#CW: concussion

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic — 3/3

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

wc: 3k | rating: T | cw: head trauma, brain injury talk | a special thank you to @dame-zoom-a-lot for betaing! <3

The days following Steve’s Houdini act are fuckin’ tense, to say the least.

Eddie had messed up. Royally.

He could’ve sworn that when Steve took off, he’d ducked into the Recovery Center, y’know, the place he was supposed to go! If Eddie had known Steve took a detour and missed the building entirely, Eddie would’ve ran a lot fucking faster than he had. Especially after…

Well, no point in shying away from it anymore; after Steve confessed his love for him.

And how did Eddie return the favor? By being a total bone head and losing Steve for the entire goddamn day! Not to mention a good chunk of the night. Jesus… It’s no wonder Robin’s still sore.

Now, in Eddie’s flimsy defense, Steve had thrown him for one hell of a loop. One that Eddie was still seeing double from. He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around what he’d heard; Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, King of Hawkins High, being into Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson, the drug-dealing ne’er do well hailing from the Forest Hills trailer park. Forgive him for finding the threads a little difficult to tie together! He’s not exactly Steve’s usual fare.

But it had happened.

Things have fundamentally, metaphysically, allegorically and subatomically shifted between the two of them—there’s no getting away from that, no matter how long they try and dance around this.

Steve said he loved Eddie. Love.

That isn’t something you just move on from. At least, it isn’t something Eddie can move on from. Especially when he didn’t even get to say his piece!

The trouble is that Robin’s in all-out guard dog mode with Steve, keeping Eddie at arm's length even after a whole goddamn week goes by. Sure, she’d accepted his apology (albeit begrudgingly), but she isn’t exactly keen on letting Steve out of the house without her by his side—much less with Eddie. It would be kind of heartwarming if it weren’t so goddamn annoying.

Steve isn’t some damsel locked away in a tower, and Eddie wasn’t some knight in shining armor, planning to scale the side of a stone tower to avoid the sleeping, fire-breathing dragon…

But as Eddie stares up at the fire escape attached to the side of Steve and Robin’s brick apartment building… he'd be lying if he said he didn’t sort of feel a little shiny.

Part of Eddie can’t believe it’s really come to this, but… he just can’t stand the idea of wasting another goddamn night tossing and turning, going over and over Steve’s words in his mind. Thinking about the way Steve’s hand felt in his, the way his eyes went all soft when he told Eddie he—he loved him…

Jesus H. Christ, this is way beyond his skill set—he’s way out of fucking league here, but there’s nothing for it. Eddie needs to settle this, once and for all.

So, he takes his bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and presses the flat of it to his forehead while his hands make a tight knot in the back. He zips his leather jacket as high as it’ll go and gives his hands a shake to try and get the jitters out.

It’s not exactly a helmet and plates of armor, but it’ll have to do. Eddie takes a breath, steels himself, then climbs on top of a precariously stacked pile of milk crates that he’d crafted and leaps for the steel ladder. As soon as his feet leave the plastic tower, it collapses under him, clattering to the ground. Eddie knows he shouldn’t look back, but he sneaks a peak over his shoulder and… yep. He really shouldn’t’ve looked. He’s not that high up, but it’s enough that if he falls, he’d be feeling it tomorrow. Might even bust an ankle if he landed wrong.

He turns back to the task at hand; getting to Steve.

There’s a terrifying moment where he’s not sure if he can pull himself up, but somehow, he finds the strength to do just that. If only Coach D’Amour could see him now!

He grunts as he pulls himself up onto the platform, belly getting scratched against the grates as he goes. Eddie scrambles to get his legs underneath himself. Then, he stands, dusts himself off and takes the win, graceless as it was.

The fire escape is rickety and fucking loud as he takes the steps two at a time. It’s cold enough that even the quickest touch of the steel railings drains all the heat out of his fingers, so he just keeps them balled up, swinging at his sides. The wind is especially chilly up here too, something he hadn’t noticed on the ground, but now that he’s up a couple of floors there wasn’t anything for the wind to buff off except the side of the building and, well, Eddie.

By the time he reaches the third floor, his nose is running and no doubt red and irritated looking, and he’s woefully out of breath.

Kind of a pathetic knight, he thinks as he sniffs back the worst of it, wipes the underside of his nose on the sleeve of his jacket to get rid of what’s left.

The light in Steve’s room is on, reaching out to him through the lines of Steve’s shut blinds.

His hand is raised, wind-chapped knuckles knocking against the glass of his window before he can plan out what he’s going to say. He just wants to see Steve. Get eyes on him again. Work this out.

It’s a painful few seconds before Eddie can see movement from inside the window. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently waits for Steve to let him in. His breath fogs the window.

Then finally. Finally! The blinds are pulled up. He smiles and—

Oh Christ on a cross. That’s not Steve.

Eddie’s stomach damn near falls out of his ass as the woman on the other side of the glass screams, as shrill and high as if she were next to him.

And of course she’s in a fucking towel.

Eddie slaps one hand across his eyes and the other up in surrender, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Shit, Jesus, I—I’m not a pervert, I swear!”

Debatable, his brain supplies, entirely unhelpful in an emergency situation. But hey, what’s new?

“I was looking for my friend, not—Please stop screaming!” He screams.

“Eddie?” A familiar voice calls from below.

The hand on Eddie’s eyes lift and looks down through the metal grates under his boots. “Steve!”

Steve’s hanging half out his window, peering up at him with a bewildered expression on his face. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie holds his arms out like it should be obvious. “Seeing you!” He snaps.

Eddie’s attention is briefly yanked back to the scandalized looking woman in the window in front of him. “I’m—yeah, I’m gonna—” He backs away, and swings around the escape before thundering down the stairs, shouting another apology up in his shameful retreat.

Steve backs up in order to let Eddie in. He climbs in as gracelessly as ever, all knees and elbows, stiff from the cold. He slides the window shut behind him once he’s in, dropping the blinds for good measure.

He wonders if Hopper is getting a call about a long-haired, wild-eyed, deranged looking peeping Tom at this very moment.

“Smooth.” Steve says from behind him, an edge of playfulness.

When Eddie turns and finally gets a good look at Steve, who looks especially comfortable in his flannel sleep pants and worn sweater, hands on hips. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve snorts softly, “third floor, remember?”

“I counted! Ground floor, first floor, second floor, third floor.” Eddie says, using his hand to indicate his pattern of thought, moving it up a tick with each floor.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. And even though Eddie knows Steve’s laughing at him, he can’t help that warm feeling that pours through him, filling him up. All his cracks and edges, sealed up with Steve’s effortless being.

“No.” Steve raises his own hand, mirroring Eddie’s. He begins notching as he explains, “ground floor, second floor, third floor. The ground is the first floor, dude.”

Eddie frowns. “What? Since when?”

Steve levels Eddie with a flat look. “Since like, the civil war, dude.”

Huh. Eddie frowns. Mulling over the new bit of information. That would’ve been nice to know.

“Why were you even doing out there in the first place? We have things called front doors. And, y’know, phones.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest, losing a bit of steam as the words left him. Like he’s realized exactly what Eddie being here, in his rooms, meant.

“I had to see you.” Eddie says, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, “Face to face, just me and you.”

“Can’t we just—I don’t know, pretend all of… that never happened? Hell, it might drop out of my head one of these days anyway. Lots of shit does.” Steve’s says, sounding so fucking defeated that it sends a sharp pain through Eddie’s chest.

“Hey,” Eddie makes a face, gets in Steve’s space, “don’t be a jerk to yourself.”

He ducks his head in an attempt to meet Steve’s downturned gaze, which he reluctantly returns. He’s got these big, warm eyes, the color of dark honey—the kind that are hard to look away from, so Eddie rarely does. He’a got a staring problem, he knows, but… damn. Can you really blame a guy?

A nerve in Steve’s jaw jumps when he clenches his teeth together, and salt pools begin forming along the rim of those familiar eyes. When he speaks, it’s stiff. Barely above a whisper. “I’m embarrassed, alright?”

“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, man.” Without thought, Eddie’s hands go to Steve’s arms, fingers hovering around his elbows. Eddie tilts his head again to try and keep eye contact again but Steve seems determined to avoid it.

“Easy for you to say.” Steve huffs, and sits down on the edge of his bed, slipping out of Eddie’s hold, arms still crossed over his chest. “You didn’t totally humiliate yourself in front of your—friend.”

The word, one in which Eddie holds in a most sacred of views, sounds distinctly hollow when Steve says it.

“Steve, listen to me, just for a sec, alright?” Eddie gets down to the floor, one knee buried in the carpet while the others bent out in front of him. “This is my fault.” He confesses, voice full of remorse.

Finally, Steve looks at him. His brows twitch together as he makes a face. “Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! I—I didn’t mean to, but I’m not exactly big on the whole impulse control thing, as you know, and, thinking back on things I probably… I probably let a few things slip.” Eddie explains, his rings clinking together lightly as he gestures with his hands.

Steve, however, doesn’t look any less confused. He blinks. “What?”

Eddie lets his head fall forward in a moment of defeat as he attempts to gather up his fleeting thoughts. It’s like chasing wet, feral cats up there!

Still, he picks himself back up. For Steve.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s knees. Feels the warmth under the soft, worn flannel. The hard muscle. Alive, whole. He tightens his grip. “Steve, I’ve been crazy about you since the first time I ever saw you. Don’t roll your eyes—I’m serious! You sat in front of me in math one year and you forgot your pencil. We were having a test that day, and you asked me if you could borrow one of mine, so I let you have the one I was using. You chewed up the end of it, squashed the eraser to all hell, but then when you gave it back to me, you smiled, thanked me and said, ‘I owe you one.’ It—okay, yeah, so it sounds, like, really small, and probably pretty pathetic, but… I was totally starstruck, man.”

At some point in his little spiel, Steve had uncrossed his arms. So Eddie takes the opportunity to clumsily take Steve’s hands, his insides feeling like a kicked hornets nest. Buzzing. He swallows. “I still am.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut, but there’s a knot in him that’s loosening, Eddie can tell. He’s just gotta keep tugging. He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

“The feeling was cranked up a few hundred clicks because of all the, y’know, near death experiences we went through together. But you get it now, right? You get how this is all my fault?”

“Eddie, you don’t have to—” Steve starts, hands stiffening in Eddie’s hold. Slipping away. But Eddie holds firm, decides to just fucking say it. If Steve could, Eddie could too.

“I’m in love with you too.” He blurts out, and now that he’s said it out loud, it’s like there’s a dam that gets busted inside of him; he can’t stop the rush of words that follows the confession. “That’s what you were seeing. That’s what you were noticing. I thought I was being slick, just keeping it friendly or whatever. Flirting, yeah, but I didn’t think you’d ever actually reciprocate. Because, honestly man, I’m not really used to people taking me all that seriously. ‘Zany, pot-head Eddie, can’t trust anything that comes out of his crooked mouth!’”

Eddie shakes his head, scoffing at his own blind spots, “But… you saw right through that shit—right through me. You didn’t make it up in your head, Steve—you felt it. You were right.”

Steve’s got a funny look on his face, but he nods. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t remove his hands from Eddie’s to fix it. “You love me?”

That’s like asking if the sun would rise tomorrow morning. Of course. Of course.

Eddie pulls one of Steve’s hands and flattens it onto his chest, over the leather.

“Every time my heart beats, it's your name it calls out, man.” Eddie says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees the red creep up on the apples of Steve’s cheeks. “D’you feel it?”

Steve gives a breathless chuckle, hesitating for a split second before he nods, playing along.

Electricity hums under Eddie’s skin, the resulting static snaps in the air around them. Eddie presses Steve’s hand against the wall of his chest a little harder, so that he can feel the pounding a bit better. Then Eddie whispers in time with the rhythm of his lovesick heart, giving it a voice, “Ste-vie, Ste-vie, Ste-vie…”

He keeps chanting until Steve’s grinning, eyes glued to their joined hands. It’s a fleeting thing, though. Eddie watches as that hard-won smile drops and a pinched look takes its place. “Even now? Eddie, I’m not—I don’t think I’m the same person I was before.”

“Are you kidding me? Especially now. In sickness and in health, right?” Somewhere in his brain an alarm sounds, but he doesn’t pause long enough to acknowledge exactly why, lest he lose momentum, “look, Steve, even if you are a little different from the guy you were in high school, you’re still you.”

A beat passes. “What if I never get better?”

“Steve, you will, the doctors said—”

“But what if I don’t? Jesus, Eddie, what if I get worse?” Steve’s voice had gone progressively more hushed as he spoke, as if he were so afraid of its possibility that even voicing it felt risky. Made it real, even in that small way. It’s something Steve’s thought about, Eddie realizes. Agonized over, even.

“Then I’m the lucky son of a bitch that gets to take care of you.” Eddie says, sure as shit. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do, even if Steve hadn’t done a completely insane thing like falling in love with Eddie. His love isn’t conditional. “S’long as you’ll let me.” He tacks on.

It’s like a wall crumbling. Brick by brick, Eddie watches Steve’s resolve collapse. The rim of his eyes shine with unshed tears, his brow relaxes and his chin twitches. “You sure you want that?”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “It’s all I want.” He answers, quickly. A reflex. Who wouldn’t want to be with Steve Harrington? Eddie thought he was lucky just to be in the same fucking orbit as the guy, but now…

Now, as he watches a smile slowly spreads across Steve’s face—fucking Adonis incarnate—it feels like he won the goddamn lottery.

“Okay.” Steve utters, so softly that for a second Eddie thinks he’d imagined it.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, trying his damndest to keep from imploding. He’s fucking vibrating in his skin.

Instead of answering Eddie, Steve decides to clarify himself by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Eddie’s.

Fireworks go off inside of Eddie, every inch of him. All lit up. Feels like he’s shining just as good as any knight.

One of Steve’s hands snake their way behind Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, while the other remains held over Eddie’s jackrabbiting heart. Their lips part, and their kiss deepens. Eddie tries to keep up.

They eventually end up on Steve’s narrow twin bed laying side by side, legs entangled, kissing until their mouths go dry. Eddie swipes a calloused thumb over Steve’s cheek, savoring the feeling of the barely there stubble, the heat from the blush that never seems to subside.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Not even a ‘goodnight’ after Steve crawls over Eddie to flick off his bedside lamp, tugging the comforter up around their shoulders as he settles back into the safe harbor of Eddie’s arms. They don’t need words. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, all they need to do is to rest.

Whatever comes after, they’ll deal with it together.

—

Tag List: (if you’d like to be added to a permanent tag list for all my Steddie fics, please comment/message me! ◡̈ thank you for reading, everyone!)

@stervrucht @taylortheyellowlobster @eyehartart @jinojiboundagain @sleepy-steve @lexgilga @morallyundefined @estrellami-1 @ollieolive @mugloversonly @wheneverfeasible @steddiefication @what-if-a-dragon @wrenisfangirling @yesdangerpls @flustratedcas @scarletyeager @snowstar2368 @starxlark @jizzing-bastard-600and69 @bambibiest @queenie-ofthe-void @lilpomelito @bananahoneycomb @kaspurrcat @deadwhiterosesstuff @3vilpurpl3d0t @loudmariachibands @steddieislife @questionablequeeries @lil-gremlin-things @ellietheasexylibrarian @ajeff855 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @thedragonsaunt @hello-sweetheart @stalactitekilla @archermightbegay @horror-music @breealtair @stevesharingtons @duraffinity @novacorpsrecruit @lawrencebshoggoth @tinyplanet95 @bookworm0690 @shoujo-wizard @weepsluv111 @justalittledrainbamage

[sleepyfan-blog]

Seeing Double

Author’s Note: This is Mer-Trai’s debut! I hope that you enjoy the fic! :D Next

Tagged: @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @the-pure-angel @egrets-not-regrets

Warnings: mention of torture, bodily mutilation, concussion, dehydration, worship, wounds

Summary: Trai is rescued by a saintly baseline human.  

Pain and exhaustion greet him when he wakes. They are old, familiar foes, and hunger joins as he slowly blinks his way to full awareness. He finds himself where he had been the past... He's not entirely sure how long he's been here, but this too, he will survive. The aching pain in his head has not gone away, and some of the wounds that his captors gave him the last time they'd graced him with their presence had not fully healed. 

Given that he hasn't been fed for as long as he's been captured, the fact that he isn't healing as swiftly as he used to be isn't surprising. The gods grant him the patience and strength to weather this trial. His brothers will find him, he just needs to wait. 

The large gold and red mer stares into the too-bright lights, the electric buzz not helping his headache any. His breathing is measured and shallow as he closes his eyes again, trying to conserve what little energy he has, as his wounds itch and burn as they slowly heal. 

Trai deliberately does not allow himself to flinch as the door to his cell slams open. He is not a wide-eyed neophyte who startles at the sounds of his captors' trying to torment him. 

He bears his teeth - his armor having long been stripped of his body by his human captors - and hisses as a small, cool hand touches his tail, just above where one of the metal stakes had been buried through his flesh, pinning him to the metal table he'd been strapped to. 

"Oh... You're alive... Oh fuck! Hey guys! I found a live one! We're going to need a medic!" The human who had the gall to touch his tail shouted- causing his headache to spike most unpleasantly. "Oh... Oh buddy... Do you know this language? Please look at me and either say something or blink once if you do understand me."

Trai opened his eyes, sending the human - humans? He could see two of them, standing one slightly to the left of the other, mirror images of one another that moved at the -

Ah. 

Concussion. Wonderful. He opened his mouth, revealing the fact that his tongue had been cut out - and cauterized, to further slow healing of the appendage, as he had cursed his captors with some very entertaining miseries for the gall to torment him as they had been. He deliberately blinked up at the two-maybe-one human(s).

"Oh... Oh they... Okay, I'm going to use these pliers to get the... Get the... The stakes pinning you to the table out. We've arrested the people who've been running this place. Please don't attack me, though it will hurt when I pull these things out of you." The human(s) said in unison. "After that... I have some of the nutrient paste that space marines really like, and a bottle of water. Are you hungry?"

Yes, he definitely had a concussion... And was quite possibly hallucinating or dreaming. This was a nice dream, even though he'd rather his brothers be the ones rescuing him, rather than more fucking baseline humans. Trai gamely and deliberately blinked once while maintaining eye contact with the human(s). The mention of food and water was enough to get him to smile hopefully. He stayed still as the little goddess before him industriusly freed him from his bonds.

He held in his hisses of pain as best as he could, and she made worried noises as he began to bleed sluggishly from where he had been pinned to the table. With considerable effort, Trai activated his ability to swim through the air, slowly and painfully pushing himself into an upright position. He sniffed the air, her distress and determination clear to him. he could also smell the nutrient paste in his pockets and lightly tapped at the pocket with teh food with a clawed hand, careful not to piece the flimsy cloth, staring down at her pleadingly.

"Right, food." She responded, pulling out the tube of nutrient paste and holding it out to him.

Trai crooned out in wordless thanks, though his useless, trembling hands could not keep hold of the tube - then again he probably had nerve damage from the eight holes bored clear through each arm from those fucking stakes that had been drilled through his body until moments ago. He peered down at her, humiliation, desperation and hope warring for dominance on his face. He'd heard whispers that some humans were brave enough to hand-feed astartes they were comfortable with, despite many space marines having wickedly sharp teeth.

She nimbly caught the tube before it could fall to the ground. Disappointment and worry flashed across her face, before determination set in. "Okay. You don't seem to be able to hold onto the tube by yourself right now.. Uhm... If you crouch down a bit, I can feed you? If you want that? I could also squeeze some of it out onto the table, if you'd rather eat it that way?"

Trai shook his head slowly, one clawed hand going up to his head as nausea and dizziness plagued him at the motions. He opened his mouth and hunched over her, trying not to seem threatening. He was so, so hungry, and this little goddess had already helped him tremendously.

"Okay! Feeding  you it is." His lovely goddess chirped up at him. She was easily able to open the cap and remove the purity seal before squeezing a small mouthful into his waiting jaws.

Trai whined before slowly closing his mouth and swallowing. He wanted more than that little bit... But given the way his stomach cramped at that small amount of food, perhaps starting off the feeding slowly was for the best. Once the waves of nausea faded he opened his mouth again. 

This time he was rewarded by his goddess with a slightly larger mouthful of water. It was de-salinated, but he did not care as the cool liquid hydrated what was left of his tongue and soothed the worst of his ravaged throat. He didn't care that he was purring loudly, nor that he had started to lean on his little goddess as she continued to slowly feed and water him. Her kindness was boundless and her generosity endless. She was worthy of all the worship within his being. When his belly was filled as much as he could tolerate, and his thirst was quenched to the point of no longer trying to drive him to madness he closed his mouth again and did not open it, pressing his head against her cool shoulder, exhaustion and the need to allow his body to heal more fully took him over.

[nextstopwonderland]

“Nigel McGuinness…you’ve been my toughest opponent.” - August 25, 2006. Nigel McGuinness leaves the ring after their 2 out of 3 falls match goes to a draw, only to return to check on and stay with Bryan Danielson, embracing him when he’s back on his feet. (On Youtube)

Bonus (shorter, embedded) edit of just the parts where Nigel is basically like “I fucking got this” to everyone in the ring, wanting to the main person to make sure he’s okay:

[brittandbiscuits]

The ol’ CT-number trick, gets em every time.

Saw a skit of an actual EMT re-enacting a call similar to this and immediately knew this scenario was made for Fives and Kix!

[mischefous]

Ayooo I saw you were doing whumpy LU requests? Would you be willing to do a thing with Hyrule and his blood curse? Idk how angsty you wanna go XD anyways thanks and hiiiiiiiii

Heyyyy! I know this is veeeery late but i still hope ya like it!

Thank you for your request @hotcheetohatredwastaken 💙

CW! Blood, head owchie

[noisyghost]

i wish you'd take better care of yourself

[404-art-found]

11 PM trek to ship

[afterartist]

Just a small crappy Caz doodle I did as a sketch warm up

I’ve played/watched play throughs of this game so many times and the ending still gets me misty eyed

Still Wakes the Deep is 100% in my favourite games list

[lemm-moxx]

goofy poster type drawing

@karineverse @kredena-dark (thanks for the ideas nerds)

(plus a bonus sketch )

(Horrortale created by sourapplestudios)

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Series of manga style sketches with only blood, eyes and coloured bands on Kotetsu and Barnaby’s under suits in colour. Most of the sketches are on a darker grey background, showing Barnaby being punched with brass knuckles, being hit over the back of the head with a handgun, lying unconscious on the floor with blood coming from his temple, gritting his teeth and glaring with blood on his temple, and in his hero suit with the left eye area broken away, and showing one of Kotetsu in his mask looking concerned. The final image is Barnaby and Kotetsu in their undersuits, Barnaby with his glasses still off and both fresh and dried blood on his face in a path from his left temple. Kotetsu has one hand on Barnaby’s arm, the other holding his chin gently, and he’s looking into his eyes with concern, while Barnaby is fairly ‘rabbit in headlights’ shocked at him. End ID] -

Whumptober Day 18: Concussion

In one of the manga, Barnaby gets punched with brass knuckles then pistol whipped, and then goes on rescue mission, followed by more hero work, and I headcanon he has a concussion for pretty much the whole thing, which Kotetsu gets worried about when they have time to chill

The sketches on the darker grey are all based directly on bits from the manga, and one in the corner is original pose intended to be some point after where that story ends.

[afewproblems]

Season Two Halloween AU Part Seven

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

As always, thank you thank you to the lovely Jess @strangersteddierthings for being my cheerleader!

[CW: Discussions of injuries, vomiting]

***

Eddie grips the steering wheel tightly in his hands, while his eyes flick from the rearview mirror and back to the road over and over again, watching for movement, for some sign of wakefulness in Steve.

Dustin had managed to find bandages and peroxide earlier in the Byers washroom to help clean up Steve's face before they left, while Eddie delicately picked the shards of ceramic out of Steve's hair.

The impact had broken the skin and would definitely require stitches, but there were no pieces left in the wound.

The biggest worry for Eddie, with Steve now cleaned and bandaged, was that Steve had already been smacked around the day before by Hargrove. He can't even imagine what two blows to the head in two days has actually done, and there wouldn't be any way of knowing until Steve wakes.

And that is where the argument had started.

***

"We can't just leave, we have to do something we have to give them time!" Mike insists while Eddie gathers the soiled towels covered in blood and peroxide.

Eddie scoffs and whirls around on Mike.

"Are you joking? Your babysitter just got obliterated by an ashtray, we're going to the hospital".

Dustin reaches out for Eddies shoulder, shaking it with urgency, "Steve would have--"

"No, he told you guys that we were not getting involved, we're on the bench".

"You can't keep all of us here," Max tries this time, she crosses her arms in front of her and scowls at Eddie, "if we all go, we'll all be safe".

Eddie barks out a nearly hysterical laugh at the suggestion, these fucking kids.

He looks down at Steve and tries to imagine what he would do in this scenario. Hopper, Joyce, Nancy, and Jonathan are gone; Steve is the only other expert left in this situation, the only other voice of reason in the house.

With his eyes closed and the blood now gone, Steve looks as though he could be sleeping.

"Shit. Shit," Eddie brings his hands up into his hair and tries to slow down the panic coursing through him. It's too much, too many people to worry about even without the literal destruction of their town hanging over their heads.

He looks at Steve again.

"Okay, but if we do this, you listen to me, no arguments, none of that shit you give Steve," Eddie begins counting off his fingers as he speaks, "and most importantly, we go to the hospital, you get forty-five minutes".

***

"Mike, are you still keeping time for how long he's been out?" Eddie asks as he looks at the kids through the rearview.

Though he hadn't thought about it when he bought the van off of Reefer Rick --a deal he's still not sure who got the better end of, based on the lightness of Eddie's wallet for weeks afterwards, Eddie is pretty grateful now for the number of seats and the long bench in the back.

Steve's Beemer wouldn't have been able to fit all of them and as much as Max tried to justify stealing her brothers car, neither would the Camero.

Mike mutters something under his breath and Dustin elbows him in the ribs, hard by the sound Mike makes and the glare he shoots Dustin in response.

"I got it," Max says tiredly, she holds up her watch before letting her hand drop into her lap.

She perks up slightly and leans forward to grip the back of the drivers seat, "you know, if you want to sit back here, I can--"

"Nope, nope," Eddie punctuates the words by slapping the steering wheel, "your job is to watch him, and navigate".

"I'm navigating," Lucas insists from the passenger seat beside Eddie. He has the map from earlier spread out over his legs and a finger tracing the red marker lines they had made earlier that night, "you're going to keep going straight and then it's a left on Mount Sinai by the way".

Eddie nods and opens his mouth to ask about how long until the turn when a groan floats up from the back.

Eddie nearly slams on the brakes in surprise, instead jerking the wheel, sending the van into a harsh swerve over the empty road. The kids all yell over one another but Dustin's voice carries the loudest.

"You're jostling him, Jesus Eddie!"

Eddie winces as he manages to straighten the vehicle's course once more, "shit, shit sorry, just, is he awake?"

"Not really," Dustin says, the sound of rustling fabric and another groan punctuating the silent car.

Eddie's resolve finally snaps.

He turns to Lucas, "you said it's just straight and then one more turn right?" Eddie asks as he lets the car drift to the side of the road before throwing it into park.

"Yeah, why?" Lucas says slowly, his face scrunched into a confused frown, Max perks up once again from the middle row in Eddie's periphery.

Eddie turns to face Max's wide grin and rolls his eyes, "yeah, yeah, get up here," he grumbles, popping open the driver's side door.

"Seatbelt or no deal, keep it under sixty, and slow down on the turn".

Max nods rapidly and bites her lip, nearly vibrating with excitement as she scrambles over the middle console to take Eddie's place, "you got it!"

"Why does she get to drive?" Mike growls under his breath but it still carries through the open drivers side door. Steve makes another noise and Eddie has to tamp down a scream of frustration at the sound.

He makes his way to the back passenger door, sliding it open to meet Mike's glare, "my van, my rules Wheeler, move up, Dustin you're keeping the time now".

Dustin nods and leans towards the front, lifting his watch as he asks Max quietly about how long Steve has been out.

Eddie settles in the far back next to Steve, ignoring the guilt that settles heavily in his stomach. If only he had locked the door, if he had been able to hold his own with Billy, this never would have happened. Eddie swallows the lump that begins to form in his throat and pours his focus into Steve, that's who needs him now.

Eddie's never seen someone with a head injury before, hell, he's never seen anyone get their ass beaten like Steve just did and Wayne's lessons in first aid never went past burns or cuts, maybe splinting a break.

Eddie was out of his depth with this.

Steve's unfocused gaze lands on him as he tilts his head slightly. He makes a small noise of recognition and lifts his left hand up to brush softly against Eddie's face.

"Nance?" Steve slurs out, blinking a few times, and fuck, if that doesn't sting.

Eddie can't quite hide his wince and breathes out sharply through his nose, "Nope, sorry, you're stuck with me".

Steve blinks again, this time his eyes narrow slightly as he reaches out again, but Eddie manages to catch his hand this time and gently lowers it back down. He allows himself one indulgence though, and entwines his fingers through Steve's own.

Just this once.

"Ed?" Steve says this time and Eddie can't help the grin that slowly pulls at his lips, thank God.

"Yeah man," Eddie whispers, he clears his throat in an attempt to move the lump that appears once more. Steve's pupils are different sizes but that doesn't seem to stop him from realizing they are no longer in the Byers home.

"Why--we're moving?"

"I was out numbered," Eddie says darkly, sending a glare to Dustin who flips him the bird over his shoulder. He's looking at Lucas's map from the seat behind him.

Steve groans again and Eddie watches as all the colour drains from his cheeks and lips. By the time Eddie realizes what is happening, Steve is already leaning his head over the floor and vomiting all over Eddie's shoes.

"Oh shit Steve, okay, okay, let it out," Eddie helps him sit up slightly and manages to move his feet for the next round, nose wrinkling at the smell of bile. He lets go of Steve's hand and instead settles for letting one hand brace his shoulder while the other sweeps into his hair, pulling the slightly longer sections away from his face.

Eddie tries to focus on keeping Steve steady rather than how soft his hair is.

Mike sucks his teeth in disgust as Dustin swears from the middle seat and covers his mouth, "did he just puke?"

Eddie wants to throttle them both.

Steve pulls him from his violent thoughts though as he coughs and gags again, breathing out a heavy whine as he catches his breath.

He mumbles something so quiet that Eddie almost wonders for a moment if he spoke at all, but then Steve taps his hand weakly against Eddie's hand on his shoulder.

"Pull over," he whispers in a much clearer voice this time and Eddie looks up towards the front of the car, Max is in the middle of turning, the last one if Lucas was to be believed.

"Steve, we can't," Eddie tries, hating the way that Steve deflates, it's almost like when Eddie found him after Tina's party.

"I sorry sweetheart, I promise, hospital after this," Eddie says quietly.

He freezes at the realization of what he just said.

Shit.

It's as though his heart has stopped in his chest and his ribs are crushing inwards, as though he's about to collapse like some dying star.

Eddie looks around the interior of the van, hoping no one else heard him only to catch Dustin staring him down with an intense but curious look in his eyes, his brow furrowed as though Eddie is a puzzle and the last piece has gone missing.

Dustin says nothing though, and turns back to the front where Mike, Lucas, and Max are talking animatedly.

Steve's head flops backwards onto Eddie's chest, pulling his focus from the kids. Steve is looking up at him and from his close Eddie can count the number of eyelashes, the number of freckles dusting his nose, the flecks of green in his blown eyes.

Even with his bruised face and the faint traces of bile on his breath, Steve is beautiful.

Eddie thinks of how Steve protected them all again and again, how he offered advice to Dustin -even if it wasn't the best, how he had insisted that Eddie wasn't the reason Steve had been scared that night, not wanting him to feel like yet another person was afraid of Eddie.

He thinks of all the ways that Steve has shown himself over the last few days and feels the last few strands holding up the image of King-Steve Harrington, finally fall away.

He's never let himself to stare like this, unashamedly at another man, it had always been too dangerous --especially in Hawkins.

Perhaps he can allow himself this other indulgence then, just for now.

Unbidden, the words Steve said earlier echo faintly for Eddie as they sit in the back of his beat up old van while the kids start arguing over the one painters mask they found in the shed earlier.

'People will come in and out of your life all the time, and the ones that are meant to be there will stay, and if they go, then it wasn't meant to be.

I think I need more people in my life like that'.

He swallows heavily as Steve's eyes close and he sinks even further into Eddie, his soft hair tickles against Eddie's neck as he burrows closer.

Eddie lifts his gaze to the roof of the van. He doesn't believe in God, no, hearing his uncle's stories of 'Nam, his mother dying, and Al kicking him to the curb were enough to dissuade Eddie of any real notion of a higher power existing.

But it doesn't stop him from sending a thought out into the universe.

If we make it out of this, Eddie thinks, I promise to listen this time.

Part Eight Now Up

Tag List:

@eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson @queenie-ofthe-void @rainbowsaw @sp0o0kylights @littlebluejane @hi-im-eff @phantypurple @just-ladyme @thoroughlycollected @justrandomfandomstm @swimmingbirdrunningrock @finntheehumaneater @dynamic-powerm@nightmareglitter @genderless-spoon @zaddipax @thebiblesays @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @pyrohonk @emly03 @geekymagicalpotato @sidebarre @eddielives1986 @lemon-astra @cipounette @discreetapple @starlitlakes @saphhicwitchbitch @marvel-ous-m @honorarybrit81 @lingeringmirth

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @henderdads @stevesbipanic @spooky-brakers @flowercrowngods (welcome back Dio!)

[whump-in-the-closet]

Hi! I know you’ve written stuff like this before and I absolutely adore it so I have to request some more sidekick whump? Either hero’s or villain’s sidekick, doesn’t matter!

Have a nice day!!

Sure! Went with hero’s sidekick here because of ✨vibes✨

Villain stood over the blindfolded Sidekick, tied to the chair with hands twisted behind them. Their chest rose and fell unevenly, breath freezing in the air.

They were terrified.

Good.

Villain crouched down to eye level with Hero’s Sidekick. “Rise and shine.”

Sidekick jerked back in the chair, straining against the restraints. “Fuck you—” their voice was raw, spent from screaming for help that would not come.

“Ah ah ah, language,” said Villain. “I would have thought Hero taught you better.”

An unintelligible snarl.

Villain leaned close, yanking off the blindfold. They smiled without showing any teeth. “Now for the first order of business.” With a quick, rough gesture, they pulled off Sidekick’s mask.

“Hey!” Sidekick blinked frantically, trying to adjust their eyes to the cold light. Their breathing was shallow. Panicked. “Hero—” they started to say, then broke off abruptly.

Underneath the mask was a cloud of dark hair and tired eyes. No trademark scar. No dye or piercings. Unsettlingly average. Ordinary.

Villain rocked back on their heels. “Hero what? You think he’ll come and save you still? Or were you going to say, Hero’s gonna kill me?” They laughed. “I’m far ahead of him in that.”

Sidekick looked down. Away. Anywhere that wasn’t Villain.

Villain stood and started inspecting the tools laid out on the table. “You do understand this is business, right?” They lifted up a long, curving knife. “It’s nothing personal.”

Wiping the knife off on the hem of their shirt, they spun back on Sidekick. “For purely business matters, you’ll have to give me your name.”

Sidekick’s lips tightened. No. But their eyes were on the flashing steel.

They shrank back into the chair as Villain circled behind them. “Fine. Be difficult,” they whispered, uncomfortably close to Sidekick’s face.

Villain slammed Sidekick’s head into the table.

Stars. Brilliant-white-pain stars.

Villain’s grip relented long enough for Sidekick to register the pain. And then slammed their head into the wood a second time.

Crack.

“Your name?” said Villain.

“You…you should know. Your mom gave it to me—” Sidekick’s biting response twisted into a cry when Villain yanked their head back until their neck threatened to snap.

When Villain drove Sidekick’s head into the wood this time, Sidekick’s vision went black.

Blood stained the tabletop.

Villain shoved the tip of their blade towards Sidekick’s face.

Hovering there.

Sidekick saw double. Everything was ringing.

“Alright then, smartass, what’s Hero’s name? Tell me, and you’ll go home without any scars,” whispered Villain. “Well, minimal scars.”

Sidekick drew back, shuddering. Their eyes burned with unshed tears. “I—” Their voice cracked. “I can’t.”

Villain shrugged and traced the tip of Sidekick’s ear with the blade. At the touch of the cold steel, Sidekick bit back a sob. They did not beg, but they wanted too. Desperately.

“Your loss, really,” said Villain. “I can do this all day.”

The steel cut down, and something sticky and wet dripped down Sidekick’s ear and the side of their throat.

“Can you?”

[sleepyfan-blog]

Incoming Pallius

Author’s Note: This is the third part of a mini-arc in which Cedric will be (trying) to patch up injured Primaris Black Templars as they appear on Ancient and Holy Terra! For other adventures click here and here. First. Previous. Next. Thank you to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for allowing me to borrow Hura and Zariel!

warnings: injuries, blood, surgical procedures, concussion

tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

Summary: Pallius finds himself... On a planet? That's... Weird as fuck.

Pallius blinked blearily in shock as bright, warm sunshine shone in his swollen eyes. He could smell fresh - if lightly polluted - air on the breeze ruffling his blood-matted hair. He could hear the sounds of worried voices murmur and the rapid beating of multiple mortals’ hearts in their chests. Firm ground pressed against his badly injured and bloodied back. Breathing hurt so, so much, but he kept on doing it. Weight pressed against his chest, so Pallius turned over onto one side with an agonized groan as he coughed wetly. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and splattered the black surface he’d been left on.

The last thing he remembered was Chaplain Petras’ harsh words of reprimand as the older marine administered the corporal punishment that he had earned for his audacity to question the orders of the vicious bastard who’d chosen him as a personal punching bag and durable serf… Or should he say, the firstborn astartes who’d chosen to mentor him. He’d been aboard The Sigismund and one of his fellow Primaris Marines - one of the few Apothecaries in training - had sprinted into the room first aid kit in hand and helmet on to hide any unfortunate facial reactions to the miserable state that Pallius had been beaten into by Petras.

Pallius had heard warnings about the firstborn captain’s temper. Had noted the unease in his fellow Primaris Marines when interacting with him, even in groups. He had noticed the unusual numbers of casualties and fatalities that his fellow Primaris Marines had suffered verses their non-primaris Apprentice and Neophyte-designated Black Templars. Along with where and how he and other Primaris had been positioned and provisioned for… As well as the types of missions they were given, versus their non-primaris apprentices and neophyte peers.

It painted a grim pict for his fellow Primaris Marines assigned to the Black Templars. Pallisu was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to survive for much longer and silently mourned the fact that he was going to be just another anonymous number. That he couldn’t warn his brothers, and verify that those rumors about the bastard were true… He silently wondered if the High Marshal would even care, if word of the suffering of his fellow Primaris Marines ever reached his ears, or if the other would turn a blind eye to it.

He startled a little as he felt a small hand touch one of his shoulders. Pallius forced his swollen eyes open as far as they would go, squinting up at the blurry figure of a… A… Blue-haired mortal teenager? He managed to smile weakly up at them as feelings of safety, warmth and affection surged within him at their continued touch.

They spoke rapidly in a language that Pallius did not understand, tears streaming down their face.

Pallius blinked up at them and with a titanic effort of will, he brought up one of his hands - the bones in his fingers broken by the stomping boots of a certain chaplain - and with painstaking care, tried to wipe them away. It felt so very wrong to him, to see this mortal weep and sob. A deep, instinctual part of him wanted very much to cheer this lovely mortal up. To see them smile and laugh. To make sure that they were happy and loved and safe at all times, forever.

Ah. Whoops. His bloody fingers were leaving stains on their pretty face. He hadn’t meant to do that, though the mortal was leaning into his touch a little, which made him smile a little. “Shhh… Shhh… It’s my duty to serve.” He managed to force him to say. His throat ached to say, even those few words and he panted, trying to recover what little breath he had remaining in his lungs.

The pretty mortal leaned into his hand a little more, causing the warmth in his chest to intensify pleasantly. It was taking too much effort for Pallius to keep his eyes open, so he closed them. His everything ached, but the nameless warmth that was starting to spread through his body felt good. His newborn desire to protect and care for this lovely mortal with all that he is, and all he could ever be was staving off his nose-dive into the abyssal darkness that threatened to consume him with every passing moment.

Much heavier footsteps thundered towards him. Ceramite on whatever stone-adjacent surface this black substance was. With tremendous effort and force of will, Pallius heaved himself up into a sitting position and forced his eyes open once more, looking to the source of the ceramite-clad sounds.

FUCK!

Firstborn Astartes were thundering towards him. By their colors and heraldry, they were Salamanders, but apart from his relative certainty that it meant that the mortals around him were safe, it was likely even odds as to whether or not they would have him treated, or gie him the Emperor’s Mercy for his sorry physical state.

The pretty mortal was fussing something fierce, from what he could see of their body posture and their tone of voice. He was startled to hear them speak in a thick accent he did not recognize, in Gothic “More Astartes coming. To help you.”

A wheezed laugh left his lips, quickly dissolving into another series of wet, blood-splattering coughs. Astartes were the Angels of the Imperium, yes. Salamanders were said to be among the most compassionate and kind of all Angels. To mortals. Amongst their cousins, the Dragons had several well-earned reputations, and Pallius was braced for a painful, and likely fiery death. The internal politics of the Astartes were not for mortals to know, and he ran his tongue along his lips, licking the blood off of his teeth before smiling sadly down at them, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice “I… Hear their footsteps.

He really wished he had the rest of his armor on. Or at least his helmet as it would hide his emotional reactions to a degree as the bastard firstborns came to heckle and torment him. With another titanic effort of will, he shifted as the cacophonous sound of  Astartes running got louder and louder, Pallius managed to shift so that a majority of his bulk was shielding the pretty mortal from their view. 

The half-dozen concerned looking Salamanders surrounded him, moments later, and Pallius hated the way that each of them clocked the way he flinched and curled away from their approach. Pallius also hated the way that his treacherous, dying body shuddered continuously now, as he was surrounded on all sides by firstborn marines. He was not afraid. He was not afraid. Astartes could not feel fear, so he bared his teeth as the Salamanders crowded in closer, a low, rumbling growl escaping his split and bleeding lips.

The pretty (his?) mortal began to run their fingers through his hair. They were careful to not touch the places on his head where he was bleeding or swollen. Their scent was stronger and the touch was wonderful.

Tears slid down his face, and he leaned into their gentle touches, a sob leaving him as he closed his eyes once more. It felt so good to be held gently, to be touched as if he was someone to be treasured and cared for, rather than a newly crafted weapon that needed to be beaten and molded into the correct shape for his superiors to use as they saw fit. “I will live. For you. I promise.” Pallius vowed as he leaned into the (his) mortal, feeling gentle darkness swallow his body as Astartes-sized hands dragged him away from them.

If he survived, he would find them. If he died, his spirit would protect theirs until he was swallowed by deamons.

~

Cedric had been rushing from one appointment to the next all morning. He had barely enough time to take a steadying breath before plunging back into caring for the next in a seemingly endless waves of patients, muchless chart all that he had done. 

Today was the start of a local festival celebrating the summer weather, near as Cedric could tell… Which apparently involved pyrotechnics (Bombs, but sparkly and not meant for war or purposeful destruction) imbibing copious amounts of intoxicants and forgetting how to hydrate properly along with forgetting what the symptoms of heat-stroke and sun-sickness were until the afflicted required medical attention. 

If pressed, Cedric could rely on his memory to recount just what precisely he had done to aid those seeking care… Which involved a lot of burn cream, IV hydration therapy and the stitching of fingers and/or toes back onto the stump where they’d been blown off of. Most of his patients today had been baselines, but not all of them. The occasional sheepish Astartes had entered his exam room, in need of medical care.

Ten minutes ago, Hura had walked into the exam room that Cedric had claimed for the day and physically dragged him out of it. The vile chaos bastard had refused to let him go until he’d been forced onto a chair, with fresh and fortified food placed in front of him to eat.

Which he had inhaled as fast as he could without choking. Cedric hadn’t realized how hungry and thirsty he had gotten while tending to the seemingly endless number of patients needing care. After that, as Hura refused to let him leave, Cedric had started to doze off a little in the seat, enjoying the relative peace and quie-

Andrew, one of the mortals who was running the front desk burst into the room, a worried frown on his face, as if Cedric thinking one of the Forbidden Words had summoned  even more trouble to their collective doors. “Sirs, a badly injured and partially unarmored and unarmed astartes suddenly appeared within the city. A squad of Salamanders is closing in on his location, and he’ll be brought here.  Zariel is already scrubbing up for the likely surgeries he’ll require, but is asking for at least one, ideally two more Apothecaries to aid him in tending to the injured marine. The Salamanders were unable to identify which legion or chapter he belonged to, and he passed out on the scene before any of the Salamanders could try and speak with him.”

Cedric stood up, and answered “I am willing and able to help Apothecary Zariel.”

“I will assist as well.” Hura responded, nodding seriously “What is their eta?”

“Five minutes max. The mortals are doing their best to clear a direct path to the clinic but there’s a lot of people between here and where the injured marine landed.” The baseline answered honestly.

“Then we should get going quickly. He’s going into Operating room three, which is fully prepared, yes?” Hura remarked, moving faster at this news. 

Cedric swiftly followed after Hura, hearts leaping into his throat as the baseline human described the injuries that had been inflicted upon the Astartes - along with the black armor of the lower half of armor he was still wearing.

Was this another brother?

~

Three minutes, twenty-seven seconds later and Cedric had his answer. Lying on the operating table, while wavering in and out of consciousness was another of his fellow Primaris Black Templars. 

Another Primaris who had been beaten to death by Petras. One whom Cedric had desperately tried to save in M42 and had failed, due to a lack of supplies, experience, and time. Internally he flinched at the sight of the other Primaris marine, but his hands were stone-steady as he worked on aiding the two older and more experienced Apothecaries in putting his brother back together.

“Don’t use general anesthetic, he’s got a bad concussion, on top of everything else going on with him.” Cedric warned Zariel as the Ultramarine reached for the mask that would give astartes-grade general anesthetics. “Topical, only. Besides, General anesthetics makes Pallius more belligerent and grumpier than he usually is.” Which was saying something, as this particular battle brother was not known for his shining personality and optimistic outlook on life. 

“... So you know this badly injured marine too, Cedric?” Hura asked as he carefully sutured up one of the deeper lightning claw wounds on Pallius’ chest. “Is he also a Primaris Marine?”

“Now is not the time to ask these questions, Hura.” Zariel hummed, voice light but holding a warning as he sent an unreadable to Cedric expression the Death Guard’s way.

The Chaos Astartes’ eyes narrowed a little and he huffed “You have a point. Ah, he is coming around again. Cedric, if you would talk him down?”

Cedric rushed over so that his Brother could see him and only him, hands still working to patch him up “Easy, Palli. We’re in a safe location, I promise. You’re in good hands, and you’re going to get through this. You’ve just gotta let me work and not move around, alright? I can give you some local anesthetic for some of the deeper-”

“No. No pain relievers. You know the rules.” Pallius denied, shaking his head a little, before a quiet whimper left him “Why am I so dizzy?”

“That would be the concussion, Pallius. Try not to move around too much until I’ve got all the holes plugged inside of you. Then I’ll have you transferred to a bed where you can be in a semi-sitting position and you can have a little bit of water.” Cedric explained, hoping that neither of the other Apothecaries was going to comment on what Pallius just said. Surely they had similar rules. Right? Regarding punishments.

Not that… Cedric had told them that Pallius… Nor Lestra nor Olivar had been so badly injured because of punishments that, in his professional medical opinion, had gone on for far too long, and far too intensely. While he was relatively sure he could more or less trust them with most things… This was something that wasn’t just his secret, so he would keep close to his chest unless he and his Brothers could talk freely about what they should tell the firstborns here, if anything. “We’re not in a Black Templar Field Tent, nor medical bay. Just relax and let me help.”

“Oh… Since when were you assigned to Salamanders? Or are we rendezvousing with them on whatever planet this is? And why was I-” Pallius asked.

Oh no. Cedric had a guess as to where this line of questioning was going, and he quickly nipped that in the bud, not wanting Pallius to reveal information to two Firstborn Marines he hadn’t clocked were here that had no idea about Certain Things. He cut Pallius off “Things are a touch complicated, right now. I’ll answer all of your questions once you are fully patched up. I’ve got some help in the form of an Ultramarine Apothecary and a D…” If he said Death Guard, Pallius would Panic hard, doing no one any good whatsoever “Dusk Raider Apothecary. He’s been Temporally displaced.”

“Oh… Okay… Should I stop talking altogether, then? So I don’t distract the three of you?” Pallius asked, voice more subdued.

“No, we need you to stay awake, ideally. Talk about whatever you like. Do you have any hobbies?” Zariel asked “Hobbies being things that you do in your downtime, that aren’t training or sleeping.”

“Uhm… Does praying count?” Pallius asked “I like singing hymns with my brothers. Even if some of them are off-key, ‘s nice. Feels like we’re together and united as one. Even…”

“Even if sometimes you argue or squabble with them?” Hura offered, a small smile on the Chaos Marine’s face “I understand those feelings, young one. Apart from praying, what do you do?”

“Isn’t being off-task Heretical? Least… That’s what he says.” Pallius asks, a sullen note in his voice, blue eyes darkening a little.

“Who says that? He’s wrong, by the way. Doing things that aren’t related to battle, war, or prayer isn’t heretical.” Zariel chimed in. 

By the God-Emperor, Cedric did not want to have to deal with the fallout of where this conversation was going and quickly redirected Pallius. “Palli… Why do you smell like a mortal?”

Pallius, even concussed, did not trust most Firstborn marines even the distance that he could throw them, armored or otherwise and thus took Cedric’s prompting as the unsubtle out it was “Pretty blue haired mortal found me before the ‘manders did. They smelled nice, and their voice was so nice to hear and they make my chest all warm an’ soft. I never did get the whole protectors of the Imperium thing very well. Until I met that mortal… We are created to serve and die so that the civilians like them can live in peace and safety… Wanna protect and provide for them soooo much. Feel the need to go find them now, but I can’t. Legs don’t work.” Pallius sulked as he said those last three words. “You… You’ll make sure I can walk, right? An’ protect the pretty mortal, Ced?”

“I’ll do my best, Pallius. But you’ve got to listen to me, when I tell you to do stuff, or to not do the things I tell you not to. So that you can recover and go talk to that pretty mortal again.” Cedric reminded Pallius, a small grin appearing on his face at how adorably smitten his brother was at so chance an encounter. “Tell me more about them, if you can?” He was about to mention Ramiel… But mentioning Ramiel might bring him to the forefront of Pallius’ mind, and that was a nest of warp-spawn he did not have the ordinance to deal with right now.

Pallius’ whole face lit up with joy and love in a way that Cedric had never seen before on his usually stern and taciturn brother. He rambled about everything he knew about them… Which, admittedly wasn’t much, but he did so over and over again, until he was fully patched up, and transferred to a more comfortable medical cot to recuperate. 

“Oh Cedric…” Hura called out as the younger Apothecary sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in the room that Pallius was temporarily assigned. “Could we talk privately, please?”

“Not right now. Pallius is a flight risk, and I have to catch up on charting from earlier in the day. My shift ended twenty minutes ago.” Cedric answered. There was. No fucking way he wanted to have any conversation Hura intended on trying to force out of him with the ominous thundercloud of a frown on his face.

“... Fine. But we will be talking. And soon.” The older Apothecary warned.

“... Noted.” Cedric responded. Fuck, he needed to warn the others to stay away from an information seeking Apothecary Hura… and probably Apothecary Zariel as well. Hopefully the chaos of this festival week would drive any unfortunate questions out of their minds and Cedric wouldn’tbe forced to tell half-truths and utter grox-shit to them on the fly. 

Hura harrumphed and left the room, closing the door behind him firmly.

Cedric groaned and slumped in the chair, hiding his face in his hands.

“Did… Did I fuck up?” Pallius asked, voice wavering a little.

“A bit. Not irreparably and things are different here in ways that I will explain to you once your concussion heals. But, to put your mind at ease neither the one who hurt you, nor the one who sent you to him can reach you here. You are safe from that, at least.” Cedric explained with a sigh “You will be able to heal in safety here.”

“... But what did you exchange for that?” Pallius asked, voice still shaking.

“Nothing I’m not willing to trade for. Worry not, Brother dear.” Cedric hummed, gently squeezing the other’s uninjured shoulder. “Sleep. I will keep watch.”

“Alright. I’ll hold you to the promised explanation later.” Pallius grumbled before cloning his eyes and falling asleep.

[liltaireissocute]

i do have a shit-tone of scars on my face somehow

[superm4ks]

max released his very own verstappie all-time win list, i must get your analysis 🔎

Omfg tastyyy ok heres Max's picks for his top 10 wins according to his latest red bulletin and transcribed by the awesome @tyrannosaurus-maxy , lets check if they feature in the verstappie rewatch

spain, 2016 ✅ mexico, 2018 ❌ ((analysis: a classic maxiel shootout that I wud have included if not for format limits and my pick of china, 2017. although very cunty of him to pick this as a crucial victory in his career, because it was a proper 'u wont win while I'm here' send off.)) austria, 2019 ✅ germany, 2019 ❌ ((analysis: ok I get it because that race was like .. netflix's drive to survive live action so to come out of it p1 is a classic max slay. also rip Hockenheim shout out to a real 1 u put the fear of god in those men fr)) 20th anniversary, 2020✅ france, 2021 ❌ ((analysis: entire 2021 season shud be its own verstappie rewatch lets keep it FRESH and TRUTHFUL howevr. I did go wid Emilia Romagna for my pick of the first wins because of what it represented ..dramaturgically. Like imagine the existential horror of knowing Verstappen has the car to challenge u in a classic f1 track on pure pace. Horrifying. But France did start to chip away at the 'average qualifier' myth in the culture and it did show rbr were willing to go freak for freak to dethrone Lewis. Looking back to it , it IS a champion drive from Max at such an early stage of his maiden wdc run, so makes sense it felt like that to him too.)) COTA, 2021 ✅, Spa, 2022 ✅ miami, 2023 ✅ , japan, 2023✅ 

Veredict: verstappie seal of approval. Some new insight particularly into COTA, 2021 which answered a few questions I had about the Silverstone crash and its consequences. Idk if yall ever saw pics of Max's lid after the crash, but the paint on the left side was completely scrapped off. Obvi we knew it the hit was serious enough from his radio, the general state of his car, how he looked climbing out of it, but I truly never expected him to share the full extent of the concussion. This isnt like the cramp or the like the bird he hit that one time, concussions are scary and uncomfortable and we still learning how to deal wid them in sport. Its an ongoing debate between medical responsibility and individual choice and that demands sensitivity and care and often lacks both. Because this time it involves Max and he didnt die, it now invites the worst people in the world to be purposely nasty and disingenuous in their interpretation of what he shared. But I think its important he told us. He shud not have to hide how much a crash like that impacted him, his title run, and what it meant to come out the other side a champion. I always said COTA 2021 is when he went from lil bro to big bro and now I'm sure he feels the same.

[mischefous]

Art request huh ? *sees whump art request* Oh~ I see *Laughs like a disney villain*

Oh Hylia- I see things-

So- First idea was : Wind and or Wild and or Sky falling down a cliff because their gliding gear tore up or smt and the others are like : Oh no !

Second Idea is Wild having a memory overlap and he struggle to recognize those around him or confuses them with people he saw in the memory and since we love yo see those blorbos suffer let it be a bad memory ans him wanting to run away or smt

Third I imagined the Chain going to Outset only to realize that Wind whole existence has been forgoten even my his sister and grandma (but it's just a dream because as much as I love angst my lil heart can take so much)

Then I had Warriors having an argument with Time but ending up calling him Mask and "reminding him" of everything he had done in the war (or smt like that I don't rly have an idea about how the fight is ending)

Maybe Four but one of the colour is dead/disappeared and the others colors are really but REALLY affected and the Chain doesn't know what to do

And I might have more idea but I need to rush to the bus stop bye ! Have a great day !

heyyyy Anon! this is super late but I went with your first idea hehe. I love all the other ideas sm! might come back to one of them later :3 Thank you for the request Anon💙

Wild took a nasty tumble after his paraglider got shredded by a rogue arrow

CW! blood, head injury

I tried to do a perspective drawing with foreshortening but I don't think it worked XD Foreshortening is freaking hard