Been on and off the phone all day with a 15 yr old in a potentially dangerous home situation talking them out of running away and instead waiting for CPS to visit tomorrow. And now they’re trying to decide if, when CPS comes, they should actually tell the truth about what’s been happening or if they should “lie again” because “it’s not always like this” and “CPS might send [them and their siblings] to foster care if I tell the truth” [insert lots of fears about foster care here that it sounds like come from the abusive individual]. Significant “the devil you know is better than the one you don’t” vibes. And it is so hard for me to not just…go get them and sort out the rest later but I know long term that’s not going to help them. I don’t know where I’m going with this I’m just tired and worried and struggling to sleep and I guess it’s good that I can’t fathom how guardians can hurt the kids they’re supposed to be keeping safe but. Holy shit. How. Why.
Since I’ve gotten a few asks–kid is ok. I’m trying to sort out a group gardening venture this weekend that would get them (and others who need it) out of their houses for a bit in a safe place with tasty food and sunshine and the ability to make butterfly-friendly habitats and fairy houses which apparently is top of the Cool Things to Do list for queer teenagers everywhere. But yes. They’re ok for now.
Like, open source that crap. One of us starts it, then whoever wants (even several people) can ink it, or change the sketch, color it, recolor it, fix errors, change lighting, have several iterations going at once, and people adding their names as it goes around. Ideally it would be in a format people could edit easily. I work with photoshop but I know not everyone does.
I just think it’d be a fun, interesting project, especially if people really let loose on it.
ID: A digital drawing of Count Dracula from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. He is a skinny white man with white hair, bushy eyebrows, a bushy moustache, and pointed ears. He is wearing a lizard onesie with the mouth open around his face. The onesie is green with yellow teeth and yellow spikes down the back, and with a red interior lining and red eyes. He is wearing red scaled boots and holding a red lizard-shaped handbag. He is pouting and brusing his hair back from his face, walking down the hall of his castle like he’s on a catwalk. He is wearing green eyeliner and a tasteful red lip. The background is mostly empty, shades of grey and green showing two windows letting in light. Above him, an excerpt from a Dracula Daily email reads: “15 May. - Once again have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.”
Hero threw their head back, cackling. “Oh dear Villain, don’t you see? Kleos doesn’t come to poor filthy creatures such as you.” Hero turned back, to the television, a cruel grin resting on their lips. “One week. One fucking week, and they think you’ve run away. They’ll forget about you in a month. And the rebellion you’ve been going on about since day one?” They turned their undivided attention to the weeping Villain. “Whatever seeds of doubt you’ve planted will have withered away. Every colleague of yours won’t give a fuck about you being gone. Filling up that space matters more. Don’t you see what I’ve been telling you all this time?” They took heavy steps towards the villain. “No one will remember you.”
Did I ever tell yall that we had a clown problem back in like October at my school and there were legit creepy clowns walking around sorority row with knives and they terrorized the campus for a solid month before a hurricane came and we never had a problem after that…
Description: Y/N is given two months to live. The one thing left on her bucket list? To get married.
Warning: cancer, death
Word Count: 2.1k
Pairing:fem!reader x Kim Seungmin
“We’re looking at two months.”
“Two months?” Seungmin repeats, squeezing your arm just a little tighter. “But it was just a cough!”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor consoles. He looks between the two of you and says, “I’ll give you some privacy” before walking out of the room.
You stare straight ahead, unsure what to do. Cancer. The word sounds so surreal. You never smoked or over-drank. You exercised and lived a healthy lifestyle, so how did this happen?
“Y/N…” Seungmin calls gently.
You turn your head towards him and smile. “Seungmin, I’ll be ok—”
“No, you won’t,” he cuts you off. “I’ve been your best friend for years. You can’t lie to me.”
You look down at your hands, twiddling your fingers. “Well, this certainly does suck, doesn’t it? I’m sorry I’ll be leaving you alone.”
“This isn’t about me,” he reminds you.
You return your gaze onto him. “It’s just easier when it’s not about me. Thinking about all the things I haven’t done and will never do— what’s the good in that?” You hear your voice breaking. “I’ll never own a home or collect my retirement funds. Heck, I’ll never even get married.” You laugh dryly. “You know how I’ve always wanted a family of my own.”
He nods. He knows this well. He remembers how you grew up jumping from foster home to foster home. He remembers how you’d come over to his house on Fridays whenever you ended back in his neighborhood and how you’d smile just a little bit more when his father came home and gave his mother a peck on the cheek. He remembers all the boys he had to scare off for you in college because you were so desperate, you couldn’t tell that they were toxic. You are so willing to love, yet life has been nothing but cold to you. And now it has decided to end it all in two months.
“Tomorrow…” he begins slowly, “after your discharge, let’s go to the mall and pick out some rings and a dress. There’s a little chapel on the boulevard. I think it’ll work.”
You blink at him. “But whom would I marry?”
He blinks back at you. “Me, of course.”
“Seungmin, I can’t ask for something as serious as this.”
“Let me do this for you. Please.” He takes your hands and looks you in the eyes. “Y/N, will you marry me?”
It was simple; there’s not much to be expected of a wedding planned in one afternoon after all. Still, it was sweet and more than you could have asked for. Seungmin bought you an elegant bouquet and picked you up in a Cadillac, all which you thought was a bit much to be spending on memories that will be buried in the ground in a few weeks. Nonetheless, it was beautiful and filled your chest with a warmth not unfamiliar to you whenever you are with Seungmin.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” announces the priest.
The few friends who managed to come on such short notice cheer and applaud as Seungmin leans over to kiss your cheek. When he straightens up again, there’s a smile on his face as he pulls something out of his pocket.
“Here,” he says, taking your hand and putting the object into it.
“What’s this?” You open your palm and see a set of silver keys on it.
“Access to your own home,” he answers. “We’re married now, so my house is yours too. Not sure what I can do about your retirement funds though.”
You don’t even catch the last part of what he says as you smile widely and engulf him in your arms.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” you begin to cry.
After overcoming his initial shock, he too brings his arms around your waist. He knows you aren’t thanking him for the keys or even for marrying you; you are thanking him for loving you, for placing your interests before his and for being by your side up to the last moments.
“Thankyou,” he whispers back. “For letting me love you.”
For a month, you and Seungmin tried to keep normalcy as much as you could. You two went to work as usual and came home to watch a movie or bake cookies together. Sure, Seungmin would make flirtatious comments or randomly hug you from behind every once in a while, but otherwise, the only thing that changed is your living arrangement. As such, the two of you were almost surprised to receive a call from the hospital asking you to come back four weeks later. There’s a new treatment, the doctor informs you, and you might have a chance to survive.
“It has an 80% success rate in trials, and the surgeon who developed the technique will be flying in to perform the surgery personally.”
“And if it works?” you ask.
“Then you’ll live. Cancer free.”
Seungmin’s hand tightens around yours as he beams, leaning closer over the phone.
“But,” the doctor continues, “because of the positioning of your mass and the nature of this procedure, we will have to perform a laryngectomy.”
“So I won’t be able to talk again.”
“But you’ll live.”
You look at Seungmin, and he nods at you, his lips now pursed into a line.
“It’s your best option,” the doctor urges again.
You squeeze your eyes closed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
You feel a thumb stroking the back of your hand and hear the doctor shuffling some paper around, assumably your consent form.
“You’re making the right decision,” the doctor assures you. “The specialist will be in on Friday, so we will need to check you in Thursday afternoon.”
Cancer didn’t change your life, but this certainly did. Suddenly, you and Seungmin both take an extended leave from your jobs and are thrown into a plethora of sign language curriculums. Between that and calling everyone you know one last time, you barely have time to eat, and if you weren’t living with Seungmin, you very well might have died of starvation before your cancer could kill you.
‘Dinner,’ he signs to you. Your last meal before having to fast for the surgery.
‘Thank you,’ you sign back.
He shakes his head and retracts the plate of bibimbap as you reach for it. “You should speak. At least for today. I want to hear your voice for as long as I can.”
“Alright,” you chuckle. “Thank you very much for the fine dinner, Kim Seungmin.”
He laughs along at your exaggerated sentence before replacing your KSL textbook with the plate and taking a seat beside you. ‘How are you feeling?’
“Okay. A little nervous, but at least now there’s hope, right?”
‘Yeah.’
You bite your lip. “Or it could go horribly wrong and I’ll lose the one month I have left.”
“Y/N,” he warns vocally.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop.”
A silence falls over the room as you chew on your food.
“Seungmin.”
‘Yeah?’
“Do you want a divorce?”
You can hear his jaw hit the ground. “What the—”
“I mean, you agreed to a two-month marriage, but if I survive this—”
“When you survive this.”
“When I come out of the surgery, you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”
“I’d want nothing more,” he says firmly. “So don’t ever—unless you want to split?”
“I don’t. You’re my best friend.”
He nods. “Then don’t ever mention it again.”
You remember the moment you woke up. The first thought you had was that you’ve got to tell Seungmin. The second thought that crossed your mind came after your vision returned was ‘there he is.’ Asleep on his arms beside your bed, hand around yours, he almost looks like a real husband.
You remember the doctor walking in at that moment. He stumbled a little, surprised to see you awake. You raised a finger to your lips, bonking your nose with the oximeter in the process, and indicated towards the sleeping figure.
The doctor smiled and nodded. “Are you feeling alright?” he whispered.
You nodded, and he began your general checkup.
“The tumor’s all gone,” he informed you. “We’re going to keep you here for two more days, but otherwise, you’re going to live a nice, long life with your husband.”
That was a month ago. The month following the surgery has been rough to say the least. You and Seungmin are often frustrated, and although you both know deep down it isn’t with each other, you often take it out on each other. Communication is just so hard. Sure, the surgeon gave you prosthetic vocal cords, but even with them, it is so hard and takes so long to talk. Between that and your broken sign language, patience slowly became a scarce commodity. You aren’t feeling like you’re being heard, and Seungmin’s finding his efforts to understand you fruitless.
But communication isn’t the only problem, though it certainly exacerbates another one. You are in a weird position where you are his wife but also just a friend. You aren’t sure where you stand in his eyes nor what you can expect from him. Unmet expectations and chiding yourself for even having any is driving you to your wit’s end. It also doesn’t help that day by day, you grow less and less sure where he stands in your eyes either. You’re confused by the twinge in your stomach every time he brings you coffee in the morning and the pang in your heart when he lays down on his side of the bed at night, never crossing over to yours.
Today is one of those days. You want to return to work, but Seungmin is adamant that you have yet to fully recover. You feel guilty imposing on him financially so much, and he can’t understand why you won’t just rely on him.
“I’m your husband!” he argues.
‘Don’t you think I feel bad binding you to that responsibility?’ you sign back, in tears.
He stares at you after that, bewildered. A moment later, he drops his head so you can’t see his eyes and turns for the bedroom without another word.
You slump onto the kitchen chair furiously rubbing tears from your vision. You feel bad of course, but you are scared. Is he sick of you by now? He has to be. After all, you’ve been nothing but a frustration this past month. At least if you put food on the table, he would have one less reason to want to divorce you. Of course, you know Seungmin would never leave you, but he might silently wish he could, and that makes you feel even worse.
You sniffle, drawing your hand roughly across your eyes. In your split second of visual acuity, you see something glimmer under the light where Seungmin had stood. It catches your attention and upon closer inspection, you realize what it is: a tear. A tear? But why would it be there? Seungmin may feel responsible to support you, but you refusing his help shouldn’t undermine him to the point of tears. Unless, you realize, it isn’t the subject of the argument that made him cry.
You recall the last thing you expressed before he ran to the bedroom. You recall how he looked at you, hurt and confused. You’ve seen that look once a month ago when you suggested he divorce you. You thought he was offended by your questioning his loyalty as your best friend. In fact, you thought the same thing when he gave you that look again tonight, but Seungmin wouldn’t cry because of that. So then, what would explain the tear on the ground?
And then it hits you.
Suddenly, the things that confuse you become clear. Your frustration melts into understanding and you realize his intentions. At once, your tears dry and your heart feels light.
You immediately stand up. You practically run to the bedroom and find Seungmin already sitting among the sheets.
He looks up when he hears you enter. ‘Come to bed,’ he signs wearily. ‘We can discuss this again tomorrow.’ He goes back to arranging the blankets but looks up once more when he realizes you haven’t climbed in. “Y/N?”
You pull out your phone and walk over to his side of the mattress. He had you record yourself saying random things before you lost your voice, but there is one file he doesn’t know you recorded on your own.
“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks, perplexed by the sudden determination in your stride.
‘Kim Seungmin,’ you sign. You max the volume on your phone and press play. “I love you.”
Man I wish somebody had told me this in any art class I actually bothered taking. The way we teach art is so outdated and demotivating it’s staggering.
