#implied medical stuff

[psychologicalwarclaire]

Ninjago Team Medic Headcanons

Wu gave them all basic first aid training, and later taught them some more advanced techniques, but I think everyone has their own specialties.

Kai - Kai treats the serious injuries. He’s the only one who can cauterize wounds, if needed. But other times, he can splint broken or sprained limbs with ease. Kai is the closest thing the ninja have to an official medic. His protectiveness led to many sleepless nights watching videos ranging from treating muscle soreness, to burns, to CPR, to live surgeries. 

Jay - Good at treating injuries during missions, but is prone to… unorthodox methods. If you need something dealt with fast, he is the guy. Accidents in the junkyard and his time on the Misfortune’s Keep taught him how to quickly patch up anything out of almost any material. His methods of sloppy stitches, makeshift bandaging, or increasingly strange ways to prevent infections are temporary solutions, but they’ll keep you alive long enough to get real help. He’s always got fun bandaids stashed somewhere. But in terms of moral support, he’s your guy. Jay is a master of distraction, keeping the others either chuckling or groaning with his jokes while he or someone else works. When he gets very stressed, however, he’ll be dead silent as he treats the wound, looking on with a clenched jaw.

Nya - Nya is the best of everyone at traditional first aid. Before she was a ninja, she did a lot of the patching up after missions, so she’s got lots of experience. Nya is also so good at treating burns that it’s like her second elemental power; back in the day, her inexperienced brother had many blacksmithing accidents in the forge. It’s been established that she can’t access water inside of people’s bodies (cough, water in Jay’s lungs, cough), but if the blood is outside of you… It’s not quite bloodbending, but she can keep her team from bleeding out. She is also helpful during times of rest and recovery, keeping everyone drinking plenty of fluids and threatening them to take it easy. She’s an expert in heatstroke and dehydration because her stupid ninja forget to drink water on a daily basis. 

Cole - Cole’s big hands and strength make it difficult for him to treat delicate injuries like stitching someone up, but if you need a joint popped back into place or a broken bone set, he is absolutely your guy. Most of what Cole provides to his team’s wellbeing is emotional. He gives the best hugs. Kai and Jay utilize his calming presence when dealing with more… tricky wounds. Also: as mud is nature’s sunblock, he’s always happy to provide some to prevent his team from getting burned when they inevitably forget sunblock. 

Lloyd - Lloyd still believes in the magic power of bandages. For himself, and for others. Over the years he’s gotten better at recognizing when to use them and when more serious medical attention is required, but he’d still prefer not to have to deal with his injured team. In a situation where someone gets badly injured, usually Lloyd has many different problems to deal with and the other ninja are happy to take things off his plate instead of making him deal with a downed teammate. When it is up to him, he’s no medical expert by any means, but he’ll try his best. Occasionally, he’ll have to use his powers to combat some sort of magical ailment. 

Zane - Do NOT try and get Zane’s help with an injury. You think his ability to access any and all medical knowledge would be useful? WRONG. The guy sees one of his friends injured and practically shuts down. Dislocated joints? Broken bones? Heck no, he needs to leave the room. Catches a glimpse of blood? He is gone. Poor guy once almost started crying when Lloyd got a bloody nose. The whole situation is a mix of him hating to see his loved ones injured, and also being queasy over blood because he doesn’t have any. All those body parts that he doesn’t have are GROSS. The only thing he’s able to help with is diagnosing illnesses and occasionally pointing out concussions. Even then, it gets out of hand (“You have a mild cough? MY SOURCES SAY YOU HAVE FIVE DAYS TO LIVE.”) After treatment, however, he’s always ready to provide an instant ice pack and physical therapy. 

Pixal - Pixal is eager to help. Do not let her help. Her solution to almost everything-- whether it be a skinned knee or fractured wrist-- is amputation. She has spent years building so many backup prosthetics and just wants to be useful (“please let me implement my prosthetics, Kai, please! Lloyd would look so good with a robot arm!’). She knows hundreds of different options but she feels more comfortable working on machines, so what’s her solution? Cut it off, install a machine. That she can work with. Luckily, the ninja deal with both of the nindroids by having Zane keep her away, successfully distracting both of them from bloody situations. 

[gophergal]

Behold, a silly AU I've been yapping to @cursed--alien about for... A week? Or two? Idk. Either way this is what they called Nine Mercs And A Baby, in which Medic creates a test tube baby (using his and Heavy's genetics) to develop an artificial womb then gets really attached to the resulting offspring. I'm not much of a fankid or kidfic person (kids weird me out), but this AU has really grown on me despite being a joke at first

(more details under the cut)

Before their "birth", Medic refused to acknowledge the question of what he was planning on doing with the baby if it survived. After it was born he claimed that he was only keeping it to study human growth and development first hand

Medic is extremely weird about fatherhood. He's simultaneously really anxious and distant. He knows he's not cut out to be a primary caregiver. It's just not something he's capable of, and he thinks himself too old for this nonsense. However, once he realizes that he really does have the support of his dysfunctional found family, he allows himself to learn to be a better father

The kid was raised relatively gender neutral. Ever read the book "X: a fabulous child's story"? They're not quite that neutral, but they're not really forced into gender roles or expectations. They have two first names (one feminine, one masculine), but no one in their family uses them. Most of the time they're just called the Kid, but everyone has a nickname for 'em. They don't care about pronouns all that much. (C'mon, they're my OC and I headcanon Medic as transmasc. There was no way they wouldn't be some flavor of nonbinary)

Heavy treasures his child and is so fucking protective. He's wrapped around their little finger. Though everyone helps out with their needs, he's his child's primary caregiver and no decisions are made about them without Papa Bear knowing

They're born in 1968 and spend the first four years of their life living on the base. MvM doesn't happen in this AU, so once the Gravel Wars end, Red Team goes their separate ways... At first. After a year or so they start trickling back together because nothing feels quite as right as being A Team. Kid only had about a year of their life where they didn't have a big family to rely on

It's not all sunshine and rainbows, but the only Major Issue in the family (at least for Kid) is how distant Medic is despite being their actual Legal Father. He tries, but he's afraid of smothering them or pressuring them into following in his footsteps. Had he been younger when they were born, he probably wouldn't have cared. But having the opportunity to form strong bonds has made him a softer man. Regardless, they still love each other, and Kid feels lucky to have a dad like him

[glitch-after-dark]

I think the funniest way we could take the "Pharma vivisecting Ratchet painlessly to be spine and head" thing is that Ratchet is into it and he is strangely calm because this was a normal routine post fighting before they had the weirdest medical kink sex about it to rebuild trust post-fight.

Ratchet can never explain that to anyone though. a.) it would mean unpacking the worst break up in history of a not-relationship and b.) it would mean he'd have to explain his own feelings about consensual vivisection and the only two people he'd be willing to tell would inevitably lead him to unpacking the emotional baggage about bodies and trusts and bodily autonomy that led him to being into it. And Ratchet is nothing if not an avoider of looking inward.

And because Pharma is literally the only one skilled enough to manage the super freaky stuff Ratchet was into without killing him and his dream threesome he definitely wasn't hoping for when Drift accompanied him to Delphi will never happen now.

[insomnious-illustrations]

"Your eyes are the eyes of a dead man."

(I couldn't decide which version I liked best so more under the cut)

[marshmcore]

HEAVY TF2 TUMMY ‼️‼️‼️

IM HUMBLED TO BE A HEAVY TUMMY VICTIM dude u hve no clue how fast my dick shot up when i got the ask LYK

HERE U GO I HOPE IT SATISFIES YOU ;_;

(I hope i get the hamburger soldier, i want to feed this man)

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[the-meme-monarch]

ok sorry i didn’t go insane over emesis blue like i thought I would but it is making me scared irl now. i can’t turn over in bed bc what if there’s a severed head positioned like it’s peaking around the doorframe. what if i look over and The Butcher is there

[syncrovoid-presents]

Wally and the Colour RED

Wally and the colour Red have an interesting relationship in Welcome Home. This is a rambling/analysis of different things I've found that makes me believe it's an important detail moving forwards with the Welcome Home Mystery!

First! Why do I think this matters?

There's a few reasons why I think this matters! First, while all the members of the cast seem to be tied to a colour, none is as focused or as consistent as Wally and the colour red! The two primary examples I'll use to cover this is one that we've had for a while, and two that we got in this update. Those being the signatures at the bottom of the guestbook, the interactable telephone, and the name graphics on the transcript page!

Interestingly, all of the cast are directly tied to a specific colour! The signatures at the bottom of the Guestpage and the colours of the "calls" on the telephone are the same for each character. This being pink for Julie, orange for Sally, yellow for Frank, green for Poppy, turquoise for Howdy, blue for Barnaby, purple for Eddie, and red for Wally. This is consistent (and possibly something to pay attention for in the future?)

Notably however, Home is signed by Wally, while the audio file for Wally's "call" recording is also called "duet" when you open it in another tab. Audio files with "duet" is a sign that Home is present. This means that red is not strictly a Wally colour, but also the colour for Home!

(if you're curious, the other audio called "duet" is Wally's little song he sings)

This is interesting, because Wally and Home are often treated as a duo, moreso than any other characters of Welcome Home. I would also like to point out another detail, one that I think ties into this tie between Wally, Home and the colour red.

The Records

All the records from Wally's hidden message ("I will help you understand neighbor, I will find a way soon.") are red! Sure, some are glitched, but they are all red. As is this record with the strange audio (has anyone decoded this yet?). This audio is directly tied to Wally, as it's called "(DRAWING?) WITH WALLY DARLING".

However the hidden one's may not just be Wally. Though they are all name the tab "answer" when opened, I'm tempted to say that "answer" is wally prompting us to answer (or, alternatively, Wally is trying to answer us, however he perceives us).

I believe that Home is there too in the audio. If you listen to all of them in a row, turning up the audio will reveal that there is a heart beat in the background. This, I want to say, is Home and not Wally, as Wally does not seem to register them. It peaks about halfway through with Neighbor, coincidentally the audio that is both glitching and is made of a series of clicks rather than voice lines.

I have seen people say that this is "Help Me" or "Hello" in morse code. I do not know which is the agreed translation is (to me it sounds like "…. . ..-.. .. -.. ---", which translates to "HEĘIDO", which is not a word. However it most resembles "…. . .-.. .-.. ---" which translates to "HELLO")

Regardless of what Home may be saying, it shows that the hidden recordings can be put together into a timeline that sounds like one recording, which means it's most likely all recorded at the same place. Ergo, Home is in the hidden recordings as well!

Other spots where red is brought up

There are other instances of red being tied to Wally. Some are obvious, like his love of apples (red ones specifically), the Wally prints/finger paint on the bottom of the guestbook, the background of the "i <3 Wally" gif/sticker in the sticker section of the site (also shared with Home. Wally's character description is also shared by home!), Wally himself in the "so-below" page, among other things. Such as the Wally themed telephone being red, despite his more iconic blue swirled hair (or blue and yellow-trimed sweater), his clothing in multiple official artworks, the Wally cereal box, and more.

(Like something I've noticed, which is that Home is the only house that's a solid colour (red!) without any pattern breaking it up, plus the most "standout" red that Wally typically wears being tied around his neck (symbolism?). Plus the "W" of Welcome Home is red! That's fun too!

There's also some... stranger ones. Such as this hidden piece of morse code found by this person, which spells out ".. -- .-. . -..", or "IM RED" when translated to english.

And more hidden ones too, that tie into the hidden staff page (I have a post breaking that down that you can find here!! I cover everything I could find plus went through the website code, if you want to know everything about the secret staff site check it out!)

There is the red safe, which has in WHRP universe lore!! I delve into this in my other post, just know that it is something that exists both in the secret website (it is what introduces you to the hidden website!) AND it exists in the WHRP world, both written about in printed emails and as a physical object seen within The Room:tm:. You may also notice everyone is represented by their original colours, except for home, who is now white (or blank?).

There's also scrap pieces of red paper spilled on the ground in The Room:tm: (that have drawn spirals), a red clock in the style of Wally's red car, a red painting of some sort on the wall of The Room:tm: (that we never get a good look at, though it may have a drawn yellow eye in the upper center), a red apple, and most importantly of all, this:

The Red Notebook

This is no ordinary notebook. This here is the notebook that the WHRP team have "loaned" the Question Answerer, also known as the Head Curator of Question Answer! according to the printed emails. This book is very important because there are multiple signs that it was written by Wally. Inside is a sketchpad attached to the lefthand interior bookcase with little paintings and a handprint suspiciously similar to that on the bottom of the GuestBook page and doodles in the styles Wally has used (spirals, finger paint smiley face, the drawn apple, etc).

(by the way, if you're interested in what the note says the most accurate translation I've found is by Tumblr user truckfreaks

"Hello,

My name doesn't matter. I am here to catalogue something I'm not sure is fully real. But it must be. I'm holding all the evidence in my hands. Pictures. Characters. Text I can barely read. It's called "Welcome Home" and it looks like it might've been a children's book? Like I said, I can't tell.

It was sopping wet when I found it. When I first reached into one of the brightly colored envelopes, my hand was already covered in some gross, [unknown - possibly “oozing”] material. It feels like antiques are always covered in some kind of grime. I'm trying to clean up what I have and do a little more digging.

There's only one name I can make out right now... Wally. Probably important, but like I said, I'll keep looking.

XOXO"

The wrap up (don't want to make this too long!)

Regardless of what you make of this, it shows that there is even more proof of Wally, not just the character but the Wally ""haunting"" the website and the Wally within the WHRP universe, all being tied to the colour red. (Quick clarification: The Wally we see in branding, clips of the show, etc are all Wally, however he isn't current Wally. He is the Wally of the past, the original Wally, the base Wallly, whatever you want to call him. Therefore I separate him from the "now" Wally. It's unconfirmed whether the Wally that's seemingly trying to communicate with us through the website is the same as the Wally that seems to be related to all the objects being sent to Question Answerer, who is the same Wally that is constantly calling them. If so, then there is only one "now" Wally. If they are separate, then there are two, possibly one in the website itself and one focusing on Question Answerer. Please note, this is all speculation).

While it's true that red is Wally's favourite colour, I believe that it's far more than just that tying Wally and the color red together. Going forwards, anything red that isn't immediately branded as a Wally related object should be considered important, at least I think so.

As for the connection between Wally and Home, both sharing the colour Red? I think this primarily is a display of how the two characters either rely on each other or are, in the vaguest of ways, tied together by fate.

Good bye for now!

[an-albino-pinetree]

There is slight dark themes in this comic! There is no Nsfw, and nothing is shown, there’s nothing graphic done or said, but the “comic” itself is about the lead up to a non consensual act. You could look at this as both dub con or non con, either way, if those themes upset you, I wouldn’t read this! Thank you! - Implied touching, Carnival is way too chipper given the circumstances, examination stuff, reader is referred to as “patient”, light violence mention, POV, scopophobia:

[fanged-fanfics]

Vittorino (8:11) x reader..angst…WHEN…..

I luv ur fics so much keep it up 😭😭❤️❤️

☆ "Rabbits, they called us" — Vittorino x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Angst/Hurt No Comfort || they/them pronouns for reader || Warnings for descriptions of injury, religious/medical trauma, and PTSD/self-harm (all mild/implied)

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You had only wanted to help. You'd been there for years by Vittorino's side, seeing the best and worst of him. You didn't exactly remember when he became so quick to snap and irritable, but little flickers of memory occasionally caught you. Doctors in seafoam scrubs, a younger and more approachable Vittorino disappearing for a few moments only to come back with blood dripping from his head and a new wrap of bandages. It was hard to retain many memories, the Basilica was as dizzying and confusing as it was large. Sometimes you could barely make your way around the place.

But something you did retain clearly was the mention of rabbits. Vittorino had brought them up quite a few times, enough for you to somewhat associate him with the animals. In an attempt to brighten his mood, you decided today to bring one into the Basilica. You'd proudly held the small lagamorph up to the pale priest, but the reaction you got was wildly different than what you had expected. Vittorino had yelped as if hit with an electric shock, backing up to the farthest wall and yelling in a frenzied panic over it. You'd quickly and gently put the rabbit back in its carrier compartment for safety before attempting an approach.

Vittorino still had himself backed against a wall, mumbling nearly incoherently under his breath. One of his hands was clutched onto the 'wing' part of the left side of his hair, tugging hard. The other was gripping a rosary a little too tightly, the cross part was digging directly into his palm and the base of his fingers. "Vittorino?" You called gently, but he didn't even glance near you. You couldn't fully understand what he was muttering, his breaths shook his words and made them warble in a way you'd never heard. The most you could gather was it was Italian.

"Vittorino, hey," You began again, taking a step closer. He jumped violently at registering noise, whirling around with rage immediately replacing his fear, frozen panic morphing to blinding red hurt. "What were you THINKING?!" He yelled at you, causing you to step back "Hey- it's alright, Vittorino, I put him up. See?". You held up your empty hands to show him "I'm so sorry, I didn't think that-"

"Of course you didn't" Vittorino cut you off, an aggressive scoff punctuating his words "You obviously didn't. Not something you do often, hm? I don't know why I expected anything else". You felt your own irritation rising at that, and you replied back immediately "Excuse me? I made a small mistake because I wanted to help you! I couldn't have known it would be like this". "You might have, if you ever listened to me" Vittorino snarled "Just once, think about someone other than you". "I was, I was trying to do something for you!" You shot back.

"By sending me to an early death?! Congratulations! How amazing that I have you here, truly a joy" Vittorino shot back sarcastically. You almost gave another retort, but your throat caught. Using the opportunity, you forced yourself to relieve a rough sigh. "...Okay, I messed up. I- I'm sorry I missed something, I really am. But it's not fair for you to start talking to me like this"

"Do you want to know what's really 'not fair'?" Vittorino asked lowly, his tone coming across as a dangerous rumble. "What's not fair is being caged and prodded like some pest, or shoved aside like roadkill. You want to see 'unfair', hm? You wouldn't survive having to claw and fight for even enough air to breathe in your own rectory". As he went on, his hands around his scarf got tighter. You couldn't tell if he was shaking from fear or rage, and his harsh tugging was closing the fabric around his own neck. He was still ranting, even when his own actions were close to cutting off his air "You see how many demons they can bleed out of you and get you to stop scratching each other, then we can talk about what's 'just' or 'fair'!"

"Vittorino- Vitto, stop" You said, hesitantly trying to stop his hands "Vittorino!". He pulled his hands away from his scarf, freeing his own airway. Even with the care you showed, he was still giving you a searing glare. "Get out, before I call the police for trespassing" Vittorino said in a low growl. "Wait, come on- look, I'm really sorry!" You called out, but he didn't listen. He'd already turned on his heel, beginning to retreat into one of the many hallways. "Vittorino! Vittorino!! Come on, I- I'm really-" you shouted out, but you found yourself choking up all over again. He didn't even wait before storming down the halls as fast as he possibly could.

You took a few deeps breaths to steady yourself, trying not to let tears fill your eyes or bile gather in your throat. You stepped back towards the entrance, seeing how the animal you'd brought was calmly gnawing on the celery in his container. You sighed, petting the top of the carrier. "It's not your fault" you said gently, almost a whisper. You knew realistically the animal wasn't harmed. Vittorino hadn't even touched him, and he was safe where he sat. Maybe you just needed those words to be said, to believe them for even a moment, and hear the reassurance.

You noticed your vision blurring, and you quickly wiped your eyes dry. You lifted the carrier, gently heading for the doors, saying, "Let's get you home, little one" to the critter within it. As your shoes made noise on the floor, you let your thoughts wander with the echoes. A mix of regret, guilt, and anger still filled your chest in a sickening weight. You reached the doorknob, opening up the large entrance and pushing it open. Maybe there'd be time to meet up with him again someday, but at the moment, Vittorino was the last person you wanted to think about.

As you walked down the street, Vittorino sat in his rectory. His whole body shook, and he was heaving deep, slow breaths. He looked down at the hand clutching his rosary, slowly opening it. Red stained the cross and his gloves, skin having punctured under his grip. He growled a frustrated sigh, throwing the beads on the ground before stomping to the bed. He sat down with a heavy weight, pulling a hidden box out from under his bed. He began working at the latch, opening it up to reveal bandages inside.

He tried to pick up the roll, but his quivering hands kept having them slip through his fingers. He grumbled as he tried to pick it up, each time the fabric fell and evaded his grip. He made a shout of frustration, throwing the box full force away from him. It clashed and clattered on the floor, the contents inside scattering across the surface. His breathing was back to uneven, jaw clenched painfully tight. At the sight of a miniature scalpel, he shuddered with sudden intense nausea. He had to force himself to look away, staring at his own pillows instead. Though his vision was impaired by a burning ache in his eyes, wetness overcoming his sight.

He didn't bother brushing it away. His rectory was the one place he felt it was safe to be like this. A pained, strangled noise left his lips as his hands clenched tightly. He'd never managed to keep company for very long these days, and this was a stark reminder as to why. His superiors had been right, he was a danger. Too much for anyone to handle, God's worst mistake. He eased the growing disgust and anger in his system by gnawing the side of his gloved hand. Ever since what those doctors did, he couldn't feel the contact anyways. Or anything in his hands for that matter. Not since-

He squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the thought, jaw clamping tighter as his already bleeding hand started tugging at his scarf. No more, no more, please no more. He forced himself to breathe deeply, moving his hand out of his mouth as his cheeks became stained with tears and remorse. He didn't mean to, it was an accident. Why did he have to- especially to you, of all people?! He mumbled under his breath, prayers long since engraved into his memory spilling out before he could control it.

He'd have to find time to see you, to explain or maybe make amends. But the thought of your hurt expression at his words made the tears fall faster, and his teeth grit tighter. He had to fix this... he had no idea how he would, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else. Especially you

[calyroco]

Given that Belphegor, the sin of sloth, is making(or at least approving the making of) Stolas' prescribed brand of antidepressants I'm disappointed that they just seem like regular meds. Like since a sin is approving this stuff, it could've resulted in medications that fuck you up instead of really treating the actual issue.

Maybe antidepressants that treat depression by either killing your emotions completely so you have no strong feelings on anything(sort of like a temporary lobotomy) or sedating you so hard you could have surgery done on you and not notice. Since it's hell you could get away with medications not really working the way they should to make the world feel more alien. Instead it's regular, apparently perfectly functional, antidepressants that just so happen to have the stamp of the approval of a deadly sin. It fits with the sloth ring's general medical theme,but that's the best thing the little antidepressant label nod to Belphegor has going for it for me.

Then again,the incorporation of sins into the feel of the rings and what those rings do has never felt particularly strong. Despite being leaders, it feels like they could disappear tomorrow and their absence wouldn't do much.

Like what would happen to the lust ring if Asmodeus pulled a Lucifer and just stopped ruling for a bit? The residents would probably keep going just the same. It doesn't feel like the lust ring is the way it is because of Asmodeus. It feels like it just so happens to contain Asmodeus,y'know?

Admittedly in the grand scheme of things,this isn't a big deal at all. There are much weirder writing choices that could dwarf this teensy tiny detail easily. I just find it boring how when there's an opportunity to shift away from hell being like a generic U.S.-esque setting with a red coat of paint to something more fantastical and alien, it just commits to being our world with a red coat of paint

[the-sprout-medley]

idea that i had that we do not have the energy to put into a comic

me: *going about my day*

new persecutor: hey what if the body's sister was being violentl-

me: I HAVE KILLED A MAN BEFORE UND I WILL DO IT AGAIN IF YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE

-humboldt

[daisywords]

\

[savebatsartedition]

Goretober 2024 Day 24 - Operation

Prompt by ibishop5 on DeviantArt!

Warning: Medical setting.

This is implied Tenthshipping I promise. :3 (It's an echo of last year's Wally/Emerald entry. That's why.)

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 20: To know he still is warm though I am cold

The morning’s rain had stopped and the small amount of fog that had followed it had burned away, but the sky was still leaden grey, and there was just a bit of a nip in the air. It was honestly Gerry’s favorite kind of weather, especially now. He’d always been one for the dreary, gloomy days of late autumn and early winter��it suited his aesthetic and his personality alike—but this year he’d been particularly delighted when the weather started changing. And until today, he hadn’t understood why.

Whistling under his breath, he let himself into the flat and started to drop the keys into the bowl that sat on the table by the door, then stopped and stared at it for just a moment. There was nothing special about it, just a shallow wooden dish that didn’t really work well for eating or serving out of. When they’d moved Tim in, he’d set it on the little hall table right inside the door that had never served as anything but something for Gerry to catch his hip on when he tried to get through the door too quickly, and it was just where he dropped his keys and wallet when he came in the door. He’d never said a word to Gerry about it, but somewhere along the line, Gerry had started putting his own keys and wallet in there as soon as he got in, too.

There were a lot of little things like that around the flat, small, subtle marks they’d made on one another. The cookbooks on the shelf in the kitchen, the mingled clothes in the closet and dresser in the bedroom, the row of hooks behind the door where Tim’s heavy wool coat hung next to Rowlf’s lead. There were a few things out haphazardly, a couple disarranged throw blankets or half-finished projects, but the barely organized chaos from before was nowhere to be found…but then, neither was the rigid, almost antiseptic environment of the house Tim had lived in before he came here. Gerry had taught him to loosen his control, while Tim had taught Gerry to take a bit of pride in his appearance and surroundings. They were a good fit for one another.

A bumping noise from the back of the flat made him laugh. He tossed keys and wallet into the bowl, hung his coat on the hook, and headed back to the bedroom that had once been his mother’s. The second he opened the door, Rowlf burst out in a whirlwind of wagging tail and licking tongue. Gerry spent a few minutes fussing over him, took him out to do his business, then made sure there was water in his bowl before heading into the sitting room. Rowlf followed him and flopped down at his feet, head on his shoes. Gerry smiled down at him for a moment before reaching for the phone.

The phone rang three times before Tim’s voice came over the line, crisp and professional and just a hair distracted. “Good morning, Magnus Institute Archives, Tim Stoker speaking.”

Obviously he hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Gerry thought about playing into it, but he was in too good a mood to stall the conversation much longer. “Did I call the trunk line instead of your personal one?”

“Hey, babe!” Tim’s voice instantly brightened. “Sorry, I was expecting a call back on a statement.”

“I can call back later,” Gerry said, knowing full well Tim wouldn’t agree to that.

“No, it’s good, I’m good…hang on.” Tim took the phone away from his mouth, but he was still clearly audible, so he’d dropped the phone but not muffled it against his shoulder. “Hey, if Jon asks, I’m just stepping out to take a call, okay?”

Someone in the room gave a quiet assent, and Gerry listened contentedly to the sounds of Tim getting up and making his way through the Archives. A door opened, a door shut, and then Tim’s voice came back more strongly. “I’m back. Sorry I didn’t wake you up before I left this morning, but you just looked so comfortable.”

“It’s okay. I probably needed the sleep.” Gerry drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You know what today is?”

“Fourth of November.”

“You know what’s significant about that?”

Tim hummed. “Grand opening of the first true Tube line?”

Gerry paused. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. 1890. King William Street to Stockwell. Prince Edward cut the ribbon, but it wasn’t actually open to the public until the eighteenth of December.”

“Do I even want to know how you know that?”

“Lou had one of those This Day In History calendars the year I started working for her. That one stuck out.” Tim laughed. “I doubt that’s what you had in mind, though. Tell me, what’s significant about the fourth of Nov—”

He stopped abruptly. Gerry could hear the wheels turning in his head and decided to preempt him. “Yeah. Twelve months since my surgery.”

“Fuck.” Tim exhaled hard. “Your follow-up appointment is today, isn’t it? What time? I can probably get Jon to let me out for the afternoon or—”

“Just got home, actually,” Gerry admitted. “I kind of forgot about it until yesterday and, well, I didn’t want you to fret about it. I know we haven’t…really talked about it, but…you know.”

“Gerry.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Gerry bit his lip for a moment. “I do actually wish you’d been there.”

Tim was quiet for several moments. Finally, he said softly, “Okay. I’m sitting down. Give it to me. What did they say?”

Gerry frowned, momentarily puzzled. Then he replayed the conversation they’d just had in his mind, and guilt stabbed through his gut. “Oh. Oh, shit, Tim, no. No, nothing like—I’m fine. All the tests came back clear. I am one hundred percent tumor free. The surgery worked, the treatment worked, it’s—I’m okay. I just wish you’d been there to hear it with me.”

“Jesus, Ger, you scared the hell out of me.” Tim let out a relieved-sounding laugh. “They don’t think it’s likely to come back?”

“It wasn’t cancer. Just a tumor. They said all the tests showed it was more or less benign, and it was an anomaly. So no, it’s not coming back.” Gerry ran his free hand over the spot they’d cut into to remove it. “Doc said if I made it to this point, I’ve got nothing left to worry about.”

“That’s wonderful. Seriously. You were probably right not to tell me about it, I’d have been stressing all morning if I couldn’t be there with you, but…I’m glad you’re okay.” Tim took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get back to work, but…I’ll see you when I get home, okay? I love you, Gerry.”

“I love you, too, Tim.”

They didn’t say it often. Or, well, they did, but in a casual way, as part of everyday conversation. Breakfast is on the table, can you pick up milk on the way home, did you walk the dog, love you. The words were little more than punctuation to the sentences of their daily lives. It was when they actually spoke the I that it was important, that it meant…no, it always meant something, but it meant more when they made it a full sentence. Or at least that was how it felt to Gerry. He still wasn’t one for romance—neither was Tim—and he hadn’t exactly had a lot of love growing up, but he sure knew what it was now. It was a hand under his elbow while they wobbled on razor blades across a slippery surface and a set of fingers around his during takeoff and landing. It was regular meals and a fully stocked pantry. It was a water bottle that never seemed to be empty while he was painting and a bed that was always made with clean sheets when he was tired. It was having his own space but knowing someone else was there if and when he wanted company. It was running to share a joy when something good happened and reaching out for comfort when trouble came his way. It was the way Tim just fit, effortlessly, into his life and didn’t so much make him feel like he’d found something he’d been missing as he gave a richer, fuller experience to what was already there.

Saying I love you took a lot less time than all of that.

Gerry slowly replaced the receiver on the cradle, then got to his feet. There were a lot of things he could probably be doing—more research into the Unknowing, hunting for signs of Gertrude, going over Leitner’s catalog and seeing if he could track down more books to destroy—but he decided, fuck it, he was entitled to a day off. Especially given the news he’d gotten. The world wasn’t ending today, in any sense of the phrase, so he was going to take time for himself.

He headed into the back room they had designated as his studio, another change Tim had made, albeit more blatantly. As a kid, the only space Gerry had been given for his own had been his bedroom, where he’d slept, hidden from his mother, listened to music, and worked on his art. Even after her death, he’d been quietly afraid to spread out. He’d started to pack his things away entirely when Tim moved in, but Tim had insisted he at least have somewhere he could use them if he wanted to. So after cleaning the hell out of the room she’d used as a workroom, they’d set it up for Gerry’s art.

He actually didn’t feel like working back there, though. Not today. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed the drawing board, a few sheets of paper, and his pencils, then went back into the sitting room. Turning on the stereo and letting the death metal fill the room—not too loud, he didn’t want to hurt Rowlf’s ears—he propped his feet up on an ottoman, balanced the board on his knees, and began sketching.

Time, presumably, passed. The music kept playing, and Gerry paused occasionally to contemplate his next action or shake out his fingers, but for the most part he was unaware of anything going on around him until he felt a sudden weight on the top of his head. “When’s the last time you moved your legs?”

Gerry tilted his his head back with a smile, dislodging Tim’s arms. “Hi, Tim.”

“Hi.” Tim smiled back. “Answer the question, Delano.”

“Well, you’re home, so…a few hours, I’m guessing.” Gerry straightened out his legs and bit back a gasp as awareness of how stiff and sore they were came rushing in. “I was going to say ‘unless you’re here on your lunch break’, but nope, definitely been sitting here for a while. What time is it?”

“Half-six. I could tell you were pretty involved in your work, since you didn’t notice me come in, take the dog for a walk, and come back.” Tim slid his fingers along the back of Gerry’s neck and along his shoulder. “Would you rather go out or eat in tonight?”

“On a Wednesday? What’s the occasion?” Gerry asked without thinking.

Tim bent down and kissed his cheek. “You’re alive. Feels like something we should celebrate.”

Gerry turned and caught Tim’s lips with his own, quickly, before he could move away. “I’m game. Give me a minute to clean up and change and we’ll go somewhere special.”

They wound up at a rather upscale French restaurant, one of the pretentious, old-fashioned ones that didn’t have a social media presence and still had blind menus for women. Gerry assumed, when the couple ahead of them was turned away almost immediately, that the restaurant was booked, but to his mild surprise they were shown to a table right away, far enough from the music that they could converse but not so close to the kitchen that they would be bothered.

“The guy didn’t have a tie on,” Tim pointed out when Gerry mentioned it, sotto voce, after they had been left with assurances that their waiter would be with them shortly. “It’s that kind of place. There aren’t many of them left and certainly not in London, or at least not ones you don’t need a reservation for. I think the only reason we’re getting into this one is because it’s a Wednesday. Like you said, not many people go out to dinner on a Wednesday, and certainly not to a place like this.”

“Well, we’re far from typical,” Gerry said, earning a laugh from Tim.

There was a four-course prix fixe menu with complementary wines listed, and honestly the price wasn’t outrageous for what it seemed to entail. Even if it had been, though, screw it, they were celebrating. The waiter bowed after taking their order and left them with the bread rolls while he went to—presumably—put their order in, or possibly get their starters.

“So, how was work?” Gerry prompted once they were alone. “Everything on the level?”

Tim’s smile faded. “I wish. They got hold of another real one without me noticing.”

Gerry winced. “That’s, what, six now?”

“That I know of. I’m still digging into the one with the…teeth. Martin’s got this one, though.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “Um, I wanted to ask you about that, actually.”

“About Martin?”

“Yeah. Kind of. It’s…” Tim took a deep breath. “You’re mentioned in it.”

Gerry’s stomach flipped. “In…what kind of detail?”

“Uh. More than you’d like. It’s the guy who had the copy of Ex Altiora you burned.”

“Oh. That guy.” Gerry sighed. “That was only like three years ago. It definitely mentions that I—” He checked himself. Weirdly, discussing the Fourteen in public rarely caused anyone around them to bat an eyelash, but if he said it definitely mentioned that I allegedly murdered my mum, no matter how quietly, they’d draw the attention of the whole restaurant.

Tim winced, but nodded. “Yep. I, uh—they all know I’m dating someone, and I’ve mentioned you as Gerry to Martin at least, but I doubt any of them have made the connection, or have any reason to suspect my Gerry is that Gerard.”

Gerry had to admit, if only to himself, that he liked the sound of my Gerry. “So I guess your question is whether you should clue him in that you know me or not.”

“Yeah. I’m honestly a little surprised neither Jon nor Sasha has said anything to me—I have your address listed as mine in the employment records, they have to know it’s the same as Pinhole Books.”

“Well, we did change the shop name, even if I do forget to answer correctly sometimes,” Gerry pointed out. “Why wouldn’t they assume it’s a new business?”

Tim shrugged. “Even if they do, I’d still think they would ask. Even just a casual ‘hey, Tim, found any weirdly shaped bird bones lying around the floor of the shop?”

Gerry shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still don’t know what that one actually did other than…you know, leak.”

Tim reached over the table and squeezed Gerry’s hand once, lightly, in a comforting gesture. “So what do you want me to tell Martin? Jon’s interested in talking to you—”

“I’m not interested in talking to him.” From what Tim had said about Jonathan Sims, he seemed like an okay guy, and he was trying to be at least a little less of an outward prick, but between the fact that they were still expecting Gertrude Robinson to come back at some point and the fact that he didn’t really want the extra scrutiny, Gerry wasn’t keen to talk to him. “Not about that incident, anyway. I don’t know how to explain…” He paused and bit his lip. “Uh, I never told you about how I met Gertrude, did I?”

The waiter returned with their starters and the sommelier, who presented them with the bottle—Gerry didn’t really know wines, but Tim seemed impressed—and poured them each a glass. When they were alone again, Tim spoke in a calm, level voice. “Other than pretending you were her grandson when we first met—very badly, I must remind you—we never really talked about it. She gave me the impression she mostly brought you in to help with Leitners, at least at first, so I figured it had something to do with that. But from what I got from the statement, I’m guessing your mum had one. Or something like a Leitner that never had his name attached to it. And if I had to go out on a limb, I'd say it was that one you had in your luggage when we were on our trip, the one locked up with about ten belts that you never read and were pretty subtle about making sure I didn’t touch.”

Gerry flushed. “I didn’t think you noticed that.”

“Gerry.”

“Okay, okay! I know.” Gerry took a deep breath. “It’s—I don’t know if it has a name or not. Doesn’t have his label in it, and there’s nothing like it in the catalog. Mum always just called it the Book. It’s—well, you’ve seen it.”

“I’ve seen the outside, anyway,” Tim said with a shrug. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen the inside, since you’re still here.”

Gerry winced. “About that.”

Tim, who had been about to cut into his starter, laid his fork down sharply. “Don’t tell me. What’s it…hang on.”

He studied Gerry, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth. Gerry braced himself for condemnation, but to his surprise—and relief—he saw nothing but sympathy and concern and a bit of sadness. “The End. That much is obvious. It’s left its mark on you, that’s for sure, but…Jesus, is that what—what everything that happened was all about? Something she got out of her book?”

“Kind of. More something she wanted to put into it, I think. See, all of the pages in it are…people. Or used to be people,” Gerry confessed softly. “She’d kill them, and then…I don’t know. Skin them, write their deaths onto them with a special pen she had for the purpose—it wasn’t like I got to watch, I sure as hell don’t know how she did it and I don’t want to. But if she read what was on the pages, she could…summon them. Or an echo of them, anyway. She used to do it sometimes to scare me, warn me what would happen to me if I didn’t do what I was told.”

Tim reached for Gerry’s hand again, and this time he didn’t let go. “And she was trying to do it to herself? While she was still alive?”

“Something like that. I think. Some kind of ritual to bind herself to it, but…it didn’t work. Obviously. She wanted me to help her, but I wouldn’t.” Gerry turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Tim’s. “Whatever it did…she was waiting for me when I got home after the mistrial. It had gone wrong, and she was trapped in this…half existence, instead of the master of death like she’d wanted. She said it was my fault.”

“You know it wasn’t, right?”

“Logically, yeah, but at the time it was hard to believe that. Got trapped with her for a few years more. Eventually she would…fade, I guess, and I’d try to run, burn as many Leitners as I could, whatever, but I never got very far. I was almost at the end of my rope when I met Gertrude. She listened to the story, then said she could help.” Gerry huffed a tired laugh. “Not sure I believed her, but I wanted to. But then she brought it back to me, and Mum’s pages were burnt out.”

Tim nodded slowly. “And then you kept helping her out of gratitude? Or because you thought you were paying her back for services rendered?”

“Why do I feel like you just called me a whore?”

“No, I called Gertrude a whore. You were paying her, which makes you the john,” Tim shot back.

Gerry barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Wherever she is, she just got the crystal clear thought that she needs to kill you immediately.”

Tim scoffed. “Please. She’s been called way worse than that.”

Their starters were starting to cool, so they both dug in and managed to finish just before the waiter returned with their salads. Conversation drifted to other topics, and Gerry could almost have fooled himself that they were any other couple on a date. Almost. At least for a while.

But because they weren’t any other couple, when their entrées came out, Tim waited until he had swallowed his first bite before he asked quietly, “Why didn’t she burn the whole thing?”

Gerry paused, fork halfway through slicing off his next bite. “What?”

“Your mum’s book. I get why you didn’t leave it in London while you were going around the world, that’s not something you want to risk someone breaking in and finding, but why would Gertrude have left most of it intact in the first place?” Tim cocked his head at Gerry thoughtfully. “Why wouldn’t she want it fully destroyed? It’s at least as dangerous as anything else in that catalog.”

“I—I don’t know,” Gerry said slowly. “Shit, it wasn’t even my idea to bring it along in the first place. I didn’t have it with me when we met up at the Institute, remember? You and I had been out at the pub. I assumed we were heading straight for Heathrow, but we went in completely the wrong direction to the bookstore and she told me to make sure I brought the book when I got my bag. I didn’t even question it.” He blinked. “Damn. She compelled me. Must have.”

Tim sighed. “I wonder if she’ll tell me her reasoning if I ask her?”

“She might. Or she might lie.”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.” Tim settled back into his seat. “She’d better come back soon, though, or Sasha is definitely going to reorganize the Archives into a ritual.”

“Ha.” Gerry took a sip of the wine that had been paired with their latest course. “Not Jon?”

“Maybe by accident, but if he does, it’s because Sasha pushed him to do it. There’s something about that lady worth keeping an eye on, I just don’t know what.” Tim sipped at his own wine. “Jon’s got enough knowledge to be dangerous, sure, but mostly to himself. If we’re lucky, he’s just going to get himself killed.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow. “And if you’re not lucky?”

“If we’re not lucky, he’s going to get Martin killed.” Tim met Gerry’s eyes, and despite the teasing smirk on his lips, his eyes were deadly serious, even a little bit afraid. “Or me.”

[theshadowrealmitself]

I can’t articulate this but I think Mr. Freeze, the Batman villain, would be a fan favorite of Vulcans