#ill draw now loll

[nwtears]

here's your mcr pictures💕

full pack lol

OH this is so cool thanks sm!! love them

[ickmick]

hey guys whaddya know i drew the silly some more (as mentioned at the end of this long thread as i relisten to the series)

post worms/start of s2 design lets go 🎉

decided its in a small half ponytail now bc i can (buns are hard to draw yall...) but there's a fee more sketches under the cut so :3

shameless link to my jonmartin drawing

i also posted these drawings to twitter yesterday

me? putting an obvious eye detail because i cant help it? nnnooo.... (yes)

also excuse my photo taking skills im still working out the settings on my camera and what cropping is best so erm...

itll probably forever be my curse that i can crunch out traditional drawings but then not be able to photograph them, meanwhile i cant manage to finish up digital stuff that doesnt need photos to be taken 😭 /hj

anyways! he looks so very tired and its extremely fun to draw LOL hes a deranged little wet cat fr <3

i uhhh actually dont have much to say this time around so thats... thats all hshsjsjs bye

[xecat]

this is my genius overlay for streaming ds games btw .

[mirror-imaged]

idont think anybody understands sheffbrien the way I do (insane) I'm sorry they're literally so bad for each other (affectionate) I could go on and on forever. I will actually. sheffbrien post be upon ye. thanks to ashe for talking about this w me on discord. this is a kinda obrien centric post bc of that loll but I'm obvi getting into sheffields whole deal too

having reread tc22 again and done some literary analysis a few days ago on a plane at 2 in the morning (I'm out of the country rn helloo ^_^) I picked up on a lot of thematics for them I find very interesting. long post ahead!

1 - the dynamics in their relationship are so wildly interesting. I think their characterization in tc22 does wonders for them. firstly, there are a lot of false differences id say? they seem so different, but when you boil it down they have a lot in common. sheffield is affluent and intelligent but has a spiteful and hotheaded side, obrien is seen as angry or rude but is taken for granted with his intelligence quite often by others. he got into an ivy league school at 17. there's also how sheffield seems so charismatic while obrien is abrasive and lonely, but they both really have no other friends when you get down to it? and last example for now, sheffield sees himself as divine while obrien seems to have renounced religion, but he really hasn't done the work of removing his mindset from a catholic(?) framework. expanding on that,

2 - obrien has religious trauma and this is heavily established. he doesn't actually ever move past religion as a concept though, he just moves on from God. he replaces his concept of God with his concept of his sister. more on this later. sheffield also has a relationship with religion, but more in the sense that he inherently sees himself as something unlike humanity, something greater and to be revered. he refers to himself as an angel in a way that doesn't strike me as being ingenuine the way he does in other places. I need to draw art about this it makes me abnormal

3 - for obrien specifically, there are some insanely interesting threads left about his trauma creating a savior complex within him. obviously shown at the start of the story with professor harris, but there are also the times he mentions going into genetics due to his guilt and wanting to entirely eliminate the disease that disabled his sister and when he says he feels an involuntary sympathy for stella when he found out she didn't mean to kill harris. it also makes me wonder if that plays into his protectiveness of sera later on.

4 - obrien has some severe internalized ableism going on that I wish more people actually picked apart. I know tc22 is a small scale story and a lot of people haven't read it, but it's fascinating stuff. he obviously grew up with the mindset that his sister was somehow contagious and describes how he felt he would somehow fall ill because of this, and that sort of mindset does a lot to dehumanize somebody in a person's mind. after eventually passing on an illness to her that results in her death, he is driven entirely by guilt as a character. he becomes certain that if God were fair and true, he would have died instead of her. but, like I mentioned before, he never really renounces religion in any specific way aside from this. he even mentions how he now prays to his sister instead of God, which I think is so fascinating. he never saw his sister as a person, and by elevating her to this status of somebody he needs to grovel to or even just uses as a holy figure in his life, he continues to see her as inhuman. he recognizes his past ableism, but he never does anything to deconstruct and rebuild from it. much like with his relationship with religion!

5 - obrien is treated by dds2 as the morally virtuous character, but he's really not (if you get the context from tc22). my boyfriend put it as him being just on the right side of history, which I absolutely agree with. I know tc22 was probably written after dds2 and doesn't necessarily inform the writing decisions for the games, but it definitely adds juicy layers to me. obrien is seemingly not motivated by any true desire to help sera or the nameless sufferers of CATCH22, he is motivated by the guilt from his sisters death hanging over him like a shadow. not to say he doesn't care at all, but it seems more like a quest to make up for his sins in the eyes of his sister than a desire to do good, which seems awfully catholic to me. this is absolutely the most interesting part of his character presented by the narrative. God I wish they did this better in the games.

6 - moving on to sheffield, sheffield is actually one of the most interesting and real depictions of a character with NPD traits I've ever seen, hands down. I know I talk about this frequently, but it's especially strongly done in tc22 and one of my favorite parts of his character. to start, he's mostly presented with extremely minor and often-masked aspects of the disorder a lot of people don't really pick up on. vouching personally. he quickly becomes passive aggressive and seemingly personally offended when challenged, like by inspector Harvey for instance. he is a practiced and seemingly compulsive liar, able to make things up on the spot that nobody but obrien questions due to his confidence. he seems to get along swimmingly with people he doesn't know well, charismatic and understanding. he pays exceptionally close attention to other people's emotions, expressions, and demeanors to adjust and match theirs. he also is debatably depicted with real delusions of grandeur. he only seems to be able to let his guard down around obrien, actually. and my absolute favorite moment of his, really relatable for me, is that when he stops masking he does not become dangerous. he does not go into a rage, he just goes blank. entirely and visibly unable to express emotion "normally", and obrien is initially scared, but realizes he just doesn't understand sheffield as well as he thinks he does. this is incredibly accurate to real life for me. it's actually insanely well depicted. and what I really appreciate is that sheffield is never presented as truly malicious [IN THIS STORY]. with dds2 context, he can be seen that way for sure, but he isn't actually shown being morally reprehensible. he's dubious and seems to have trouble understanding where he crosses a line, but that's also very true to real life for me. he isn't necessarily trying to be evil, he's just nosy and invasive of boundaries on occasion. they also never actually label him as or call him a narcissist, which is so good?? props to tadashi for once?? I think he is one because I have the disorder and can more accurately assess this sort of thing, but labeling every character who's like Abusive as a narcissist is so tacky and distasteful to me. it diminishes the harm they inflict on other people as being something born of mental illness, which isn't necessarily true. he is definitely abusive to sera, but that is not related to his narcissism.

7 - sheffield is just such a good character in this. I raved already about his npd stuff but I want to get into other things a little too. firstly, he does seem to genuinely view himself as inhuman, which is something I also believe contrasts obrien a little. obrien has this deep internalized self hatred, while sheffield has this genuine belief he is on a different level from other people. despite this, he sees obrien as being his Equal in some way. as being worthy of his presence, his assistance, his friendship. the pizza scene really really drives this home for me. (that's another subtle npd ass trait but I've said enough). in addition, sheffield tries so desperately to present himself as worthy of something more, maybe backed by doubt, or maybe even just true belief. he tries to appear intimidating, has knowledge of how to get into people's heads, etc. maybe this is because he's young and people see him differently for being so ahead of his grade, but I also see it as a display of insecurity in an implicit way. his delusions of grandeur also play into this characterization, because delusions of grandeur are often born from extreme and severe self doubt (at least in those with mental health disorders, which I've already mentioned I believe he strongly aligns with). him coming from a wealthy background in Portland of all places would not help any of that kind of thing.

8 - i don't even know what else I could say about them. they make me so abnormal. not even a toxic romantic relationship between them (which I do like think about but obviously post tc22 I don't like their age gap) but simply their dynamic as two characters. sera is a figurehead for their conflict, really. all the things we learn about both of these characters really makes me question how much BOTH of them care for sera, not just sheffield's two-faced lies. she is representative of their ideological dispute. she is a small child who has the potential to save the world, but obrien is too scared of letting another child die as a result of his inaction and sheffield is too focused on his end goal of getting what he believes he deserves, divinity and becoming a revered savior of the world, no matter who falls along the way. they are built to contrast each other. you even see this through heat and serph to a degree, with how sera mixed them up. heat declares he is on the same level as God during the jp text of the vritra fight, while serph inevitably sacrifices his own life for the sake of sera.

9 - what happened between tc22 and the dds2 flashbacks? I actually need to know what caused their relationship to split so heavily. I'm fucking obsessed with them. post over please join my sheffbrien Island there's like 2 other people here

[aurumacadicus]

More serial killer Bucky I guess. 😒 Tw: blood and gore and self harm and depression and suicidal thoughts and beloveds this man is a serial killer. This is past revenge he gets too much pleasure out of it. He chooses not to hurt Tony much but that’s an exception not the rule. He once tried to strangle Steve for getting in his way and Steve almost broke his neck in response these men went to sleep and woke up WRONG. They are not nice people.

Also I’m saying this so no one gets on my ass: The illnesses Bucky mentions are in quotations because until he actually researches them, Bucky thinks they’re fake. They didn’t have that shit back before he fell from the train and he is ASTOUNDED to know that he and Steve probably have some form of PTSD. But that’s future Bucky’s problem. He’s got Hydra to kill.

Watch out for under the cut.

—

“You need to go check on Tony,” Steve says. “I’ve got too many enemies on my tail. I can’t go. He’s not answering his phone.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it back out. “I’m on my own job.”

“He’s not answering his phone and I can’t get to him,” Steve says flatly. “If he’s dead when I get back, that’s your fucking problem.” He hangs up before Bucky can say anything in response. The dial tone sounds judgmental.

Bucky looks at his phone for a moment, sighing, then crushes the Hydra goon’s throat in his metal fist, not caring about the blood splattering over him. He would have preferred to draw it out, but he hadn’t started his homicidal bender just to watch the kid who got him out of it die. His phone rings again. He answers it.

“I told him you killed his parents, by the way,” Steve says, voice clipped. “So he might try to shoot you. I don’t know,” he adds, sounding frustrated. “He might hand the gun to you to finish the job, too. He’s taking this medicine. I think sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn’t.” He sighs angrily. “I kinda thought they’d be able to fix this by now. The human body is a mistake. Have you heard of AIM?”

"No," Bucky says simply. He’s been hyper-focused on Hydra.

“Fucking piece of shit future things were supposed to be better without me--” Steve says, and then there’s the sound of shooting, and then he hangs up again.

Bucky considers looking into AIM, then decides he can deal with them if and when he runs out of Nazis to kill.

Tony’s front door is unlocked. It irritates him. Most people are scared off by locked doors, go looking for easier targets then. A locked door would at least buy someone time to protect themselves if the invader was intent on getting in.

“Are you here to kill me?” Tony asks where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “Finish the Stark family off forever?” His head lolls forward, and he blinks at him slowly, bruises under his eyes, greasy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

Bucky walks over to grab him by the front of the shirt with his metal hand. Tony doesn’t stand up when he tugs on it, so he shrugs, dragging him over to where he assumes the bedroom is. That seems to warrant a reaction, apparently, because he scrabbles uselessly with his grip. He makes his way through the bedroom to the bathroom.

“What is this?” Tony finally asks. “Is this a prosthetic? Why is it made out of metal?”

“To torture me,” Bucky answers. It could be a joke. It mostly isn’t. He opens the shower door and thrusts Tony inside. He means to draw his hand back, but Tony had a grip on him, so he slides a few inches before Bucky stops. “You’re gross.”

“It’s not gonna kill me to stay gross a little longer,” Tony huffs, twisting his arm this way and that. “This is sloppy. They really were trying to torture you, huh?”

“Chronic pain makes you tired. When you’re tired, you’re easy to control,” Bucky says. He sounds like he’s repeating it. He doesn’t know where he’s heard it before. One of the Hydra scientists, probably. It makes sense.

Tony’s face twitches, but whatever was there, it’s gone before Bucky can parse it. “I could do better,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“You can’t even bathe yourself regularly,” Bucky says flatly. “Melding metal with a nervous system? Please.”

Tony jerks his head up to glare at him, and it’s the most emotion he’s seen on his face. “Oh yeah? Fucking watch me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at him, and Bucky ducks on instinct. He stoops to pick it up and wonders why, remembers someone yelling at a bunch of little girls to pick their clothes up after they bathe. It sounds like his voice, maybe. He decides not to think about it. It wouldn’t help. He takes a moment to examine Tony’s arms. All he sees is the faded pink lines, he notices with approval. The scars will probably always be visible, but at least it doesn’t look like he’s got any new marks.

Tony throws his pants at him. He catches them and can’t help but think he aimed them at his head on purpose. His aim isn’t very good. But then, his everything isn’t very good right now. His ribs are too visible. He could use a few good meals.

Tony shoves his boxers down, and Bucky can’t help the noise he makes when he sees the wounds inside of his thighs. Razor marks in two rows from mid thigh up to the crease almost up to where thigh met pelvis.

Bucky has his flesh hand around Tony’s throat before he even realizes, shoving him up against the tiles with a snarl. He feels Tony’s throat work beneath his hand, but there’s no pleasure in it--there’s no fear in Tony’s wide eyes, no anxiety. He doesn’t even struggle. Bucky drops him, disgusted, and Tony drops to the floor with a gasp as he spits, “You’d be happy if I killed you, wouldn’t you?”

Tony clutches at his throat, as he continues sucking in air, but he doesn’t answer, staring up at him from under his lashes with what might be disappointment, if Bucky was generous, except that he mostly looks like he feels nothing at all.

It’s wrong. People shouldn’t want to... What had Steve said? Medicine. Tony was sick. Something was making him feel like this.

“Shower,” Bucky tells him sharply, catches sight of the razor on the shower shelf, and reaches in to snatch it.

Tony looks like he wants to complain, but thinks better of it in response to Bucky’s sharp glare.

Bucky waits for the shower to start before he goes through the bathroom cupboards and drawers, then out into the bedroom. He finds a couple more razors. Takes those too. Finds a couple orange bottles and examines them. Googles the names to figure out what they are. Doesn’t understand any of the words, really.

“What’s serotonin?” Bucky asks when Tony comes out of the bathroom, and Tony lets out a startled bark of laughter. “They didn’t have that when I was in the army,” he continues defensively, and Tony laughs harder.

Tony gets dressed, and Bucky googles what the fuck a dopamine is. Doesn’t care that Tony’s getting close until his hands are on his metal wrist. “This really is garbage,” he huffs, unimpressed. “I know I could do better.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Bucky says flatly. “You’re still trying to die. You don’t even lock your door.” He slants Tony a sharp look. “Is that because you’re hoping someone will come in and hurt you?”

“Maybe, but so far it’s just been your contrarian ass,” Tony grumbles. “Saved my life twice even though you regularly kill people. Even my own parents. So unfair.”

Bucky turns his judgmental slant to a full-on glare, outraged. Tony doesn’t even notice, making him turn his arm so he can examine the elbow joints in motion. “Do you have any self-preservation in that emaciated body of yours?”

“Celebrities are supposed to be thin,” Tony scoffs.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky tells him, unimpressed, and then jerks his arm free and stands. “Answer your fucking phone.”

“I was mugged,” Tony says with a blase shrug, and then snaps, “Don’t fucking choke me if you’re not gonna finish the job,” when Bucky reaches out for him again.

Bucky pauses to consider this. Maybe a good slap would help?

Tony tips his head back to look up at him, purring, “Or unless you’re gonna finish the job, if you know what I mean. I like when my daddy chokes me while I’m riding him.”

“Gross. I knew your dad,” Bucky says. Remembers the way Howard looked up at him, blood dripping down his face, and asked, “Sergeant Barnes?” before he beat him to death. “Don’t call me that. You’re twelve.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Tony exclaims, offended.

It's the most emotion Bucky has seen on him, even more than in the bathroom. “Answer your fucking phone,” he says, instead of ‘sounds fake’ or ‘no way.’ “I had to leave in the middle of a job. If I have to do that again, I’ll be very angry.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tony says, and Bucky has to credit him for being honest.

“Maybe you can fix my arm,” Bucky says, instead of telling him he’s annoying. “If you live long enough.”

Tony’s eyes immediately go to his arm again. Speculative. Interested.

Bucky leaves. Takes a few days to do a deep dive on “depression” and “bipolar” and “anxiety” and wonders when they started existing outside of shell shock, except apparently that isn’t a thing anymore. Takes another few days to research the medication he’d found and texts Steve that he doesn’t think what Tony’s taking is helpful. Suggests different options.

The only response he gets is “why is Tony taking my blood????” and “WHY IS TONY DRAWING ARMS??????? ARE YOU GETTING A NEW ARM????? I’m gonna tell him to put a smiley face on where the star is now.”

[spinnydraws]

I WAS SUMMONED TO YOUR BLOG BY MY MUTUAL @uzibrainrot AND OMG I LOVE YOUR MD OC SERIAL DESIGNATION B PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT THEM AGHHHHHHH /NF 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

AAAA TYSMMMM IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY OC, MBAJSBAJBHSA….!!!!!! Also, heckkk yeah ill tell you about them!!!!!! I’ve been dying to talk about B the moment i started writing a story for them LMAOO,,, ofc this will include spoilers lol

B is the tallest disassembly, they’re also the laziest… they do NOT want to do their job LMAO. They’re probably J’s least favorite because of how lazy they are. They like to sleep, a lot, and when i say a lot i mean ALOT. This is mostly to escape their issues, but its also because they’re always exhausted LOOL… due to not hunting a lot, N usually brings them worker drones to eat so they dont overheat and die, he cares for them a lot !!!!! I wouldn’t call their relationship with J rivalry, but they both DEFINITELY hate each other JAJAJJAJA,,, as for B and V… i ship them,, loll,,, in fact, in my mind they start dating after ep 3!!!

(Here’s a description thing i made for B before drawing them…) Serial Designation B, other known as Bunny or simply just B, is more laid back and simple minded compared to their companions. They really don’t care about most things, and prefer to sit back and watch. They’re lazy, and disobedient (their ass does NOT follow orders from J.) When hunting, it’s common for them to stalk their “prey” before killing, (while this is rare, since they don’t want to do their job and barely hunt 😭) They’re often sarcastic, and rude, (Towards J mainly) and make dead toned jokes at the worst times possible.

In the Mansion days, B used to be quiet, and overly nervous. They were self conscious and hyperactive at times, feeling abnormal being the tallest drone at the time. Despite Tessa’s encouragement to socialize, they were more distant with the other drones, sneaking off during work hours to avoid getting caught in any social situations. They’re easily bully-able, (cough cough, J, cough cough.) and usually get pushed around by the other drones. When they aren’t anxiously running around as a maid, they sneak away to play piano in the library. No one usually ventures in there, so that’s why they like to spent most of their time alone there, playing till their hearts content in secret. That is before N heard them playing one day JSJAHSJA

THATS ALL I REALLY HAVE FOR NOW, if u have anymore specific questions about them, feel free to ask 0D

[elentarial]

For the angst requests, if you'd like: "When's the last time you slept?"

Turin and Beleg, or alternatively, Hurin and Fingon

Thank you @melestasflight for the fun prompt! I’ve never written Turin before.

They camped in a shallow valley some forty leagues from the western marches of Doriath. Beleg had come upon the Gaurwaith the night before but had only succeeded in halting their travels at now, at dusk. Their roving through deep winter had cost them greatly. Many were injured or ill, but they could be healed. Beleg feared for Turin.

Hurin’s son leaned against the trunk of a great fir tree, his raw hands tucked into the folds of his cloak. When asked for a command, he was silent and grim. Turin was prone to dark moods and bouts of melancholy, but his complete inaction was worrying. 

Beleg knelt in the snow before Turin, drawing his hands away from his body. Most of his fingers were dark red and swollen, although the very tip of his index finger had gone silver. Beleg hummed in consternation, carefully rubbing the frozen joints. 

“Mellon, where are your gloves?”

Turin muttered something incoherent and lolled his head to one side, a tangle of dirty black hair falling into his face. “…lost…Queen.”

“You lost the gloves Queen Melian gave you?” 

Beleg repeated each word slowly, carefully. Turin’s reactions were too slow and inelegant to make much sense. Turin may have nodded in assent and simply fell forward, or he may have flopped over involuntarily; either way, he slumped against Beleg’s solid frame. Peeking beneath the layers of wool and fur, Beleg could count the vertebrae from where Turin’s hair parted at the base of his neck. 

He gathered Turin into his arms and draped the vibrant red cloak of a marchwarden around his friend’s shoulders. Beleg crumbled lembas into the tin of hot water he had brought, making a rough porridge. It was not much, but it was surely enough to bring some color back into Turin’s cheeks. Melian’s gifts had yet to lead him astray.

“Here, my friend.” He tipped the warm mug against Turin’s lips, pleased that he swallowed at least a little of the gruel.

“Tired,” Turin whispered, “so tired.”

“When did you sleep last?”

Turin nuzzled against him, glassy eyes closing in exhaustion. “I don’t know. I waited for you to find us.”

[haeroniel-doliet]

A lil updates and thoughts going on rn! Mostly about art again :') putting it under read more tho bc it got away from me again all rambly lmao

Hooo wheee! Life has been a little busy huh. Finally going to work again even if it is pretty much part time, other hobbies im keeping up with, trying to keep up on life admin and its going almost well! Shame im realizing i havent worked on my drawings in well over a month now 😅

Part of me is slightly dreading going back to them rn bc ive spent hours and hours on them already and they still need many hours before i post them....

You know that one guy on like tiktok/youtube shorts whos a really friendly old artist with a hobbit hole studio and does like 1hr paintings that look incredible? Obviously i dont expect myself being rusty and also not with years and years of experience to do the same but wouldn't that be the dream? To be able to just create and be done and happy with it in just an hour or a few and move on. How sad it is how many things i have started and not finished, outting in hours and hours where it doesnt really make even a super significant difference.

Also its that dinluke positivity week thing (god i hope this doesnt show up in the tag lmao sorry) i was really hyped months ago thinking its great prompts and great time to partake in my favourite fandom especially before february 2023 inevitably changes the scene in some way! But all of a sudden mid november is here and thats kinda terrifying! I have no clear idea for any of them, nothing im like desperate to draw and my current drawing doesnt really fit them either. Im thinking maybe i should try like, giving myself idk 2 hrs max to just make something beginning to end and if i hate it its ok i dont have to post it. But maybe i will and it could be fun! Sure i am too tired to properly do anything but idk, even making one post could give me excitement and hype for things i used to enjoy and something that isnt just real life and like job related.

To be fair i could also go for the much more guaranteed dopamine boost and play a video game ive been thinking of playing again for months. Sure i dunno which to choose and im not like super inclined to anything even tho i would like to play multiple of them again, just playing alone is a little boring i guess.

The more i spend just overthinking the quicker my sunday will be over and ill have to do next week and god knows ill be busy!! I should try drawing bc its there floating in my mind and could be easier to slip in into the day routine to do a little here and there rather than like, playing skyrim for 30 mins loll. Or oblivion bc for some reason ive been missing it. Or battlefront, even tho that is really hard to play without really trying my hardest and getting readjusted to the pace of it

Alright ok im gonna set up my digital art stuff, im gonna challenge myself to sketch something on theme for all the prompts and see what ends up catching my attention. If i can do 1 or even a couple of them thatd be really really neat!

[cactbi]

on one hand I want to draw, on the other hand I want to get really drunk

[luvring]

Hello! Could I get a Gn mc x sage when he gets hurt/sick?

Where they get a bunch of his fav food and drag tulsi to go see him and he's so,,,,,touched,,??he feels so appreciated,,,,, so soft,,

If you're okay with it maybe balsam and Lucan are still alive and come to cheer him up too? It's cool if you can't add them in tho

No need to stray away from anything and mentions of NSFW are cool too

Thank you!! And congratulations on 1k followers!!!!!

pstpstpst next time pls be off anon :') i don't mind too much rn since i miss sage and i, too, am sick but,, yeah BFSJGB (i have..,, no idea how to characterize balsam and lucan so i didn't add them :sob: also wow 400 words was not enough LOLL)

celebrate 1k with me :D

"what are you doing here?"

tulsi only raises an eyebrow as she walks into the room, "is that how you greet people when you're stuck in bed like some hurt stray?"

sage has dealt with death-defying injuries, but apparently he wasn’t immune to whatever illness was floating around. his voice is raspy as he lifts himself to sit up, “come closer, maybe if i cough on you you’ll be stuck here with me.”

lightheartedly rolling your eyes at the two of them, you start to place things on the table, "we brought you your favourite, some, uh, raw meat. like, really raw."

"and soup. the kind we'd have when we used to get sick,” tulsi pokes sage’s forehead and stares at him, “they know to make sure you eat this, so don’t you dare try to trash it.”

despite the threat, there’s no real malice in her voice. sage’s sarcastic reply dies on his tongue when he spots the worry in her eyes. his own soften in response, “yeah, yeah. i get it. thank you.”

tulsi lets out a breath and turns to you, “i’m gonna go check what you all have in the kitchen. i still don’t get how he got a partner as good as you, but thank you for taking care of him.”

you snort at the look sage gives her from behind but smile at her, “of course, tulsi. thank you.” she pats your shoulder before leaving the two of you alone again.

"hey,”—finally, you walk towards sage and sit next to his bed—“how’re you feeling?’

“better now that you’re here,” he pushes a smirk, though his tired eyes betray him. he leans back against the headboard and sighs. "thank you, really, this..." sage trails off, eyes flickering between you and the food. he spots some paper tucked behind it all—it’s a little drawing and message, “get better soon!” signed by her, you, and the other starsworn.

“i don’t deserve all this.”

you frown, "hey, giving you some food is the least we could do, sage. and you deserve even more.”

sage looks at you for a while before softly smiling and closing his eyes. he takes a deep breath before speaking again, "you know, i think i deserve a different kind of treat once i'm better, don't you agree?" he opens one eye, breathing out a laugh at the look you give him.

instead of giving him a direct response, you take the soup you brought and push it towards him, "get better first, then we'll see."

[vrisrezis]

If you feel up for it, could you do some mushy/soft headcanons for Hunter & nb/gender neutral reader? Thanks so much!!

Hope you enjoy my actual mental illness for this I am sorry in advance .

You and hunter be like: down with cis .

(Get it cuz ur nb and he’s a he/they trans nb guy bc I said so haha)

Anyways:

- So sweet and supportive about everything, given that he understands what you go through. Dysphoria and all, he helps you through it :))

- totally has binders if you need em

Okay here’s normal hcs now (I made reader kinda goofy and dumb but yk) . Also technically this is kinda ?? gay since ur nb just wanted to make dat clear since I mention . Gay . Things . LOLL

- just hugs you and smooches ur cheek . And makes u feel valid,,,,

- cuddles . Cuddles .

- “MWAH” kiss on the forehead . . while he’s reading or sum

- his favorite position while kissing you is like. Your legs around his waist, hands on his cheeks while kissing him. His hands on your waist .

- OMG SO LISTEN!!! When he’s just being silly n goofy he carries you with you sitting on his shoulders. Piggyback rides too . He may look scrawny but he can handle it promise …

- also sometimes when your on his shoulders . Wrap arms around his neck

- holds ur hand .. give a lil SQUEEZE,,,

- sometimes when he is kissin u he just like grabs on your shirt

- info dumps on you while you read your fav books together or something .

- carries you bridal style sometimez . Usually when he’s feelin protective . Like getting you out of danger or something!

- if you carry him bridal style he grips onto your shirt tightly and he’s all blushy

- sometimes likes to kiss you while laying in your lap instead with his hand cupping your cheek (his face a whole red mess)

- kisses your cheek so hard . Smushes your cheek . Also smushes your cheek with his .

- blanket forts with him

- intertwines his hands with yours . While smiling like a dork

- holds your hand and walks with you all the time <33 hee hee

- when you kiss he grabs at the back of your head sometimes!! Or wraps his arms around your neck

- you guyz cuddlin . Just like poke at his cheek . He loves it even if he acts tsundere about it .

- lay head on his chest . His chin on your head

- kiss everywhere . On the floor . In the kitchen . In bedroom . In the laundry room while Belos is right there and wants you dead .

- when he takes a break from kissing you . Nuzzle him .

- him laying on his crossed arms on your stomach, looking up at you and you look down at him . And you guys do stupid shit like “pfbfpbfft” “PFBFPBFFT” and then start laughing hysterically

- just cuddling and he randomly pecs your forehead multiple times with a “mwah mwah”

- squish his cheeks . His face gets all red and then he does it back to you as payback and he loses his mind over your soft tender skin ..

- hugs you around your middle, legs around your waist while he info dumps about whatever

- I keep talking about y’all on each others lap BUT!! You on his lap and just hugging his head with his arms around you

- when he realizes he’s into dumping he goes quiet and his face gets all red and your just giving him a goofy smile and he loses his mind

- bro just info dumping about a book he read and your like “bro shaking and crying” and he is actually shaking and crying .

- draw on him while he’s reading

- “did you draw a dick on my face?” “No….” Proceeds to draw dicks on his face

- hunter just kisses u for the first time and u go “haha that was awesome” and you’re both a huge blushy mess and then you start beatboxing.

- “aww hunter my skrinkly wimble oonglydoople” “what.”

- hunter isn’t even phased by your “I ❤️ hot dads” shirt anymore you two just standing there casually with it on . You ask him to get a matching one and he’s like “I don’t care that you’re weird but Don’t involve me .”

- you guys playing toys . Sk8 board toys to be exact . He’s like “BOOM SICK TRICK” and you lose your fuckin mind you start sobbing

- “you’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice?” “What’s a shrimp.”

- kiss his cheek . “Smeck” “NOOOO!” then you just smile as his entire face is red and kiki just saw all of that .

- you two don’t see eachother for a long time? Reuniting is just a bunch of “ILY” “<3” “MWAH!” And him hugging you with your legs around his waist . and smooches .

- you two walk with your arms around eachother shoulders like your clingy besties . But it is so much more than that

- listen to music with shared earbuds

- grabs your chin n kisses you sometimes hehe

- kissin while he’s in your lap then you both start gigglin

- neck kisses :3

- he starts laughing though because it tickles

- naps with u . His head in your chest and arms around your upper back and your hugging his mid as your legs overlap on his

- “damn Belos gnc as fuck” “you’re insane”

- “hunter stinks he has no right being the cutest mf ever”

- just smiles . With blush on his face as he looks at you while you talk abt whatever it is . Bro is in love . Soft ass smile . He is smitten

- you just layin on the floor dead . He just flops on you .

- you just jammin to sum tunes and . He is shakin and crying stop we are on a mission please

- you just CRYIN n he comforting u he’s like “babe what’s wrong :(“ and you’re like “I… *sniffle* i ate soap” “…..” “…….” “You what.”

- y’all were watching a movie and you were like “I’d fuck that old man” and he squints at you like you’re insane, looks at the guy and then back at you. “Y/n….”

- be gay do crimes

- “they ordered pickles” meme with u and him . It’s true .

- “I see you don’t have a lifeguard at your beach…;)” “y/n this is a hot tub.”

- “oooo you like me- how EMBARRASSING” you say as you both strangle eachother

- on top of you and hugs you like a teddy bear and just sleeps like that

- Luz be like “>:( he’s awful and mean wtf?!?” And you’re like “you don’t have all the facts” and amity’s like “which are?” “I love him.”

- wearing a shirt that says “hunter apologist” on it

- kissin him with the girly one foot up thing . (I cant actually explain this pls tell me u understand)

- the circle of life between y/n and hunter. Being fucking sad and miserable . And then . “Wait a second I’m gay” and then being happy “SUCCESS!” and then being miserable again . Full circle .

- “do you ever sleep” “sometimes I close my eyes when I sneeze .” “Hunter Jesus”

- also YALL havin this convo when he is being a little shit to Luz or something “why are you a bitch?” “ask myself that question everyday” “well can u stop”

- hunter, beginning of relationship: “affection can be exchanged for goods and services”

Hunter, now in the relationship: “so turns out that isn’t enough and I should utilize “open communication” and “emotional availability” whatever the hell that means. Bullshit.

- you made hunter put on a shirt . The front says “straight pride” the back says “JUST KIDDING. Can you imagine holy fucking shit”

Okay I hope you guys liked my hcs bc. I love hunter and I was feeling rather insane when I made this. .

[arlenianchronicles]

Day 2 for Diverse Tolkien Week: Disability

Elrond’s Diary: The Gentle Touch

Upon my horrid clumsiness,

An error I have made!

I did not see where I was going;

If only I had stayed!

The metal hand lay on the floor,

Knocked down from a great height;

A ringing clang now filled the air,

Enough to give me fright.

Adar Maedros stood so still.

His gaze fixed on the hand.

Along its side was struck a dent;

‘Twas more than I could stand!

“Adar, adar, adar,” I cried,

“Let not your anger flare!

“Forgive me for I did not see

“Your bright limb resting there!”

Misunderstand me not, I beg:

I had no fear of fists,

That he might handle me with strength

And leave my mind in mists.

For he has never hurt me thus,

Yet what I came to dread

Was disappointment in his eyes;

A horrid land to tread.

But even worse, I knew that he

Still grieved the empty space

Above his stump, where long before

A hand once had a place.

Now several metal hands he kept,

And all for different tasks;

For Curufin his brother made

A-many with his crafts.

To treat his brother’s work so ill,

What Maedros valued dear!

My heart did ache; what else to do

But make my regrets clear?

A glimmer then I thought I saw

A-blaze in Adar’s eye!

My breath came short, my hands now shook,

And I began to cry.

I thought that he might turn away

And leave me to my shame,

Yet now he knelt and set me on

His knee, against his frame.

He stroked my hair and held me close,

And kissed my tear-filled eyes;

His voice was low, all woolly-soft,

And soothed my sorry cries.

“My dearest child, I promise you:

“My wrath you need not fear.

“Now please, if you will let me, I

“Will wipe away your tear.”

I thought his left hand he would use.

Oh, I was still so weak!

For he did raise his right and set

His stump upon my cheek.

And gently thus he wiped away

The fear and grief from me;

His stump was smooth, all flesh and bone,

As normal as could be.

"But Adar dear," I said to him,

"Are you not mad at me?

"That hand is dear to you, I thought;

"A gift from family."

Adar then did look at me,

His gaze all soft and sad:

"A helpful tool it is, and look!

"The dent is not so bad."

“I hold no anger for your deed;

“‘Twas just a simple err.

“It’d take much more for me to rage,

“My Elerondo fair.”

He murmured kindly as he worked,

And softly stroked my hair;

While ‘cross the landscape of his face

His smile wavered there.

And yet he did not turn around

To see the metal hand.

Quite soon my tears lay on his wrist

Like foam upon the sand.

I held his stump once he was done,

And leaned against his chest.

“See, all is well,” he said, “and now

“For you, some rest is best.”

And so we went, me in his arms.

I gladly kissed his face;

While his bright limb we left behind

Unmoving in its place.

***

Whelp looks like I’m doing these days all out of order now loll I initially wasn’t planning to use this for Diverse Tolkien Week, but I ended up going for it once I started the sketch process.

I took inspiration from Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” for their poses (which I think most of y’all are familiar with XDD) and put a familial spin to it. I’ve always wanted to draw something inspired by that painting, but I was never able to find the right characters or get the face angles right.

As for the poem itself -- many thanks to @thefifthbattle​ for giving me feedback on the first draft! <333 For its setting, I imagine it might’ve taken place in Maedros’ quarters or somewhere not so public (otherwise they likely wouldn’t have left his prosthetic lying on the floor in a corridor loll). Maybe it’s getting close to the twins’ bedtime, which is why Maedros is wearing casual clothes and also because I wanted it to not look too much like the last painting loll

This one is already up in my Inprnt shop as a print!

[morganaspendragonss]

Hello, fic request coming through if you are still doing them! Okay, Carlos has not been feeling well so he stays in and doesn't go to his shift. TK still has his shift, so he wants to stay with Carlos to keep an eye on him but Carlos says he is fine. TK is uneasy at work just wants to go back home, he calls Carlos but he is not answering. Tommy says TK can go check up on Carlos, while he is at home, he finds Carlos in bed and when he goes closer, Carlos is not breathing. Paramedic!TK coming through. Super angst ensues but Carlos makes it in the end after some time in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 25: heaving through corrupted lungs

thank you for the prompt!

thanks also to @noxsoulmate for the beta! 💚

ao3 | 2.9k | major character illness, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, brief references to past, canonical character death

“Strand, I know we’re not on a call right now, but you could at least pretend to be focused.”

TK flushes as Tommy’s somewhat less-than amused voice reaches him from the back of the ambulance. He hurriedly locks his phone and shoves it in the glove compartment, though not before checking every messaging app he has for word from Carlos.

There’s none, of course, just like it’s been all day. Logically, he knows Carlos is probably sleeping—god knows he needs it—but that isn’t going to stop him from worrying, or from sending check-up texts every ten minutes. It does, however, stop Carlos from answering, which isn’t very conducive to TK’s ability to concentrate on work today.

“Sorry, Cap,” he says. “It’s just—”

“Carlos is sick and you’re being paranoid, as usual,” Nancy chimes in, audibly rolling her eyes from the driver’s seat. “Look, dude, if he said he’s fine, then he’s probably fine.”

“Well, I’m the paramedic in the relationship, and I say he’s not fine.” TK sighs and forces himself to resist the urge to pull out his phone again. “Carlos likes to lecture me about hiding injuries, but he’s exactly the same when he’s ill; he could be on death’s door and still saying he’s okay. But he hasn’t said anything today, so I’m worried.”

“You’re always worried about him.”

“Welcome to relationships,” Tommy comments. “Seriously though, TK, are you going to be okay to finish this shift? There’s still ten hours to go and we cannot afford for you to be distracted out there.”

TK doesn’t answer right away; on one hand, he’s itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

He’s staring out the window, considering his options, when he realises that he knows these streets. Like, actually knows them. They’re right around the corner from his and Carlos’s home, and an idea strikes TK like a lightning bolt.

“Hey, Cap?” he asks, twisting around in his seat to look at her. “How about we take a lunch break now instead of driving all the way back to the station? There’s a great place nearby, and it’s less likely that we’ll be interrupted by a call before we get food.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously, clearly not buying his innocent act. “What are you talking about, TK?”

“Mine and Carlos’s place is literally two streets away; we could drop by and I could check in on him and make sure he’s okay. Plus,” he continues, already spotting the argument on Tommy’s face, “I’m not lying about the food. Carlos cooks in bulk, so we’ve got loads of leftover casserole in the freezer.”

Tommy pauses, indecision clear in her expression. She narrows her eyes at TK, scrutinising him. “Will this mean you’ll stop being so distracted?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright.” She sighs and nods, and Nancy switches directions to head towards their home. “I’m holding you to that, Strand.”

TK spends the entire drive, short as it is, drumming his fingers on his knees and trying to keep the ever-growing panic at bay. Carlos is going to be fine.

He has to be.

He jumps out the ambulance before Nancy’s even fully stopped it, cursing himself as he fumbles with his keys. Tommy pats his shoulder soothingly; it doesn’t really calm him down, but TK appreciates the effort and her unconditional support. When he gets inside, he simply waves a hand in the general direction of the freezer, hoping Tommy and Nancy get the message, and barrels upstairs, Carlos’s name bursting from his lips.

“Carlos, babe, you here?” It’s a stupid question; TK had seen the Camaro in the driveway and Carlos is far too ill to want to walk anywhere—or so TK hopes—so he has to be home. But the silence draws out, and TK’s heart is pounding a mile a minute by the time he reaches the door to their bedroom.

“Carlos?” He pushes open the door, sighing in relief when he sees his fiancé sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. It’s a little weird that he hasn’t woken up yet given how loud TK was shouting, but it’s probably just because his body needs the rest. TK would bet that the apocalypse could happen outside the window and Carlos wouldn’t so much as stir.

He tip-toes towards the bed, a soft smile spreading across his lips as anxiety gives way to fondness and love. It’s not until he’s within touching distance of Carlos that he registers just how still he is; just how silent the room is.

This morning, Carlos’s breathing was loud and harsh, punctuated with periodic sniffs and coughs.

Now, he’s not making a sound.

And, as TK drops to his knees and bends over his fiancé’s body, he realises that his chest isn’t moving.

Carlos isn’t breathing.

The panic is back in full force as TK frantically presses his fingers to Carlos’s pulse point, praying for something—a flutter, anything—to indicate that Carlos isn’t… That he’s not…

There’s nothing.

Instinct takes over, TK linking his hands on Carlos’s chest and starting compressions even as his vision blurs with tears and he chokes on the sobs building in his throat.

“Cap!” he yells, not taking his eyes off Carlos. “Cap, up here!”

A minute later, Tommy and Nancy burst into the room, both halting in shock for a moment before jumping into action. Nancy moves to the other side of the bed, already pulling out the ambu bag, while Tommy comes to stand by TK.

“What do we have?” she asks, professional as ever, though there’s a clear worried undertone to her voice.

“No pulse, no respiration,” he manages, voice thick. “Skin is warm to the touch. No clear cause, but patient was congested and moderately feverish during the past few days.”

Tommy nods and gently pushes at TK’s shoulder. “Alright, you did good, TK, but you should let us take over now,” she says gently. “Come on, Nancy and I can handle this.”

TK ignores her, continuing compressions with renewed force. “I have to help him, Cap. I have to.”

“And you have, but now—”

“No!” Later, TK will be ashamed of the way he lost control like that, and he’ll have to apologise to Tommy, but the only thing he can really, truly focus on now is Carlos. He keeps pushing, feeling Carlos’s ribs give under his hands, and forces himself to keep going even though his stomach turns at the idea of causing him any pain. “Come on, baby,” he mutters. “Come on, Carlos, please.”

Time is running out; TK can tell by the way the silence is starting to feel heavier and heavier, by the looks he knows Tommy and Nancy must be exchanging over his head. Carlos’s time is running out, and TK is staring down a future he doesn’t know he can survive, and—

“I have a pulse!” Nancy shouts, and the words don’t register in TK’s head until Tommy’s hands are forcibly pulling him back and Carlos’s chest is moving and his eyelids start to flutter.

Tommy slides into the space left by TK, practiced hands checking Carlos’s vitals. “Carlos, can you hear me?”

She gets no response save for a weak groan, then Carlos’s body goes slack again and his head lolls limply on the pillow. TK takes a panicked step forward, but he’s just as quickly pushed back as Tommy secures an oxygen mask over Carlos’s face.

“Nancy, get the backboard and the gurney ready. Heart rate is arrhythmic and respiration is laboured; radio Austin Memorial and get their cardiac unit on standby.”

Nancy dashes out of the bedroom, and Tommy grabs her own radio. “Dispatch, this is RA 126 responding to a cardiac event at 2204 Allred Drive. Patient is unconscious and breathing, however at the time of arrival, he was in cardiac arrest. Duration unknown.”

“Copy that, RA 126.”

Nancy arrives with the backboard, and TK feels like an invisible observer as he watches his two teammates work. He’s stuck, barely breathing, as he watches Carlos struggle and fight for his life; he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he dies, here and now.

TK moves as if in a nightmare as they get Carlos down the stairs and into the ambulance, eyes constantly locked on his fiancé. He thinks Tommy might say something to him, but he doesn’t hear it and he doesn’t bother to ask—terrible as it is to admit, he doesn’t care right now. He can’t care; there’s no more room inside him for anything else but Carlos.

He wraps a hand around Carlos’s wrist, two fingers resting on his pulse point, and prays that he’ll never have to feel that absence again.

*

Tommy sits beside him in the waiting room, a silent show of support while they wait for news on Carlos. Or until they catch another call; whichever comes first. Nancy is…somewhere. TK thinks she might have gone to grab some coffee or a snack, but he honestly has no idea. He’s kind of lost track of things, the hospital’s plain white walls turning time into water as they wait, and wait, and wait.

“I know how you feel, you know,” Tommy says, unprompted. “The night that Charles died, I… I spent so long blaming myself. I wasn’t there, you know? And I just kept thinking that if I had been there, if I hadn’t stayed out at Grace and Judd’s, then I might have been able to do something to save him.” She levels him with a firm, yet motherly look, and TK drops his gaze to the floor. “I know now that there was nothing. It kills me to admit it, but what happened would have happened either way, and it’s the same here. Carlos is young, healthy—there was no reason to suspect anything might happen. Certainly nothing like this. You did everything that you could, TK, and you have to hold onto that, no matter what the outcome.”

TK squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, giving up on keeping the tears at bay. Tommy reaches out to wrap one arm around him, but he jerks away, curling in on himself. “It’s not the same,” he whispers, voice thick. “It’s not— I knew, Cap. I knew he was ill and I still left him.”

“You said you guys thought it was just a bad cold.”

“No, I knew. I’m a paramedic, how could I have missed this?”

“These things happen, TK,” she says softly. “It’s cruel, and it’s senseless, and, more than anything, it’s unavoidable. We can go in circles blaming ourselves for it—and I know it’s worse for us; we think we should be able to see everything because it’s our job, right?

“The thing is, we’re the most blind when it comes to the people we love. We think we see everything and we always worry over them, but ultimately we just want to believe that everything’s going to be okay. That they’re going to be okay. It’s hard to accept when they’re not.”

“I should have done more.”

“You did all you cou—”

“No, I didn’t.” He lets out a sob, twisting away from Tommy’s touch once more when she tries to comfort him. “I should have insisted on staying home; I should have thought about going to check on him earlier. We have no idea how long he was lying there, dead—he was dead, Tommy—before we arrived, but if I had been there then I could have gotten him help.”

TK takes a shuddering breath and looks up at his captain, meeting her eyes for the first time since they were in the ambulance. “Tommy, if he dies, then I swear I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”

Tommy looks like she wants to say more, but just as she opens her mouth, her radio crackles to life. She sighs regretfully but stands, clasping TK’s shoulder gently.

“He’ll be okay, TK. Believe in that.”

*

Looking at Carlos, TK has never believed in anything less. He’s so still and pale on the bed and TK keeps having to check that his chest is still moving, despite the steady beep of the heart monitor and the constant thrum against his fingertips. He hasn’t let go of Carlos’s wrist since he was allowed into the room, and he doesn’t intend to let go until Carlos is back with him, awake and alive and okay.

He’s trying to believe in that outcome as a certainty, but he knows better than that. Carlos might be young and healthy, but the fact still remains that his heart stopped—coming back from that is far from guaranteed.

It’s been three days since the incident, and Carlos’s parents have been in and out, always bringing TK food and trying to engage him in conversation. He tries, for them, but it’s not easy and the attempts always fizzle out before long; TK just doesn’t have it in him anymore to talk and pretend to be positive. Any hope he ever had has abandoned him, the only thing keeping him afloat his grip around Carlos’s wrist.

A tupperware container drops into his lap, and TK looks up to see Andrea standing over him. She reaches across to caress Carlos’s cheek, then sinks into the chair beside TK, giving him a pointed look.

He sighs, attempting a weak smile for her. “I appreciate it, Andrea, but—”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head firmly. “No more buts; I won’t hear them. My son might not be able to make sure you take care of yourself, but I am more than capable of taking over for him. I am very strict about food, ask any of his sisters.” Her stern look softens and she pats his arm gently. “Venga, mijo. You’ll feel better for it.”

TK looks down at the dish in his lap, doing his best to keep a grimace off his face. It looks and smells delicious, like all of Andrea’s cooking, but the sight of it makes his stomach turn, his gag reflex activating at the very thought of putting any in his mouth.

“Andrea, I…” He shakes his head and picks the container up with his free hand, handing it back to her. “I can’t.”

And it’s not just that TK can’t handle any food at the moment, though that certainly plays into it.

But they’re tamales.

The Reyes family recipe tamales, passed down through generations, which Carlos has been slowly attempting to teach TK. Which Carlos always makes on special occasions, and sometimes just for the hell of it.

Which Carlos made the night he proposed.

Andrea looks set to argue, but TK forces an end to the conversation by making her take the container and turning back to Carlos.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, knowing he’s disappointed her. “It’s just hard.”

She sighs and rubs his back. “I know. Just don’t come to me when Carlos wakes up and realises you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

That almost gets a laugh out of him, and TK looks over to smile at Andrea. It’s a brittle thing, but it’s a smile all the same, which is more than he’s managed in three days. She smiles back at him, and it helps him feel not so alone in all this.

A weak groan is all the warning he gets before, “Are you turning down my mother’s cooking?” reaches his ears, and TK gasps, whipping around to stare at the bed.

Right into Carlos’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, baby.” Carlos’s voice is rough and rasping, his eyes fluttering closed again a second later, though TK can tell that he’s still awake. He reaches to the table and pours a cup of water, encouraging Carlos to lift his head and drink through the straw.

“Slow sips, that’s it,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb gently along Carlos’s wrist, still holding on tightly.

Once Carlos has drunk his fill, he opens his eyes again and looks up at TK, gaze searching his face. “I love you,” he rasps, smiling gently, “but did you really just say no to my mom’s tamales?”

TK splutters, but he can’t keep the smile off his own face, shaking his head fondly at Carlos. “I love you too, idiot,” he says. “And tamales don’t taste the same without you there to eat them with me.”

“Good thing I’m here now, then.”

TK hums. “Guess it is.”

(Later, after the nurses and doctors have come and gone, TK will pick up the tub of tamales, left behind by Andrea when she went to tell everyone the good news.

He and Carlos will split one, pressed close together in the bed to avoid getting crumbs on the sheets. Carlos will be smiling at him the entire time, and TK will kiss him over and over, relishing the sensation of Carlos kissing him back.

And it’ll be the best damn tamale TK has ever eaten.)

[im-so-stuupid]

lets be friends lol

heyyy, my name is monse but you can call me Mo. i’m an 18 y/o mexican american w ADHD, i think that sums me up ok.

i’ve posted something like this two years in a row so let’s just make it a tradition :)

i’m about to graduate highschool and i’m honestly scared. my first post to try and make friend was about liking one direction, harry styles, and some other stuff i’ve forgotten, last years post was about me liking Minecraft youtubers and all that, but it’s safe to say those are no longer my main hyperfixations. i’m always down to talk about the minecraft community (the good and bad),the toxicity of the internet in general, and to discuss important topics overall, though, my current obsession is now percy jackson again.

To all of the seniors going through tough times right now and are feeling lost,scared, and not ready, i feel you. if you need someone to hear you out just hit me up. really, as dumb as you think you sound or feel, feelings are feelings. dealing with mental illness and other unhealthy habits at this point makes me feel a little bit helpless and scared to move on from high school, but i have to remind myself that i am not alone in this, that other people understand this feeling too. so im here for you, and proud of all of us who have tried our best to make it to graduation.

but anyways,,, let me tell you about me and my relationship with PJO

i loved percy jackson when i was in middle school and it was my whole childhood. i never finished the heroes of olympus series because i think i was scared to have it all come to an end. Now that i’m a senior about to graduate i’ve decided to reread the books and finally finish the series, and i need people to talk to about the books :D i think finishing this series is the closure that i need, but i feel like many people (especially seniors) are going through tough spots right now and if you need someone to talk to and if you are willing to hear me rant about percy jackson once in a while don’t be shy to hit me up! just a “hey” to start a convo and it can lead somewhere

and of course pery jackson isnt the only thing ive been liking recently,if you want to talk music im always open to reccomendations! currently ive been back into tyler the creator but i think he might just be my all-time fav, rex orange county being a close second though, ive also been listening to panic at the disco again lmfao mostly the first two albums tho because they are the best (i don't accept criticism on this), and i guess ive been listeing to some mac miller, will wood, glass animals, harry styles, declan mckenna, and a bit of carseatheadrest loll.

i like minecraft, geoguessr and tbh i love playing fortnite because i suck and its really funny to do dumb shit so im down to game if you want. (i also have stardew and terraria if anyone would like to play with me). if you can teach me or want to learn how to play chess with me that would be sick tooi also quite enjoy crafting, i occasionally like to crochet, make friendship bracelets,make silly little clay things,draw, and paint.

I dont watch many shows or movies but i am really fucking excited for the new season of the umbrella academy to come out and for the new doctor strange movie as well, like SO excited. and ofc the PJO series that is in the works AHHH. my current fave youtubers are the sturniolo triplets and the only podcast i watch/listen to is the chuckle sandwich podcast but i do love emergency intercom as well.

so yeah, hmu if you wanna chat about anything and everything, all of the time ;) (also i forgot to mention that im gay but if you are homophobic please leave)

April 14, 2022

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Drowning is amazing! Please continue!!!

Thank you! I am glad that you like it!

And I wrote it. It's a late post though, sorry.

Drowning Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@shydragonrider

Warnings: feverish whumpee, drugged whumpee, head trauma mention, pneumonia, pills (antibiotics), exhaustion, betrayal, talk of medical settings, mentions of attempted murder, anxiety, thoughts of anticipated retribution, nightmares

~

Hero scrambled to her feet, nervousness eating at her stomach. There was Villain, standing six feet tall and raging with anger, in her doorway. Not only did he look like he just went on a killing frenzy, he had a knife.

A knife and a true intent to kill.

"Villain," Hero cautioned, approaching the tall man. He glared, snarling down at Hero.

"I know you have him, Hero," he said, not even acknowledging Hero's quiet plea to step down. "Now, where is he before I bomb the place."

Hero noted that he still had a hospital gown on. His right forearm had blood dripping down it- the remnants of where he had ripped the IV out. The side of his head was still stitched up and hued in a deep royal purple shade. His damaged right eye was swollen, but not nearly as bruised as his temple.

"Where is he!" Villain hollered again and rushed at Hero. He stumbled a little bit and swayed as if a dense feeling of nausea washed over him- and considering the state of the villain's head, she wouldn't be surprised if he was indeed nauseous.

"He isn't here," Hero lied, but it was obvious that she didn't mean it.

"I know you took him home with you," Villain clenched his jaw, the bruise pulsating. "Why else wouldn't you visit me earlier?"

"Villain, I did visit you earlier," Hero tried to reason. "Remember?"

"No, no, no," Villain shook his head. "Only doctors and needles and fogginess and..." His voice trailed off ad his gaze darkened. "Not you."

"I'm sorry," Hero apologized, grabbing the villain's hands. She felt the knife loosening, but Villain didn't let go. Both breathed deeply, trying to calm themselves. Hero couldn't afford to get protective- if that was the correct word- and if Villain blew up again, by golly she would be.

But, the villain was obviously on another page. He suddenly punched Hero in the stomach, jabbed her jaw with the hilt, and lumbered into the house.

Hero doubled over, panting for breath as she tried to reorientate herself. After a good minute of puffing out breaths, she followed Villain.

She found him slamming his hip into her bedroom room. Instinctively, Hero lept on top of him, pulling him back. Thoughts rushed through her head. She had no means of restraints other than a pair of handcuffs in the bathroom cabinet- don't ask. She didn't even have a good enough room to lock such an explosive person in.

She had to take the handcuff route and somehow lead the maniac into the bathroom. Linking her arms around Villain's armpits, she attempted to drag the thrashing man down the hall, but, half-drugged and injured or not, he was still much taller and much bigger. He dug his heels deep into the hardwood floor and grit his teeth. He was going to kill Supervillain if it was the last thing he would do, and nothing, not even someone like Hero would stop him.

He yanked himself out of Hero's grasp and face planted into a wall, knocking down a sunset painting that Hero herself did. He weakly tried to use his arms to push himself back up, but they trembled and collapsed under his weight.

Hero returned her arms back to the position that caused Villain so much strife and dragged him. The villain had clearly exhausted himself to the point of compliance, so it really was an effortless task. She brought him to the bathroom, leaned his now lolling head against the baby blue wall and grabbed her horribly placed handcuffs. Putting them on deftly, she crouched down next to Villain.

"You are supposed to be in the hospital, you know," she lightly scolded him.

"I know," came the reply, so timid that Hero couldn't even correspond the rabid wolf that entered her den with the completely subdued fawn resting in her bathroom. His eyes were closing, too weary to stay open.

"Let's go get some sleep," Hero offered and pulled Villain to his shaky feet. But as she led him to the door, she noticed that he would not be able to make it to the living room without collapsing, so she scooped him up. Now that he was just hanging there limply, it was easy- there wasn't a fight, just complete and utter trust to allow the other to care for the wounded and exhausted one.

Once Villain was settled upon the couch, sleeping soundly, Hero went back upstairs to check on Supervillain. Unlocking the door with the key that worked for every lock, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

Hero scrunched up her nose. After spending sometime in fresh, lavender scented air, the revolting scent of sickness and sweat was like a trash can that had to be taken out to the curb.

But nonetheless, she walked over to the unconscious supervillain. His face was even paler, signifying that his fever spiked again, and he was shivering profoundly. She tossed another blanket over him and performed the hourly task of slipping the thermometer under his tongue. It beeped and like everytime, it revealed a nerve-wracking temperature.

Hero ran her hand through the grimey hair with a sigh and knelt down next to him. He was getting worse. Heck, he hardly looked like he was breathing, yet the consistent rise and collapse of his chest proved otherwise. Silent whimpers slipped through barely parted lips, a little trail of saliva streamed over parched lips. Eyes were closed, but barely. Hero could see distressed pupils shifting about as placid facial expressions contorted into ones of utter misery and pain.

"Hey," Hero whispered, grabbing his boiling hand. It didn't nothing to stop the unconscious torture Supervillain was enduring. His breaths sped up and he started to outwardly gasp, but never awoke.

"Supervillain?" Hero's voice was risen in pitch. "Hey, now. Wake up for me." She shook him, tapped repeatedly at his flushed cheeks, but nothing seemed to work.

Until he bolted up screaming.

No. Screaming was not the correct word for the desperate screech that tore itself away from Supervillain's face. It filled every crevice of the room- possibly even the house- with the haggard voice of terror. It made Hero cringe, her tired body jumping backwards. After the screaming festival was over with, Supervillain resumed a crying sound. Sobs turned into coughs as the sick man dealt with both illness from the pneumonia and whatever fear drove him into such a defensive fright.

Hero wrapped her arm around Supervillain, lethargically seating herself next to him. He turned his body over and pressed his face into Hero's side, relishing in the warming comfort it brought with a contented sigh. Soon after, he fell back asleep, mouth parting to draw in more precious oxygen.

Hero leaned against the pillow, allowing her ward to sleep cuddled up to her. Her own eyelids drooped, reminding her of the dire need to sleep. She contemplated sleeping next to the supervillain, but once Villain awoke it would be a catastrophe. Yet, the instinctual pull towards the awaiting slumber was too hard to resist. Hero scooted down into a more comfortable position, pulled Supervillain onto her chest and fell asleep next to him.

It was sometime before she felt something move beside her. Hero blearily opened her eyes- still heavy with left over sleep- to find Supervillain awake, still hugging her, but staring at something by the foot of the bed. At first Hero brushed it off as another feverish hallucination, but then she saw a shadow move.

Her eyes opening all the way, Hero's head darted to where her other unplanned guest was leisurely standing, using his knife to pick at his nails. Didn't she remove that toy from him?

"What did I say?" Villain asked, pressing his palms into the bedrail. "I say: you are housing Supervillain. No, she replies, blushing the entire time. And then what do I find? The criminal mastermind himself sleeping over the little princess with the tiara. Figures." Villain rolled his eyes, or his eye because the other was still sealed shut by the purple tarp that obscured the machine of sight from the world.

"I-i couldn't just leave him."

"He tried to kill you."

Supervillain whimpered, cowering deeper into bed as Villain's blantant mention of the past triggered his anxiety. Hero would surely get back at him once he was healed. She was just waiting so that she could redo the damage already done to his lungs. Make him suffer the agony he was experiencing. Supervillain let out a quiet sob and squeezed his eyes shut.

As complex as these thoughts seemed, the thinking of them only took a moment because soon, Hero was replying to Villain's accusation.

"And you tried to kill him," she retorted. "Twice. I stopped you both times."

"And knocked me out and hospitalized me in the process. Hero, we are the victims here. Not him," Villain shot a pointed glare at the scared supervillain with a sneer.

"You gave him pneumonia! He can die!"

"Okay, okay. One, I could've died from head trauma. Two, if he was going to die, take him to a freaking hospital. And three, you helped push him into the tank. Remember that."

The memory swarmed Hero like bees- the reminder of her own grave mistake making her feel a rush of guilt.

"I shouldn't have done that and I can't take him to the hospital or he will be arrested."

"I could've been arrested."

"Not everything's about you!"

Villain was silent, chewing at his bottom lip. "This isn't a decision of intellect, darling, housing him does not justify yours or mine or his actions. Not to mention how much you are going regret this," he pointed out, flinging the knife in his hands carefully.

"Why would I regret this. I am-"

"The Hero Agnecy dear. Did you think that your little medic friend thought it was normal for you to call my injuries in? Or are you that naive?"

Hero was silent, stunned into utter silence, but Villain's words. Medic never came. She never came to help Hero, but that didn't mean that she reported Hero's possible betrayal of the agency. It didn't mean...

She never came.

And Hero brought Villain to the hospital. That was all the proof needed for the Agency to put her on a watchlist.

"You need to go back!" Hero suddenly exclaimed, jostling Supervillain who was just about to doze off again.

"To where? The mangy excuse for a hospital?" Villain snorted. "Heck no." He chuckled. "They will put me back under with restraints this time. The chances of escape will go from 95.6% to zero in a matter of seconds. Its suicidal, not to mention probably stupid beyond reason."

"They are gonna think I busted you out..." Hero's voice trailed off when she saw Villain raise his eyebrow mockingly.

"Not everything is about you," he mimicked in perfect representation of Hero's prior exclamation that could've once been described as an arguement's winning statement.

"Shut up."

Suddenly, Supervillain started hacking, but this time around not only mucus left his lungs, but blood in the color of the deepest crimson.

"Hmm," Villain stayed silent for moment, brow ceasing. Hero thought she could literally see the gears clicking and turning in his head.

"You could be right," Villain agreed. "Going back would be beneficial. Especially for me." He grinned wickedly.

"How?"

"Well... Supervillain needs medicine and care, antibiotics to kick this pneumonia," Villain started to pace. "I could go back and gather some. Tell the docs that I escaped on my own... but for a price."

Hero got a sense of Rumpelstiltskin's classic, "all the magic comes with a price" speech with the twirl of his scaly pointer finger, from the series Once Upon a Time.

"Name it."

"All of my criminal charges are dropped, meaning I get to leave that hospital when I deem ready. Not when the stupid heroes decide that I am redeemed enough."

Well, uh, that... Hero shook her head. She never thought of it, but antibiotics were needed to make Supervillain better. She had to go through with it.

"Second," Villain counted off with his fingers as he threw sarcastically intended smirks. "I get a new motorcycle. Your boyfriend trashed it."

"He's not-" Hero stopped when she saw Villain raise an eyebrow.

"Shush, honey. Lemme talk," He drawled. "I will bring you the antibiotics if you swear you will heed my requests."

All sense of caution and foreboding were lost as Hero rummaged her thoughts over the promise. Supervillain's health for two simple things. It was easy enough.

"Deal," she said, nearly involuntary, but that wasn't entirely accurate because she indeed wanted this.

Villain smirk, running his tongue over his lips as he bounded over to shake Hero's hand. The second the two's flesh met meant that the deal was struck. Hero couldn't back away, nor could Villain.

Hero was in the kitchen tenderly feeding Supervillain some soup and prompting him to drink some gatorade when Villain returned triumphantly with a large red bottle.

"Sweet!" Hero exclaimed and grabbed the much needed tuberware. She opened it and admired the pills inside.

"One twice a day," Villain instructed, sitting down in the empty chair next to Hero. His eyes glinted with excited anticipation, narrowing slightly at the edges at the way Hero regarded the antibiotics.

She then took one and opened Supervillain's jaw. He didn't even attempt to resist and compliantly allowed her to maneuver his mouth around. Even though swallowing the hefty pill was an ordeal in itself, he managed.

Hero, seemingly satisfied, picked him up and carried him to the living room to nap on the couch. Villain followed behind her, shooting glances at his phone every few seconds.

Hero propped him against her shoulder and flicked on the television. A comedy show was on. Supervillain glanced up at it before digging his head into Hero's shoulders, completely disinterested.

Supervillain was asleep, Hero was resting with a relaxed look of tranquility on her face, and Villain was draped across an armchair completely absorbed in his phone and periodically looking out the window when the door made a knocking noise.

Hero tensed, and looked at Villain who had stood up.

"Wait here," he said, but there was no ounce of anticipation in his voice. Hero furrowed her forehead. There was even a hint of buoyancy in his typical monotone voice. Even though he usually spoke in a sarcastic air, he always seemed to drawl.

But this was different. Abnormal. Eerie. And a bit- if not very- concerning.

Hero stood up, leaning Supervillain against the armrest and pressed her ear to the recently shut door.

It was Villain who was speaking, that monotone that would stand out anywhere.

"I have them," he said. "I have them both."

Hero's heart dropped when she heard the click of guns.

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

He may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the work of Doctor Andrew Duncan, a name many in Edinburgh will associate with the The Royal Edinburgh Hospital. The famous English writer Charles Dickens also visited Fergusson’s grave, mote on that later. 

Although still relatively unknown, Fergusson was one of the most influential writers of his time despite dying at the tender age of 24, I wonder how many of you have maybe posed at his statue outside Canongate Kirkyard, but paid little attention to who he was?

Fergusson was brought up initially in Edinburgh but then moved to Dundee where he attended high school before being matriculated to the St Andrews University in 1765.

After the death of his father and completing his studies, the responsibility for supporting his mother fell upon Fergusson and he moved back to Edinburgh, taking up a post as a copyist. This caused some friction with his uncle as Fergusson had essentially rejected the excepted professions of the time such as lawyer or going into the church as a priest.

There is plenty of reason to believe that the young Fergusson had started developing his poetic sensibilities whilst at St Andrews, including beginning work on a play about Scottish brave-heart William Wallace. Moving to Edinburgh allowed Fergusson to get to known the writers and other artistic talent in the city, and he mixed largely in bohemian circles, befriending William Woods who managed some of the theatres there.

At the time, he also became friends with opera singer Tenducci who was touring the country with his company. This was when Fergusson was asked to produce Scottish songs for the Edinburgh section of the tour and marked his first published work. Buoyed by his success he began to produce satirical and pastoral poems for the Weekly Review that was run by Walter Ruddiman.

His initial offerings were traditional poems but it wasn’t long before Fergusson began writing verses that were considered more ‘Scots’. In 1772 he published The Daft Days which drew a good deal of attention and from then on he would submit poems in both English and the Scots dialect. His popularity also grew and in 1773 a collection of his work was published by Ruddiman which sold well enough for Fergusson to earn some money from his artistic endeavours.

Fergusson wrote his most well-known work, Auld Reekie, about this time and was confident enough of success to arrange to publish it himself. It was intended to be part of a much longer poem and provides an engaging and masterful portrait of Edinburgh at the time.

Unfortunately, Fergusson also suffered from bouts of depression and, if any further work was done on the poem it was probably destroyed by him in one of his darker moments.

Fergusson became a member of the famous Cape Club that would regularly meet in a local hostelry in the city. Each member of the club had a name and characteristic attached to them and drawings from the time show Fergusson as ‘Mr Precentor’.

Towards the middle of 1773, despite his growing success and popularity, Fergusson’s work grew a little darker and included Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham where he wrote about his fears of suffering a similar fate and ending up in a mental institution or asylum.

At the end of 1774, Fergusson suffered from an injury to his head and, though details are sketchy, did indeed end up in the Edinburgh equivalent of Bedlam. Two weeks later he was dead, at the tender age of 24, and had been buried in an unmarked plot in the city cemetery.

Now that may have been the end to the story and our fine Edinburgh poet may well have disappeared into obscurity if it weren’t for Robert Burns arrived in Edinburgh in 1786, he made a pilgrimage to the Canongate kirkyard to pay his respects to the young man who had inspired his poetry and whose grave lay unmarked for 12 years since his death at the age of 24 in October 1774.

Had Robert Fergusson lived and written more than one slim volume of poems, Scotland might now have two national bards and celebrate Fergusson Night with a feast of his favourite seafood on September 5th, the date of the neglected poet’s birth in 1750.

Burns himself acknowledged it long ago, when he paid for the headstone that now marks Fergusson’s grave and composed a heartfelt inscription:

No sculptur’d marble here, nor pompus lay,

No story’d urn nor animated bust;

This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way

To pour her sorrows o'er her poet’s dust.

When Charles Dickens went to see Robert Ferguson’s grave It was dusk,  he saw another grave stone and Ebenezer Scrogge Because it was dark, he thought his grave stone had mean man written on it But it read Meal man, meaning grain merchant, , , he thought how could a man be so mean, that they’d write it on his grave, the rest is history.

I touched upon Dr Andrew Duncan earlier he was Fergusson's doctor, and was moved by the poet's death, and he resolved to set up a hospital in the city which would look after the mentally ill with greater dignity and respect. Duncan launched a fundraising appeal in 1792, and eventually, in 1806, Parliament granted £2000 from estates forfeited during the Jacobite rebellion in 1745.

The money was used to buy a large house in Morningside with four acres of land, and the architect Robert Reid was commissioned to design a new building, which came to be called the East House.

Originally called the Edinburgh Lunatic Asylum, the hospital opened in 1813, initially for patients whose families could afford to pay. The West House, designed by William Burn, opened in 1842, for poor patients, and taking over the care of the city's Bedlam inmates in 1844. The West House was demolished in 1896, but the Royal Edinburgh Hospital remains. It includes the Andrew Duncan Clinic, opened in 1965.

I posted a bit of his epic poem Auld Reikie   last year so this year here is another of his famous works, The Daft-days, in which Auld Reikie takes a central role, it is the old nickname for Scotland's capital city. The Daft-Days is the old name given to the period from Christmas to Handsel Monday  because it is given over to celebration, merriment and excess, with many people having licence to act in frivolous or daft (mad) ways. It is still the primary period of national celebration in Scotland

The Daft-Days.

Now mirk December’s dowie face Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace, While, thro’ his minimum of space, The bleer-ey’d sun, Wi blinkin light and stealing pace, His race doth run.

From naked groves nae birdie sings, To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings, The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings From Borean cave, And dwyning nature droops her wings, Wi visage grave.

Mankind but scanty pleasure glean Frae snawy hill or barren plain, Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train, Wi frozen spear, Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain, And guides the weir.

Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole, A bield for many caldrife soul, Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth, While round they gar the bicker roll To weet their mouth.

When merry Yule-day comes, I trou, You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou; Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou O’ gusty gear, And kickshaws, strangers to our view, Sin fairn-year.

Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw, And fling your sorrows far awa; Then come and gie’s the tither blaw Of reaming ale, Mair precious than the well of Spa, Our hearts to heal.

Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’, Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel; Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl To spoil our glee, As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel We’ll drink and ‘gree.

Fidlers, your pins in temper fix, And roset weel your fiddle-sticks; But banish vile Italian tricks Frae out your quorum, Not fortes wi pianos mix – Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.

For nought can cheer the heart sae weel As can a canty Highland reel; It even vivifies the heel To skip and dance: Lifeless is he wha canna feel Its influence.

Let mirth abound, let social cheer Invest the dawning of the year; Let blithesome innocence appear To crown our joy; Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer Our bliss destroy.

And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae! Wha sways the empire of this city, When fou we’re sometimes capernoity, Be thou prepar’d To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard.

More on Fergusson and some of his poetry here https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/robert-fergusson/