#tji

Surviving a shark attack when you’re surfing (part 2)

Request: Can you do a part 2 of the shark attack one with Tyler and josh???💓💓💓💓

(part 1) (part 2)

You woke up.

That’s all that happened, nothing went wrong other than the fact that one of your limbs was missing. All that happened was you woke up.

You’re not sure you wanted to, because waking up with only one arm was one of the scariest things that’s ever happened to you. It was strange, trying to move something that didn’t exist anymore. It just wasn’t there. The other one was perfectly normal, functioning perfectly, and then on the other side of your body there was…nothing. Alsolutely nothing.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Sure, when you woke up you felt the sudden urge to scream and throw up simultaneously, and you did both, but you couldn’t have prepared yourself for the restrictions this put on you. You should have, because all of them were obvious, but they threw you off. Because you went home and you sat at the piano and you could only play parts of songs, then you picked up your dad’s ukulele, the one you had been taught to play years ago, but nothing happened. You just held it, there was no sound. You tried, but it fell from your lap before the only hand you had left could reach the strings.

Tyler offered to help. He sat with you and held the ukulele while you strummed, but it wasn’t anything. It was just motivation, because you both knew that it could never lead to anything substantial. The piano was better, Tyler sat on one end and you sat on the other and you were able to play the beginning of a song before you got frustrated and decided you’d had enough for one day.

Tyler and Josh tried so hard, but it was all too much. Trying to do the things you used to be able to do so well and watching all of the hard work you had put into each one go down the drain hurt. It hurt so much, because it felt like you had wasted all those years doing things that you could never pursue now. Everything you wanted to do before this required two hands.

And then there were those expectations that have always seemed to get in the way. It ties into losing your arm, like everything seems to now. Because you’ve always had high expectations for yourself, and you planned to follow in your father’s footsteps. Singing is still a part of the plan, but you wanted to play instruments and learn as many as you could. You wanted to surf and play basketball and do sports, but the only one you can do without any real struggle is soccer, and you can find complications in that too.

And, after a few weeks of feeling disappointed about the fact that all of this had been taken from you, you started to feel like you were the disappointment. What if Tyler and Josh had expected you to become incredible at those instruments they were teaching you? Now you can’t. Now they know you’ll never be able to pursue that. Any of it.

“Y/N.”

It seemed like a bad idea to voice these thoughts to Tyler and Josh, but you did it anyway, and you shouldn’t have been surprised at Tyler’s reaction of surprise and a hint of anger, which goes away when he realizes that snapping at you probably isn’t the best reaction.

“No,” Josh shakes his head, “No, no, no, no. That’s…ridiculous.”

You shake your head and wipe your eyes, which have gone rogue and begun watering, despite your best attempts to keep them from doing so.

“I…I can’t do anything. Uncle Josh, you were going to teach me how to play drums and now…” you sigh and use your arm to point to your stub of a shoulder, covered by the sleeve of your t-shirt. “And dad was teaching me how to play piano and he already taught me how to play the ukulele, but now I can’t do either.”

You stopped trying to contain your tears, instead letting them fall freely, your voice giving away your emotions too as you stumble over your words, giving up on trying to convince them that this isn’t the hardest thing you’ve ever had to tell them, because it is, without a doubt.

“I’m...useless.”

You’re silent, as are the two men standing in front of you. You are anxiously waiting for a response, but both your father and your uncle seem to be shock because of your words, neither able to believe that you think of yourself as useless.

“That’s not true,” Tyler whispers, shaking his head. He kneels in front of you, now only a few inches shorter than you since you are sitting on the steps leading upstairs. He takes your hand in both of his and squeezes it, still shaking his head. “That’s never going to be true. “

Now you feel like you’re going to start sobbing, because no matter what either of them say, it won’t change the fact that they may be wrong, because sure you can still do things, but you can’t do any of the things you had planned to do as a career.

“Do you believe me?”

You don’t want to lie, that’s the last thing you want to do. You want to nod and tell them that you know you’re not useless, you know that you can still do things, you know that you’ll be happy. But you can’t.

“I don’t know.”

That’s when you begin to sob. The first cry leaves you lips and Tyler already has you wrapped in his arms, your only arm tucked between your two bodies, allowing Tyler to almost cradle you against him. You’re pulled off the step and onto the floor with him, one hand around your back and the other running through you hair. You try, but you can’t contain the sobs and gasps for air that continue to leave your lips, and you know for a fact that your tears are staining Tyler’s shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Don’t let this take away your motivation. Because no matter how many arms you have, you’re still you. Don’t let this take that away.”

It helped. It didn’t fix everything, but what Tyler and Josh told you yesterday helped. You’re happier, not exactly happy, but on your way there. You’re ready to try things that only require one arm, you’re ready for a new life. It feels like starting over, in a way.

But those new things terrify you, because they don’t seem like things that are going to take you very far.

“If you keep thinking like this, you’re not going to be able to pull yourself out of the hole you’ve dug yourself into.”

That was what Josh said, and he was right, but the hole you’ve dug is incredibly deep and you’re having trouble finding ways to climb out of it.

And no matter how many pep talks you’re given and how many times Tyler and Josh tell you that this doesn’t change who you are and what your capable of, the longer you think about it, the more you find to worry about.

What if people think you’re a freak when you start going to school again, what if you can never find a job that you enjoy, what if no one wants to be with you, whether it’s as a friend or as a lover. What if you end up unhappy.

What if? What if what if what ifwhatifwhatifwhatif-

It’s all too much, and if you do anymore thinking you think you might explode.

You’ve also been trying to write with your (right/left) hand. The shark got your dominant hand, so you have to adapt, but it’s not going very well, which will not do you much good in school. That’s just another problem to add to the growing list.

“You’re going to be okay,” your dad keeps telling you.

“It’ll get better,” Josh always says.

When?

And you asked them that. You asked them both numerous times. And their answer is usually the same.

“I don’t know.”

Months go by, years go by, and you’re finishing high school, going into college, trying to adapt to your new prosthetic. You started with two arms, started over with one, and now you’re re-adapting to having two. One completely functional and the other slightly less so, and very different, but the best you’ll be able to do at this point.

One year into college and you’ve begun playing piano again, learning how to adapt, learning how to become whole again.

Two years into college and Tyler decided that he wants to bring you onstage to play a song with them, wanting to show those who don’t think they can keep pushing, who don’t think they can keep trying, that they can push through, if they believe and if they try.

Third year of college and you’re majoring in music, like you’ve always planned. You have a boyfriend that loves you for you and you’ve tried to start playing ukulele again. It’s a struggle, but it’s possible and possible is all you need.

Fourth year of college and you’ve gotten your big break, you’ve been recognized. People think you have talent and the fact that you pushed through your injury makes it all the better.

You’re going to be okay.

Breathe in…breathe out….breathe in….breathe out…

Don’t cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t crydon’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry.

It’s a lot harder then you’re telling yourself it is. So much harder.

Tyler invited you to one of his concerts for the first time since you started dating two months ago and you probably should have told him about your anxiety, but you decided that you wanted the honeymoon phase to last longer then it should have.

And you thought…you knew that telling Tyler you have anxiety would ruin that because he would see you as someone that he has to take care of, or someone that he has to deal with. You would be a burden to him and nothing else because you have panic attacks more often then you like to let on.

They’re usually triggered by something that you can pinpoint, and you do your best to avoid that particular trigger in the future. Concerts are no exception.

There’s a reason you’ve only been to two concerts in your life. The first was when you were fifteen and your family dragged you to see your sister’s favorite band and the second you are currently attending, doing your best to support your boyfriend. You really don’t want to screw this up, but your anxiety has done that to relationships before.

“Wish we could turn back time, to the good old days…when our mamas sang us to sleep but now we’re stressed out.”

You do your best to focus on the lyrics, trying to sing along with Tyler, but the words get caught in your throat and end up coming out as a choked sob, your hand flying to your mouth as you cry into your palm.

The breathing exercises that you had looked up online all come to you at once, and you single out the one that seems to work most of the time. You begin breathing deeply, counting the breaths in your head, your eyes closed, and it works.

But the music is so loud and everyone is screaming and oh god, why is everyone touching me?

You have to leave. You have to get out and run and never come back to another concert again.

You look for an exit in the giant venue, finding one at the edge of the audience in the pit. You quickly making your way through a gap in the crowd, everyone screaming as the boys finish Stressed Out.

“Thank you so much,” you hear Tyler, say, looking back for a moment to see him grinning at the audience, obviously blown away by their support for the band, “thank you.”

You turn back towards the exit, determined to get to a quiet area so you can calm yourself down, then get back to the arena so you can see the rest of the show and meet Tyler to congratulate him after, just like you planned.

You push your way through the crowd, making sure you keep your head down so that no one recognizes you. All you can hear are the screams of everyone around you and the pounding of the drums in your ears, Tyler’s voice slowly getting drowned out by all of the other noises.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, your body beginning to tremble as you struggle to stay on your feet. You look around and keep your eyes on the exit, trying to control your breathing without taking your eyes off everyone close to knocking you over.

You finally reach your destination and immediately collapse, looking for somewhere else to go. There’s another set of doors that lead outside and know that you’ll be able to calm yourself down if you get a breath of fresh air. You stumble towards the door and push them open, breathing in the cool air to fill your lungs.

It’s a relief to be out in the open, out where you can breath properly. It’s not that the music was too loud, everyone around you was. You don’t blame them. If you weren’t out here breaking down, you probably would have been just as loud, but once you began to shut down everything seemed so much louder and everyone seemed to be closing in on you and you had to get out. If it had gotten any worse, you’re afraid you might have passed out in the middle of the audience.

You sit there for about ten minutes before you decide that you’re okay going back in now that your anxiety levels have zeroed out.

You approach the man standing by the door with his scanner, shooting him a quick smile as you pass, figuring he saw you leaving and wouldn’t mind you going back in.

“Ma’am,” you hear as you pass by him, “ticket, please.”

“I…I just came out, I showed you my ticket earlier-”

“I need to see your ticket.”

You sigh and bite your lip, averting your eyes from his hard gaze.

“I left it backstage…” you murmur.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you back in unless I have your ticket.”

You sigh again, feeling your anxiety spike as you rack your brain for something to do.

“Ok, thanks,” you mutter, turning back to sit on the bench in front of the venue, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Mark’s contact and type out a text explaining the situation, hoping that he’ll see it before the concert is over so you can see the big finale, something you had heard about from the crew members you had met.

“C’mon,” you mutter, waiting for a response, trying to calm yourself down as you go through scenarios of how this could go down. Before you can control it, you’re back where you started, staring at your phone and the unread messages you sent Mark.

You don’t know how long you had been outside, but you had lost track of time after the first half hour, figuring the concert would be over in another forty-five minutes. You keep your head tucked between your knees to keep yourself warm, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket.

The fact that there are still tears running down your cheeks isn’t helping the situation. You had managed to control your breathing, but you couldn’t seem to stop crying. It’s happened before, nothing too alarming.

You sit out there for about as long as you thought you would have to, about an hour waiting for the concert to end before your phone vibrates in your pocket.

You grab it and look at the caller ID, sighing in relief when you see Tyler’s name.

“Hello?” you say quietly, not meaning for your voice to sound so hoarse.

“Hey, I’m backstage. Where are you?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed that you managed to get yourself stuck outside during a panic attack.

“I’m…I’m outside. In front of the venue?”

“What? What do you mean, are you okay?”

You sniff and more tears run down your cheeks while try to figure out a way to explain the situation to Tyler in the least humiliating way possible.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’ll explain when I see you, the security guy won’t let me back in”

At this point, people are starting to flood out of the arena and you know that Tyler will have a very hard time coming to get you without being recognized and you’d rather not wait another half hour for everyone to file out of the arena.

“Ok, just hang tight, I’ll have someone from crew come get you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you so much, Ty. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. It’s alright.”

You nod to yourself, saying your goodbyes before curling yourself up on the bench, trying to hide from all of the prying eyes.

“Y/N!” you hear, seeing a crew member that you had met before the concert rushing towards you, trying to get around the crowd. “Are you okay?”

You nod and he takes your elbow, leading you through the crowd and showing his badge to the security guard who’s eyes widen when he sees you being escorted into the venue.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says. You give him a nod, not able to do much else as you are rushed into the building.

“Tyler was really worried when he couldn’t find you,” the man says. You instantly feel guilty for making Tyler worry, and you probably don’t hide it well because the man is quick to reassure you.

“Not angry,” he adds, “just concerned.”

You nod and continue backstage, but falter in your steps when you see Tyler and Josh’s dressing room where you can hear them talking.

“I, um-”

“You can go in, they’re both dressed.”

You nod and thank the man before standing in front of the door, your hand hovering over the door handle as you contemplate whether or not to go in without a rehearsed speech about why you got stuck outside in the first place.

I was dragged out by these fans because they wanted to meet you and then they left-

You sigh and shake your head, grabbing the door handle and walking in to see Tyler standing on the couch in front of Josh. They both look at you as you open the door and Tyler rushes over to you, his eyes wide.

“Hey,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around you, “are you okay?”

You nod, burying your face in his shoulder. He pulls back and meets your gaze, concerned eyes locked with yours.

“What happened?”

I was kidnapped!

I never left, what are you even talking about?

Unfortunately, someone was dragged out by this guy with a mask on, but I saved them.

“Um…”

Josh stands before you can explain anything and walks towards the door.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” he says, shooting you both a smile before walking out the door, closing it behind him. Tyler quickly turns his attention back on you, leading you to the now unoccupied couch.

“I…I was just really overwhelmed. By the crowd.”

He looks at you, obviously wanting you to elaborate.

“I had a p-panic attack and I had to leave. I felt like I was suffocating and I just…I-I didn’t know what to do and when I tried to go back in they wouldn’t let me,” you finish, avoiding meeting Tyler’s eyes, which are trained on you.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking down at you hands, which were intertwined with Tyler’s.

“Why are you sorry?” Tyler asks softly, “it’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. It is your fault, you shouldn’t have been so stupid.

Stpid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Hey, Y/N, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

You didn’t notice the tears beginning to run down your cheeks, but when you feel them drip onto your hand. You frantically try to wipe them away, shaking your head again.

“Y/N…” Tyler mutters, pulling you into his chest. You lay back against him and choke out a sob, grasping onto his arm and burying your face in his chest so he can’t see the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Hey, it’s okay.”

You look at him and shake you head, keeping a tight grip on his shirt.

“I-it’s not,” you choke out, “it’s not okay, I got myself stuck out there and that guy had to come find me and I just caused all this trouble and I missed a lot of the show-”

“Y/N,” Tyler says sharply, trying to get your attention, “you didn’t cause any trouble, I promise. And, if you’d like, you can come to another concert, hopefully a lot more, and you can stand backstage. Only the crew is back there, no one else.”

You sniff and wipe your nose, refusing to meet Tyler’s eyes.

“Y/N,” he says again, “will you look at me?”

You slowly look up and meet his eyes and he smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright, everything’s alright,” he tells you, “you’re alright.”

“I was just hoping that you wouldn’t find out just yet, I was hoping that I would be able to keep it to myself-”

“Keep what to yourself?”

You purse your lips and stare at Tyler, silently pleading him to not make you tell him anything, pleading him to let the magical time you’ve been having together with no problems last just a little bit longer.

“Y/N, you can tell me anything, it’s okay.”

“I have anxiety,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Since I was really young, I’ve always had panic attacks and the crowd just became too much.”

Tyler nods and reaches up to run a hand through your hair, making you lean into his hand.

“Are you mad?” you whisper.

“Of course I’m not,” Tyler says softly, still running his hand through your hair, “you didn’t do anything wrong.

“I’m going to help you. When you have panic attacks, I’ll help you through them. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You nod and wipe your eyes, shifting so that your legs are across Tyler’s lap, turning to face him fully.

“Thank you.”

He smiles at you, reaching out to take your hands, “you’re perfect.”

“So are you,” you sniff. Tyler just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, “and talented and sexy.”

You laugh and he squeezes your hand.

“And perfect,” he says, kissing your hand, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Ty-”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, reaching to hold the back of your neck. He holds you against him and keeps your lips on his until the both of you need a breath of air.

Trying to convince Uncle Josh to let you do things that your dad, Tyler, won’t

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

2004 (4 years old)

Uncle Josh, you have a lot of colors on your arm,” you say one day, looking at Josh’s arm, which is wrapped around you as he holds you in his lap. 

“Mhm,” he says, smiling at you, “it’s called a tattoo. It’s like…a permanent drawing on my arm.”

Your eyes widen and Josh chuckles at your fascinated expression. He grabs the remote and pauses The Little Mermaid (the two of you always watch it when he watches you for Tyler and Jenna). 

“Whoa,” you say. “Can I get one?” 

“Maybe when you’re older.” 

You pout and Josh chuckles again, turning you in his lap so you are facing the tv. 

“Let’s finish the movie. I want to see what happens to Prince Eric.” 

“You know what happens, Uncle Josh!” you say with a giggle, leaning back against Josh’s chest as you finish the movie. 

2016 (16 years old)