#which could be a sign of a compressed nerve so that fun /s

[caffeinatedopossum]

Why are there always new symptoms showing up?? I just want a fucking break ;-;

[thanksjro]

Last Stand of the Wreckers PsyOps records- Can we PLEASE Hire Some More Mental Health Specialists?

Rung gets a lot of play in the Last Stand of the Wreckers bonus materials. He was still more of a play-on-words as opposed to an actual character at the time, so I suppose it makes sense.

Rotorstorm walked into his appointment with Rung and immediately started hyping himself up. That’s very telling. When Rung asked about his time at Simanzi, he sort of shut down and wasn’t able to hide behind his defense mechanism of being the funniest, coolest, bravest, all-around-bestest guy in the room.

Rotorstorm was basically born, then thrown into the Aerial Program, where all that awful stuff with Jetstream happened. Dude was beating up an infant.

Motherfucker’s got some trauma, obviously, but apparently that’s not enough to disqualify him from Wrecker duty. Wrecker duty that he didn’t even want, I should add.

You gotta sign up for the Wrecker roster; he’d been on it before, but had dropped out to teach instead. Either someone set this poor guy up to die, or Jetstream was wrong this whole time and he really just is that good. Not that it mattered much- the damage is done. Rotorstorm has crippling self-doubt, and is also dead.

Pyro suffers from a programming disorder known as primus apotheosis, identified by the sufferer’s need to emulate the great Optimus Prime. Many Autobots are afflicted with this disorder, and even a few Decepticons have been known to have it. The fact that Pyro had primus apotheosis makes panels like this:

-all the more sad. This is a guy who’s had his own personality overwritten- by his own hero worship- in an attempt to be greater than himself. Pyro is by no means a slouch when it comes to saving the day- he saved an entire platoon of Autobots as a member of the Resistance.

Then Simanzi happened.

There isn’t a ton known about the Simanzi Massacre, only that it was so bad, the Cybertronian population was halved by the time it was over. Pyro would have been just another statistic, had it not been for Optimus Prime’s intervention. Does survivor’s guilt have some part in his disorder? It’s certainly possible. All that can be said for sure is that nobody got out of Simanzi unscathed.

Pyro was approved for the Wreckers with reservations, seeing as primus apotheosis sufferers can and will sacrifice themselves for others if given any wiggle room in which to do so. The Wreckers were just lucky that Pyro wanted to go out in style. It didn’t really work for him, but points for trying.

Guzzle isn’t his legal name. Much like Chromedome, he’s called what he’s called due to meddling with the war. Originally Pneumatix, and a forklift of all things- the name being a play on the word “Pneumatic”, because forklifts work by using compressed air to lift things- he entered the Body Augmentation Program. This turned him into something called a ruination tank. That’s why his turret accounts for nearly half of his height- they basically turned a Mini Cooper into a weapon of mass destruction. Because he’s meant to be actually very tiny, his body compensates for the added stress by being so insanely fuel-inefficient, he has to constantly eat. Thus the nickname.

Guzzle didn’t exactly impress Rung at his appointment, coming across as a rather cold, distant individual when it came to his own emotions, describing his own near-death experience at the hands of the Decepticons in terms of what weaponry was used to try to kill him. Still, he was approved for the Garrus-9 mission.

It’s at this point that you have to wonder just how many people are actually on the waiting list for this group.

First Aid about had a panic attack when he thought Springer was inviting him to join the Wreckers, so it’s obviously a known thing that members don’t last terribly long, or at least, it’s something that can be inferred through reading about them.

Looking at past members, it’s rather telling what sort of person is attracted to the Wrecker lifestyle; Whirl is an emotional powder keg that’s constantly trying to light his own fuse, Impactor defied wartime sanctions to murder the his rivals, Roadbuster is a hardcore drug abuser who ripped someone’s spine out, and Kup can only function in polite society if he’s smoking medicinal marijuana at all times. These are not stable individuals. Springer is the odd exception, and I’m counting Perceptor as a borderline case, because he went through a massive personality shift that led him to where he was within the group. He may appear “normal” when compared to the others, but that guy’s for sure got some issues that he keeps close to his chest.

Given all of this, it’s not really much of a leap to say that Rotorstorm got thrown back on the list because they didn’t have anyone else who wanted in on this madness. It’s also not much of a leap to say that the only reason any of these guys got approved to join was because there weren’t any other options. The psych-screenings were probably just done as a professional obligation at that point. Rung, for all his faults, was likely working with what he’d been given.

I’m not exactly sure where these profiles were meant to reside within Last Stand’s timeline, given that Rotorstorm and Pyro are classified as being probably alive, whereas Ironfist is not.

Ironfist spends a good portion of his appointment with Rung fanboying over the Wreckers, as he is wont to do. When he actually gets around to talking about himself, he’s not nearly as eloquent or organized. Rung did not approve Ironfist for the mission, based solely on his lack of experience in the field of busting heads. He only got on the team due to Prowl’s interference, as has been established before.

Fisitron is revealed to have been a writer of many talents, publishing articles for all ages and reading levels. He was an author you could grow up on.

Impactor’s profile was written at the time of his probationary hearing, and it seems to imply that Rung may be a bit of an idiot. He had dismissed the guard who was present, in an attempt to get Impactor to be more open with him. This went about as well as that sort of thing usually goes for the only mental health specialist on all of Cybertron.

Looks like someone’s got a fear of mnemosurgery. With this little event in his past, it’s very surprising that Rung tried to offer it to Fortress Maximus in MTMTE #6.

Maybe Rung accidentally stuck a really big magnet to the side of his head at some point, thus erasing his memory files, because I know that I sure wouldn’t be offering that sort of thing if this was the average reaction to it.

After Impactor had had his moment, he shared some of his war stories with Rung- apparently his lack of a right hand was inspired by meeting Death’s Head.

Though Death’s Head isn’t directly named, it’s pretty obvious that’s who it’s intended to be, given that he’s mentioned as “ricocheting from universe to universe after leaping through an exploding time portal.” This is in reference to the events that took place in the Marvel UK storyline “The Legacy of Unicron!” This is also what happened to him prior to the events of Eugenesis.

Rung is aware of these events due to having read Wreckers: Declassified. I’m not sure how I feel about Wreckers: Declassified being a valid resource for Rung to pull from, considering Fisitron self-described with the word “dramatist” in “Bullets”.

The session had to be ended when Rung tried to psychoanalyze Impactor in a way he wasn’t ready for, as the man threatened to crush his brain like a grape between his fingers.

Lot of Eugenesis vibes in this entry.

We don’t get any history on Impactor, as it’s been scrubbed from the record at someone’s request. Is it related to his relationship with Megatron? The events that would eventually be revealed in Sins of the Wreckers? Maybe it’s just left like that to create intrigue for the eventual sequel series, Sins of the Wreckers. Who knows? I certainly don’t.

That’s the end of Rung’s reports, but we still have a couple more characters to get through.

Rotorstorm, Snare, and Swindle must go to the same body shop, because they’re the only guys who have eyes/visors that aren’t a primary color. It’s an interesting little character design choice, and I can’t help but wonder if there was some sort of reason for it.

…I genuinely wasn’t expecting an answer for that. Neat!

Snare’s kind of a loner, which works out pretty well for him, since he’s usually on surveillance duty. He’s also a sadist, having developed some nasty ways to keep prisoners in line. “Morphcore stimulation” is mentioned, and it’s less fun than it sounds, not that it sounds terribly fun in the first place. The fact that even Snare thought Overlord was a bit much is very telling.

If you’re unfamiliar with the term “morphcore”, don’t feel bad about it, because it’s only ever been used in one piece of media up until this point. Morphcores were a small bundle of nerves at the base of the Cybertronian brain that controlled transformation, as explained in Eugenesis. This term would quickly be switched out for the more well-known “transformation cog” for brand cohesion. The really funny thing is that that this section is attributed to Nick Roche. It would seem that TMUK is a hard state of mind to shake off.

This won’t be the only time Roche and Roberts team-up to completely miss the mark on how the IDW continuity functions- the Dire Wraith in The Revolution oneshot they wrote together was running off of the Marvel UK iteration of the species.

Overlord doesn’t have a profile, per se, but rather a transcript of a correspondence between Megatron and a guy named Gorelock.

Gorelock apologizes for not getting in contact sooner, explaining that the reason he’s been radio silent is because Overlord fucking showed up out of nowhere, after cutting and running from the Decepticause years prior. Whether Megatron had actually heard Overlord’s message or just figured it out from context clues isn’t clarified.

Gorelock super-duper promises that he and his guys didn’t just stand there pissing themselves in fear as Overlord strolled through their ranks, and they super-duper totally fought him until Gorelock decided to hear the guy out. For sure. Absolutely.

It turns out, Overlord was never actually dismissed from the rank of the Decepticons, which means that he outranks Gorelock, and Gorelock was therefore compelled to grant him a favor.

The favor is wrecking an entire empire’s shop. Gorelock complies with this request, purely due to being outranked. Absolutely. For sure.

Once the contract was completed in full, Overlord fucked off into space.

You know, not enjoying your hobbies anymore can be a sign of depression.

And that’s why Gorelock hasn’t kept in touch! I’m sure Megtron will be very understanding about this whole thing.

Or not!

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

i don’t act

summary: the school play is here, and cyrus ends up dragging tj into the mess. feelings, lines, stage makeup.

ship: tyrus, some landi

word count: 6189

notes: this is inspired by this post and headcanons from @swingsetboys

Cyrus peeked his head through the door of Mr. Coleman’s room. It was the weirdest feeling, being a teacher’s room without them there. It’s like finding a secret room in a video game. Andi and Libby were already sitting there, feet up on the desks. He chuckled, walking in; Coleman would have scolded them like heck for that.

“Cyrus, you came!” Andi exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Libby smiled approvingly, waving at him.

“Yes, you finally pestered me enough to join stage crew,” he sighed dramatically, sitting down on one of the spinny chairs with a definitive ‘plonk’.

‘You like theatre, though. You’re here by choice’ Libby signed, a knowing look on her face. Cyrus pouted, crossing his arms and turning his attention to a poster that said ‘Math is ADDictive!’

“Fine, maybe I am here by choice,” he mumbled, watching a few other people filter in, “but I’m just going to end up backstage waiting to change a light or find a prop or something.”

Andi hummed disapprovingly. “Don’t say that. You have no idea what the power of theatre can do.”

The meeting was pretty successful, with a good turn out. A lot of people Cyrus had never seen were there, and were clearly passionate about theatre. He was really looking forward to making some more new friends. They took a break in the middle of their session to grab snacks,and that’s how Cyrus found himself at his locker, talking to TJ.

“Aw, c’mon you belong on stage,” TJ whined, leaning against the pod of lockers, an apple juice box in his hand.

Cyrus shook his head, closing his locker with a click. “Nope, definitely not. I mean, we’re running monologues next, so we all have to do that.”

TJ perked up at that, his lips forming a delicate grin. “Oh, really? Well, I might just have to pop in and listen to you.”

Cyrus gave him a light nudge, heading back over to the classroom. “You most certainly will not, because I said so.”

TJ’s smile never dipped, falling in step with Cyrus. “You’re acting like such a child.”

Cyrus snorted. “Says the boy with an apple juice box in his hand.”

“It’s the superior juice!” TJ exclaimed, holding it triumphantly in the air.

Cyrus laughed softly, nodding. “I never said it wasn’t. Why would I argue with the truth?”

Both of them walked into the math classroom (“Why do they have to hold a theatre meeting in this hell hole?” TJ had complained), and took seats by Libby and Andi.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Andi whispered to him, handing him a packet of paper, “you’re going number three.”

TJ gave him a soft clap on the back as Cyrus walked towards the front of the classroom. Instead of feeling a bundle of nerves compress inside of him, he actually felt at ease. Maybe it was the fact that this was a rehearsal, or the fact that he wasn’t going to end up on stage in the end anyways, but he felt happy. Calm, even.

“I'm so glad I found you. You're the only one I can talk to.  Definitely the only person I've ever talked to.  But I feel so comfortable with you.”

TJ was suddenly not leaning against the back of his chair. He scooted closer to the edge of his seat, trying to hold onto every word that Cyrus was saying. He had a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to stop pretending this was about him, but he couldn’t seem to focus on that. All he could focus on was Cyrus.

“No one listens to me. I talk. They change the subject. It’s not that I feel I have something better to say. I don’t know if I have much to say at all. I’ve never had a chance to try.”

The way Cyrus was saying his lines, with the utmost emotion and almost despair made him feel like the boy knew this feeling all too well. It made him upset, thinking that people wouldn’t listen to Cyrus, but he tried to push that feeling aside.

“The minute I saw you, I knew you were special. There was something magical about your eyes, beautiful and green and deep and. . .mesmerizing.”

TJ had to look down at that, discreetly glancing at Andi who was also apparently looking at him. Had she written this monologue? Because if she didn’t, the writer was spooky accurate with TJ’s eyes (at least according to him).

“It’s important to love just enough. Just enough to know that you are loved without hurting the object of your affection. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t help it. My love for you extends far beyond any possible word in the English language. My love is in soft glances, little smiles from across the room, and those moments where we both know that there’s something there. Maybe not a spark, but something. I love you, you know. Always have, always will.”

TJ was definitely in a trance, and only Andi smacking his side got him out of it. He clapped along with everyone else, maybe a little louder, even. Cyrus, bashfully, took a little bow and took his seat by a few kids he didn’t know by name, but he’d seen them in the hallways a couple of times. The clapping faded into the background as another person got up to do their monologue, but TJ couldn’t stop focusing on Cyrus’ words. They sounded so real, so beautiful, and he wanted to hear more.

Cyrus was wrong: he belonged on stage, not sitting with a prop in his hand and waiting for a cue.

After all the monologues were done, the teacher in charge, Mrs. Artesia, and Jonah, the student director, gathered together in a corner of the room to discuss roles and who they thought would do well on stage.

“You didn’t tell me you could pull of something like that,” TJ managed to say, without stumbling over his words.

Cyrus brushed it off, leaning back in his chair. “That? That wasn’t that good. . .was it really?”

TJ put his hands on Cyrus’ shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Yes, you idiot, it was really good! You should be on stage, not backstage.”

Cyrus thought about this for a moment. He did have fun performing his monologue in front of other people, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he was cut out for the real deal. Understudies, probably, he thought, trying to prepare himself for the worst.

“Tell you what. I’ll go tell Mrs. Artesia that I want to be considered for an actor’s part-”

“-yes!”

“-but only if you join stage crew.”

TJ froze. Sure, he liked theatre. He enjoyed listening to the soundtracks in the car, changing voice quickly between characters as his sister teased him for not being able to hit the high notes. But actually take part in a production? He was hesitant, but seeing the borderline pleading look on Cyrus’ face, he knew he was a goner.

“. . .fine,” he agreed, to which Cyrus squealed and threw his arms around him.

“This is going to be so much fun!” he exclaimed, running off to find the director and let her know the good news.

Andi tapped TJ on the shoulder. “Since when are you interested in theatre?”

Libby, following her words, broke out into a smile. ‘Since a certain boy decided he wanted to be an actor.’

TJ sighed, slumping over. “You ladies are going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andi chuckled, taking Libby’s hand in hers. “You bet.”

Wednesday morning. Eight-thirty one. The cast list still hadn’t been posted, and Cyrus was already irritated. It was supposed to be up a minute ago, but seeing as there wasn’t a throng of students gathered around the bulletin board, he knew it wasn’t up.

“You ready to be the lead?”

Cyrus didn’t even have to turn around at that. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “TJ, you need to stop telling me lies.”

“Not a lie,” he informed him, dangling a piece of paper in front of his eyes. Cyrus quickly snatched it, scanning through it.

“You didn’t make this did you? Just to try and get a laugh?”

TJ’s expression softened. “Of course not, Cyrus. I’d never do that to you, of all people. I got into Mrs. Artesia’s office early this morning and it was sitting on her desk. I believe a congratulations is in order,” he chuckled, patting his shoulder.

“Wow I. . .can’t believe I got the lead!” he squealed, hurrying over to the bulletin board and pinning it up. TJ grabbed a pencil out of his bag and wrote ‘the incomparable’ in front of Cyrus’ name.

“You flatter me,” Cyrus laughed, placing a hand on his heart, “so. . .stage crew?”

TJ shrugged, kicking at the ground. “I think I’m going to be doing lights, actually. Suits my style more.”

Cyrus poked his side lightly, beaming. “Why? So you can drool over all the cute girls on stage?”

TJ chuckled along, heading to his class, with Cyrus following by his side. “Yes, Cyrus. I, a blatant homosexual, have chosen to do lighting to look at the female population.”

Cyrus giggled at that, and TJ didn’t think there was a more beautiful sound in the universe. “Okay, whatever. I’ll see you after school though, right? First run through!” Cyrus scurried to his first period class, and as the hallway started to fill with more students, TJ was left standing in his place, watching a certain boy run off into the distance.

They had just started blocking the first scene, when TJ found himself up in the lighting booth. There was another boy up there, Wyatt. He always did the lighting for school plays, but he was a senior, so it was probably a good idea that TJ was learning the ropes.

“You TJ?” he asked, kicking his legs down from the table.

“Yeah, that’s me. Wyatt, right?” The other boy nodded, motioning for him to take a seat.

“So this is the lighting board. Pretty straight forward. These ones control the upstage lights, these downstage. You can change the colors with this lever, and then if you want s fade you have to program it with this thing here,” he rattled off, TJ trying to keep up as best he could. He didn’t have anything to write this down on, so he was just praying that Wyatt would help him out when he could.

“I have to go for now, but you’ll figure it out,” he gave him a small wave, “later man.”

Well, so much for that. TJ took Wyatt’s seat, and looking down through the window, he could see Cyrus on stage with the director, pointing at something in the script. He smiled to himself; he really did have the best seat in the house.

“Okay, let’s run the scene from the top! Remember, really use your facial expressions!” Jonah called out, taking a seat a few rows back, “Action!”

TJ watched the actions play out on stage. He tried to do lights as best he could, but without much direction, it was hard to determine what to do. Whenever a single person was on stage, he would try and put a spotlight on them, but sometimes it was too bright, and they would look down. However, the moment Cyrus got on stage, it was like all TJ knew how to do was stare off into the distance.

“Lights!” Jonah yelled, snapping TJ out of his reverie.

Crap, that was his cue, and he missed it. He fumbled with the board for a little, and after a few moments, there was a soft, pink spotlight on Cyrus, who seemed to be delivering his lines beautifully.

As soon as Cyrus was off stage, TJ seemed to have no problem getting his cues, and figuring out how to work the board. Funny how things work out like that.

“Okay, everyone, that’s all for today!” Mrs. Artesia said, clapping her hands together, “today was a lot of work, I know, but in the coming weeks, I know we’re all going to work hard and put together a wonderful performance! Does anyone have any questions?”

Cyrus raised his hand. “Can I write a screenplay for the next production?”

Mrs. Artesia pushed up her glasses on her nose. “I don’t think so, Cyrus. You’ll have to get it checked by me and the board, then it has to pass by the principal, and after that you-”

Cyrus waved his hand, cutting her off. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“Anyone else?” No one said anything. “Good! I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

Cyrus stuffed his script into his backpack, and hauled it up on his shoulders. He would normally head out with TJ, but since he had basketball practice, he was alone today.

“Cyrus!” Andi called, waving her hands in the air. He smiled seeing her, but took a step back once he saw her hands.

“Is that acrylic paint? Andi, I love you, but this is a nice shirt,” he smiled sympathetically, smoothing down his top.

“TJ sure seemed to think so,” she mused, earning his full attention.

“What? What do you mean? Did he say that? When?”

Andi laughed, Libby coming up behind her, with paint all up her arms. “I mean, whenever you were on stage, he missed his lighting cues.”

Cyrus crossed his arms in defense. “It’s the first day, Andi, cut him some slack. Plus, he messed up plenty of other times too.”

Andi sighed, turning to Libby and summing up their conversation. Libby grinned, turning towards Cyrus.

‘Yes, but he messed up more when you were involved. Isn’t that funny? I think it’s funny.’

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, but the smile on his face only grew. “Shut up,” he mumbled, signing along as well, “I’ll see you guys later,” he gave them a wave, and headed out the door.

“He’s so smitten,” Andi giggled, signing her words.

‘CJ’ Libby signed back, smiling.

“Oh my gosh, is that what you call them? CJ?” she repeated her sign, her smile only growing.

Libby nodded, and her expression all of a sudden turned a little more shy. ‘Do you want to get ice cream later?’

Andi smiled. “Totally! Andi Shack?”

Libby nodded. ‘Andi Shack’

“I’m telling you, directly into the light!” Andi chuckled, setting down her tray, with Buffy sitting beside her.

“Are you kidding me?” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes widening. It’d been two weeks of rehearsals, and the teasing from Andi, and consequently, Libby and Buffy, wasn’t getting any better.

“He could have blinded himself because he wanted to look at TJ!” she sighed, shaking her head.

“I am literally sitting right here,” Cyrus deadpanned, holding onto his apple a little tighter, “and no, I didn’t look directly into the spotlight, that’s a lie.”

“Sure, you just kept tumbling over your own feet on stage for no reason, after staring at the lighting booth,” Andi mumbled, nodding her head, “whatever you say.”

“Hey guys!” TJ called, coming over and joining their table, “what’re you talking about?”

Cyrus paled, looking down at his food. “Well, we certainly weren’t talking about your job as the lighting guy.”

TJ chuckled. “Very convincing. I think I’m getting the hang of it, finally, after Wyatt agreed to stay with me for the new few rehearsals and help. Who knows, maybe I’ll even help out a little freshman when I’m a senior.”

Buffy snorted. “Fat chance someone would be able to stand you barking orders at them.”

TJ smirked, resting his elbows on the table. “Ah, Driscoll, witty as always.”

Buffy smiled victoriously, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You know it. So, Cyrus, did you wanna hang out tonight? We can do a movie night.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Can’t. TJ and I are running lines.”

Buffy smirked, looking at the basketball captain whose attention was suddenly very focused on a poster for a math competition. “You guys are running lines together?”

“Well, the show’s in a few weeks, we need to be ready,” TJ defended weakly, “and Cyrus is the lead, which is obviously the most important.”

Cyrus laughed beside him. “It’s not the most important, Teej, and you know it.”

TJ shrugged. “Well, maybe that’s what you think, but I’m right. Without the lead, what would the play even be about?”

“Without all the side characters, how would the lead grow and develop as a person? How would they discover something about themselves without someone at their side?” Cyrus countered.

“Fair point,” TJ admitted, “anyways, your house, later tonight?”

Cyrus nodded, finishing up his sandwich. “You guys wanna come too? Help run lines?”

TJ deflated a little beside him, and looked to Andi with a pleading look. He didn’t mind if people came along, but he would prefer if it were just him and Cyrus. Almost like a date, but not quite. A friend-date.

“Well,” Andi started, her look softening, “I’d love to, but Libby and I have to finish one of the set pieces.”

“Maybe another time,” Cyrus replied, not seeing the relieved look from TJ, “looks like it’s just me and you,” he chuckled, meeting TJ’s gaze.

His eyes were beautiful, TJ thought, and the only reason he wasn’t getting lost in them was because so many people were talking at the same time. Thank goodness for distractions.

“Y-Yup,” he stammered, clearing his throat, “just you and me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot! My mom’s making lasagna tonight, you’re in for a treat,” Cyrus chuckled, grabbing his bag, “I’ll see you guys later!”

TJ walked him walk off, a distracted smile tugging at his lips, and when he was finally snapped out of it by someone dropping their tray, he turned back to his friends, and found that Libby was staring at him with a knowing look on her face.

“What?” TJ signed, flushing slightly.

‘Nothing. You’re just staring at him.’ she signed back.

TJ stuck his tongue out in defiance, turning his attention back to his food, which had been untouched. “We’re just running lines.”

“At least this time he won’t stare into a light,” Buffy mumbled, shaking her head with disapproval.

“What?” TJ questioned.

Buffy waved him off, not missing a beat. “Nothing, just Cyrus being. . .Cyrus,” she chuckled.

TJ smiled a little more at that. Cyrus being Cyrus was great. He really liked him, which terrified the living daylights out of him.

Later in the evening, TJ found himself walking to Cyrus’ house, albeit a little earlier than they had planned. He wasn’t sure why, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to stay at home for much longer without bursting. So that’s the story of how TJ found himself nearly twenty minutes early at Cyrus’ doorstep.

Fortunately for him, Cyrus was already running lines by himself inside, and TJ knew because the light was on in his room, and his voice was much louder than before. Acting on impulse, he picked up a small pebble and threw it at his window, making a small ‘plink!’ sound. The words immediately stopped, and the window opened.

“Are you insane? What are you doing?” Cyrus called from upstairs, his script in hand.

TJ just shrugged, and he could practically see Cyrus’ annoyance. “Just thought I’m come by early to help with lines.”

Cyrus scoffed, waving him up. “Door’s open,” he called, shutting his window and muttering to himself, “help with lines. More like shatter my window and my peace and tranquility.”

TJ made his way up the stairs, like he’d done a thousand times before, and popped into Cyrus’ room. “I’m ready to be wowed with your talent,” he chucked, plopping down on the floor.

Cyrus’ expression softened; he could never really be mad at TJ. “Get ready for your expectations to be barely fulfilled.”

TJ groaned, pulling a pencil off of Cyrus’ desk and taking his script from him. “You don’t get to say things like that. You’re the lead, and you have to exude self confidence.”

Cyrus sighed, sitting down across from TJ and propping up his head with his elbows. “How do I do that? Especially when I’m professing my love for a girl?”

TJ let out a light laugh at that, crossing his legs and flipping to a page that was covered in highlights. He figured they’d start there. “Why don’t you just imagine you’re talking to a really cute boy?” he offered, holding a pencil in between his fingers.

Cyrus nodded, motioning for him to go on and start one of the lines.

TJ squinted at the words. “What kind of feelings? What are you trying to say?” he couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I'm so glad I found you. You're the only one I can talk to. Definitely the only person I've ever talked to. But I feel so comfortable with you. . .” he started, looking down at his hands. TJ couldn’t help but stare a little bit as he talked; even though the words weren’t directly aimed at him, he felt his heart fluttering. With a pencil in hand, he started to doodle a little on the side, a small heart. When he decided that was too romantic, he drew a tiny cat holding it, smiling.

“Line?” Cyrus repeated again, snapping TJ out of his thoughts.

“Oh, uh. . .” he squinted, looking at the words, “it’s still your monologue. ‘No one listens’.”

Cyrus nodded, composing himself again. “No one listens to me. I talk. They change the subject. It’s not that I feel I have something better to say. I don’t know if I have much to say at all. I’ve never had a chance to try.”

TJ nodded along; Cyrus was getting his lines down really well, and the tone and inflection was beautiful.

“The minute I saw you, I knew you were special. There was something magical about your eyes, beautiful and green and deep and. . .mesmerizing.”

That was the line that always got him, every since time, without fail. Whenever Cyrus said it on stage, he would crane his neck outside the little window to try and hear him better. Wyatt always teased him about it, but he never said more other than the occasional “pay attention to the lights, TJ, not the star of the show”.

“It’s important to love just enough. Just enough to know that you are loved without hurting the object of your affection. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t help it. My love for you extends far beyond any possible word in the English language,” Cyrus started, his gaze flitting up to TJ, “my love is in soft glances, little smiles from across the room, and those moments where we both know that there’s something there. Maybe not a spark, but something. I love you, you know. Always have, always will.”

It’s not about you, please stop freaking out. It was no point thinking that, because TJ’s cheeks were glowing a bright red, and he would be lying if he didn’t say that Cyrus’ were pinker than they were before.

“S-so?” Cyrus spoke up, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them, “how was that?”

Beautiful. Incredible. I love you. “That was. . .the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” he breathed out, flipping back to the front of the script and handing it to Cyrus, who didn’t seem to agree.

“It was alright. I messed up that one part, and then of course, the inflection could have been better,” he shook his head, “I’m never going to get it.”

TJ scooted a bit closer, firmly putting his hands on Cyrus’ shoulder. “Don’t say that, Cy,” he started softly, “you were really good. Like, really good. Seriously, that monologue could make someone fall in love with you.”

Cyrus relaxed a little, his shoulders losing some tension. “Thanks,” he said, smiling a little, “that was indeed my goal in this rehearsal. Make someone fall in love with me.”

You’ve succeeded. “Oh, hush you, your performance was great here, and it’s going to be even better on stage.”

Cyrus’ smile faltered a little, the corners of his lips quivering. “I’m not. . .that sure.”

TJ took his script, glowering at him. “If you’re not going to believe in yourself, then I am going to make you. You won’t need this for the rest of the night, will you?”

Cyrus whined, reaching for it, but TJ kept it above his head. “I was gonna work on it more when I got home.”

TJ shook his head. “No way! It’s already late, and there’s no way you’re going to be staying up later because of this. You’re already doing great, Cy. I promise.”

Cyrus thought this over for a few moments, before finally giving in with a yawn. “I. . .fine. But I expect it back to me first thing tomorrow.”

TJ nodded eagerly, and the two of them ran the scene again (TJ managed to not faint, by a miracle). It was just as good as the other time, if not better, especially in TJ’s opinion. When they had finished for the night, TJ took the script with him, a half baked idea whirling around in his head.

Later, when TJ got home, he took a seat at the desk in his room, pushed aside all his papers, and pulled out a pencil, and his little bag of colored pencils. Well, technically they were Amber’s, but he’d stolen them a while ago, and he figured she’d forgotten about them.

He flipped through the pages, doodling in the margins little things that he thought would make Cyrus feel better about his work. Some of them were silly cat doodles that said “you’re doing PAWsome!”, while others were genuine comments on the way that he was performing the scene.

“Whenever you say this, your face kind of scrunches up, and I think it really helps with the scene”

“This part is PURR-fect!”

“My favorite line right here. You always look ready to cry when you deliver it, but then of course you keep your composure. It’s beautiful every single time”

“No wait, this is my favorite lol”

And so it went for the rest of the night, TJ flipping pages and doodling things in the margins occasionally. Cats, cat puns, genuine thoughts, he wrote them all. He really hoped that this helped Cyrus, even just a little bit, to recover his confidence.

Tech week. The dreaded words that all theatre kids hate hearing.

“How are you holding up?” Andi signed groggily, faint bags apparent under her eyes.

Libby shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess. I’m tired. Running on a latte and a prayer. What about you?’

Andi glanced over her shoulder, at where TJ and Cyrus were bumping shoulders and laughing. Then she turned back to Libby, a small smile on her face.

“They’re going to be the death of me,” she points at them, and signs along, “they have to get together.”

Libby nods, and quickly puts on an innocent smile as TJ and Cyrus approach the two girls. ‘Gentlemen.’

Cyrus laughs, saluting her. “You guys look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Andi deadpans, “it’s tech week, and the set is still in need of a few final preparations. How are you not dead?”

Cyrus shrugged. “I drank a five hour energy this morning. Or two of them. I can’t remember.”

TJ shook his head, patting Cyrus on the back. “Try to radiate some of that energy onto us, please and thank you.”

“But aren’t you excited for rehearsal tonight? We’re gonna run through the whole thing?” Cyrus was nearly shaking with excitement. Andi put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, for the love of everything good in this cafeteria, calm down.”

That night, all the cast and crew were hard at work. Cyrus was working with Jonah on some lines, Andi was helping Libby find some new props, since a few broke, and Wyatt and TJ were sitting in the lighting booth.

“So,” Wyatt started, leaning back in his chair, “how long have you and that kid been dating?”

TJ nearly choked on his spit. “Wh-what?” he squeaks out, trying not to hack up his lungs during his coughing fit.

Wyatt smiled, raising a brow. “You know, the lead? What’s his name, Chris?”

“Cyrus,” TJ corrects, his voice higher than before, “a-and no. . .we’re not dating.”

Wyatt quirked a brow at his response, digging out his phone from his bag. “Really? I thought you guys were. You’re always hanging out with each other and-”

“So?” TJ cut in, almost annoyed, “friends do that too.”

Wyatt’s expression softened, but his gaze never left his phone. “Whatever you say dude, I’m just saying. You guys seem like more than friends. He talks about you all the time.”

“When do you talk to Cyrus?”

He shrugged in response. “I get here early sometimes to help him run lines. He talked about all the notes you left in his script and how it always helped because you wrote them,” he continued, “he seems to like you a lot, man. You should just ask him out.”

“What? No, that’s the worst idea.”

“Why? The worst he could do is say no. I’ve seen you guys. You’re close, and there’s no way that things would change because of your feelings,” he looked up at him from his phone, “I’ll give you twenty bucks to ask him out, and if he says yes, which I’m pretty sure he will, I’ll pay for your date.”

TJ thought it over for a moment, but he was still skeptical. “Why are you helping me? You barely know me.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I know that it’s nice to date someone that you really care about.”

“Yeah, sure, but your experience with girls isn’t really going to help me.”

Wyatt snorted, throwing his head back. “Girls? Yeah, no, they’re not for me,” he chuckled, “I think I know what I’m doing.”

TJ blinked a few times, looking at the lighting board. “Oh. Cool. Well. . .thanks. I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

Wyatt took his wallet out his bag, fishing out two ten dollar bills and waving them in front of TJ’s face. “Well?”

TJ hesitated, but then took the money, stuffing the bills into his pocket and getting up from his chair. “Fine, I’ll do it. Happy?”

Wyatt smiled, clapping him on the back. “Go get your man.”

TJ wandered around backstage during the break, trying to find Andi and Libby. After his conversation with Wyatt, he figured that they were the best people to seek out for more advice on this. He finally saw them in the prop room, looking for a new vase for the table, as someone had broken it during rehearsal last time.

“Hey,” TJ said, nearly out of breath, “I need to run an idea by you two.”

“What’s up?” Andi asked, paint smeared across her hands and her clothes.

He shakily signs as he talks. “I need a way to ask Cyrus out.”

Libby’s eyes widen and she drops the vase in her hands, letting it shatter on the ground. So much for that one.

“What?” Andi screams, a smile growing on her face, “you’re. . .you’re serious?”

He nodded. “Help me out?” he signs

Libby thought about it for a moment, before she seemed to have an idea. ‘Didn’t you leave notes in his script? What if you did that, like wrote something on the last page?’

“That’s. . .actually a really good idea. Thanks,” he mumbled, walking off determined to find Cyrus’ script. Luckily, it was sitting on the side of the stage, as Cyrus was busy talking to the director about some blocking. He quickly drew something on the last page, along with a message, and he left it on the front page, hurrying away. Hopefully this plan would work out.

Opening night. Ten minutes to curtain. Everyone was rushing around and putting the final details on the actors’ makeup and costumes, and props were already set in place. TJ was sitting in the lighting booth, on FaceTime with Cyrus, who was in the boys dressing room.

“It’s going to be a disaster! What if I miss a cue?” Cyrus whined, pouting.

“You’re going to do great, Cy. You’ve worked insanely hard on this, and there’s no way it’s not going to be amazing. And if you miss a cue, no one in the audience is going to know.”

Cyrus sighed, running a hand through his hair, much to the dismay of the student fixing his hair. “You’re probably right. I’m just. . .nervous.”

TJ’s expression softened, his smile widening. “You’re going to be amazing. I promise you. I’ll leave you be, okay? Five minutes till opening.”

He closed the call, and got set with the lighting, making the announcement for people to silence their cell phones. The silence settled over the crowd, and TJ slowly dimmed the lights in the house, the lights on the stage growing a little as the curtain opened.

“Here we go,” he whispered to himself.

The whole thing was a blur. All Cyrus could process was that he was holding hands with his fellow actors and bowing. The audience was clapping like there was no tomorrow, a few groups of people even giving a standing ovation. TJ was in the lighting booth whooping and hollering so loud that Wyatt was covering his ears.

“So, what about you and that kid? Did you ask him out?”

TJ straightened out his shirt. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to do that right now,” he announced heading out of the booth and down the stairs, holding a hand behind his back. When he got down to the lobby, he didn’t realize how crowded it was. Parents, relatives, friends, siblings, other students, all crowding the room. He spotted Andi and Libby and caught their attention, waving them over. They took time to get to him, squeezing their way through the crowd to get to him.

TJ pointed to Cyrus, who was currently surrounded by people praising him for a job well done. “Help?”

The girls nodded, standing in front of him and pushing through the crowd as TJ walked behind them, trying to avoid getting hit by a child flailing their arms. Finally, he managed to get to Cyrus, and like magic, Libby and Andi left him alone.

“Cy, hey!” he chirped, smiling widely, “you were amazing! Just like I thought.”

Cyrus chuckled, throwing his arms around him. “Well, the lights looked great too. Thank you, though. It wouldn’t have been so good without all your help and notes in my script,” he laughs, holding it up.

TJ smiled nervously, relishing in this moment before Cyrus pulled away. “No problem. I. . .here, this is for you,” he said, pulling out the rose that he was holding behind his back. His mom would kill him if she knew he took it from her garden, but for Cyrus? Anything.

Cyrus’ jaw dropped a little, taking the rose carefully, as if it were about to vanish into thin air. “TJ. . .this is. . .thank you, I-”

“Hold that thought,” TJ cut him off, “check the last page of your script. I added a new note.”

Cyrus, albeit a little confused, obliged, flipping to the last page. There, on the large section of a blank page, was a drawing of two cats holding hands, with a caption that read ‘it would be PURRfect if you took MEOWt on a date! friday after school?’

TJ waited for his reaction nervously. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t even focus on how many people were bumping into him at that moment.

Cyrus looked up at TJ, whose face was redder than the rose in his hand. And for the second time that night, Cyrus threw his arms around TJ, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, of course! I would love to go on a date with you!” he squeals, holding him so tight that TJ could barely breathe.

TJ made a noise that wasn’t completely human, spinning Cyrus around in a hug before putting him back down on the ground. “Cool. . .one second,” TJ pulled away from him, putting his phone up to his ear.

“Wyatt! So nice to hear from you. I’d like thirty bucks for my date. . .yes I mean it. . .no I’m not kidding. . .you can talk to Cyrus if you want. . .okay. . .cool. . .thanks,” he laughed, hanging up.

“So, that date?” Cyrus asked, taking TJ’s hand.

TJ smiled at the gesture, giving his hand a squeeze. “How about we go to my house after school on Friday and do a karaoke show tunes kind of thing? We can order pizza and everything.”

Cyrus nodded. “It’s a date,” he agreed, looking around for a moment, before reaching up and pressing a quick kiss to TJ’s cheek. He gave his hand one final squeeze, before running to find his parents, who were waiting for him with bouquets of flowers. They were beautiful, but TJ’s rose beat them all.

[palztothewalls-blog]

It’s the end and the beginning...

“I love the person I’ve become because I fought to become her.”

I’ve made it! Day 14 post op. Thank you for taking this journey along with me. I honestly could never have mustard the strength to do all of this on my own. Here’s a little update of the last few weeks.

Surgery went fairly predictable for being something that has really never been seen. They got to the tumor and it appeared small, until they started removing (decompressing) the bone surrounding it.

(To clear the air of confusion, my tumor from the get go was not going to be removed. It is located in my brain, right at the inner portion of where the ear canal essentially starts. The purpose of leaving the tumor was to provide me the esthetics of having a face with as much normal function as possible. If the tumor was removed, I would have experienced anywhere from 6 months to almost 2 years of severe paralysis that likely would only return to, at best, where I am today with function. So it stays.)

All of the bone was removed and the tumor grew substantially. So in all actuality, my tumor was larger than imaging showed because it was so compressed. When the bone was removed, the tumor expanded greatly in size. My doctor couldn’t give me an exact size but I will find out on my next scan in about six months, just how big it is. All in all, the surgery lasted somewhere between 4-6 hours? I’m not sure. It was a long time.

When I initially woke up, I was quizzed on the basic questions, who was I, where was I, what year, day, month, who was president, how old was I. Basically, I failed them all. Horribly. As you may have read from a previous post, I was a 27 year old unamed woman who had NO idea where she was but I’ll be damned if I got the president right. Obama. Giggles ensued with the staff as they ask again. I was so sure I was right. Shortly after my failed attempt at answering the questions, my family came in the room and I was getting the answers right…. back to ol Trump being the president haha!

So after that challenge, I experienced another, less funny problem. I remember screaming (okay repeating the beautiful word fuck at the top of my lungs) because I was in so much pain. My head hurt, sure, but my biggest complaint was my left shoulder. It was horrible and I was left with minimal function of it. My heart rate was 100-130s and my blood pressure was pretty elevated 150s/90s. Because of all of these complaints, the NP in the ICU had some concerns that I was experiencing symptoms of a heart attack. She had some labs drawn on me, and shocker, they came back elevated. Triponin is a level that shows stress on the heart, and anything >0.12 is indicative of a heart attack. My first level was 0.11. Repeat a couple hours later was 0.12. By this time, it’s the morning after surgery. I had no idea by this time what was going on. The NP came in and told me all of this and said my EKG was normal and long story short, my elevated levels had nothing to do with my heart but was because of the prolonged and aggressive surgery. The levels returned back down to normal on the next draw.

Sometime in the night, about 12 hours after surgery, I had my 18 million IVs saline locked (okay 4), art line out, and foley cath out. I was tickled fucking pink because I was told this would likely be 24 hours after surgery. I was up allllll night walking to the restroom and back. My momma, bless her heart, was up all night with me. It was awesome…. for me to be up and moving. After the heart debacle, I got transferred to the neuro med surg floor and I accepted it as a challenge to get out in 24 hours. I was shot down when I saw the doc in the ICU about the idea of going home, go figure. So I walked my ass off literally all night. Sunday morning, doc came in, took off that horrid compression on my head and gave me the green light to go home. No more than 30 minutes later, 48 hours after surgery, my ass was in the car ready to go. I maaaaaaaay have already had everything packed at like 5 am knowing I was kicking ass haha.

So Sunday was awesome. Monday came. F my LIFE, Monday was hoooooooorrrrrrible. My shoulder pain was pretty much the devil, the pain in my head felt like I had the cast of Drumline in my brain, and I was exhausted. I some how made it through the day knowing Tuesday would be better. WROOOOOONG. It sucked just as bad. Maybe more. But then Wednesday came. And I’ll be darn, I felt alright. This whole time, my parents have been awesome in caring for me, making yummy meals and doing anything and everything to help me. God bless them.

Thursday came and I was ready to go home. From there, it’s only been downhill? Uphill? It’s been awesome. Each day I have felt better and better. My pain is essentially gone. My pre surgery symptoms have almost all disappeared. I no longer feel like I have a 20 pound mass in a 2 pound casing. My memory has finally returned to normal although there are a few things from pre surgery that I can’t remember were real or a dream. I still have pain, but the pain I have is from the trigeminal neuralgia, which is caused by nerve damage (in my case hector pushing on that nerve). I’ll likely always have this pain, but for me, only having this is totally doable.

So, the next step? Hopefully never having to go through this again. If symptoms return, I’ll do the big whammy of a surgery to remove hector and graft a nerve back in the spot. Fingers crossed that never happens!!!

So to finish out what I hope to be my last post about hector, I’m going to share a list I’ve been creating of things you never knew until you have a brain tumor… and surgery. It’s fun to see the progression I made as the list goes on Enjoy!!

Headaches all of the sudden seem scarier because you know they are a sign of a growth in you, of which you have no control over.

People look at you differently. Like long sweet eye gazing looks. Like I have super human powers, or I am so pretty that they can’t stop getting enough of my beauty.

Free stuff. People all of the sudden want to gift you with items, drinks, food. Listen, I am not complaining. This is the best!!

Unsolicited advice. It comes flying in. Try this or try that. Essential oils, rub them on your head. Eat all protein, the ketosis will shrink it. Exorcism. Plexus! Beeeaaacchhh body! Have you tried low carb? How about the spleen of a donkey? Drop it. It’s unsolicited and I don’t want it. Thanks though!

You cry a lot. I mean, I cried a lot prior to my diagnosis because everyone thought I was crazy. Now I cry because I have a flipping brain tumor.

Naming it helps. It really does. Hector is an a-hole. But his little 5 letter name has nothing on me. I’m badass… that’s 6 letters of strength.

Friends and family respond in weird ways. Some look at you like you’re still the same ol spunky ass you are, while others think you’re a delicate flowers, and then those who just can’t even be friends anymore. That’s cool. I don’t need you in my life either, I got this!

That silly cancer “this is my fight” song is all of the sudden totally applicable. Tears. Lots of them. I am a strong woman.

The reality of needing to shave part of your head becomes oh to real. Like my hair?! This?! I JUST grew it out!

“Well thank God it’s not…” “It could be worse.” Literally words you hear constantly but are in no way comforting. True, I’m not going to die tomorrow. BUT, I still have an abnormal growth of cells that, if untreated, will ultimately likely kill me due to pressure on my brainstem. So thank god for that!

Finally having an excuse to stay in. Before people thought I was just making up my fatigue. Now I have a $6000 image to prove why I have fatigue. I should sell that image for art!

It’s like you’re wearing a stamp on your head saying “tell me all your horrible friend/family medical issues.” I’m not sure why this is the case. I mean, it doesn’t help. Should it make me feel better? I’m not sure here.

Blogging is essential. While it means the WORLD to have the support, love, and prayers from everyone, it is extremely exhausting keeping everyone up to date. Blogs fix that. And I happen to love writing so it’s a double win.

Having that “one” friend is key. While people want to support you, they often can’t fulfill the need to your requirements. It’s because they haven’t gone through it. They don’t get it. That’s okay. Find that someone who does get it. They will be your best friend who really gets it. Traci is my gold.

All of your daily fears are gone. Instantly. While I want nothing more than to be a wife and mother, it’s no longer on my mind daily. I just don’t care. Drama is stupid, always has been, but now I really don’t care.

MRIs suck. Bad. Open MRI? Not an option when it’s your brain. And it requires hours of imaging, all the time. I mean, I’m practically a walking nuclear power plant with all of the imaging I’ve had.

Speaking of MRIs. They are loud. Like 10 motorcycles sitting in this tiny little tube with you. And, the beautiful noice makes your insides shake in synchronized rhythm. Word of advice… don’t have one if you have an upset stomach. It’s bad.

You rarely get to wear your own clothes in the MRI. All metal must be out. Usually you get a fashionable moo moo that wraps around 10 times. Super comfy.

Let’s keep on the topic of MRIs. I legitimately feared I was going to be ripped out of this thing by a zombie. Apparently it’s a common fear to have. Who knew?!

You immediately get initiated into this little “special” group of people. I have met people from all over this country within a few weeks. It provides for great friendship and resources for doctors that may fit you well for your specific type of tumor.

Every day, you say to yourself “I have a brain tumor.” Every single day. Initially, it was every second of every day. It was literally all I could think. Now it’s maybe once or twice a day. A random thought about it, mostly just when someone else brings it up, and then move on with life.

It never gets easier to say though. I have a brain tumor. Nope. Never easier. Just starts to roll of the tongue easier lol.

I have a lot of anxiety, now a million times worse knowing what I know.

I really hate talking about Hector. A lot. It makes my anxiety escalate through the roof.

Appointments. The devil. Impending doom. What will the next step be? I certainly can’t sleep before them.

While speaking of appointments, one must paint their toenails before the neurology appointments. It NEVER FAILS, the nurse will say “take off your shoes and socks and the doctor will be right in.”

Then there’s brain surgery. You hope you get some superpower from it. Me? I wanted to come out speaking fluent French or Spanish. No such luck.

Brain surgery really is that bad, initially, but after a few days, life gets better and you start feeling like you again.

Remember that fear of shaving your head? It’s gone after you do it. Now you have a badass scar that provides endless amounts of strength.

I love my scar. It’s beautiful to me. I’m not ashamed, and you should never be ashamed of a battle fought hard, no matter if the scar is inside or outside.

All those appointments you had before surgery, you will still have them, and imaging all the time after. Will it ever stop? No.

Everyone compares their bad days to my bad days, and it helps them feel better. While I am happy my illness helps you have a better day, it doesn’t matter what the battle is, it’s you conquering and moving forward with life.

May you never forget that. Don’t ever compare your battles in life and try to belittle or expand the severity based on someone else’s life. This is your battle, your life. Fight on. Be strong. Have faith. There will come a day when you wake up after the battle is over and find that joy and peace you’ve been searching and asking for.

After 12 ½ years of battling and advocating, I sign off and pray I never have to return to this blog. Much love to you all and Hector, go to hell!