#heres to hoping the year only continues to get better for my illness ridden ass cjhbvgjcv

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

no bigger birthday art this year (or now, at least) since i was gonna do a big drawing but got hit with other art stuff and general fatigue (dw im just actually working out again and am in the 'man this shit is kicking my ass' phase chbvjcv) i cannot believe i'm fucking 20. what the hell. where did my youth go- anyways happy birthday me i guess lol

#shook arts #ik i drew myself looking so done but dw im doing fine lol #this year has been. something thusfar tho- #anyways. yes i do actually own the shirt i drew myself in (as is standard for me) and yes i did make it in jackbox #funny :] #posting this uhhh idk probably in the morning. i made this at midnight tho chbvchjv #heres to hoping the year only continues to get better for my illness ridden ass cjhbvgjcv

[nalgenewhore]

what's the harm

elide x lorcan, modern au, fluff/fake dating, word count: 4475

Every single molecule in her body hurt. No matter how slowly she moved, how careful she was, her body protested against anything that wasn’t lying still, in her bed, buried under layers upon layers of quilts.

Elide sighed in exhaustion, her eyes shut. It took far too much energy to keep them open, energy that her flu-ridden being could not procure. She slowly turned onto her stomach and rested her cheek against one of her pillows, hoping that sleep would find her easier. Of course, like everything else she had tried over the course of the day, it was an effort made in vain.

She focused on her breathing, inhaling through her stuffed nose for four seconds, holding it for seven, and then exhaling for eight. For a while, she continued like so, lulling herself into a state of deep rest. It wasn’t quite true slumber. Elide could still hear her parents moving about in their house and her diffuser, dispensing a citrus oil blend around her room.

She simply refused to budge, hoping that if she stayed still long enough that she could trick herself into falling asleep.

The true problem was her fever. No matter how many blankets she had, nearly suffocating her, she was still wracked with chills.

Elide’s room was silent, save for the quiet hissing of her diffuser, for a short while more.

The peace was ruined when the doorbell rang. Unwillingly, her eyes opened and the seventeen year-old cursed into her pillow, blaming the deities above and below for her horrid condition. She huffed as she rolled onto her side, facing away from her bedroom door. Elide could hear one of her parents moving towards the door and opening it. The sound of muffled conversation drifted up to her bedroom, but Elide still didn’t know who it was.

A few minutes later, she heard a familiar sound – the sound of someone crashing up the staircase.

“Lochan! C’mon, I told you to be ready when I got here! I already warmed the car up for your anemic-ass,” Lorcan called, his footsteps growing louder and louder.

Elide made a pitiful noise and pulled the edge of her softest blanket over her face, hoping her fake-boyfriend would leave her the fuck alone when he saw her. Bitterly, she wondered why neither of her parents told him she was indisposed.

Only a couple moments passed before Lorcan had burst through her bedroom door, not even bothering to remember to knock as he usually did. “Lochan, are- wait, Lee? Lee?” He ventured in, his steps padding over her carpet. “What’s wrong? You didn’t forget about the thing at the twin’s place, right?”

“No,” she said, her words congested and even more muffled from her pillow. “I’m sick.”

The mattress shifted as Lorcan sat. Elide could feel the heat coming from him and resisted the urge to turn around to seek his warmth. “What’d’ya say? I didn’t hear,” he said, his voice low and impossibly gentle. “Turn around, so I can see you. Please?”

Turning around was a significant drain on her already low energy, but Elide did as Lorcan asked. She still frowned up at him, her brows knitted together. “I have the flu,” she told him, tossing an irate glance towards her bedroom door. “I can’t go to a party, I can barely walk myself to the bathroom without shaking to take a piss.”

He huffed a laugh. His eyes roved over her, though there wasn’t much he could even see. “How d’ya feel?”

“Shitty.”

Lorcan gave her a look and Elide rolled her eyes before elaborating. “Fine. I’m sore, I have a fever, and I haven’t been able to really sleep since I got this stupid flu.” He hummed and lifted his hand, pressing the backs of his fingers against her forehead. She blushed, loathing how pathetically obsessed she was with his casual affection. Elide hoped she could blame her shaking voice on her illness. “I- I’ll probably just, um, watch a stupid… movie.” She swallowed. “I think that I’ll, um… pass out.” Lorcan gave her a concerned look and she elaborated, “From the medicine and stuff.”

He hummed and finally dropped his hand, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You feel pretty warm, Lee. You’ve been keeping yourself hydrated, right?” Before she could answer, Lorcan was already turning towards her nightstand and grabbing the glass of water her father had placed there at some point in the afternoon. “Sit up and drink this.”

She frowned at him, annoyed that not even two minutes had passed before he decided to order her about. As she pushed her aching body up, Elide muttered something rude and Lorcan ignored her.

“There you go,” he said once she was in an upright position. He handed her the glass, which she grasped between both hands.

Elide raised the cup to her chapped lips and drank some of the cool water. She felt marginally better and took a few more sips before handing the glass back to Lorcan. He put it on her nightstand and turned back to her, that crease of worry still marking his brow. “What else do you need?”

“You sure are fussy,” commented Elide, eyeing the way he fixed her blanket. Lorcan merely returned her comment with a blank stare until she rolled her eyes. Almost immediately, she regretted her sass as it hurt, the pressure in her sinus pulsing. “Gods, I’m fine – really,” she lied. “I’ll get over this. Anyway, you need to go.”

Lorcan made an incredulous noise and pulled back slightly, as if offended by her words. “What? Why?”

She lifted a brow, “Um… the party? If I’m not there, Maeve’ll come and talk to you.” Her words turned bitter, “That’s the whole point of our thing.”

He frowned, looking down at his lap. “But I don’t wanna go if you won’t be there. I wanna stay with you.”

Elide’s dismissive scoff quickly turned into a coughing fit, deep coughs that came from the base of her chest. It made her ribs and stomach ache. Lorcan simply wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back until she’d calmed. Her face was hidden in his chest and she turned her head to press her cheek against the worn cotton of his shirt. “Just go,” she whispered, hating that she was all but throwing him at his psychotic ex-girlfriend. “You don’t have to lie, I won’t be upset.”

“I’m not lying, Elide.” Lorcan was silent for a moment. “Do you want me to leave?”

“It’s not up to me,” she answered weakly.

“Lochan,” he said, one of his hands moving to the back of her head. “It’s up to you. You decide if you want me to stay or,” he paused, his voice noticeably quieter when he continued, “if you want me to leave.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Elide pulled away from him, forcing herself to look in his eyes. “Stay,” she breathed, “stay with me.”

His full lips pressed together slightly, like he was trying to hide a smile. It didn’t matter much, Elide could already see it in his gaze. “Ok. I’ll stay. Just let me lock my car real quick.”

She nodded, a small grin twisting her lips, and before Lorcan left, he brushed a kiss against her feverish skin, whispering, “Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.”

Elide couldn’t form words and watched him leave in a stunned silence. The name of endearment had been crafted for their scheme which was to convince his former girlfriend, Maeve, that she had made the worst mistake of her life when she cheated on Lorcan. At the start of the school year, only a couple weeks after he’d found her in bed with some other guy, Lorcan had hounded Elide for days on end, begging her to pretend to date him. Just long enough to make her jealous, two weeks tops, he’d said.

She’d agreed because she could never quite say no to him. For a year or so, Elide had been tutoring him in his math and science courses. It didn’t help that she was so inconveniently head-over-heels, goo-goo eyes in love with the boy.

A soft knock on the door pulled Elide from her bleak thoughts. She looked up as her mother stepped in, carrying a tray. “He’s a loud one,” Marion said by way of greeting. “I see why you like him so much.”

“Ma,” Elide groaned, flinging an arm over her burning face. “Stop saying that.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing,” her mother replied, walking in further. She set what she had been carrying down on Elide’s desk and then took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Sit up for a moment, honey.” Slowly, Elide pushed herself up and took the mug her mother handed to her. “Drink your tea, it’ll make you feel better.”

Elide sipped delicately, her sinus so blocked she could hardly taste it. “Mmm, it’s good,” she said, her eyes closing when Marion wiped her hand over her brow to check her temperature.

“Is the boy staying with you tonight?”

Her cheeks reddened and she nodded, staring into her tea. “Yes, he is. I told him he didn’t have to.”

Marion smiled, leaning forward to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “Well, good. I’ll leave you to it. He can spend the night, if you want,” she mentioned, oh-so casually.

As she got to her feet, a large shadow filled the doorway. Marion turned, spying Lorcan with his gym bag over his shoulder. “I texted Rowan that we weren’t- oh, Mrs. Lochan. Sorry, um, hi.” The large boy shifted on his feet, nodding his head once and then twice.

Marion merely dipped her chin, “Hello, Lorcan. Do come in, and don’t mind me. And please, call me Marion. I insist.”

He nodded, “Ok, Mrs- Marion. Sorry.”

She chuckled and waved him in as she slipped past him. Just as Lorcan reached Elide’s side, their attentions were both caught by her mother. “Oh, enjoy yourselves, you two. Your dad and I are going out for dinner.” Marion closed the door and called to Cal, “Cal, we’re going for dinner!”

Lorcan looked at Elide with wide eyes and she waved her hand, “Ignore her.”

“All right.” He shrugged and put his bag down, crouching low to unzip it.

“So… you just keep that bag in your car?”

He pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, “Yeah. I have physio appointments after school and practice, so it just stays in my car.” He stood up, his clothes in one hand. With the other, Lorcan gripped the hem of his shirt. He lifted it up, exposing his stomach.

Elide’s jaw dropped a bit, her eyes suddenly wide open. They were stuck on the line of hair from the dip of his belly button that disappeared beneath his waistband. Idly, she wondered how it would feel to run her hands down his torso, tracing the grooves of muscle, the line of his hip bone. Maybe his skin would be like silk, of the richest amber.

“Oh,” Lorcan let out a curse, dropping his shirt. “Sorry. Um… I’ll just use your closet?” His cheeks were stained with pink, bringing out the light freckles Elide seldom saw.

She nodded, knowing her cheeks were just as, if not more, red. “Yeah, that’s… um, that’s a good idea.” Elide couldn’t make herself look up while he crossed her room to the closet.

The sound of the door shutting behind him was deafening in the silence of her room. She dropped her head in her hands, the warmth of her skin having nothing to do with her fever. She could hear him rustling about inside her closet and scooched herself to the edge of her bed. Elide stayed still for a long moment as she gathered the necessary strength to stand up and grab her laptop from where it was charging by her bookcase.

Just as she took her first step, Lorcan came out, his clothes bundled in his hands. “Hey, what’re you doing?”

“Getting my laptop,” Elide said, gesturing weakly towards it.

His eyes followed to where she had pointed to and he put his clothes down on the chair next to her closet. “I’ll get it, get back in bed.”

“I,” she sniffed, giving him an imperious look, “am not an invalid. I can do things myself.”

“Sure ya can. Back in bed.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Still, Elide returned to her cosy nest of blankets, quilts, and pillows. “You’re infuriating, did you know that?”

He chuckled, bending down to pick up the computer. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Elide muttered something about loathsome boys and frowned at him as she waited for him to join her in bed. Lorcan set the laptop down and eased himself down, staying as close as he could to the edge of the mattress without falling off. She looked at him and sighed, flipping the blankets back. Elide patted the mattress beside her, “C’mere, Lor. I’m cold and you can’t keep me warm from all the way over there.” A slight pout twisted her plush lips.

Lorcan conceded, his heart hammering in his chest as he moved into the space Elide indicated. She moved closer, resting against him. After a second, she froze, flicking her eyes up to his. “You don’t mind, right? I can get a hot water bottle or something.”

“No,” he said, easing his arms around her. “This is fine. You don’t need a hot water bottle.” Lorcan cupped the back of her head and coaxed her to lay it against the soft spot between his shoulder and chest. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and the other arm was around her waist, keeping her snug next to him. “I got you.”

She hummed in content and stretched her own arm across his stomach, shifting her hips until she could slot one leg between his knees. “You won’t let go?” she murmured, her cheek cushioned against his chest.

“I won’t,” he replied, a small smile playing on his full lips. Lorcan managed to hold her against him as he rose to grab her laptop. He reclined again and handed it to Elide.

She opened it and unlocked it, navigating to Netflix. Exhaling a puff of air, she moved her hand back to his stomach. “You choose,” Elide whispered. “I’ll watch whatever you wanna watch.”

“Hmm.” He pulled one arm out to be able to scroll through their wide array of options. “Movie, or show?”

“Movie.” Lorcan was silent for a few minutes and Elide dozed off, her eyes shut. She opened them again when the movie began to play. “What’re we watching,” she asked him, craning her head up to see him.

“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

She snorted before putting her head back down, “How fitting.”

Lorcan idly twisted her hair around his fingers, marvelling at how comfortable she seemed. It had never been this simple with anyone else, certainly not Maeve. A frown came over his face as he became frustrated, the comparison to his ex unwanted and unhelpful. The last thing he wanted on his mind when he was with Elide was Maeve. Unconsciously, he held the girl in his arms a bit tighter.

Elide made a soft noise, her brow knit together. “‘m not going anywhere,” she teased, her voice quieter than it had been before.

He eased his jaw, which he’d clenched tightly, and smoothed his hand down to her hip. “I know.” Lorcan moved his body further down, closer to her. He couldn’t help but kiss her forehead.

She was smiling when Lorcan pulled away and gazed up at him, seeming like her tongue was leaden with words she wouldn’t speak. Pink stole across her abnormally pale cheeks and Elide hastily put her head back, eyes on the movie. “I love this movie.”

“Yeah,” Lorcan whispered, mind reeling from the change in topics. “It’s good.”

After a long five minutes, Elide relaxed completely, melting over him. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, tilting his head to look at her face. “You asleep?”

She hummed, blowing out a small puff of air. “No… not yet,” she mumbled, squinting her eyes open. “No more movie. Too bright.”

He nodded, “‘kay.” Reaching out, Lorcan stopped the movie and shut the lid before picking it up. He carefully stretched his arm out and placed it on her desk. “Light off?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Lorcan tugged on the lantern’s string, plunging her room into darkness. The only source of light was from the moon shining through the window. Elide turned onto her side, extracting her limbs from him. His mind, so clouded with drowsiness and gentle affection, told him to follow her, so he did. She inhaled quickly, moving her head to the side. Lorcan dropped a kiss onto the curve of her shoulder, “Wanna sleep?”

She nodded, relaxing down into the mattress. He slipped his arm beneath her head, cushioning it beneath the pillow. Elide stretched her own arm out, her fingers slipping between his. Lorcan curled their arms towards him and hugged his left arm over her hip. Again, Elide’s same arm folded over his own, holding his hand. His chin rested on the top of her head, so he had her completely covered.

“G’night,” Elide breathed. She smiled faintly at Lorcan’s response, which was to squeeze her tighter.

“Sweet dreams, Lochan.”

<3<3<3

Lorcan woke up in the middle of the night, holding onto a shaking, sweating girl. He sat up, holding her tightly. “Lee? Lee, Elide,” he said, knowing that he shouldn’t shake her. “Elide, please, wake up.”

Carefully, he got up, keeping her on the bed. He smoothed his hand over her brow, feeling how hot she was. “Elide, wake up, sweetheart.”

She mumbled something, her eyes screwed shut. “N...no, sleep.”

“Get up,” he told her. “We have to cool you down, now.”

“Lorcan?” she asked, slowly opening her eyes. “Lor, where’d you go? Don’t go, please.”

“I’m here,” Lorcan promised, “I’m right here.” He slowly scooped her up, telling her soothing nothings as he carried her to the bathroom. “We’re just gonna cool you down, Lochan, I’m not going anywhere.”

She made a weak noise of pain, discomfort. Lorcan stepped into the tiled room and set her down on the floor. He crouched in front of the cabinet and opened the door, searching for a washcloth. Luckily, there was a stack of them right in front of him. He grabbed a couple and stood, glancing down at the girl. “You good there?”

“Warm,” Elide whispered, “too warm.” She babbled about something, no doubt a fever-induced hallucination.

His heart was beating far too quickly, but he needed to remain focused. Elide’s temperature needed to come down. If he could just get her fever to break, or lessen, Elide would be all right. Lorcan ran the tap and wetted the cloths, wringing them out so that they wouldn’t drip on her. Then, he lowered himself to her level, sitting next to her. “C’mere,” he said, cradling her head and pulling her towards him. Lorcan pressed the cloth against her forehead, then her cheeks.

She sighed, tilting her face into the cool touch. “Oh,” Elide relaxed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, there you go,” Lorcan patted her face some more, stretching his legs out. His back was against the side of the bathtub. Elide’s were curled beneath her, but she slowly began to unbend them and lay down. She rested her head in his lap and stared up at him, her hand weakly grasping his wrist.

“More, gimme more.”

In one hand, Lorcan gathered her thick hair away in a twist so it wouldn’t bother her and with the other, he dabbed her face. Her eyes slipped shut in bliss. He grinned, glad that he could bring her this small amount of relief.

Neither of them said a word for a while. Lorcan gently played with her hair and pressed the cloth to her pink skin until it wasn’t cold anymore. He dropped it in the empty bath and Elide slowly pushed herself up, her eyes more focused than they had been when he woke her up. “I need your shirt,” she said, her voice raspy and hoarse.

“Hmm?”

“Your shirt,” Elide repeated. She picked at her big hoodie. “I’m too hot, give me your shirt.”

Lorcan prayed to every god that had ever existed that Elide couldn’t see his red cheeks. “Um… ok.” He sat up and reached behind his head, pulling his shirt off in one motion. He handed it to her, refusing to meet her gaze. “Here ya go.”

He looked up, staring at the ceiling like he had never seen a more interesting thing. Elide moved to the side, just enough to take her hoodie off and let it fall. The tips of his ears burned bright red as he saw a flash of pale, smooth skin in his peripheral vision. Lorcan turned his head to the side, his nails cutting into his palms.

She laughed softly, poking her finger into his side. “I’m all done.”

Lorcan relaxed and looked back, almost choking when he saw her bare legs. His eyes snapped to her sweatpants, neatly folded alongside her hoodie. “Uh… water. You should have some water.” He rose onto his knees and took the glass beside the sink, running the water until it was cold. Lorcan filled the glass, then sat back down. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You keep calling me that,” she murmured, leaning against him once more. “You keep checking on me, making sure I don’t die of the flu…”

“Mm-hmm… so, what?”

“You like me,” Elide teased, taking the glass from him. “You’re so into me.”

“Oh, yeah? I am?” He was trying to play it off as a joke, desperate to keep it a secret. Even if everyone else knew, Elide didn’t. And he liked her, he liked having her as his tutor, so he wouldn’t do anything to mess it up. “I think you’ve got some brain damage from the fever, Lee.”

She took the glass, drinking deeply. Elide put the water down, shaking her head as she tipped herself down again. “Mnh-mnh, nope, you like me.”

Since she was laying on her side, Lorcan rested his hand on her waist. “You’re a cocky one, aren’t’cha?” He grabbed the other cloth and half-twisted towards the bath. Lorcan squeezed the last drops of water out before dabbing her face again.

Elide grabbed his wrist again, but instead of pulling it closer like the last time, she pushed it away. “Lorcan.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here?”

He frowned, slowly putting the washcloth down. “What do you mean? You’re sick. I’m taking care of you.”

“Like you’re my boyfriend,” Elide said, utterly no emotion in her voice. “And you aren’t. This isn’t real, you know.”

His heart dropped faster than it ever had. He answered oh-so carefully, “I know. We’re just… I know, Elide.”

“So. Why are you here?”

“Because it is real.”

She scoffed, pushing herself up. “Lor—”

“No, I need to tell you,” he cut her off, his wrist still caught in her grasp. Lorcan searched Elide’s eyes, “Elide, this isn’t- I don’t like Maeve, ok? I don’t like her, I have no interest in ever being in any kind of relationship with her ever again.” He continued, hoping that the gleam in her eyes wasn’t the shine of tears. “Elide, I like you. I want to be with you, I want to be your—”

Elide surged forward, dropping his arm in favour of resting her hand on the side of his neck as she kissed him.

For a moment, just a split-second, Lorcan froze. He responded quickly after, shifting closer to her.

“Shit,” she mumbled, pulling away. She was panting slightly, her eyes wide open. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I- I’m sick and- and I really like you too.”

“You do? Really?”

Elide nodded, laughing a bit. “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

He smiled widely, his face bright. “That’s- that’s good. Um, and, don’t worry. About the kiss. It was nice.”

“Oh, good.” She grinned, then looked down at her lap. “What happens now?” Lorcan stood up and bent down, scooping her up once more. Elide gasped through her nose, automatically clutching his shoulder.

He chuckled and carried her into the hallway. “Well, now what happens is you get better and you let me take care of you without an interrogation.” She snorted and nodded, her head laying against him. “And then, when you’re all better, I’ll take you out on a date. A real one, nice restaurant, maybe some flowers. You like lilies, right?” Elide nodded again, her smile growing. She tilted her face up, eyes on him. “You’ll wear something cute, I’ll wear something cute. It’ll be nice.”

“Yeah? Are you going to kiss me at the end of the night?”

Lorcan shouldered her door open, then gently kicked it shut. “I might.”

“Are you going to ask me to be your girlfriend, for real?”

“Maybe.”

“Lorcan!”

“What, I can’t tell you everything,” he reasoned while putting her down in bed. “I have to keep some of the mystery alive, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, scooting over so that there would be space for him. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lorcan took his spot next to her and folded her into his chest. “Oh, you can’t fool me.” She hummed in question as she draped herself across him. “You’re so into me, Lochan.”

Elide laughed against his warm skin, conceding. “Yeah, yeah, maybe I am.” She looked up at him. “Just a little bit.”

“Nah, nah, s’more than a little bit, sweetheart.” He dipped his head, his nose bumping into her cheek. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she laughed, her hand cupping his jaw. “I mean, how shitty of a girlfriend would I be if I got you sick within ten minutes of our relationship starting?”

“Sweetheart, you know none of it was fake, right? All that stuff, all those dates and going to parties and dinner with your family and that stuff,” he said. “It wasn’t for Maeve. It was for you. Well, us. But mainly for you.” Slowly, Lorcan rolled them, making sure that he wouldn’t crush her with his full body weight. “So technically, we’ve been dating for a month and a bit now. Besides, I got my flu shots, so my chances of contracting the virus are significantly lowered.”

Elide strung her arms around his neck, her hands twisting in the air above his head. “Oh, you did?” She tilted her chin up, brushing her lips against his. “Well, since you got your flu shots…” Elide kissed him more fully, carding one hand through his hair.

Lorcan melted into her, closing his eyes. “What’s the harm,” he mumbled.

<3<3<3

dumb boy ❤

Elide: sugar-boo where are you Elide: mr. perrington’s doing attendance he’ll be pissed if you're skipping

Lorcan: One (1) Photo Attachment

Elide saved One (1) Photo Attachment from Lorcan Elide: YOU LOOK CUTE BUT YOU'RE STILL IN BED GET UP Elide: WTF ARE YOU DOING WE HAVE A TEST TODAY

Lorcan: ur gonna laugh at me

Elide: why would i laugh at you im WORRIED for your ACADEMIC CAREER

Lorcan: 🙄 Lorcan: i got the flu

Elide: i Elide: ur joking right

Lorcan: no im rlly sick Lorcan: i have a fever and im tired and this is the worst thing ever Lorcan: i thought the hallucinations would b fun but they’re just weird and creepy Lorcan: im the dumbest boy in school :(

Elide: lmao honey you aren’t the dumbest boy in school

Lorcan: i just wanted a kiss and now im being punished for it Lorcan: the gods are anti-young love

Elide: ohhh you’ll be fine i’ll come by at lunch Elide: i’ll bring you soup and skip my afternoon classes

Lorcan: nope i’ll be dead by then Lorcan: straight up im not living through this the gods need to take me now

Elide: wow you’re dramatic aren’t you Elide: and to think you could’ve avoided all of this if you listened to me Elide: you’re regretting that kiss rn

Lorcan: nahhh nah i’m not taking it back sweetheart Lorcan: i’d do it again

Elide: omg that’s so cheesy ew barf Elide: say something you actually mean

Lorcan: oh wooowwwww i’m cute asf and ur just a hater

Elide: gods you baby Elide: stay alive for two more hours pls i want to see u one last time b4 u die </3

Lorcan: i’ll try my heart Lorcan: pray for me

Elide: <3

<3<3<3

an: uhhhh hehe enjoy ? thats like the first thing ive finished in a month so. yay. elide and lorcan cuteness ! my fave <3

also i am not doing tag lists anymore cause they take too long + i do not post enough to need one i think

#elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

Kaspbrak vs Tozier

Pairing: Reddie, side of Benverly

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of homophobia

———————————————————————

Sonia Kaspbrak and both, Wentworth and Maggie Tozier, never got along. It went as far back as 3 (maybe even 4) generations of Toziers and Kaspbraks before the three had a son each. Edward ‘Eddie’ Kaspbrak and Richard ‘Richie’ Tozier grew up hating each other.   

Eddie and Richie never fully understood the story, it made little sense as to how both families hated each other. There was a blurred line between the two, something to do with different beliefs. During a time when being gay was seen as unacceptable (and an illness), the Tozier’s were accepting as were a few families in the community (like the Marsh’s and the Uris’). But Eddie and Richie never understood why the disparity was only between the Toziers and Kaspbraks, not the others that accepted the constant changing community? It was blurred, neither had the full story, so the two boys made up their own stories. 

Eddie, being raised in a highly religious household, thought that maybe 4th generation Tozier was friends with 4th generation Kaspbrak and then said something that didn’t agree with the way of the church. i.e came out gay or had pre-marital intercourse etc.  The idea of loving someone of the opposite gender was drilled into every Kaspbrak family, that it was evil. Since Frank Kaspbrak was an only child, the only hope was for Eddie to continue the legacy. But Eddie was seeing different and all the lies his mother had told completely changed his view on life. 

Richie, on the other hand, thought that maybe the two families were friends until a Tozier fell in love with a Kaspbrak. The Kaspbraks, being part of the majority of the unaccepting community, stopped being friends with the Toziers due to them being part of the ‘infected’ and scared that they’d be ‘infected’ also. The Toziers general thought was that everything they did and said were immoral, as the Kaspbrak’s are highly religious.

****

Now in college, Eddie was certain that he was rid of Richie but that thought’s gone when the tall, curly-haired, punk-styled boy sits beside him in a psychology lecture. “Fuck!” They both mutter harshly as they realised. Richie and Eddie start to gather up their belongings only to realise that there are no more empty seats in the entire hall. Both fall into their respective seats in a huff and lean away from one another to take their notes.

He takes a quick glimpse at the boy sitting beside him, eyeballing him up and down. It’s obvious that Richie’s still hot, he killed the whole skater/punk vibe. It was the slightly baggy black ripped jeans and the oldish, slightly baggy, hole-ridden Nirvana t-shirt, the whole vibe of a skater dude. His dark, almost black, hair was untamed, curly, it falls nicely over his hipster black glasses.

“Quit checking me out Kaspbrak,” Richie whispers.

“I wasn’t,” Eddie mutters and he focusses back to the lecture but can’t help but continue to steal a glance at the boy beside him. Unbeknownst to Eddie, Richie is doing the exact same thing. Richie focusses on the details to give him an implication as to who Eddie is. A germaphobe.

Well, the fanny pack kinda gives it away, the deep denim blue skinny jeans are matched to a light pink polo shirt. His hair’s tamed, a gentle wave is starting to poke through, he clearly straightens his hair, Richie thinks. All Richie can now think about is pinching Eddie’s cheeks and calling him ‘cute’. 

“Stop staring Tozier.” Richie looks away from Eddie quickly but could hear the obvious smirk in Eddie’s voice. Both boys suddenly forget why their families hate each other. Eddie knows that his mum was wrong, it isn’t a disease, and with one final glance at Richie, before the end of the lecture, he finally accepts (after 2 years of debating), that he is gay. 

****

Eddie takes the hike up to his dorm room, “Sorry man but you’ve been bumped up a floor, your roommate’s really sick of something.” Some dude says to Eddie, handing him his new room key and number. 

Great! Just what he needs. Thankfully he had taken his computer (and charger) plus his 3 lecture books. “How long before I can go back?” Eddie asks.

“Unfortunately not, you’ve been moved permanently for the year.” Eddie huffs and hauls himself up another flight of stairs. That means that the college had touched his personal items and moved them to his new room. Well, that’s a breach of privacy.

“43?” Eddie whispers to himself, he walks slowly down the hall and stops just as he sees the boy walking into the room. “I’m rooming with you?!” 

“Edward!? You’re the ass that’s bunking with me for the rest of the semester?” Richie yells back. 

There has to be some sort of mistake. He feels like Juliet Capulet, or maybe Romeo Montague, he doesn’t know. One of them at least. Eddie tries to find a nicer example considering how it ends in Shakespeare’s play but it’s the only acceptable parallel, only he hopes it won’t end in tragedy.

Eddie walks in through the door in a huff, throwing his backpack at the foot of his new bed and falls back onto the bedding, his head narrowly missing the top of the bed. “Okay, our families have an issue but we haven’t spoken or done anything mean to one another,” Richie reasons. “Why don’t we get to know each other?”

“Sure.” 

Eddie doesn’t see the harm and he knows that Richie is right. Why was there ever an issue? The line was blurred as to how it truly went down as every generation messed up what actually happened. It finally came down to Richie and Eddie, and both of them had no idea why they were supposed to hate each other. If it had something to do with the homophobia way back then, then it shouldn’t be a problem now. 

****

A few months later, the pair have become great friends, hidden from their parents. Now being a day before the start of Spring break, both of them have finished exams and are sitting on their respective beds reading. “I’m going to my friend’s beach house, well her dad’s. He died a couple of years ago and she inherited the house a few months ago after turning 18.” Richie says but then doesn’t follow through. The actual invitation getting lost on his tongue.

“Are you inviting me or just saying for a conversational purpose?” Eddie asks.

“Huh? Oh right, would you like to come? I was given an extra ticket.” 

The truth was Richie told Bev (and Stan) about his little crush on Eddie (that he had developed a little over 2 months ago). So when she booked the flight (which Richie had paid for), she paid for an extra ticket so that Eddie could also go. 

When Richie received the e-mail 2 days ago, Bev had written, “I booked an extra ticket for that cutie that you told me about.”

“Ah, yeah sure. Better than being cooped up in here or in Derry.” Eddie replies.

With Spring break just around the corner, Eddie is keen to just get out of the dorm room and out with friends or even back at Derry. But he doesn’t want to travel back to his overbearing mother. If she ever finds out ... Eddie doesn’t want to fathom on the thought, so he trails off.

“We leave tomorrow,” Richie says nonchalantly 

“Way to throw that at me now, dickhead!” Eddie cries but doesn’t get up.

Richie pulls out a suitcase from under his bed, he packs 3 of his hideous Hawaiian shirts and a couple of pairs of board shorts. Eddie watches intently, the suitcase is a little big for that little amount of clothes. Even with a swim towel, jeans, leather jacket and a hoodie, it was still too big. Richie waltzes over to Eddie’s side of the room.  

Eddie’s frozen as he watches Richie grab a shit ton of his clothing, normally he would be pissed for the invasion of privacy but Richie still did whatever he liked. Richie takes into account of Eddie’s personality and fears, finding shorts and board shorts, t-shirts (& Polo tops), pyjamas and underwear. He whips out a jacket, hoodie and jeans. In a plastic bag, Richie grabs some flipflops and two pairs for Eddie (germs ya know). 

*

As the pair seat themselves, in the seats that Bev had booked, Eddie starts to question the chairs. Every known fact about plane accidents and worst seats come into his mind. He reaches into his pocket for his inhaler, a terrible habit and mechanism that seems to be the only thing to stop his panic attacks. Richie doesn’t question it, the only thing that seems reasonable, is to get him distracted, especially for take-off. Richie passes him a novel from his own carry-on and a stick of gum. Eddie tightens his seat belt and willingly takes the gum and the book from Richie, he glances at the punk styled man beside him and smiles briefly. He feels pressure grip his knee and slowly moves upwards towards the middle of his thigh. It’s a subtle notion that brings Eddie comfort.

“Richie, can I tell you something?” Eddie asks, just as the plane starts to move towards the runway. It’s weird wanting to tell the guy you’re gay when you’re 1) supposed to hate them, 2) have a crush on them and 3) only just became really good friends with.

“Sure Eds.” Now he’s dreading it and wants to back down. He tries to think of anything else to say to Richie.

“Okay, first off, don’t call me that. Second of all, I think I’m gay.” Richie doesn’t say anything, he blinks a couple of times and then smiles. 

“So am I.” Eddie reciprocates the smile. “What do you think happened between our families?” It ties in, so Eddie wasn’t at all surprised by the question. It had, of course, been burning into his mind ever since he found out that Richie was actually a really nice guy. Richie decides to impulsively pinch Eddie’s cheeks, Eddie wacks his hand away and rubs his cheek and tries to cover the crimson colour that his face is turning.

Once Eddie gets a hold of himself, suppressing the butterflies and the blush that had occurred, he says, “I don’t know, whatever it was, it must’ve been bad. I was told that it was something to do with homophobia.”

“I was told something a little more broad, just a disagreement that went against church beliefs.” 

****

By the time they reached Beverly’s beach house, it’s almost 8pm, Richie pays the taxi driver and collects his suitcase from the trunk of the car. “Right, shall we?” Richie says in his terrible British accent. The house looks fairly fancy, considering it was owned by Alvin Marsh, parts were still a little old-fashioned like the outside light fixtures and the original part before the odd & modern extension out the back, other than that it was pretty modern. The squared look, the clear open floor plan, since the curtains are drawn back, you can see in from the curb. 

“Molly, how are you?” Richie greets as the redheaded girl opens the door.

“Great Richard, and don’t call me Molly.” She steps aside to let Richie and Eddie step in. “So this is the guy you’ve been blabbing to me about. Wait! Isn’t he -”

The look in Bev’s eyes ... Eddie knows that she knows. Even though he had never hung out with her in high school, it was obvious that she knows who he is. 

“Edward?!” Stan spits. “This is the guy you’ve been whining about!?”

“Give him a break Stanley, Eddie was almost valedictorian, tutored, did babysitting and volunteering.” Ben pipes up. 

Ben wasn’t part of Richie’s friendship group, but Eddie did know that he had a massive crush on Bev. It was obvious, he would stare hopefully all English class, Eddie found it kinda pathetic but knew what it was like to be pining for someone he couldn’t have. His crush on Richie went away after high school but came rushing back at the start of the year when they had inadvertently sat beside each other in psychology. 

“It’s the obvious story of Romeo and Juliet!” Beverly cries cheerfully. 

Before Richie or Eddie could butt in, Ben comments, “Can I make a Degrassi reference babe?” Bev rolls her eyes and nods towards Ben, “It’s Romeo and Jules.” 

Richie looks at Eddie cautiously, trying to eyeball and sudden change in demeanour that may signal that Eddie doesn’t like him. “I’m the Capulet, Bill is my Tybalt!” Eddie screams, Richie only laughs and kisses Eddie.

“So, Eddie Spaghetti, does that make Bev and Stan my ‘Benvolio’ and ‘Mercutio’?” Richie whispers against Eddie’s lips.

“If you want them to be.” The two laugh into yet another kiss.

“Okay okay, keep it PG-rated! We don’t want any nonsense!” Beverly says jokingly.

Now that they were far away from Derry and far away from their parents and their parents’ feud. The two took it upon themselves to start a clean slate for the Toziers and Kaspbraks. Eddie ponders on the thought that if Romeo and Juliet didn’t die, they’d unite their families, just like he hopes for Richie and him. 

#reddie #eddie x richie #richie x eddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #benverly #stan uris #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

#dabi #hawks #bnha #boku no hero academia #DabiHawks #not necessarily shippy but you can certainly read it that way #Kate writes

[braindamageforbeginners]

Just Eat Your Stupid Vegetables

Day 59

I’d like to begin today’s festivities with a recounting of recent events in my on-going attempt to get more Temodar. For any new readers, this is the chemo drug that all GBM patients are required to take for a year (possibly more)(as I’ve mentioned, the only thing worse than hearing, “We’re extending your treatment” is, “We’re discontinuing your treatment because it’s not working”), and I have been working feverishly to get more of it (and been thwarted by various forms, claims, claims-adjusters, and, most importantly, CVS)(new rule; just as I go out of my way to protect the anonymity of any of my care providers who do me a good turn, I’ll point out the folks who are likely to kill you if you have a serious illness)(and, based on current events, it seems likely that if you wandered into a CVS with an open, dripping wound, they’d call their supervisor and request the proper form before offering you a band-aid). After the most-recent mishap, in which CVS claimed that there was an insurance issue; I found the proper insurance form, forwarded it to the Warlocks’ administrative team, and heard back from one of the nurses that they’d filled it out and sent it on. I got a call the other day from a creepy, automated voice saying that my insurance company had just approved the release of my drugs. There are small children on Christmas who are less joyous than I was at the thought of putting more toxic substances - in higher doses - in my body. In my enthusiasm, I called CVS to see about delivery. You can imagine my confusion when they told me that the hang-up was because there were two prescriptions (Temodar only comes in a few different dosages, so doctors will prescribe you one or two dosages, and give you instructions on how to mix-n-match them to get your exact dosage)(again, you can’t cut these things in half, because they’re basically gel capsules containing mustard gas)(that’s a slight exaggeration, but not by much). After much tearing of hair and rending of teeth, CVS advised me to get in touch with my insurance company about the hold-up. So I called the insurance folks, whilst thinking of being on a beach in the Caribbean. The insurance folks were helpful, and figured out that the obscure authorization form that the Warlocks filled out could be applied to one Temodar prescription (again, I need two); and, after a call to the in-house insurance pharmacist, okayed the second prescription. No screaming or cajoling required. I gave myself an hour off (I had more coffee, when, in retrospect, I should’ve had a martini or two), then called CVS. They eventually agreed to ship me the drugs, after a $130 payment was made. It’s depressing to think that we could put a dollar value on a human life. It’s suicidally-depressing to realize that, apparently, that value at the moment is $130 and 16-ish hours of paperwork and phone calls (we won’t discuss my insurance premiums, which are astronomical). And it’s Bambi’s-mom-died sad to think how many cancer patients with far better prognoses than mine died for far less money. Anyway, I did finally convince CVS to take my filthy, peasant money in exchange for their goods (one feels that Adam Smith might rethink his thesis if he saw the 21st century), and made a mental note to throw a brick through the front window of the next CVS I see (I’m getting a chunk of those 15 hours and $130 back one way or another - CVS can either have my time or my money, but it seems greedy to claim so much of both)(especially when, as Research Coordinator pointed out, Temodar is such a common chemotherapy drug nowadays that it’s quite common for large pharmacies to have a bag or two stashed away). And the chemo drugs arrived this morning, so that’s a form of victory. But that’s not what I want to talk about at the moment.

I would like to share with all of you an interesting revelation I had whilst on vacation from the abyss (I know my father would probably hate that metaphor; sorry, Dad, but it’s a good one, and I’m sticking to it)(I’m about to heap some well-earned praise on him, so I figure it’ll even out). You surface dwellers are aware that there are food sources that you don’t have club to death or process, right? That’s not just a giant squid thing that’s unique to me, is it?

I have ask that because I only this morning starting putting some of the pieces of the puzzle together. Now, the biggest complaint about Temodar is that it causes motility issues (that’s the polite and scientifically-preferred term, I believe), and I suspect that’s been a complaint about the Captain America serum, because the Warlocks recently asked a few times about that issue, or, more specifically, that I didn’t ever seem to have that issue (not in any obvious or nagging way, just a part of me noted, “It seems odd that they’re double-checking that particular question.”). And I only put that together because I recently had to put in a special request to Mother Dearest for various ready-to-eat plant-based items. And only then did it start to occur to me that I’ve been on an ultra-high fiber, ultra-high protein diet.

Although I might jab my father occasionally, it should be noted that he has done a lot in the day-to-day business of keeping me alive. And, when you’re back at home after life knocks you on your ass, you eat what’s in the fridge at home. And my father is almost-obsessive about fruits, vegetables, and fiber. He even eats that horrible bran cereal that is almost-indistinguishable from those food pellets you feed to pet rodents (I really, really hope that’s not the cure for cancer, because I might choose death before that).

I bring this up because it contrasts a bit from me, in the initial part of my treatment. I’d been a pescovegetarian for eleven years - count ‘em, folks - prior to the diagnosis. Heart disease runs in the family, and I thought I might avoid that disease (once you start to think about all the weird, crazy paradoxes and hypocrisies in your life, you go a little mad). After I was told I had a terrible disease, one of my initial thoughts was, “Clearly, vegetarianism is bullshit.” 

Reader, you may be familiar with the word “relapse” as it pertains to addiction. Well, for those first few weeks, that was pretty much me; the crazed, blood-soaked carnivore who refused to eat anything unless it did move. Dad did point out that it wouldn’t do to survive brain cancer to die of heart disease or malnutrition; and that I wasn’t going to win the “Most Eligible Bachelor” award if I continued eating live chickens where the general public could see me. My memory of this conversation suggests that I responded in a less-than-graceful manner (a note to the family and friends of cancer patients; even the nicest, kindest person on the world won’t be very nice or kind for the first month or two after the diagnosis). Instead of smothering me in my sleep (again, that could make him a candidate for canonization), Dad just kind of kept chipping away and, either due to me seeing light, or the exhaustion wearing down my stubbornness, I eventually started eating more plant-based matter (and, eventually, that turned into a lot of plant-based matter, once I learned that vegetables and fruits are actually pretty tasty)(of course, this was all going on while I was chugging Gatorade, and, stacked up next to that, cough syrup doesn’t taste too bad). And, because I’m into weight training and I’ve been told by my neurofeedback guy that protein is good for neurological injury, I increased my protein intake (mostly from those awful protein shakes, which are only slightly better than Gatorade). And I went to the gym, every day (well, at least 5 days out of the week - that Captain America serum is tough on the body). The point is, I have been living - completely accidentally, as it turns out - an extremely healthy lifestyle, as of late. The fact that this was occurring to me as I was literally being torn apart on a molecular level, poisoned, and used as a guinea pig in a mad science experiment (this is a dramatically reductive but not-inaccurate description of cancer treatment) is one of those little ironies that drives me as a writer.

To get to the larger point, at every stage in the process, everyone - from the radiation techs to the Warlocks - has commented on how exceptionally well I’ve tolerated the treatment. I usually shot them a dirty look, because I felt like hell - and, now that I’ve recovered a little, I now realize that I was utterly physically miserable the whole time (it’s just like when I started taking melatonin and sleeping through the night that I realized how many years I must have spent half-asleep and utterly exhausted). Still, in all fairness, the Warlocks and everyone were, in retrospect, right - I was miserable, but I was never completely bed-ridden, apart from two or three mornings here and there. Which makes me wonder, if a large part of that wasn’t due to lifestyle choices on my part; which I’ve been able to contrast with life outside of the abyss. And you people seem almost fearful of anything that isn’t carved from an animal and deep-fried (to be fair, I love bacon-wrapped, beer-battered veal as much as the next guy - probably moreso, since I’m still making up for lost time).

Now, this is not to say that fruits, vegetables, and stair-steppers (or bench-presses, in my case) are going to cure me. If I survive this thing - and that’s still a big “if” (I realize that seems pessimistic, but I’ve realized that, just as positive outlook is important, it does not do to ignore the dark probabilities of life), it’ll be because my surgeon went orienteering in my skull; Radiation Oncologist nuked me; and the Warlocks dosed me with massive quantities of strange and dangerous substances, and then I begged all of them to do it again and again. But, at the same time, maybe there’s something to be said for healthy lifestyle as a complementary treatment to being scalped, microwaved, and poisoned.

Again, this is absolutely not an endorsement of “alternative” medicine (my go-to quote on that matter is from Tim Minchin, who wrote, “Do you know what they call alternative medicine that’s been proven to work? Medicine.”). There is no secret cure “they” don’t want you to know (I love the medical industry, but it simply isn’t competent enough to suppress that type of immediately-profitable information), and if there is, “they” don’t want you to know about it because it’s unsafe or unreliable (or, in my case, being tested for safety)(Mother Dearest once summarized it best when she said, “They could cure cancer, HIV, and Ebola tomorrow if they didn’t have to worry about the patient surviving.”). But, at the same time, there might be a lot to be said for complementary medicine, which, apparently, includes spending time in the gym and large quantities of tasteless fiber. And even then, it’s not like it’s some major constriction on your day-to-day existence (I’m sure Laura, Dan, and Julie are out there reading this and saying, “He wasn’t on any sort of diet I noticed” - and I wasn’t, either, until I got out, and realized Dad had quietly been slipping more plant life into my diet than I was comfortable with). Again, I wouldn’t even have noticed it all until I remembered the Warlocks’ specific questioning about my lack of GI chemo side-effects, and then realizing that I’d been eating far more than the average amount of veggies (if you’re downing gallons of hateful Gatorade and taking dreaded Temodar on a nightly basis, as well as being microwaved every day, extra helpings of brussel sprouts and an extra half-hour in the gym on a daily basis tend to go unnoticed). So, maybe, perhaps, if you plan on being seriously ill, a healthy lifestyle change at the same time might help you out. Maybe,. Possibly. Again, I’m just one person, statistically, I can’t prove or disprove anything.

#Cancer #brain cancer