If Cosmo and Chris were in Sonic Boom, this is how I would like to imagine they would be like:
Cosmo would be part of a tribe that looks after plants in the jungle (think of it like in the movie, FernGully) with her sisters and their tribe’s leader, Hertia. She would still be something of a love interest for Tails. She and Tails would regularly bond, and Tails would offer her to ride with him on his plane. Sticks would be another member of Team Sonic that Cosmo could regularly hang out with. Being from the jungle, her and Sticks end up sharing similar interests. Cosmo would just wish that Sticks’ paranoid and more wild side was more toned downed, much to the misfortune of Cosmo’s more gentle demeanor.
Chris would be a meek foreigner from a pampered lifestyle, shipwrecked on Bygone Island and working a part-time job at Meh Burger to get his mind off being homesick. But unlike Dave the Intern, he would actually care about doing his job properly, sometimes being a perfectionist. He eventually befriends Dave after working with him over time. The two would build things together on their free time. But Chris wouldn’t take Dave’s evil antics, and schemes with the Lightning Bolt Society, seriously. Not in the, “What losers!” way, but in a, “They try so hard. Bless their hearts!” way.
I hate how internalized ableism gets, because when I meet new people even before they really know about any of my illness stuff I’m just 100% prepared for them to back out of knowing me as soon as they learn things about quite how much my illness affects me.
(What the actual fuck is this title ugh sorry like I’m so sorry)
Word count: 1765 (too long for a Drabble, not enough happens for it to be a oneshot)
A/N: so this was one of those number prompt milex drabbles from like months ago but I can’t find the actual ask rn, sooo here it is… It’s this one:
38. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
Comments are always appreciated :)
There’s probably a number of factors to blame for it but right now he can’t really think past just about managing to keep upright and get out the right words, force his fingers into the right positions on the fretboard. He’s just finished a rather sticky guitar part that wasn’t entirely correct judging by the smirk Jamie shoots at him. It’s their custom, laughing it off, pulling immature faces at one another, but something must show, or maybe it’s the fact that he sings the wrong lyrics, because Jamie’s smile falters just slightly. The next time Alex looks up the song is over and Jamie’s no longer looking, taking a sip of his drink and Alex is immediately alerted to the fact that his own thirst has left his mouth dry and his throat sore. He swallows roughly, garbling a vague thank you into the microphone at the end of the song and wincing at an uproarious clamour from the crowd.
His ears are ringing and the stage lights are fucking intense. He’s not sure exactly how well he avoids staggering backwards when he raises a hand to his forehead because it’s hard to to tell when his vision is hazy around the edges, a gentle but very hasty prod serving as a reminder that he’s really not doing too great right now. With as limited staggering as possible he manages to make it over to the spot on Matt’s drum plinth where he always keeps his drinks when on stage but is disappointed to find that he’s got no water, just his almost empty beer from earlier, it’s slightly warm and not nearly as thirst quenching as he’d like but he downs it anyway and feels himself sway just a little as he sets the now empty bottle back down. It takes just a fraction longer for him to realise that he’s much too exhausted to even think of taking the six steps back to the mic stand and he really can’t even begin to force coherent enough thought to remember what song he’s supposed to be playing next. Another moment or two passes and he has to tell himself that it’s just another song, just one more and he can go offstage, just one more that he has to struggle through. Fuck. He swallows down an attempt at introducing their final song and instead just hopes he’s playing the right thing, limbs feeling alarmingly weak as a headache rages behind his eyes, forcing him to squint at the spotlights in the hopes it will make that pain less intense.
He’s absolutely exhausted when he makes it offstage, the song finally over, forcing a “thanks ever so much” from his cracked lips without even trying to tack on the name of the city they’re in because chances are the state he’s in he’ll get it wrong. Honestly he’s entirely eager to forgo the encore in favour of collapsing on the sofa, preferably curled against his very favourite person, those long fingers using their skills somewhere a little different to usual and running through his hair in the way that he knows is soothing. Miles had done that before. He’d done it when Alex was suffering a raging hangover, head pounding and mouth dry, when he was exhausted and sleep deprived, eyes sore and bones aching with fatigue, even once when he was ill and found that everything managed to hurt, Miles had taken his place beside him, those long fingers running a cool touch over his aching temples while he sniffled miserably.
Now Alex could only hurry offstage as fast as his blurred vision and barely cooperating limbs would allow. The crowd cheered loudly but he certainly couldn’t hear over the solid rushing of blood in his ears. Each step just seeming to feel leaden, too heavy. The air was thick with dry ice smoke and the lights made everything feel much too warm, Alex could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he walked off stage, the crowd screaming their dissatisfaction that the show was over or their appreciation for the performance, he never could tell, all he knew was that it was loud, really really loud. Then someone’s voice just off to his left, and an arm thrown round his shoulders from the same direction, alarmingly it threw his balance off but the person tightened their grip and he just about remained upright. “Alright mate? Look a bit peaky….” Whatever they were saying was drowned out as his hearing somehow became muffled, as though he had cotton wool in his ears. They were saying something else but he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate, stumbling forward just a little and then feeling very dizzy, eyes watering or vision blurred he couldn’t tell, he just knew that he was in the wings and from here the crowd was blessedly ever so slightly quieter. This had come on so fast, he’d had a headache all day and was thoroughly in the belief that it was purely a symptom of his fucking dreadful hangover. The vague self diagnosis would make sense seeing as how he’d favoured savouring a rare morning (or early afternoon actually because they’d fallen into bed at around 6am) with Miles over breakfast. He’d stumbled into soundcheck late, still hungover and decidedly groggy and from that point it had been pre gig cocktails with murmurs of “fighting fire with fire”. In hindsight it was a reckless day and he should have probably thought more about his wellbeing, or maybe drunk that bottle of water that Miles had thrust at him when he eventually had to leave the warm of their shared bed, less than eager as he’d missed Miles so very much and he felt very much in the mood for lazy cuddling. In hindsight he should also probably have eaten something.
If he’d dwelt on the matter any longer, he might have come to the conclusion that he was really very desperately in need of some hydration. However, he didn’t have a chance to think it through because all of a sudden he was hit with the realisation that this headache was really very bad. His head was swimming and a steady thumping around his temples made him feel sick. Most worrying though was the softened edges to his vision. They made everything hazy, nigh on blurred and then there were entire blank spots, black circles that forced him to blink in attempts of clearing them. He panicked when he noticed his breathing becoming shallower as the dots swam, eyes slipping shut. He couldn’t even hear the crowd by this point, everything seemed distant until a loud and urgent “shit!” Sounded from in front of him, followed by someone calling his name.
He’s dimly away of everything dropping away, the once piercing lights have vanished to blackness, the ringing in his ears is replaced with complete silence and the smoke in the air no longer makes him feel sick. It all lasts for barely a second and then consciousness floods back and he winces, reflex trying to bring a hand to his aching head but all he limbs feel heavy. His eyelids are also leaden but he manages to force them open. “Fuck,” he groans awkwardly, blinking rapidly, head pounding. Vaguely he notices that he’s lying down and there’s something pillowing his aching head but he doesn’t have a chance to wonder how or when that happened because someone’s ever melodic voice finds its way to his ears. “Al?! Hey, hey love you ok? Come on, look at me darlin’, Al please?” Miles murmurs and Alex can hear the frown in his voice. He forces himself into clarity and only squints just slightly at the fairly dim lighting before pushing himself up and looking dazedly around at several pairs of eyes entirely full of worry. “fuck,” he reiterates sitting up properly this time and watching the entire room swim as he just blinks dizzily, “wha’ ‘appened?” Everyone’s staring at him still but it’s only when he hears a soft sigh that he realises someone else is talking, some medic that he’s seen floating around all tour, the same one that had strapped up his wrist a while ago, he blinks at him but can’t quite focus on what the man is saying, eventually he hears the word “dehydration” battered around and a bottle of water is thrust into his lap, the doctor seems to realise he can’t trust Alex, he thinks for a moment, turning to Miles with a “make sure he drinks at least all of that bottle”.
Alex manages to wave almost everyone off with a somewhat sassy “nothing to see here” along with a flash of a smile that suggests he’s completely fine. It takes him a second or so to gather the courage to look up at Miles and true to suspicion his face displays all his concern and just a little irritation. Alex just hopes the attack on his lack of attention to his own needs can be avoided at least until his head isn’t about to explode. Luck is apparently with him because apparently concern wins out and Miles helps him to his feet with little effort, catching him and holding him close as he stumbles and mumbles something. Miles doesn’t ask though so he stays quiet and lets himself be led the few metres to the dressing room which promises to be dark, cooler and equipped with a somewhat comfortable sofa. As they walk Miles berates him subtly, “Alex, you fainted… straight into my arms… I erm…” He doesn’t actually say that it scared the shit out of him, that he was worried but Alex knows what he’s getting at. Miles sighs, stops himself as he opens the dressing room door and urges Alex inside, he watches the lad for a second before he speaks again, he’s going for jokey but he misses the mark just slightly, “you know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Alex flashes a smile at that but he can’t hold it for too long, instead he collapses against the sofa with no delay, absolutely drained of energy and desperate for some water. Miles stares at him for almost long enough that he feels uncomfortable but he breaks his gaze pretty rapidly, sitting down beside him, snaking an arm round his slumped shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t fuckin do stuff like that,” he murmurs but his tone holds no real sting, just concern. Alex lets out a breath, “sorreh.”
A/N: I’m really sorry for this dreadful fic, idk the tenses are fucked up and it’s just bad, but y'know…
A/N: also I forgot that I was supposed to say thanks to Anna and also Ambar because they both helped loads with the idea for this one, thanks! :)