsuki mutters, considering the needle critically before glancing back out of the window. “'s not like i give a shit about precise location.”

“i’m just saying i wouldn’t have to go in blind. and you can keep watch while i do it.”

“or you can keep watch while i do. same shit.”

todoroki only shakes his head, because unlike some people who shall not be named he is not so incredibly psychosexually attached to offering help where it isn’t wanted. “fine.”

katsuki eyes the window, squints at his ear. tissue’s the best bet- he thinks he could probably manage cartilage fine, but on the off chance they have to drop everything and run he doesn’t want to accidentally snap a bone and start the fight inconvenienced. lobe it is.

“wait,” todoroki says, just when he’s focused, and then reaches over without removing his gaze from the window to press two fingers to the needle, tip going blisteringly red-hot before he releases it. cauterised. their kit’s sterilised anyway, but katsuki grunts his begrudging thanks, repositions himself. 

“wait,” todoroki says again, and this time katsuki can’t help but turn to glare at him where he’s still watchfully staring outside.

“fucking what, icyhot?”

“two seconds,” todoroki promises, gaze flickering his way for half a second with something like self-effacing amusement before he turns his eyes dutifully away and reaches his other arm around to pinch his ear, which flares cold so quickly katsuki hisses even as his cheeks heat. fucking weirdo.

“could’ve just said,” he mutters, ignoring his not at all jumpy pulse to refocus on the task at hand as todoroki does that obnoxious lip-twitch thing that means he’s smiling internally. 

physics dictates that he keep his wrist at an angle if he wants the needle to come out right, so he does, braces and jabs. it goes so easy he almost doubts his own success, not even the slightest twinge of pain ensuing. he twists for good measure, removes the needle, watches tiny beads of blood emerge from the piercing. 

well, that was anticlimactic, katsuki thinks, retrieving an anti-bacterial wipe for the needle, and then pauses, staring at the window.

“motherfucker.”

“what?”

“what the fuck am i supposed to put through this?”

todoroki’s mismatched eyes go gratifyingly wide in the window, and for one spectacularly braindead moment two of the world’s most outstanding pro-heroes stare at one another in a shitty broken window with equal amounts of retroactive dismay. 

“um,” todoroki says, or as close to ‘um’ as todoroki will ever say. katsuki wishes dearly he was still of an age where he could throw him through a wall. then his eyes focus elsewhere, sharpening with what could pass as professional focus but is mostly naked relief. “um.”

um in-fucking-deed. by the warehouse, a door has just opened a sliver.

“you owe me a fucking earring,” katsuki declares, but so fast it lacks any aggression, already halfway out the window by the time he finishes speaking, atrophied limbs reviving with an ecstatic chemical burn as fresh air hits their faces. 

god. if he ever gets stuck on stake-out duty again he’s sleeping by himself under a parked car or some shit. 

they make disgustingly quick work of the fight, in the end, days of pent-up frustration and skull-numbing boredom leaving them so bursting with power that it’s almost embarrassing for the villain, but when the first kow-towing police officer reaches them full of praise and suggestion that they handle another job he has queued up they chorus a ‘no’ so violent the guy actually jumps. 

todoroki’s not so bad, katsuki thinks fondly, watching his face slide into frigid blankness with absolutely no idea of how shitless he’s scaring the officers around them. it’s almost enough to make him forget to kick his ass for the enormously shitty banter he’d had to endure vis-a-vis his still-bleeding ear throughout the entire tragically short fight.

almost. not quite. who even knew there was a ‘gay ear’?

[iwritesickfic]

boy who cried flu

(yes I am aware of how stupid this title is leave me alone)

Peter rarely - if ever - got sick. Nobody who didn’t know him well would believe it though - he had a long track record of absences and missed assignments, despite being a 3.9 GPA student. He’s flaked from social events and parties countless times, always citing he’s not “feeling well.” It’s not technically a lie, though he does lie sometimes. 

People understand physical illness - they know what it feels like to be stuck in bed with a bad cold - but mental illness? Not so much. So...he bends the truth. A professor won’t be very forgiving if you say you spent all weekend in bed because you couldn’t find the motivation to move, but say you had a bad cough? No one bats an eye.

So most people assume Peter has an awful immune system. That or he’s just a pussy who won’t leave the house with so much as a sore throat. Everyone except a select few - Simon, Ashlynn, and Alex. 

Simon’d been his friend since undergrad, and they’d been roommates for a time, so he knows exactly what Peter means when he says he “doesn’t feel well.” Ashlynn is the type to show up unannounced with a quart of homemade soup. And Alex...Alex was there when things had gotten out of hand. 

But just because they knew he was lying when he said he was sick didn’t mean he stopped using it as an excuse. Ashlynn, despite herself, would usually not question it. Simon wouldn’t think twice about the lie, almost taking it as a direct confession. Alex would usually get pissed off and demand some kind of proof.

They were supposed to go to the beach tomorrow - get up early and take the train together to rockaway. But somehow, for the first time in years, Peter has something more than some congestion. Something way more.

It started a few days ago, a runny nose and swollen sinuses. He slept like shit, and the next morning his throat was raw and he absolutely could not breathe through his nose. But he had class, so he took the train in and sat in his lecture and tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum. By the time he was headed home, he’d long since run out of clean tissues, so he tends to his nose with a damp scrap of napkin he found buried in his bag, his nostrils red and irritated from the abuse. 

By the time he gets home, his congestion has gone from a clogged, static brick in his head to leaky, runny mess, but he’s well aware he can’t take a day off from work on his thesis, so he sits in bed working until 2 AM, one hand wiping the mess from his upper lip, the other scribbling notes in his worn out pad. 

He wakes the next morning not sure when he fell asleep, his head pounding heavily behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing and inflamed. His throat feels swollen and hot, and the relentless sneezing that started the night before isn’t helping any. The two days prior, everything seemed to be concentrated in his head, but now it’s clear it’s migrating into his chest as well. Halfway through his day at work in the library, he starts to cough, wet and harsh. 

It doesn’t help that his body aches like he ran a marathon, and chills are coursing through him like ice water in his veins. By the end of the day he can’t wait to finally sit down and rest. His body’s been screaming for it since the moment he got out of bed, and all day shelving books has really taken its toll.

Unfortunately, he’s got an hour long commute and lucky for him, it’s standing room only. He grips the subway pole like a lifeline, his head spins every time the train rocks. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened window - he looks awful. Bags like bruises under his eyes that are rimmed in pink and half lidded, his nose irritated and red. A coughing fit tears through him, and he tries his best to catch it in his sleeve. His knees start to tremble as he tries to take deep breaths, and he’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“You wanna sit?” the woman asks, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s offering her seat. Normally, he’d suck it up, but he’s too miserable to refuse. He mumbles a thanks, and sinks down.

It takes all his self control not to fall asleep then and there.

By the time he’s back at his building, he’s seriously doubting he can climb four flights to get to the apartment. Part of him would rather just lay down in the lobby but he knows this is the final stretch before he can climb into bed and sleep.

He’s interrupted by several fits of coughs, and by the time he’s reached the fourth floor he’s practically gasping for air, and soaked in sweat. The chills he had all day have swapped with an oppressive heat that makes him feel almost lightheaded. 

Somehow, he’s quite sure, he manages to stumble to bed, stripping off his damp clothes, the cool air on his slick skin throwing him back into shaking chills. Just as he’s about to let himself be sucked into sleep, his eyes fly open. Tomorrow. 6 AM. He’s supposed to go to the beach. There is no fucking way he is going to the beach.

He texts their group chat with trembling fingers.

hey im real sick i cant go tomorrow

There’s an immediate reply from Alex.

don’t fuckin do this man. we’re going.

A text from Simon.

you’ll feel better if you leave the house, you always do.

He sighs, cursing himself for using this shitty excuse so much now no one will take him seriously.

im serious i feel like trash

Alex answers immediately.

PETER. youre not sick youre being a pussy. we’re going to the fucking beach and we’re having a good time.

Simon responds.

chill alex.

if youre depressed thats fine but maybe consider coming still it might help.

i mean i’d feel better if you came

Peter groans.

im sick. like sick sick. like flu sick.

Alex shoots back quickly.

ok then what are your symptoms?

Peter rubs his eyes, trying to relieve some of the throbbing. 

fever, chills, aches, cough, runny nose, headache, tired.

There’s a moment of silence and he places his phone on his bedside table with a sigh. He’s about to go under when his phone starts to buzz. Once. Twice. Three times. He swears, grabbing it. Three texts from Alex. The first is a screenshot of the symptom list that appears when you google “flu” which just happens to be in identical order.

you need to be more creative

seriously man im not letting you miss this. we planned this months ago. dont be a dick.

Finally, Ashlynn chimes in.

you dont need to lie p, its ok if you dont wanna come.

While Peter would like to further argue that he’s not in fact lying, he just doesn’t have the energy. At this point, it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s not going - who gives a shit why? He’s able to fall asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately, he doesn’t really stay asleep.

He wakes up about every 45 minutes, coughing or shivering or burning or all three. After his fourth or fifth jolt awake he can’t for the life of him seem to get any rest. Every time he’s about to drift off, another coughing fit explodes from his chest and leaves him trembling. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, which he realizes vaguely must mean he’s dehydrated. As the night wears on and his condition continues to worsen, he wonders if he should call an uber to take him to the ER. He can’t afford it, not in the slightest, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt this terrible before. Somehow, he remembers there’s an old thermometer in the kitchen. An old roommate had bought it thinking it would work for deep frying but didn’t realize the range only spanned from 95 to 107.

He needs to take his temperature. See how serious this actually is. He can’t remember the last time he actually ran a fever, so he’s not sure if this is just par for the course or whether this level of misery is cause for alarm.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and for once he’s glad to live in such a god-awfully tiny studio. He lands heavily against the counter, and rummages through the drawer to find the small device. After what feels like an eternity, he manages to grab it with shaking hands, fumbling with the buttons for a moment before flipping on the small kitchen light. 

He sticks it under his tongue, it feels like ice. He tries to coach himself on what he’s going to do. If it’s over 100, he’ll go to the hospital. No, that’s too low. 102?Still maybe too ambitious of a goal. It’s then he realizes he’s really just trying to justify what he’s going to do anyway - save himself an ER bill and stay in bed. He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the small device beeps and he removes it carefully from under his tongue. 

The display flashes 103.2. He doesn’t really know what that means but after a quick google search it’s not exactly any clearer. It’s bad, but not bad enough to cause brain damage, supposedly. Fuck it, that’s good enough for him. He climbs shakily back into bed, the small excursion has left him absolutely exhausted. 

He needs medicine. He knows that. Some tylenol at the very least, but if he can barely walk to the kitchen he doesn’t know how in hell he’s getting out the door, down the stairs, to the pharmacy, and back again. So, he’ll just have to live with it. 

He spends the rest of the night in and out of half-sleep, each coughing fit seeming to drive the illness deeper into his lungs. His nose has started to run again, and each rub with the already-used tissue makes his poor sensitive nostrils burn in protest.

The next morning he wakes to the harsh, deafening drone of his apartment’s buzzer system. He cracks his eyes and checks the time. 6:42 AM. Whoever the fuck it is can wait, he’d like to suffer in peace. Still, as he tries to slip back into the sleep the buzzer continues to go off and after about five minutes, he sits up in bed, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He stumbles to the keypad and presses the button that opens the lobby door, and the buzzing finally - mercifully - ceases. 

He grabs a t shirt from a pile on the floor and pulls on a pair of boxers - he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand anything more with the way his fever is raging. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath, quickly breaking down into another awful fit of coughs. Just as he’s finished, he hears a heavy knock on the door. Sighing, he forces himself up, padding slowly over to the door, trying not to aggravate the dizziness any further. He pulls open the door and is confused to see not an overzealous delivery person, but his three friends. 

He stares dumbly for a moment before a breath catches in his throat and he breaks into thick, wet coughs. He sniffles, wiping his nose with his wrist, before looking back up at them.

“What?” he mumbles, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“Shit,” Alex finally says and Peter sniffles.

“What do you want?” he repeats, surprised at the hoarse, broken quality of his voice. Does he really sound that bad? Ashlynn pushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She’s short, so her face is pressed into his chest, and he stumbles back slightly.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, and he swallows, closing his eyes. She pulls away, and he has to force them open again. She she presses a hand to his forehead. Her palm feels cool but uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wishing the conversation could be over so he can go lie down and not have to explain himself to his friends. He sighs, and narrowly avoids another coughing fit. “Are you gonna come in or you just all gonna stand there?” They exchange looks. “Well?”

Ashlynn pushes past him, followed by Simon and finally Alex. Peter shuts the door and tries his best not to look as fucked up as he feels walking to sit in one of his kitchen chairs. 

“What do ya’ll want?” he asks Simon and Alex, Ashlynn already digging through the medicine cabinet.

“We don’t want anything we were just concerned,” Simon says.

“Then why do you look so fucking shocked?” Peter snaps, even though he knows Simon is only telling the truth.

“Because I was 100% sure you were bullshitting,” Alex says. Peter is far too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Alex, but he tries halfheartedly anyway.

“Still sure?” before Alex can reply Ashlynn is back with a damp washcloth and the thermometer he’d used the night before. She lays the cloth on the back of his neck, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes. 

“Open,” she says, and he does. She places the thermometer under his tongue gingerly, and strokes some of his hair off his forehead. “You don’t have anything? For this?” Peter shakes his head. She presses her lips into a line. “Simon and me are gonna go out and grab some stuff, ok?”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice is almost slurred with the fever, and as if on cue the thermometer beeps. Ashlynn frowns at the reading. She shakes her head.

“Christ, Peter.” She touches his forehead again, this time with the back of her hand. “103.6 and it’s not necessary?”

“I don’wanna be lectured.”

“I’m not lecturing.” She spends another moment fussing with his hair before getting up, grabbing Simon. “We’re going to get some stuff, we’ll be back. Alex, make sure he doesn’t die, ok?” It’s clear Alex is about to protest, but Ashlynn levels him with a glare. They leave, and then it’s just Peter and Alex.

Alex stands by the door, hands in his pockets. It’s a while before either of them speaks.

“What was I supposed to think?” he finally says, and Peter tries to swallow his anger.

“I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his greasy, sweat damp hair. He starts to shiver again, wrapping his arms around his torso. Alex takes a careful step forward.

“You get why I wouldn’t believe you, right?”

“Yes, Alex.” The chills are now back in full force, he’s sure he must be shaking like a leaf. He wants nothing more than this conversation to be over, but Alex doesn’t seem to be getting to message.

“You never get sick. Ever. So what am I-”

“I get it. It’s fine. Just...stop talking. Please.” He’s shaking so bad he can feel his teeth chattering. He pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes, praying something - anything - will warm him up. He hears footsteps and fumbling, then feels a dry, warm blanket being tucked around his shoulders. He looks up, and Alex is standing there, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna lay down or something?” The thought of climbing back into his sweat damp sheets makes him cringe, so he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“S’gross, I sweat a ton.” 

Alex nods.

“Right. What about the couch? You can lay on the couch and I can do your laundry.” 

Getting horizontal sounds heavenly, so he nods, and Alex touches his shoulder, quickly pulling his hand back.

“What the fuck - dude, you’re like...on fire. Shit.” He tests the side of his neck and winces. “Fuck.”

“Can you just help me?” Peter is embarrassed at how small and sick his voice sounds, and the fact he’s asking Alex of all people for help, but he knows if he tries to do it on his own he’s going to fall and crack his skull.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and supports him the few feet to the couch. It’s not very far but his knees go weak about halfway there and he’s glad Alex is holding him. As soon as he gets onto the couch, he curls on his side and closes his eyes. “You’re ok?” Peter nods, and Alex pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Ok. Cool. Just...stay there, I guess.” Peter can hear him starting to strip the bed.

“I was maybe gonna go for a run,” he mumbles, and Alex laughs softly. 

“Definitely. Then I’ll enroll at NYU for my bachelor’s.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have all my debt.”

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to rack up some credit card bills but so far no luck.”

Peter opens his eyes to see Alex with the bundle of sheets in his arms and the bottle of detergent. He pauses for a second, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Peter swallows hard.

“I know man, it’s ok.” Alex smirks.

“Alright. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

[brokenfoetus]

...Real Talk for a Moment....

This is gonna be a long rant post, so by all means... quickly scroll past. Parts may even be a tad emo feels for some folks for one reason or another... There’s no shame in skipping for reals.  A lot of days I can’t bother to read anything too in depth... anyway... HERE goes.... While I absolutely love art, and performance, and surreal awkward characterization of myself I call “THE END”. I also value truth, and being understood. My blog here started more as a journal for me to vent, and place to post music and art for me to look at in order to try and just relax during a very difficult point in my life. Every now and then I like to stop and ground myself and post in a sense about the actual me.  There’s frankly not anything magical here, everyone has a story and their experiences and struggles we all do no matter who you are. I suppose like I said, I just like to be understood where I am coming from typically can only be slightly grasped like anyone.  Even if you agree with views and relate to feelings, things become clearer with details.... hence my rants. I get it out of my system and state my perspectives all at once and anyone who happens to be curious gets to read it. Maybe gets to relate and frankly that tends to help us sometimes. It helps people realize they’re not alone in their situations.  Anyway.... I was born a tiny premature gremlin on the east coast of the U.S. I was raised a devout Catholic boy. At age 11 I was diagnosed with the chronic illness Diabetes. when the symptoms started my mother called doctors concerned. We had to wait a full month for my appointment.  It was rough. Some people don’t know of the disease, but most people generally are aware. It typically doesn’t seem all too dramatic to most since people think of it as old grandma and grandpa taking their pills and measuring their food. When you’re talking juvenile onset diabetes it’s different... severity can vary. but, I caught some sort of virus, with flu like symptoms... I was very very sick for a week or two.  Once it passed, I was okay but slowly started feeling gross in other ways.  By the time we got to see Doctors it was too late, and the damage done to my pancreas made it so it created pretty much no insulin. The only theory Doctors had at the time was the virus freaked out my auto-immune system so it made my body attack itself.  It seemed that my white blood cells had attacked my pancreas. I was 11, so... I didn’t know what diabetes was. I asked my doctor if there was a cure, and he explained that there was no cure. My little boy brain after feeling so awful for a month and a half assumed I was going to die. I burst into tears as I was very very afraid. My Doctor quickly explained I wasn’t going to die like I had assumed and that it can be treated. It doesn’t seem so scary most the time when you realize it can be treated. The thing is the hormone insulin can be quite dangerous, as low blood sugars are actually very much more dangerous than high blood sugars. Insulin allows glucose in the blood to travel into cells to basically use as fuel. without it sugar levels rise in the blood stream, and the body starts rapidly breaking down fat cells to use as fuel. Now, that happens normal some anyway usually after eating. Just not rapidly.... when it does, the fuel it breaks down creates ketones which can make the blood toxic... by making it acidic.... Like I don’t really think... there’s any way I can describe what high blood sugar feels like... or what it feels like when your blood starts to become acidic.... I can’t... but... minor low blood sugar attacks can happen to anyone just by skipping lunch or forgetting to eat... and those suck... bad ones... well... they feel like you’re dying. Not to be melodramatic about it all... but that’s all I can say to explain it... it just feels like you’re dying.  Probably because you sort of are..... The brain runs on glucose so when the levels get too low... your brain panics and tries to save itself and alert you. It’s not fun. It’s been many years since I had anything dangerous or serious in terms of low blood sugars but, a couple times in my life when I wasn’t doing very well emotionally and mentally I wasn’t paying attention or being careful with my insulin dosages and how much I was eating. I’ve had 3 grand mal seizures in my life when I was younger.... it’s hard to explain the experience... in mine... I don’t know.... It was like not existing at all, there was nothing. I woke to pain, I couldn’t see or hear it just hurt. Everything hurt head to toe. Then I could hear myself saying it hurt, then I could hear the people around me, and then I could see the people around me.  Then I knew what had happened.  I felt a bit guilty for scaring my loved ones so much.  That honestly made me more upset than the pain. The reason I spell all this out... is my life has mostly been surrounded by fear. I’ve been aware of my mortality and trying to avoid dying on a daily basis since I was a very young boy. The strange thing I suppose.... is after a while... you just get sick of being afraid.... you kind of stop being scared and just get angry... I was a shy timid nervous little dude.... I’ve had long long times where... I’ve felt worthless, I’ve hated myself, felt I didn’t deserve happiness, or love. I’ve let people use me, without standing up for myself. I’ve let people be toxic and cruel, while excusing their behavior. While at the same time condemning myself for any tiny mistake I may have made in any way. I’ve made myself a martyr in personal relationships, sacrificing myself and my feelings. I’ve frankly... done a whole bunch of fucked up things turned inward. The nice thing I suppose, is I don’t do that anymore.... I still make mistakes, and I like to take responsibility for them and make amends or fix them. You can get used to some really fucked up things. Especially when struggling with self worth. I used to think I was useless and undeserving. Today... I’m well aware I’m a PRETTEH PRETTEH GOFF BOI.... I have long time close friends who love me just as much as I do them. I have a wonderful beautiful lovely lady who has my heart and soul whom I want to spend every moment I possibly can with until my bones are dust.  Who helped me a great deal over the past couple years or so.  Helped me with myself and helped me believe in myself again. Just by being my friend and supporting me while I continue to be the eccentric artist asshole I am. and I have Scrambles... THE MOST CUTEST BLACK KITTEH KAT EVAR. I feel rather lucky to have all I do. I appreciate what I have very very much. I’ve been dealing with Diabetes since I was 11... and had been dealing with Severe Major Depression symptoms since my early 20s. over the past five years I finally started getting help, Turns out I don’t just have diabetes.... I have adhd and some kind of sleep disorder. we’ve been calling it narcolepsy but it’s hard to say exactly, it could be hypersomnia which is a super fancy way of saying I’m fucking always exhausted 24/7 which is pretty accurate.  That is usually caused by narcolepsy or something else but... who knows... still trying to figure that part out. I have discovered though that, being fucking exhausted non stop for 20 years will make you very depressed.  Sometimes depression makes you tired, and sometimes being tired makes you depressed. When I was a young lad, I gave myself one single life goal.... That was to finish an electro industrial album and play some live shows. I dunno, to some that might not be a big deal.... I never said it had to be “good” after all. But, when I was at a low point dealing with my stuffs, trying to take care of myself... I honestly spent most my days sleeping. I was awake maybe 4 hours a day.  Things felt very hopeless, that learned hopelessness made me believe things were pretty much pointless.  I would shrug... and talk to my psychiatrist about my suffering in a manner that people talk about the weather.  I didn’t even care anymore it was happening.  It was “oh well... is what it is.” Until I got angry, it was a good thing I was so frustrated.... because it meant I finally gave a shit again. I wanted to get better and I wanted it to hurry the fuck up. Anyway... I’m just rambling and ranting because I was thinking back a lot after doing a sleep study... probably the first in a series of them. I don’t have apnea so I mean... that’s good. I also got to see what some of my brainwaves look like... I also apparently wake up after dreaming some a lot... I also apparently yelled in the middle of the night hahaha. So back to the whole life goal thing.....my long time friend, who introduced me to shitloads of music and bands and has always been close through good and bad times.  Was saying how he knew it was something I’ve always wanted to do, so he wants to help me.  He’s starting to help me plan the performance and then later will help me setup my shows and come with me to what will be really awkward and silly first couple gigs I play.  An open mic night will be particularly hilarious to me, since instead of hearing shitty rock song covers, it will be an insane goth punk dude screaming distorted vocals to weird electro noises haha.  It’s taken a long time to get shit finally going... but... it’s getting there... it’s still going to take a lot more work... on both me and the music.  I have countless things I have to do, but I’m just happy I finally got angry enough to scream fuck it... and go for it... I love a lot of various kinds of work. I don’t really fit there very well though.  Now that the sleep disorder stuff has become worse over time... it’s not really possible anyway.  That’s okay though, since now I’m just doing what I’m actually good at.  Eccentric artist asshole has always been my key features.  xD So, here’s some photos of me before and during my sleep lab and random enjoyable crap I suppose... and my general mood.  It’s been a while....                                                  -The End-

[bow-woahh]

Heal me after hurting (1/3)

Summary:

A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, definitely abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra:

you are in control, you are stronger now.   ___

Catra gets sick and someone unexpected turns up to help.

Relationship: Adora/Catra

Words: 10, 962 Notes: 

Hey, been working on this for a lil while, this was supposed to be a one shot but I’m incapable of writing things which are short so enjoy the first chapter! I would of posted it on here too, but it’s 10k words and I can’t even format it right on here, so apologies (Tbh it’s tumblr what did I expect?) TW - Drug use, depictions of mental illness, some violence (it’s not very graphic)

Preview below, Read on Ao3

Next>>>

Chapter 1 Preview: Sick of seeing your face

Catra knows she didn't sleep much last night. Most of it was spent coughing out her guts. She remembers that. She remembers messaging Scorpia. She remembers Scorpia saying she'd send some stuff over. She remembers music playing in the background, soft, peaceful, a stark contrast to her hacking her intestines alongside that thick phlegm up.

That's about all.

Mouth, throat and lips dry, she takes a sip from the water bottle on her nightstand and cringes so hard her eyes squeeze shut as the water feels like it's going down her throat the same way nails drag across a chalkboard — it shouldn't. And it hurts.

Internally groaning, because she figures it would hurt to do that aloud, she curses her immune system for not allowing this to fade overnight. Instead, it's gotten worse. College students don't have time to be sick, but here she is: dark circles under her eyes, a second or so away from what might as well be death, because she hates, hates being sick with all her heart. Not even all the shitty Netflix shows in the world are enough to make this better. Catra can't afford to miss school, so she checks the time, hopeful.

Only seven. She can make it. Then, she realises that's a terrible idea, because she doesn't need to bring the plague with her to class, nor does she want to. Being ill in school sucks. So the decision is already fated by the stars. Bed ridden.

However, the last thing she wants is to be stuck in her room all day. It feels too claustrophobic when she’s like this, like solitary confinement. And it doesn't have a TV with Netflix therefore, living room it is.

As she trudges over to the sofa, phone, book (which she’s never going to read), and box of tissue in hand, she finally realises...she isn't the only one home.

What?

Scorpia is away, with Entrapta and...no one else comes to her house. The only person with the house pin is—

"Catra? Are you awake?"

When Scorpia said that she'd deliver a few things over, she didn't think—

It's her. Standing in her kitchen, holding a carton of eggs, is Adora.

A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, definitely abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra:

you are in control, you are stronger now.

Adora, who broke up with her. Adora, who she has barely spoken to in months. Adora, who back then had looked at her with so much hate— no, disappointment that it was all Catra needed to be shattered in two. Adora, who did all these things and was everything, is now standing in her apartment.

Just like before, but only entirely different.

***

End Authors Note:

Hello! Long time no see! Not really, but this past month has been really busy because schools been a bitch and it’s not gonna stop being one anytime soon. After this fic, I really want to work on a multichapter which is on a larger scale, though with the pressure of school not stopping anytime soon, it’ll be a bit difficult. Nevertheless, alongside that I’ll still be answering the occasional tumblr prompts I get.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my fic! Originally, I started writing this when I got sick because,, #relatable I guess and I didn’t have much of a plot for it until I thought of the whole “omg they are exes” thing. Me being me however, couldn’t leave it there, as I didn’t want them to just be awkward exes or something fairly cliche like that, I wanted to play with the idea of this odd dynamic where the breakup they went through was not entirely one persons fault, but how they failed to work as a unit to the point they reached an *extreme* breaking point. If you can’t tell, there’s a lot a little details I’ve put into this too, I suppose to further enhance things lol.

Plus, despite not knowing what actually happened between them until the end of the chapter (which still leaves out a lot of the build up to that point but otherwise we’d be her all day) I wanted them to have this dynamic where you could tell that what happened was more than meets the eye. Additionally, this fic deals with quite heavy themes, one being mental illness which I did my best to portray with Catra. Hopefully I depicted it right and the implications I made made it clear that this is something she has and still does struggle with. And having Adora back around her could very easily pull her back into a place similar to where she was before, but throughout this chapter she wrestles with that fact and the fact they’ve both changed and therefore things have changed. And I hope I didn’t in anyway romanticise that last part, because Catra’s actions (while explainable) aren’t right and she realises this (hence why she pushed down thinking about it all) and it will be addressed. Also...guess who her therapist is and I’ll post the next chapter early (actually –)

Okay I could rant about my own fic for a very long time, but I’ll stop there. Hopefully I’ll have the next chapter out in a week or since it’s already written so it’s a possibility, and if that’s the case I’ll see you then!

(Also talk to me on Twitter @ BowWoahh)

[mychemicalficrecs]

I really loved The Rise and Fall of the Black Parade and I was wondering if you could reccomend anything similar? Thanx!

Hi Nonny!

Whelp, you kind of caught a thing I don't read - Major Character Death.

I found a couple fics that seem to deal with similar topics though!

The Black Parade

The Fall and Rise of The Black Parade by wordslinging, Frank/Gerard, 53k, Mature. “I used to think this was Hell. I mean, I always figured that’s where I was headed, if there was any afterlife. And then when I got here…there were no lakes of fire, or anything, but I was stuck on my own in a place where nothing grows or changes, so I figured, okay, Hell’s just a little different than I always thought it would be. But then, after a while…it wasn’t so bad. I found a place where I could kind of belong, and I met Toro and Brian and Bob and Mikey…and you. And I figure…if I was in Hell, falling in love shouldn’t really be in the cards, should it?So after that, I started thinking—okay, maybe this place isn’t anything I ever heard about in school or church. But then again, maybe it is. Maybe this is Purgatory. And I always had the idea that Purgatory was kind of like prison, y’know, you gotta serve your sentence and the only thing that’s gonna get you out quicker is good behavior or having friends in high places. But maybe—maybe you don’t have to just sit around waiting for someone to tell you your sentence is up. Maybe Purgatory ends when you get yourself out of it.”

You'll Never Take Me Alive by Natileroxs, Frank/Gerard, 53k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. On Halloween, Mikey's brother died at a funeral. How fucking convenient. Far in the distance, The Black Parade begins to march.

The Famous Living Dead by conventionalweapons (aconventionalweapon), 17k [WIP], Not Rated. Frank is trying, really he is. He's trying to move on after the murder of his parents, he's trying to get past the mutilated right arm, and he's definitely just trying to get through high school. Unfortunately though, he has nightmares that haunt him, a friend that seems to just get stranger as the days pass, and a teacher that is convinced Frank's somehow going to be involved in opening a door to the other side, breaking a curse put upon four families hundreds of years ago, and bringing about the end of the world. No big deal right? Things are only made worse when his friend's brother, who looks scarily like a figure from his nightmares, shows up out of the blue and he realizes, maybe his teacher isn't so crazy after all.

Made For Death by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 4k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard had always known he would've gone to Hell when he died. He didn't really believe in God, but he did believe in an afterlife. In Hell. He never thought Hell would make him clean, would make him into someone who deserved the family he had. Of course, he'd also never thought it would be quite like this...

Alive! by feverbeats, 10k, General Audiences. She could have handled mad hatters. The Parade is something else entirely.

Me Against the Devil by TealrootsG, Frank/Gerard, 19k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey dies, and Gerard sells his soul to the devil to get him back. He has to sacrifice a small part of his soul each year without fail, though one year he misses the deadline and their contract is broken. This is when Gerard meets a demon called Frank, who helps him find loopholes in order to bring back Mikey. Of course, everything keeps going wrong.

Disenchanted by Lotion_the_Mitch, 3k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. I was floating, I was falling, I was losing my mind. I was safe, I was scared. I was lost, I was found. I felt everywhere and nowhere, muffled sounds off in the distance, flashes of bright lights and masked faces were all that I knew. There was a jolt, then maybe two more that rocked my whole body. It ricocheted down to the tips of my fingers and the ends of my toes. Then it was quiet, silent, and I was finally at peace.

I Am Not Afraid To Keep On Living by KilltheDJ, 923 words, General Audiences. And through it all, the rise and fall, the bodies in the streets... We'll carry on!

The Five of Us are Dying by Arowen12, Gerard & Mikey, 8k, Teen And Up Audiences. Some would gasp, some would cry as they wheeled us in by gurney.Gerard blinks and with a swallow answers, “Cancer.” His voice is rough like he’s been smoking cigarettes all his life, which he basically has however short it is. The man nods with a grimace and replies, “That’s rough. Tuberculosis and one shitty weak immune system. I’m Frank, that’s Bob to the left and Ray to the right, and- “ “Mikey.” Gerard interrupts with a nod at his brother. Frank grins, a grin too bright for the already washed-out room and asks, “You know him?” “My little brother, I’m Gerard.” “Man, that sucks, really.”

Welcome to the Black Parade by bluebomb, 1k, General Audiences. The Patient is dead and it’s time for him to join the Black Parade.

My Chemical Romance and the Black Parade by AlexYverr, 1k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey is killed during the siege of Normandy Bay, his brother is forced to watch as his brother's life is ripped away. He then wakes up in a strange place filled with raining ash and ruled by a mysterious figure only known as Mother War. What will happen when the rest of the band joins him and Gerard makes a deal with the devil?

Welcome To The Black Parade. by XoTheTragicianXo, Frank/Gerard, 1k, Not Rated. What happens when we die. in a shattering of glass and loud screeches of metal Frank Iero finds out.

Dead! by alienjack, 3k, Teen And Up Audiences. At first, they were all kinda pissed that Gerard just took all their souls without notice. I mean, who wouldn’t be? No more living, but at the same time, no death. Just eternal… whatever this place was. Until he explained what he wanted to do, the visions he’d had, the lost souls that were stolen before they could make their own way. His idea to save people. So that’s what they did.

Half-Dead by daltonandes, Frank/Gerard, 8k [WIP], Mature. After a reckless accident, 19-year old Frank is half-dead, ending up in a waiting place between death and life where he meets a group of undead people who call themselves the Black Parade, including their cocky leader, Gerard.

[dimancheetoile]

content warning: this is a rant. it is very angry, extremely emotional, and weighted by su*cidal ideation. it is none of your responsibility to read this, and to do so should be an active choice because i refuse to harm any of you by accident. the reason this is even a thing is because i feel terrifyingly alone and whether or not someone reads it is almost irrelevant, because what i’m desperately seeking by writing this is to feel less alone in the way social media can sometimes help with

at this point i feel like this blog has become a diary of how shitty of a person my father is. the purpose was never to document this in any reliable way or anything, but since he’s been for the past ten years one of, if not on some occasions, the main reason for my mental health being as bad as it is. like, to a point that i’m not even sure how i’m alive anymore given the dephts of absolute despair he’s pushed me into that led to self-harm and serious consideration to end my life just to escape another day with him. so you can imagine the joy i’ve been living the past month and a half because we are quarantined together, in an isolated location, and i have seen no one but him since the beginning of march. my mental health has taken a deep dive for the worst and at this point, i can safely say i’ve reached the bottom and started digging about two weeks ago. now clearly, today is a breaking point. in the space of a few hours, i had two panic attacks, been sobbing for chunks of twenty minutes and struggling to calm down in between just so i don’t go straight into another panic attack and i’ve managed to stay away from the means of hurting myself but i know by the time i go to sleep in a coupe hours, i won’t be as successful because i need a way to cope with this shit and right now, i have none. i’m alone. i’m so, so desperately alone, i have no one to talk to (who is near me i mean, because i have dear people online, but they’re too far away to help in any meaningful way, plus everyone is having a shit time and i’m really not worth plaguing their day with my problems right now when it’s all the same for everyone). we’ve been quarantined for close to two months without seeing anyone, so we’re certain we’re not sick. we’re out of money because neither of us can work. we don’t even have enough for food and we need to go to the store tomorrow because we have nothing left in the fridge. i don’t know how we’re going to figure this out because i’m not making money online rn (which, fair, no one has money for commissions atm, it’s not like i don’t get it, but it really fucking sucks). i can’t go see my mother or my sister who are togather because my step-father’s mom lives with them and they’re afraid i’ll give it to her (no matter that i’m clearly not sick, case in point two-month quarantine). i’ve been suffering through the constant emotional abuse that is livign with my father in the hopes of either going to my mom or just waiting this whole thing out. except my father has decided this afternoon that FUCK EVERYTHING I GUESS, fuck the quarantine, fuck the two months, fuck that we’re not sick, fuck my health because, BY THE WAY, i take really heavy medication and there’s good reason to believe it has significantly lowered my immune system so good chance that if i catch it, i’ll have life-long consequences to my body or just die. so FUCK ME i guess, because this asshole decided you know what, i miss my girl, LET’S SPEND THE NIGHT AT HERS!!! she’s a FUCKING JOURNALIST! she has a free pass to walk around to do her job, AND HE’S GOING TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN HER FUCKING BED. but it’s his right, yeah? no problem there, he makes his stupid fucking decisions if he wants, let him live outside of the law if he doesn’t give a shit, but HAVE HIM STAY THE FUCK THERE. but nooooo mr. i don’t fucking care about anything but my own ass WANTS TO COME BACK HERE TOMORROW. SO FUCK ME, RIGHT? fuck the last two months of being careful, of me putting on masks and washing hands and doing my best to keep our home healthy, because he’s HORNY I GUESS. FUCK THE WEEKS OF EMOTIONAL PAIN, RIGHT? who cares that i’m having the worst time of my life, that i’m considering suicide every two fucking days, right?? who gvies a shit? i guess i should just kill myself right there, hum, since apparently we don’t give a shit if i catch my death? so let’s just do everyone a favour and quickened the fucking process. i don’t understand. i’m just... i don’t get it. why can’t i be happy and safe for one fucking minute. what have i done to deserve the last ten years of my fucking life, seriously. so thanks dad, i guess. thanks for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit just because you wanted some. guess we don’t care if i die anymore, hum?

[prettysoldierprojectarchive]

1:3 – Mysterious Sleeping Illness, Protect the Girls’ Hearts in Love

[Original Post made 13/08/2013]

Alternative Title: If You’re Going To Run An Evil Radio Show, Learn How To Mute The Goddamn Mic

First aired: 21st March 1992

“OK Jadeite, what fresh turd have you pulled out of your ass today then?”

Jadeite continues his slow descent into ineptitude by starring in his own radio show, Midnight Zero (that’s a cool name), and calls himself J-Dite (…oh Jadeite, you need help bro.). Lovelorn ladies of Juubangai are encouraged to send in love letters to be read on air, and in return they receive a nasty-looking purple turd flower. This sucks the energy (what else) out of those who touch it, sending them into a deep sleep. It’s time for Sailor Moon to suit up, but this time she’ll be facing the malevolent DJ J-Dite himself.

This episode opens in the Dark Kingdom, with Queen Beryl giving Jadeite shit for being so incompetent. She sounds more playful than reproachful over his last two crappy plots, and Jadeite seems to take it as an opportunity to once-again flaunt his hubris. Personally, if I were Queen Beryl (and I think of little else in my daily life), I’d think of employing the 3-strikes-and-you’re-out-system to improve employee motivation.

Jadeite’s latest plan is a radio show. Let’s consider this ‘scheme’ for a second. Rather than his previous two attempts, the Midnight Zero plan appears to target far fewer people. It also takes quite a bit more effort; getting people to write in, delivering the evil flowers, learning how to use the rather complex broadcasting equipment, having to put up with the inane prattlings of teenagers. It’s unwieldy to say the least, not to mention that the entire energy-farming plot can be foiled by the victims simply refusing to wear the garish flowers.

“What’s a cool DJ name? This is going to take a while…”

Usagi seems quite keen on the show, and why shouldn’t she be? Stupid as Jadeite may be, he certainly has a smooth radio voice. When Usagi arrives at school, it’s to discover that her teacher, Miss Sakurada, is suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome or something. She falls asleep on the desk and refuses to wake up – sounds like a regular day at the office for me.

Usagi isn’t particularly sympathetic to the victims of the “mysterious sleeping illness”, she is of the opinion that sleeping forever is awesome. I couldn’t agree more. Here is a girl who’s got her priorities straight.

Classmate Naru (we’re going to be seeing a lot more of her, in more ways than one) reveals to Usagi that she’s been sending dozens of love letters to Midnight Zero, despite the fact that she has no object of affection. It’s a little sad, by Usagi is rather taken by the idea. Unfortunately, Usagi and poetic prose go together like apples and toilet water, and she gives up on the idea.

See, she can’t even use a pen correctly

That night, Naru’s letter is read on Midnight Zero by J-Dite! ZOMG! The next day, she’s wearing the giant shitty flower that J Dite sent her. Naru, too, succumbs to the sleeping illness almost immediately after putting the flower broach on (no one seems to associate the two events for reasons I cannot provide). Usagi brushes the flower, and she is also rendered unconscious! AND THEY STILL DON’T TAKE THE FUCKING FLOWER OFF. Jesus, these kids are thick. 

“Let ’em sleep. They’re noisy as shit anyway”

Now realising that J-Dite must be EVIL (and yet still not removing the flower from Naru-chan) Usagi and Luna plan to break into the radio station. Usagi gets a new toy, the Luna Pen, which gives her whatever disguise she can think of. Can you think of a more powerful and inappropriate magical device to give a 14-year-old with the IQ of a grape? 

“Moon Power! Make me Harry Styles!”

Now a stylish and confident radio producer, Usagi marches RIGHT into the broadcasting booth, straight past the monster, and sits down right across from Jadeite, who sits there looking like the vacuous cretin he is as Usagi casually announces over the radio that the flowers are dangerous. Come ON Jadeite, DO SOMETHING. She’s ruining all your stupid plans and you’re just LETTING her! Good LORD, Jadeite, put some effort into it! 

“Guys I licked the flower and now I’m totally tripping balls.”

This is the first time we’ve ever seen Sailor Moon face-to-face with Jadeite, Although Sailor Moon dispatches the monster with relative ease (it does dodge her first attempt at jewelry-based murder), a pissed-off Jadeite is a different matter altogether. Her Moon Tiara Action is useless against him, and he appears immune to her attempts to kick him stoutly in the groin, but Sailor Moon is spared certain death by Tuxedo Kamen, whose only action is to throw a rose at the floor. Jadeite seems utterly terrified of this completely ineffectual move and runs away crying. 

“Wait wait wait wait WAIT. Let’s set some ground rules. Number 1: No roses. I seriously HATE roses.”

We get the most obnoxious exit by Tuxedo Kamen yet, who bids Sailor Moon farewell before laughing hysterically as he leaps off a building to his death.

There was a lot of stupid in the episode, mainly because of Jadeite, but I found it enjoyable nevertheless. Usagi has some great lines, and we see Sailor Moon trying to beat Jadeite to death with her bare hands, which is worth a gold star right there.

Episode Score: 3/5

Monster Freakishness Level: 1/5 (She sucked balls)

Naru-chan Attack Count: 2

[handweavers]

i dont mean this in a im glad youre struggling way but im glad to see you say art school is stressing you out too because art school has been making me hate art and think i’m completely talentless and like i know neither of those things are true. but it’s so fucking hard to be motivated to do this v specific and intensive stuff i don’t care about. and like i feel like i’m not able to talk about it w my classmates because they’ve got it under control because they’re Real Artists and i’m just not

literally same, taking this program has made me realise how much i actually hate drawing 95% of the time because for me i use it as a means to an end rather than something on its own - i draw to be able to see what i'm visualizing and have something to go off of before i stitch or weave, and beyond that i've discovered that i really don't like it, it feels like a chore and something i dread and don't care much to improve upon, which is difficult when my program is almost entirely drawing based.

so between that and my awful immune system (ive been really sick twice since september) and the 2 hour commute each way i dread school and i've fallen behind and i do the bare minimum and try to stave off panic attacks constantly etc and despite knowing my situation and that i'm a textile artist and have little experience in anything else my teachers are quite harsh and critical which is really demoralizing and it's just made me feel like everything i do is shit and i can't compare to my peers who are making incredible art bc they're in their element. the thing is i'm really happy with what i make when i'm in my element doing what i like, but i'm not, and everyone at school has only seen me doing shit i don't know or care much about.

compounded with the fact that everyone in my classes ignores me and doesn't talk to me despite my efforts to reach out it's just such a shitty environment and i don't see myself going back next semester bc i'm incredibly unhappy there. i'm only there so i can qualify for a bachelors degree program in textiles which i will once this semester is over in december so there's no point in paying money to make myself unhappy when it's literally not necessary.

that's all just a long winded way of saying that i understand, i sympathize, and i'm sorry we're in a similar boat rn bc it sucks a lot. art school can be a very good thing for people but it's intense and draining on an emotional and creative level and especially if you aren't making the art that you want to make it's just miserable.

[livingwithloops]

Lupus: The Misunderstood Suckiness

If you have to have a terrible disease, Lupus is a particularly shitty one to have. Not only does it make you feel horrible every single day, but to make matters even worse, most people don’t understand what it is or even really believe that it’s a thing. If you have cancer, people pray for you, run 5ks in your name, and make t-shirts with motivational sayings like “save the tatas” on them. When you have Lupus, people tell you that you should really work on a more positive mental attitude and make a five-year plan that includes a job that you’ll probably be able to do in spite of your inconvenient infirmity. 

 Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t know what Lupus was either when my daughter got it. I was like, “huh?” (Dumbfounded deer in the headlights gaze and all). I didn’t think Lupus was that serious, even though my daughter was currently, at that precise moment, at imminent risk of dying from it. Imagine the shitty luck–getting a disease that might really kill you that most people around you (including yourself) don’t even understand. At all.

 So here’s my effort to explain as an effort to illuminate the confusion. Let’s start with cancer. Cancer happens when a bunch of cells that aren’t supposed to be there begin to take over a part of your body that you need. Kind of like when there’s mold in your bread–you need to get it out (or throw the bread away so maybe that’s not a very good analogy but you get the point). There’s something there in your body that shouldn’t be there and the treatment is to get it out asap. Chemo, friends run 5K, everyone shows solidarity, and with any luck and the miracle of modern medicine, one is cured. 

 Contrast that with Lupus. Here’s where it gets tricky. With Lupus, your body begins to hate itself. Your body starts to think, for some inexplicable reason, that IT is the mold in the bread, the cancer cell, or a really bad bacteria. Your body starts to fight with itself, confused into thinking that it’s very own self is an invading and dangerous entity. So the immune system, designed to love and protect our bodies, goes rogue and tries to destroy it. Holy hell!! 

 The attacking and confused immune system has an assortment of organ systems to choose from and hate on…..some common victims are the kidneys, skin, heart, central nervous system, the opportunities are many. Therefore, the symptoms of Lupus vary accordingly. If your stupid Lupus attacks your kidneys, you have kidney problems. If it’s your skin in the crosshairs, you have terrible rashes. If it’s your brain, you have headaches that make you want to poke your eyes out. It’s a real picnic. 

 In spite of those varieties, almost every Lupus sufferer pretty much feels like shit all the time. They may not be actively vomiting, but you can be pretty safe in assuming that they might want to. Likewise, they’d probably rather stay in bed most days and can function only by exerting about as much effort as it would take for you or me to run around the block at top speed. Five times. It’s not easy.

 To add insult to injury, the treatments for Lupus are pretty stupid too. Basically, science hasn’t spent a whole lot of energy on Lupus yet because they haven’t had the funding (although it’s getting better), so the best they can do is just basically try to knock the immune system into submission using a variety of horrible medicines with evil side effects. You can take chemo (which doesn’t make your hair fall out in the Lupus variety and which you can conveniently administer to yourself at home), some assorted immunosuppressant drugs, (one of which is actually an anti-malarial drug that they noticed suppresses lupus, but also that might unfortunately make your retinas detach eventually), and of course the dreaded steroids. Those make you feel much better but generally cause you to gain forty pounds or so, so there’s that uplifting aspect of the whole thing to contend with. The steroids immediately brought my daughter back from the brink of death but I then had to explain to my mother that giving her the steroids SO SHE COULD LIVE WAS, indeed, preferable to her having to gain forty pounds right before her prom.

  It would seem more fruitful to try to figure out WHY a person’s immune system has gone crazy and make it stop being confused than to just stun it senseless–but what do I know? It’s clear that the medical profession has not had the advocacy of more “visible” illnesses like cancer and AIDS, along with the resulting funding that goes along with that visibility. Funding brings research, which brings answers, and along with that, a cure.

 But until then, let’s go back to public perception. I mentioned having to explain the “death/weight gain” conundrum to my mother. I also had to explain to her that Lupus is, indeed, a real disease and not something they just made up in the South (New Englanders tend to be a bit suspicious of anything that happens south of Atlantic City).  My mother was much more convinced that Lupus was a thing after Venus Williams was diagnosed with Sjogren’s Syndrome—because, after all, she played tennis and clearly was legit. Many friends, well intended all, were convinced that Elizabeth didn’t have Lupus, but was just “tired, stressed, overweight (steroids be damned), had a tick bite, needed to stop drinking diet Coke and eating Pringles”—the list goes on and on. My beloved sister sent us a juicer that cost more than my rent so that I could make her some organic soups that a particular doctor swore had cured many Lupus sufferers. Worse, there was a lot of judgment directed my way as her mother. I heard “how can you let her eat chocolate—that makes headaches worse,” “I can’t believe you’re LETTING HER have chemo again” (because I was enjoying it so much), along with darker suggestions that I was actually causing her to be sick by indulging her pain (As an aside, I would like to challenge anyone to watch their child scream and writhe in pain and not “indulge” it by trying to make it stop. Just sayin’).

 So here’s the point. People DO NOT understand Lupus. It’s one of those weird things that has always existed but never been talked about. It’s usually moderately miserable, but if you have a case like my daughter’s, it’s epic and terrifying and life changing. It CAN NOT be fixed with soup, cured by acupuncture, or straightened out by the power of positive thinking. It is a horrible, chronic illness that can be battled into remission, lived with through good self-care and resolute bad-assery, and tolerated while a decent cure is hoped and waited for.

 That’s why I’m writing this. As a ridiculously optimistic cheerleader of a mother, I hereby declare war on the ignorance that surrounds Lupus and other “invisible illnesses.” I am resolutely determined that my daughter is going to live a full, beautiful, amazing life as a testament to the fact that this stupid disease can’t HAVE her. She may have IT, but not the other way around. So part of making that happen is dragging people’s head out of the sand and telling them what this thing really is. It’s a suckfest. It’s a shitty deal. It’s a super ironic dark metaphor for the fact that our minds attack themselves and our bodies can too—especially as women. Ninety percent of Lupus sufferers are women. Coincidence? I think not! We can hate our thighs as we look at them in the mirror or our immune systems can hate our kidneys on the inside. It may just be me, but I see a correlation. So as that cheerleader of a mother, I’ve done just about everything and anything I can think of to help my daughter. We’ve been to just about every major medical center that specializes in Lupus. We’ve tried every mainstream/not mainstream treatment anyone has suggested to us. I quit my job so that I could be around more and fight the good fight right by her side. That meant exercise, rehabbing our pantry, acupuncture, hypnotherapy, massage, psychotherapy, pain specialists, a trip to a facility in Utah that helped provide coping strategies when life’s pain proved just too much. For her. Not for me, although I think a trip out there might be in my future too. If you think it sucks being sick, try watching your daughter live in suffering every single day. It’s pretty much unbearable and has brought me to the point of dark depression and excessive wine consumption on many occasions.

 So don’t get me wrong….I believe in alternative treatments, holistic medicine, good nutrition, and most importantly, the power of prayer. I don’t discount those things for a minute and believe that miracles happen ever day, with OR without conventional medicine. I also think that people who are dealt the crummy hand of a chronic illness are tasked with a great burden—they must become an advocate for their own care. They should be vigilant about their treatment, their diet, their level of self-care. Unfortunately, it’s even more necessary for them than it is for the rest of us. Just one more point in the “this shit ain’t fair” column. But it is what it is. That said, however, Lupus patients (and those with other “invisible illnesses”) seem to be judged WAY more harshly for their occasional ice cream cone than the cancer sufferer would. The Lupus patient eating an ice cream cone would be looked at like a pregnant woman with a cigarette while the cancer victim would be praised for her indomitable spirit. Believe me, I’ve watched it happen. Bottom line—I’m a huge fan of self-care but also a huge proponent of NOT judging sick people for their sickness, for how they handle their sickness, or for when they occasionally come up short in the iron-will department.

 For after all, who among us can look inside our healthy bodies and honestly say that we have taken pristine care of every single cell, every single day, as long as we’ve lived…………..because by thinking that our behavior has created our health, we’re also kinda sorta saying that the sick person’s behavior has created their illness. And don’t go there. That’s REAL bad karma and just not nice.

   If you ask me, though, I can say with certainty that I will never give up fighting for my daughter. I know that about myself, I’m pretty stubborn. Now I’m ready to issue a call-to-action to the people around us. Because WE are not doing enough. Until people realize that they’re NOT.GETTING.IT—that they’re missing an opportunity to support and help and understand, then I haven’t done my job as her mother. Until people learn that they should reach out—invite your friend with Lupus to lunch or, better yet, bring lunch to her so that she can eat it in her jammies, until they understand, show compassion, and believe in what they don’t understand—things aren’t going to get better for people who suffer with these diseases.  Until we throw as much money at finding a cure for Lupus as we have for Cancer or AIDS or heart disease (worthy illnesses, all)—we will have left a lot of suffering people behind, feeling judged, alone, and responsible for their own disease. I can’t say it clearly enough—NO ONE judges the cancer victim or the person who  has a heart attack or AIDS—even though there are arguably behavioral or environmental components to all these diseases.  NO ONE criticizes them, their mothers, their doctors, or invalidates their pain by telling them to “power through it.” In fact, such insensitivity would be universally shamed and shunned by society. So why is it ok to do to the Lupus sufferer?

 Why not ask yourself that?

[quietnocturne-blog]

sorry in advance for the length of this post I tried to be brief but this fucked me up

so I read someone’s whump prompt today about munchausens by proxy and it made me recall like...several times in my childhood where my mom coaxed me to drink bleach so she could take me to the hospital, diagnosing me with several mental and physical health issues and taking me to tens of doctors until she could find someone who agreed with her that yes, I CLEARLY was half-blind - GET HER BIFOCALS EVEN THOUGH SHES 9!!!! that I had skin cancer, cut out that mole STAT!! or that I had bipolar because I had yelled on her and needed to be put on ADHD medication and anti-psychotics !!! or that I CLEARLY have PMDD AND PCOS!!! GET THAT UTERUS AN ULTRASOUND!!! or that I need to be on anti-androgen birth control 24/7 to stop my hair from all falling out because I have testosterone influenced alopecia

(I have NONE of this, I have professionally diagnosed anxiety and depression. THATS it. maybe PTSD but honestly I’m not vying for that diagnosis and I really DONT want to have it so I haven’t talked to my therapist about any of that shit)

anyway the point was that my entire family has come to know this is just who she is and it’s why my sister now has “dyspraxia” and autism which she doesn’t (even tho it’s a valid issue) and why my mom was thrilled when she broke her arm and got to baby her, why my sister got her adenoids and tonsils taken out without a real reason

I haven’t thought about this in literal months but maybe that’s why I’m fucking sick all the time, because her shitty dousing me with antibiotics and all sorts of miracle pills just to get attention and be called a saint fucked Up my immune system ? I get such bad anxiety just going to a doctors office now, it’s ridiculous. And seeing it used as a prompt was both SHOCKING bc......wow...I never expected someone to kink off of something so deranged and painful to victims of that - but I guess I’m glad they’re at least doing their research??

anyway it’s something that rly sucked for me that I’ve never talked about with anyone but family or my old therapist and seeing it on here as someone’s kink was just like...hm !

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter four: $80

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3

fun fact i actually finished this like.....tuesday at 4 am cause i died for a bit between like 10-1 and then couldnt sleep. i have edited it since then tho so i promise its not too much of a disaster!

warnings: implied past self harm, discussions of mental health, depression/depressive episodes, some suicidal thoughts. let me know if anything else needs to be tagged

enjoy!

From: Evan To: Connor      Just go t home      Hope things ar eok with yoru family

Connor stares at the texts for a few moments before he falls back onto his bed.

Who knows how his family is.

Actually, he knows. A fucking mess. That’s what his family is.

He can hear Zoe practicing in the room next to him, forgoing headphones and using her amp because she wants to piss him off more. Larry had slunk back to his office, and Connor was sure he did as soon as the opportunity presented itself. His mom is in the kitchen, probably aggressively cleaning dishes like a sparkling plate will fix her shattered family.

Connor stares at the ceiling.

Why did he think he could do any of this?

He lifts his phone and looks at the screen again. Evan is trying. Which is just ridiculous. Evan is trying with this family. What the fuck.

From: Connor To: Evan      cool      they never are but thanks i guess

He tosses his phone to the side and debates doing homework. There’s not really much of a debate — he’s not going to do it — but the fact that he considered it is probably worth something.

It’s not that late yet, which is frustrating. He wants to go to bed, but he’s also too high strung for that. Usually he’d be exhausted but—

Connor studies his ceiling.

He’d been angry. So angry. Burning and explosive. He had been on the edge of his rope and about to break— and then he’d been doused in a shock of cold water. He’d been standing outside the bathroom, insides blistering and turning to ash, and then he’d heard Evan’s unnatural breathing and all of that had just stopped. The fire was gone and he was left with only mild panic that made his mouth taste like metal and an icy chill of not knowing what to do or how to help.

Somehow, sitting on the floor of him and Zoe’s painfully childish bathroom with Evan had been the most real part of the night. It felt the most solid, most tangible. Handing Evan one of those silly cups his mom kept buying, their fingers brushing as Evan took it with shaking hands, that was the most grounded he had felt in days.

Fucking weird.

There’s a knock on his doorframe.

Connor sits up to see Cynthia standing there. “Oh. Hi.”

She smiles, sadly because that’s the only way she smiles nowadays, and takes a step into his room. “Did Evan leave?”

“Uh…yeah. It’s not like he could hide in my closet or anything.” They both look toward the disaster that is Connor’s closet. The doors won’t shut and clothes are piled up on the floor. There was a time where Connor liked things to be neat and orderly. Now he doesn’t have the energy. “He wasn’t feeling great.”

She makes a concerned noise.

“He, uh, gets sick really easily. He’ll probably be fine tomorrow.” Connor curses in his head. Better jot that down so he can tell Evan that Cynthia now thinks that his immune system is shitty. Because she’s probably going to shove all sorts of vitamins and health drinks at him the next time she sees him. If there’s a next time.

God there better not be a next time.

Cynthia sighs. “I’m sorry about tonight, sweetie.”

Connor shrugs and swings his legs off the side of the bed. “It’s not like it was going to be any different than usual.”

The expression on her face is so pained that Connor has to look away. He can’t even be mad at her. He’s pissed at Zoe for her snippy comments. He’s mad at Larry because he’s always mad at Larry. He’s upset with his mom— the most he can be upset with her for is for not trying harder to stop things from getting out of hand. But when has she ever been able to stop it once it started?

Mostly Connor is just mad at himself.

The only reason Evan was here was because he gets paid twenty dollars a week. It’s not like he has any other obligation to be here. Or to hang around Connor. If there was ever a chance that Evan would actually like Connor, that just went out the fucking window.

“Are you hungry?” Cynthia asks, softly. Not as forced as usual. Not as pressing. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m fine,” Connor mutters. He tugs off his sweatshirt and throws it on his desk chair. He tries not to notice her eyes going to his arms and then flicking away. “I’ll grab something if I can’t sleep.”

She sighs again. She does that a lot. Sighing. “Okay. Okay, just…” She steps forward and brushes hair away from Connor’s eyes. “Apologize to Evan for us, okay?”

“Why?” Connor asks bitterly. “Because we can be better?”

Cynthia doesn’t say anything. She just stands on her toes and presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “Sleep well, honey.”

Connor stands in the center of his room after she leaves. He hates not having a door. It’s like his entire life is out in the open for his entire family to see and judge. Which is some bullshit.

He looks around his room, open and exposed, and thinks that he should clean. Or something. He’s living in a dump.

Connor picks up a sweatshirt and stuffs a few books onto an overflowing bookshelf. Under papers from junior year that he just needs to throw out when he gets the chance, he finds a watercolor sketchbook.

He pauses with four old plastic water bottles in arm to flip through the sketchbook. It’s old as hell, he doesn’t even remember the last time he used watercolors. Or did any art that wasn’t just shitty sketches in his notebook when he didn’t feel like paying attention.

He looks over his shoulder at the light in the hallway.

Connor isn’t entirely sure where his watercolors are. Probably somewhere under the trash and clothing covering his floor. He looks from the watercolor sketchbook to his bed.

He dumps the water bottles in the space between his wall and his bed and starts digging. It takes him almost twenty five minutes to find his watercolor palette. It’s old and dusty, the red is cracked and the purple is almost gone because he always really liked using purple for some reason, but it’s usable.

It takes him a little longer to find brushes. He’s definitely missing some, but fuck it, he never actually knew what the different brushes were for. He just used whatever ones he felt like.

He washes out an old mug that was on his desk from god knows when in the bathroom and fills it with clean water, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the hallway closet. Then he pushes the clothes on his floor into a pile against the wall so he can sit on the floor, because there is no way in hell that he’s cleaning off his desk for this. He fishes his earbuds out of his backpack and plugs them into his phone, turning on some random music that he’ll let fade to into background noise and pulls his hair up into a really messy ponytail.  

Connor can’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to art. He doodles a sketch that’s kind of messy but fine enough because it’s not like anyone is going to see this and then just goes for it. He doesn’t exactly remember how to do this, but he’s never been one for doing things the right way. There’s a reason he stopped taking art classes after freshman year. There’s something weirdly calming about the way the water spreads on the page and something familiar in the brushstrokes. Even when he fucks up and uses way too much water and he knows that the paper is going to be wavy and warped.

He puts down the paintbrush to skip a song on his phone. He has another text from Evan.

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorr y      YOu should nt feel that way abou tyour family

Connor rolls his eyes. Evan really does try.

From: Connor To: Evan      its whatever, im used to it      mom says sorry about tonight. shes embarrassed      but seriously dont worry about it

He skips through the songs until he finds one that feels right, slower and almost more gentle, he really needs to pick up better watercolors because he’s going to need that purple, before putting his phone back down on the floor next to him.

All things considered, this isn’t the worst piece Connor’s ever done. He studies it as he takes a sip from his mug.

He yanks the mug away from his mouth, gagging. He rubs his mouth with a grimace.

That was paint water.

Connor doesn’t really leave his room much over the next two days. He eats because his mom wants him to, he doesn’t talk to Zoe, and he argues with Larry and wishes he had a door to slam.

Then he sits on his floor and fills pages and pages of his sketchbook with shitty watercolor paintings.

He splashes colors across the pages, sometimes not even trying to create a coherent image. He just needs something to do.

He’s almost out of purple.

Connor waits by Evan’s locker Monday morning, folding and unfolding the twenty dollar bill in his pocket. Zoe needed to be early today for some band thing, so that means Connor is early which just sucks.

This school seriously needs a color palette that isn’t drab and depressing. Connor wears almost exclusively black, but fuck, tone down the gray.

“Oh! Hey, you’re…already here.”

Connor looks up from his phone. “Zoe,” he says. “Band shit. Fuck if I know.”

Evan nods slowly and then reaches for his lock.

“Wait.” Connor grabs Evan’s wrist.

Evan freezes, wide eyes darting to Connor. “W-what?”

Connor leans a little closer. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he whispers. Evan furrows his eyebrows. “My family is the fucking worst, you shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.”

“I-it’s fine!” Evan stutters. “I don’t— no this is. This is okay.” He slowly pulls his arm out of Connor’s grip.

Connor clenches his jaw and leans against the next locker. Evan doesn’t say anything as he opens his locker and starts taking out books. An unfairly loud part of Connor’s brain wonders if Evan is only doing this because he’s scared.

It’s not that far fetched.

“B-besides,” Evan adds, “Jared is— he’s already asking too many questions and if we just stopped now—”

Connor frowns. “He is?”

Evan gives him an exasperated look. “He hasn’t texted me about non homework things in forever and he’s just been sending me ‘is it a sex thing’ for a week.”

“Wow I hate him,” Connor says before he can stop himself.

Evan laughs in surprise.

“He’s a douche!”

Evan ducks his head. “He’s not the worst person ever, b-but he can be…himself.”

“And that’s pretty bad,” Connor mutters.  

Evan pauses and then closes his locker. “Do— are you still okay with…with telling him?”

Connor shrugs. “Sounds like we have no choice.”

Evan tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Are you…free today?”

“I literally have no life or friends, Hansen,” Connor reminds him. “I’m always free.”

“Okay, right, okay.” Evan takes a short breath. “Can we— today?”

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets. He hasn’t gotten harassed by Kleinman about this yet, but if they wait, the chances of that happening increase significantly. And if it’ll get Jared off Evan’s back— “Yeah sure. Where?”

“My place?” Evan asks. Connor pulls open the door to the stairwell. “I-if that works?”

“Sure thing.” Connor’s voice echoes uncomfortably loud for this conversation. “Better than being at home anyway.”

Evan glances back over his shoulder at Connor. “Are things…bad?” He says it slowly, like he’s not sure what word to choose.

“They’ve been worse,” Connor admits. “But it’s not a party.”

Evan stops at the stairs where Connor has to keep going down to get to chorus. “I’ll— I’ll text you? About the time?”

Connor nods. “Sounds good, Hansen. See you then.” He steps forward and hands Evan the twenty that has been floating around in his pocket for too long. “Forgot to pay you back for food last week,” he says when Evan’s eyes dart toward people walking past.

Evan gives him a half smile and takes the bill. “I-I told you it was fine. I can pay sometimes.”

Connor shrugs and turns toward the stairs. “Too late.”

—«·»—

From: Evan To: Connor      Im s o s rry just ignore him or block him he grabbed my phon e      Serious ly blockign him mihgt be the best opti n

From: Connor To: Evan      ??????

Connor probably shouldn’t be texting in class, but the class is astronomy and also when has Connor ever given a fuck. He stares at Evan’s messages, trying to decode them while he waits for the lunch bell.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait that long to figure out what they mean.

From: (522) 101-5414 To: nerd, emo      sup fuckers

Connor doesn’t even have to ask who it is, he just tries not to groan and texts Evan.

From: Connor To: Evan      seriously??

From: Evan To: Connor      Im sorry !!!      Hes being a  d ick      Also does like 3 work?

Connor huffs and glances to the clock. That’ll give him about an hour to kill after school before he can show up at Evan’s. Whatever, he’ll figure something out.

From: Connor To: Evan      thats fine      tell kleinman if hes being a dick i will hurt him

Evan’s response is almost immediate.

From: Evan To: Connor      I wouldnt blame you but ma y be dotn hurt the one pe rson whos gonna knw about us

Connor snorts and puts away his phone. He’ll do his best, but only because Evan asked.

—«·»—

Connor texts Evan as he walks up to the house. The door is open before he can even knock. Evan looks slightly panicked, but also somewhat relieved. Connor lowers his hand from where he was about to knock.

“He here?”

Evan nods and grabs Connor’s sleeve, tugging him inside.

Connor takes off his boots while Evan rambles on about Jared being in his room and talking about something, summer camp? Maybe? And then there’s a tangent about cars? Connor isn’t sure but he puts down his boots, straightens, and puts a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he interrupts. “You’re going to pass out and you really don’t want to leave Kleinman and I alone together.”

Evan takes a slow breath. “Right. Right. He’s… Come on.”

He shows Connor up the stairs, gesturing vaguely to a bathroom as he moves toward his room. Connor didn’t really notice how small Evan’s house is the last time he was here, but now he feels too large in it, like he’s taking up too much space. But it’s also comforting in a weird way, less empty space for thoughts to echo.

Jared spins around in Evan’s desk chair when Evan opens the door. “Man of the hour!” Jared announces, opening his arms in Connor’s direction.

Connor flips him off.

“Okay, rude. I can work with rude.”

“Jared,” Evan says warningly.

“I know, I know.” Jared spins back and forth a little in the chair. For some reason, Connor thinks giving him a chair that turns may have been a bad idea. “If I’m an ass you won’t give me pizza.”

Connor scoffs. “You bribed him?”

Evan shrugs helplessly. “I just— can we not talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “I was promised juicy deets on whatever the fuck this is.” He motions between Connor and Evan. “Cause uh,” he laughs, “guys, what the shit?”

“We aren’t friends,” Connor says flatly.

Evan twists the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Jared grabs the arms of the chair and leans forward. “Wait this is a sex thing, isn’t it! Evan you said—”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Evan shouts. “It’s a—” He looks to Connor with wide eyes. “A…fake friend…thing?”

“Excuse me?”

Connor explains before Evan can flounder any more. “I give Evan twenty bucks a week to pretend to be my friend.”

Jared stares at them.

Evan shifts uncomfortably next to Connor. Connor kind of wants to leave, but Evan wants to do this, so…

Jared snorts. “Are you fucking serious?”

Evan cringes. “Y-yes?”

“This is—”

“We know, Kleinman,” Connor snaps. “But we need your help.”

Evan looks at Connor in surprise. ‘We do?’ he mouths to Connor. Connor nods. Spur of the moment thought, but he literally can’t keep dealing with Zoe bugging him about Evan. Who gives a shit if they never hung out together around school, even if that is a lie. He needs some sort of proof so she shuts up.

Jared spins slowly in his chair. “How so?”

“Evan said we emailed each other,” Connor says. “But my dad checks my email. So this email account would have to be ‘secret’.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “That’s—”

“We know, Jared!” Evan interrupts. “C-can you just—” He glances toward Connor. “We need…emails from over the summer?” Connor nods. “Can you just, like, show me how to fake the timestamps o-or something?”

“Oh yeah, that’s super easy,” Jared says. He leans down and unzips the backpack leaning against the desk and pulls out a laptop. He opens the laptop and types something out. “Secret email account is very—”

Connor grits his teeth. “Just do it, Kleinman.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch the monkey dance,” Jared mutters to himself. “That’s super fun.” He pauses. “If Evan gets twenty bucks a week for this, what do I get?”

“The gift of life.”

Evan shoots Connor a look.

“Awesome.” Jared types for another moment. “You know,” he says, “twenty bucks seems pretty cheap.”

“Are you trying to be difficult?” Connor grumbles.

“Always.”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan stutters. “Re-really, Jared?”

“I’m just saying,” Jared says with a shrug. “You should totally charge more for more complicated stuff. Twenty for faking friendship, forty for hanging out, sixty for being around the family.”

“What?!”

Connor glances to Evan out of the corner of his eye. Evan is protesting, but it’s not the worst idea. Especially after the dinner that Evan suffered through. Connor is going to have to ‘borrow’ more money from his parents’ wallets, but hey, at least it’s not for weed.

“I really fucking hate that I’m saying this,” Jared and Evan look over to Connor, “but that’s not a terrible plan.”

Jared smirks. “Nice.”

Evan gapes. “W-what?”

“If you spend a few hours dealing with my shitty family, that probably is worth more than saying hi to me in the hallway.” Connor crosses his arms. “I should probably pay you more when you have to deal with more bullshit.”

“N-no, that isn’t— you don’t have to—”

“Let him give you money, Evan.” Jared types rapidly on his laptop. “I’m making you two up a fucking price chart for reference.”

“Jared—”

“One condition,” Connor says. “If we’re doing this it’s only ten dollars a week, if that’s okay,” he directs the last part to Evan. “I’m not a goddamn millionaire.”

“Annoying but valid,” Jared says. “The weekly flat rate is ten dollars then, nonnegotiable.”

Evan sinks down into the other chair that someone had pulled up to the desk.

“I think the first step up is hanging out outside of school.” Jared glances to Connor.

Connor nods. “Three for outside, five for my house.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Evan asks weakly.

“Nope,” Jared says, popping the ‘p’. “If hanging out involves the fam, I say it’s an instant five more.”

“How about two added on to the location fee,” Connor argues.

Jared scoffs. “That’s three dollars, man.”

“Try to remember we’re high schoolers,” Connor says flatly.

Evan wimpers.

Jared pats Evan’s arm. “Okay. Extended family is another three. No arguing that one, extended family is bullshit. Twenty bucks flat for a sleepover. Like on top of the weekly ten.”

Evan’s eyes go wide. “What?! No!”

Jared looks to Connor.

Connor shrugs. “Fine.” He doesn’t think that will be relevant but whatever. If it gets written down it’s not the end of the world.

Jared smiles to himself and starts to type quickly.

“W-what are you doing?” Evan asks, leaning closer to try and get a look at the screen.

Jared elbows Evan away. “Shh I’m working.”

Connor raises his eyebrows.

“Aaaaaand…done.” Jared spins his laptop to show Connor.

Connor squints at the list Jared has made on the document.

 This is the Worst Plan I’ve Ever Heard But Have Fun You Friendless Losers created by Jared Kleinman

$10 — weekly flat rate no matter what

—

Casual Shit:

$3 — hanging out outside of school $5 — hanging out at the Murphys’ (+$2 to location fee if it involves other Murphys) (+$3 more if it involves any extended family) $20 — sleepover

—

Romance Shit:

$25 — date $5 — hug $15 — kiss $200 — Full Boyfriend Package™

(FFBP™ decreases all things in this section by $10, except for dates, which drop to $20. No, you do not get paid for hugs, hugs are just free now. Congrats, you just paid two hundred fucking dollars for a free hug)

 Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking hilarious,” he deadpans.

Evan pales as he reads it once Jared has turned the screen toward him. “Uh…”

Jared snorts. “It’s called a joke, dude. Learn to take it.”

“J-just delete it,” Evan stammers. “That’s not— we were supposed to make emails.”

“Okay.” Jared highlights the romance section and deletes it. “It’s gone.”

Evan sighs. “Thank you.”

Jared does a keyboard shortcut. “And it’s back!”

“Jared!”

“Gone! And back!”

Evan’s ears turn pink. “S-seriously?”

Jared just wiggles his eyebrows and deletes it again. When he starts to hit undo, Connor leans forward and grabs the laptop out of his hands.

“Dude!”

“We aren’t fucking five,” Connor says. “Can you help us with these emails before my sister tries to call a fucking private detective on me or are you just going to be a dickhead?”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s helping you out,” Jared says. But he holds out his hand for the laptop, and when Connor gives it back, he spins around, puts the laptop on the desk, and opens a new tab.

Him and Connor set up a new email account and then Jared has Evan open up his own email. As Jared sets up faked emails that Evan and Connor will fill with mindless shit, Connor looks around Evan’s room.

There’s a window with two small succulents sitting on its windowsill. There are pictures scattered around the room in mismatched frames, a lot of Evan and a woman he assumes is his mother, more than a few of Evan and Jared when they were younger but less and less as they get older until there’s none, and one small picture of Evan with a man that looks vaguely like him that sits on the corner of Evan’s desk, a stack of books obscuring it slightly.

Connor remembers Evan saying something about his dad and looks away.

Evan’s room is much smaller than Connor’s. It’s cozier and cleaner, but still untidy. The books in Evan’s shelves are piled up and tipping over, there are a few sweatshirts draped around the room, and there’s a terrifying looking pile of papers on his nightstand.

“Yo,” Jared says, holding out his laptop to Connor. “Work out what you want these to say with Evan so I can finish this. While you do that I’m going to find some snacks.”

“We’re out,” Evan answers almost immediately from where he’s bent over his laptop.

“I’m going out to buy snacks,” Jared corrects. “See you in a bit, losers.”

Connor stares at the blank form that Jared has pulled up on the screen. How many of these things is he going to have to do and is this going to turn into a school assignment?

“It’s probably easier if one of us starts,” Evan murmurs. “And then we just go back and forth and respond to whatever the other says.”

“Like actual emails.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, just faster.”

“Sure. Let’s keep the things that can mark when this shit got sent to a minimum, okay?” Connor’s summer is a blur. He spent probably too much of it high and another big majority of it just doing nothing. Looking back at it, it all just blends together into a mess of shitty and shittier.

Evan nods. “Mhm. I’ll start if you want.”

“Go wild.”

As Evan types, Connor clicks through the other tabs Jared has open. One for the email account, a few google searches, a coding thing Connor doesn’t understand, and the price list. Jared put the romance section back.

Connor makes a note on the document that just says ‘youre a dick’ and clicks back to the dauntingly blank form.

An hour later, Evan has finished his sixth email, Connor is typing out a shitty response, and Jared has shown up with enough chips to feed a small nation. They figure out how to space the emails they’ve already written and Jared gets to work on finishing up the ones they’ve got written.

“Should we do the whole summer?” Evan asks.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t care, Zoe will probably buy it with one or two.”

Jared spins back and forth as he adds all the timestamps. “Someone order a pizza, I’m dying.”

Evan checks the time. “Jared it’s only—”

“Yeah? And?”

“You just ate like an entire bag of chips.”

Jared looks up at Evan. “When has that ever stopped me from eating an entire pizza?”

Evan shakes his head. “W-whatever. The usual?”

Jared shoots him a finger gun as he types with one hand.

“I’ll go with,” Connor says. He follows Evan down to the kitchen to see another twenty dollar bill in the center of the table. “Want me to call it in?” he asks.

Evan nods. “Jared always gets a supreme. If he doesn’t finish he just brings it home.”

Fair, Connor would do the same if he cared more about eating. He can only handle so much of his mom’s cooking. Connor places the call and then waits with Evan at the table. “Does your mom have you get takeout a lot?” he asks, looking at the bill.

Evan follows his gaze. “Uh… I-I mean…yeah. She works all day at the hospital, she’s a nurse, a-and then takes night classes at the college,” he gestures vaguely toward the street and Connor assumes he means the community college that people who are ambitious like Alana Beck go to to take summer classes so they look more impressive to admissions, “so…she doesn’t really have ti-time to cook and I’m— I’m not very good at it,” Evan mumbles. “I can do…ramen? Um…mac n cheese. Instant stuff. Other than that I can make like…pasta and grilled cheese and that’s…sort of it. But she doesn’t have a lot of time to go to the grocery store and I, uh, don’t like going so. Takeout is…easier.”

Connor nods. “I get that. You can’t go wrong with ramen noodles. One day we’ll both be living off them,” he jokes.

Evan looks to him in surprise. He smiles a little. “Y-yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Connor suddenly realizes that he talked about the future casually. About college casually, because he can remember one time when he was little and sick and Larry made ramen noodles for him and Connor had decided that they were the best thing ever and Larry had ruffled his hair and said that he’d get sick of them when they were all he ate in college. It’s uncomfortable. It settles wrong inside him. Because outside of the context of that one quip, the future doesn’t feel real. It feels like some untouchable abstract concept.

Thinking about it makes his stomach turn and makes dark thoughts creep in from the corners of his mind.

He shakes them away and listens to Evan talk about how he’s ruined soup before. It’s better than thinking about a future that hardly exists, one that he’s ready to cut the string on at almost any given moment in time.

Evan buries his face in his hands as he tells Connor about the time Jared tried to make eggs in the microwave and almost set fire to the house. Connor laughs and pretends he’s okay.

When the pizza arrives, Connor pays the delivery person while Evan goes and gets Jared. It’s too early for dinner, but Jared doesn’t care and eats two slices before going upstairs to grab his laptop and then eats another. Evan eats breadsticks and lets Jared carry most of the conversation, about half of which is about how weird Connor eats his pizza.

Evan makes Connor take a slice of pizza back, because he ends up missing dinner at home, and Connor just rolls his eyes and takes the plastic tupperware and promises to give it back at some point. Evan shakes his head and tells him not to, because they have too much and they can never find lids that match. Connor figures he’ll just slip it back into a cabinet the next time he comes over.

Next time. Connor doesn’t think in next times. Weird.

[mymurderbooks]

5 Anime Recommendations for Your Stay Home Time

So you’re on lockdown, more or less. You’ve watched the most popular anime recommendations: Sailor Moon, Naruto, Death Note, etc. etc. Here’s some anime I love that you might not have come across yet. Yes, you could be productive, you could (rather unproductively) worry about the future of mankind, but it’s also important to not stress out too much (it weakens your immune system!) and watch some shows.

These are some of my favourite animes. I rate them all five stars and I’ve listed them in no particular order, but I’ve chosen them for different reasons. A couple I think are better than others, notably, Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju and Planetes, which are two of the best shows I’ve seen in any format. I won’t give too many spoilers, but briefly summarise the theme of the anime and my impressions, and why I recommend it.

1. Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju English title: Showa and Genroku Era Lover’s Suicide Through Rakugo Studio: Studio Deen First premiered: Winter 2016 Where to watch? You can stream this on Crunchyroll.

Rakugo is a traditional Japanese form of comedic storytelling theatre, and this anime narrates the lives of a line of rakugo performers. This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen on TV. It’s slow but not draggy, it’s very well paced and nothing feels like filler. It tells the story of the rakugo performers with respect and sensitivity, and above all, subtlety. Everything about this show is elegant, from the artwork to the portrayal of the characters.

Since it’s a show about rakugo, you will see the characters performing rakugo in it, and this is done so realistically and so well that you feel you’re in the theatre with them, which is one reason I think this is a good pick for being in lockdown. I was completely unfamiliar with rakugo before this, but as I watched I became interested enough that I really really wanted to see a show. I was lucky enough that I was able to see an English-language rakugo artist, Katsura Sunshine, perform in London. He travels and does rakugo around the world, so if you get a hankering to see a rakugo performance after watching this anime, that’s something to maybe put on your post-Covid-19 list to look forward to when theatres reopen.

The classic ‘Shinigami’ rakugo performed by Kikuhiko in the anime:

Even if you don’t like anime and don’t normally watch it, I highly recommend you watch this. It’s so good. I promise it’s better than anything on Netflix.

—

2. Planetes Studio: Sunrise Premiered: Fall 2003  Where to watch? It’s streaming on Netflix Japan, but not Netflix anywhere else at the moment, but maybe it will be? The boxset is on sale on Amazon for a lot of money. Sorry, I don’t know where you can watch this at the moment, but if you find a way, I recomend you do.

Planetes is a hard sci-fi anime that follows a team who are, essentially, trash collectors in space (’Debris Section’ of a large corporation). I recommend this as one of the best space shows I’ve seen, and because I find the latest Star Trek series super disappointing. I’m gonna be real, I’m a fan of Next Generation and Captain Picard himself, but Picard (the show) sucks. If you compare it to Planetes, it’s like Picard was written by 14 year olds.

Planetes is very adult, although it may not seem so at first. Stick with the first few episodes, and you’ll find that this show really delivers. It’s dark, but not dark in the way that many Hollywood shows are ‘dark’. Hollywood seems to interpret this to mean violent death murder torture, and there’ll be at least one scene in the season of someone plunging their bare hands into the core of another person’s body, or eye poking torture, but Planetes is dark in that it’s probably one of the more plausible/realistic representations of mankind’s future in space.

In Planetes there’s no alien friends, no federation of planets, no post-money world, no intergalactic battles. There’s just us humans, being shitty, but now we’ve infected space too. Capitalism is worse. Life is harder. There’s crap floating around the universe, and this show follows the underpaid people doing the dangerous job of retrieving it. If you like sci-fi, this is some of the best sci-fi TV, ever.

—

3. Shirokuma Cafe English title: Polar Bear Cafe Studio: Studio Pierrot Premiered: Spring 2012 Where to watch? Streaming on Crunchyroll

This anime revolves around a cafe run by a Polar Bear. It’s a slice of life genre anime. It’s very lighthearted, but also, to me, feels more adult than many adult-oriented shows. In Japan it falls under the category of ‘josei’ anime, ie. anime for adult women.

It’s so lovely. I guess kinda like Cheers, but in a cafe, and far lovelier. The cafe regulars are Panda and Penguin, and Llama sometimes comes in. Grizzly runs a bar (that’s also lovely! You want to go to his bar!) and there’s a human called Sasako who works there. There’s an adorable Red Panda! A bunch of squirrels who sort through coffee! Everything is lovely and cute!

What do they do? Random adorable everyday things. One of my favourite episodes, and a great one to watch in the spring, is the cherry-blossom viewing episode. Some episodes we learn about coffee from the tree squirrels. Sometimes they just sit around the coffee. At some point Panda gets a job at the zoo. They go to a baseball range, etc.

If what you’re looking for is a cute, light-hearted, relaxing show for adults where everybody knows your name and nothing dark happens, I recommend this highly. Particularly if your hobbies are chilling out, going to cafes, drinking coffee, taking walks, flowers - you’ll love this.

There’s a real Shirokuma Cafe (anime-themed cafe) in Tokyo, in Takadanobaba. I visited last year and loved it there! If you end up watching and loving Shirokuma Cafe too, add it to your post-Covid-19 travel cafe bucket list! 

—

4. Sakamachi no Apollon (Apollo on the Slope) English title: Kids on the Slope Studios: Tezuka Productions, Mappa Premiered: Spring 2012 Where can I watch it? Streaming on Crunchyroll

Kids on the Slope is, essentially, a jazz anime. It celebrates jazz. The actual storyline is a coming of age story of some kids who jam together, and they experience adolescence together and grow up and all that, and there’s some romance, some adolescence angst. The art is beautiful. The story is told well. That’s all fine. But really the draw here is jazz.

Jam session:

The unofficial theme song is Moanin’ by Art Blakey. The song features throughout the series, the organ version is particularly good (and I think it only exists in/for this anime). I chose this anime for the list because the characters’ love for jazz is infectious and sparks the fire for jazz within you. It makes you want to play jazz, or at least listen to jazz, or read about jazz, or maybe learn an instrument, and that’s something you can do at home on lockdown. Be inspired by the jazz children!

—

5. Shinsekai Yori English title: From the New World Premiered: Fall 2012 Studio: A-1 Pictures Where can I watch it? Streaming on Crunchyroll

This is a show set in the future. The art is beautiful and moody, the soundtrack is excellent. It’s sci-fi/fantasy, and has a classic setting: a portion of humanity develops psychic powers. This show follows Saki and her friends into their adulthood in an authoritarian dystopia, masquerading as a utopia.

It’s not a coming of age story. This show is dark. It’s also deceptive. The world built in the anime is layered, complex, and it feels like a full, complete, rounded tale, despite being only 25 episodes. It’s ultimately really a story about inequality, power, and the cost of 'civilisation' - I don’t want to say too much because I don’t want to spoil it for you, we the viewers begin to understand the full nature of the society the children are growing up in as they do, as it unwraps slowly in each episode.

[mmoxie]

couldn’t get any sleep tonight

kept swallowing in my sleep, which set off my sore throat, which woke me up in pain every five minutes

got out of bed super disoriented and frustrated and upset, managed to get down some naproxen and sudafed after checking they were safe to take together, would not have sorted my shit out in the least without the help of my gf, who kept me from just sitting here and crying about it

took an extra-hot shower and i’ve been keeping water on hand to drink instead of just swallowing nothing and hurting myself

i’m so congested everything hurts

there has never been a better time to skip out on this shitty body and upload into a robot, why does my immune system suck so fucking bad

[sienna27]

I need to rant for a bit here.  This was triggered by a comment I received on a review, but the remark itself genuinely bothered me because I had a really stressful, crappy, afternoon and I just didn’t need to get the comment I got from the random reader.

So, my day.  Work earlier, then because I live in the south, this weird, unfortunate saga involving a sick raccoon which ended up being put down like ten feet away from me because he was having seizures and it was awful and Animal Control was pretty sure it was distemper and there’s obviously no treatment for that in a wild animal.  The whole thing sucked.  Seeing an animal in pain and having seizures is categorically upsetting.  Worse still having it get killed when you’re right in the vicinity.  And at first they were going to shoot it so there was like ten minutes waiting for a frigging gunshot!  Eventually they went with a different method but still, imagine WAITING for a gunshot!   This was two hours of my life from raccoon discovery to his poor little corpse removal.  Then from there I finally get home and all of a sudden I’m thinking, ‘fuck, distemper is supposed to be incredibly contagious!  My cats!’  And there’s no way of knowing which distemper this raccoon had (canine or feline, I researched and raccoons can catch both) so I’m freaking out because all this stuff I’m reading says humans can carry it into their pets on their shoes and clothes and my cats are inside cats so they only get rabies boosters   My sister’s pointing out that when they were kittens odds are good they did get a distemper vaccine and I just don’t remember, and that they just haven’t been getting the boosters, but either way the odds are good that they should be fine because MY exposure was mostly incidental.  I for sure didn’t have direct contact with the raccoon, it’s more that I was walking through the same area and I don’t know if I walked anywhere that he exactly walked and could have spread his germs.  Also, some people that I was around, DID walk over to him and then THEY were walking where I was walking inside the house.  Yes, that would be like two degrees of separation of ‘tracked’ germs, and I am clearly getting super paranoid but seeing the phrase ‘incredibly contagious’ over and over will make a person incredibly paranoid. Plus you know Stevo has his health issues anyway so he can’t be exposed to ANYTHING!  So I came in my house, threw my sneakers into the wash machine by themselves with a crapload of soap and bleach, then I mopped and Lysol’ed the front hall where I’d taken off my shoes.  I also found some L Lysine to booster the cats immune system but beyond that, there’s not much more I can do but hope for the best that I didn’t bring anything home that’s going to kill my fur children.  But obviously I’m still stressed because I can’t control the situation or know if there was any legitimate exposure and so it will be a few days until I’m feeling like we’re totally out of the woods here.  

Jump ahead, me post anxiety pill, trying to put this shitty depressing afternoon behind me and now I’m in my email.  I have a review on This Is Now.  I don’t think the person who wrote it follows me here, but if they do, you’ll know who you are.  And if they don’t follow me here, that’s fine, because I purposely didn’t write back to them on the review because they would have received this novella of ranting right now and they would have thought, ‘holy shit, this bitch is crazy!’  Again though, this bitch really just had a lousy day. But to the comment on the review, basically love the story, BUT quote, it’s very ‘frustrating’ that I’m only updating every six months so I really should consider moving the plot forward more than a few hours if I’m going to be making people wait so long to read the next chapter.  Then they also folded in the old, passive aggressive, ‘but it’s your story.’ 

Was there anyway that I’m going to read those words and not get pissed off?  Even taking the shit day out of it, I have said over and over how difficult my personal life has been this last year, and how hard it has been to find the time, and motivation (plus working laptops) to actually allow me to write.  And 99.99% of you have been so incredibly nice and supportive about everything because yes OF COURSE I know it’s frustrating to read a story that only gets updated every six months!  Clearly I feel badly about that point!  I’ve said that too.  But I also know that my chapters are (on average) probably 3x longer than most other authors.  So I put up a 13,000 word chapter telling the next portion of the story that I am telling, and then I’m told that was my option to do so (it being my story and all, thanks) but if I’m going to post so infrequently (keeping in mind this is the only extensive posting gap this story has had) I really should have jumped ahead in time too.  Um, no!  This day in their life is a huge day, I have said that previously in my author notes that lots of stuff is happening on this day and it’s going to take as long as it takes to tell it.  The scenes are in MY head.  I know what parts of the story need to be TOLD and what can be shuffled through in narrative, so how the fuck am I supposed to respond to ‘just jump ahead in time’ through crucial plot points, when that’s just a shit way to write?  Or the other interpretation is, ‘that’s great you posted but you made me wait this long, so you really should have snapped your fingers and magically come up with another 40k words to carry the plot along another two days.’

I mean, Christ, what difference does it make to anyone if my 13k word chapter covered two hours or two days?  It’s not like we’re on the verge of wrapping things up.  If you’re sticking with the story to chapter 22 and we just got our first walkers in town, you had to have figured by now (and by me explicitly SAYING it) there are a crapload more chapters to come.  I just don’t understand people.  And again if this person is out there, I know we’ve had perfectly amiable interactions before this, so I just wish you had thought your remarks through before you decided to share them with me.  Because you can maybe see now how there was just no way that you sharing your “frustration” and suggestions on how I should be writing my story that I have said (again repeatedly), that I haven’t been able to update for personal life reasons, were going to be well received.  I honestly wanted to scream.  It comes back to the base visceral response that all authors I’ve spoken to before have, which is, “if you have such great ideas on how things should be done, then you should go write your own story.  This, is my story.  I decide how things are done here.”

And let me add here, I don’t mind (and I don’t take offense) when people jokingly make a remark about gaps in updates or getting me to focus on one story or another.  I can tell if something is meant kindly and in good humor.   But I also hope people can see why readers telling me that they’re annoyed with me, and telling me how to write my PLOT(??), in turn, pisses me off.  I mean, I’m doing this for free first of all, and for like every hundred people that read a chapter, one or two will review, sometimes less than that, so often the author is out there posting into a void.  If you’re posting into a void and then somebody comes back with essentially a dramatic sigh and, ‘yeah, this is fine, but . . . ‘ it just sucks the fun completely out of this whole thing.  Especially when I was just SO happy to get that chapter up because the posting gap there had been so long.  And for the response back to not be a, “oh good you updated, but instead, a, “this is all you wrote?” is basically a HUGE fuck you, to me.  And the bad day might have made the remark dig in more sharply than it could have otherwise, but I stand by the inappropriateness of the remark to start.  Please just stop and think before you say shit to people.   This isn’t fucking Twitter.  I put so much of myself into my writing, and I feel like with all of my A/Ns I put with my chapters, that I should at least (by now) be a real person to the reader and not just a pen name on the email notification.  So if someone sees me as a person, and was still like yeah, fuck it, I’m going to say this anyway because what matters are MY feelings here, then I don’t understand that at all.

And yes, I will be fine tomorrow :)  Just needed to get that out of my head.  So off and away now.  Thanks all for listening, and those of you who say nice things about my writing and somehow refrain from also saying crappy things to me personally, I thank you all especially for that!  :)