#This is just the first time Ive really really made a sustainable positive change in my life in a while

[themainannoyance]

Okay every time I talk about this I feel like either a boomer "phone is witch" or I feel like a no fap trad guy OR i feel (closer to home) like a new age hippie dippie Gen Z-er who is in touch with nature and phones are a conspiracy, but maybe there can be a new sort of guy we invent.. Maybe we can invent a guy who just has a really unhealthy relationship to his phone and scroller apps sort of exacerbate (had to check how to spell that word 3 times) his already not great brain.. Maybe we can invent a guy who... who gets better : )

Anyway, maybe I just have a devil in my brain whispering to me, but I will say that after 2 weeks of cutting down my time on Instagram Reels from 8 hours per week (and entire work day!!) to less than 2 hours per week is yielding really nice results. I ended up supplementing that with Tumblr and Twitter and Reddit (??), so I've got a really soft block on Tumblr and Twitter (not as strict as Instagram because it's just not As Bad for me on these platforms.) But it's nice, looks like yeah a constant barrage of short-form content is going to make me miserable especially as it's not only a passive activity where I'm almost entirely zoned out for hours, it's also active enough that I can't do anything else while being zoned out.

Things are going really well now that I'm kicking the habit because I'm just... doing more things. And they're stupid things, like making MSpaint art and making powerpoints or whatever, but it's good to be creating and making stuff again. Just making anything feels good. It also means that I get to look at stuff I actually like and care about. The thing that sucks hardest about short-form video scrollers is that you lose out on looking at things you actually care about. I dunno, I know I say this all the time and every time I'm on the uphill of what can only be described as a gentle manic episode, but I do believe that when I'm back to being mega depressed, the lows won't be as low because it'll be harder for me to get stuck in a Social Media Spiral.

[justice4falum]

do NOT give money to tumblr user roboticwheelchair

Hi, so you’ve probably seen this post or some of its permutations on this website lately! (The old version of this post broke because I mistakenly deleted it. Let’s try this again, shall we?)

This is a “RAFFLE” for a Nintendo Switch Lite and the poster is asking people send them $10 to earn a spot in the raffle, of which there are 52. People have already sent money in.

This post was made by user roboticwheelchair and the name which currently displays on their paypal is “Mick Garcia” - it’s very possible you’ve heard their story already from several weeks ago. User roboticwheelchair claims that they were physically assaulted for being a transgender man, and that they sustained a concussion.

The BAD news is that roboticwheelchair is a blog which has been on tumblr for a very long time, and used to belong to someone named Falum Gibson. You may have heard this name from their #justice4falum campaign ages ago. They are a notorious scammer and has been doing this since 2016. LET’S REVIEW (LONG, LONG, LONG POST AHEAD.)

Part 1: #BieberMeetFalum and Meeting Ed Sheeran

In 2016, Falum ran a Justin Bieber fan account on Twitter called @bieberfreezer (account has since been suspended). They began a campaign called #BieberMeetFalum by posting a Twitter thread about their disability, cerebral palsy, and how they had intended to meet Justin Bieber personally because his music was important to them. However, the venue he was performing at was not wheelchair accessible and Falum uses an electric wheelchair. They were trying to get the attention of him or his team in order to ensure they met. (LINK)

This was a reasonable thing to post about! Accessibility is a necessity. We know this. And they weren’t asking for money. Twitter got this the attention it needed and they were able to meet Bieber despite the trouble. (LINK)

Later on, they gunned to meet Ed Sheeran and succeeded.

Part 2: #TaylorNoticeFalum

In 2018, Falum was on Tumblr as user taylorsgetawaycarxo. At this point they still say they have cerebral palsy, but has also said they have COPD (something they later will drop.) Claiming that they are terminally ill and has 2 years left to live, they talk about how Taylor Swift is their idol and they want to meet her before they die.

This came right after they had done the same thing with Demi Lovato fans, claiming they idolised Demi and needed to meet her, so on and so forth. They ran a GoFundMe for this. 

The GoFundMe is now defunct, but the URL was “falumlastwish” I believe. Here’s where the plot gets a little lost, because the sheer number of different GoFundMes, donation posts, and meet-a-celebrity campaigns that Falum was running in these couple of years is... pretty wild. There’s a post from another blog here on Tumblr about the Taylor Swift fandom’s run-in with them. (LINK) 

Here’s a GoFundMe they ran from a music fan account on Instagram, where they were asking for help escaping homelessness. They raised almost 5,000 dollars out of the 10,000 they were asking. (LINK)

At some point they also ran a GoFundMe for a PTSD service dog. I’m not sure how much they were asking for this one, but they apparently made $880 off of it. 

Part 3: Ellie Elizabeth

This part is a little muddled, because the tumblr blog connected to it has been deleted and it’s really difficult to find archives of the posts, but at some point in early 2019 Falum started using the blog ellie-elizabeth21 to ask for money as well. The story was that they were being sent to conversion therapy for being bisexual by their father, who had them deemed legally mentally incompetent. Further stories they posted about were potential evictions, needs for grocery money, etc.

Here’s a link to an imgur album of some of the posts this account made. Many of them achieved their goal of over $200 or more. (LINK)

“Ellie” also ran a GoFundMe to escape conversion therapy. Although the person running the campaign was listed as Ellie Elizabeth, the “beneficiary” listed on the campaign is Falum Gibson, proving that Ellie was another pseudonym - just a better hidden one. Here’s the link to that GoFundMe, where you can see it for yourself. (LINK)

This was Ellie Elizabeth’s PayPal account at the time, I believe? And anyway, you might note that they apparently made nearly $6,500 on this account.

Part 4: #Justice4Falum

Now in November of 2019, Falum moved away from the world of Fan Internet and decided to try out something new. They made the blog roboticwheelchair in September of 2019 and reblogged a photoset of cats to it, which for a while was the only thing on the blog besides the donation post they initially made. They’ve gone through a cycle of reblogging and deleting things there, basically clearing out the blog every couple of weeks to make a new post.

At this point they were also @falumgibson on Twitter. The account has since been locked. This is when they posted a GoFundMe describing medical abuse they were allegedly undergoing at the Ottawa Hospital. Weird side note, this GoFundMe is still running and can be donated to, though obviously I’m recommending you don’t do so. (LINK)

They made several donation posts on Tumblr about this campaign, frequently linking it or their PayPal account and asking people to donate. Sometimes it was to go directly to their legal fund for this lawsuit, other times they were asking for money for medications or other immediate costs.

Side note, they had claimed to be in the hospital since August of 2019 due to suicidal ideation and claimed they had been psych warded. From what I can tell, the Ottawa Hospital General Campus they claimed to be hospitalised at does not actually have a psychiatric ward. It has a mental health team, but they appear to do outpatient work. It’s not really clear what they were in the hospital for at this point.

#Justice4Falum was originally about fundraising for a place to live because apparently they were in danger of being forced to leave the hospital due to homelessness. Later on they turned it into a legal fund to sue the hospital for mistreatment.

Part 5: Further Fundraising, Coming Out As Trans

While Falum was in the hospital, they started identifying as nonbinary. I’m not in any position to speculate about whether or not Falum is transgender, because that’s honestly not the point. Either way, they have started using their trans identity in much the way they use their disabilities - as a way to garner sympathy and trust, and to scam people out of money.

On their Twitter at this point, they did seem to have kind of a bizarre interpretation of how transition worked and appeared to be under the impression that the first thing trans men do is get top surgery? (LINK)

Shortly after this, still during the November that #Justice4Falum ran during, they began asking for donations to a different PayPal account than their normal one, because their stepdad was dying of cancer. There was a GoFundMe for this as well, but it appeared to feature their parents and was possibly not created by Falum.

No date on this tweet unfortunately, but right after that, they made a post about how they had been outed to their transphobic father and needed to escape living with him.

At this point, Falum has added several diagnoses to those they claim to have. In addition to cerebral palsy, they now claim to have multiple sclerosis and several mental illnesses. No more COPD, though! I’m very impressed that they recovered from a terminal illness!

Now that they’re out of the closet, in early December they begin making donation posts on Tumblr again and have now made a Patreon. (LINK: POST) (LINK: PATREON) Soon after this, they apparently left their home and became homeless, and started posting about this on Twitter and linking their PayPal.

In late December they posted on Twitter about having attempted suicide by taking 75 extra strength Tylenol. Warning for a photograph of their IV in this link. (LINK)

Not very long after, Falum returned to their narrative of being terminally ill by posting about how their multiple sclerosis (something they have only claimed since 2019, I believe) causes them over 20 seizures a day and will eventually kill them. (LINK)

Then they locked their Twitter account and decided to try something new.

Part 6: Connor Kay, “anontransman”

Enter Connor Kay. At this point Falum makes a new Twitter account called @ConnorIsTrans which eventually morphs into @anontransman. They initially link this account to their old main account, saying that they’ve switched in order to be openly trans on their new account because their transphobic father is stalking them. (LINK)

They continue asking for donations on Twitter, now with a Ko-Fi account called Connor Rocks.

They also post a story about an ex-friend of theirs spitting on them for being trans, apparently, and say they’re calling the police on her, which really doesn’t seem like something that’d be safe for a disabled trans person to do but whatever. (LINK)

On their blog at roboticwheelchair, they post stories about how they are being assaulted and mocked for being transgender. I should note that on Twitter they’ve said they are not out IRL and have not taken steps to transition.

Not only does this particular story sound kind of like the “down with cis bus” post, it’s also somewhat suspect that they allege they were called a tr*nny as an AFAB trans person, given who is generally targeted by that word. But. Moving on.

When the COVID-19 pandemic came around, Connor created a Facebook group for disability support. This was run by the Facebook account Connor Kay, which has since been deleted. It was the same account that they used to have and they’d not changed anything except for the name; prior posts showed it was Falum Gibson’s account.

It turns out they deleted this Facebook account because someone on Facebook posted about their years-long history of scamming people online. Here’s a link to an imgur album of some of the Facebook callout and the images the OP posted. (LINK)

So Falum, or Connor, decides to start anew with an all new PayPal, Ko-Fi, Patreon and Twitter account. At this point they begin to break away from linking these accounts to the name Falum Gibson and their past donation posts, although they are still using the same Tumblr blog. They change their Twitter handle to @anontransman and remove links to Falum. (TWITTER SCREENCAP) (KO-FI SCREENCAP) (PATREON SCREENCAP)

Then they tweet about how they have been diagnosed with cancer. (LINK) Then they begin asking for $100k to go to the US for treatment. (LINK)

Soon after, this Tweet has been completely deleted and they have instead started asking for money for top surgery. (LINK) I believe this is in reverse chronological order, but here are a week’s worth of tweets from them - all deleted at random times in order to make room for the others - asking for money for various reasons. Yes, this was all literally within the same week. (LINK)

Note the very last image of that album contains a reference to an “Amazon Raffle” - they were basically telling people that donations would win them a spot in a raffle for an Amazon gift card or something? It seems they moved on from the @anontransman account before the raffle could come to fruition, or possibly that they just deleted all references to it. Not sure.

In April of 2020, roboticwheelchair posted a specific donation post about being attacked for being transgender and sustaining a concussion. They said they did not see a doctor after the assault because they didn’t think it was important, so their concussion went untreated and because of it they were unable to get groceries. The donation post linked to Connor Kay’s PayPal account. It was deleted and reposted several different times, with basically the same text.

Part 7: Mick Garcia

This is a more recent post with the exact same story, now about their multiple sclerosis medication. The only difference is now that the PayPal link sends you to the PayPal of Mick Garcia. Mick Garcia has a different PayPal username than Falum, Ellie, and Connor did.

On April 12th, the @anontransman account deactivated after Falum, or Ellie, or Connor, or Mick decided to leave Twitter. Then yesterday on April 19th, it reactivated and they tweeted once again.

However, around this same time, another Twitter account under the name Mick Garcia with an icon @anontransman used to use and a very similar tone/style cropped up.

The Mick Garcia account has not tweeted yet, as it appears that they may be staying with @anontransman for their current purposes, but it appears that for some reason or another they’ve decided to start going by Mick Garcia now.

I guess it’s probably relevant to note that while I suppose there are probably some white people out there with the last name Garcia, Falum is really seriously white and it’s suspect they would pick out Garcia as a pseudonym, whether they list “white” in their Twitter bio or not.

More from the current state of the roboticwheelchair blog includes many, many posts where they’re either reposting their own petitions or basically grabbing for as many followers as possible. You can probably guess why. (LINK)

As of April 20th, 2020, there are 2 donation posts still standing on their blog. Here are both of them. (LINK)

Finally, The Switch Raffle

Literally today, April 20th, roboticwheelchair posted something that is allegedly a raffle. They claim to be giving away a Nintendo Switch Lite to a lucky winner. There are 52 slots in the raffle; they are asking that people send them $10 over PayPal in order to enter. They’re also claiming this is to further fundraise for their medication.

They are claiming their doctor has put them on an MS medication that costs $450 every two weeks. (Note that if they’re trying to make money for that right now and also going to buy a Switch for the winner, than they’d only have about half of that at the end? The Switch Lite is about $260 in Canada and their total earnings from a full raffle would be $520.)

You should not give money to them for this raffle, or for any reason. The reason I’m compiling all of this is because after months of seeing them pull this scam over and over again, they’re now promising people an actual product that given their history, I would say they are highly unlikely to deliver.

Given their past, it is most likely they will delete this raffle once they have the money they want, and refuse to allude to it ever again. Or maybe they’ll just disappear! Or hell, maybe they’ll have some kind of nebulous problem ordering the Switch when someone wins, and that’ll be that.

But it’s clear based on this history, I hope, that Falum or Ellie or Connor or Mick has a long history of taking lots and lots of money from strangers online. Like, a lot of money. My estimate is that they’ve made over $15k on this, and that’s exclusively based off of the visible numbers on their GoFundMes and Ko-Fi accounts.

Please do not give this person your money. They are not trustworthy. There are other people who need it - like you, or maybe like, someone you personally know and not some complete stranger who keeps telling people they’re terminally ill so they can meet a cool musician.

Disclaimer

I’ve compiled all of this information to the best of my ability, but I am just one person and it took a lot of digging due to the deleted accounts involved.

Falum is actually disabled; I believe they do have cerebral palsy and may have other disabilities. I do not know if they really have MS, but it’s hard to trust them because they previously lied about having terminal COPD.

I have no idea if Falum is really transgender or not. They have apparently taken no concrete steps to transition, which I know means very little. That being said, if they are transgender, they are leveraging their identity in dangerous ways against other people for money and sympathy. Their stories about being assaulted by strangers for being transgender are highly suspect, given their lack of transition and the fact that the scenarios they describe are highly cliche.

Finally, I’m not trying to harass Falum or threaten them in any way. I don’t know them. If they’re interested in talking candidly about what they have been doing all these years and why, that’s fine. I would honestly love to understand, but at this point it seems like the only thing they can do is apologise for their dishonesty and stop doing this.

Reblog this post if you want! The point is to get the word out there, because this person has been a pervasive presence on this website for some time and has not yet been called out.

[fencesandfrogs]

cloudtail’s daughter: lionblaze

continuing on with my journey of writing a whole au a posteriori of po3 so that omen of the stars isn't so trash, next character on our list to tackle is lionblaze.

since lionblaze is a fully grown adult by the time omen of the stars starts, i expect this to be much shorter than dovewing, because we had to go dovekit to dovewing (IV). actually, we're skipping straight to him becoming the mentor of ivypaw. because before that it's just him being cold to hollyleaf and mooning over cinderheart.

anyway, if you don't know what i'm rambling on about, this is an au where cloudtail and brightheart have dovekit and ivykit instead of whitewing and birchfall. see my cloudtail's daughter tag for more from this au. this is probably the least self-contained post about it to date since i'm skipping a lot of the first book/lead in to the first book and some major changes happen in there.

section one: mentoring ivypaw, pre-beavers

(i'm dropping the dovekit/dovepaw I, II etc thing because he's always lionblaze)

okay, so basically, ivypaw is a good apprentice but a lil angry, and lionblaze is just a golden retriever. he's just bumbling and loving and unaware of his own strength. (this is definitely tweaking lionblaze's character a little, but...he needs to sustain one and a half books. what do you want from me?)

so mostly he blunders on oblivious until cinderheart is like "hey uhh maybe make sure ur apprentice isn't plotting to murder anyone i gtg my apprentice is seeing things ttyl bye ily"

and as she leaves lionblaze is like "wait did she means she loves me loves me or was it an accident" while ivypaw slowly rips dovepaw's nest to shreds.

section two: dovepaw is away

ivypaw is basically angry all the time. lionblaze is like "huh this is a problem" and actually works with her in a productive way instead of just...aggresively emoting at her.

look, he's not good with emotions, he just thinks he is.

but ivypaw starts to trust him. he really does care about her and he's happy to see her getting better. he's like "huh i didn't teacher those moves" and then he's like "jayfeather! i found the third cat" and jayfeather is like "i literally was treating her scratches ten minutes ago she's just a good student."

am i good teacher?, thinks lionblaze.

no, says jayfeather. but you're not bad.

lionblaze continues to mentor ivypaw. she starts to make friends with the Bs (Blossom, Bumble, and Briar, who are Basically in Background character hell until they're needed), idk. lionblaze starts to talk to hollyleaf a little. jayfeather feels betrayed by this.

lionblaze goes about his life. again, his content is all 50% someone else max, because he just...doesn't get up to much. cinderheart and hollyleaf carry his books. it's not that he's unimportant, it's that ivypaw's drama is what's important, and he's kind of slow about that stuff.

section three: ivypaw and the tribe

so lionblaze's progress with ivypaw is pretty much aborted when dovepaw gets back. both because she's purposely messing up, preventing her from taking her warrior assessment, and because she's all angry and sullen again.

so he volunteers them to go to the tribe with cinderheart and dovepaw. it is only 75% because he wants to spend time with cinderheart, and that overlaps with 75% because of ivypaw. he does think cinderheart will be a good influence, that's the overlapping 50%.

anyway, when ivypaw starts looking less tired, lionblaze cottons on to what's up with the dark forest and is like "yeah that sucks. i can't get you out of this, i'm sorry, but that sucks." and ivypaw? she starts to get better.

lionblaze is proud of his angry little bean. she's growing up to be an angry medium-sized warrior.

section four: love is in the air

lionblaze and cinderheart are mates. they don't have kits yet. that's it.

see this is why his books are early. even though they're kind of boring, his life doesn't get interesting until later, and at that point there are like 14 other more interesting things to be thinking about. sorry, lionblaze. maybe i'll write lionblaze's vacation about you chilling in riverclan for like a month.

section five: riverclan

so after the prophecy is revealed, lionblaze goes to riverclan with, like, idk. blossomfall? bumblestripe? it's not really important this is about lionblaze chilling out see.

lionblaze is kind of like. weight-of-the-world on my shoulders kind of guy. he's always trying to be chill and cheery because he feels like he has to set basically a "good example" and to do that he needs to be positive but then riverclan just is chill and positive.

he's not nearly as useful for fishing as he is hunting, but he does learn to swim pretty well, and he gets a moment saving an apprentice. that's cool. that's a real thing he did that made someone life better. so that's cool.

he enjoys holidays. he just, like, has the time of his life while everyone else is prepping for battle.

see, this is why he doesn't get a book. outside of the militaristic structure of thunderclan, he kind of. turns into a lionblaze colored pile of chilling out.

section five: the rest of lionblaze

it's in canon go read that.

but yeah shortest post in this series to date coming in at under a thousand words which means it's not even getting tagged as long. god bless lionblaze.

[kumeko]

Title: the things you keep from yourself

A/N: For @cynx-17-kh for the @fe3hxchange! I mostly incorporated your prompts, I hope you like this. =D

…

…

…

…

i.

Byleth breathed out while she swung her sword, her long hair flowing behind her as she pressed forward. It wasn’t so much a breath as an explosion of air, her hand as strong now as it had been six years ago.

 “Hah!” Felix grunted in response, parrying her sword. His arm strained from the pressure and his heels dug into the ground. Gripping his sword tightly, he pushed her sword away.

 She let her sword move, using the momentum to strike back with two times the pressure. As usual, there was a fluidity to her movement, a grace that he had only found in Dorothea’s dances. Byleth gritted her teeth as she swiveled on a foot, using the force of her arc to push him back.

 They had been together for over a year now and yet somehow she still managed to find ways to surprise him, to use her sword in ways he hadn’t come to expect. It was glorious. Marvelous. The only sound in the training room was the sound of their swords clashing, of their feet changing stances, of their laboured breathing. Their swords struck again and again, and Felix glared at her as they pushed against one another. Byleth grinned back feral-like, her eyes bright, her skin flushed, coming alive in ways she didn’t do otherwise.

Then again, the same could be said for him. It was like looking at a mirror image and he wondered if she saw him as clearly as he did her. They knew each other best in the heat of battle, war machines running on adrenaline as they thrust and cut. She relaxed her pose and he stumbled forward, only for her shift her weight once more and knock the blade out of his hand. Without stopping, she tackled him to the ground, a winning blow.

 “Oof,” he gasped as he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. His head clacked against the ground and he lay there, dazed. A comfortable weight settled around his waist, Byleth pressing him to the ground as she straddled him. The sword in her hand slipped under his jaw, forcing his head up so as to not draw blood. There was no squirming out of this position. Felix’s hands were trapped at his sides and he sighed. “Your win.”

 “My win,” she repeated, dropping the sword with a smirk. Leaning forward, she grasped his collar and pulled his mouth towards hers, claiming his lips with a savage kiss.

 Not one to back down from a fight, whatever type it was, he bit her lip, drawing blood. Waiting for the moment he could flip her over. His hands rested on her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and he growled as she pulled him closer.

 (It was never close enough)

    ii.

 It was a good thing that Felix liked back alleys, the less travelled streets that were almost empty of any traffic. There were many uses to them—an exit no one knew about, a place to hide when he didn’t want to be found, a path away from prying eyes.

 And, in times like this, when he found himself surrounded by ten stray cats, a guarantee that no one would see him. Felix wasn’t sure if he could explain just how he’d ended up like this, crouched on the ground, doling out strips of raw chicken to starving cats. Even worse, he was afraid there was something like a smile on his face, and he really didn’t want anyone to catch him like that. It was the kind of news he knew would reach Sylvain’s ears somehow and even if he planned on never seeing his childhood friend again, just knowing Sylvain would find his current predicament entertaining was painful without it actually happening.

 Two grey cats butted heads as they tried to snatch a piece of chicken and Felix clicked his tongue as he tossed another one their way. “There’s plenty for all of you.” He paused, eyeing them both before adding, “Oscar. Finn.” The names rolled off his tongue more naturally than he’d like. It had been easy naming the cats, far too easy. He didn’t realize he had a list of names until he’d started—Matilda, Violet, Jasper, and Arthur. Theodore. Alice.

 The ring around his neck weighed heavily with each name. What would Byleth think of the names? It was a silly thought, he didn’t even know what he thought of the names. Still. What would her expression be if she found him like this, entertaining a hoard of hungry cats, naming them all? When they’d married, a quick affair at court that no one was aware of, they’d never discussed the future. Not really. They hadn’t even talked about joining Byleth’s old mercenary group before doing so; it had seemed obvious at the time. In a world of peace, fighting for money was the only way to fight at all.

 He didn’t regret his choice; it wasn’t in him to second guess his actions. Even now, he wasn’t ready to let go of his sword, his hand more comfortable gripping the hilt than a shovel. But this travelling, going from town to town with the wind, it wasn’t feasible to have a child in this environment. Even now, Felix hardly knew the name of where they were. They could barely raise a pet, let alone a child.

 Would Byleth care? Maybe, but she’d grown up like this, roaming was what she did.

 Did he care?

 That was a harder question. A cat rubbed his hand, dragging Felix back to the present, and once again a name, Leo, came to his mind, unbidden.

    iii.

“Ouch,” Byeth hissed, flinching as Felix pressed a cold sponge on her bloody arm. He kept his grip on her tight before she could pull away entirely.

 “You weren’t careful,” he chided. Squeezing the sponge in a bowl of water, he tried to dab it on her skin more gently this time. He wasn’t made to be tender and the sponge felt awkward in his hands, but as he stared at the blood welling up on her arm, at her pale skin and pained expression, he wanted to try. Just this once. “You could have blocked that last strike. Your guard was down.”

 Byleth bit her lip, unable to refute him. She glanced at her right arm, watching as he meticulously cleaned the wound. “Is it deep?”

 Setting aside the sponge, he examined her cut with his long fingers, prodding here and there. Her skin was warm. She was alive. He only stopped when blood started to ooze out of the wound once more. “It’s shallow, luckily.”

 Extremely luckily. When her face had twisted with pain, as she fell on the battlefield after getting struck, Felix had only seen red as he hacked at her attacker. It had felt deadly at the time, everything moved in slow motion as he carried her out of her field. He had never considered her death before this. He didn’t want to think of it ever again.

 “Good.” Byleth sighed with relief and he clucked his tongue in annoyance.

 “That doesn’t mean you can relax.” He picked up a cotton soaked in alcohol and pressed it against the wound. “You can’t use this arm for a while. Next battle, you’ll stay behind.”

 She grimaced but stayed still. Brow furrowing, she shook her head, disagreeing with his assessment. “It’s not that bad. A little rest and I’ll be fine.”

 “Don’t make it worse,” he disagreed, grabbing the bandages now. Dragging a stool next to her, he sat down and carefully wrapped her injury. “Just let yourself heal.”

 “Like you do?” Her lips quirked, amusement colouring her tone, and she was going to fine if she could tease him like that.

 Instead of answering, he tugged the bandage extra tight.

   iv.

 Byleth was asleep. Felix blinked as he woke up, listening to her steady breathing. Byleth was asleep and this was almost as rare as catching an eclipse; she was almost always awake before him. Carefully, he turned around, lying on his side to watch her better. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he tried not to stir him with his movement.

 Fortunately, she must have been more tired than he thought. Her face scrunched slightly before smoothening over, sleep claiming her entirely. Propping his head up on his hand, he watched as she dozed, her hair splayed around her on the pillow.

 There was something peaceful about this moment. Peace. He never thought he’d be grateful for it. Then again, he never thought that love was something he’d feel either. Not when he was student, too angry at everyone for his brother’s death. Not in the five years after, when all that was left for him was fighting.

 Yet now love laid beside him, filling his heart and his throat and for a moment he understood Sylvain and his incessant flirting. Or the long ballads Dorothea would sing about lovers and midnight trysts.

 Or, at his worst, Ingrid’s grief at Glen’s death, the brittle wall she’d built up as she refused to let another in so deep into her heart.

 He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Byleth died. Maybe he’d become the boar, killing everyone and everything. Or maybe he’d fade away, unable to sustain himself. Felix wasn’t sure which idea scared him more.

    v.

 Somehow, every town had its fill of stray cats. The ones in this town hid by the docks, wild calico coloured cats with scars on their eyes and a taste for fish. They were better fed than the ones he’d found before, but he’d never found an animal who turned its nose up at food, no matter how full they were.

 Sitting on the steps to the local fish market, he started tossing pieces of fish from one cat to the next. A black and white cat ran into a tabby as it tried to catch a morsel. Before Felix could toss another piece at it, someone else tossed it first.

 Jerking his head, his eyes widened as Byleth walked down the steps and sat next to him. She didn’t say anything, just held a small bag of fish scraps.

 Did she do this too? Or did she know that he did?

 Felix didn’t ask. If it was the second one, embarrassment would kill him. He broke of the tail from a fish and tossed it at pure black cat instead. A seagull cried above them, wanting to swoop down and steal a piece. An older cat, grey and grizzled, looked up and hissed.

 “I call that one Jeralt,” Byleth said, breaking the silence.

 Felix blinked. It had been years since he’d thought of her father and he snorted. “I’m not sure if he would like that.”

 “He protects the other cats,” Byleth explained, tossing the old cat an extra piece. She smiled fondly. “He’s Jeralt.”

 Felix glanced at her before gesturing at a tabby kitten. “That one’s Dexter.”

 She turned to it, giving it a quick one over before nodding. “Looks like it too.” Byleth gestured at the twin black cats that wrestled with one another, more interested in each other’s tails than they were food. “Ivy and Hugo.”

 Felix chuckled. He wondered if their lists overlapped, if there were names both of their lists had. If she knew why she had a list anymore than he did. “The black one with a white foot is Beatrix.”

 He wondered what she thought of children, of settling down. Of travelling, sword in one hand, babe in the other. Felix had never asked these questions before, he never found the need to. But she was beside him and her ring was around his neck and maybe he wanted to wake up before her more mornings, to simply stare at her. To be all those things he had laughed at as a youth.

 “Byleth,” he said, clasping her hand. “I love you.”

 Byelth stared at him, her eyes wide, before smiling softly. “Me too.”

 His future was tied to hers, one way or another. Maybe it was time he asked those questions.

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind of Magic

Hey everyone. I am back with the squeal to Under Pressure. This story is also on AO3 and can be found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097855/chapters/58006354

Hope you all enjoy it :)

1

“Never stop just because you feel defeated. The journey to the other side is attainable only after great suffering.”

“Can I get you anything to drink sir?”

“Just some water would be great, thank you.”

Taron carefully took the small plastic cup from the air hostess and thanked her again as he put it gently down on his tray table, slotting his elbows back into the small space he had as he sat in the middle seat of row twenty-seven on the flight, taking a painful breathe in as sudden turbulence jolted him in his tiny seat.

Inhaling through his nose and then out of his mouth, he moved his body so it was slightly more comfortable in the hard seat, resting his head on the back of his chair. It was a breathing technique he had learnt less than a week ago and he had put it to use many times since he had stepped on the airplane and the reason why he was on the airplane was because of the person who had taught him that breathing technique he was using.

Robyn.

That letter she left for him in the hospital has caused an emotion Taron hadn’t expected to experience and that was loss. After another long sleep helped with medication, he woke only to remember once again that he didn’t get to talk to Robyn before she left and with all the time he had to sit and think in the hospital bed, the more Taron realised that he was not only hurt by the conversation that never happen but at a loss by her sudden departure. He recalled a chat they had had in the store about Robyn needing to take a flight home but with the nightmare they had been through, he really didn’t expect her to go so suddenly. In a day or two perhaps but not a few hours after they had been rescued from the 7/11. He knew she had her own injuries too and having experienced her level-headedness many times throughout their time together in the store, when she made the decision to take her flight, Taron really didn’t believe Robyn was thinking clearly.

His time in the hospital hadn’t been as relaxing as the doctor told him it would be. The decrease in his pain medication on the Sunday night, really brought to light how sore he was and although the pain didn’t compare to anything he felt while sitting in the 7/11, his body ached, stiff muscles and joints feeling the twinge once he was brought to his feet. After his full day of sleeping straight through on Saturday, thanks to the medication he was given, Taron then found it impossible to switch his mind off and spent his time dozing rather than deeply sleeping and any time he did manage to comfortably sleep, he was woken up by doctors on their rounds and nurses checking his IV line. Doctor Hart had come back to see him on Sunday afternoon and did another complete examination of him, and was so pleased with his assessment that he took Taron off the monitor that screened his vitals as well as the oxygen. He left him with his IV as Taron was still finding it difficult to eat anything more than a few bites, though he was pleased to see that this patient was drinking fluids. With some initial help from Ruth, Taron had also managed to be get up and walk a little by Sunday evening, and although his movements were slow, he felt less restricted and by Tuesday could smoothly walk around and had walked as comfortably as he could with his injuries down to the hospital coffee shop with Richard.

Richard, who had to fly back to Chicago on Tuesday afternoon to finish filming, had come to visit him on the Sunday morning as he had promised the day before, bringing with him some clothes so Taron could get out of the hospital gown and change into more comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt and stayed with Taron to be his moral support as he made two important phone calls, one more so than the other.

First was his mam and he wasn’t afraid to admit that as soon as he heard her voice, he broke down and cried, his mam being the one to comfort him instead of the other way around, as it was his plan to reassure her because he knew she would have been worried sick at hearing he was in the hospital.

“Taron, love it’s ok.” Soothed Tina as she heard her son break down in a sob, that cut her to the core, even more so when she couldn’t be there to hug him. “Richard and Robyn have both spoken to me and I know everything love. I know what has happened and that you will be ok.”

It took a few minutes before Taron could actually get any words out and speak to his mam and once he started talking he couldn’t stop, needing to get everything that happened off his chest, his mam listening to every word and interrupting when needed to comfort her son. “It was so frightening mam. I have never felt a pain like it before and there was just blood everywhere.”

“I can only imagine Taron.”

“It was just so easy for that man to shoot off a gun and not think twice.”

“There are some idiots out there but you can’t focus on what happened in the 7/11. You need to look at the positives and the first one I can think of, is that you are here, alive and talking to me.”

“Mam I don’t even remember most of what happened to be honest. There are moments that are completely blank for me.”

“And that is why I am so relieved Robyn was there Taron. I can’t even bare to think about what would have happened to you if she wasn’t there.” It was Richard who had explained to Taron’s mam about how he was given CPR in the store, as per Robyn’s instructions in the letter she had left him, making sure Tina knew how quickly he was revived, more importantly how Taron was going to make a full recovery with no complications and it was information that had really shaken her, knowing she had nearly lost her son. Tina understood so much better now why Robyn had left out so many details of what had happened in the 7/11 when she had called her, the young woman knowing it was only when Tina spoke to her son for herself that she would believe he was ok.

Tina heard her son go quiet very quickly once she mentioned Robyn. “Taron? Taron what’s wrong.”

“Robyn’s gone mam.” He answered quietly.

“Wait, what do you mean gone? I was only speaking to her yesterday.”

“She has gone home. Back to Ireland.”

It was hard for Taron to explain why Robyn left because he didn’t know the answer and it was a surprise that was echoed in his mam’s reaction too. “I don’t understand Taron. She just went home?” Once Richard had spoken to Tina and actually explained what had happened in the 7/11, Tina was desperate to speak to the young woman who had saved her son’s life, particularly when the way she explained what she did for Taron as ‘simple first aid’ was nowhere near the truth. “I really wanted to, well no, I needed to speak to her again.”

“You and me both mam. She just left me a letter explaining that she was sorry and she had to go home.”

“Oh, Taron love.”

The conversation with his mam lasted nearly an hour and then another half hour while he spoke to his sisters, all of them finding it hard to say goodbye to each other, Taron needing another emotional pep talk from his family as tears quickly came to his eyes again as they said goodbye.

His second phone call was to Matthew, his director, who appeared in his hospital room on the Monday morning during visiting hours.

“Jesus Taron.” Was his first reaction when he walked into the room, seeing Taron on his feet as he walked back from the bathroom, wheeling his IV with him as he moved.

“Good to see you too Matthew.” Taron cringed as he sat on the bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well I heard my lead actor had an accident. You look like absolute shit.”

“You didn’t need to fly out here.”

“Yes, I did. You are my friend first and foremost and I wanted to come and see you. Make sure you are ok.”

“I am going to be ok. I can actually walk by myself today and it hurts less to move”

“I’ve heard your look of lying on the floor of the 7/11 was worse than this.” Matthew sat on the chair beside the bed.

“I’ll live.” Replied Taron as he eased himself back onto the pillows behind his back.

“I have also heard rumours that you nearly didn’t.” Taron looked to his director from under his eye lashes. “So, it is true. Isn’t that something you think you should tell me.”

“Who were you talking too? My mam?”

“No Richard. I called him when you were quite sparse with the details of what had actually happened in the store. Why didn’t you bloody tell me you were given CPR Taron.”

“It’s not something I really like to talk about. It’s not good to dwell on the fact that you died for a minute.”

“Ahh shit Taron.” Taron couldn’t meet his eye. “What happened?”

“The doctor told me that the combination of all the injuries I had sustained and sitting in the store for over nine hours with no pain relief just caused my body to shut down.”

“Jesus Taron.” Matthew had no idea Taron had been through such horrific trauma. “The paramedics gave you CPR?”

He took his head. “There was a girl, well a woman… Robyn and she gave me CPR. Got me back breathing in under a minute.” Matthew sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I am going to be ok. All my tests and results came back clear and the doctor is really happy with my recovery so far, quicker than he expected too. I have been up and walking around the ward and they plan on taking my IV out tomorrow. I was told I will be sore and tender for a few weeks and need to take it really easy.”

“CPR Taron, Jesus Christ. How did she not break your ribs?”

Taron shrugged his shoulders, regretting the simple movement as his left hand went to his right arm to soothe the twinge he felt from the wound there. “Doctor Hart was left puzzled too but it doesn’t mean she didn’t go hard.” Taron pulled up his grey t-shirt letting Matthew see the palm shaped bruises on the middle of his chest. “She went hard.” Repeated Taron as he pulled his t-shirt back down. It wasn’t until Taron took a shower that morning, one that was badly needed, that he saw the bruises on his chest from Robyn’s hands, bruises that hit home to him, just how important Robyn’s actions were. If Taron’s chest was sensitive and uncomfortable, he could only imagine the state of Robyn’s hands.

“She saved your life.” Taron nodded, his hand resting on his chest. “Well where is this woman. I would very much like to meet her.”

Taron lay back in the bed really not wanting to have this conversation again but with a calming breathe, he began to relay the story of ‘Robyn’.

Matthew left Taron with a hug and assurance that the filming of the movie had been suspended until Taron was back to full health and it was the way it was going to be, no matter how much Taron protested over it.

“Excuse me can I just get past you please? I need to stretch my legs.”

Taron was pulled from his memories and looked to the man sitting to his left. The downside to sitting in the middle of the row at the window, was having to move every time the passenger next to him needed to leave the seat and this was the third time since they had left the airport in South Carolina that the passenger to his right had wanted to get out of their seat. Gritting his teeth, Taron lifted his plastic cup of water, drank it down in one and then clicked his table back in and gingerly getting to his feet as his ribs protested at the quick movement, slid out of the row and into the aisle, allowing the customer to exit the row.

“Thank you.”

Taron gave him a nod and turned to the other passenger in the row. “I think I will have a stretch too.” He said using it as an excuse at not having to sit back down and then having to get back up again. He didn’t think he would able to hold in the groan if he had to get up and down twice in the space of five minutes and with his body already objecting to sitting so straight and so still for the last two hours, he thought maybe a walk would loosen his tight muscles.

Pulling his hat further down on his head he started to take slow steps down the skinny aisle. It was an overnight flight and the majority of the passengers on the flight were asleep, taking advantage of the low lighting and hum of the plane. Taron hadn’t properly slept in the last five days and couldn’t help but feel jealous of those who easily slumbered in their seat. It was actually his third flight and thankfully his last one before he landed in Dublin and the late-night flight would have him in Ireland at eight fifty am on Thursday morning.

However, it hadn’t been so easy as hopping on a plane. He had to fight his case with Doctor Hart to be discharged from the hospital four days earlier than planned.

“No Taron. Absolutely not.”

“Please just listen to me.”

“No Taron.”

“You told me that if I listen to the nurses and walk around you would discharge me.”

“Yes, at the end of the week, not today Tuesday. End of the week, Friday, probably even Saturday.”

Taron followed the doctor out of the door his room and to the nurse’s station. “I am not asking to be discharged today.” He said as the doctor stopped at the desk where Ruth was sitting. “I am asking to be discharged tomorrow.”

“For goodness sake Taron, are you trying to end up back in the hospital? You have only just come off the IV line.”

“I promise I will rest and take it easy but I need to go. I need to leave the hospital and I can’t do that until you discharge me.”

“And I am not going to do that Taron. I am sorry but even with your quick recovery, I won’t risk it.”

“Then write on the fucking papers that I understand the risks and let me go!” Shouted Taron, running his hands frustratedly through his hair, wincing as he brushed the dressing on his forehead.

“Taron…” Ruth stood up. “Hey, take it easy.”

Letting a sigh leave his lips, Taron looked to the Doctor. “I am sorry.” He said. “I am really sorry but I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t sit in that bloody room with my thoughts. I need to leave.”

“Taron, it’s four more days.” Replied the doctor. “I really want to be sure that you are not carrying any secondary injuries.”

“You told me I was clear on Sunday. You said you were amazed at how I had gotten to my feet so quickly, at how I adapted to the change in my pain relief.”

“And I am.”

“Then please let me go.” Begged Taron.

“Why are you so desperate to leave the hospital?”

“Robyn.” Answered Taron simply.

“Robyn? Sorry Taron you are going to have to explain that a bit better to me.”

He pulled the letter from the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled down the neck of his t-shirt. “These are the only two things I have from Robyn. A letter and some bruises. I cannot explain it, I don’t know how to explain it but all I know is that I feel empty, hurt and at a loss that this is all I have from the person who saved my life with no way to contact her.”

“You also have your life.” Chipped in Ruth. “You said you only have two things, but you have three. The letter, the bruises and your life.”

Doctor Hart looked impatiently to Ruth who shrugged her shoulders at him. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me discharging you early.”

“Ooh are we having a staff meeting?” Doctor Keane walked up. She was completing her rounds, when she heard raised voices at the nurse’s station and recognising one of those voices as Doctor Hart, went to see what was going on. She was surprised to see his patient standing beside him, looking frustrated and upset, even more surprised to see Taron on his feet as the last time she saw him, he was almost writhing in pain. “Hey Taron, it is good to see you on your feet. You look really well. Really well actually. What’s going on? Are you trying to raid the nurse’s chocolates?”

“He is asking to be discharged.” Scoffed Doctor Hart.

“What? Taron?”

“Robyn left.” Taron turned to the new doctor. “I mean the woman who…”

“… Gave you CPR. Yeah, I know her. I stitched her up.”

Taron had to double take. “You stitched her up.”

“Well yeah. I popped two stitches in her shoulder and examined her when you all came in from the 7/11.” Phoebe watched as the Taron’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you wouldn’t know any of this because she left and went home. Did you even get to see her before she left?” She watched as Taron shook his head, causing her to move forward and place a hand on his shoulder. “She took her flight home, didn’t she?” Taron nodded again, feeling that sadness he had been trying to keep at bay creeping into him. “Please tell me you are not going after her.” She was met with watery tired green eyes. “Taron…”

“Don’t.” He said talking two steps backwards so her hand fell from his shoulder. “Don’t ‘Taron’ me. I am not ashamed to say that I was shit scared in that 7/11 and there was one person there keeping me calm and together and that was Robyn. She never panicked. She never showed an ounce of fear and she didn’t think twice to helping when I was caught under that shelving unit. She held my hand for near five hours straight and she only let go to find a way, that I have learnt since, that risked her life so she could save mine and then she undertook something that I can’t even begin to comprehend because it causes my chest to tighten up and my stomach to turn and I haven’t been able to talk through my daunting emotions because the one person I needed desperately to talk to left. I am not going to go and do something stupid. I am not going back to work. I am going to go and find her; I need to find her.” The two doctors and the nurse watched as Taron took two breathes and closed his eyes as he tried to settle his emotions. “I cannot wait until Saturday.” He said his hands rubbing his eyes as he wiped unfallen tears away.

Doctor Keane looked to Ruth. “You got a spare chair back there Ruth.” The nurse nodded and the doctor walked around the desk of the nurse’s station and wheeled the chair around behind Taron. “Will you sit for me?” She asked him and held onto the chair as he carefully lowered himself into the soft leather, his head going straight into his hands, a wince filling his features with the movement. Phoebe could see the young man in front of her starting to crumble and she was nervous about him standing, much more comfortable when he was sitting down.

“Taron, look at me.” Doctor Keane knelt in front of him, placing two hands on his knees, feeling his legs shaking under her touch.

“Phoebe…” Started Doctor Hart but he stopped when he saw the look on Phoebe’s face. It was one he was used to seeing from his colleague when she was displeased.

“Taron, sweetheart, look at me.” Beautiful green eyes which were laden with grief and pain unwillingly looked at her. “Why do you need leave the hospital today? Why can’t you wait until Saturday? You know you were seriously hurt and although you are up and walking about and might feel a lot better than you did three days ago, your body is still healing and when we ask you to stay in the hospital, it is for a reason.”

“You looked after Robyn?” Asked Taron looking at the doctor and when she nodded, he continued. “Did she speak to you about what had happened?”

“To be honest, not really. I kind of had to drag it out of her. She was battling with a lot of emotions.”

“So after speaking with her, you can understand how I am feeing right now but the one person who properly understands what I am going through, the one person I needed to talk to and see when I woke up was gone and all that was left was a letter. I know you are all trained professionals and you have all taken such great care of me and helped me and I am so thankful to you all but please realise it is Robyn I am indebted too. It is Robyn’s solid presence I crave so I can get these building emotions under control because I feel like I am going to burst and as much as I need Robyn, it seems like she needs too. Richard and I have had the chance to talk about what has happened, but who has Robyn spoken too? I know we are strangers but I learnt one thing about Robyn as we were pushed together in such a horrific situation and that is, she is very stubborn.”

“Well that is something we can agree on. Robyn is a very determined young woman.”

Taron looked to the doctor. “I was breaking through those walls. She let me help her and I can’t explain how she helped me. I can’t form the words to describe what she did for me and if I am feeling so shaken and almost traumatised by what happened to us, imagine what Robyn is feeling. I need to talk to her. I need to see her. I just can’t wait until Saturday.” Taron placed his head into his hands again, trying to stop himself from breaking down in a flood of tears.

Doctor Keane turned to look at Doctor Hart and giving Taron’s knee a squeeze stood up and looked to Ruth who moved from her place at the nurse’s station to stand beside Taron as his body started to shake with effort he had just made to fight his case. It had taken a lot of energy which he didn’t have.

“No Phoebe. Don’t even start defending him. He is my patient.”

“And Robyn was mine.”

“She was nowhere as badly hurt as Taron was.”

“I don’t think that is something you can prove Steve. Just because Taron’s injuries are more visual than Robyn’s.”

“He was shot with a bullet.”

“And she gave him the CPR that saved his life and we both know it is the person who performs the CPR that is affected more and before the CPR came into play, wasn’t it Robyn who cleaned Taron up and stopped him from panicking. It would have been a very different outcome if she wasn’t there.”

“I understand all that Phoebe and I have met Robyn and saw that she was very vital to Taron’s condition when he arrived at the hospital. I saw her talk to him kindly before I brought him to the CT scan and believe me I know how she saved his life, I examined him but I just don’t feel comfortable letting him leave the hospital only four days after he was admitted, a day after coming off an IV line.”

“Steve, he’s not going to go and do anything reckless. He just wants to go and see the girl who saved his life. Don’t you agree with him when he says Robyn is the only one who understands what he has been through?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then shouldn’t we give them both the opportunity to heal their mental health too?”

“She chose to leave.”

“It wasn’t as easy as that for Robyn. Believe me. Her emotions were very raw too, just like Taron’s and while at the time she saw Taron as her responsibly, once he was in the hospital being cared for, she had her own responsibilities to think about and being a very sensible adult, she made a decision that was extremely hard for her. I have no doubt in my mind that Robyn wouldn’t have left if she didn’t have too.” Phoebe took Steve’s elbow and led him down the corridor a little. “They need to talk this through with each other. If he arrives at her door, do you honestly think she is going to turn him away?”

“He needs rest, not a reunion.”

“I am sure you have gathered by now that Taron is not from here and is working here, work that I am sure has been postponed until he is fully fit. He is not going to stay in America to rest, he will want to go home so he is going to have to take a flight where he will more than likely go to his apartment or house and be by himself…”

“… Or to his family.”

“Who have no idea what he is going through and I would like to point out that you have not argued with me on the ‘flight’ part of that sentence.” Doctor Keane continued before Doctor Hart could protest. “Surely he would be better off going to see the person he has been connected with in the most unusual way possible. There is no one else who Taron can talk to about this and I know for a fact, seeing as how I was the doctor who looked after Robyn that she desperately needs someone to talk to as well and that person should be Taron.”

“He wants to leave tomorrow Phoebe.”

“And?”

“And he has sustained some serious injuries.”

“And?”

“Phoebe!”

“For a man who has been shot, technically died and been through so much stress and anxiety in the last four days, he is still pretty resilient and you and I both know he will not give up that easily and as I speak, he proves my point. Here he comes.”

Taron couldn’t hear the conversation that was going on once the two doctors had moved away from him so even though Ruth tried to stop him, he got up from the chair and walked over to them.

“Look I am sorry for causing a fuss over this. I really don’t mean too. I just… I can’t… I don’t…” Taron stopped and took a shaky breath as he tried to think of what to say, taking another as words failed him. “The hurt, more than the physical hurt, is indescribable and intense and the only person who is going to help me get through this is Robyn and I truly believe that I can help her too. I promise I am not going to do anything that is more than getting a flight, seeing Robyn and sleeping a lot.”

Taron didn’t know if it was the private chat from the second doctor or his pleading but Doctor Hart agreed to discharge him the next day, with strict instructions that he was to rest, take the medication he was to be prescribed and if he felt faint, dizzy or short of breathe he had to go to the local doctor at once.

“Can I ask a favour though?” Chanced Taron talking more to the doctor who had looked after Robyn, feeling it was because of her that Doctor Hart had agreed to sign his discharge papers early. “I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even know her surname. Is there any way you can give me her address from the medical forms she had to fill in please? Or even a surname and I can try and find her myself.”

“That’s some serious breach of doctor and patient confidentially Taron.” Smiled Doctor Keane but without a second thought, walked to the nurse’s station and pulled out Robyn’s file. “Robyn Quinn, Poplar Road, Kilcreen, Co Kildare, Ireland.” She enjoyed the genuine smile that lit up his handsome features as she read out Robyn’s address to him and the unexpected hug he walked around the nurse’s station to give her too.

“You must promise me that you will look after yourself and Robyn too.” She said as she gently hugged him back.

Taron thought he was going to have a tougher battle on his hands when he called his mam to tell her that he wasn’t actually going home to Wales but rather to Ireland but Tina, who desperately wanted to see her son and hug him tight, supported his decision completely.

“Do not apologise to me Taron. Of course, you know I would rather you came home but I also understand this is something you have to do. You need to mentally heal after what you have been through and as much I would love to be that person to help you do that, I know it can’t be and I agree with you, Robyn needs this as much as you do.”

It was his mam who helped him to book the flights over the phone there and then but unfortunately as it was coming to the end of the summer season and most flights were fully booked, the only way to get to Ireland was by taking three flights. One from Tampa to Orlando, Orlando to South Carolina and then South Carolina to Dublin. It was a trip that would take about twenty hours with layovers included but it was his quickest option to get to Robyn so he took it without question.

Richard had already dropped his duffle bag off to him when they had said goodbye to each other Tuesday afternoon, Richards own work commitments meaning he had to leave his friend and Taron was so thankful for Richard when he opened the bag to see brand new t-shirts and jeans in his duffle as well as a peaked hat, some hoodies and a packet of turtles. Taron had only packed shorts and light t-shirts for the weather in Florida. He had already confessed to Richard that he was planning to go and find Robyn when they had a coffee yesterday morning and instead of telling his friend he was stupid, Richard told him he would bring his bag to him, filling it with new clothes, giving him a very supportive hug before he left.

Taron passed by the air hostesses as he walked down the aisle, giving them a smile as he kept going towards the front of the plane, the walking helping a little to relax tired muscles. With the flight being booked so last minute, Taron could only take whatever seat was available to him. He wasn’t bothered by travelling first class or anything like that but really would have liked to have gotten a window seat for the longer flight to Dublin but unfortunately was stuck in the middle for each flight and it was hard having no space either side of him to stretch or move a little and sitting in the middle meant there was not a chance of getting some sleep. He was thinking about using his table as a pillow but figured he would end up regretting staying in that position for too long, so he sat with his hat pulled down low, his eyes closed. He had already taken his pain killer before he got on the plane and it was helping to take the edge of the more severe pain he felt but as he walked up the aisle, each step caused a ripple of discomfort through his side and head.

Taron turned and started to walk back down toward the back of the plane and his seat. Right now, he may have been on the plane on his way to Ireland, but once he got there, he was at a loss of what to do next. It was a rush of booking flights, getting prescriptions filled and completing final examinations so Doctor Hart was absolutely sure he was happy to discharge Taron and he had left the hospital just before six that morning to get to the airport so once he got off the plane in Dublin, he actually didn’t have a plan for what to do next.

He had Robyn’s name and address and that was it and would figure out the rest when he landed. He reached his seat and apologised as the passenger at the end who had to get up to let him back into his seat which he carefully shuffled into, easing himself down. He clicked his seatbelt back in and leaned his head against the chair, closing his eyes and ignored the butterflies in his stomach.

[hookedontaronfics]

First Contact series - Part 10

Title: First Contact - Part 10 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Mild smut and mentions of violence [trigger warning] A/N: The aftermath of Kevin’s attack takes Jess to some dark places. Will Taron’s eternal devotion to her be able see her through? This was a tough chapter to write and read; it’s not happy but I tried to keep it realistic. So stick with me through the angst, better times are ahead, I promise! x

A white tile ceiling. Stark white walls. 

That was the first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open. I had no concept of time; how long I had been out, or even where I was at the moment. I waited for the pain to hit my consciousness, but it never came. In its place was just an absence, a hollowness of feeling.

I could hear the steady sound of an IV machine in the background, and also a gentle rhythmic snoring. I spied Taron crashed out on the couch by the window, and even if I couldn’t see the sky, I could tell it was dark outside, the lights in my room dim.

Taron must have only been lightly dozing, because he stirred awake as soon as I tried to readjust myself on the bed, and moved over to the chair at my bedside. He took my hand in his and asked softly how I was feeling, the relief to see me awake evident across his features.

“Not much of anything at the moment, to be honest,” I said, trying to read the labels on my IV bags but my vision started swimming again and I had to look away. “I probably have a lot of painkillers right now,” I shrugged. Taron gave me a sympathetic look. “How long have I been out? Did they tell you what happened to me?” I asked, needing information more than anything. I felt like if I had answers, than maybe I could begin to accept what had happened.

“I think maybe the doctor should explain all that, he could do it far better than me,” he said quietly, squeezing my hand.

“T, I need to know what happened to me, please,” I pleaded with him, hating the pained expression that crossed his face and furrowed his brow.

“They had to take you into surgery when you got here,” he said heavily. “They had to rebuild your face, your eye socket and cheekbone were shattered…” he said, choking up and struggling to get the words out as I reached up to touch the heavy gauze taped over the left side of my face. I winced, though I couldn’t really feel any pain from it.

“Adding more scars to the collection, I guess,” I whispered softly.

Taron continued talking in a low, shaking voice, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, his eyes trained on the bed. “The doctors told me you’ll probably be in here for a while to recover. They want to keep an eye on how everything is healing. You also sustained a couple of fractured ribs, and probably have a moderate concussion, and they don’t want to send you home too soon in case that worsens before it gets better. But you will get better, you have to,” he said, his eyes swimming a bit with tears.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, Taron. I will get better, you’ll see. I’m determined,” I said, squeezing his hand before a wave of dizziness washed through me, even though I hadn’t even moved. My vision was still going in and out of focus and I closed my eyes for a moment to try and keep from needing to get sick.

“What about Kevin? Did you talk to the police? Were they here? Do they know? Does anyone know?” I asked, peppering Taron with questions he couldn’t possibly answer. “Will he be able to hurt me again?”

“Babe, I don’t know anything right now. But you’re safe here, and I’m not going anywhere. And the woman who helped you, who called me, she took pictures at the scene. They’re on your phone,” he said, his voice cracking again and he had to pause to keep his composure. “She thought they would be important as evidence to whatever charges get pressed. Because we don’t fuck around here in the UK when it comes to assault. But I also don’t know what’s going to happen because he’s a U.S. citizen. He may be extradited and face charges there instead. I just don’t know yet, but he’s in custody and will remain that way until he’s booked or sent away.”

“I used to think that moving here to London would protect me. It didn’t,” I said painfully.

“He can’t hurt you any more, I promise.” Something about the way he said that made me absolutely lose it.

“I’m not sure anyone can promise me that, Taron,” I fairly sobbed. Whether he could understand my words, I’m not sure because I was crying so hard they weren’t coherent. Watching me cry uncontrollably must have torn him apart though, because at one point he clambered into my bed, careful of the IV and all the other tubes and lines trailing from me, and pulled me into his arms, not even caring that I was probably leaving trails of tears and snot and slobber all over his shirt. I know I was shaking, afraid and traumatized by everything. Taron stroked my hair sweetly, careful with me even as he held me tightly to him, wanting his presence to be calming and comforting.

I don’t remember calming down, and I don’t remember slipping off to sleep, but I must have because I woke up later when a nurse was trying to quietly take my vitals, my face still pressed into Taron’s chest. He was out cold, lashes resting against his cheeks, his arms still sweetly around me. I knew I should have felt something, protected, safe, in love, but all I could feel was afraid. Not of Taron, necessarily, but that somehow the happiness I had found in him couldn’t last. Maybe, somehow, I wasn’t meant to deserve what he had tried to offer me.

I hated how dark these thoughts were but couldn’t keep them from pressing me flat. What if Taron had been with me when Kevin confronted me? What if he’d been hurt, because of me? That would have made things far worse. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that kind of guilt. I saw my phone sitting on the table beside me, so I carefully reached over and managed to grab it. I shouldn’t have looked, but my curiosity got the better of me as I scrolled through the pictures of myself laying on the ground, cringing at my broken face. Suddenly I was worried the doctors wouldn’t have been able to put it all back together again; would Taron still love me if I never looked the same again, if these scars made me ugly? That thought made me cry all over again, though I tried desperately hard to choke back the sobs and stay silent, not wanting to wake Taron.

The next couple of weeks in the hospital passed much the same way, and Taron really didn’t leave my side except to go home to shower and grab clean clothes. He kept Jules and Mary and even my family back in America updated, and my roommates visited me as often as they could, managing to make me laugh despite my dark moods. Taron also helped me navigate the paperwork for medical leave with work, which felt endless and confusing partly because my concussion didn’t allow me to make sense of it all, but even my boss visited and made sure I knew I had nothing to worry about, to take the time I needed to recover and that my position would be secure.

Talking to the police and trying to recall details of that day was a difficult process. I remembered most of what had happened just before the assault, but I had very little recollection of the after. And I couldn’t get over why I had trusted Kevin enough to step into that alley with him. Maybe I’d been stupidly hopeful he really had changed, though I still couldn’t figure out how he had found me, and he wasn’t talking to police about that fact either. The couple who had helped me, Darren and Lucy, visited me too, and they were the kindest people, and were incredibly helpful to police as well. Kevin was going to be sent back to the U.S. and his passport revoked, and he’d be banned from ever leaving the country again, so as long as I never went back to America there’d be no way he could get to me again. But I still didn’t feel safe and had no idea how to ever get back to that place where I would.

The bandages came off and I was surprised that it really didn’t look so bad. There were only two incisions and the plastic surgeon had used glue and tape, not actual stitches, to minimize scarring as much as possible. My skin was still red and angry but otherwise I couldn’t see much difference in how my face looked at all. They’d done a good job rebuilding the structure although now my eye socket was more metal than bone.

They kept me on strong pain meds and I had random blindingly awful headaches that made me cry because it was all I could do. My vision stayed slightly fuzzy and I half-worried this would be permanent, but the doctor emphasized that I just needed more time to heal, that the effects of my concussion could take months to fade. The depression that set in, though, that was probably the hardest thing to deal with. I went through a couple of brain scans and a psychological evaluation and was told I had post-traumatic stress disorder but somehow that still didn’t set in my mind that my hopeless feelings weren’t all my fault.

Taron truly was a saint through all of this, remaining strong and stable and supportive, and doing his best to keep me entertained when I wasn’t sleeping, which I admittedly did a lot of. And when it was finally time to be released from the hospital, Taron was adamant that he wanted me to come home with him, and I didn’t have enough strength of mind to argue.

So three weeks later, I was snuggled in amongst the sheets of Taron’s bed, spending most of my time there because I just didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I was sad and worried and afraid most of the time, hovering just above completely bottomed out. I think Taron probably kept me afloat in the worst of it, making sure I ate and showered and took my medicine. Not every day was bad, to be fair. Some days I helped him cook in the kitchen, and the depression couldn’t take away how much I loved to hear him laugh, or we took a walk around his neighborhood, hand-in-hand, and I could pretend I wasn’t this way, or we just stayed in and watched Netflix all day on the couch, being lazy together. But other days the darkness crept in around the edges, and I questioned in my mind why he stayed with me.

I was unfortunately wallowing in the middle of one of these pits when Taron breezed into the room. “I figured it out, babe,” he said, settling on the bed and placing his hand on my knee.

“Figured out what?” I asked, trying to wake up from the stupor I had been in, staring at the ceiling and not even sure what I was thinking.

“I got to thinking how you said you deleted all of your old social media accounts after what happened with Kevin. And all of your new accounts are totally private. But that got me thinking and I realized that I’m to blame for him finding you.”

“What? You’re not making any bloody sense, T,” I said, rubbing my temple and trying to make an oncoming headache go away.

“My Instagram. It’s completely public and the photos we posted while on vacation together… You know, everyone shares those photos on Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook and wherever else and he must have somehow come across it at some point and recognized you and put 2 and 2 together. You dating a London bloke, he must have figured it out and come here just hoping to run into you. It’s really my fault, I should have thought that through.” His green eyes had darkened as he looked troubled over having somehow endangered me.

“Hey. It’s not your fault I have a crazy ass ex. I don’t regret you posting those photos,” I said softly. “It’s also not your fault that the American law system doesn’t better protect its victims of domestic violence. You’re not in control of that. Don’t carry that burden for me, okay?” I said, smiling slightly at him.

“I’d carry anything for you, love,” he said, leaning over and kissing me gently on the forehead.

“I know you would, T. I know,” I said, trailing off and pulling the blankets up around myself again, worn out by our conversation already. I just don’t know why, I thought.

“I love you, and I’ll see you through all of this, yeah?” he added softly, earnestly.

I nodded, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Trying to cross over this chasm of darkness, fear and pain had gotten even more difficult to do. I was on one side, and Taron and all of his patience and kindness and love were on the other, and try as he might to reach across it to me, I didn’t have the courage to jump.

“I’ll get us dinner started, you just rest now,” he spoke, leaving me to my apparent misery. He doesn’t deserve this, whatever it is I am now, I thought angrily as I watched him leave the room, seeming a bit deflated at my lack of an actual answer.

I wish I could say the following weeks got better, but somehow they got worse. The first panic attack I had was when Taron and I were downtown, having braved being out in public. We had passed by an alley and somehow that set me off. It took me by surprise and I only was aware it had happened once I had come back out of it. I was on my hands and knees on the concrete, breathless and crying, and Taron was crouched down next to me trying to talk me down. Other people surrounded us, so it must have been embarrassingly obvious that I was losing my shit, and someone had even called an ambulance but the medics weren’t needed by the time they arrived.

More brain scans ensued and I was given more medicines to try and signed up for more counseling to help, but the panic attacks continued because my ptsd was becoming more entrenched in my brain. I was starting to see the image of Kevin everywhere I went, lurking about and waiting to catch me by surprise. Things became so concerning that Taron canceled a weekend event he was supposed to fly out to. He was extremely vague about what it was, just saying that me and my health were more important and he didn’t feel he could leave me by myself for that long. He hadn’t said that to make me feel guilty, of course, but I wished he had consulted me about it first. Especially after I logged into Twitter and saw angry tweet after sad tweet after shitty tweet about Taron canceling his comic con appearance and disappointing a boatload of fans. Because of me. This was not what I had wanted at all.

“Taron,” I said, walking out to the living room to find him crashed out on the couch with a beer and some movie or show on the telly, I couldn’t tell what.

“Mmm, yeah?” he asked, muting the telly before sitting up and looking at me over the edge of the couch.

“You shouldn’t have canceled your con appearance,” I said, as it dawned on him that I knew what he’d done. “All those fans are going to be pissed off and disappointed because of me.”

“I did my best to apologize profusely to the fans for that but you’re my priority right now. It wouldn’t be any different if it was my family having a medical issue.”

“I could have gone back to my flat. Jules and Mary would have looked after me, and frankly I could have handled a few days, I think,” I said in a huff, mostly upset that I’d become dependent on him.

“But you need me to help you. There’s no shame in that.”

“I don’t need you,” I bit back. I wished I could have taken those words back the instant they came out of my mouth. The look of hurt that crossed his face, after all he’d done for me already, was awful to witness. But I hadn’t meant it like that; I was frustrated at having to be doted on, and wanted to go back to the sort of independence and freedom I had had before Kevin had walked back into my life and erased years of work I’d done to overcome him.

“Do you really feel that way?” he asked softly, standing up and walking over to me, brushing my hair away from my face.

“I don’t understand anything right now. I’m confused, and depressed, and I’m struggling to understand why this happened to me again, T,” I admitted. “But I also don’t love the idea that your life has been affected by me.”

“My life is affected because I choose to be here for you, in whatever capacity you need me to be. That’s not a burden, Jess. You enrich my life by being in it, and who would I be if I fucked off when you went through something difficult and needed the support? This isn’t about you not being able to do things for yourself. I know you’re fully capable. But I also don’t think you should be alone right now either. And that’s my right to think that, and to ensure that you’re not. Because the last thing on earth I could handle right now is you feeling alone or abandoned. And as to why this happened, I can’t answer that. I wish I could, but it was so wrong, and bad things happen to people who don’t deserve them. And it breaks my heart that you had to go through this, but I also know how strong you are, and every day you prove that more and more. To even be in the orbit around you, it changes things for me.”

The intensity of Taron’s gaze as he spoke his raw, real feelings to me, about me, for me, I felt like I might combust under it. Just burn up on the spot.

“I don’t understand your devotion to me, Taron. I don’t deserve your goodness. I don’t know that I ever have.”

“Just please, don’t do that. I love you and I’m so tired of you trying to find every reason why I shouldn’t. Stop shutting me out, Jess. I can’t profess to know truly what you’re going through right now, but I can’t understand it at all if you don’t talk to me. I want your honesty, and your vulnerability, and your pain, all of it. I just want every beautiful inch of you.”

His words sent shivers over my skin, something I hadn’t been able to feel since the assault. I looked up at him, tried to really see him for more than just the handsome, patient and kind man he was. I tried to see the way he saw me, but it was so hard to do. Kevin had made me feel broken and discarded all over again.

“But what’s so beautiful about me, Taron?” I asked doubtfully.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me over to the couch and down into the seat cushions with him. “And let me show you,” he added, running his fingers gently over my arms.

“Taron,” I whined softly at that, as he gave me one of his small smiles. “Let’s start here,” he said, placing sweet kisses over my eyelids and making me giggle slightly.

“You have the most soulful eyes of anyone I’ve ever met. I can see the world in them because you care so deeply about everything around you.” Next he kissed the tip of my nose, telling me how adorable he thought it was. His kisses traveled to my cheeks, my forehead, my jaw, even my ears, as Taron described how much he loved each one.

Finally he captured my lips in a sweet kiss, something we had barely done since the assault. “And I love kissing your lips. I could do this all day,” he grinned, and even if mentally I was still messed up, my body remembered what it was like to be with him, and craved more of him, and I tried to give myself over to that feeling, leaning in and kissing him back as he leaned me back on the couch, tugging my shirt up and off in the process.

“I love your neck, when I kiss you in that spot that makes you moan,” he smirked, his kisses traveling along my smooth skin and yes, making me moan softly in response. He added my collar bones, my chest and my stomach to the list as he traveled lower and my breath caught in my throat at the feel of his gentle lips sliding over my skin. “Feeling beautiful yet?” he whispered, his hot breath raising goosebumps along my skin. “Or shall I keep going, love?” he smirked, unbuttoning my jeans and slowly sliding them down my legs.

“K-keep going,” I said with a shaky breath, unable to tear my gaze away from him, the way he hovered over me.

“Hmmm, my pleasure,” he hummed, dropping kisses on my thighs. “I love how strong they are, for carrying you through everything. And I especially love being between them,” he whispered with a wicked grin, my head dropping back as he wasted no time in peeling my underwear off and settling himself between my legs.

It’d been a long time since someone had dared to go down on me; Kevin certainly never had. I couldn’t tell you whether Taron was great at it or not, as I didn’t have enough experience to compare either way. But I was 100 percent lost to what he was doing to me there, his tongue and fingers exploring every inch of my folds and drawing out every bit of pleasure I could feel. My fingers gripped his hair, my moans guiding him to what felt good.

When I was close, oh so close, Taron stopped and smiled up at me through his lashes; I groaned at him in frustration for being left hanging, but he only crawled back up my body and kissed me, the taste of my own juices still on his mouth. He wrapped my legs around himself, and I got the hint as he picked me up and carried me back to the bedroom, setting me down on the bed gently before practically tearing his own clothes off, grabbing a condom, crawling over me and joining our bodies all in the same motion.

We both groaned our mutual feelings out loud, the delicious feeling as he thrust in and out of me driving me crazy. I was quite lost to how full and whole I felt in the moment as he peppered my face with kisses. Soon enough we were crashing hard together, Taron collapsing next to me, his face tucked in against my neck and arm thrown over my chest as we attempted to come back down to earth.

“I love you so much, babe,” he whispered. “You’re the absolute world to me,” he said, brushing my hair out of my face tenderly.

“I love you too,” I said back, feeling compelled to get the words out in that moment.

“Yeah?” Taron grinned happily, his dimples popping out as his eyes sparkled at me. I couldn’t deny him this happiness, I couldn’t.

So I repeated the words, even as they felt hollow in my chest. I should have felt something, shouldn’t I? 

“You make me so ridiculously happy,” he said sweetly, even as he snuggled into me further, hugging my sweaty, spent body to his for a few moments. I knew what he felt was completely genuine and real. I just didn’t know what was wrong with me that I couldn’t return the same.

Eventually he got up to dispose of the condom and secure the house for the night, while I stayed crashed out in the bed. Once he’d returned and we bedded down to sleep, I laid awake for far too long vacillating between how I should feel and why I wasn’t feeling anything at all. The numbness had settled deep in my soul and I hated myself for it, as I watched Taron sleep soundly, the cutest smile on his face. His love didn’t belong to me, and I knew it.

I don’t remember exactly how long it took to slip off to sleep, but Taron was not in bed when I woke up the next morning. I rolled over and squinted at my phone, and realized it was well after 11 a.m. and Taron would be at an early-morning meeting he’d told me about. I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, looking around me for a long moment and sighing. I got up and showered quickly, grazed on some leftovers I heated up, and then set about packing my clothes. I had spent much of the past month of recovery slumming around in Taron’s pajama pants and sweatshirts, though Mary and Jules had brought some things over for me, clean unders and bras and the like.

I was lost in thought when I heard the front door open. “Darling?! You awake?” Taron called, and I couldn’t move while his footsteps moved about the house. He found me in the bedroom, of course, finally in my own jeans and a blouse, the bed neatly made and my bag resting at the edge of it.

“What’s this?” he asked, his expression immediately clouding over.

“I’m going back to the flat, T. This wasn’t supposed to be a permanent move, anyway. And I don’t want you as my nursemaid, I need you as my boyfriend,” I said quietly, trying to explain and hoping he just understood. “I’m really grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I just need to get back to my routine. I’m trying to process what happened with Kevin still, and I know that I still have this depression hanging over me, and the panic attacks are still happening, but I feel like I can deal with that if I just go back to work and get a sense of normalcy back.”

“I… guess that makes sense, of course,” he replied hesitantly, blinking a few times and trying to process what I was saying. “I think you could be happy here, though, too, with me,” he said sweetly, making my chest ache slightly.

“I just can’t do this right now, with you,” I said softly. “When I said I loved you last night, I couldn’t feel it at first. But it wasn’t because I lied. I do love you, far too much to hold you back with the person I am right now. I need to go back to my normal life and deal with all of this so that I can be worthy of being the person you love.”

“I… Jess,” he said, his voice cracking at that. “You already are the person I love, as you are now,” he replied a bit desperately.

“And you may think that, but I don’t feel it, and that’s never going to go away if I don’t address it now,” I said, watching his face just crumble. It wasn’t easy to fend off my own tears then.

“I wish I could change your mind. I’ve gotten rather used to having you here all the time,” he said, biting his thumb in thought.

“I have to go, T. If we want this to work in the future, I need to be okay with myself first.” I gave him a quick hug, that he oddly didn’t return, before grabbing my bag and walking toward the door. I almost thought he wasn’t going to try and say good-bye but he came running after me, skidding on the tile in his sock feet slightly.

“Wait! Wait, Jess,” he said, taking my free hand in his. “I’ve been waiting to give this to you but I think now’s the right time,” he said, proffering a small black box and making my heart flutter several times. Nestled inside the box was a simple rose-gold band, with a tiny diamond in the middle; it was simple, elegant and clean. “It’s a promise and a hope… My promise to you that I’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes, and my hope that no matter how far you wander, you’ll always find your way back to me. You don’t even have to wear it, I just wanted you to know where I stood,” he said, shoving the box in my hands. The fractured look in his eyes tore at the edges of my soul, but I also knew I was doing the right thing, for him and for me.

“Thank you, Taron,” I said, because there wasn’t anything else to say. “We’ll keep in touch. We’ll go on dates. I’m not giving up on us,” I promised back.

“No, but you’re pushing me away, and I don’t understand why,” he said in a bit of a pained voice.

“I have work to do on me, for me. No one has to understand that.” Taron could only nod at that point, kissing me on the forehead gently before letting me go. I carefully placed the ring in my bag and made sure it was secure before hoisting the bag onto my shoulder and grabbing my purse.

“I can drive you back over to the flat, if you want,” he offered idly.

“I’ve got this, Taron. I know how to take the tube,” I couldn’t help but giggle slightly. His worry over me was sweet, but I needed to be able to rely on myself too. I felt this wild, desperate need to prove to myself that I could.

“I’ll see you later, I suppose,” I said, giving Taron a small smile that he couldn’t bring himself to return. Things could be different, would be better for the both of us, and I could only hope his faith in me wouldn’t be fleeting. I felt both crushed and liberated as I left, confused by both emotions as I peered over my shoulder to see Taron standing in his doorway, watching sadly after me.

Will Jess be able to repair the damage to her soul, and her relationship? Find out in Part 11 HERE!

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (7)

A/N: y’all ., ., .,,. . ..  we’re finally getting to the Good Shit. my hand was literally Over the “post” button and then i remembered “oh shit this is supposed to be touchstarved roman”, so, uh, that’s not reflected in this chapter at ALL. but it’s still filled to the brim with angst. but like, hurt comfort angst. i think i can call this a hurt comfort, right? right

WARNINGS: cursing, arguments, yelling, like a lot of yelling, Complex Emotions, self-hatred (implied) — if I missed anything, please let me know!!! <3 <3

Words: 6575 

Pairings: im proud to say that this has some Logicality. only 20,000 words into the story and we’re finally getting small tastes of ships. still DLAMP endgame but by god. 

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all) — Part 5 (i’ve got no strings) — Part 6 (god help the outcasts) — Part 7 (go the distance)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

i hope y’all like this one!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

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It seemed that, without Roman’s focus, the Imagination sustained a regular day/night cycle. Logan made a mental note about it as they watched the sun go down behind the forest hills, perfectly in tune with his internal clock’s knowledge of the real world’s time. The sky, however, was darkening more rapidly than it would normally. While walking through the forest, he hadn’t noticed any incline changes, so perhaps the forests were thicker than he’d originally thought. The map didn’t indicate that, anyway.

It was a fascinating place, the Imagination. It seemed semi-sentient — at least, based on how the Playwright described it and from what they’d seen so far. Logan regretted not asking to see more of it when Roman was….

No. He’d ask Roman to show him once Roman had returned. His chest hurt a tiny bit to think of it. Nothing was out of reach.

He faced forward again, marching silently. Patton was humming, had been for the whole trip, humming Disney songs.

The Child was staring at Logan still. It was unnerving, for many reasons (A child? Roman was a fucking child? Why was he staring so much? How much less formed were each of the Romans? How did they select what they looked like? Who was the Child based upon? What did he believe?) so he looked away.

“Stop,” the Child patted Patton’s back, “Stop here.”

“Ooookay,” Patton stopped, and Logan stopped behind him.

They’d been walking towards the castle this whole time, away from the sunset. It was clearly huge now, with multiple large spires with red and glittering gold flags. Patton thought it looked straight out of a medieval movie, almost too grand to just be based on Disney alone, though it did bear some resemblances to the castle in Disneyland. It was incredibly pretty.

Oh, sure, he’d seen the Imagination before. Patton and Roman had sat at the window in his room and Patton would listen to Roman as he talked about the various worlds he created. Sometimes it was a balcony with seats and a tea set, but he liked the window sofa more, since he and Roman could sit in each others’ laps and bundle up beneath a pile of blankets. Patton could recognize this castle from a distance. He’d seen this setting before, with the forest and large lake and glittering dual rivers that Roman’d named and then renamed and named again, though Patton couldn’t remember what names he finally chose.

Logan seemed surprised by it all, though, and Patton didn’t want to make it seem like he was rubbing his friendship with Roman in his face. Plus, he’d never been inside. Things were a lot bigger up close.

Yeah, he could see how Logan kept frowning around the world. How he’d been glaring at the Child for the whole walk. Patton’d made a pun — “This sure is a magic kingdom, eh?” — and he hadn’t even groaned!

Patton shifted his weight on his feet, casting Logan a worried look as the logical side inspected the building before them. Whatever was eating at him, he hoped it’d settle soon, because Patton knew they’d need Logan thinking properly to get Roman put together.

“We’ve gotta go in here,” the Child pointed to the building.

It was an unassuming door with two steps leading up to it, attached to a building that looked exactly the same as the others. Besides the door was a wooden sign, fixed to the stone wall, that read “Art Museum (Ages 3–6)”. It was a fairly unassuming building, similar to the other stone buildings to the left, right, and other side of the road.

“Okay,” Patton reached out and touched the door’s handle, just to be interrupted by the Child waving his arms up.

“No! No, no, not yet!” he put his hands out.

“Not yet? Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Patton put his hands on his hips, watching the Child with a small smile.

“The sun is lowering. It will be night soon,” Logan added, giving the sky a quick glance again.

“But the Artist can’t know that you’re Dad and Mister Logic,” the Child said, mirroring Patton’s hands-on-hips position.

Logan, on the other hand, crossed his arms in thought. “Why can’t he know? Is he a danger?”

“Nah,” the Child shook his head and pointed a finger at Logan. “The Artist doesn’t like you most.”

Logan exhaled sharply. His brow furrowed, nose scrunched, as he processed THAT. Of course,the Playwright supporting him meant there was a counter. Of course Roman didn’t harbor only positive feelings towards him. Logan knew his and Roman’s opinions differed on a multitude of topics, often resulting in unpleasant quarrels. He knew. And, yet, it hurt. “Come again?”

“The Artist doesn’t like you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t like Mister Anxiety either. Or Mister Deceit. He kinda sorta likes Dad?” the Child made a so-so motion with his hands, before letting his shoulders drop with an exaggerated groan. “Not really. He doesn’t like Dad. It’s okay, he barely likes Thomas!”

Logan looked toward Patton with a frown, now thoroughly confused, and was greeted with a similar confused pout. There was a part of Roman who just didn’t like any of them. Not even Thomas. That upset Patton fairly well, but Logan….was almost relieved.

The Child waved his hands again, sticking them up in between the two adult Sides. “Hey! Like I said, that’s okay! We just gotta walk around him and he probably won’t notice you.”

“Do you think he won’t notice that three people have entered his house? Especially two adults. Two full Sides,” Logan couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.

If the Child noticed, he didn’t let on. “Yep! He barely looks up from the whatevers he’s working on, anyway,” he bounced on the balls of his feet, “Maybe….hm.”

He looked up at the sky and rubbed his hands together. Above them was a thick cloud. It would probably rain that night; they were still looking for him, anyway.

The Artist was probably getting worried. Right? Curfew was coming up soon and if Child got caught, Thief and Bard would be upset, and so Artist would be upset, too, right?

“We have to go in. If he asks, uh,” an idea popped into the Child’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “You can say you’re Dad guy and Teacher guy!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Do you mean the characters from Thomas’ short videos?”

The last semblances of seriousness Logan held inside himself was shattered by the Child’s enthusiastic nodding. “Yeppers! They’re really nice! Teach is really good at making Dad laugh, and since this all happened, they’ve been—”

“The Shorts characters are alive inside the Imagination,” Logan wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore.

He’d been half angry, half curious as they marched through the sleepy town. He could accept magic, sure, he could suspend his disbelief. It made sense that the Dominoes guy was in here. That was backed by science. But what in the name of Newton did the Shorts characters—

“Logan,” Patton held his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “This is the Imagination.”

—okay, really, why the FUCK were the Shorts characters real in here?! — and the Child was now just rambling on about characters who were actually fictional. Characters who were characters. Scratch his curiosity from earlier, the Imagination followed no reason and he wanted out. Immediately.

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand again, in a rhythm, one two three four, tight, and raised his other hand toward the Child, who was still talking.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Child immediately quieted, looking up at Patton, “This all sounds fun, but can we talk more about it when we’re inside?”

Patton immediately regretted interrupting him. The Child’s lip curled inward, eyes growing wider as he nodded silently. He looked at Logan, who was scowling at the door, and wilted.

“Yeah. Not important. Okay,” the Child took the door handle and flung it open.

Before Patton could respond, he darted in. Logan looked at Patton, scowl replaced with a confused raised eyebrow, oblivious to the quiet tension he’d missed while internally monologuing.

Patton just slouched. The Child was more skittish than he’d anticipated.

The museum was dark and dusty, though not unintelligible. Patton entered first. There were drawings everywhere, some on actual pieces of paper, some on torn-out notebook pages, some on the wall itself. All of which were children’s drawings, of course, scribbles and splotches of paint. In the halls were also some sculptures on pedestals, most seemingly made of Playdough.

He stopped by a drawing of a house, two windows and a door, and read the placard beside it. Patton was pretty sure he had the same drawing in his room, tucked away in an old photo album.

“Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 41, 1994. Crayon on cardstock.”

Patton felt tears coming to his eyes. Thomas was only five, oh those were good times, learning about the world around him! Such a soft era. And Thomas’ grown so much since then, too.

This was an interesting place for someone to live, but considering his name was Artist, it made sense for him to live amongst his work. Patton turned around, a bright smile on his face, and motioned Logan to join him. “Logan! Come look at the art!”

Logan was standing just inside the door, which was closed behind him, eyes examining the exhibit. It was disorganized and clearly unkempt. Roman must not have visited in a while. Or maybe he didn’t have a curator for this museum. Before he could respond to Patton’s call, the Child’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Are you coming?”

Logan and Patton shared a look, one disgruntled and one sheepish, and hurried down the hall lined with childish artwork. There were more houses, some family drawings, a fun looking self portrait with bright colors.

“Hurried” is an overstatement. Logan had to pull Patton away from a drawing on more than one occasion.

“Down here,” the Child’s whispers bounced along the walls.

They entered a room, still lined with drawings, and found the Child standing in front of one of the artworks. He held out a hand to them. “C’mon, we’re going in,” he said.

Logan squinted at the painting in question. Yes, painting, done in “Crayola Washable Paint on Cardboard,” according to the placard beside it. “Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 118.”

He looked at Patton for support that this was absolutely ridiculous, but was only met with another shrug. “It’s the Imagination,” he said, as though that explained everything, “Don’t think too hard, or you’ll get a headache.”

Too late for that, Logan thought, though he stopped himself from pondering. Instead, he grit his teeth and held Patton’s arm, determined to get to the bottom of this figurative rabbit hole. Patton himself took the Child’s hand.

The Child gripped Patton’s hand and leaned toward the painting. He pinched the painted door’s handle, tugged.

They all felt a pulling sensation, the Child pulling Patton who pulled Logan.

And then there was a door before them.

It was as though someone poured white paint all over their surroundings, from every angle, wiping away the museum they’d come from and leaving a blank emptiness behind them, all within less than a second.

Logan stared at the door. Then he turned, slow and steady, overlooking the blank white expanse. Like an empty page.

Something wasn’t computing. It’s the Imagination, he repeated in his mind, like Patton’d said earlier.

Directly behind them was the only piece of “world” they could see other than the door. It was another painting, of the museum, of the room that they’d just left, hanging in the middle of nothing.

Social realism, Logan thought. The painting’s placard read “Roman Sanders. The Art Museum repaint, 2019. Oil on canvas.” A reverse portal, created recently. Logan almost wanted to touch it and see how dry the paint was.

“C’mon, we gotta go inside,” the Child whispered, giving Patton’s hand a tug.

Patton, in turn, tugged Logan, who turned back around. “Sorry, this is just….” fascinating? Interesting? Enchanting? Something I would like to experiment with Roman on further? “Different.”

Patton watched the Child as he watched Logan. Roman was clearly still in there, Patton thought, and he didn’t want to be. And, to be frank, Patton understood that feeling. There were many days where he wanted to curl up into his hoodie and be young again, if only to hear a good joke once more. Those were the two-cookie kinds of days!

Maybe Logan couldn’t see what Patton was seeing? The Child’s big wide eyes, staring at Logan and Patton as though searching for approval. Or how he tried so hard to ignore Logan’s obvious contempt for the situation. It was obvious that the Child was actively trying to ignore it, but Patton didn’t miss how he flinched at Logan’s tone. The Child wasn’t naïve, not entirely — in certain turns of phrase and side-glances, the Child revealed his thirty years of life experiences.

But the Child also didn’t seem to notice that Logan wasn’t angry about the world. No, Patton thought as Logan turned back to the museum painting quickly, he was more upset at himself for not being able to understand it.

“Different,” Logan repeated, brow furrowed. It didn’t feel like the right word. He wasn’t usually one to have vocabulary troubles, but he couldn’t find a more adequate word.

It satiated the Child. Or, rather, the Child was thinking of something else. His hand was stiff on the doorknob. Patton leaned in, letting go of Logan finally to put both hands on the Child’s shoulders. “Go ahead,” he whispered. He hoped the Child could feel how much Patton loved him.

Perhaps he did, because the Child calmed down. Enough for him to open the door.

The most notable thing was the mess. There were a lot of things inside that door. Canvases, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, paint sets, notebooks, cups of water, all in piles or scattered about the floor. Some canvases were hung on the walls, too, and some were laid flat on the ground. Others were stacked atop each other or leaned in bunches against the walls. There was a clear path through the mess on the floor, that branched to the stairs on the left and then into the kitchen on the right. Logan could see a drawing tablet over there, too, propped against the wall. Where the laptop was, he couldn’t tell. Patton could see that most of the paintings were unfinished. Whether it be sketch lines still showing or just clearly half-painted, half-white canvases, not a single finished piece was in this clutter.

The second most notable thing was the person painting.

Another Roman — the Artist, most likely — was sitting on a stool in front of a painting on an easel. It was also only an assumption that he was another Roman, because he absolutely did not look it, clad in a white hoodie covered in paint splotches and red sweatpants, hood pulled up and covering his hair. The only thing that indicated his Roman status was the golden waves adorning his sleeves, the same as the waves on Roman’s crest.

He held a large painting palette in his right hand and a brush in his left, dabbing oil paint against the half-finished canvas in front of him. Another work in progress, it seemed.

The clutter and the painting didn’t bother the Child. He closed the door behind himself, being careful to not slam it, and cleared his throat.

The other Roman didn’t move nor speak. Just kept painting, dabbing his brush on the palette and swiping it along the canvas. The painting was unfinished, but it looked so far like an impressionist piece, Logan thought.

The Child coughed again, yet the other Roman didn’t flinch.

“I’m back, Arty,” he said.

“I heard you,” came the impatient reply, snappy and fast, the Artist not turning to speak to them, “Who’s with you?”

“Dad. And Teach. Dragon was mean today,” the Child was playing with the hem of his shirt

“Mhm.”

“It’s curfew. They couldn’t go back to their houses.”

“Mhm.”

“So they’re gonna sleep here. I’ll keep them in my room.”

“Mhm.”

The Child took Logan and Patton’s hands into his own again and pulled them toward the stairs. “Good luck with your painting,” his voice teetered off into silence as the Artist failed to turn again.

Patton opened his mouth, but the Child squeezed his hand and shook his head. Logan took a little more tugging, as he stood by the bottom of the stairs, trying to look at all the paintings. Some were paintings — oil impressionist, pop art, surrealism and cubism, even some De Stijl paintings — some were simple figure drawings on lightly-crumpled paper, some even….was that a painting of Virgil?

The Child tugged harder and Logan stumbled after him.

They made it to the top of the stairs. The Child let go of Patton and opened the door, ushering both of them in before slamming the door shut behind himself.

This was probably the most regular room they’d seen so far in the Imagination. A small twin bed sat in the corner, with a big canopy and fairy lights overtop. There were streamers and drawings and posters hanging all around the walls, even some stickers and some drawings done directly onto the wall. A wardrobe sat in the corner farthest from the bed, a desk and vanity mirror besides that, and five bean bags were arranged in a circle around a circle rug in the middle of the room.

There was an air of magic around the room, too. The fairy lights bobbed up and down slowly, despite being hung on wires, and the clouds painted onto the ceiling seemed to move. The ceiling was fairly low, too; Patton reached up, eyes stuck on a cloud in the shape of a heart, and found that he could actually touch them. The heart swirled around his hand, glowing light blue before dissipating entirely.

“Sorry about him,” Patton and Logan looked down at the Child — he’d gone to the wardrobe and was taking off his cloak, revealing a plain white shirt with the crest’s sun emblazoned across his back. “Artist’s, uh, not a people person.”

“So we saw. His work, however….it’s breathtaking,” Logan stepped aside as Patton went for one of the beanbags, “I didn’t realize Roman was that much of an artist.”

The Child snorted. He sat down on one of the other beanbags and started untying his shoes, chubby fingers unlacing them down a few notches. “Yeah, well. You never seemed interested. No one was. Arty doesn’t like leaving his art all alone, so ever since we formed he’s been in here with it.”

“Yeah, you said somethin’ like that.” Patton crossed his legs on the bean bag, leaning forward on his elbows toward the Child. “The Playwright also said something about everyone having different thoughts on what’s best for Roman.”

“Playwright!” the Child tossed his shoes into the corner behind the door and laid back in the bean bag, spread out with his arms open. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen him in a while, is he okay?”

Logan let his shoulders loosen and slouch. It….did feel good to unwind, after the events of the day. Maybe the adrenaline and shock were wearing off finally. He sat down on another bean bag, bending his knees as though he were in a normal chair. “Yes, he is fine. He is, ah, backstage, as he called it.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Artist doesn’t like Playwright at all,” Logan and Patton shared another confused glance at that, “Thief says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like mister Logic, but I think he doesn’t like you ‘cause he doesn’t like Playwright.”

“Why doesn’t he like the Playwright? That seems counterintuitive, to not like yourself,” As soon as the words left Logan’s mouth, he realized how hypocritical it sounded. And how obvious the explanation was.

Patton seemed to notice as well, because he grimaced, putting a hand on top of Logan’s knee. The Child, however, just shrugged. “Well, I don’t like all of me, you know? I wanted to figure out what parts of me I could live without, but every part of me has an opinion about what part’s important.”

“I?” Logan asked, softer now.

The Child nodded. “Roman. I,” he made a gesture up at the air, and it reminded Patton a little of the hand flip Roman typically did when rising. “I’m Roman but I’m not Roman.”

“How does that work, kiddo?” Patton coaxed him.

“It’s like….” he trailed off, resting his hand on his chin as he thought. After a few quiet moments, he continued.

“Okay,” The Child sat up and patted his own chest. “Me. I’m the Child. AND I’m Roman. I’m all….”

He flopped backward again onto the bean bag, making vague gestures with his hands as he wrestled to find the words, only to find that there were none. No words truly.

The Child let his hands fall onto his stomach with a groan, staring upwards. Patton and Logan shared a nervous glance. It was clear something was bothering the Child, something integral to this Hunger Games of Romans situation.

“Take your time, kiddo,” Patton tried to comfort him, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Child was just looking up at the sky ceiling. After another few seconds, he heaved a sigh.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky?” Logan and Patton both looked up as well.

“With all the clouds that look like pretty things. And even if they don’t look like things, they look soft and fluffy and wonderful. And then, when there aren’t clouds, it’s the most beautiful shade of blue or a dazzling red, like how a nice summer night makes you feel?” The ceiling had been full of fluffy white clouds, meandering across the painted blue expanse, but as soon as the Child mentioned “dazzling red” the clouds began to glow pink as the ceiling’s paint color changed to red. He clapped.

“Or, or! Even better, sometimes, when it’s really, really late, and there are stars out? And every star is like a gem on a glittering cloak that the world’s putting on you?” the ceiling changed once more, painted black as the clouds vanished. One by one, twinkling stars seemed to glow from nothing against the ceiling backdrop. In actual constellations, no less.

“It’s all so….” the Child exhaled, “Beautiful.”

Silence followed. All three of them were now laying on the bean bags, looking up at the twinkling stars and the occasional barely visible line that connected them. They just starred, Logan and Patton unsure of how to break the silence, until the Child continued himself.

“That’s what I want Roman to remember,” Patton looked at the Child, who was watching the stars. He spoke with a strong determination, voice set. “That’s what I want to see. The beauty.”

He faltered, closing his open mouth and gritting his teeth. Logan looked away from the sky now, too, and watched the Child as he closed his eyes. Wiser than he seemed. “But that makes me really childish, doesn’t it? If we just see the beauty, then that means we’re ignoring all the bad stuff. And if we’re too childish, we don’t get taken seriously, and we really need to be taken seriously. I mean….”

The Child glanced over at Patton, and he could have sworn that the Child had tears in his eyes. Oh, he hoped he wasn’t crying. Patton reached out, offering his hand to maybe comfort him, but the Child just shrugged, unwilling to look at him anymore.

“We see how you get treated, Dad,” Patton’s brow furrowed in confusion, hand retracting a little, as though the Child’s words hurt. “No one takes you serious and you always have to prove yourself. We don’t take you serious, either, a lot of the time. ‘Cause if you’re childish, then you don’t deserve to be taken seriously. That’s what Roman tells himself. Tells me. But it’s wrong.”

Now the silence was just awkward. Patton lowered his hand into his lap as the Child looked back up at the sky. There was no denying now, now that the Child’s quiet breathing hitched and stuttered, that he was crying.

“It has to be wrong,” he whispered between gasps.

Slowly, the Child pulled his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and sniffing into his hands. Patton was going to start crying himself, watching the Child cry. He turned to Logan with a bitten lip. He knew, deep down, that the others didn’t always take his opinion seriously. Heck, it was a running theme! Patton the childish, the inner child, the baby. But Jesus, that was point blank.

“You’re correct, Roman. I don’t always understand you both, but the things I don’t understand aren’t…they aren’t unimportant. Occasional immaturity does not equal insignificant. We….” Logan faltered and looked up at Patton, who was staring at him now, tears dotting his eyes.

They really did walk on him, didn’t they? Logan considered the times he had helped elevate Patton’s concerns, and the situations in which Patton’s concerns were elevated. No one took the puppet suggestion seriously, until it was proven successful, and Thomas himself had to step in to get them to even consider it as an option. Along with that, Deceit was able to mimic Patton by, what? Literally saying he was a fan of cartoons and was silly? It was so easy to character Patton into a caricature of immature glee that he, Roman, and Virgil barely noticed.

That was the insult, wasn’t it. Childish. Not to be taken seriously. Silly and immature. Was that what he thought of Patton?

Patton wiped his tears and looked away. “I….guess that’s true. But hey! That’s what comes with being Thomas’ inner child, isn’t it?” there he went, voice heightening in pitch as he tried to make it sound as though he weren’t so upset with Logan’s silence and the Child’s assessment. “Your dorky ol’ Dad can be a lil’ goofball a lot of the time.”

“Your goofball-ness is welcome, often appreciated. We….do have a lot to learn, about having fun and seeing things anew.”

Patton looked over at Logan, who was watching him with determination. The Child, too, was watching Logan with both eyebrows raised, having grabbed a pillow from his side to press his face into. His eyes were two large spotlights.

“I do not understand the Imagination. I cannot claim to. But there IS immense beauty in this world you’ve created, and I see that it would be a waste to focus on making logical sense of it rather than take in the world around as a work of art. It might be childish, but sometimes….a little childishness is what we need to maintain a healthy lifestyle and a healthy headspace. Your input is appreciated.”

If Roman was having these sorts of concerns, about being perceived as childish or not, then Logan knew it was likely Patton had similar concerns. He chided himself mentally for letting this self-consciousness fester but a direct approach was always the most efficient.

And it was all worth it to see Patton smile and remove his glasses, wiping the tears from his downcast eyes.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns with us, kiddo,” the Child smiled at the nickname and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away for a bit. Patton smiled at him, then at Logan, beaming like the sun. “Logan put it real well.”

Logan fixed his glasses, pleased with himself, and the Child patted his arm. “Thank you, Logan,” he said.

They sat in silence, eyes flicking with new brief understanding between each other, until there was banging from below the floor. Patton squeaked and Logan stiffened, but the Child just groaned into his pillow.

“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT UP THERE?!” the Artist’s voice boomed from below.

“JUST TALKIN’ ABOUT THE OTHER SIDES WITH TEACH,” the Child shouted back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“WELL, SHUT UP ‘BOUT THEM! THE DRAGON BITCH’LL HEAR YOU!”

“YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

“YOU BRATTY LITTLE—DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!”

The Child leaned his back, groaning loud and angrily. “FINE! SORRY!”

Logan and Patton exchanged worried glances. Had the Artist heard that whole conversation? They looked to the Child for any thoughts or input, but he just shook his head.

“He won’t come upstairs. Ugh, I was doing real good at not saying your names,” he rubbed his face, rubbing the tears into his skin to hide them, “It’s–It’s like the taboo system. Dragon, he put a curse on your names so all of us can hear it when someone says them. The others aren’t really scared of that, they–they….Artist doesn’t want anyone finding this house. He heard me say your name, mister Logic.”

Before either of the adults could respond, however, there was another crash from downstairs. The Child frowned and climbed off the bean bag, kneeling on the ground with an ear pressed to the rug.

“What—” Patton was cut off by the Child shushing him harshly.

They weren’t confused for long, though, as the voices grew more raised and angry.

“—TOLD YOU—FUCK OUT!” they heard the Artist shout.

“I WILL ONCE YOU STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT THE OTHERS! THEY’RE IN OUR REALM NOW, THEY COULD HEAR YOU!”

Patton raised his eyebrows. He looked at Logan, who was frowning at nothing. When he noticed Patton, Logan mouthed “Playwright.” He didn’t seem like the type to be so….explosive.

“WELL TOUGH, PLAYWRONG. I DONT GIVE A FUCK IF THEY HEAR ME! I JUST DON’T WANT DRAGON SHOWING UP, THOSE UNGRATEFUL CRITICAL ASSHOLES—”

“THEY’RE MUCH MORE THAN THAT, THEY’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED, YOU STARVING STEREOTYPE—”

The Child stood up slowly, stepping carefully on the rug and sliding his feet along the wooden floor. He slid all the way to the door. As slow as he could, he clicked the lock in place, and let out a breath. The yelling died down immediately to a whisper, as though locking the door disconnected the room from the whole house.

“That’ll keep them out. They’re probably not gonna come up here, can’t get into my room now, but if they find you then we’re all fucked,” he mumbled.

“Language,” Patton mumbled, and the Child giggled at him. “No swear words when there’re children present, you know that!”

“Yeah, yeah—” the Child cut himself off with a yawn, shoulders hiking up slowly.

He shuffled back to the bean bags and collapsed into the one he’d been sitting in. He curled into a ball, huffing a small sigh. Patton yawned, too, and smacked his lips. Logan had to stifle a yawn himself. They were contagious.

It had been a long day. They were due for a sleep, especially after the arduous experiences they’d had throughout the day.

“Y’know, I didn’t think the Playwright’d let y’all in,” the Child’s words jumbled over each other, and he covered his mouth as he yawned again.

“What makes you say that?” Logan pressed.

Despite the tiredness, he knew there was something wrong with his initial read of the Playwright, and this situation didn’t leave space for those kinds of errors. The Child shrugged. “I….from what I know, he’s more….he likes things done his way. He really wants all of you approve of him. Mostly mister Logic, but all of you. And he really, really, really doesn’t like Princey. Him an’ Dragon an’—an’—” the Child yawned again, mumbling the rest of his sentence incoherently, but Logan didn’t process that.

There was another mention of this “Dragon” character. Logan rubbed his cheek, arms crossed on his knees as he ran the new information through his mind. The Playwright was volatile — he scoffed quietly, of COURSE Roman, with his boisterousness and exuberance, wouldn’t be able to contain his energetic nature into something reserved and quiet. He had his quiet moments, but he couldn’t maintain stoicism forever. They would have to assess him again, it seemed.

“I thought….” Patton whispered, and Logan looked up at him.

Patton’s eyes were downcast at the ground, brow furrowed in anguish. He’d thought they’d gotten at least one part of Roman, one bit to understand that they were accepted. That Roman was LOVED, damnit, because that’s what it was! He was loved, Roman was loved, and by God it felt like he’d failed if one of his friends doubted that so much that he couldn’t believe that.

“I’m gonna sleep. Just right here. Y’all can take the bed if y’all want,” the Child’s voice slurred together, halfway asleep already and cutting into both adults’ trains of thought.

Patton sighed. He slowly switched into Dad Mode as he pushed himself up and rolled his shoulders. “Nope. You’re a growing boy, kiddo, you’re goin’ in the bed.”

He stooped down and picked the Child up, chuckling quietly as he groaned in dramatic despair. Still, the Child wrapped his arms around Patton’s neck lazily, snuggling against him once more. Logan crossed his legs on the bean bag and watched as Patton sat on the bed, rubbing the Child’s back, and tried to pry him off.

“You need to get in bed, kiddo,” Patton whispered gently, “You’ve gotta sleep. A prince needs his beauty sleep, right?”

The Child giggled. “I’m not a–a–a,” he yawned again, “A prince! I’m a child!”

“But you’re gonna grow up to be one! You’re gonna grow up to be a great prince, ruling over all the Imagination,” Patton was whisper shouting, putting on a grandiose voice full of gusto.

He mimicked blowing a trumpet with one hand and the Child laughed, patting Patton’s hand down.

“Nuh uh!” he hummed between tired giggles.

Logan stood up behind Patton and gently took the Child’s hands. The Child looked up at him, squeezing Logan’s hands sleepily and giggling.

“You will be a valiant prince,” he lifted the Child’s hands away from Patton, and he took the cue to start tucking the Child into bed, “You will be a prince, lion-hearted and loved. But tonight, you must sleep.”

The Child squeezed his left hand, then his right, and laid down in the bed he’d been placed in. He looked so comforted as Patton pulled the blanket up higher around his face, big brown eyes questioning as he looked up at Logan from beneath the edge of the blanket.

“Will they listen to me?” his voice was thick as he teetered between unconsciousness and lucidity, “Will–Will they care, when I’m a prince?”

Logan nodded at him, and Patton nodded too. They were both sure, sure as the sky is blue. “Yes,” Patton whispered, “Everyone will hear you. And you’ll live happily ever after, my Prince.”

The Child giggled quietly. Slowly, he snuggled into the bed, and his hold on Logan’s hands relinquished, now gripping the blanket as he curled into a ball. Within mere seconds, he was snoring softly.

Patton stepped back and stretched. He looked up at Logan, who was removing his glasses in preparation for sleep.

“Wanna sleep on the floor?” Patton asked, “Or should we stack the beanbags in a square and use those as a bed?”

Logan considered the bean bags for a moment, actually, before deciding the morning back pain wouldn’t be worth it. “I think we can suffer the floor for a night,” he said, taking his coat off and spreading it out on the ground.

Patton followed suit, throwing his cat cloak down and spreading it out like a bed mat. They both slowly climbed to the ground beside each other, fitting themselves into the space that was to be their sleeping mat, grabbing some of the pillows and stuffed animals strewn about. At least the carpet was soft, adding extra padding. They both laid down, heads resting on some of the Child’s pillows, staring up at the stars on the ceiling.

Though they were both tired, Patton wanted to clear one thing up before letting himself drift off.

“....Lo,” Patton asked, voice soft. “Lo, are you awake?”

Logan sniffed. He was actually partway asleep already. “Yes, Pa—er. Patt.”

Patton giggled. It wasn’t always that he got to hear Logan call him by a nickname. He sobered up fast, though. “Did you mean what you said? About…about appreciating the childish things.”

Ah. Logan opened an eye. Patton smiled sheepishly at him.

He still had his glasses on. Logan turned to his side, facing Patton, reaching a hand out and taking his glasses off carefully. He slowly folded them and set them aside on the ground, with his.

“Of course I did. You provide important opinions and insight, often noticing details I….overlook,” Logan rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder, “You are appreciated.”

Patton beamed with a wobbly lip, more tears threatening to spill over. He slowly took Logan’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Not in a kiss, per se, but more to hold him close. To show that he was so thankful, so grateful for this acknowledgement. Plus, he was afraid that the tears would spill if he opened his mouth.

Logan didn’t seem to mind, though his face did turn a brighter shade of crimson, just barely visible in the starlight.

After a few seconds, Patton regained his stability. “Thanks,” he whispered. “We...we’re gonna get Roman back.”

Logan nodded, discombobulated. Patton’s breath on the back of his hand was comfortingly warm. There was that feeling in his chest. What was that?

He let go of Logan’s hand and rolled back onto his back, letting out a sign of contentedness. Their little prince was fast asleep and the next day would bring more trials. They had to find Virgil and Deceit and hopefully the Roman who’d been on the roof. They had to talk to the Artist. They had to confront the Playwright. They had to find the OTHERS and talk to THEM.

And Patton knew they’d be able to face it all head-on. He knew it in his heart. “Goodnight, Lo’. I love you.”

Logan exhaled beside him. Perhaps….things would be okay. He looked over at Patton, whose eyes were already closed, legs crossed and hands interlaced on his chest in a peaceful manner.

There was that feeling again. The data points — he was too tired to be thinking coherently, look at him, applying statistics knowledge to emotions of all things — indicated that he felt warm and fluttery near his lungs whenever he considered the other Sides. It felt as though his lungs were clenching, breathing constricting and carbon dioxide exhalation warming. That couldn’t be literal, though, or else he’d be ill. On this particular adventure, in this particular day, it’d happened a few times.

Perhaps he was just tired. It had been a long day, all of this just in one day. Logan would consider this issue more in the morning. However, he would indulge in the working hypothesis just once, whilst muddled in this warm-chested comforting confusion. “....I love you, too, Patt. Sleep well.”

It may have been a trick of the light or his mind, but Logan thought, just before he closed his eyes, that he’d seen Patton smile at him.

[buckybarnesappreciationsociety]

“Always By Your Side” Part 1

Summary: Rachel Barnes out running errands, had no idea the trip would hold dire consequences.

Word Count: 1,621

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Rachel Barnes

OFC: Gracie and Grant Barnes, Tony, Sam. Steve, Clint, Nat, Wanda, William and Jackie Kaufman (Rachel’s parents,) Drs. Miller and Rittenour, Nurse Peterson

Warning: Drunk driver death, severe injuries, major, major angst (for now)

A/N:Thanks @buckysforeverprincess for taking time to beta my mess! Also, to my wonderful mutuals who tagged me in uplifting posts. Whether you knew it or not, I needed them! I love y’all to the moon and beyond!

WARNINGS ARE POSTED AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH CHAPTER. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU IN ANY WAY, PLEASE DO NOT READ!

MY DEEPEST CONDOLENCES TO THOSE WHO HAVE LOST A LOVED ONE OR FRIEND TO DRUNK DRIVING.

THIS SERIES DELVES INTO THE AFFECTS ON BUCKY AND HIS FAMILY. ALSO, THE LONG ROAD AHEAD FOR RACHEL.

FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOME! THANKS FOR READING!

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Rachel Barnes decided to run errands while Bucky stayed home with their 6 year old twins, Grant and Gracie. No longer in the field, he revelled spending time with family.

Using the hands free cell phone feature in her minivan, Rachel called Bucky informing him about her trip to the bookstore.

“Hey babe, stopping by the bookstore. What are you guys doing?” Chuckling, her husband shook his head. “We’re in the common room hanging out. Doll, thought you weren’t gonna buy’um any more stuff?”

“James, the twins love bedtime stories, so I’m picking up new books. Love you honey.” “Love you too baby girl. See ya soon.”

“Daddy, was that momma? What’s she bringing us?” Grant inquired. “Guess ya gotta wait n’see.”

Groaning, the twins turned around coloring with Wanda.

On Rachel’s way to the bookstore, a drunk driver swerved, crashing into her car head on, killing him on impact.

Forward motion catapulted her into the windshield, snapping the seatbelt. Rachel sustained extremely life threatening injuries.

Glancing at his watch, Bucky noticed the time. “Rachel should’ve been here by now. I left my phone on the living room table. I’ll be back.” “Okay daddy.”

Opening the door, Bucky noticed 3 calls from an unfamiliar number. Concerned, he dialed back.

“Is this Mr. James Barnes? My name is Dr. Miller at Mt. Sinai Hospital.”

Bucky’s breath quickened. “Y-yes, th-this is James Barnes.”

“Sir, I’m sorry to tell you this but Mrs. Barnes was life flighted to our hospital. She’s in critical and unstable condition. Please come ASAP.”

White noise...drowning….breathe….breathe! . “Mr. Barnes, are you still there?

“We’re on the way.” “I’ll be at the 11th floor nurses desk.” “O-okay. Thanks.”

“Daddy, is mommy on her way back?” Wanda sensed Bucky’s agony.

“Hey, little ones,”  holding Gracie’s hand, “Would you like to watch movies and have a pajama party?” Wanda put on a brave face. Bucky mouthed “Thank you.”

“Yay,” the twins squealed in unison. “C’mon, time for our party!!” Steve walked in the common room noticed tears streaming down Bucky’s face.

“Buck, what’s going on?” Tony, Sam and Clint joined in.

“A drunk driver hit Rachel. It ain’t looking so good. I can’t be here.”

Tony, Steve, and Clint sprang to action. “Barton, get the quinjet ready. Rogers, you go with Barnes. I’ll stay here call Rach’s parents and send the private jet for them! Go! Steve, keep us updated.”

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Touching down on the hospital roof, Steve and Bucky sprinted towards the doors, with Clint in pursuit.

Dr. Miller and Nurse Peterson escorted them to the staff elevator.

“Mr. Barnes, the CT scan showed a subdural hematoma, a collection of blood between the covering and surface of the brain. Our neurologists has stressed how important surgery is. She’s being prepped now.”

Upset, Bucky wanted to know why they waited so long. Dr. Miller explained the surgical team wanted to pinpoint the exact area of the bleeding. Bucky gave consent to proceed with surgery.

Two neurologists, three nurses, an anesthesiologist were the first team operating on Rachel. Tony called ahead ensuring she got the best doctors on the planet.

Bucky’s leg bounced up and down, tears staining his face. “Stevie, m’scared. It’s bad; it’s really bad.” Clint and Steve rallied around him.

Entering the 7th hour of surgery, Dr. Miller finally emerged with an update. Bucky, Steve and Clint stood. “Gentlemen, please have a seat.”

“Doc, how is she?” Bucky’s eyes had lost their light.

“Mr. Barnes, your wife coded twice, but we were able to resuscitate her. Mrs. Barnes has close to 70 stitches to her hands, arms, face and neck.”

Dashing towards a nearby wastepaper basket, Bucky emptied his stomach. Wiping his mouth, Bucky asked to see his wife. Dr. Miller advised against it. As much as he didn’t want to, Steve agreed with the doctor.

“The next 24 hours are crucial. We’ve set up a private waiting room complete with coffee, food, wifi, full bathroom and a private phone. Also, there are two sleeper sofas and two lounge chairs. I’ll be back if there’s any more news.”

Blood of the innocent stains my hands, so is this my penance? Tell me what to do!!! Please, don’t take her away from us!!! Gracie and Grant need her, so do I. 

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William and Jackie Kaufman, Rachel’s parents, arrived at the compound. Gracie and Grant were surprised but happy to see their grandparents.

“Nana, grampy what are you doing here? We missed you.” Pulling the twins into a hug, Mr. Kaufman tried to compose himself.

“We missed our doodle bugs. My goodness, you’ve grown.” Grant nodded. “I play soccer!!”

Gracie added, “Me too!!!”

“Gracie and Grant, how would you like to see what Dr. Banner is working on? He has pizza and soda. Wanda, take our junior scientists to lab. Be sure to give them a lab coat!” Tony ran interference.

“C’mon auntie Wanda!!!! Let’s go!!! See ya later nana and grampy!!! Love you!!!” After the twins left, Mrs. Kaufman couldn’t contain her pain. Sam and Nat comforted them as best as possible.

Rachel’s dad asked if Bucky had called with an update. “No we haven’t heard anything.” Nat dabbed her eyes.

Tony’s cell phone buzzed. “Hey Steve. Rachel’s parents are here.” “Take them to the conference room, make sure it’s soundproofed.”

Once in the conference room, Tony put the phone on speaker. “Okay we’re set.”

“Hello Steve.” “Hello Mrs. Kaufman.” “How’s our daughter? Where’s James?”

“Um, he’s in no condition to talk. The docs gave him a sedative. I’m not gonna lie. Rachel’s in bad shape. You should come to the hospital. They’re saying she might not make it. M’sorry ma’am.”

Sam, Nat, and Mr. Kaufman gasped. “No, please don’t say that. We’re on our way!!!”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., ready the helicopter. Wilson and Romanoff, escort the Kaufman’s. The twins will probably get suspicious. How do you want us to handle it?”

Mr. Kaufman didn’t know how to answer. “My mind’s so jumbled, I’ll leave that to James. Thank you for everything Tony.”

 “No need to thank me. Keep us updated.” 

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Groggily gazing around the room, Bucky noticed Clint asleep in one of the lounge chairs. Steve munched on a sandwich.

Steve helped Bucky sit up. “Hey pal. How are ya feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by an 18-wheeler. What did they do t’me?”

“Nurse had to sedate ya.” “What’d I do?”

“Nothing anyone in your position would’ve done. Rach’s parents are on the way. Try and eat something will ya?”

“Have you heard anything from Dr. Miller? How are my kids?” Bucky sipped on coffee.

“No one’s been in. The twins are fine. They don’t know anything.” “M’gonna have t’talk to them. S’gonna be hard.”

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Mr. and Mrs. Kaufman, Sam and Nat arrived at the hospital. Dr. Miller introduced himself. Everyone listened attentively as he provided an update on Rachel’s condition.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnes’ condition hasn’t changed. Mr. Barnes, Mr. and Mrs. Kaufman, Dr. Rittenour would like to have a word with you. I’ll take you to his office.”

Dr. Rittenour Chief Neurologist, requested a meeting. He wanted to know how to proceed in case Rachel’s condition deteriorated further.

“Mr. Barnes, wh-?” Bucky stopped him mid-sentence. “No stop it! Rachel’s gonna be just fine!”

Gently touching his arm, Mrs. Kaufman cautioned her son-in-law, “James, don’t you think this is hard for us as well? She’s our only child; our daughter. We’ve watched her grow from a rambunctious little girl to a wife, mother of twins.” Tears rolled down her weary face.

“I trust you to make the right decision, if necessary.” “I dunno how to do this. She’s my lifeline. How am I supposed to go on without her?”

“Please, if I may interject? The next 24 hours are crucial. We’ll monitor her closely. Mr. Barnes, would you like to visit your wife? You’ll have only 5 minutes I’m sorry. Let her know you’re here.”

Rachel’s parents nodded. “Give her our love.” “Okay.”

Drs. Miller and Chandler escorted Bucky to the SICU. His breath hitched when Rachel came into view. Bandages, ventilator, EKG, EEG machines, IV and blood drips.

Whimpering, Bucky steadied himself. Rachel’s still, bandaged form buckled his knees. Dr. Miller helped him to a chair near her bed.

On instinct, he reached for her hand, only having to pull away. “Doc gave me a few minutes wit’cha. Grant and Gracie miss ya like crazy. Your parents send their love. I’m a mess baby. Ya gotta fight Rachel. ‘Member when we first met? Gosh you were stubborn. Made me love ya even more. I’ll always be by your side. I love ya.”

Before he left, Bucky smoothed the blanket on Rachel’s bed. “Would ya like me to bring your favorite blanket and a picture of Grant and Gracie? I will. I love you with all my heart.”

Rachel Yvette Barnes faced insurmountable odds. Bucky couldn’t fathom his life without her. And if he had a say in the matter, he’d make sure Rachel didn’t give up either.

@crazy-little-thing-called-buck

[facethroughthemirror]

IN THE END, WE COME RIGHT BACK

CHAPTER FOUR

They’d seen Maine get back up after taking massive amounts of damage. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. This was Maine. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

But Maine didn’t get up.

Cross-posted on ao3

After North and CT finally left, apparently fed up with being careful around Wash and watching their words, there were no more visitors. Not even one. He thought that maybe he'd seen another freelancer watching them from the observation window a few times, possibly South or Texas from the height, but he couldn't be sure. Honestly, it might've been a nurse, or his own imagination. He didn't really dwell on it when it happened, he'd simply looked up, then back at Maine almost immediately when he realized there was, visibly, no one there. It occurred to him to ask Scarlett, the nurse that had more or less been tasked exclusively with checking on Maine, if anyone was checking in on them, but he figured she was doing enough for them without his needing to bother her about it.

Scarlett had been the best about this whole thing. She was a friendly young woman with blue eyes, and hair in about three shades of pink, this second thing being something that Wash was sure the Director hated, but didn't detract from her ability to do her job. In fact, Wash would argue that it helped. It made her highly visible, and her choices of pink were bright enough so as to be oddly calming. She seemed to have the ability to remain visibly positive, even genuinely cheerful, even when she was up to her shoulders in blood. She had been a civilian nurse before enlisting in the UNSC. She had been shifted to Project Freelancer when the Director had encountered her on a visit to a military hospital to look for medics. But it was her civilian experience that Wash admired and appreciated immensely: it seemed to afford her a certain extra level of genuine compassion, not just for her patients, but for the uninjured who were stubbornly refusing to leave her patients' sides.

She had very patiently showed Wash how to check Maine's bullet wounds and change his bandages, had explained Maine's injuries in as much detail as possible so that Wash was fully up to speed on what was going on, had explained what the IV in Maine's hand was providing him, the specific fluids and medications, and had even explained why the IV was in his hand, rather than in the vein near his elbow. There had been one in his arm during transport, and during surgery itself, but once his blood pressure had been stabilized and he was settled in the Mother of Invention Recovery bay, it had been a little safer for them to start the IV in his hand. That way, if something happened, he had a seizure or a spasm and damaged the vein in his hand, they could remove the IV and replace it further up his arm, away from the damaged area.

Hours bled together, so much so that he was able to spend an entire twenty-four hours by Maine's side, not leaving and hardly sleeping, before even Scarlett had started to drop hints that he was more than welcome to take a walk. Still, Wash adamantly refused, and Scarlett hadn't pushed him out just yet. That had been hours ago by now, probably. He'd lost track of how many times she had been by since then, and even so, her appearance no longer necessarily marked the beginning of a new hour. It wasn't like there was a legion of wounded soldiers flooding Recovery, so Scarlett and the rest of the medical team had been letting their strict routine slip a little, showing up a little after the hour or a little before, sometimes checking in two or three times in the span of an hour or so.

"Good evening, Agent Washington."

He was dozing off again, fading in and out of awareness of his surroundings, entering his second night of keeping watch over Maine, when the voice startled him. He whipped around in his seat to face the new arrival, breathing out a sigh at the sight of a round-faced man dressed not unlike a yoga instructor, with a serene smile on his face that didn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Once he confirmed that it was another freelancer, and not someone that would make him leave for napping, Wash relaxed.

"... hey, man."

Florida breezed forward, settling himself cross-legged on the cot next to Maine's and placing something that had been in his hands down beside himself. He rested his forearms across his knees. "You missed dinner. Again. And you missed lunch. And breakfast."

"Did I? Whoops."

"Well, it's no problem. In fact, I brought you something in case you were starting to get a little hungry." He picked up the object he'd been holding, which the younger agent could now clearly see was a tray from the mess hall, and held it out to him. "Can't have you wasting away down here, now can we?"

Wash scanned the contents of the tray as he took it and set it down beside Maine on his cot, thinking in the back of his mind that it was probably really unlikely that Florida had put it together for him, at least by himself. There was no way Florida knew for sure what he'd eat: they barely knew each other. If he was being honest, sometimes Florida creeped him out a little. He seemed really nice, but sometimes he seemed... too nice. And the way he was always smiling whenever Wash saw him out of armor...

"Some of the others gave me a few ideas about what you might like, even though this doesn't seem to be nearly enough to keep up with our diet," Florida confirmed. "How's the patient doing?"

"... he could be better. But I mean... he could be a lot worse, I guess. But you get that, right?" Wash looked toward the door to the next Recovery bay, thinking immediately of what North had said, about Wyoming and Florida. He then realized that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to know about what North had said. "I-I mean, you and um... you and Wyoming bunk together. And you eat meals together. I assumed you guys are... close, so... h-how is Wyoming anyway? I saw him for a little but just after they brought Maine in, he looked good. Is he out of Recovery yet?"

"Yes, he is. He's resting very comfortably in our bunk. Agent Wyoming will be just fine," Florida said serenely. "And yes, we're very close. I'm sure you understand what that's like."

"... yeah, I do."

Humming to himself as if confirming a thought, Florida nodded at Maine. "So, he hasn't woken up at all, huh?"

That... was a weird question. They'd stopped the sedative in Maine's IV, just kept the regular painkillers going, but those weren't supposed to keep him under. Maine had opened his eyes a few times since they'd cut him down to just painkillers and fluids, but he'd given no indication that he knew where he was, or what was happening, or even that he was actually conscious. The last time it had happened, Wash had told him to go back to sleep, and he had. But whether that was because he was never even really awake or because he was actively listening to Wash was unclear.

"Not... really. He opened his eyes about an hour ago, but he probably won't remember that. He looked... I just told him to go back to sleep. He looked too confused to really be awake."

"How badly was he injured?"

Wash bit his lip, looking away from Florida. "He took ten bullets to the chest and throat. They didn't hit any organs, but one did crack a rib, and he sustained a lot of blunt force trauma. His collarbone took some damage. Basically all of his ribs are damaged to some degree, most of them are just bruised but three are cracked. And his spine's okay but they're being really careful with him for right now."

"How long until he's free to go?"

"He's gonna be off the duty roster for a little while, but once they're sure his spine's not badly damaged and he's okay to be out of here, he can at least go be miserable in his own bunk like CT and Wyoming. If he recovers as fast as he usually does, he may be good to go on shore leave in a couple weeks with the rest of us, as long as he keeps the stress to a minimum."

"Been taking good care of him?"

"The medical team has. The nurse that checks in on him, she's been showing me how to check his stitches and change his bandages. I'm only good at first aid, so this is all new."

"Well, you are being just an excellent little nurse, Agent Washington. But even excellent little nurses need to keep their strength up. So, maybe you try eating a little bit of your dinner. How does that sound?"

Wash really did appreciate Florida bringing him food, but he was sure that if he tried to eat anything, he'd throw it back up from anxiety. But Florida's tone made Wash immediately feel as if he was being threatened, despite the fact that nothing he said was conventionally threatening. By someone who had no qualms with doing something very unpleasant to ensure that his instructions were followed.

He pulled the tray into his lap, picking at some of the food on it before settling for picking up the roll in the corner. He could see the butter shining on it, and a flutter of excitement actually tried to flicker in his chest when he noticed that it was garlic bread. From the roll, he moved on to the fruit, and finally to the chicken. He took his time with it, finally finishing it and wiping his hand off on his jeans. It occurred to him to maybe be embarrassed that he'd eaten an entire meal with just his hand, but he was too tired to care.

"... thanks, dude. I appreciate it." Wash bit down on the inside of his cheek, then looked up at Florida. "And... thanks... for being so chill. I think North and CT are mad at me right now. And Carolina..."

"Of course, Agent Washington, you are very welcome. I like to see anybody's problem as everybody's problem. It could have happened to anyone. But odds are that he'll probably be alright." Florida rose to his feet, then reached over and patted Wash's arm. "And don't you worry about Agent Carolina. She seemed much more chipper today, I think she's processing this whole thing quite well."

Wash nodded again. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Florida said again, turning and starting for the door. About halfway, however, he stopped, prompting Wash to turn over his shoulder when his footsteps stopped. He didn't turn around, but what he said was very clearly meant to be heard. "By the way? I never told North that I thought you were gay. Just that I couldn't wait to see how long it would take you and Maine to figure each other out."

Wash's blood ran cold. Had North told Florida about their conversation? No, why would he? There wasn't anything weird or unusual about... wait, fuck, he'd confessed to liking Maine. Dammit, who else knew now?! North wasn't usually part of all the gossip! What the hell?! Wait, had it been CT? Maybe it had been CT. Maybe it was payback for eating her brownie a couple weeks ago. Wait did CT even talk to Florida? She didn't even know about his crush on Maine, did she?

"Now, don't you worry, your secret's safe with me. One switch-hitter to another. Anyway, I'll be sure to tell Agent Wyoming you were asking after him. I know he'll appreciate it." Florida chuckled. It was a quiet, unsettling sound, downright terrifying compared to any of the laughter that Wash had ever heard from him. "Here, I'll take that tray right back to the mess hall for you."

[tonystarktogo]

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 7

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Natasha has a plan (and no, getting suspended wasn't part of it), HYDRA is as uncreative and predictable as always, and Tony meets someone who is either completely crazy or very dangerous. Or both.

.Somewhere in New York.

Watching Dead-Eyes cut a tracking device out of his left shoulder without so much as a twitch in his blank expression makes Tony feel sick. It’s for the man’s own good, technically. They can’t be found now, it wouldn’t end well for either of them. But commanding another man to cut himself open—and having said command followed without a moment’s hesitation—is a disturbing experience.

There’s a rush to it too, Tony can’t quite deny that. There lies a heady power in that kind of unquestioning obedience. But it’s a power that corrupts, no, stains your soul, to the point where Tony wants to throw up just to get the crawling sensation out of his system.

Dead-Eyes is in no position to consent to such a measure. He’s in no position to save himself either. Until that changes—and Tony will have to look into that as soon as he finds the time, seriously, something about that blankness is just wrong—Tony will have to make the choices for them both.

Hopefully that will be enough.

Twenty minutes later, after both Dead-Eyes and Tony have been properly stitched up—and in Tony’s case, have their bandages exchanged for clean ones that were most definitely lifted from a convenience store down the street—Tony turns towards his companion with a fake-cheerful smile. “Let’s get those papers and get the hell out of here.”

And that’s exactly what they do.

[continues under the cut]

.On the helicarrier.

Reading through the missing Agent Bianca White’s file leaves Natasha with an uncomfortable sense of déjà-vu. The picture of a fairly attractive woman in her mid-twenties with bleach-blonde hair and hazel eyes looks back at her, a hint of a smile on her lips that makes her look approachable but not eager.

Flipping through the pictures, logs, mission reports, and notes of superiors only intensifies the sinking sensation in Natasha’s gut. White wears little makeup and well-cut clothes, enough to accentuate but not enough to be memorable. Passes tests and exams satisfactorily, but never excels. Finishes her missions successfully, but never above expectations. Shows up at work neither too early nor too late. White appears to be, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly average employee.

Except for how people are rarely that fundamentally average in every aspect of their life. Natasha has seen files like this before, more often than she cares to count. She’s been files like these. It’s the standard profile of any sleeper agent—because nobody gets overlooked like an average agent.

Natasha doesn’t know why it catches her by surprise. SHIELD is a high-ranking government organisation; of course there are moles. No organisation is made of fully devout members. If you find the right hook, almost everyone can be turned. Natasha should know.

“You think it’s a coincidence her entire team ended up dead today?” Barton asks sarcastically, eyes fixed on a picture of a traffic cam that proves White has been leaving the three-mile blackout radius the day Iron Man disappeared.

“There is no such thing as coincidences,” Natasha shoots back.

“Alright, let’s say White is a mole,” Hill states. “Could this woman really kill her entire team without sustaining any injuries serious enough to keep her down until the police arrived? Eleven against one aren’t odds you bet your life on lightly.”

Natasha turns towards Fury’s second, her expression frozen over with the arctic cold of a Russian winter. She still remembers little girls with pretty bows in their hair, thin elbows as sharp as the knives they wielded. “You’d be surprised what some women are capable of,” she states, words heavy with the unsaid, what some children are capable of.

Thankfully, Barton’s pointed interruption keeps her thoughts from walking down a dangerous path they rarely come back from. “We think there were at least two of them,” he explains. “There was a sniper on the rooftop of the gas station across the street. The location was a solid choice; he knew exactly where the STRIKE team would be. Of course, with an inside source, that would have been easy to anticipate—and if White is as good as we suspect, the whole confrontation was over in minutes.

“Of course, that’s all guesswork on our part right now.” Barton shrugs, a small grin on his lips that makes him look like a school boy who knows he’s just gotten away with a prank. “But I’m confident ballistics will support our theory.”

“Not complete guesswork,” Hill disagrees. Her frown has deepened with every word of Barton’s report, and in the shadows of the warm afternoon light, she looks decades older than she really is.

It’s the job, Natasha supposes. The job, and the people who choose it.

“I just got the report from one of the agents who questioned the owner, didn’t think it would be of much importance until now. Apparently, besides two families and a couple of backpacking tourists, he’s only rented out one room—to a man he described as ‘shady’ but refused to explain why.” Hill’s scowl says very clearly what she thinks of that. “He swears the guy was alone but rented a double. The agent checked the room but it was clean. And by clean, I mean completely clean. No sign that anyone ever stayed there.”

Which meant professionals. Unsurprising—you don’t send grunts after an elite strike force if you mean to put them down for real—but always good to have it confirmed.

“Alright.” Hill rubs her temples with a sign. A gesture Natasha recognises as a useless attempt to stave off an oncoming migraine. She sympathises. Sleep deprivation, dead agents, moles, and a mysteriously vanished Iron Man is not a combination anyone enjoys. Especially not Stark once she’s through with him for pulling a fucking disappearance act on her.

But as fast as Hill seems to sink into herself, she pulls herself together again. “Rhyston, Cole, get me everything on White. And I mean everything, not this little press file we’ve got here. If she’s dirty, I want to know it and I want to know it yesterday! Summer, the intel on the STRIKE team! Barton, drop the fucking smirk before I drop you! Fury wants to kill you in person, I wouldn’t let him wait much longer. That goes for you too, Romanov!”

That at least gets rid of Barton’s smirk. Only for it to be replaced by a pout. “Me?” he exclaims dramatically, “what did I do?”

Hill raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Besides running off with Romanov without having been cleared for active duty or been assigned a mission to investigate the slaughter of a STRIKE team?”

Barton waves the clear accusation off like he always does. It’s… comfortable. This banter between them, the easy with which Barton pisses off everyone around him. Ever since Loki—Well. Suffice to say, it’s taken a while for Natasha to see this side of him again. She’s missed it.

Still, even Barton has enough sense not to leave Fury waiting for long.

Right as they’ve reached the door of the conference room, Hill stops them one last time. And by the gleeful smirk on her lips, Natasha knows exactly what she’s going to say.

“By the way,” if possible, the smirk on Hill’s lips widens, “you’re both off active duty until the psych department clears you, what with your emotional investment and all. Don’t forget to hand in your badges and your weapons before you leave. And I mean weapons, not just the guns, Romanov!”

Slamming the door into her face would be immature, so Natasha lets Barton do it for her.

* * * * *

.Very high up in the air.

Flying an airplane with an emotionless killing machine playing your father is an experience alright, Tony concludes forty-five minutes into the flight. How they made it through security, he’ll never know. Well, he knows how he did it, Tony just doesn’t know how Dead-Eyes accomplished the same. One minute he was by Tony’s side, the next he was on the other side of the security lane.

Tony wisely chose not to question it—better than being taken into custody for a freaking metal arm, that’s for sure.

Really, the whole plan hinges on nobody paying them any attention whatsoever, because from what Tony has seen of Dead-Eye’s acting skills, he doubts they could fool a first grader. As it turns out though, his worry is unfounded.

Sure, Dead-Eyes looks like he’s been cut out of an ice block, but he’s still handsome—maybe even more so for it—and that helps a lot. Tony mentally pats himself on the back for having decided the guy needed a shave. Then pats himself literally on the back because he’s a kid, nobody’s gonna care. Except the nice lady next to him, who appears a little frightened by Dead-Eyes—clearly she’s got good instincts—and keeps asking him if everything is alright. But all it takes is a teary-eyed explanation about how his mom just died and how daddy is just sad but trying not to be, and that’s taken care of too.

It also gets him chocolate from the soft-hearted flight assistant. Being a child is awesome.

* * * * *

.Secret Research Facility.

For the first time since the mission to take down Stark went off the rails, the commander is silent. It’s a deadly, all-encompassing silence nobody around him is suicidal enough to break. The agents present are hyper-aware of the fact that someone is about to die. And in his current mood, the commander is unlikely to care about silly particularities like friendly fire.

On the screen, five dots blink steadily as they move further and further away—from their own location and each other. Which, considering four of them are supposed to be in the same body, isn’t very reassuring.

The commander takes a deep breath, causing the minions closest to him to wince in anticipation. But he doesn’t yell. His voice, when he speaks, is low and hoarse. “Get a team to each place but have them prepared for a trap. Recapturing the Asset has utmost priority, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir,” the minions chorus obediently.

“Er-,” under the force of the commander’s glare, the inexperienced minion who’s dared to speak up falls silent immediately.

“What?” the commander snarls.

“I-I was just—wondering about White, sir,” the terrified minion stutters.

The commander blinks, surprised. Then, slowly, a grin spreads over his face. “Dispatch a team for her too. I want her body spread all over whatever hole the useless rat’s trying to hide in.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

* * * * *

.On a small island.

Despite his being a recognised genius, Tony hadn’t actually thought their grand escape plan through. If he had—instead of, say, point at the next flight possible and demand tickets—he might not have chosen the Bahamas.

Amidst all the tourists in their t-shirts and shorts, Dead-Eyes and Tony in their black, long-sleeved clothes stick out like two sore thumbs. Besides, the Bahamas are—well. Objectively speaking, they’re nice, probably. Tony mostly sees sun, a bright blue sky, and sand, which, yay. Not like he hasn’t stared at the same fucking sand for nine eternal years. Granted, the air hurt to breathe and the sky looked a lot less natural. It’s not really the same at all, rationally Tony knows that. Too bad rationality has little to do with it.

It’s the feeling of the light breeze against his skin, the way tiny corns of sand dance in it, the heavy warmth that makes his clothes stick to his skin, how Dead-Eyes lingers by his side, slightly towards the left—because the right is reserved, a place that may not be currently filled but has always been, will always be, taken—it’s familiar, so much so the weight of it settles into his bones, builds up the pressure on each and every one of them.

“The position is not secure,” Dead-Eyes hisses, the first words he’s spoken since they got on the plane.

His warning, though helpful, comes too late. By the time Tony makes out a thin, elderly woman who is watching them with narrowed eyes, they are too close to make a clean getaway without arousing suspicion. Especially considering the airport is really just landing field with one small building next to it.

“We’re gonna have to steal a boat,” Tony thinks hysterically as the woman approaches them with small but determined steps. Her gaze doesn’t waver once, and, frankly, it’s starting to creep him out.

She doesn’t pull a machine gun on them at least, but then Tony might have preferred that. Instead she smiles, slow and easy, like a mother welcoming her son after years of absence. Her teeth are a brilliant white, and when she hugs Tony— hugs him, what the hell?!—she smells of the sea and wet wood and something spicy he can’t identify.

“You have been missed,” the woman says when she finally pulls back. Though she still refuses to let go of his shoulders. “You are missed.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes that reminds Tony of the adoration on the faces of little kids when they got to meet Iron Man, for a time. It’s tempered by shrewdness and wisdom that only comes with experience, but the core, the core remains the same.

“I-“ For once in his life Tony has absolutely no idea what to say. He doesn’t know this woman, doesn’t have any memory of her. Yet he doesn’t remember SHIELD trying to kill him either, does he? And what about that thought is bothering him so much?

“Do not worry, young warrior, I shall keep my silence.” The woman’s smile twists, just a little, an edge of cunning that sharpens her appearance into something beautiful. “Your search shall soon find its end.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Ominous warnings from a strange woman playing oracle. Just what Tony needs to make this bloody mess any more complicated.

“Thank you?” he tries to say, though it comes out more as a question.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to place a depth on you!” the woman exclaims, startled. “Your sacrifice cannot be repaid nor will it be forgotten. We will ensure as much; it is the least we can do.”

Tony smiles awkwardly, a shallow imitation of what used to be his press smile. Like a jacket he’s grown out of—hasn’t grown into yet. “I appreciate the gesture,” is what he settles on—instead of the What the freaking hell are you talking about? he desperately wants to ask. But he can’t. Not if this strange lady actually knows—no. The thought alone sends shivers of dread down Tony’s spine. It’s not possible. Whoever she is, whatever she is, she can’t know what Tony’s done. It’s impossible. You can’t know a future that never happened.

Can you?

The woman takes one of his small hands between hers. Tony has to give it to her; she’s got a stronger grip than he would have expected. And she’s still looking at him like that. “Don’t worry, you will find the answers you seek on the grounds of the bloodless children,” she says gently, like that’s supposed to calm Tony down.

“O-kay,” he accentuates. Maybe for once this doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe this woman is just—a nutcase. Or a very talented grifter. If only he could be so lucky. “I’ll just, err, go there then, I guess.”

Tony carefully but decisively detangles himself from the woman’s grip. Screw suspicions, he’s gonna run the second he gets her off him, Dead-Eyes in tow. They’re gonna steal a boat, hide on one of the islands and figure out a new plan, far, far away from this creepy woman and her damn knowing eyes.

Just as he’s finally freed himself and given the woman one last nod of acknowledgement, she reaches out lightening fast and grasps his forearm. “Do not let the darkness destroy you again,” the woman warns, her voice deeper now, and all the more damning for it. “There will be no other chance.”

Tony swallows, caught in the woman’s bottomless gaze. Suddenly he is uncomfortably aware that she hasn’t spared Dead-Eyes a glance, not even once looked into his direction. Has been pointedly ignoring him. You wouldn’t be the first one I killed myself, he remembers, the echo of a man he used to know.

“I won’t,” Tony agrees and wishes he’d know what exactly it is he’s promising.

It seems to be enough to convince the woman at least, because finally she lets him go, and with one last glance towards her, Tony gestures for Dead-Eyes to follow him and high-tails it as far away from the woman as he can manage. With any luck, he’ll be able to lose her in the crowd around the bus stops. Tony doesn’t look back, but he feels the weight of her eyes on him for a long time afterwards.

* * * * *

.New York.

Natasha can tell Barton wants to say something, but he keeps his silence until they’ve exited the rental car and walk towards the entrance of Avengers Tower.

“You’re not as furious about the suspension as I thought you’d be.” He doesn’t turn his head towards her and his lips are barely moving. Both are habits designed to make her feel more comfortable, less put on the spot. It still still strikes her out of nowhere sometimes, the knowledge how well Barton knows her.

Natasha looks straight ahead as she responds, eyes focusing on the guards and hidden cameras Stark has once pointed out to her—and she is sure there are more than she’s aware of; she’s already found four of them. “You know me,” Natasha retorts with a lightness she doesn’t feel. “I know how to keep myself busy. Without driving my teammates insane.”

Barton rolls his eyes at the half-hearted dig.

“Besides,” she continues after only a brief moment of hesitation, “Fury can handle dead agents. I don’t need to get caught up in the bloodshed.”

At that, Barton whistles. “There’s a first for everything.”

It earns him a punch against his upper arm, hard enough to almost make him lose his balance.

“I checked the agents’ reports from the B&B,” Natasha mutters, quieter now. It’s unlikely they have any eyes or ears on them, SHIELD is overworked as it is, but she hasn’t survived as long as she has by taking unnecessary chances. “There’s no way Stark was kept there; they lack the equipment to keep him down. Only way he was in that building is if he’s already dead, and why drag a body across the city?”

“So you’re saying an Avenger gets kidnapped and a STRIKE team is taken out within the same twenty-four hours, and those incidents are entirely unrelated?” Barton doesn’t even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

They cross the lobby and enter one of the private elevators before Natasha turns towards him with a scowl. “Of course not. There’s no such thing as coincidences. All I’m saying is Stark wasn’t held there. Now, there might be a connection or there might not be, but we don’t have time to play the guessing game. Whoever has him, we need to find him fast, and chasing a traitor isn’t gonna cut it.”

Barton nods, like they’ve been on the same page all along. Maybe they have. “In other words, let Fury worry about White while we use our newly acquired free time to save Tony’s ass before he has the chance to blow everything up. I like it.”

Natasha snorts. “You just like the thought of getting to blow things up yourself.”

Barton smirks and tellingly makes no move to deny it. But then, she didn’t expect him to.

“Welcome at Avengers’ Tower, Miss Romanov, Agent Barton,” the cool voice of JARVIS interrupts them. He still hasn’t forgiven Natasha for her subterfuge whilst she played Pott’s assistant. “Captain Rogers is expecting you in the common room.”

“Let’s go find our wayward genius!” Barton cheers and takes off as soon as the elevator doors open. “Last one in the common room doesn’t get any laser guns!”

Natasha watches him run off with a blank expression. “One day, I’m going to kill that man.”

I'm honestly in awe of the response I've been getting for this story. Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving me kudos - you're support helps me continue this project! There was a little less Tony and Bucky in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed SHIELD's perspective in things - and I promise, the next chapter will have a lot of Tony :)

Also, while a lot of this story is about Tony and Bucky running around, they will have allies, some of whom will soon-ish (within the next 10 chapters) join the regular chast. Now some roles have already been cast, but there are still slots I haven't filled, and I'd like to hear your opinion on them :)

Who would you like to see as one of Tony's (possibly reluctant) allies? -Brock Rumlow -Wanda Maximoff -Pietro Maximoff -Loki -Tiberius Stone -Someone else (tell me in a comment!)

Alright, that's enough babbling from me for now. I hope you liked this chapter, and feel free to leave your thoughts and feedback as a comment or in my ask box! Thank you for being awesome readers :)

[icybeanheadcanons]

General Headcanons for the Skellies

Thought I would start off with some general headcanons for these boys.

It's long so I'm gonna put it under the cut I think.

Undertale

Tale

-a sweetheart. He's so sweet he’ll probably rot your teeth.

-Smart ™. No seriously. He's perceptive as hell and notices small details. On first glance his puzzles may seem easy but actually have some degree of challenge to them.

-workaholic honestly??? He doesn't exactly mean to be he just has a habit of throwing himself full force into everything he does.

-his voice is on the louder side so it seems like he's screaming but he isn't. You can hear him 30 feet away??? But he's talking in his normal speaking voice he can't be that loud can he?

-slightly self conscious on his volume control. He's startled a few people once having reached the surface with how loud he was which really bothers him. He's not intimidating he swears. He makes a conscious effort to make himself seem not quite as intimidating.

-tol bean, about 6 feet tall. Excited to meet people taller than him. He finds it amazing even if its an inch difference. You're shorter??? YOU’RE PRECIOUS CLEARLY.

-a walking ray of sunshine and generally is so very positive about people even when being relatively negative toward him. Compliments are an absolute.

-he recognizes not everyone can be inherently good and overall be a real bully. He knows they're not the greatest but he is sure they aren't entirely bad, no one is!

-holy shit, i know this bean likes to give compliments but if you're a horrible person trash talking him or his brother??? Prepare for to hear backhanded compliments, and being one upped in every sense of the word. He's not one to take insults lying down. He still turns them into compliments, and it really shakes people into being nicer. Good. Because those comments always hurt him.

-well deserved ego, but still has some insecurities and doubt about his capabilities. Did he do enough??? Maybe he should do more???? Please don't let him do more he will absolutely overwork himself.

-sly as a fox my guy. You think he's innocent? B o y. You're in trouble. Lucky for you, he won't take advantage of this. For the most part. When he does you always find out at the end and it's something small usually. He kind of uses it as a reminder that he's not innocent. Stop that. He knows he's an amazing cinnamon roll but there's way more sin than you realize.

-would adopt every stray he sees. He could probably open up a petting zoo he's got so many animals visiting his house. There's at least 30 stray cats that visit him at one time.

-volunteers at an animal shelter. Because look at all those adorable furry babies. Can he please take them all home? No?? Fine then he’ll make sure they go to a proper loving home.

-prefers cats but dogs are just as good. Just as long as they don't take off with any bone attacks. He loves them even if they do.

-generally doesn't curse but isn't afraid to. They're just words and generally, if they don't insult someone they're perfectly fine words to use. He doesn't use them generally for other people’s sake.

-loves his brother with every fiber of his being. “My brother is amazing LOOK AT HIM.” He's the first person he has to tell news to just by default.

-watches anime because of alphys now and watches a lot of cooking shows. Documentaries from time to time if it really sparks his interests. Super hero shows he lives for.

-much better cook now that he has actual things to go off of for learning. Undyne did her best but dear lord. That wasn't really cooking it was more like Scary Cooking ™.

-puns are okay just don't drown him in them like his brother. Please and thank you. Will act made but he's laughing and smiling.

 Classy Bean

-you're actually going to drown in puns and that is how you’ll die. I promise you. It’ll be glorious. You’ll probably end up with a pun written on your grave.

-SPACE. This guy loves space, upon reaching the surface and settling in he dives at every book about space he can get his hands on. He will lit up like the stars he so adores. Even if its just some piece of clothing with a star or space design, that's his aesthetic he will wear whatever it is because SPACE.

-talk science to this nerd oh my god. Especially curious about the sky don't let him fool you. He overall loves biology too, specifically wildlife. Everything on the surface is unfamiliar and so he loves it all. So. Fucking. Much.

-reading is his main thing, but isn't afraid to watch things on netflix. Tale always forgets to switch to his profile though so he gets a lot of anime suggestions amongst his billion documentaries. Also enjoys watching comedians.

-talk to him about his interests. He will go from sluggish to being very animated in seconds.

-insomnia for days. It's not as bad as in the underground but he's still relatively restless. Its not generally always because his thoughts are loud and deafening. Not really. This is usually when he goes to the backyard and flops on the ground to stare at the sky. Or he puts on a documentary. Never a comedian because that makes him a little more keyed up and awake.

-by the time day has come where Tale has gotten up he's watched several documentaries. Oops.

-Tale worries and fusses about him before taking up research to help with insomnia. He buys various teas and anything else that could help his brother relax. Though Classy Bean will generally fall asleep when his brother hugs him. He sleeps a lot better with someone next to him remarkably. Tale tucks him in before he cleans his brother's room before it drives him insane from simply looking at the mess. Self sustaining tornados are forbidden, so there's that he doesn't need to take care of.

-Tale and Classy Bean often fall asleep together on the couch when they spend time together watching one of mettaton’s shows. Nothing knocks them out faster.

-relatively a chill dude. He's pretty easy to get along with.

-don't hurt Tale. Seriously he’ll fight you. That doesn't always mean physically but he's ready to punch you in the face at any time if you talk shit about his brother. Doesn't care if you practically are shitting yourself because of his intimidation that was kind of the point of the thing.

-will not interfere in his brother’s life besides that. He knows his brother is relatively quick witted and clever. After an interaction with someone relatively rude he will send them a quick glare before getting Tale away from them. He hopes they ever so kindly fuck off. This is about one of the only times he is anywhere near aggressive.

-smol bean is 5 ft tall. Please don't remind him he's small and can't reach things its irritating as is. If you're smaller than him he will be secretly happy and adoring your tiny size. If you're tall he will probably try to get you to pick him up and carry him on his shoulders. One because he's lazy and two he secretly wishes to know what it's like to be tall.

-crippling depression. This hasn't changed for him. Though it's gotten relatively better where he's able to “fake it till you make it back home to your bed” more often than before, but there's those few days where he's absolutely drained. Where everything lists itself and swarms him and is overwhelming. He's tired but can't sleep. So he just lays in bed staring at the ceiling. These are the days Tale looks out for at a constant. On the days he sees his brother faking (he always knows) he tries to bring him some comfort and sometimes is able to address the rising problems before they build up too much. When Classy Bean gets like this his brother dotes on him. He knows he's doing his best, and always reassures him.

-generalized anxiety. Its not usually a huge problem where it causes him panic attacks (he has had a few before though) but he is always worried about something. He keeps a stress ball in his pocket which helps take the edge off. His brother usually is able to ease the anxiety and if not can help him walk through it to find that the thing bothering him was fine.

-birds. He loves birds. Their feathers are pretty, they're majestic but completely ridiculous at the same time. He developed a love for them when a crow had landed on his head. He felt like a Chosen One ™ in that instant. He's now a friend to all birds. The crow visits him often to bring him gifts. Buttons are fairly common. He named the crow Scare. Yes. Because then he could say he was a Scare Crow. Tale is fed up with this.

 Underfell

Soft Edge

-Was captain of the royal guard. He's very proud of this.

-slightly inflated ego. Some of it is deserved the other part he needs to tone down.

-so very extra and dramatic. He's kind of a huge dork.

-“WHAT IVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING EMBARRASSING IN MY LIFE” he's lying. He has done a handful and then some of embarrassing things. It's actually just him being a dork and being relatively cute.

-he lives for compliments. And attention. He desires all of it. Will begrudgingly accept sharing your attention though.

-relatively good cook. A little bit better than Tale.

-BAKING. He makes the best treats. He's a little self conscious about them though.

-constantly afraid he's a terrible person deep down. Is he taking care of his brother? Is he a good enough brother? These are serious questions for him. He's wonderful and doing his best.

-surprisingly nurturing. Kind of a kid magnet. He doesn't go to parks if he's looking for peace and quiet. He will end up playing games with the kids instead.

-please no puns. There are a few he enjoys truly. He can't help but smile when his brother makes them though because he knows he's comfortable then. He'll crack a few himself to help ease his brother's anxiety.

-cooking shows. He likes Gordon Ramsay a lot.

-loves art honestly. Like holy heck someone made that with their own two hands. Has not thought of trying to make any himself. He likes to watch different kinds of shows involving some art form. It's fascinating to watch.

-he's a real sweetheart under all that edge don't let him fool you.

-even more perceptive than Tale is. Though he doubts himself when it comes to his brother. Are you sure you interpreted that right? 99% of the time he has. His puzzles are a lot more intense than Tale’s.

-horror movies make him uncomfortable. He often finds them stupid as well but for some reason they urk him. Specifically the killer ones.

-kind of?? Fascinated by humans. They work a lot differently from monsters and that seems pretty damn cool.

-be rude to him and he'll be a savage asshole. Can be slightly rude on a regular basis.  He's not meaning to.

-his scarf is a gift from his brother and is his most cherished possession.

-will fight you if you don't think his brother is the absolute best. He will literally fight you.

-TOLLER BEAN. This boy is so tol its scary. 7’7 is so tol. You will not be taller than him which makes him feel pretty good about himself. If you're shorter than average he will want to pick you up and carry you around. He secretly adores tiny things they are simply ridiculously adorable.

-secretly loves pastels. They're soft and are the opposite of his usual aesthetic of edgy and dark but he doesn't really care they're cute colors. He really likes cute things he's come to realize and he likes to keep it on the down low. He's supposed to be scary and intimidating.

-is only scary and intimidating when he's angry. Has only been truly angry with his brother a few times in his life, and it wasn't fun. So he has amazing control over his temper.

-soft things are the best and no one can tell him otherwise.

-if he wants to do something he will do it NOTHING WILL STOP HIM. He refuses to back down. He will listen to reason though, he considers himself to be a reasonable skeleton.

-loud. Very loud. It helped intimidate people, but now he doesn’t have much of a need for it so he’s learning volume control. It is harder than he thought it would be.

 Red Boy

-24/7 aggressive internal screaming. Okay but seriously, he is. He has so much anxiety from the underground.

-always half expecting for “the other shoe to drop” or rather the bad shit to come his way when a good thing happens. Always afraid his happiness will be ripped away from him.

-needs so much affection the poor bab. He tries not to bother his brother about getting a hug all the time because he’s pretty sure he’d never let go.

-coat is big and floof like a security blanket. It’s a lot bigger than him it’s like he’s drowning in it which is exactly how he wants it.

-Also has depression like Classy Bean but it’s not as severe. His main problem is his overwhelming anxiety.

-coat was a gift from Soft Edge, and he will never go anywhere without it. It’s hot? Well guess he’ll die.

-the quiet bothers him. It’s crushing and overwhelming and it makes him super paranoid. On the surface they live in the city at least and so nothing is ever completely dead silent like in the underground. Soft Edge picked this on purpose for his brother.

-Like Classy Bean, he loves birds. Specifically birds of prey. They’re big and dangerous and he just thinks they’re super cool.

-Actually has an owl. He found an abandoned owlet in the woods when him and his brother were hiking one day (he was forced into it but at least he was spending time with his bro) and it had taken a shine to him. He tried to get it to stay but it kept following him. He ended up giving in to the little bird’s demands to stay with him. He couldn’t resist. He named the owl Hootyhoo.

-actually likes horror movies despite his anxiety. If asked why he will look dead straight at you and without skipping a beat say, “my life is a horror movie.” Paranormal movies scare the shit out of him.

-has made the mistake again and again of playing horror games in the dark. With headphones. Every time, he ends up screaming and falling out of his chair which wakes up Soft Edge. He ends up sleeping in his brothers room that night, terrified to be alone.

-has a lightsaber that can glow so he can walk down the halls to get snacks without disturbing anything. He forgets his magic can glow. He’s scared, tired, and hungry. He just wants to be sure he can get his snacks without getting attacked by something horrifying.

-will watch a lot of super hero movies and tv shows with his brother. They’re actually pretty cool and will go investigate some comics for his favorites.

-he’s a huge nerd, and has found himself looking through harry potter and lord of the rings stuff more than once.

-isn’t as big of a fan of science but still enjoys learning what he can, and the fact everything is practically at his fingertips with the internet he adores it. His phone has become one of the things he uses the most.

-is actually a tol bean too. He’s 7’ tall and actually rather enjoys the fact he’s super tall amongst humans. It’s great, look at how small they are it’s adorable.

-Darker sense of humor than Classy Bean, but still adores puns. Half of his humor is not pg-13 so be warned.

-will text Soft Edge at 4 am with weird questions. “What if… we’re all just fuckin ants to some aliens and that’s why they haven’t visited us?” He’s always met with “go the fuck to sleep”

-also pretty loud like his brother, and sometimes when they’re irritated about something they will go into a small screaming match. They don’t even say anything, it’s just incoherent screeching.

-kind of a flirt. Like he tries but isn’t all that great at it and will often just make you laugh. Outside of puns, words aren’t his forte.

-stays up way too late because he likes to make mistakes apparently. He needs to be up early tomorrow? That’s fine he’ll just watch one more walkthrough video- it’s 4 am now… How did he get here? What is time? He dies inside the next day. He takes a nap when he gets home. Rinse and repeat.

 Underswap

Honey Bear

-Oh god the biggest meme. The memeist meme to ever meme. “Can i be your meme dealer?”

-Pranks for days. Lazy ones that are generally the classics, but relatively good ones. He gets into prank wars with his brother a lot.

-Pretty damn smart honestly. Has an interest in quantum physics and other complex topics that would leave a lot of people in existential crisis.

-philosophy’s pretty cool, and has an overwhelming knowledge on it. He’s a classic nerd about this learning these things.

-lots of podcasts. It seems to be the only audio he has on his phone. Except for the incidental music with a few meme songs. He has rick rolled his brother a number of times. It never gets old. His favorite is Allstar by Smashmouth.

-very calm aura about him. He’s relatively chill and nice to be around overall.

-Tol bean too, 6 feet tall. Height doesn’t mean a whole lot to him, but if you’re short he will sometimes use your head as an armrest as a joke. He doesn’t do it a lot, just when he wants to annoy you.

-falls asleep random places. He’s an insomniac too and can’t seem to get ahold of a schedule or routine. So he’s always pretty tired.

-talks in his sleep. Full conversations with whoever it is in his dream. He likes to hear about what he said when he was asleep, it’s pretty funny to hear the weird things.

-walking talking shitpost, 100% on purpose. He’s got a great sense of humor. He is not always able to say everything with a straight face though and if he thinks of a shitpost kind of idea he may start wheezing and confuse everyone around him.

-smokes. Calms his nerves, but is trying to find a better replacement since his brother hates it so much. So far no such luck.

-has been picked up and dropped into the bathtub by his brother. He turned on the shower head, scaring the shit out of Honey Bear. it was always freezing.

-always cold for some reason, he wears a hoody all the time for good reason. Maybe he should put on pants instead of cargo shorts but that meant effort and so he was going to deal.

-he struggles with depression, which generally ends with him staying in bed binge watching netflix to forget his problems. His brother brings him food so he doesn’t forget to eat. There was a day he’d come home on one of his bad days and found he hadn’t eaten anything but honey.

-libraries are nice. If he’s not home or at muffet’s he’s at a library. They know him by name now. He reads for a while but eventually falls asleep. The library is nice and relaxing so it happens a lot. The staff know to wake him up an hour or so later. The poor guy needs the sleep.

-weirdest ringtones for people. Like my guy. What the fuck? If asked about it he’ll simply grin.

-ducks seem to really like him. He’s been followed home from the park by a flock of ducks before. He doesn’t really care if they follow him.

-his room stays clean since Sassberry likes to raid his room when he’s on a cleaning rampage.

-has a bazillion blankets and 2 pillows. That’s it. Sassberry stays away from the tangled ball of blankets on his bed unless it’s time to wash the bedding. If it is he quickly replaces the bedding for him so Honey Bear doesn’t freak out. Not having enough blankets makes him panic, and is one of the few things that gets such a strong reaction from him.

-a blanket hog. He’s cold and generally wraps himself in a cocoon when he sleeps. He’s pretty much accepted it at this point.

-loves watching disney movies with his brother. They seem to be more for him than Blueberry though, he hasn’t quite realized that though. He loves Princess and the Frog, Brave, and Mulan best. The heroines remind him of his brother a little bit.

-very reactive to movies actually. He was sobbing at the end of Toy Story 3 and Sassberry had to hold him while he cried.

-Honey Bear owns like 50 pairs of crocs just because of Sassberry’s reaction to them.

 Sassberry

-relatively very cheerful demeanor. He’s very excitable.

-not a child. Treat him as a child and he will leave the premises dead silent. A cashier checking him out had treated him that way once and he walked out of the store, leaving Honey Bear behind to pay for the groceries. He avoids that cashier at all times.

-You’re a fool if you think he’s innocent okay. You’re going to get fucking played, and will see how far he can push you. Honey Bear tries his best to get him to stop but sometimes, he’ll just let him do what he wants. This is usually with the people he doesn’t like a whole lot.

-Gets into prank wars with his brother. He’s very mischievous and so it’s a perfect way for him to let off some steam.

-always nice until provoked. Wanna say that thing about his brother again? Do it, he fucking dares you. He’s prepared to punch you in the face if you do say it again. He’s not very calm and accepting of people trashing his brother’s name. It is his ultimate pet peeve and if you insult his brother he will end all contacts with you.

-Insult him? Okay, he’s not going to take it to heart or at least try not to. Insult his outfit? He’ll insult you right back. He knows he’s adorable and you will not put him down on how he looks.

-He doesn’t tolerate people making mean remarks about other people’s appearance. He will sass them into their grave.

-Adores everything cute. He prefers a lot of women’s fashion and will often wear dresses and skirts too. He looks fucking adorable and you can fight him about this. He adores them.

-His scarf was something he’s had since he was a babybones and is his favorite thing to accessorize with.

-learned about quantum physics and philosophy so he could know what the hell his brother was talking about because holy shit. What the heck are you talking about my guy?

-After learning some of the subjects he found the multiverse theory. He seems to have a blast thinking about other versions of himself. He’s a strong believer in it. “I hope other universe me is having a good day.”

-smol bean. 5 feet tall. He loves tol people though. Short people are precious and when he first meets you where he realizes he’s taller he will get stars in his eyes.

-Tell him something weird and he will probably just roll with it. Have you met his brother? He’s a weird dork. There isn’t a too weird.

-horror is fascinating to him but he’s not a big fan of it. He’s rather casual about watching it, and he never really gets submersed in it where he’s scared.

-restless sleeper. Honey Bear and him have a lot of late night conversations when they can’t sleep.

-Sewing is one of his favorite activities. He makes a lot of things for himself and his brother. A lot of the blankets he has were made by him.

-watches some anime, he really enjoys slice of life and romcom kind of animes. Anything super cute. Magical girls are a big deal too. He watched Madoka Magica with his brother. He has never seen Honey Bear cry so hard.

-tries his hardest to be a pacifist and constantly reminds himself not to punch the people who insult his brother in the face. He has to be better than their poorly dressed ass. But it’s so hard.

-What are those horrible shoes on your feet? Crocs??? W H Y?

-Very loving and nurturing. He loves taking care of people and dotes on the people he loves.

-goes on cleaning rampages when something is bothering him.

-adores music. Music is amazing and he has started to hoard cds. He buys a lot of music from itunes as well but he adores cds too.

-his music is very very widespread and is very open to trying different genres. Once upon getting in the car Honey Bear gave him a weird look because a heavy metal cd started playing once the car turned on. He very awkwardly switched it to some light pop before explaining, “I was angry.”

-used to have a trombone but one day he a monster had rudely slapped it out of his hands because he was terrible at playing it and it was destroyed. Honey Bear and him kept searching Waterfall over the years for stuff but never found another one. He was still learning it at the time, but now he’s forgotten about all of it. He would love to try learning a different instrument though.

Swapfell

 Rus

-oh such an anxious boy. He’s doing his best to go about his day but he’s so stressed.

-His brother constantly singing his praise really helps keep him together. He can do this if his brother believes in him. It’ll be okay.

-Scary tol. 6’7 without slouching. He loves small and short people they’re adorable like his brother. If you’re taller than him that’s cool too, you’re just as cool.

-Hiding in his coat forever and always he barely lets it go. It’s big and warm and was a gift from his brother a long time ago to replace his old coat that was falling apart.

-Will hold his brother’s hand if they’re in a crowd or gives him a piggy back ride. Will likely do the same for you if you’re scared of crowds.

-Cooking is amazing like holy shit are you the next gordon Ramsay or something? He has a serious talent for it.

-really likes to cook, he finds it relaxing and he feeds his brother in the process. At the very least he isn’t eating a bunch of junk food and gets a healthy meal.

-Often looks up recipes for something new to try. He’s always trying to figure out a way to make sure his brother is able to eat healthy and enjoy the food at the same time.

-He will admit he’s a bit addicted to greasy foods. He can’t help it.

-His brother is the reason he started drinking barbeque sauce. When he started learning to grill he would douse the meats in barbeque sauce and that was when he discovered his love for it. He’s happy his brother still makes it the exact same way.

-he likes science though he’s never really focused on one field and hasn’t had the time to sit down and go through it.

-What is sleep? Ha ha ha… The poor boy is so anxious he has issues sleeping. He has to check on his brother at least 5 times in the night before he’s able to settle in. he’s a worry wort.

-music really helps him calm down, classical seems to do the best. He seems to gather rather haunting melodies in his collection though, so expect to find nothing but spoopy sounds.

-he can’t handle horror movies. It’s too much. Luckily his brother is the same way so they stay away from it pretty easily.

-horror movie ads terrify him significantly. He has to mute and click on a different tab until it’s past.

-he loves his brother so much, he low key worships him but it goes both ways between the two. They genuinely adore each other.

-touch starved. Anyone up for affection he is going to take advantage of that.

-Cuddles for days. Has zipped his brother up in his hoody and carried him around all day. It was very therapeutic for the both of them.

-craves praise and compliments. Him and his brother like to have sessions where they shower each other in compliments to help ease each other’s anxieties. Rus always ends up crying and it ends in cuddles. Please love this boy.

-has crippling depression similar to Classy Bean besides his anxiety. On bad days they just have leftovers or Scaryberry cooks.

Scaryberry

-So loud. Volume control does not exist. He’s not trying to fix it, he wants to be loud.

-smolest smol. 4’5 you will likely be taller than him. Don’t mention his height it makes him angry.

-seems like he’s always angry but he’s not he’s just a very rough and aggressive person.

-is childish because he doesn’t really like being an adult. Adulting is hard. He prefers his more childish demeanor over being overly serious.

-tantrums are just a show. He only uses them to draw attention and make the person he’s angry with panic about causing a scene. He’s a drama queen and life is his stage.

-puns are something he does like. They’re clever to him, but he will cringe at the shittier ones. You can do better than that.

-Anxiety. It’s everywhere. He has social anxiety, so he doesn’t like meeting new people without his brother around. Crowds are the worst. They’re so very loud and not in the good way, there are too many voices and it’s overwhelming. He’ll go into a panic attack.

-After becoming official friends with him, he will try to test what he can get away with. If you’re a bit of a doormat or pushover he will choose not to walk all over you later and try to defend you from being pushed around by others. If you don’t let him get away with jackshit then he’s relatively happy. He thinks it’s a very good trait to have.

-constantly tries to get his brother a scarf like his because he thinks he’d look cool in them. He hasn’t picked one out yet. There are too many unworthy of his brother.

-very opinionated. He will likely get into silly arguments with you like how to eat certain foods.

-he cannot cook. He can’t boil water at all, and he’s aware of how awful his cooking is. His brother generally takes care of it though and he adores his food.

-constant praise of his brother and friends. He loves giving compliments. He wishes he got more himself. He just wants affection is that so hard to ask?

-Says the weirdest things and his brother is often found doubled over laughing from it. He’s an energetic odd ball and he loves that.

-platonic cuddles are accepted and often times he will cuddle his friends when he desires affection. He gives gentle headbutts to get their attention to demand the affection.

-His brother is amazing and strong and you will never be able to tell him otherwise.

-He’s tough! He’s strong! He can handle anything!!!... okay maybe not horror movies BUT OTHER THAN THAT… Okay dogs are kind of scary… so are dolls, they seem suspicious… He’s not scared of no thing though! Whatever it is he’s trembling don’t make him do this. Quickly give him an out.

-he adores musicals! He can’t get enough of them. He loves Heathers, Hamilton, and Sweeney Todd so far, but his all time favorite is Phantom of the Opera. You’ll often hear him humming the music from Phantom of the Opera to himself.

-can’t cook but can do barbeques. He doesn’t get it but he rolls with it. He’s a grill master. He likes he’s good at something besides cleaning. It makes him feel more useful.

-loves sweets and junky foods. Hates vegetables. Will only eat them in a certain way.

-hates cleaning but will do it because he hates a dirty house more.

-has days where his energy is relatively low and he doesn’t do anything. He’s going to binge watch every musical he has and hang out with his brother.

 Horrortale

 Sugarskull

-The sweetest of all the skellies. Like liquid sugar.

-Not fond of his appearance but it is what it is. He can’t really fix it, so he decides not to dwell on it too much. Though upon reaching the surface finally it starts to bother him more.

-he doesn’t like scaring people and it’s hard to understand what part of him is scary looking so he can fix it. He doesn’t need to fix anything, he’s a sweet boy through and through.

-His bones ache a lot from the abuse he’s been through from Undyne. He tries not to let it bother him but sometimes he has a bad day where the pain is worse. Seems like it can get worse because of the weather, so he tries to keep an eye on the weather channel so he can plan around it. It works pretty well.

-Got new clothes after reaching the surface so he doesn’t wear his blood stained ones anymore. He figured out that it probably was unsettling and was quick to change it. He noticed a change which made people more willing to interact with him. He was overjoyed by the small step in progress.

-His clothes have a lot of variety but he has more pastel colored clothes than anything. They make him feel warm and fuzzy looking at them, and they’re so gentle. He also has every soft sweater he could find.

-Still holds on to his old stained clothes, but keeps them folded up nicely and kept in a box in his closet. His scarf luckily wasn’t stained so he keeps it on at all times.

-has an interest in action figures and stuffed animals. Stuffed animals are super soft and the action figures are neat.

-He cried when he first was introduced to a grocery store. There was so much food.

-also how he made his first friend. The grocery store was locally owned and the woman who owned it noticed him crying. She helped him calm down before checking him out herself. She threw in some extra things she noticed him eyeing for free. The woman hadn’t heard his story but recognized someone who struggled with starvation.

-the store now knows him by name, and is sure to send him any coupons they can get a hold of, a curtsy of the owner. He feels lucky to have such a good friend, and gives him hope for making other friends.

-extremely tol bean. He’s 8 feet tall. He hopes you don’t mind him picking you up. It’s easier on him to do that so he can be eye level with you. If not he will crouch down, even if it really hurts to do so.

-he has some paranoia when it comes to night time. It’s quiet and dark. He doesn’t like it. He is quick to find a solution though to fill in the silence. He plays soft nature sounds in his room to help him go to sleep. If that doesn’t work, he goes downstairs and sleeps on the couch after turning on the tv. He needs some sort of white noise or he’ll be anxious and unable to sleep the entire night.

-nightmares aren’t uncommon. He can’t remember them when he wakes up but his panicked state always confirms with him that he’d just had a bad dream. It takes a bit to calm down, he usually makes some tea to help his nerves.

-when he learns about cooking shows he’s ecstatic. There was an entire channel about cooking????????????? His eyes just light up. He learns some neat things from the channel but overall just enjoys learning about all sorts of foods humans have. There were so many. Sometimes he cries because he realizes that he’s able to make them if he really wanted and didn’t have to scrounge for food.

-he watches a lot of tv. Just about anything that makes him curious. He would read but it’s a little harder for him to get anything across to him sometimes. He can read it just find but comprehension seems to escape him. It’s such an off and on thing he just prefers not to read so he doesn’t get overly frustrated.

-has become more optimistic again after moving onto the surface. There’s a sky, there’s food, and he has his brother. He’s grateful for these things. He knows him and his brother have room for improvement though. They would heal in time, and even if they couldn’t completely go back to the way things were before, they at least had each other for the rough days.

 Axe

-it’s probably the roughest on him for the move to the surface. The only person he really trusts is his brother. Interactions with other people are awkward and strained.

-doesn’t like being asked about what happened in the underground. Will leave the conversation as fast as he can. That’s a can of worms he ain’t letting anyone open.

-pretty irritable when he’s uncomfortable. The surface is really different and it’s a lot to process for him. He stays at home mostly until he grows more comfortable to the fact of being on the surface.

-He then starts heading out with Sugarskull to slowly introduce himself to the rest of the world. It’s not so bad when he’s with his brother.

-The local grocery store is heaven, and he gets a conversation with the owner along side his brother. He was surprised she was looking out for him, and it makes things a little easier. He’s happy someone has accepted Sugarskull like this. It honestly takes a load off his mind.

-he starts exploring a little more after that. He enjoys the park a lot. Though he scares a lot of kids. There’s always a few weird ones that come talk to him and ask him nosy questions.

-Seeing the sky still kind of shakes him, like holy shit suddenly grounded. This is real. This isn’t a dream. He needs to sit down for a few hours.

-watches a lot of tv with Sugarskull. There is a lot of interesting channels and reading seems to be a lot harder for the both of them now. They’d been pretty avid readers but now books were more frustrating than anything.

-Axe still tries to read at times though. He wants to look more into science again, remember the stuff he loved about it. It’s all a hazy memory now. The books don’t help though.

-Axe remembers his love when him and his brother stargaze one night, and he feels a surge of adoration for the stars again. Oh, he’s crying shit. His brother hugs him and wipes his tears away. He’s as understanding as ever.

-Youtube is a gift from the gods. Axe is able to dive back into science because of it due to the science channels.

-he ends up watching a lot of other bullshit too. The videos vary greatly. Sometimes Sugarskull accidentally uses his channel and forgets to log off so there’s a lot of how to videos recommended to him too. He doesn’t care.

-horror movies are a no go. He’s had enough of that in real life, and doesn’t let it go anywhere near Sugarskull. That would be too much for the both of them.

-horror games are okay for him though. It feels like it’s a safe way to get out his frustrations. As long as he gets to kill things. That’s about the only kind of games he’ll be comfortable. He’s done a lot of shit but he doesn’t need any of that psychological horror shit. He’s fucked up enough as it is.

-tol bean. He’s 6 feet tall. He’s shocked to find he’s on the tall side for humans. This is different. He’s used to people being taller but now he’s tall too. This is actually a really nice feeling.

-morbid sense of humor, he really can’t help it. He’s actually funny as hell but holy shit are his jokes wrong as hell.

-cracking jokes eases his discomfort, and is able to adjust a little better hearing someone actually laugh at his jokes. You’re weird. That’s cool.

[brooksoavo453]

Medical Cannabis: It Really Is A Recovery Herb

"Cannabis has been used as a source of medicine for centuries - a common medicinal plant for the ancients. Also as technology entered into just how we live, it was taken into consideration a viable treatment for numerous ailments. However, in 1923, the Canadian federal government banned marijuana. Although marijuana cigarettes were seized in 1932, 9 years after the regulation passed, it took fourteen years for the first charge for cannabis belongings to be laid versus a person.

In 1961, the United Nations signed a global treaty referred to as the Solitary Convention on Narcotic Drugs, which introduced the four Schedules of dangerous drugs. Cannabis formally became an internationally managed drug, classified as a schedule IV (most restrictive).

Likewise included in the treaty is a need for the member nations to establish government firms in order to manage cultivation. As well, the requirements include criminalization of all processes of a set up medication, consisting of cultivation, production, preparation, property, sale, distribution, exportation, etc. Canada signed the treaty with Health Canada as its government company.

As a result of its medical applications, many have actually attempted to get cannabis gotten rid of from the routine IV category or from the timetables completely. However, due to the fact that cannabis was especially stated in the 1961 Convention, the alteration would need a bulk vote from the Payments' participants.

Canada's Changing Medicinal Marijuana Laws.

The wording of the Convention appears clear; countries who sign the treaty has to treat cannabis as a Schedule IV drug with the appropriate cbdforsalenearme.com punishment. Nevertheless, a number of short articles of the treaty consist of stipulations for the clinical and also scientific use of controlled substances. In 1998, Cannabis Control Policy: A Conversation Paper was revealed. Written in 1979 by the Division of National Health And Wellness and Welfare, the Marijuana Control Plan summed up Canada's responsibilities:.

"" In summary, there is substantial positive latitude in those arrangements of the worldwide medication conventions which obligate Canada to make sure kinds of cannabis-related conduct culpable offenses. It is sent that these commitments associate just to habits associated with illicit trafficking which even if Canada must elect to proceed outlawing consumption-oriented conduct, it is not needed to found guilty or penalize individuals who have devoted these offenses.

The responsibility to restrict the ownership of cannabis products specifically to legally licensed clinical as well as scientific functions describes management and circulation controls, as well as although it may call for the confiscation of cannabis had without consent, it does not bind Canada to criminally punish such possession."".

The clinical study continued the medical uses of marijuana. In August 1997, the Institute of Medication began a review to asses the clinical evidence of marijuana and also cannabinoids. Released in 1999, the report states:.

"" The accumulated data suggest a prospective therapeutic value for cannabinoid medicines, specifically for symptoms such as pain alleviation, control of nausea as well as throwing up, and also appetite stimulation. The therapeutic impacts of cannabinoids are best developed for THC, which is generally one of the two most abundant of the cannabinoids in cannabis."".

Also in 1999, Health Canada created the Medical Marijuana Research Program (MMRP); gradually, Canada's laws for medicinal cannabis started to transform.

- April 1999 survey reveals 78% percent sustain the medical use of the plant.

- May 10th - court gives AIDS client Jim Wakeford an acting constitutional exemption for ownership as well as growing.

- May 25th - House of Commons passes modified medicinal cannabis motion: ""the federal government should take steps immediately concerning the possible lawful clinical use of cannabis including ... medical trials, proper standards for medical use, in addition to accessibility to a secure medical supply ..."".

- June 9th - Priest of Health and wellness introduces scientific trials program; individuals that efficiently apply to Health Canada are exempt from criminal prosecution.

- October 6th - 14 more people obtain unique exemptions to utilize marijuana for medicinal functions.

- September 2000 - Federal Priest of Wellness introduces federal government will certainly be expanding medical marijuana and government policies will certainly be made into law.

- January 2001 - Ontario court declares the law outlawing the growing of medicinal cannabis is unconstitutional.

- April 2001 - Wellness Canada introduces suggested regulation for firmly regulated accessibility to medicinal cannabis.

- August 2001 - Health Canada MMAR (Cannabis Medical Accessibility Rules) enter into result; Canada becomes the first country permitting legal belongings of medical marijuana.

Considering that 2001, there has actually been a constant uphill climb for victims of lots of persistent as well as incurable conditions. A year after cannabis ended up being legal for medical usage, the Canadian Senate started promoting MMAR reform. Others promoted ways to legally acquire marijuana without having to expand it themselves; lots of sufferers, such as those with MS, we're unable to grow the plant because of inadequate health.

In 2003, the Ontario Court of Charm began to compel changes to the MMAR. One of these adjustments included providing affordable access with approved carriers of a legal marijuana supply.

Over the last seven years, researchers have dived deeper right into the capacity of medicinal cannabis for usage in treating health problems. In some cases, cannabinoids have revealed the possibility of having the ability to help cure a couple of conditions, which had been thought to be incurable. At the time of this writing, medical cannabis and also the cannabinoids it consists of has actually been utilized in study for many illness, including cancer, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid joint inflammation, as well as Crohn's condition, to name a few."

[americanpsycho1991]

hi, this might be way too personal a question and if it is I'm really sorry, but my psychiatrist recently brought up ECT as a possible treatment option for me and I was just wondering what it was like for you, and did it help at all. it feels like such an intense thing to go through but he says it can really help (but i know things work differently for each person). thank you so much, I'm sending you lots of love

Long answer, it’s under the cut

Hi. No need to apologize.  Let me give you one of my classic, incredibly long answers where I say the same thing a hundred different ways and do minimal editing before I post it.

ECT is a lot to think about, and I don’t feel that I was given the proper amount of information to make a well-rounded decision at the time.  In addition to this, if you search online, you’ll find a lot of people writing about their personal experiences.  These can be intimidating, as the accounts that appear online are often the very negative ones, where people feel they were pressured into the treatment and/or sustained significant memory impairment afterwards.  You’ll find people comparing ECT to lobotomies, and saying it shouldn’t be allowed except in the most extreme of cases.  I truly don’t believe that those accounts accurately represent the procedure, but I do recommend you read a few, so that you’re aware of the kind of worst-case scenarios that hospitals won’t tell you about.  I can give you an overview of my experience, and list what I believe are the main things that are important to consider before you make any decisions.  My biggest recommendations are that you a) gather as much information as you possibly can, and b) try TMS first.  I’ll talk a little more about TMS later on.

I got a course of ECT starting at the tail end of an inpatient stay at McLean hospital, through a 2-week residential DBT program on the same campus, and after I went home as well.  I don’t recall exactly how many treatments I was intended to get; I got quite a ways in, but didn’t end up finishing the entire course.I was 19 at the time.  Some of the patients in my inpatient ward felt that the hospital was a little too enthusiastic about performing ECT - while their treatment providers weren’t pushy per se, they suggested it to a lot of patients, and didn’t seem to share the typical view of ECT as a last or extreme resort that many treatment providers have.

McLean - while certainly not perfect - is considered one of the best psychiatric hospitals in the country, and is very much oriented towards research and trying out new and modern techniques.  As such, they’re more than happy to sign up patients for ECT and TMS (which is a less extreme option that I’ll bring up later).  My memory is foggy, but I definitely remember taking several surveys and approving them to be used for research purposes.

I specifically asked for ECT, because I was feeling desperate after two previous hospitalizations and a long list of failed medications.  They gave me a basic overview of ECT and TMS, and signed me up immediately once I confirmed that I did want ECT.

The hospital absolutely did not give me enough information.  I don’t think they fully conveyed the risks, and I think they are far too eager to sign up anyone with any interest in ECT as long as they’re old enough to medically consent.  I was 19 for christs sake, and no one asked me twice.  Honestly, even if they had properly prepared me, I probably still would have chosen to go forward with it, but that’s not an excuse.  And when I say I feel like I wasn’t properly informed, that’s after I took it upon myself to ask extensive questions beyond what was on the pamphlet they handed me.  I still didn’t get full answers.  If you’ve ever been put on a medication by a doctor who didn’t even list the most common side effects, you know how that feels.  Except instead of getting a headache and not being able to orgasm, you can get permanent brain damage.  So.

I don’t fully agree with many of the people online who say that patients are pressured into being lab rats, but I do think that the hospital’s mission to make progress in the psychiatric field is sometimes placed above their duty to provide a responsible level of care to their patients.  So basically the lab rat thing, but a little more forgiving.  And again, my experience is just from one hospital.  There are far worse places to be than McLean, and I’d imagine many of them offer ECT as well.

the procedure: one of the main issues with ECT is memory loss, so my memory of the actual procedure is a little fuzzy, but here’s what I do remember: you’re either wheelchaired to the ECT waiting room, or you walk there, depending on whether you’re inpatient or not. The first time I went there, and I think once or twice afterwards, they had me sit at a little computer station and fill out a basic survey on my symptoms (rate how true each statement is from 1-4, “I feel hopeless about the future,” etc.). Once it’s your turn, they take you to a small room where you lie down on a stretcher.  They might take your vitals, and they have you take off your jacket or roll up your sleeves so they can put little electrode stickers on you. I don’t think they have you change into a gown unless you’re wearing clothes they can’t get out of the way, like skinny jeans or something. They roll you into another room, and they put an IV in your arm and put you out with anesthesia.

You wake up shortly afterwards, in a long room with full of other people waking up in their stretchers, with medical gel in your hair. That’s one of my most vivid memories; always needing to shower afterwards to get the gel out of your hair.  Someone comes over and gives you some water or juice, or crackers, makes sure you’re feeling okay, and after a little while they clear you to go back to the waiting room.  If you’re inpatient, you’ll be wheeled back up to your ward, and if you’re outpatient, they have you sit in the waiting room for a little while longer before they let you walk back out. I always felt fine - well rested, even - after waking up, but some people get more nausea and whatnot. It’s unusual to have severe symptoms. I couldn’t give you a time estimate, but it’s a surprisingly short procedure, and most of your time is spent in the waiting room or the recovery area.

Afterwards, you’ll be very tired and sometimes spacey for the rest of the day. Once I was outpatient, and getting driven to and from my appointments, I would often fall asleep in the car on the way back.  Sometimes I wouldn’t remember things that had happened that same morning.

At first, it seemed to work. On my non-ECT days in inpatient, I found I had more energy, and felt less depressed.  After a few weeks, though, it petered out and I stopped feeling positive effects from it.  I forget who was monitoring my process, but it was mutually decided that there was no point in finishing the full course.

That was about a year and a half ago. Since then, I’ve noticed that I’m more forgetful than before. I’m trying to work out my brain these days (which I probably should have done right away) to try to restore my memory, and many people who do experience short term memory damage say it fades after a few months to a year.  Even if it sticks around (like mine seems to have done), it’s seldom a level of damage that significantly impairs quality of life.  Like I said, though, there are plenty of horror stories online from people who suffered significant, permanent brain damage and have definitely been impaired by memory issues.  Just because it’s uncommon doesn’t mean it can’t happen.  I assumed that because I was young and in relatively good health, I wouldn’t have as many issues as I ended up having.

In addition to the short term memory impairment, I lost the majority of two years of memories.  If you asked me to tell you about the college courses I took during that time, I could only give you a few course titles, a vague impression of what one or two professors were like, and absolutely none of the information I learned.  I had a major confrontation with a family member during that time, that I only remembered happening because my dad brought it up recently. I still only have a vague idea of what was said.  Even my memories before that time are more blurry and distant than they used to be, and many memories that used to be present in my mind are only familiar once someone else reminds me.

Which brings me to some points to consider before making any decisions (in no particular order):

1. Being put under general anesthesia multiple times a week isn’t good for you.  This was a risk that wasn’t even mentioned to me.  It’s not like I didn’t know anesthesia isn’t good for you, but as a desperate, suicidal 19 year old, I was understandably not making the most balanced choices.  And for all the hospital knew, I could have been a very uneducated person.  I don’t blame the hospital for the decisions I made, but it should have been their job to educate me about the risks, make sure I fully understood them, and to the best of their ability, make sure that I was making as rational a decision as a suicidal 19 year old in her third inpatient ward can be expected to make.

I don’t actually know, but I assume the dose they give you for ECT is lower than it might be for surgeries.  I would still recommend you do some research on the long term effects of general anesthesia, because they can be quite concerning.

2. You can lose a significant number of memories and sustain damage to your working memory.  One of the reasons ECT is often considered an extreme resort is because of how common, how profound, and how permanent the side effects can be.  It’s like looking up a new medication that you’re taking on drugs.com and discovering that some of the most severe side effects that you’d expect to be under less common or rare are actually among the most common.  Older people or those with pre-existing neurological issues are more prone to damage from ECT, but it truly can happen to anyone. There is no way to predict it beforehand, and there is no way to tell what damage you will sustain based on how you feel during the treatments.  I sort of subconsciously assumed that, because I often felt fine and recovered more quickly than those around me in the treatment, that I wasn’t getting the bad side effects at all.  Nope.  You’ll often feel loopy, sleepy, or spaced out during the course of the treatment, and you’ll lose a lot of your immediate memories during that time, so it’s impossible to tell what kind of effects you’ll end up with in the long term.

Then again, the treatment does wonders for some people.  It’s a difficult question - do I try a treatment that may or may not help me at all, which may or may not give me long-term memory damage, but which has the potential to make a massive improvement or cure me altogether?  No one can answer that for you.

3. It’s likely you won’t be given an accurate impression of the treatment by the facility providing it.  Stories on the internet will give you the worst impression of ECT.  The hospital that provides it will give you the best impression of ECT.  In my opinion, the “truth” is somewhere in the middle.  Still, ASK.  Be irritating.  Drill whoever you’re talking to.  Ask them what the worst case scenario is.  Ask them at what point in psychiatric treatment they feel it’s appropriate to introduce that kind of risk.  They’ll tell you about the people whose lives were changed by ECT, but ask them about the people whose lives weren’t changed.  Ask them about the people like me, whose lives weren’t ruined, but weren’t saved either.  Ask how likely it is that you’ll end up with a moderate amount of damage and no benefit.  Remember that you can always have ECT in the back of your mind, but once it’s done, you can’t undo it.

Looking at websites like mayoclinic and whatnot does not provide an accurate impression of the risks. It just doesn’t. There’s no one source - except me, of course :))) - that will give you a truly accurate, balanced impression of what ECT is like.  I just googled a few sites to see what they had to say, and their descriptions make ECT sound like a walk in the park.  It’s not.

It’s not a decision that you need to make quickly.  Again, if I had been told I wasn’t allowed to get ECT until I was out of the hospital and judged to be a little more stable, I still probably would have done it.  But again, everyone is not me.

4. How will you feel having ECT as a possibility in reserve vs. having tried it and failed?  Before ECT, the stakes of my psychiatric and theraputic treatment weren’t quite so high.  They were worth a solid try, but there was always this mystical treatment that I could get if my depression got to the point where all that was left was this “extreme resort.”  I always thought it was strange and probably for insurance reasons that ECT was only for extreme cases, if it had such potential to turn my entire life around.  Why wait year after year, wasting my life trying every class of antidepressant and driving 45 minutes once a week to tell a woman I paid to listen to me that yes, I was still depressed?  Clearly I needed help, so why waste all this time making sure nothing else could possibly work first?  It gave me a sense of hope, but it also put me in a mindset where I found it difficult to fully commit to the therapy I had at the time.

The aftermath of ECT required coming to terms with some tough truths.  It was never a miracle cure.  There were perfectly legitimate reasons why it was reserved for extreme cases.  With that sense of hope gone, I felt crushed, but in a sense, I’m better off.  I feel hopeless very often, and I feel desperate, but at least I’m desperate enough to throw myself into the therapy I have, rather than wonder about the possibilities of what I don’t have.

Of course, there’s no guarantee that ECT would fail for you.  It might change your life.  A lot of people who are helped by it will go back every 6-12 months for a “tune-up.”  But I think it’s a significant enough decision that you need to evaluate how not getting ECT could affect your attitude towards other treatments, as well as being prepared to cope in case you try it and it fails.  You need to enter the treatment with the mindset that ECT failing does not mean you’re a lost cause.  It’s an extreme resort, but it’s never your last resort.  Many things - even the effectiveness of different medications - can change with time.  You can even have another go at ECT years down the road, because sometimes it works differently once you’ve had even more time to age and mature.

5. It’s not considered an extreme resort because it’s a risky-but-potentially-miraculous cure.  Like I said in the last point, I’d held misconceptions about ECT and the reason it’s not done more often for a very long time.  It’s considered an extreme resort because it’s an intense procedure, that most people don’t need, and which doesn’t have the greatest track record.  Some people have life-changing experiences with ECT.  That’s fantastic.  But I’ll bet the reason they don’t advertise the statistics is because an awful lot of people don’t.  Medication and talk therapy has a much higher success rate and much less severe or permanent downsides than ECT.  I know I’ve said it a million different ways, but it’s an awful lot of risk for something that doesn’t seem to have a particularly high success rate.

6. TMSTMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation) is like a less extreme, and much more recently invented version of ECT.  I don’t know the exact details of the treatment, but my roommate at McLean (a woman in her 40s, who had gone up and down during the years but still hadn’t given up) was getting it at the same time I was getting ECT.  Instead of shocking your brain and triggering a brain seizure, TMS is a constant electrical pulse. You stay awake the whole time. It also has potential negative side effects, but they’re generally less extreme than those of ECT.  If you’re in the US, many insurance companies have already approved coverage of TMS.  Many patients who were receiving TMS at McLean were doing so as a less extreme alternative to ECT, with the plan that if TMS was ineffective, they would be open to moving up to ECT.  If TMS can help you, it’s much better to avoid undertaking the risks of ECT altogether.  I was desperate at the time and didn’t see the point of going for the milder treatment, but in hindsight I think it’s a much wiser idea.

I’ve actually thought about TMS for myself.  I don’t know what the likelihood of it working for me now, a year and a half after ECT not working, and I’m concerned that it would make my mild tinnitus worse, but it might be a possibility.  Again, it’s a more extreme treatment than most psychiatric medications and talk therapy, but it’s not on the level of being put under general anesthesia and having a brain seizure two or three times a week.

[wolfypuppypiles]

Your fanfics are absolute blessings?? Sorta addicted to hurt!Alec in Malec fics, so I'm obsessed. Just to put down a prompt idea, no pressure... Magnus gets possessed by a demon (like the possession of Alec and Izzy), and spews hateful words to Alec and attacks him? Alec is injured but expels the demon, and what happens from there is dealer's choice! Vise versa (Possessed!Alec attacking Magnus) is also fine if you prefer that. Have a wonderful, Malec-loving day. ❤❤

awww you are so sweet thank you! This was a great prompt, I really liked how it turned out and it’s longer than my one shots usually are so I really hope you like it!! It’s called “Devil on your mind.” which is a song by whittaker and its really good

Alec knew it wasn’t Magnus, but it was his eyes, and his voice, and it hurt so much. “Magnus, please. Don’t do this, you can fight it!”

The warlock’s eyes were cold, and his voice hard, as he came after the love of his life, with balls of magic curling around his palms. “What if I don’t want to? What are you worth to me? A few years? One measly lifetime? You are a blink of an eye; a memory lost among thousands of others. You are nothing to me.”

Alec let out another sob as he desperately tried to crawl away from his boyfriend. They’d been spending the day together, and it had been perfect, until Magnus had changed.

His shoulders shook, body curling in on itself as he groaned out a warning. “Alec. It’s a…ugh, it’s a demon. I can’t stop it. Run.”

And then his eyes turned cruel and he’d laughed hysterically. It was so unlike Magnus it had made Alec shiver. His voice was tinged with humour. “Too late, little shadowhunter.”

Alec had tried to stop him, tried to draw a devil’s trap on the floor, but the demon was faster, and it had broken Alec’s arm before he could make a single mark. That agony, that white hot pain, blurred Alec’s mind, and he couldn’t think clearly.

And now, the demon stalked its prey, slowly advancing on Alec as he tried to crawl towards the apartment door. Izzy and Jace were trying to get in, but were being kept out by Magnus’ wards. Alec wasn’t even sure how the demon had gotten past it.

The demon threw another ball of magic, one of many that had already been thrown, among kicks and punches and every ugly insult that the demon could find that would hurt Alec.

The ball of flame struck the Nephilim in the chest as he screamed. The concentrated orbs of magic hit like a bat, slamming the shadowhunter to the ground with a force that made several of his ribs snap. Alec sobbed again, unbroken arm wrapping around his chest as he tried to reason with the body the demon was in.

“Magnus, I know this isn’t you. It’s okay. You’ll be okay, we’ll get it out. Just…please try to fight it.”

Jace and Isabelle could hear it all, and slammed at the door with renewed vigour, at the desperation in Alec’s voice. Jace could feel everything his brother did, and he knew that Alec was hurt. His own hands were bloodied, and still he hit them against the doors, desperate to save his Parabatai.

It was agony, hearing and feeling his best friend being hurt by the man he loved, while being shut out, unable to help.

Isabelle cursed as she tried every rune and resource she knew to break the wards and get through, but none were working.

Again, the demon came closer, as Alec backed himself against a wall. He had nowhere else to go and he couldn’t stop him on his own.

Usually, when possessed by a demon, the victim has no control and doesn’t remember it happening afterwards. Alec knew that feeling for himself; that strange hollowness, the loss of time. But because Magnus was part demon, he had more say over what his body did. He didn’t have much control, but he couldn’t bear to hurt Alec anymore.

Using every ounce of strength he had, Magnus forced the demon to the back of his consciousness, and took over his own body, just for a second. But a second was all he needed.

Alec watched Magnus’ steps falter, stumbling as he regained control, before he flung out an arm and took down his wards, allowing Jace and Izzy through. His eyes were full of apologies, and he opened his mouth to tell Alec he loved him, only to growl instead.

The demon took back control, angry at being overpowered, and roared, running at Alec with hands lit up with flames. “You’ll pay for that warlock!”

Alec flinched, curling into a ball against the wall, but those flames never came. Jace and Izzy burst through the apartment doors, weapons raised, and the demon was tackled to the floor, slamming against the hardwood.

Jace struggled to hold the warlock’s hand’s down, but he and his siblings had wrestled enough times that he knew about fifty different ways to pin his opponent beneath him. Finally, he had the demon subdued, hands twisted behind him, useless, as it screamed in rage.

Isabelle raced around the two, quickly drawing a devil’s trap on the floor and beginning her chant. It was a prayer, and a spell, one to exercise the demon and trap it back in hell.

The demon struggled, pulling Magnus’ face into an expression of pain and hate as it was dragged back to hell. Jace pressed it down harder, while doing his best not to hurt the body it was dwelling in. “Get out of Magnus!”

The demon’s screams grew louder and more desperate as Isabelle came to the end of the exorcism, and finally Magnus’ eyes rolled up into his head and he went limp. The demon was gone.

Jace scrambled off him, carefully rolling him over as Izzy knelt beside them. Jace gently shook his shoulder. “Magnus?”

Nothing happened. Alec whimpered from his place against the wall, as he watched Jace grow more worried. The blonde lifted a hand towards him.

“Stay there, buddy. Don’t move.” And then he turned to his sister, voice quiet. “Iz, he’s not breathing.”

The Lightwood girl let out a small curse and went to start compressions, when finally, the warlock shot straight up and gasped. Jace jumped back in fright before taking the other man’s shoulder and leaning down to look into his eyes. They were widened in fright, and Jace kept his voice calm and quiet.

“Magnus? You’re okay now; the demons gone. I’m going to check on Alec. Izzy stay with him.”

Magnus looked up at the mention of his angel’s name, and Jace sprinted over to his brother. Alec was trying to make his way over to the others, but his head pounded and he hurt so bad. His chest was tight, and he couldn’t get enough air in, as he stood on shaky legs, only to fall back on his knees, with a grunt of pain, after the first step.

Jace caught the Nephilim before the rest of him could hit the ground, and he cradled him in his lap as he spoke softly to him.

“Alec, just stay still, we’ll get you both fixed up, but I can’t have you moving. Lay still.”

But Alec didn’t care about himself, he needed to know how his boyfriend was doing. He struggled to sit up in Jace’s arms, whole body shaking as his vision blurred. “Is he okay? Is Magnus okay?”

Jace nodded, looking briefly over to where Magnus was slumped and ragged but sitting up, as Izzy checked him over. He looked shell shocked, eyes frightened as he looked at Alec.

Jace turned back to his brother, and gently lifted Alec’s shirt in order to activate his iratze rune. “He’s fine, he’s just worried about you. Let me see that arm.”

Magnus may have been free of the demon but he remembered Alec’s pleas for mercy, and his screams of agony as he’d attacked him. He could remember the way Alec’s bones had sounded when they broke.

Isabelle whispered reassurances to him as she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, but he heard none of it as he shook on the ground.

Jace did his best to treat Alec without hurting him further, but the broken arm couldn’t even be touched without causing pain. Magnus couldn’t watch anymore, he couldn’t see that arm laying at such an unnatural position, and he couldn’t hear Alec whimper any longer. It was his fault, he’d done that to him.

The warlock stood on shaky feet, and ran to the bathroom, throwing up as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Izzy came to his aid, kneeling beside him, and rubbing his back as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t even have to say anything; she’d been in his shoes before and she knew the guilt he felt. “It wasn’t you, Magnus. He knows that.”

But the warlock shook his head. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. It was my hands that hurt him, Isabelle. My voice that said those horrible things. How could he ever forgive me? How could he ever look at me again without seeing that monster?”

He dissolved into sobs, and the shadowhunter took him in her arms. She rubbed a hand over his back, her words coming out with a sigh.

“Because he loves you.”……

“Alec, lay back down or I swear to the angel, I will knock your ass out.” Jace was getting impatient with his brother; having to tell him off more than a few times, but the shadowhunter just didn’t want to stay in the infirmary.

“I have to talk to him, I need to make sure he’s okay!” Jace gently pushed Alec back into the bed and pulled his blankets back over him, before readjusting the Iv on his arm.

“And I need to make sure you’re okay. Izzy’s with Magnus, he’ll be all right, but you seriously need to stay in bed. Just let me look after you.”

He was fussing and he knew it but Alec was always a difficult patient; he never liked being kept down for long. Alec sighed in defeat and slumped back in his pillows as Jace carefully placed ice packs all over him.

He hurt all over, his arm still throbbing despite the amount of pain meds in his system, and he had a migraine from the concussion he’d sustained. He watched Jace as he adjusted pillows with his own bandaged hands.

He’d banged on the apartment door so hard and for so long, that he’d ripped the skin over his knuckles and broken a few fingers. Of course, he hadn’t complained, but Alec noticed anyway.“Thanks for saving us.”

Jace nodded, not looking up from his work. His voice was causal, as if banishing demons and saving lives was no big deal. “You know I’ll always come save you. I’m just glad you’re okay. Magnus will be too, and I did my best not to hurt him when I attacked the demon. He might have some bruises though.”

Alec took his hand, making it pause from where it had been drawing an iratze on the Lightwood’s side. “I mean it. Thank you. That demon would have killed me if you hadn’t stopped it.”

Jace looked uncomfortable at the thought, and shrugged, frowning at a bruise and a graze over Alec’s jaw.

“You’ve handled worse before. You could have taken him.”

“No, I couldn’t.” His voice was quiet as he looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even fight back, Jace. I couldn’t hurt Magnus.”

The image of Alec laying on the ground, broken and bloodied by Magnus’ hands, struck Jace so hard that he shuddered. He gave his hands something to do, to take his mind off the horrible image of his brother being killed by the person he loved most, and carefully cleaned the graze on Alec’s face, making him wince.

“Well it’s a good thing Izzy and I were there then.” He was clearly upset, and Alec let out a soft sigh and took his parabatai’s hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Thanks for taking care of me.” Jace gave him a reassuring smile, and squeezed his hand back.

“Anytime.”

……………

It was a few days until Jace let Alec leave his bed, and in that time, he hadn’t managed to get Magnus on the phone.

Izzy said he was fine, just shaken and feeling guilty after the whole awful ordeal, but Alec was worried. He knew exactly what Magnus was going through, he’d buried himself in his guilt when he killed Joycelyn and hadn’t let anyone help shoulder the pain. Until Magnus took it from him.

Alec needed to know he was okay, and he needed Magnus to know that there was nothing to be sorry for.

He was still healing, and his arm was in a cast, but he was feeling much better and he finally talked Jace into letting him go so he could talk to his boyfriend.

He headed straight for the apartment, finding the doors tightly shut and the wards back up and stronger than before.

Alec was usually the only person that could enter whenever he liked, because he considered it home too. But this time it was locked, and so, he resorted to knocking.

“Magnus it’s me.”

The apartment was quiet for a few moments before Alec could hear something like ice clinking in a glass, and then a soft voice from close behind the door.

“Alexander. Are you, all right? How badly did I….?”

Alec leant against the door, hating the distance between him and his warlock.

“I’m fine, Jace fixed me up.”

Another pause and then Magnus��� sombre voice.

“Then you should go.”

“Magnus.” The name came with a breath of surprise. Alec pounded on the door again.

“I’m worried about you, please just let me in.”

He didn’t hear anything for a few moments, and thought that Magnus was ignoring him, until the wards shimmered and fell around the door, as it opened, allowing Alec through.

The shadowhunter found him on the balcony, looking out over the city with a glass in his hand. Alec walked over to him but the warlock didn’t turn.

“Magnus, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He wanted to reach for him, but Magnus was keeping his distance, and hadn’t even looked at him yet.

“I’m fine. You’re not.”

Alec stepped closer. “I’m healing, I’ll be okay. Hey, come on, look at me.”

The warlocks head lowered and he set his glass down, fingers curling into fists.

“I can’t. How can you be here? How can you stand to look at me?” His voice was shaky, and it was evident that he was hurting. Alec came up behind him, reaching for one of his hands.

“It wasn’t you, Magnus.”

The warlock let out a small trembling breath, tears blurring his vision as Alec’s fingers curled around his.

“I hurt you. I said such horrible things.”

Alec pulled gently on his hand, turning him around to face him, but Magnus kept his eyes closed and his face ducked low. There were tears trailing down his cheeks, and Alec’s breath hitched at the sight of them.

“No, you didn’t. That’s what the demon did, and it’s gone now. It can’t hurt us anymore.”

Magnus still wouldn’t look at him, but Alec was standing so close now, and he lifted Magnus’ hand to his mouth, kissing the fingers as the warlock curled them away as if it hurt to be given affection.

“Alexander.” The name came as a plea, but Alec wouldn’t let him be pushed away. He wouldn’t let Magnus hurt on his own.

“That wasn’t you. You wouldn’t say those things and you would never hurt me.”

Using his good hand, Alec guided Magnus’ palm to his own cheek, pressing it to his face. His voice was insistent and calm. Magnus couldn’t get the image of Alec cowering away from him, out of his head, but Alec wasn’t afraid.

“This is you. Here with me. You kiss me every morning, and make tea in your robe, and you like to sing when you think I can’t hear you.”

Magnus let out a sob, eyes still tightly shut as Alec brushed his hair back with a gentle finger.

“You like to spoil me, even though I tell you every time that all I need is you. I fall asleep with you wrapped around me, and wake up with your hand in mine, and I’ve never been happier in my life, than when I’m with you. You’ve given me everything I ever wanted, and never thought I could have. You are Magnus Bane, you are my boyfriend, and you are everything good in this world. That thing that hurt me wasn’t any part of you.”

Magnus moved his hand from Alec’s cheek, down to the Nephilim’s chest, where he could grip his shirt and feels his heart thumping beneath his fingers.

Alec spoke again, taking Magnus’ other hand and squeezing it in comfort. “Open your eyes. Look at me, baby, come on.”

Magnus took a shuddering breath, and slowly opened his eyes, only to step away from the shadowhunter and sob again as he took in the damage to his boyfriend. The bruises over every part of his skin, the cast on his arm, the grazes over his face.

“Oh god, what have I done. Look at you, my poor angel. I’m so sorry.”

Alec didn’t let the warlock move away, taking his waist, and pulling him back to his chest.

“You didn’t do this. You would never do this. Magnus, kiss me.”

The immortal shook his head, eyes unable to stray away from the deep black bruises smeared across Alec’s collarbone where he’d kicked him. Alec didn’t relent, voice dipping to a breathy whisper as he held Magnus close, noses brushing, their lips only a breath apart.

“Kiss me.”

Magnus surged forward, pressing his lips to Alec’s perfect mouth with a shaking gasp. He tasted the way he always had; like safety and home, and everything he’d ever wanted.

Alec’s heart was thumping under his palm, as the Nephilim buried his fingers in his hair at the back of his head.

Everything else melted away. He wasn’t that horrible thing, he wasn’t cruel and his hands weren’t the fists that had beaten Alec down. His hands were soft where they touched his angel, fingers brushing across Alec’s cheek.

He was not the cold, hard, voice that told Alec he meant nothing; he was a man with a heart bursting at the seams with love. That’s all they were, in that moment. Two people in love.

He finally broke the kiss, and Alec smiled, seeing the grief and pain gone from his boyfriend’s face. “There you are. My beautiful warlock.”

Magnus finally relaxed in his hold, and Alec pulled him to his chest for a hug. He was enveloped in safety, and Magnus breathed a sigh of relief.

“I love you, Alexander.”

Alec kissed his temple, and squeezed him tight.

“I love you too, Magnus.”

(I really hope you like it!! Please tell me what you think!! I’ll post this on my ao3 and ff.net accounts too! and thanks again for the prompt!!!)

[rileypark]

Ships In The Night Ϟ Self Para

TIME: July 28th to August 6th.

PLACE: NYC

GENERAL NOTES: After the last events in Riley’s life, she gets to spend the week by herself, a great opportunity to think of what’s ahead.

COMMENTS: Riley’s feeling/thoughts are so hard to write because she won’t even share them with me, so this was fun. It wasn’t.

I

The fundraiser extends long past 3am, and it’s such a wide success for Riley that she can’t imagine being able to sleep any time soon due to all the emotions and the adrenaline of the night. She doesn’t see Daina for the rest of the event, even when she catches herself trying to find the woman in the sea of people. She’s never been more thankful to have great, competent assistants reminding her of her itinerary, because she seems to still be in a haze after that kiss. Pathetic, really, she chastises herself mentally. Daina’s probably soundly asleep by the time Riley finishes saying goodnight to all the guests, thanking them for their donations. 

The silence in her bedroom is usually the most welcoming enviroment in her life, the one place she can just be herself, and not this persona she’s crafted so perfectly for her job. But silence this time means her mind is running wild with thoughts she would like to ignore at the moment. She shifts constantly in her sheets, questioning whether to go over Daina’s room and wake her up to discuss everything while emotions are still on the surface, or if she should let her rest considering her early trip in the morning. Her rational side, as usual, beats what her heart desires, but the punishment for it is not being able to sleep until 5am, plagued by unwanted thoughts and haunted by blue eyes.

II

What would Daina and her together would even look like? she ponders over her brunch on Saturday. Her wife was already gone by the time she woke up, and for once, she’s relieved by the fact that she has a moment to herself, just like old times. Her and Daina together would mean nothing but banter, and bad times, she’s sure of it. Now that she’s had a moment to go over everything that occurred between the two, she’s not sure physical attraction is enough to sustain a marriage. That’s all there is at the moment, right? She is mistaking the thrill of the tension between them for something with more depth. She’s more and more certain that, when the time comes for the talk, she’ll be able to stand her ground and decide they’re better off in this awkward semi-friendship state they’re in, instead of risking it all at the chance of a real relationship.

By the time she goes to bed, however, her position has shifted in 180 degrees. Objectively, she’s clearly grown fond of Daina, even if she despises how cliche and predictable the whole situation is. She’s not looking forward to the endless waves of ‘I told you so’ she’ll receive if she chooses to take the opportunity with Daina. She feels her frustration weigh in her throat, a heavy lump, as she usually does when she’s faced with strong emotions and situations she can’t control. When her eyes finally flutter close, all she’s sure of is that she’s been proven once again, that her decision of staying out of serious relationship her whole life was right all along. Everything else is up in the air, including, whether or not she’s ready to venture into something more with the woman she’s married to.

III

On Sunday, she takes Bailey out for what she initially believed to be a quick walk around the block, but turned into an unexpected morning jog. She had never realized just how much energy was contained inside that beast until she was the one being pulled by the leash, ending up miles away from her home. They make it to a small park eventually, and she lets her free to play with the rest of the dogs, keeping the promise she had made Daina to give her some recreational time. As the woman passes through her mind again, she debates whether to call her, or message her, anything after two days of radio silence. What would she even say? she fights back, because she wouldn’t be able to pretend like nothing’s changed between. A nonchalant message would feel anticlimatic when they are due for a long conversation when she’s back. It’s all too much pressure, and Riley’s had trouble relaxing any time she’s reminded of it. She’s thankful for Leila’s husband, Sam, and his timely interruption, joining before she can act on her impulse. They chat for a while then, and it’s nice enough to vanish any thoughts of the blonde from her mind.

IV

The week is easier to survive, as she buries herself in her work, feeling much like herself again, in power, her mind sharp making the most pertinent decisions regarding business, with that critical thinking she can’t seem to translate into her personal life.  

V

Her and Daina just make sense, it’s the thought on Tuesday, and it’s either thought number 7 or 20 regarding this whole situation. She’s sort of losing track already. They’re both intelligent, hardworking, goal oriented, beautiful women. They would be a power couple, in all aspects. She’s attracted to her, without a doubt, and if she were to try and open up just slightly, there’s a chance that things could be good for them. Great even. After all, she’s a risk taker at work, why would her personal life be any different? She can feel the excitement bubbling up, convincing her she should go for it. That all sounds ideal, except when she’s reminded that she’ll have this woman prying into her deepest secrets and feelings, seeing her at her most vulnerable, and suddenly she remembers why she’s so against it in the first place, her heart tightening at the thought, arms moving closer to her chest in a subconscious attempt to protect herself. It’s not as if she hasn’t dated for long periods of time in the past, she’s not incompetent. She managed to last a good amount of time with her previous girlfriend, but even then, they were both in agreement that their relationship was temporary and completely focused on having fun for the time being, with no promises of a future together. On the other hand, there’s obviously a big, obnoxious, neon sign with the words “forever” attached to her and Daina. It makes all the difference.

VI

She walks past her music room on the way to the library on Wednesday, when she stops in her tracks, suddenly noticing the piano in the corner, the same piano Daina is so drawn to. It gives her an idea, and before she can talk herself out of it, she makes the right calls to ensure her plan is set in motion. She’s not confident Daina would even approve of her spending so much money on a surprise for her, their money issues seem still unsolved, like everything about them. But she can’t think of a better peace offering, that much she’s certain of. She wants that, more than anything. Whether they end up falling in love with eachother or not, they need peace for the challenges to come.

VII

It’s late on Thrusday, and she’s feeling uneasy, struggling to get some sleep again, when she pulls up her phone, helpless to get any rest. She goes over her extensive contact list, filled with business related people, until she finds the name she’s looking for. She feels her heart pound faster, not only because her mind wanders off briefly to San Francisco, but because she’s embarrassed by the mispelled name she hasn’t changed since that horrible first encounter. That’s how terrible she's been acting because of a stupid unfair law. She couldn’t take back all those unpleasant moments, even if she wanted to, but she knew the future could look different if she tried just a little harder to not be a complete bitch. Finally, she changes her wife’s contact from “Diana” to “Daina”, a small gesture, and she feels completely ridiculous for doing it --though she’s more embarrased for keeping it for so long out of spite-- but she thinks it’s a start. She’s not sure what stops her from texting her about it, but when she wakes up in the morning she’s particularly happy for her restraint.

VIII

Saturday is filled with a sense of dread, she’s been counting the days until Daina comes home as if she was counting down to her death. She busies herself with Bailey again, who’s obviously missing her mom and is acting especially clingy with her substitute mother. She takes her to the scheduled vet appointment she promised Daina she would go to, before they kissed senseless in the middle of her kitchen, of course. She knows, thanks to one of her maids, that Daina’s been facetiming her dog, so at least it’s a reassurance that the blonde is very much alive and coming home to have this talk sooner rather than later. The dog behaves like a saint with the vet for her check up, thankfully, and she feels weirdly proud of a pet than isn’t even hers to begin with. Riley on the other hand, paces uncomfortably at the sight of needles for the duration of the appointment. As they drive back home, the idea of potentially spending time with both Daina and Bailey in the future passes through her mind. Perhaps hiking would be an activity everybody would enjoy. Her hand rests atop Bailey’s back, drawing lazy patterns as she’s catches herself smiling at the thought. It doesn’t so too bad, after all.  

IX

The news of her firm establishing a business deal overseas comes on Sunday, and it makes for the perfect night of celebration. She hasn’t been able to stop reminding herself of the impending conversation she’s going to have with Daina in a few hours, when she’s back from San Francisco, and she’s not going to say no to an opportunity to clear her mind and ease her anxiety. The Marquee Nightclub is one of her favorite places and the perfect venue to do so. It’s past 2am, and the party is in full swing when she’s alerted by a friend that her phone is vibrating in her bag. Her annoyance grows, fumbling inside her purse to find the phone, wondering who could possibly be calling so late at night. 

She stares at the screen while her phone vibrates in her hand, freezing as the name of her wife --rightfully spelled this time-- lights up in front of her. Thinking of their time difference, she wonders briefly if it would be smart to answer a call someone’s making so close to midnight. Bad things happen in night calls, people can get embarrassingly clingy and sad when it’s their bed time. She wasn’t ready to deal with that side of Daina, especially when she’s had a few drinks and she’s less likely to remain in control. Her thumb ghosts over the button for a couple of seconds, and against her better judgement, she slids her finger to accept the call, excusing herself from her group of friends, to find a better place to talk. Bringing her phone to her ear, she can hear a similar enviroment coming from the blonde’s end, and she furrows her eyebrows in confusion before speaking. “It’s late” she states bluntly, making her way to the bathroom. The distress she can hear coming from Daina’s voice make her stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way, and she’s completely bothered by the fact that she’s let this woman affect her in such way already. “Are you okay?”

[hayjeon]

Sutures and Stitches [m] Pt. 2

→ Genre: Angst, action, fluff, mature (mentions of blood, wounds, medical jargon) (smut in future chapters)

→ Jeongguk/Reader

→ 3.2k words

→ Summary: hitman!jeongguk and medstudent!Y/N bestfriends!au; Jeongguk always shows up to your place or hospital whenever he gets hurt because you guys are best friends and you patch him up, but he has no idea that every time you stitch up his wounds, it tears open new wounds in your own heart. 

→ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

“You’re seriously sitting here scared of a tiny needle when you have a goddamn 9mm bullet embedded in your proximal deltoid muscle?!” He grinned, “Old habits die hard. And damn, I could get used to how hot you are with med words.”

Somewhere between the MCATs and the all-nighters consisting of coffee and learning about the direction of urine through the human body before excretion to the utmost disgusting detail, you and Jeongguk drifted apart.

Growing up with him in a small town in Busan and living four minutes from his nice little apartment where he lived with his adorable parents and his older brother made you get used to the occasional disappearances of Jeon Jeongguk. Once, when the both of you were in the sixth grade, he’d disappeared for four days, causing an uproar in your small town. He’d just gone to his friend’s house a few cities over and had “forgotten” to tell his parents.

Later into your friendship, you realized this forgetful nature was very characteristic of Jeongguk. He’d always be the one forgetting his pencil during the most important tests of your high school careers, or climbing up the tree next to your window to tell you something he “forgot to tell you earlier in class.” It ended up being that his friend named Taehyung had a crush on you, he’d tell you with a little huff to his voice and seemed to avoid you for the next few days when you expressed you returned Tae’s interest.

The there-and-not-there dynamic of Jeongguk’s presence really prevented you from worrying when he suddenly disappeared while you were attending college. You knew vaguely after rejecting the colleges he’d gotten into, he had gotten a great job. Despite your suspicions, you ignored the oddly high salary he was bringing in and his parent’s lack of knowledge on where he worked, and what he did. But when suddenly all his clothes from his room were missing, and his phone number was disconnected, everyone initially considered it to be one of his phases. And so did you.

And then came the rush of studying to become a doctor; it was sleeping 4-5 hours a day and surviving off of cheap take-out and bitter coffee, then diving into internships and research, studying for the MCATs, then applying, then going to med school for even more torture. The horrible 8 years had gone in a flash, and you were no longer the blushing energetic country girl from Busan. You were now 27 and nearing the end of your residency, and no longer able to survive too many hours without sleep or able to chug a beer without passing out.

And in those years, Jeongguk had never really returned. He’d gotten back in touch with his parents but had moved out and disappeared again. The boy in your town that you grew up with always had a soft spot in your heart, making you blush with his flirty attitude whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders or played with your hair when he got bored. But you knew in your heart as you watched him go through his own collection of relationships and flings, that you were definitely not meant to end up with Jeon Jeongguk.

A few months into your residency, when you finally got the chance to start making a few of your own decisions in the hospital, he suddenly showed up, same grin and same teasing attitude. Just maybe a bit more handsome and buff. Just a bit.

And this was how he showed up.

You were on the 20th hour of your shift. In the shittiest mood and worst physical state you’ve ever been in, you’d been called for a gun injury case in the emergency room. And there he was, sitting in all his glory. He was wearing all black, and was trying to use alcohol pads to wipe the blood off his arm.

“Mother of fuck that hurts like a bitch,” he muttered.

“You know that’s just going to make it hurt more.” You snapped, not really in the mood for a patient who had snatched hospital materials without your permission. And then he looked up and grinned at you, “Long time no see Y/N.”

It took a few seconds before you realized it was your childhood friend who’d disappeared for almost a decade sitting in front of you, with a gunshot wound, smiling and greeting you like nothing had changed. His face was definitely more angled, his eyes and cheekbones a lot more defined, and his shoulders incredibly more broad than you could’ve ever imagined. You stood there gaping with your hands stuck in your pockets and eyes scanning him until he interrupted you.

“Still looking good I assume? Taking a picture might last longer.” He winked and ruffled his hair before putting the alcohol down.

“J-Jeon Jeong-g-guk wha-what...h-how?” You strode over to him and poked his shoulder to which he responded with a wince and a groan. Judging from where the blood was coming from, he’d been shot in the shoulder. Realizing he was also your patient and assuming some sort of professionalism, you called out, “Nurse Lee can I get some disinfecting solution, IV drip, and a suture kit?”

Hearing her confirmation, you drew the curtains shut and sat in front of him. “Jeon Junggook what happened to you? Where have you been? You disappeared so suddenly and I never heard from you...And why are you here with a bullet in your arm?!”

He held his hands up, again wincing at the strain in his wound. “Woah woah woah, relax. One at a time. I’ve been doing...work. And I went back to Busan to look for you but your parents told me you were at college studying to be a doctor so I thought it would be best for me not to bother you when you’re doing such, awesome kickass shit Y/N! How have you been? You look good for what, 8-9 years since we last saw each other?”

The nurse rolled in the cart with the materials, and you paused to put on your gloves and mask. “Take your shirt off.”

Grinning, he moved to take it off, and said, “Woah take me out to dinner first, Y/N.” But his actions moved his wound and he groaned again, so you placed a hand on his arm to stop him. Rolling your eyes, you moved to cut the shirt around the wound. “Still annoying, nothing changes.” He grinned again, watching you from your position cutting his shirt. “And you’re still a bratty ass, so I guess you’re right. Why aren’t you answering my question? What have you been up to?”

You briefly looked up to glare up at him, “You never answered mine either. Why do you have a bullet in your shoulder?”

He turned away and muttered “Touche” and fell silent. Finishing removing the fabric from his wound, which was a bit difficult and painful given the dried blood indicated that he’d waited a bit after sustaining the injury before coming to the hospital, you gasped as the wound was exposed. The bullet was deeply embedded, and there was dark blood surrounding the area, staining his clothes, the gurney, and your gloves. “Jesus fucking christ Jeongguk, this is horrible. Why did you wait so long before coming to the hospital? You might contracted an infection or tetanus if you’re not careful!”

“Wow watching you spit out that medical stuff was kind of sexy. A lot different from the girl who wanted to compete with me on how zebra was pronounced.”

Ignoring him, you set your scissors down and began to wipe the surrounding blood to the best of your ability. Taking some gauze and alcohol, you began to wipe near the wound. “This might hurt. I’m going to clean your wound first so I can see where the bullet is and identify any infections, and then we’ll move on from there. Okay?”

Too focused on the wound, his body bounced a bit at your question, indicating his nod. He sat still and jumped a few times when the alcohol made contact with the open flesh, but endured through it with a wince on his face. He had definitely gotten infected, and the bullet was small enough to be a risk. “I’m gonna have to put you under a IV drip to hydrate you again, you lost a lot of blood. And also after getting you in a stable condition, you need to also get some antibiotics, because your wound is infected. I’m gonna numb the area so it doesn’t hurt as much, but I’m gonna have to use some pliers to pry out the bullet before it does any more harm. Do you understand?”

“I trust you. Do your thing. What was the name of the antibiotic again?”

“Prophylaxis. Why?”

“And how much?”

“I’m gonna start with 75 mg and we’ll monitor your state from there. Why are you asking, it’s not like you know what it means.”

He shrugged, “Just cause. Go ahead, fix me up.”

Nodding and satisfied with his response, you began filling the syringe with the clear liquid. He watched you with careful hooded eyes, and winced when you made a move to insert the needle. Quirking an eyebrow up at him, you asked, “You’re seriously sitting here scared of a tiny needle when you have a goddamn 9mm bullet embedded in your proximal deltoid muscle?!” He grinned, “Old habits die hard. And damn, I could get used to how hot you are with med words.”

Groaning, you focused your attention back on carefully inserting the needle as painlessly as possible into the muscles near the wound. While you did so, and he became used to the numb feeling, he began rattling off random stuff. Which you proceeded to ignore for the rest of the procedure.

“I remember you would get so mad when I tried poking your stomach to try and tickle you, and look who’s poking who now? You used to be so scared of the dentist, but I can’t believe you’re a doctor now.”

You carefully inserted the thin tweezers into the wound removed the bullet slowly to try and not tear anything.

“Damn it’s been a while since I’ve been to a hospital this big but then Taehyung told me he saw on your Facebook that you were working at this big ass hospital and I knew I had to come see you. I didn’t know it would like this though----” He stopped talking when the clang of the bullet hit the pan and you thrust it at him, so he could see the bloody blob you’d just pulled out of his shoulder. His eyes grew wide, and took the metal tray from you with his other hand.

“Are you ready to explain why this is in you?” you asked, setting down your tools.

Sighing, he looked up at you with one of the darkest expressions you’d seen in your life. His eyes grew dark, and you noticed how deep his dark circles were. Glancing around nervously, his eyebrows furrowed and he shoved his hat back on his head. “Just sew me up and I’ll tell you. Not here,” he said with a gruff voice.

You hesitated. Despite not being in contact for years, you’d never seen him get so serious and angry and emotional all at the same time. But it had been years. You didn’t really understand or know who Jeon Jeongguk was anymore, to be fully realistic. And he was your patient and as a doctor, you were to treat your patients without digging into their personal lives. And so you did.

Sighing, you picked up your tools and began stitching him up, and proceeded to quickly make the snips and sutures where needed. Throughout the process this time he was silent, and you felt his gaze on the top of your head as you bent down to properly get a good look at the area you were looking at. Now not distracted by his blabbering, you finally got a good look at his physique. The shoulder you were working on was really broad and sturdy, evidence of good exercise and high intensity training of some sort, either a sport or weight-lifting. His skin was pale though, showing he didn’t seem to be spending too much time outdoors. And he looked good, although you hated to admit.

Compared to your weak undernutritioned frame with greasy hair, permanent dark circles and constantly tired state, Jeon Jeongguk looked good. And it was so annoying because it was always like you’d remembered. Finishing the last stitch, you snipped off the string and wrapped his shoulder in the roll of gauze the nurse had provided. You removed the rest of his shirt so you could maneuver around his upper torso and back to get the gauze situated around his shoulder wound, but when you helped him pull the fabric off, you almost fell off the chair. Jeongguk was fit, to a point where you questioned where the heck he was working, and when he had the time to get in such good shape.

This muscley man sitting in front of you was so different from the scrawny kid you were used to years ago. The years had definitely made him grow into his frame and fill out the spaces better. You heard his breath hitch when you brushed your fingers over his skin to get the gauze tight. His muscles on his chest jumped and you hastily apologized, trying to fill up the awkward lack of noise.

But neither of you said anything further as you continued to wrap the never ending roll around his upper arm, torso, shoulder, and chest. As you finished, you stuck the tape down and began cleaning your supplies. Silently, Jeongguk retrieved his jacket and slipped it on. When he made a motion to stand up while you were cleaning, you pushed him back onto sitting on the bed. “Wait Jeongguk. Let’s get you moved to a hospital ward here and we can get you started on the IV and the antibiotics. You’re not in good condition right now because of the blood loss and I can’t let you go without making sure the infection is flushed from your system.”

He still refused to make eye contact, but still sat down anyway. Sighing, you finished collecting the scraps of fabric from his shirt, the bloody towels, and remains of your work onto the cart and you wheeled it out into the sanitizing room. “Nurse Lee, could you prepare a ward for the patient with the gun wound? I’ll be taking care of him and taking him up there myself.”

When you returned to the bed and flung the curtains aside, you found nothing.

No clothes, no stained bedsheets, no patient. No Jeongguk. Nothing.

Panicking, you ran outside to where the hubbub of the emergency room bustled around you. Asing other nurses and doctors yielded no results; no one had seen anyone enter or exit that section of the ward except you. Running up to the desk, you desperately asked them to look up the patient with the gunshot wound dressed in all black in that bed, and each nurse came up with nothing. “Not even a patient named Jeon Jeongguk?!” Still nothing.

After a few more minutes of frantically searching for your patient, your seniors saw you running around and decided it was time to give you some more work to do. As you got dragged away to a different station, it took all of your will to not run back to the emergency area and scour the area for your injured friend.

It wasn’t until two hours later, when you finally ended your shift and desperately needed to get home before you collapsed from exhaustion and the gross-feeling of working all day, you found him again. As you got off the bus and opened the door to your small apartment complex, you almost screamed to see a figure slumped on your couch.

There he was, the jacket open like he’d left it, the gauze stained red, and legs hanging off the handrest. He was breathing heavily, and his hair was wet with cold sweat and his eyes drooping with the effort of sitting up. Gasping and dropping your bag to run to his side and prop him up, you lifted his face with your hands, worriedly searching his eyes for any signs of shock. But instead of dilated pupils and shaky irises, you just saw the eyes of your childhood friend staring tiredly back into yours.

“Jeongguk, you okay?”

Grinning, and huffing as he winced, he pointed to something on your coffee table. “I brought the antibiotic and the IV drip stuff.”

Looking back to where he was pointing, you saw that he had indeed stolen two bags of the antibiotic and the IV kit, as well as some other materials.

“Jeongguk, what’s going on please tell me, I need to know if I’m going to help you.” you pleaded. His head was becoming heavier in your hands, the exhaustion and burden of the wound and infection taking a toll on him. He just grabbed one of your wrists and looked up at you with a sad and begging expression.

“You’re the only one I could trust.” and with that, his head lolled and he slumped over with the effort of keeping himself up. Concerned, but still knowing it would be harder to get him to your bed if he passed out, you helped him get his good arm over your shoulders before stumbling your way to your small bed. Once he hit the bed, he collapsed. You scrambled to cover him with your sheets and remove his jacket and shoes before running back to retrieve the IV drip he’d brought. After hooking it up, you sat as he breathed haggardly with his eyes screwed shut. You watched him for a bit, highly concerned, highly suspicious, and so confused.

It seemed like even talking was taking too much effort so you just sat there, wiping his cold sweat with some cool towels and cleaning his wound. All of a sudden, your phone buzzed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N? It’s me Youngjae, and Yongguk sunbae told me to call. Apparently there was a break-in into one of our pharmacies and storage closets, and right now they’re running an inventory to see what’s missing. You were here for the last shift right? Did you see anything?”

You glance up at the IV drip hanging near your bed and hooked up to Jeongguk’s arm, and you’re about to reply, when a hand grips your hand that was resting on the bed. You look down to see Jungkook grasping your hand tightly, eyes begging with an otherwise unreadable plea.

Furrowing your brow, you hesitate. Jeon Jeongguk had disappeared for 10 years, gotten a suspicious high-salary job, and had just returned to your hospital and home after years of contact. It was so odd how he knew where you worked, where you lived, and showed up with a gun shot wound and who knows what other baggage.

But as the grip tightened, Youngjae spoke again. “Y/N? You there?”

And you answered.

“Yeah, no. I didn’t see anything suspicious” and hung up. And after hearing your response, Jeongguk smiled tiredly, and fell asleep. The both of you didn’t say anything, but your hands were clasped together over his chest.

And this was how Jeon Jeongguk entered your life.