#head trauma mention tw

[dutybcrne]

           ・⊱ He couldn't help the way his wariness seemed to sap right out of him at the mere sound of her voice, even as he'd instinctively try and keep its hold over him. Yet with the way the utterance of his name from her lips, and the blurring glimpses of her through spotty vision when he'd tried to sit up more to greet her...ultimately, he would choose to give up before the feeling of nausea would seize him entirely.

           "Pardon my unsightly appearance," Thoma would finally manage, resisting the urge to groan as his back hit the wall again.

           A prickling feeling of unease thrummed through his body the closer she got. The more her attention would fall upon him, like a gentle veil.

           Shame, perhaps? No, somehow, it felt far more visceral than that.

           He could feel it as her soft, gentle touch would settle upon him, even as he'd let his head loll ever so slightly for her to move as she pleased. So pliantly, without a moment's thought, even with that telltale pinprick of nerves continuing to fester and tingle beneath his skin.

           He was safe now. Safe, so why did he feel-

           "Mngh?!"

           His voice pitched sharply in surprise, body twitching a slight in feeling that soft velvety texture lave so close to the tender skin. Yet he wouldn't immediately wrench back like every instinct said, held right in place by shock, and a hint of burning curiosity at such an action.

           Why would she...why was she-

           "L-Lady L-"

           The more his dazed mind would try and catch up to what she had done, the more he would try and move speak, hold her, look to her and focus, a single, clearer thought would ripple amid the maelstrom of the lot,

           Are you going to devour me?

           And far more startlingly still...

           Please-

           ...why was it now that a very glimmer of what he might dare call desire seemingly found its way through confusion and lingering tension?

Random Asks. // Always Accepting.

@dutybcrne - Thoma let out a shaky breath as he leaned back against the stone wall. It wasn’t all that unusual to get injured in scuffles ( inevitable as they may be, no matter his caution and charisma ), even with his shield. A trivial little scrape or two here, a bruise there—no, what really took the cake this time, it was a nasty blow to the head he hadn’t been prepared for.

Even if he had managed to defeat and leave the vagrants to be apprehended by the doushin, he still felt rather embarrassed by this as he’d stumbled his way out of sight to nurse the mess of an injury.

Head wounds tended to bleed pretty badly as it was, he knew that, but pair that with the way his vision tended to swim a bit…yeah, he’d definitely need to go see a healer soon-

His body tensed, seeing the barest glimmer of movement nearby. Even with his current state, his weapon was gripped tight in hand, ready to lash out should…whatever was out there try and get any closer with ill intent. Or…wait, maybe not whatever, but whoever-

“Wh-who—?”

(*tumbles right into askbox after several hours hdbdb*)

Who, indeed.

Prior to the commotion, Lelyah had been but on a sightsee venture, after a much repose from the lenghty travel between here, upon the Electro Archon's land to where she, herself, did reside.

After all, as much as she simply traverse the world by easier means, she had to look the part and do it the human way; pay for a boat trip. The land of Winter is already in animosity with Inazuma so no need to add more to the fire.

As amusing that would be, there were more pressing matters to take care of....

Like the very sight ahead of her.

''Oh me, oh my'', this spells disaster, no not for him but whoever inflicted harm 'pon her beloved toy.

''Thoma?'', with faux concern washing over the angelic maiden, her advance is swift, swift to lower herself by his side & assess the damages, anywhere of visible atleast.

She dares not pry detail on what it is that went on. No, with the police station being so near, she had a feeling on where to go later, to drown lowly peasants.

It should have been her.

To bleed him, the one before her veiled eyes.

With apparent gentleness, Lelyah takes hold of his face, moving it ever so carefully to get a better look at the head wounds.

She could not care less, of the crimson finding path onto lithe digits. If anything, it intensified the very temptation to cleanse, to taste him.

And taste him she does.

''Hold still''.

She leans closer, as though giving the impression of still assessing injuries done to Thoma's head. Then, the woman dives right in, trailing velvety tongue against cascading crimson rather than recklessly aim at the source.

Its not like she cannot heal others, him most of all.

Sweet was the blood, along a little tart-like texture with the amount of red that stained such handsome visage.

Truly, it added to the beauty that is Thoma.

[punkstylerecovery]

if my body keeps score, will she remember when i grab another blanket to keep her warm? will she remember when i use mobility aids to make things easier for her? will she remember when i put down the blade and take a shower instead? does she recall the days i rest, when i watch our favorite shows and settle in to treat her with all the kindness i'm trying to convince myself we deserve? does she remember the love? does she recall the kindness? does she remember when i run my hands across our wounds and apologize? does she keep score of our healing?

[cascigarette]

it's really interesting to me how they wrote and how jarpad played sam's trauma from the cage through the soulless sam arc and the hallucifer arc. like when he's soulless he's very much like dissociated out of body hypersexual kind of trauma response with memory gaps and no real sense of self. when he gets his soul back he does sort of a 180. he's overwhelmed, he's hallucinating, having intense flashbacks, using self harm to ground himself, feeling hyposexual, he can't help but remember. I just find it interesting to see his initial trauma from the cage and how it changes over time, how it changes him

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Written for the 'cold' prompt

Where there should be a gun, only a butcher's knife waits for Akai.

Right.

They confiscated his weapons.

Oh well. Even declawed, he still has fangs. Just means he needs to get up close to get the kill.

Akai drops from his bed into a crouch. The knife's handle digs into his hand, unyielding, providing steady support in a hazy world.

He follows the edge of the bed, to where he can see light pass through the gap under the door. The sound of glass shattering, followed by a thud is what woke him, he's sure, but there's no footsteps, no shadow passing by. His intruder might be good.

But Akai knows he's better.

He sneaks up to the door, listening, waiting. There's faint breathing outside, too fast. Whoever it is, it's possible his attacker got caught up in the adrenaline rush. That should make it easier to surprise and dispatch them.

He takes cover behind the wall, and kicks the door open.

The living room lights blind him momentarily, too bright in the night. Akai blinks through the nausea, checks the windows he can see from his position - intact.

Good. He can still hear the breathing - irregular - but the sounds of the night remain distant, removed. He dashes to the other side of the door, surveilling the familiar living room outside.

As expected, all windows are shuttered, bolted shut from the inside. The intruder is trapped with him, then.

Ah, yes.

He's missed the hunt.

Though something seems off. He can't see them, but the source of noise doesn't appear to be moving. What are they waiting for? Data to download from his laptop? Poisoned gas to distribute in the room?

He can't smell anything strange, but beneath the scent of cigarette smoke and bourbon, it would be difficult to detect. He still puts a hand over his mouth, breathes as shallowly as he can manage.

Fine, fine. He'll go greet them already.

He sneaks around the too-comfortable sofa, takes cover behind his armchair, creeps up to the kitchen isle. Beyond its corner is the source of the noise, the source of another breath in his space.

He turns the corner, ready to dispatch the intruder-

-and barely manages to stop the knife in time. Stabs the ground next to an exposed neck.

There's a crumpled form on his floor in a sea of broken glass, blond hair covering their face.

Jodie?

No, that can't be.

Cold dread seizes his heart.

Jodie is dead.

His ears ring with the echo of a gunshot, drowning out all sounds but his own, stuttering heartbeat. It throbs in his head, too fast, too loud.

No. No. No.

Vertigo takes a hold of him, would have him join the figure on the floor.

The knife drops from his hands, clutters onto the floor uselessly. He grips the cupboard's corner, trying to maintain his balance. Doesn't quite manage it, and missteps.

A sharp pain in his foot forces him back to the present.

That's a problem for later.

Breathe. Assess.

The person in his kitchen groans, a rather common sound in Akai's presence.

Furuya.

He's alive.

But for how long?

Akai rushes to kneel by Furuya's side, doesn't care about the glass shards that pierce easily through his socks, his sweatpants, as he cradles the limp body in his kitchen.

He checks the head the head the head-

It's wet.

His heart beats double-time, blood rushes in his head. But there's no exit wound, and his fingers come away clear.

Akai lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Beneath his touch Furuya is burning up, though. As if he needed any further indication that something's very, very wrong. Furuya would never let himself be seen this sweaty, flushed, exposed, if he could help it.

"Furuya. Furuya-kun."

Another groan, and finally, there's some resistance in Akai's arms. Furuya winces, furrows his brows. He blinks up at Akai, eyes unfocused, but awake, at least.

Alive.

"Stop shouting already. I'm right here."

Furuya's voice comes out too nasally, his airways must be obstructed. Akai tilts his head a little, to put less strain on it. Let Furuya breathe more easily.

"Since when is the kitchen so tall?"

Not good. He's hallucinating. Or at least struggling with spatial awareness.

Akai manages to snatch Furuya's wrist in time, draws him close. He really doesn't need shards of glass stuck in his hands, in addition to whatever knocked him out.

Akai steadies him, lets him lean against himself. Isn't ready to let go of him, anytime soon.

He should assess the damage first, but he's curious.

"Furuya. What are you doing here?"

The agent frowns at him, seemingly confused. It takes him a moment to answer.

"You gave me the key?", he sneers. Curls in on himself protectively.

Except that's not what Akai is asking. Why is Furuya here, in the middle of the night, when-

"You're sick."

Maybe stating the obvious will get through to him, seeing as he seems to have trouble grasping the severity of his situation.

"So? It is Thursday. I promised."

He says it airily, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if it explains everything.

Yukiko-san had given Akai an earful for not taking care of himself properly, but even he knows to hole up and rest when he's sick. Not drive halfway across town on a paper-thin promise.

Surely, Furuya would have to understand that his own safety, his own health, comes first?

Right?

"I am fine. Get me to my car. I have inconvenienced you enough as it is."

Akai blinks. Furuya can barely move, and he wants to do what, exactly, in his car? Call for help? Suffer? Try to drive?

While he would like to assume this is a bout of temporary insanity brought on by the fever, if Akai looks back on their shared history, he isn't sure Furuya ever knew when to quit. Or what was good for him.

Damnit.

Alright.

"I'm driving you home."

He got to keep his car, at least, even if the gadgets were removed, his permits revoked. They'd told him to stick to travelling on foot, too, if he can. But for Furuya, he could make an exception.

"Who do I call to check up on you?"

At that, Furuya simply laughs at him.

Akai has never heard him do so, before.

It's not pretty.

Cold and hollow, the sound rings harshly in the night. Interrupted by coughs and sputters, Furuya's laughter is an ugly, broken thing, as far removed from joy as can be. It goes on for far too long.

This isn't funny.

Akai shivers. He'll be glad if he never has to hear that dreadful sound again.

"Just leave me be. I will survive, like always."

Up until that moment, Akai was pretty sure he'd lost it. But deep inside his chest, something stirs. A fragile little thing; it aches and splinters and breaks at the sight before him.

Furuya's bright smile is polished, his eyes like shining glass. It's too much.

Akai would be more inclined to believe him if Furuya wasn't shivering. If his nose wasn't running. If his eyes weren't red.

"No."

He might not know Furuya Rei. He barely knew Bourbon, and Amuro Tooru was actively out for his blood. He has no idea what happened to this man, to make him so furious at the world, yet so resigned to his fate. But the emotion that just shone through Furuya's carefully maintained image is all too familiar.

Survival isn't the prize it's made out to be. Not when-

Don't think about them. Someone needs to keep it together, and it won't be Furuya. You can do that, right? Not for yourself, but for him.

Yes.

A hypothesis forms, unbidden. The promise was just an excuse. Furuya came here because he had no other place to go to. No one to turn to.

That's fine. Akai understands. He doesn't have one either. Not anymore.

But he can give Furuya what he still has left: himself.

"I won't leave you alone."

He's the worst person for this; Akai barely knows how to take care of himself. The last time he looked after someone with a cold... he might still have been a teenager, taking care of Shukichi.

But it beats suffering alone, surely.

"Great. That means I have a chance to die of food poisoning."

There's a shimmer of life in Furuya's eyes, before he closes them. A faint smile, as he rests his head against Akai's chest. Broken, but a little more human than the Venetian mask he showed before.

Akai squeezes him, once, then picks him up without too much trouble. Shards of glass fall from their clothes, as he rises, holding Furuya close.

Alright.

First, he needs to clean up his guest.

Then, the flat.

Lastly, himself, if he has energy to spare.

And somewhere in-between, he'll need to call Yukiko-san. Maybe she will share the secret to her chicken noodle soup with him.

[angelxd-3303]

Welp, I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole. Meet my current braincell consumer.

Excuse the bad quality, I'm working with a new marker set and figuring stuff out. This is Cloudrunner, a former Autobot warrior who defected to the Decepticon cause due to personal reasons. His superior sent him and his team on what was basically a su!cide mission, knowing they likely wouldn't survive. Cloudrunner was the only survivor, and was verbally and physically abused for years because he 'abandoned' his team. Eventually he got fed up with it, and fled to the Decepticons for help.

Megatron would have just had him added to the scrap heap, but reconsidered when Cloudrunner mentioned that he'd been a medic before joining the warrior class due to a lack of manpower. Since Knockout's medical expertise was... questionable, to say the least, Megatron decided to keep Cloudrunner around. Besides, it gave him yet another thing to throw in Optimus' face next time they crossed paths.

I know you guys probably don't follow me for my oc rants, but I still thought I'd share. If you're interested in more, let me know!

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,232 Words

Summary: Eclipse wakes up in a forest nine months after his death. Eclipse also wakes up in a daycare a day after his death. Turns out, Solar now has to deal with both of them.

Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Coma, Injury, Limb Loss, Eye Trauma, Head Trauma, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 1: Back From The Dead

Eclipse woke up in a forest, utterly broken and completely out of it. His animatronic body was practically destroyed, yet he survived, barely. Being booted from Sun’s head into this forest was not kind to him, it seemed.

He groaned as his systems that were functional or barely so whirred with a high pitch. He wouldn’t die here, he refused. He tried to sit up, finding his left arm missing and half his faceplate, half of his right leg gone too.

He groaned and looked around, he was in the middle of the forest. Just where the hell did Sun boot him out to? He should get moving, find a town or something. His head felt like something had kicked it in with a rusty hammer, and it did not help that his faceplate was damaged.

He tried to stand but…it was clear he couldn’t, so he tried to crawl along and find help, the pain was agonizing. He found a long, hefty branch to use as a cane for his missing lower right leg.

“Why is pain a thing?” He wondered. What was the date even? Eclipse checked his inner mechanics and it read ‘2:47am August 4th 2023’. He had lost almost a year. He’d lost from October 31st ‘22 to August 4th ‘23!?

Eclipse felt his face and found that his right eye was missing along with a chunk around his left faceplate that made his sight in his left eye extremely difficult to see from, probably from the loose socket due to the missing chunk.

Eclipse growled in anger at Sun but used what felt like a tree and the branch to get up, using his limited vision. He had to get somewhere that had parts to fix himself. He couldn’t tell what bunkers were nearby but he could see his glitching internals that could lead him to the PizzaPlex.

So he went that way, stumbling and using GPS to get there and using it again to get to get to the P&S area. Once there, Eclipse began rummaging and closely inspecting things to fix himself.

He ended up finding a mismatched pair of eyes, one baby pink and one dark grey, that would fit his model and put them into the tube’s part system, going back to find a grey and brown arm from shoulder to fingers, an old purple-tinged Moon faceplate, and a green leg model from the knee joint down.

Once he found those, he loaded them into the parts holder and set the tube to operate on himself and fix everything that he could at the moment. He could fix his internals once his outside was fixed. So he sat in the chair in the tube and let the machine do its job.

He growled feeling it take out his left eye and the remains of his faceplate. Then it placed the new mismatched eyes into the sockets, then the new faceplate. He blinked as it directed into a light scanner and thankfully could see. He could see better than a close distance at least.

The tube then fixed his wires loose from his left arm and right knee and attached his limbs and launched instantaneous calibration effects. He flexed his new limbs for the scanner and then sighed at the tube gave him a green light for all clear. Eclipse exited the tube and looked at the body scanner’s results.

He had so many internals broken. It was no wonder he felt freezing cold, his heaters were broken, so was his coolant and oil systems, his engines had cracks and fans had broken twigs in them.

“Well fuck.” He hugged. He would have to find these things himself and probably replace them himself too. So he groaned and went rummaging. He did find a fan system and engine so he went for those first. His old oil and coolant had to be drained and replaced completely, it felt like he had sludge in what was technically his blood system.

He poured coolant into the marked tank and oil into the other, placing the engine and fan system into the part holders for replacement. Eclipse couldn’t find a heater, so sadly he’d just be cold for a while.

“Better than nothing, I guess.” He huffed, laying in the chair again and let the tube release a smaller little hand to him and turn him off. Eclipse’s eyes bolted open in startle, he hadn’t realized he’d be powered down for a full coolant and oil replacement. He didn’t want to lose more time!

He booted up twenty minutes later feeling so much better. It was a goddamn miracle. He didn’t feel like he had slime in his ‘veins’, it felt like a relief to feel the liquid in him running as it should and fans and engine running properly.

He felt grateful, incredibly so. He was alive, he was fixed. But now for what to do. He had to stay close to here, his systems could break down any second if they did so please. He couldn’t replace his circuit board himself nor could the tube. He would need someone else for that.

Maybe…Maybe he could beg Lunar? He didn’t want to scare him. Eclipse had seen how October had went and, by the end of it, he was just tired. Maybe this new life post near-death, he could be different. He could be kinder to Lunar, try to apologize for what he’d done and be a better person.

So he set off to the daycare, hopefully Lunar was there. He didn’t know what would happen if it was Moon or Sun he faced, but he was sure it wouldn’t be good. Hopefully he could just talk to Lunar.

Eclipse ventured into the daycare, confused seeing three people he didn’t recognize along with Moon as Eclipse stood in the ball pit, having gone down the slide. One looked like a Sun but just…absolutely destroyed.

Another was a tall green and brown female daycare bot, and the third he didn’t recognize was a tiny pale blue and moon themed bot. He realized with a bit of fondness that the tiny bot was Lunar. It gave him a bit of joy knowing Lunar was safe and sound in a body of his own.

But a bit of horror crept in seeing who he could audibly hear was Sun be so destroyed. He was catching names and bits of a conversation but not really getting the whole story.

“Uh, guys?” Lunar asked the others. And Eclipse realized Lunar was looking directly at him with a bit of panic.

“Oh shit.” Moon realized as he turned to look at Eclipse.

“Quick, shoot him!” Lunar told Moon, handing him what looked like a laser gun. His body wouldn’t withstand that! He was in a fragile condition already! So he dove into the ball pit as Moon grabbed the gun about to fire.

Eclipse didn’t know the portal was on until he got sucked through it into a different dimension, which locked the second he was through by a different Moon.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” The other Moon snapped. Eclipse looked over by the Moon and saw triple for a second. It was him. But…also not? But it was two other versions of him maybe? Why were there three different Eclipses?

[mad-hunts]

this is a very specific scenario, i know, but barton trauma-bonding with a hero and vice versa because they got stuck in the middle of the desert together due to the fact that they were both simultaneously betrayed / LEFT TO DIE there, but they managed to survive after they spent some time vehemently refusing to help each other in the beginning. though, they soon began to help each other (albeit reluctantly) because they realized that would be the ONLY way that they would survive this. and barton tries to kickstart their bastardization arc™ by telling the hero to kill the people who dumped them there. and this is because, in his mind, they don't deserve to live. then barton goes on to tell them that he's planning on killing the person who betrayed him so it's fineee if the hero does it,, because he ain't a snitch + won't tell anyone they killed anyone (,: now whether or not the hero actually starts their bastardization arc is up to them, of course, but if anyone is interested in a plot like this... HMU because i think this would be such an interesting dynamic to roleplay 👀

[3-2-whump]

Wait, so Khaled has tried to escape at least six times? Can you tell us more about that?

K: Yeah, it was more like five times, if you don’t count the mall incident.

T: I count the mall incident.

K: Master, you literally found me in front of the smart phone kiosk watching football! I ran to you in tears and begged for your mercy! What part of any of that sounds like an escape?!

T: Just answer the question!

K: (frustrated sigh) Fine!

My Escape Attempts Over 1 Year:

1) Smashed my bedroom window to climb down the sides of the apartment building. Was found right away and beaten with a belt. Ankles shackled for one week.

2) Ran to the police station to ask for help; did not know the police were on my Master’s payroll. Was returned with laughs from the officers and beaten with a belt. Ankles shackled for one week.

3) Snuck out late at night to find the subway station in 3 ��C (38 ° F ) weather with freezing rain, wearing only a hoodie and some jeans. Was returned with hypothermia and a minor concussion. Beaten with a whip after I had recovered. Ankles shackled for one month.

4) Hid in the recycling bin on trash day and nearly got crushed to death until the waste collectors heard me. Was returned and beaten with a whip, broken glass, and shreds of tin can scrap. Ankles shackled for two months.

5) Look, I really don’t think this one should count -I genuinely got lost in the mall, okay? But apparently it counts, so. Was found next to the smart phone kiosk watching football. Beaten with a belt, but relatively lightly once I explained I got lost. (Idk, do you think this should count?)

6) Snuck out the bathroom window of the tattoo parlor to avoid getting my ears pierced. Was returned within two hours and had my feet burned with an iron. (Shudder) Thankfully there was no beating after that; walking on burned feet for the next few weeks was punishment enough!

And that was the last time I tried to escape, because after the sixth time, I guess I kinda realized the risk and consequences were not worth the reward.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Day 9 - “I should have listened to you.” | Sprain | Defiance | Smoke 

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, captivity, restraints, beating, stress position, mild blood, implied starvation, head trauma, hair pulling, death mention, broken ribs, dislocation mention, brief dog and master imagery

.

.

There isn’t much to see in the basement. Lainey inspects every concrete block, every crack in the foundation, every plank on the steps, every lock on the door, and finds absolutely nothing useful. It still feels better than just sitting around, though. Not that she’s blaming Isa for sitting, she can’t even help it with that chain around her neck. That thing makes Lainey want to punch something every time she thinks of it. But she also has a feeling Isa wouldn’t be helping her look even if she could get up and move. 

It doesn’t take long for the man to return. She’s just come back down the stairs from checking out the door when the locks start to slide open, so she spins around and plants her feet, glaring up at their captor, trying to ignore the way her heart is suddenly threatening to break through her ribcage. 

He’s not much to look at, either. Just an unattractive, scraggly bearded man, like someone you might see loitering outside a gas station and walk quickly past on your way inside. For good reason, apparently. 

“Have you come to let me go?” she demands as he starts down the stairs. “To let us both go?”

He scowls back at her. “I see you haven’t yet learned your lesson about keeping your mouth shut.”

“You think I’m going to listen to you? Some low-life who gets his kicks from kidnapping and chaining up young women?” He’s getting closer, and part of her wants to back away, but her pride and anger won’t let her. “I bet you’ve never had a girlfriend before, have you? Probably never had any friends at all. Is this the only way you can get anyone to hang around you? Locking them in your basement?”

She sees the swinging fist coming, but can’t get out of its path. It smashes into her face with a force that sends her over backwards, head cracking against the wall as she hits the ground. Her vision cuts out, then comes back swirling and spinning. There’s something bitter and metallic pouring over her lips. It takes far too long for her to realize that it’s blood. 

As she sits there, stunned and in pain, the man advances. He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her up off the floor, dragging her toward the center of the room. Her feet stumble clumsily after him. 

“I told you to shut up. You’ll figure out I mean what I say sooner or later.”

He throws her down, and she just barely keeps her head from smacking concrete again. Her arm isn’t so lucky, unable to move from its restrained position and getting crushed between her body and the floor. 

For an instant, she sees Isa, sitting directly in front of the assault. She has her head turned to the side, staring off at some unknown point, face blank. 

Then a boot is buried in her stomach. Lainey doubles over, coughing and gasping for air that seems to have vanished. The man doesn’t wait for her to catch her breath, though. He keeps kicking, pounding the toe of his boot into her ribs and back and legs over and over and over again. She curls up as best she can, trying instinctively to protect her organs, but all she can do otherwise is lie there and groan and sob.

It seems to last forever. Part of her thinks she actually might die right then and there. But then the kicks stop. He reaches down and grabs her by her bound wrist, pulling her backwards across the floor. She moans again as her shoulders bear the brunt of the pressure and as every sore part of her is jostled. 

He drops her again, and a chain rattles behind her. A moment later her wrists are being pulled upward once more, but this time the chain sounds accompany it, and this time it doesn’t stop. They keep being dragged up toward the ceiling until she’s forced to move, scrambling with leaden limbs to get her feet underneath her and stand. The chain seems to be hooked to the ziptie around her wrists. She can’t straighten her back or lift her head, shoulders wrenched as far backwards as they’ll go and wrists stuck up high. 

And that’s how he leaves her. He doesn’t say another word, just walks off, footsteps echoing through the nearly empty room. She cranes her head to the side to see him pick something up off the stairs before disappearing up them.

She’s never been in this much pain in her life. Before now, the worst pain she could remember was a broken arm from her highschool softball days, but between her throbbing head, her burning shoulders, and the fiery pain that shoots through her ribs every time she breathes, this is way worse. 

“That was my food.”

She tries to look over at Isa but can’t get her head to lift that high. “Wh-...what?”

Isa’s voice grows a little louder, a bit higher pitched. “He was coming down to bring me food and water, and probably unchain me, and you screwed it all up disrespecting him like I warned you not to.”

Lainey scoffs, hardly believing her ears. “Do you…do you realize…you sound like a dog right now? Waiting for your…master to feed and water and unchain you?” She winces at the increased pain in her ribs that talking creates, trying to shift her position. “And…I’m the one who just got…beaten up so…pardon me if I’m not overly concerned about your food.”

“And whose fault is that?” It comes out practically a growl, the most emotion she’s heard out of her so far. “I told you not to make him mad. I told you it would get you hurt. I’ve been here for five years, remember? I’ve tried it all before. I’ve figured out how to survive. But if you don’t want to listen to me, fine. Refuse to save yourself any pain. Learn everything the hard way, like I did. Just…can you at least leave me out of it?” Her voice wavers at the end, going quiet again. “I haven’t eaten in days, because he was gone to get you. And the two bottles of water he left me ran out hours ago.”

Isa sounds like she’s about to cry, and Lainey finds her own throat tightening in sympathy. She hadn’t meant to rob Isa of her first food in days. She wants to help her, not cause her more trouble. But she’s being an idiot, isn’t she? The woman’s right, she’s managed to survive for five years, and it’s stupid for Lainey not to listen to her advice, no matter how much it makes her skin crawl to think of sucking up to that man. 

“I’m sorry.” She tries again to look at her, and manages to catch at least a glimpse of her face. “I should have…I should have listened to you. You’re right, it’s…my own fault that I got hurt. And I didn’t think about…you suffering from it.” She pauses, breathing through the pain and thinking about her response. “I can’t…promise that I’ll do exactly what you want. I’m not good…at holding my tongue. But, uh…I’ll try.”

There’s silence for a long time. It’s a struggle for Lainey not to find some way to fill it, despite her painful position. 

“I don’t want you to have to go through everything I have,” Isa murmurs finally. “And I’m…honestly terrified that you’re gonna make things even worse. Keeping on his good side is so tentative. I just want to keep things as…easy as possible. For both of us.”

“Yeah,” Lainey breathes. “I, um…I get it.” She considers her next words carefully before deciding to take the leap and say them. “Hey, do you…still have the water bottles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you roll one over to me?”

“They’re empty.”

“I know, just…just do it if you can.” She can hear movement and the slight crackle of thin plastic. A few seconds later an empty bottle rolls to a stop several inches from her foot. “Hey, nice shot. Lemme just…” Very carefully, grimacing with each movement, she steps on the heel of first one sneaker, then the other, removing them and kicking them behind her. Then she strategically uses her toes to pull off one sock, too. Isa mutters warnings about dislocating her shoulders here and there, but Lainey is determined to make this work.

Stretching out the bare foot, she drags the water bottle closer. “It’s still got drops of water left in it, so if I focus, I can…” She lays her foot across the bottle and closes her eyes. This is much easier to do with her hands, but the foot will have to do in a pinch like this. It takes almost a full minute of concentration, but eventually the droplets start to grow, dripping down into the bottle. The process gets faster as it goes, until there’s water swirling all through the bottle, filling it.

“There we go.” Satisfied with her work, Lainey takes careful aim and shoves the bottle back in Isa’s direction. “I can’t make you food, but…I can at least do that.”

“Water magic.” The plastic crinkles in Isa’s hand again.

“Yep. I’m…not very skilled at it, but…expanding water that’s already there…isn’t so hard.”

There’s no answer for a moment, but it sounds like Isa is taking a drink. “Thank you,” she says softly when she’s done.

“Yeah,” Lainey replies, equally as soft. “No problem.”

[sortofanobsession]

Roy/Jaime with Keeley friendship: Established Roy/Jaime. Jaime goes to Manchester to see his mum and is going to take the train back. A horrific train accident happens and Jaime's name was on the passenger list. Everyone thinks Jaime is dead, Roy is beside himself. Jaime is in fact alive and on different train, totally oblivious. He comes home late and decides not to wake a sleeping Roy, just climbs in with him. Imagine Roy's shock when he wakes up to his very much not dead boyfriend in his arms

A/N: I liiiiiive for this type of request. This is similar to a buddie one I did a long time ago but different enough that I had soooo much fun writing it. I'm still new to writing this group but I'm doing my best. Please remember that I am a lowly Midwestern American gal that has never left the States (though my sister did just get back from Scotland). So if their are typos or errors I apologize. Not beta read.

Enjoy

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, Roy & Keeley (platonic), Jamie & Keeley (Platonic), the afc Richmond himbos being themselves.

Word Count: 5k+

Content warning: train wreck, mentions of death, grief and loss, angst (happy ending), mentions of abuse, mentions of paranoia, mentions of head trauma, mentions of alcohol abuse, self-deprecation, self-destruction tendencies. Swearing, lots of swearing (can't believe I forgot that warning in a Roy Kent fic...)

Dead Phones and Train Wrecks

Jamie Tartt had always wanted his mother to be proud of him. Roy Kent had told him he'd never know if she was unless he got over the bullshit his dad did and went to see her. And as usual for Jamie, Roy was mostly right. So Jamie had gone to Manchester the week before training started for the new season. It would have been better if Roy had come with him, but someone had to look after Phoebe, and he needed to prepare for the new season. Roy had said that they would go earlier in the off-season next time. And that was enough to get Jamie to not put it off any longer. And he had a good week, despite having a few awkward run-ins with former Man City teammates and the occasional disgruntled fan. He didn’t care much about those. He was just glad they managed to avoid his dad. That was usually easy by avoiding the pubs and not eating at the same place regularly. It was annoying to have to keep such a paranoid schedule, but Jamie just told his mum it was because of the paparazzi. She didn't need to know that was only part of it. They just enjoyed trying new places, and thankfully, no one gave them too much trouble.

Jamie had decided at the last minute to take his mother to a restaurant in Liverpool she loved but rarely went to. His dad had never wanted to go that far when they were still a family, and Jamie hadn't had time once he got picked up for training. It was an underrated and easily overlooked cafe she would visit with her family when she was young. So Jamie had decided to have one last meal with his mum before he headed back to Richmond. Another new memory his dad couldn't taint or take from them. One for just Jamie and his mum as they try to fix their relationship. 

The one thing Jamie didn’t account for was losing his charger and his phone dying. He didn’t think too much of it because Roy already knew he was going to be taking the train back and he didn't need to pick him up. And it would be late by the time he got in. Roy had to be at training the next day. Jamie did too, but if Jamie was tired, he could manage. He'd played in far worse conditions, thanks to his old man. Roy was grumpy on a good day. A bad day? Well, Jamie wouldn't be the reason the team ran laps til they puked, this time at least. Making sure Roy got sleep was a big part of that. So he told Roy over and over that he'd be fine. Jamie could survive having a dead phone for a few hours if he had to. He would be bored out of his mind, but he would suffer through it if it meant he could see Roy at the end of the day. He could catch a train after dinner and be home in a few hours. Roy wouldn’t get too mad, he hoped. He said goodbye to his mum outside the Lime Street station, got a new ticket, and managed to make the 7:30 train to London. He’d probably have to catch a cab or train home from there since his phone would be useless, and uber was not an option.

Roy couldn't breathe. He just alternates between staring at the news story on the TV and his phone. The train Jamie was taking home from Manchester was now a derailed heap of twisted metal and flames. He'd talked to Jamie just a few hours ago. But now he wasn't answering. No texts. No calls. 

Roy had thought the day he'd retired from football had been the worst day of his life. But he'd give up his career, really anything and everything, to just go back a few hours and hear anything but that fucking voicemail message when he called Jamie's number. He looks at the headline again. The story updates, and the casualties number just keeps going up. Fuck. This cannot be how it ends. This can't be how Jamie Tartt’s story ends.

His phone rings in his hand, and his eyes snap to the screen with hope. Hope that is shattered when it's not Jamie calling. It was Ted. He doesn't have it in him to answer. He doesn't think even Ted Lasso's trademark optimism can help here. He can't let that damn yankee give him hope. Because Jamie had a recognizable fucking face. If he had been among the group they had rescued, that would have been news. Every news site was all over this story. Especially after someone at the train station had leaked that Jamie Tartt had been on the passenger list. Roy's phone kept going off with alerts and messages. But they were not from the one person he needed them to be. He looks up at the TV. The news just kept repeating the same thing. Casualties are high. First responders are searching, but it's a grim and solemn site. Thoughts and prayers. They just keep saying that their hearts go out to the families and friends. And that makes Roy want to scream. He wants to hit something until his knuckles bleed or his bones break. To feel something other than the pain in his chest and the ice-cold grip of fear on his heart. 

His doorbell being rung, followed by knocking, finally drew his attention away from his TV and phone. 

“Fuck off!” He growled when he threw the door open.

“I would if you’d have answered your phone,” Keeley says. She isn’t mad that he spoke to her like that. Roy was usually abrasive, but she knew right now he was the human equivalent of a live wire in water. ”Be glad it’s me and not everyone else.”

“Right now is-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“I know,” she says, her tone sad. 

Roy doesn’t have the energy to fight her, so he lets her in and returns to his living room. She follows him.

“Oh babe,” she says as she takes in the state of the room. The lamp that sat on the table was in pieces across the room. A few other things were not where they used to be and were probably among the other shards of ceramic and glass around the room. The one thing that was moved but wasn’t broken was a framed photo that usually was on a shelf. It was laying on the sofa next to Roy’s phone. It was a photo Phoebe had framed for Jamie’s birthday. It was of Roy and Jamie at one of Phoebe’s matches they’d been able to make. Phoebe got red carded and both men for sticking up for a teammate that had been fouled. Roy had been proud. Jamie had told her he’d do the same. Her teacher had texted Roy the picture with a reminder they were not supposed to encourage getting tossed from the game. Roy hadn’t cared. Sticking up for her team was more important than how many minutes she’d missed. Jamie had kept the photo for his lock screen for a while before it was gifted to him. Keeley set the photo on the table. It would crush Roy if anything happened to it now.  Roy was never great at handling his emotions, especially the more painful ones. She glances at the news coverage. She grabs the remote and lowers the volume but leaves it on. She knew he would lose his shit if she turned it off. She didn’t want to make this harder than it already was, but she couldn’t just let him brood and spiral until he a broken shell of the man he was. Jamie had always brought so much out of Roy. For better or worse, Jamie had always made Roy feel, even when he didn't want to.

“When did you last hear from him?” She asks. He grunts as he picks up his phone.

She bites back a sigh. “He texted me last night, but I haven't heard from him today, have you?” she tried again.

Roy rubs his eyes but knows she will get it out of him eventually. 

“He was at lunch. Fucking prick…” Keeley didn’t miss the way his voice broke as he said it. His fists clenched and opened repeatedly as he continued. “Lost his charger and didn’t know if his battery would last, but he’d try and stay off of it. Told him to get a new one. He said he’d be with his mum, so it wasn’t like he’d actually need to be on it. I told him that was stupid. That he was being stupid. Keeley, one of the last things I said to him-I didn’t mean to-he…”

“I know,” she puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he knew that you didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t. He’s dead.” 

“We don’t know for sure that he-”

“LOOK AT IT!” Roy shouts as he points at the TV. “IT’S A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

“I know, but we don’t know anything yet, Roy. He could be fine, he-”

“If he was unharmed, he’d help. That’s just the shit he does now. Wants to help. And that would be on the news. He’s Jamie Fucking Tartt.” Roy sat down like it was taking all his energy to just exist. “If he’s injured, someone would have called, some hospital. And that would be news. The only other option is that he’s still in there. In that…fuck.” He pushes his palms against his eyes. His head hurt, and his eyes ached. Part of him just wanted to lie down or pass out. Maybe when he woke up, it would all just have been a fucking nightmare. Jamie would text him and say he was fine, and Roy would drive to wherever Jamie was and never let him go anywhere without him. But the more realistic and cynical part of Roy Kent knew this was real. There was no waking up from this hell. 

“Okay,” Keeley says. She knew he had a point, but she just couldn’t let herself think that yet. If she did, she would lose it. Jamie was her friend. Roy was her friend. She needed to focus on keeping Roy at some sort of functioning baseline. Roy’s phone lit up. Ted was calling again. Roy just groaned and shoved it away. Keeley picked up.

“Hey, Ted,” She says as she goes into the kitchen. She’d make some tea. That will at least be something she can do to help.

“Keeley? You with Roy?” Ted asks.

“Yeah,” she answers. 

“How is he doin'?” Ted asks. “Need one of us to come over? Because we can-”

“It’s not good,” she admits. “He just keeps checking the news. He’s already assuming the worst.”

“Maybe I should-”

“You just deal with the team, training starts tomorrow, and since they all are back, I'm sure they know. Colin and Isaac have already been texting me. You handle that. I’ll deal with Roy Kent.”

“Oh, okay,” Ted seems a bit hurt. 

“I know you want to help, but I don’t think he wants anyone to see him like this. Not even me, but Jamie…I’m sure the team is struggling too. You focus on them. Leave this to me for now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see if any of Rebecca’s connections or Trent’s buddies know anything they aren’t sharing yet.”

“That would be great. I'll let him know someone is at least trying to do something."

"We're all trying. Let him know he's not alone."

"I will. Thanks, Ted.”

“Call me or Beard if you guys need anything or if you hear anything. If he…they’ll find him.”

She finishes making the tea as she ends the call. She pulls her own phone out and tells the team she is with Roy and that she’ll keep them in the loop. Text her, not him. 

She hands Roy a mug that he takes almost on reflexes alone it seems.

“Ted says to call if you need anything,” she tells him. She sets his phone down on the seat beside him. “And I told the team I was here and to text me. Should give your phone a bit of rest.”

Roy grunts, eyes barely leaving the TV. 

“Ted’s going to see if Rebecca and Trent can get any information that they might not be releasing publicly.” That had Roy’s attention snapping to her. 

“Do you think they’d be able to find out if…”

“No guarantees, but I’m sure they’ll try if they haven’t reached out already. Have you talked to Jamie’s mum?”

“I can’t…not yet. I-”

“You don’t have the answers she’ll want. I get it, babe.” She sets to clean up the broken lamp and other debris. 

“You don’t have to-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“You drink your tea, I’ll do this, and then we get some food.”

“Not hungry,” Roy grunts.

“Still need to eat,” she says as she tosses some bigger pieces in a bin bag. Roy doesn’t say anything. It’s only after she finishes cleaning up that he thanks her. She waves it off. 

An hour or later, Keeley almost called Beard for backup. The passenger list had been leaked before Keeley had even come over. So Keeley hadn't been surprised to find James Tartt Sr. making the whole damn thing about him. How his son had lost his way, and it's a tragedy that he'd never make a comeback. The audacity of that man to talk like that. It made it seem like Jamie was confirmed dead, but Keeley knew better than trust anything that came out of that man's mouth. He was an abusive and manipulative bastard. Roy had been enraged, and it had taken nearly 20 minutes to calm him enough to make a few phone calls. Rebecca was already looking into what could be done about Tartt Sr. Trent hadn't any new information, but he would make sure the reputable press knew the man was a pathetic old sod that knew nothing about Jamie. 

“Jamie might be fit as fuck, but even he can’t survive that,” Roy says nodding at the screen when she came back into the living room. She looks over to see what is surely helicopter or drone footage of the charred carriages of the wreck. She sits beside him and nods. 

“All we can do is wait,” she admits and settles in to wait with him.

Roy kicks Keeley out when it gets late, and it’s clear there isn’t anything new being reported. She only goes because he says he is going to turn in for the night. He gives in and crawls into bed. He pulls Jamie’s pillow closer, and the normally comforting scent of Jamie has fresh tears and sorrow rising in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Roy falls asleep from exhaustion on Jamie’s side of the bed. 

Jamie was completely knackered by the time he reached London. People were saying the entire rail system seemed to be a fucking mess because of one train derailing. Jamie cursed himself for not having a working phone to look into it himself. Roy was right. It was stupid to have let it die. Jamie’d actually resorted to reading a book his mum gave him out of boredom on the train. The train got in over an hour later than normal, so he caught the first cab and would just pay the stupid fare. He just wanted to go home. See Roy and sleep in his own bed. He isn’t surprised the lights are all off by the time he lets himself into their flat. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar layout. Leaves his shoes by the door after locking up. Silently making his way through the quiet hall to his room. He grins as he carefully sets his stuff inside the room. The lights from the street gave the room enough light to see Roy fast asleep on Jamie’s side of the bed. It makes Jamie’s chest feel warm and fuzzy. They were used to spending all day, every day together. They live together. They work together. Jamie is still shocked Roy hadn’t gotten annoyed with having him around 24/7. That Roy hadn’t gotten tired of Jamie’s shit and sent him packing. And here the man was, sleeping on Jamie's side of the bed, using his pillow like he really, truly, missed Jamie. He doesn’t have the heart to wake Roy now. And he’s honestly too fucking tired to chat. Jamie just quickly changes and carefully crawls into bed. Feels weird to be on Roy’s side, but he’s just happy to be home and in his own bed with Roy.

Roy was sure he had lost his mind when he woke up to the warmth and weight of an arm across his torso and legs tangled with his. His heart was pounding. What the fuck had he done? Had he gotten into the liquor before he went to bed and called someone? Had he gone out because being in their shared flat was excruciating, knowing Jamie would never walk through the door again? Was he that fucked in the head that he would do something this fucking heartless before even getting any confirmation, any closure? Roy was a fucking prick, and he couldn't even remember doing it. He just remembers going to bed and missing Jamie. But someone was here now and in their bed. It pains him to think of anyone else in his and Jamie’s bed. He just wants Jamie. He takes a shaky breath. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. The weight seemed so familiar. When he inhaled, he nearly choked. That scent was so very much the scent of home. Like Jamie fucking Tartt. And it broke his heart because there was no way this was Jamie. But part of him wanted to enjoy the insanity of the moment. Embrace the delusion his brain created at the idea of Jamie being alive and wrapped up in bed with Roy like he never left. Like he never went to Manchester. A sob caught in Roy's throat as he buried his face in his bedmate's neck. But the part that loved Jamie enough to still see this as a betrayal won out, and Roy couldn't stand it. He opened his eyes and was about to pull away and cuss out whoever it was when his world ground to a halt for the second time in less than a day. He'd recognize that fucking gorgeous face anywhere. That little scar on his brow and those perfect fucking lips. It didn't just look and feel like the familiar presence of Jamie Tartt. It was him. Either Roy had cracked up, and he was having the most vivid hallucination ever, or by some miracle, Jamie was right fucking here. Roy couldn't hold back the sheer amazement any more than he could hold back from touching Jamie. He needed to know this was real. That this wasn't a dream. He hadn't done something stupid and gotten himself brain-damaged. Fuck. Please let this be real. He carded his fingers through Jamie's hair. Brushed his fingers over Jamie's cheekbone and jaw. He gripped Jamie's face and placed a hesitant kiss on his lips. It all felt so impossible, but here he was. He could feel Jamie's muscles move as he stirred. Roy can't keep in the happy sob that rips its way from his chest as Jamie's eyes blink open. Fuck, those eyes were often his undoing, but this time Roy would happily get lost in them for eternity if it meant he got to keep Jamie with him.

Jamie wakes up with a hum as he feels fingers in his hair and featherweight touches to his face. Then a barely there kiss Jamie could have easily just dreamt of. It was gone so fast. He smiles as he blinks his eyes open and sees Roy looking at him like he'd never looked at him before. Like Jamie was some sort of fragile masterpiece or rare treasure. But something in that look had alarms going off in Jamie's head, and at first, he isn't sure why. He gets a good look at his boyfriend and can't even process the number of emotions Roy seems to be struggling with. But he knows one thing for sure. He had missed that man more than he thought he could for being gone for just a week. 

Something in Roy shutters when Jamie's eyes open. Jamie smiles at him, and Roy thinks his heart might explode. It's a sleepy smile that always does things to Roy. Fuck, he didn't think he'd ever see those eyes in person again. Never see that smile. And the combination now makes his stomach flip, and his heart soar. Between the warmth of Jamie's skin under Roy's hand and the fact that he could feel Jamie's breath on his wrist. It makes the air catch in Roy's lungs, and his hands shake. Jamie was there. He could feel tears falling for once, and he didn’t care if anyone saw. Jamie was home. He was alive. Roy hadn't lost him.

Jamie was starting to get worried. Roy hadn't said a single word yet. And Roy fucking Kent never cried, but there were tears now. He'd cried when he announced his retirement from football, but Jamie had never seen it happen again. Jamie cried on occasion, but not Roy Fucking Kent. What the fuck was going on? “What’s wro-” Jamie starts to ask but is cut off when Roy kisses him. It’s a desperate and needy kiss this time. It wasn't anything like the ghost of a kiss he'd gotten before he opened his eyes. It was dizzying. Part of Jamie doesn’t want to end, but most of his brain is still confused as fuck. Roy was literally shaking. He pulls away to look at him again.

“How the fuck-” Roy starts but stops when Jamie reaches up and brushes tears off Roy’s face. Roy resists the urge to close his eyes and melt into Jamie's touch.

“Rough night?” Jamie asks.

“You’re alive,” Roy says it like it is genuinely magic. His eyes shone with what would call joy, maybe shock. Though Jamie couldn’t figure out why he was so shocked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Jamie grins. “I know I took a bit longer getting home, and you were out cold when I got in. I was knackered. Why would you think I wasn’t? I know my phone was dead, but not me.” 

Roy grunts and sits up. He pulls the covers back to get a good look at his boyfriend. even moving his shirt out of the way to check for bruises or worse. Jamie just goes with it. He knows when Roy gets like this; there is no point in arguing. Roy could be a hell of a mother hen when he thinks someone he cares about is hurt or sick. Apparently, now was one of those times. 

"Roy, why-" he starts to ask.

“Because your fucking train crashed!” Roy’s heart hammers in his chest as his hands move to check Jamie over again. Jamie is as solid as ever. Nothing seemed broken or even bruised as far as he could tell. He had to remind himself that Jamie was here and didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. 

“We hit a few delays, but…” Jamie says. Roy can see the moment the gears seem to click, and Jamie realizes what happened. “Oh shit, the train from Piccadilly was the one that-okay now, that makes alotta-”

“Jamie,” Roy’s voice held more emotion than Jamie was used to as he grips the back of Jamie's neck, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. Whether it is to get Jamie to focus or to ground himself after thinking he'd lost Jamie, well, Jamie wasn't sure even Roy could answer that right now. But he didn't hate it. “What the fuck happened?” Roy finished saying.

“I went to dinner with my mum in Liverpool. Caught the train from Lime Street. Fuck, Roy, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

Roy cut him off by hauling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Everyone thought you were dead,” Roy manages to say, "your fucking old man, he said you were…fuck, Jamie, I thought I lost you." But it’s mumbled by the fact he’d buried his face in Jamie’s neck. Jamie’s grip tightens at the mention of his father. Bunching the fabric of the shirt Roy hadn’t even taken off when he went to sleep. Jamie hadn’t noticed the night before but it had been one of his, not one of Roys. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jamie apologizes, “My stupid phone-”

“Fuck,” Roy growls. “Never. Again.”

“What?” Jamie is confused by the swift change from having his arms full of a desperate boyfriend to an angry one. 

“You’re never going anywhere without me again,” Roy grits out.

Jamie lets out a shocked laugh. “Well, that’s not very realistic. You can’t be with me every second of-” Roy kisses him again and again. And Jamie lets him. 

“Fucking watch me,” Roy says when he finally pulls back but keeps Jamie tight against him like if he lets him go, he will disappear. 

“I usually do. We have a mirror. You’re fucking fit, like have ya-” Jamie is cut off as Roy’s phone starts to ring. Roy growls at it. Jamie huffs a laugh and looks at it over Roy’s shoulder. “It’s Keeley.”

“She can fucking wait,” Roy says, pulling the younger man back down to him. Jamie hums as Roy removes Jamie’s shirt. And Jamie almost forgets about the phone call, almost. Because it rings again. Roy grumbles something about throwing the damn thing out the window. Jamie chuckles as it goes to voicemail. 

“Ya know, if everyone thought me dead, then we should probably-” Jamie is cut off again when Roy moves and pins him against the mattress. 

“She. Can. Wait.” 

“Sure, yeah, she can wait,” Jamie grins as Roy’s mouth moves to his neck. The rest of the morning is spent with Roy proving to Jamie that he needs him more than Jamie ever thought possible. And Jamie couldn't help but fall even harder for the man he'd spent years looking up to.

The AFC Richmond locker room has an uneasy silence as Keeley walks in. Morning training had been a dismal affair. It was like there was a black hole in the lineup where Jamie Tartt should be. Roy had told Keeley to meet him there. She looks around the room. Everyone looks devastated. They all knew that Jamie’s train had derailed. They knew the crews were still working on recovering the dead. It broke Keeley’s heart all over again seeing Dani Rojas wipes away tears and trying to avoid looking at Jamie's name on his cubby. Rebecca and Higgins were talking to Ted, Beard, and Trent.

“Is this about losing Jamie?” Sam asks when he sees Keeley. It seems almost painful for him to ask. It’s like he avoided saying his best friend was dead.  

“Yeah, did they find him?” Colin asks. Clearly, avoiding the words as well. 

“Where’s Kent?” Rebecca asks as they all leave the office and join the locker room.

“Roy said he was on the way,” Keeley says, glancing at her phone to ensure she hadn’t missed an update. “And yeah, said he wasn’t going to repeat himself, so everyone better fucking be here.”

“Everyone’s here but him…and well…Tartt,” Isaac says. “Obviously.”

“Maybe we shoulda donnit in text,” Jamie says as Roy kills the engine. He looks over at the player’s entrance at the dog track. Nervous that everyone would be pissed they didn’t tell them sooner. Or that he was playing a trick on them or something.

“They wouldn’t have believed it, and it’s always better to do this type of thing in person. Although I wouldn’t mind keeping you to myself a bit longer,” Roy admits. 

Jamie grins. “Later,” he assures. “Because I feel bad they still think me dead. And I just keep seein this mental image of Dani looking like a kicked puppy, and I can’t live with that.” 

“Fine,” Roy grunts. “Let's go.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Is the first thing they hear when they walk into the locker room. Jamie flinches. 

“Fuck off, Isaac," Roy glares. His hand goes to the back of Jamie’s neck to anchor him. It is silent for a moment before everyone seems to start asking questions at once. Some of them are not even in English. Jamie's eyes go wide for a second, but he shakes it off. These were his friends, and they clearly had been feeling his loss.

“Jamie?” Keeley asks, and despite the chaos of the room, including Roy shouting at everyone to give them a fucking minute and they’d get their answers, Jamie hears her. He goes over to her. 

“I’m sorry, Keeley,” Jamie says. “I didn’t know. My phone was dead, an’ I-Oof-” She half lunges at him and hugs him before he can finish his apology.

“You scared me,” she says when she looks up at him. 

“Didn’t mean ta,” Jamie insists. 

A loud whistle has everyone wincing and covering their ears. Jamie covers one of Keeley’s ears and presses her against his shoulder to cover the other. She can’t help but smile to herself. Can't keep the tears of joy away, either. He always surprises her these days. And not just by not being dead. He was so kind. He was easily one of her best friends. The whistle is followed by silence. 

“Fucking hell,” Roy glares at Rebecca. She had taken Ted's whistle and blown it.

She shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?

“You alright, Jamie?” Ted asks him when Keeley nudges Jamie and Roy further into the room. She sits on the bench in Jamie’s spot.

“Yeah, Coach,” he nods.

“Now I know you all have questions,” Roy says. “And they can fucking wait. Just listen.” He looks over at Jamie. Jamie’s nervous, and his hands are in his pockets

Roy just nudges him on. 

“So you all know I went to visit me mum, haven’t seen her in years. Roy had me plan the whole week, but well, since when have I ever followed directions for that long?” Jamie grinned, earning a few chuckles.

“Yeah, I was set to be on that train from Manchester. Was supposed to spend the whole time in Manchester, but the less time I spent anywhere near those Man City pricks, the better. Seen too many of em over the week. So I had taken me mum to a cafe in Liverpool she likes. I took a later train from there. My phone was dead-”

“Of course, it was,” Sam shakes his head. “How did you survive before coach?” 

"Feigned indifference and being overly cocksure, that’s how," Keeley answers. "But he's better now."

Jamie grins at her before continuing. “Right, so the mess out of Manchester delayed the whole fucking system, but no one was sure what train was the one that caused it, so by the time I got in, it was late, and I just went to bed. Didn't bother checkin’ or wakin' anyone."

“Must have been one hell of a shock for you, Roy,” Ted comments. Roy just grunts. 

Jamie nods. “Pretty sure he didn’t think I was real, but that didn’t last long.” Jamie laughed. “Think he felt more in less than a minute than he knew he could.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says, but any impact the words might have had were undercut by the fact his hand was on the small of Jamie’s back like he was afraid to not have a physical connection to the man he thought he had lost. 

“You knew all morning and are only telling us now?” Jan asks.

“If I had my way, you’d still all be in the fucking dark," Roy admits. Still not happy to have to share Jamie's attention so soon. "Don’t owe you shit when I'm at home."

That got a number of negative reactions from the players.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Ted says in an attempt to calm them. Roy grunts. Ted continues, “I know we all feel lucky to have you back, Jamie. Fellas you can ask him all the questions you want after training. Yesterday was a dark day, but today is brighter. Suns out, let’s get out there and get the ball rollin’.”

The players complain, but they go. Most patting Jamie on the back or hugging him in Dani’s case. Jamie laughed and hugged him back. 

“Take your time, but not too much time,” Ted told Jamie as he followed the team out. 

“You good?” Roy asks Jamie. 

"Yeah, coach," Jamie nods and grins. 

“Sure you want to train today?” Roy questions.

“You going to be fine if I do? It's a big pitch, and you haven't let me outta your grip since you woke up.” Jamie counters. Roy was still coming to terms with the emotional whiplash of the past day, and Jamie knows it. They had called Jamie's mum and Roy's sister when things had settled. Phoebe had been devastated when she thought Jamie was gone. Jamie had spent a good ten minutes convincing her that he was fine and they'd come to see her in a couple of days. Roy had barely let Jamie out of his sight the whole time. Roy just rolls his eyes and leaves him to change. Although Roy kept glancing over at him as he did. Roy goes over to where Keeley is talking to Rebecca and Higgins about a press release letting the fans know Jamie is fine and a statement about the accident. Maybe even getting some pictures proving Jamie was back training with the team. Rebecca had approved the idea, and Keeley had already texted a photographer friend to come round. 

“None of that thought and prayers bullshit,” Roy tells them. “Empty fucking words.”

“He has a point. Maybe do a donation to the families or the workers. Thoughts and prayers seemed meaningless when he’d nearly thrown his remote at the tv when they started reading tweets about it on the news. Would have needed a new one if I wasn’t there,” Keeley says. 

Jamie chuckles as he laces his boots and checks his shin guards. “Didn’t save the lamp,” Jamie grins.

“You didn't give a shit about that lamp. Could have been your stupid rabbit sculpture. That thing is-” Roy starts to say but stops when Jamie stands up and walks over. 

“Fuck off,” Jamie grins. “Going to train, or you joinin’ the PR team?”

“Fucking Prick,” Roy grunts but goes with Jamie to the door. 

“You fuckin’ luv me,” Jamie smirks. 

“I fucking do,” Roy easily agrees. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Never,” Jamie gives him a kiss before they head out to join the team. 

[ah-the-reblog-blog]

I think it’s interesting that people tend to characterize pre-distortion Michael as a person who was simply a very sweet, generally clueless/awkward/silly person-

I don’t mean “it’s interesting” as in “I hate this and you’re wrong”, I genuinely love people’s characterizations of him, their interpretations are often really friggin cute, I mean that I think it’s interesting how people have interpreted distortion-Michael’s comment on his pre-distortion “ignorance”- at least, that’s where I’m ASSUMING it’s coming from? Or maybe people just auto-blorbo’d him cause we don’t know much of anything besides the… honestly frustratingly small amount of information about him that we’ve got from the episodes- /lh

Pre-distortion Michael, to me, feels… definitely kind, well-intentioned, and socially awkward as heck — the kind of awkwardness that includes: mild-to-moderate stammering when asked questions in that tone that means “you did something wrong”, tries to make conversation and keeps trying to do so with different topics if one fails to actually stick, at least until he can’t think of anything else or feels like maybe he’s just actively being ignored, at which point he makes an excuse and an awkward “bye” and leaves to mull over and stress out about how awful that interaction was and how dumb he must have seemed — (wow sorry that was unexpectedly detailed) but also like the kind of person who would probably have been able to do pretty decently as an assistant and whatnot if anyone had actually bothered to let him know what was happening and how it worked.

Listen, there’s a reason he’d been sent on trips for the institute before, (not necessarily only for Gertrude, either, he’d gone on little expeditions for the institute in general), and hadn’t just been confined to a desk job where he was filing papers or something in the years before the final trip with Gertrude.

It’s reasonable to assume that he was, in fact, considered extremely capable, instead of seeming like some throwaway, “red-shirt”, bumbling “klutz”- I think he just saw himself that way. Think Edward Nygma in season one of Gotham, (minus the riddles, and less okay with blood).

Also, the distortion implies that when Michael’s friend, (Ryan Nolastnæm Fursumreason), died to the spiral or distortion, he was reacting to something that he could see and Michael couldn’t, and basically said that the whole experience never left him, probably influencing his studies very significantly because it had bothered him so much. It wasn’t necessarily just the fact that his friend had died in such an unnatural way that had haunted him. It was the thing Ryan saw, the thing Michael couldn’t see, that terrified him. Because it was out there, still. He could feel it, somewhere, somehow. In his head. Like it was waiting for the moment where it could sink its claws and teeth into him and pull… and rip… and break him in two, scattering the pieces of his mind like it had done to his friend’s.

It was going to hurt him, too, he knew it. And he had to be prepared. Perhaps to fight- or perhaps, more likely, to run away. To get out and be free, and not be chased after by it any more, or run far enough so that it could not reach him could not place him in that centre of the place it kept his friend in and

Head trauma.

He had been drunk and hit his head. That was the story that the police had told to Michael, and he half-believed them. He didn’t want to believe that the thing Ryan had seen was real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been, because there wasn’t anything there to be real, there was nothing there-

No, it was alcohol. Mixed with whatever sort of thing had already broken his friend’s head.

He had been screaming…

No, he wanted to forget. Not to think about it, not to dwell on the thing further, he had an answer. And that… had to have been what had happened.

And he didn’t want to know what else it could have been.

[illusivejam]

My Courier, The Lucky Devil of the Mojave, Lazarus.

They initially had no interest in their past, the ongoing war between the 3 factions, or even what they would do after killing Benny. They just want to settle the score.

Laz is very impulsive and doesn’t (can’t) really think about consequences too well. They get a bit better at forethought later in the game, but they mostly learn to rely on their companions to reign them in (mostly Arcade, Boone, and Veronica. Cass and Raul get a kick out of seeing Laz almost blow themselves up. Lily, bless her heart, genuinely doesn’t see the harm). They have an uncanny sense of luck, and can usually walk out of very dangerous situations physically unscathed (usually. Sometimes your luck just runs out.)

[poisonedspider]

Things that have randomly come up while doing threads or talking to others, as per usual.

Angel Dust will not be caught dead wearing polka dots of any sort. Do you know how badly that would clash with the pattern of his stripes!?

When it is just him and Fat Nuggets, he mostly speaks Italian. It shows his comfort level when he is able to just fall into his native tongue, and also takes away from the 'act' he has to put on. It's something that ties him in to his past life that was 'stripped' from him when he became a star. He can often be seen wandering around the hotel with Fat Nuggets in his arms, cooing to him in Italian words.

I think I've mentioned this before, but (as far as we know), Angel is the only one that 'died by his own hand.' He didn't kill himself, but he did take the dangerous amount of drugs without thinking that ended up in him dying. He wasn't poisoned like Pentious, or shot and murdered like Alastor, or anything like that. That gives him a guilt he doesn't talk about a lot. Almost makes him feel weak, because in the end it was ultimately his fault, even if it wasn't his intention.

Something that came up about Angel's, ahem, anatomy. So I can repeat it five thousand times, but Angel has both a vagina and a penis. Hell is supposed to be, well, eternal damnation. Eternal suffering. So I imagine that was part of his 'curse' in a way. His feminine tendencies always had him being insulted by his dad and brother, that would call him all sorts of slurs, Henroin talking about how he 'wasn't raising no girly boy'. Being gay immediately equated him to being a woman, a 'sissy', especially in a traditionalist Catholic home in the twenties. He was terrified to not be seen as a man just because he liked pretty things, and liked pretty guys. He's very firm in his gender identity, so that would be the absolute icing on the cake of Hell sucking. That his dad and brother would have been right the whole time. That he wasn't a true man because true men don't like men. So it was almost a manifestation of his worst fears.

Which honestly gets into Catholic guilt. I have soooo many threads where other sinners have told Angel that him being gay wouldn't be part of what got him to Hell (we all know his mafia ties and horrible behaviors absolutely were but), but Angel firmly believes this is a big part of why he got sent there. Understandably, being raised Catholic. (Even though as a Catholic myself I will fight anyone that says it discriminates queer people in the Bible because that isn't the actual translation and judgmental Catholics can fight me). Part of me even thinks that gay people would automatically be cast out, because of Lute's comment about Vaggie and Charlie's relationship being an 'abomination.' Which can be for several reasons but, let's be real, the angels in this show are proving to be pretty shitty so you're telling me they probably aren't homophobic? Mmmm.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,485 Words

Summary: The Backup wakes up a day after his death and Solar makes a deal with him.

Warnings: Injury, Eye Trauma, Limb Loss, Head Trauma, Cursing, Blood Loss (Oil), Surgery (kinda), Dead Bodies (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 2: The Bitch Came Back

Eclipse gave a pained groan as he woke up, turning onto his side and his claws dug into the padded floor under them, eyes cracking open. Well, one of them opened. His right eye was there, the other was nowhere to be found and the wires were fizzling with sparks of violently disconnected machinery.

His left arm. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it there. He tried to flex its fingers but, ultimately, it didn’t move. He looked at his body and found he was missing from his right thigh down and his back felt like a train had run him over.

“Oh Jesus fuck.” He heard a voice and looked up at a copy of himself. Wait…the other Eclipse? The nice one? He groaned and pressed his face into the padded floor to wince at the way his rays were bent at uneven angles and some broken off.

He tried to retract his rays to show he was in pain, that he wasn’t going to do anything. God, it was a migraine. Some were broken off and the warped metal slid into his faceplate with a high scratching sound like nails on a chalkboard. Others simply didn’t pull in at all, too warped to do so without breaking his faceplate off entirely.

“Okay. Alright. How the fuck did you survive even?” The other Eclipse asked.

“Dunno.” He answered honestly. “Put me down. Please.” Eclipse told him. He had made it easy, all the other had to do was yank out his wires from the back of his head, which was exposed to him. Maybe step on and crush his circuit board and take out and break his personality chip.

It would be so easy to just kill him and get it over with, but-

“No. Sit up.” The other demanded. Eclipse gave a look back at him and slowly sat up with his right arm as support, shaking with effort that just sitting up was for him right now.

His head pounded and his back throbbed with exposed internal workings, his right leg was stinging with pain and oil loss. He was woozy from the effects his body gave. Loosing oil was like losing blood and warnings were flashing in his eyes that he was within critical damage and his oil was at past critical low levels. He would die if he tried to move one more time probably.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me why I should let you live.” The other demanded of him.

“You shouldn’t.” He immediately told him. This seemed to take the other by surprise a bit.

“Alright. Then you sit still until I give you an oil transfusion.” The other knelt with him, moving his right stump, clamping the oil lines there with a piece of twine, probably what he had on him that would do the job. But it did stop the oil loss.

Eclipse did as the other asked, stayed where he was. Though he was questioning why he was being helped instead of killed and his dead body thrown into the portal to his old dimension for Moon to torment and destroy.

Solar came back with a machine full of a gallon of oil, which he put into an oil line in his right arm with tape over it so the needle wouldn’t simply fall out and leave an extra wound where he was leaking oil.

“Why are you helping me?” Eclipse asked.

“Look. I don’t give a fuck if you’re evil or whatever. I can’t kill you. I physically can’t. I’ll have a nervous breakdown over it and I know it. It would be like killing myself. I am not putting my mental state into that place. So you are gonna fuckin sit here, take your oil replacement, let me fix you, and you are going to be a good person after. Got that? I will fix you and you will behave. Or I will ship you to Moon otherwise. Then you get to beg for mercy he doesn’t have for you.” The other told him.

“Th-Thank you.” Eclipse sat letting the oil fix the detrimental levels in his systems. He simply let the other, maybe he could call him Solar?, look at his injuries and begin to get the parts together to go to Parts & Service.

By the time the oil was in his system, Eclipse felt less deathly sick, less trembly and dizzy with oil loss. Solar? had looked over his exposed internal machinery in his back and had thankfully not found anything damaged. Solar had also replaced his back casing already and calibrated it while the oil was transfusion was running into his system.

“Alright, up you go, hobbles.” Solar demanded him, unhooking the oil transfusion machine and took Eclipse’s right hand, hooking his other hand under Eclipse’s left ribs. Oh…his left arm was a goner of Solar wouldn’t even touch it to support him. So he was losing two limbs today.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna drop ya.” Solar told him, putting Eclipse’s arm over his shoulders and letting himself be used as a can on Eclipse’s right side for his lost right leg. Eclipse winced with walking but Solar must be proving he could still use his left leg on the wait down to Parts & Service.

Eclipse gave a groan as Solar set him into the tube’s chair and put the new white and blue full right leg and a whole black and purple arm into the part machine. He also could see a new green and black faceplate and a pink left eye.

“This might be a little painful, it has to take off the remains of your right leg and left arm to attach the new ones and it’s going to take your rays out.” Solar told him.

“Solar?” Eclipse asked.

“Is that what you’re gonna call me?” Solar asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, what?” Solar asked.

“Can…Can you hold my hand?” Eclipse asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Solar stepped into the tube with him and shut the door, slipping his left hand to hold Eclipse’s right hand in his own. It made Eclipse relax to have someone with him when this process was absolutely terrifying.

He saw the machine begin to do its work, disconnecting his right leg at the hip joint and his left arm at his shoulder joint. He shut his eye tight and tried to focus on the feeling of Solar holding his hand, anything but the searing pain of disconnected limbs.

The tube connected the new limbs and started instantaneous calibration. Eclipse opened his right eye to see the machine descending an arm and taking off his remaining faceplate and rays and he squeezed Solar’s hand as it put his new left eye in and replaced faceplate.

“It’s over. Breathe.” Solar assured him and Eclipse nodded softly, taking a big breath to assure Solar.

“Alright. Let’s get back to the daycare and get you new clothes. You can’t go around with half your clothes basically.” Solar told him.

“Thank you.” Eclipse was a bit shaky on his new leg but he held to Solar’s hand still, letting Solar lead him to the daycare.

Once there, Solar threw a pair of black pants and a night cap with white constellations on them and a black shirt and new black and white ruffles. An entirely new outfit. It looked like it was a moon model’s kind of outfit.

“Yeah, we almost had a Star and Sky model here. Turns out Fazbear didn’t like their AIs and wanted to just scrap them. I kept their base models and outfits because I figured maybe I might need em. I’ll probably replace your casing for Star’s later so you match or whatever. Just so they don’t question why you’re here. I can say you just activated for some reason.” Eclipse looked at him with a cringe.

“You really kept two basically dead bodies?” Eclipse scrunched his nose at that.

“It’s not like we don’t already.” Solar gestured upstairs meaning his brothers.

“Oh…” Eclipse realized Solar must not have had an easy separation from that. He decided not to pick at it and simply went to get changed into the outfit.

When Eclipse came back, he saw Solar and his Moon. A temporary panic came over him as he saw Solar’s Moon.

“Eclipse, this is Crescent.” Solar introduced him.

“Hi, extra parasite.” Crescent greeted him.

“Be nice. Please.” Solar sighed.

“What? He is.” Crescent growled. Solar gave a bigger sigh and pinched his nose in annoyance.

There was suddenly a rustling in the ball pit and Solar and Eclipse looked up to see a third Eclipse in the ball pit looking panicked and confused as he looked at Solar and Eclipse.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” Crescent announced angrily.

“Oh fuck.” Solar breathed out.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 06: do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart

Forced to Watch

2445 Words; Ouroboros AU

TW for violence, exploitation, injury, trauma

AO3 ver

The locker room seemed impossibly large when Mirtala first saw it; a bench in the center more than half her height and ten lockers each as tall as her in two rows on the wall.

Mirtala had only ever heard about the locker room in passing; never from Dion, who hated talking about the arena to her, but from the Wolves and sometimes from Aster and the other kids. Of those groups, only the Wolves had ever seen the locker room, but Aster and the rest just loved to boast about how well they’d do when they were finally old enough for the arena, loved to boast about how they knew so much about it already.

But it wasn’t Aster and the rest who were standing in the locker room, a Wolf’s hand on their shoulder. It was Mirtala, her braids twisted into two tight little buns.

“Your outfit’s in the middle locker on the bottom,” the Wolf said, gently nudging Mirtala forwards. “You won’t be going in right away, but better to try it on now.”

The locker in question was unlocked. Mirtala wasn’t entirely convinced that whatever was inside would fit her—it had only been a few days since Creed drafted a contract for her, only a few days since she’d leapt into the arena with an ill-fitting wolf mask. Surely, with everything that happened in Ouroboros, there hadn’t been time to create a new outfit—every competitor in the arena was an adult or close enough, after all, and none of them were very close to Mirtala in size or stature.

To her surprise, the outfit she pulled out fit her well enough. The pants and boots and black shirt was much like Dion’s, but sized down to fit her. The shirt had the number 054 embroidered on the back in shimmery white thread—did Dion’s outfit have the same, under his vest? Mirtala figured it must have.

Where Dion’s vest was red with gold accents, Mirtala’s was white with red accents. It reminded her of candy canes, almost, or playing cards—there was a red heart on the back. Red-dyed faux feathers lined the collar, soft around Mirtala’s neck. She turned back to the locker for the final piece.

A red and white chickadee mask greeted her, the carefully shaped beak seeming to gleam under the locker room lighting. The paint was bright, unfaded by time, free of chips. It looked brand new. It looked like it’d fit her perfectly.

Mirtala pushed the mask on, reaching back to tie it.

It felt like a damnation.

+=+=+=+=+

The brawl was well underway by the time Mirtala was guided to the arena. She took a moment to peer through the gate, watching. The Opossum was already lying face down in the dirt—was he down for good, or would he get back up later? The Rhino was charging after the Rabbit, ducking around and under the obstacles in her attempts to reach hare. The audience was loud, the resounding din of the cheers and jeers louder than the groan of the gate as it rose.

“Good luck.” The Wolf shoved her forwards, out of the shadow of the gate into the searing light of the arena.

The announcer’s voice blared over the loudspeakers. “What’s this? A new challenger appears!” The audience roared. “Introducing the Chickadee! You may know her from a few nights ago, but this is her official debut! Let’s give her a warrrrrrm welcome!”

Mirtala steeled herself. She tried to imagine the arena before her as one giant jungle gym. A giant game of tag—that’s what she was about to participate in. Just a game of tag.

The announcer continued, “The first challenger to catch the Chickadee wins! Can she evade her powerful opponents? Let’s find out!” The audience was too loud, the lights too bright.

The Rhino snorted. Mirtala wasted no time in somersaulting to the nearest set of painted metal bars and flinging herself up atop them, darting about a monkey bar-like structure that curved up and over and around. The Rhino couldn’t reach her up here, so Mirtala took a moment to breathe.

Thunk. Thunk.

…Nevermind. The bar shook again as the Rhino kicked at one of the supports, and Mirtala cartwheeled over to a maze-like arrangement of metal panels. The Rhino circled around the entire thing—Mirtala had hoped to lure her into the maze entirely. Phooey.

The Rabbit chose that moment to try attacking the Rhino, landing a kick right into her leg. But the Rhino was built like a tank and it showed—she simply whirled around to face the Rabbit, who was quick to dart off.

Keep things interesting.

It was Mirtala’s whole job, in this arena—if she failed to do that, then she might as well have lost. She walked along the top of the maze walls, leaping over to another set of metal bars.

The cage bars cast shadows across the arena. Mirtala’s mask pressed against her face. She put her hands on her hips and looked at the Rhino with all of the judgment she could muster. “Are you even trying? My Nona could move faster than you!”

That did the trick. “You—” The Rhino slammed her shoulder into the pole, making the whole thing wobble. Mirtala didn’t fall, though, holding on tight. She focused not on the woman attempting to tear the structure out of the ground, but on the Opossum on the structure behind her, slowly creeping forwards.

“My baby brother’s stronger than you! He’d have knocked this whole thing over by now!” Throwing all these insults didn’t sting as much as Mirtala expected—maybe it helped that they were (kind of) true?

(Or maybe the poison of Ouroboros was getting to her. Mirtala dreaded the possibility, but she couldn’t deny it.)

The Rhino bellowed a wordless cry of rage, stepping back to throw even more force into her next shove—

The Opossum leaped down onto her from behind, arms wrapped around her neck. Mirtala watched as the Rhino stumbled this way and that trying to dislodge him. She grasped at his arms, and even slammed him against the metal panel behind her, but he held fast. Within moments, she went down, the Opossum leaping to the side to avoid being pinned.

The Opossum had hardly a moment to bask in his victory before the Rabbit’s boot was driven into his side, slamming him into the metal panel he’d just leapt off of. The Opossum was quick to get back up, darting between two metal poles to avoid the next kick. Mirtala could see his hands shaking. The Rabbit charged him again, and he yelped.

Mirtala’s whole job was to “keep the fight interesting,” as Creed had put it. So she grabbed the bar she was standing on and swung down, her legs catching the Rabbit right in hare’s shoulder. She wished she could aim for hare’s face.

The Rabbit stumbled backwards. Mirtala swung back up, flipping once in the air before grabbing the bar and landing in a handstand. “Nyeh!” She taunted. There was no time to doubt, no time to stop and think—she had to keep moving no matter what. Mirtala couldn’t stop, couldn’t let herself be caught—

She slid down a pole and dashed across the ground. The Rabbit lunged, and Mirtala ducked under hare’s tackle. She rolled to the side to avoid the next tackle, leaping into the air and slamming directly into the small of hare’s back. Hare wheezed.

Mirtala moved to climb back up, out of reach— 

Her whole world tilted as she was lifted into the air by her ankle in one smooth motion. The Opossum held her up in front of himself. The audience cheered.

Mirtala crossed her arms. The fight was over.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion was going to be sick.

Anxiety was taking a hand mixer to his organs, dread trickling down his spine. He’d never been in Creed’s private box before. He never wanted to be in here again.

Creed’s King Cobra mask glittered in the light, covering the upper half of his face. His dark brown eyes still looked like deep pits ready to swallow Dion whole even with the fake scales. “She’s doing quite well for herself.” He commented, voice light.

Dion receded further into the plush seating. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be here, sitting five feet away from this monster of a man, watching his baby sister hop about the arena like it was some kind of playground instead of the awful fighting pit it truly was—

But he wasn’t allowed to leave, either. Creed had insisted, and when Creed insisted on anything it was an incontrovertible order. When Creed insisted, someone else ended up suffering.

“You should be proud,” Creed purred, as Mirtala taunted a woman more than five times her size. “Your sister has more will to survive than half of the roster.” He took another delicate sip of wine, setting the glass down before turning to regard Dion directly. “You are proud, aren’t you?”

Pride was the last thing Dion was feeling. Complete and utter terror, sure, but—

How was he supposed to be proud of Mirtala dancing around the one place he never wanted her to go? How was he supposed to feel anything but a sense of abject failure at his ability to take care of her, to protect her from as much of Ouroboros’ ills as he could? She shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t have ended up in Ouroboros with him—and yet his own idiocy had brought her down with him, and despite his every effort he could do nothing to protect her from his own fucking mistakes—

Dion’s hands clenched into fists. He wanted to tear his eyes away from the arena below them, wanted to tear his eyes away from his sister being chased around like something to be caught, like a goal to be grabbed—

But he couldn’t.

Hatred rose up Dion’s throat like bile. He turned his ire towards the monster beside him. Venom gathered on his tongue.

(He’d nearly yelled his throat out when he’d first found out about Mirtala’s shiny new contract. Partly at Mirtala, partly at the Wolf watching him on his next dayshift.

He hadn’t had the courage to do anything more than glare at Creed when he saw him. Had almost yelled, only for his words to lodge themselves in his throat and make it sting and tighten with unshed tears.)

“I hate you.” Dion snarled. “You’re awful. Mirtala doesn’t deserve this, nobody deserves this, and I hate you, you figlio di put—”

“Are you done?” Creed’s voice cut through Dion like a knife. All of his fight left him, his whole being coming to a halt under Creed’s gaze.

Creed grinned, the fangs of his mask gleaming. “So you can be smart sometimes.” He commented.

Dion hated him. Dion hated him so much. But he held his tongue, wary of the Wolf guarding the door, wary of the serpent sipping wine barely five feet away from him.

The audience roared. The sound grated against Dion’s ears. His throat tightened and his eyes stung, his view of Mirtala ducking under the Rabbit blurring—

He hated this. He hated Creed, he hated this place, he hated his inability to do anything to get himself or Mirtala out of this hellhole—

But he hated himself most of all.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala cleaned herself up in the locker room, trading her arena outfit for nightclothes. Her hands shook, her heart racing in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what scared her worse—the fight, or the thrill that she had felt during it. Mirtala had felt unstoppable up until the point that she was finally grabbed, on top of the world as she leapt and tumbled around. She didn’t need to win fights, just to evade everyone long enough to make things interesting. But she had wanted to win so badly, wanted to push herself further like it really was just one giant game—

And that scared her more than anything. Would she let that competitiveness control her? Would she let that need to win take her over until the Mirtala in the chickadee mask was unrecognizable to her? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The exhaustion in her bones, the lingering adrenaline from throwing herself around the arena like it was one giant obstacle course—

It was satisfying. It was just like home, just like tiring herself out practicing her performance and pushing herself to go higher, farther, faster—

Uncertainty and fear swirled in her stomach. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and kick and shout until the emotions swelling in her heart didn’t seem so impossibly big. She wanted to cry.

But no tears ever came.

+=+=+=+=+

Their room was bigger when Mirtala got back. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, water dripping off onto her back.

Dion was waiting on his bedroll when she returned. His face scrunched through five different expressions in the span of a second at the sight of her, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

(He looked like he’d just cried. Mirtala still wanted to cry, herself.)

Wordlessly, Dion turned away, his expression stone.

Whatever. Mirtala grabbed Francis III and sat down on her own bedroll. Dion could stay mad for all she cared; she wasn’t going to stop. She had finally found something to do that could help, and she wasn’t going to let Dion talk her out of it.

(She wasn’t allowed to, besides.)

She clutched the plushie tighter. When Dion came back from the arena, he curled around her until their breathing matched. So why, when Mirtala came back from the arena, did Dion refuse to look at her? Was he really that mad at her?

(Probably. He’d yelled at her when he found out about the contract, his face twisted into a monstrous snarl of hurt and anger.)

Her eyes stung. Mirtala sniffed, begging herself not to cry. She was strong! She was brave! She had to be, to survive here in Ouroboros. And she was.

She heard Dion move behind her. Felt his hand ghost over her shoulder before withdrawing. “Tala—” He started, only to fall silent.

She didn’t turn around.

(Later that night, when Dion’s breathing had long evened out, she tucked herself against his side, pulling his arm around her and imagining that he’d put it there, that he’d pushed through his stupid doubt and held her himself instead of holding back like a coward—

Mirtala clutched Francis III closer. She hated this place. She hated it so much.

But she was still powerless to do anything about that.)

[im-secretly-a-frog]

So yesterday something happened

It was really bad and really scary, so if you don't want to hear about that don't keep reading. WARNING: it may trigger some people's trauma, if you have trauma around people you love being hurt/really sick it may trigger that.

So, as some of you know, I have six siblings, three older and three younger. My second youngest sibling is severely disabled. She has Cornelia Delang Syndrome, which is very rare so even most doctors don't know it exists. It means she can't walk, talk, or eat, and she has heart issues.

She is 12 years old, but the size of a five-year-old. She almost died several times, (like, a lot) when she was first born. I was very young when she was born, and I don't remember it. I thought that I didn't have that much trauma around it because I was so young, I probably didn't even know what was happening. But I do.

Yesterday, she fell and hit her head. She's fine, don't worry, but she had to go to hospital. This triggered trauma I didn't even know I had, and as soon as My parents left for the hospital I had a panic attack on the floor of my room. This isn't that out of the ordinary, I have panic attacks regularly, but this one was different. I could barely move or breathe, and I thought she was going to die. I have no idea how long it lasted for. When I could, I went and had a shower to try and distract myself.

Soon after, my father came home and told us she was fine. She was already being seen at the hospital.

She's okay, and everyone's safe, but I was terrified. I didn't know if I was ever going to see my little sister again.