#it’s like they can feel each others pain. feel when one is hurt. it’s like a connection that didn’t exist until then. but again

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO YOUR INJURIES

-ˋ ♡ ◞ xiao ･ alhaitham ･ ayato. genshin impact. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ xiao

you imagined this would have gone differently. you imagined xiao would be frantic, furious-- not at you, but at those who dared bring you harm. you imagined he'd be scolding you endlessly for such acts of recklessness, but he does not. instead, he chooses silence, expression stoic, almost unreadable, and it makes the heart sink into uncertainties.

it is silent.

there is a heaviness that lingers in the air as he tends to your wounds, fresh cuts stinging and irritated by the balm he applies in the gentlest of ways. you imagined this would be so much more different, and you almost wish it was, because you can feel his hurt like it is your own, and you know that he believes your pain is his, always and forever.

the salve is cool against your skin ; it tingles, the back of your hand, but a warmth replaces the sensation as his fingers dance across the injuries. he doesn't look at you, but instead, chooses to displace his anxiety and frustration in the way he takes care of you.

you tilt your head the slightest bit, force your gazes to meet as you smile faintly. it is a guilty smile, he notices, and he does not return it, nor can he bring himself to look away.

"i am still here, xiao."

then, he speaks for the first time tonight.

"you should have called me. you know you cannot face dangers greater than yourself alone."

there is something in his words-- a grief, the thought of what could have been, a preemptive readiness for the loss of a loved one-- and your smile turns somber. he is right. you should have asked for help. you are lucky to have survived the night, and you both are well aware of that.

you grab his hand, squeeze it gently despite the pain. you can see that small flicker of surprise in his eyes as you pull him towards you, and in the way your lips meet his, there is the quiet seeking of forgiveness and a known gratitude.

"i'm sorry, xiao." you murmur against his lips. "i will be sure to speak your name when the time arises."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

"be honest. you're pissed."

alhaitham is quick to care for your wounds, but he is not quick to panic. not a surprise, really, and it's also not really a surprise as to how he's acting.

"i'm not angry". he states, a blunt brutality in his words. "i'm just disappointed."

you don't say anything initially, your expression deadpan as it meets his before you throw him a half-hearted glare. there's a slightly teasing tone in his response, though you know he means them. had you been a stranger, you would have thought he was dead serious.

"i'm sorry," you start, "i almost thought i was being grounded for a second."

alhaitham doesn't say anything at first, simply stares at you-- and it's a long while of just looking at each other until the first person breaks. he's almost certain you will be the first to lose in this battle of resilience-- you always are, albeit through his own means. so he scoots a little closer to you, leans forward until all you can see or think about is him. he cups your face with his hand, touch gentle, almost too warm, and how steady it is that he holds your gaze.

"you are." he murmurs, and you almost think you see a hint of a smile when you finally look away, begrudgingly leaning back the slightest bit in silent admit of defeat.

"shut up."

"i won't." he answers. "now come back to me. you have a scratch on your face, you know."

"oh. is that why you were getting so close?"

"yes," alhaitham chuckles, and you are unsure what makes your heart beat faster : the love in it, or the way he closes the distance between you once more, "but i also happen to like you, too."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ayato

"beloved, you wound me so."

there's a faint curve that settles on ayato's lips, but there's worry in that smile, and you know that no amount of words can ease it. you let out a quiet laugh, your hands in his as he squeezes them gently in comfort to both you and him : to you, in means of letting you know that he is there for you, and to him, in means of reassurance that you are still here, still alive and breathing.

there's bandages all over your body-- no serious injuries, thankfully, but there are still so many, and how they adorn you terribly so.

"and i thought i was the only one who was wounded." you respond, a lighthearted tone in your words. you do not wish to see him sad, nor do you wish to add any additional stress to his already hectic routine. ayato has experienced much loss in his life -- and even now, he must be on guard for those who wish to harm him through means of hurting those he cares for. you squeeze his hand twice : a quiet apology, an i'm sorry, and he hears it loud and clear.

"in spirit, i'm hurt, too."

your laughter grows a little louder. he's always been so cheesy and theatrical when it came to romance. the worry in his smile dissipates, turns into something of genuine relief at your reaction. though you may be littered in wounds, it's clear that you are alright.

"well, we can't have that, can we?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead in yet another means of apology. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to worry you." you whisper, and you press your forehead against his. "i'm alright, love. thank you for taking care of me."

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Let Me Love You (Eddie Munson)

Summary: Eddie fucked up, and he thinks you wont love him anymore.

WC: 740ish

Read on Ao3!

--

The silence in the trailer was thick, hanging heavy as a storm on the verge of breaking. You sat on the edge of Eddie’s bed, your knees drawn up close to your chest, arms wrapped around them as you tried to ground yourself. Outside, the rain beat down on the thin walls of the trailer, each droplet drumming a nervous heartbeat in the background.

Eddie stood in front of you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the many rings on his fingers, his hair hanging like a dark curtain around his face. He kept his gaze down, almost as if he were afraid that if he looked you in the eye, he’d lose his resolve. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising with it, but still, no words came.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up."

You looked up, and the pain in his eyes mirrored your own. "Yeah, you did."

He winced, running a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends in that way he did when he was feeling desperate. "I don’t know why… why I always feel the need to push you away when things get too close. When things get good." His voice was raw, as if every syllable hurt. "I know it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

Eddie’s eyes found yours, pleading, hoping for understanding that he didn’t deserve, for forgiveness that he hadn’t earned.

You wanted to say something sharp, to remind him that he’d hurt you, that he’d left you wondering if any of the moments you’d shared meant anything to him at all. But there was an ache in your heart that softened your anger, that made your words come out gentle instead of harsh.

"You know, Eddie…" you started, your voice soft but steady. "I love you. I’ve loved you even when you’re a stubborn, difficult mess of a person. Even when you make me feel like this, like you’re holding me at arm’s length and breaking my heart all at once. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you to let me in, only for you to shut me out again."

He reached out then, his hands hovering near yours, uncertain, as if he thought he didn’t have the right to touch you anymore. "I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot, I know. But I’m trying, okay? I… I don’t know how to love someone like you. Someone who actually… cares about me." His voice broke at the end, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability in him, the fear that lay behind his walls.

Taking his hands in yours, you looked up at him. "I need you to mean it this time, Eddie. I need you to say it, and I need to believe it."

He took a shuddering breath, as if he were bracing himself for a leap off a cliff. "I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. But then, he said it again, stronger, as if he were willing the words to be true, to feel true, even if he didn’t think he deserved them. "I love you, alright? I love you more than I know how to say."

You closed your eyes, letting the words settle over you, feeling the warmth in his voice as he said them. There was still a part of you that wanted to guard your heart, to keep a piece of yourself protected in case he left again. But this was Eddie, and despite everything, you loved him enough to take that risk.

"Can I hear you tell me you love me again?" you whispered, your own voice trembling with the weight of the moment.

He let out a shaky laugh, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I’ll say it as many times as you need," he murmured, his hands finally settling on your waist, holding you close as if he were afraid you’d vanish. "I love you. I’m yours, okay? If you’ll still have me."

You pressed a hand to his cheek, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw. "I’ll always have you, Eddie. But don’t make me regret it."

And for the first time in a long time, as he wrapped his arms around you, you felt like you were where you belonged.

--

please don't forget to reblog if you enjoyed <3

[candyswirls]

Space Marine Cuddle Pile PT 2

Continuation of this.

@wolf-feathers12 you owe me fifty cookies and I’m gluten free

Imagine:

Titus is not quite new anymore to the watch. He’s slowly opening up to his squad mates but still is apprehensive. The mission has been a success and his squad wants to celebrate. They worked well together. But Titus does not wish to participate. He is bitter and mournful. News that the Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, had returned came through a few days ago. He was overjoyed at hearing that. But he doesn’t get to celebrate. Not when he’s dishonored his chapter. Not when he’s a black shield. Not when he can’t celebrate with his brothers. Before he can go to the training cages, a squad mate pulls him back, not taking no for an answer. He may have not told them his chapter and was using another name but they can tell how hard the last few days have been. Rather than celebrating they all huddle together, one with another. They miss each of their chapters and brothers. But they can find comfort in one another. It’s a moment of reprieve for the ex-captain’s broken heart.

As an Emperors’ children you are far more prone to cuddling than one might think. You were always underestimated. Many scoffed at your legion and chalked you up to pompous and egotistical men. Some of that was true but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Even more hurtful was the rejection of your Primarch. He didn’t want you or your brothers. He would not lead. You all were so desperate that some followed his clone when he showed up. You’re all scattered and trying what you can to make Fulgrim proud and have him return. Sometimes the rejection hurts so much you’ll curl up together in a pile. Pretending the weight is your Primarch, welcoming you back and saying that you’ve done well. That you’re worthy of his love. Those who are a part of war bands tend to be flock to bigger Astartes. Craving large and warm arms to wrap around you and say it’s okay. You’re not useless or worthless. You’re not an object or disposable.

Little known fact about Iron Warriors. You will cuddle anyone but your own legion. You’re so touch starved and refuse to ask for it due to how the chapter is. Cuddling your brothers? Revolting. Your Primarch won’t do it. Cold and refusing to show any weakness. But the minute any other traitor Astartes wants to start a pile or even a daemon or cultist request a hug, you’re there. You will not say anything and you’re definitely not saying no. You will just join in. If you see a cuddle pile you won’t ask, you’re suddenly in the middle. Emperor’s Children tend to like Iron Warrior’s for this reason. Might as well write “Free Hugs” on the back of their armor.

Newly joined Blood Angels feeling the psychic wound of their genefathers death. The looming of the red thirst and the chance of falling to the black rage. Their new brothers hold them in a large mass. Safe and warm to let them know that they’re not alone. They all feel the pain. They all mourn their father and fallen brethren. They all share it. So they share their hugs and affection.

Black Templars having massive sermons where the chaplain gets emotional and they all hold one another as they recite prayers. Hold each other up. Being strong like Dorn. Their Primarch isn’t here but they are here for each other.

Night Lords will cram themselves into dark and tight places to hide, entangled in each other’s arms. Their Primarch was mad and didn’t care for them. They have to care for each other. Everything they do is vile and violent. Except for this. Ever so gentle touches, protective embraces, the most tender of running hands through hair, gentle head butting. They are one of the most affectionate legions but only with each other. Silent as they relish in each other’s deep rooted sadness and hatred for themselves and solace of being with one another.

Lorgar finally has a moment of silence as the word bearers are escorted away from Monarchia by the Ultramarines. The emperor’s wrath had been fierce. He ends up dropping to his knees and pulling his closest son into an embrace. The others around him move forward without thinking. He pulls so many into his arms, has them laying their heads on his shoulders and back. Pressing their cheeks and foreheads to his own as he cries prayers he wrote. They were innocent! Loyal to him! He had done this for him! All that work! It was a gift! A tribute! He just burned it away! Killed them all. Rejected it. He’s in so much pain and anger but having his sons close eases it a bit.

Magnus clings to his sons. They don’t react as dust swirls within the armor. Foolish stupid Ahriman. He had managed to save the remaining few and bring them into the warp. Relieved that they all weren’t dead. This seemed worse though. He presses a kiss to the top of one’s helmet, praying that there’s some bit of conscious in there. Those that were unaffected are huddled behind him as his new wings caress them.

He wasn’t very affectionate. Mortarion had grown up shying away from it and he rarely indulged in cuddle piles. But after so many had died from horrid plagues and sicknesses, he had to pledge himself to Nurgle. It didn’t matter though. His sons were saved and himself. He had sat himself on the ground and big then to come forth. Some were nuzzled into his side, a few rested their heads on his torso. He was surrounded by his sons. Safe. He didn’t care what it had taken or what would happen next.

[brucewaynehater101]

Ok ok I love angst as much as the next person and I have been devouring these sad “Tim has to be Bruce for the rest of his life” AU while Bruce dies in Tim’s body… but is there a happy version anywhere, too? Where Bruce realizes how hard Tim works every day, how much he tries to control in a desperate attempt to keep everyone and everything together?

Where they spend a few weeks in each other’s shoes and gain a better understanding of one another and talk it out and when they switch back they’re closer than ever?

Bruce can also find out about the asplenia, the many many many wounds Tim gained and sacrifices Tim made while searching for him, and Bruce can realize as he looks in the mirror that “holy shit, this is a child. This is a child and look what my war has done to him.”

Idk I like happy endings after a bunch of angst 🥺

Mmm... Nothing wrong with wanting happy endings, lmao. I don't prefer hurt no comfort unless I need to feel something, ya know?

Anyways ~ Here's a link to the OG post.

Happy ending!!!

For Tim, he starts to understand why Bruce grows really grumpy some days. He feels the way Bruce's bones ache, how his back twinges and tenses, the crack in his knees, and the way the scars pull along his skin. Some days are more manageable than others. It takes some adjusting, but Tim's able to apply some of the methods he's used (and uses) to find ones that work for Bruce. He takes notes on any patterns so he'll be able to better predict when Bruce might have a bad day.

This helps immensely when they switch. Tim can subtly implement these or get one of the family members to bully Bruce into taking care of himself. The old man may be able to grit through the pain, but he doesn't have to. The family will keep reminding him of it.

Bruce, on the other hand, is surprised by the meticulous upkeep of Tim's body. While they all follow routines to a point in order to maintain their night life, Tim never appeared to follow them. Bruce has seen the teen chug four zesti energy drinks in a row.

But Tim has schedules, allowances, remedies, recoveries, and tries to stay on top of it. He struggles, particularly with eating (he feels nauseous and can forget), but he has tons of reminders.

Tim also has So. Much. Work. Between Titans, Red Robin, WE, and maintaining his relationships with friends and family, he's constantly busy. His monthly planner is a fucking nightmare.

So, after they switch back, Bruce straight up asks how best he can support Tim. Tim is so shocked he ends up staring at Bruce without blinking for five minutes straight.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Cold ~ Part 2

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,020ish

Summary: Logan becomes overprotective of you.

Notes: I hope this part makes some sense… I got sick yet again so I'm really craving someone to take care of me.

Cold ~ Part 1

Logan became a master at taking care of you during an arthritic flare-up. The consequence of that was that he also became a master at doing everything he could to make sure that you didn’t flare up. When is why he was marching towards you, with a clear look of anger.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you were stretching in the Danger Room.

“Uh, stretching,” you responded, continuing your movements. “I have a training session with Scott in a few minutes.”

“Not anymore. You’re not training.”

“Logan, I can’t gain more strength in my powers without training.”

“You’ve trained twice already this week.”

“And my current goal is three times.”

“You’re not ready for it yet.”

“I think I know what I’m ready for, Logan.”

“No. You don’t. I can sense that you’re overdoing it.”

“I’m feeling fine. I’m going to train.”

“Everything okay here?” Scott asked, feeling the tension as he entered the room.

“Yes.” / “No.”

“Okay, then,” Scott said, slowly backing up. 

“I’m training, Logan,” you argued, standing your ground. 

“Like hell you are,” he grumbled. 

The two of you stared each other down, trying to see which one of you would break first, though you both knew the answer. With a scoff and a stop of your foot, you grabbed your training bag and threw it at Logan.

“Since I’m so weak, carry that back to my locker,” you huffed, marching off.

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn’t want to be the bad guy in your life; he was just worried. He also simply cared deeply for you in a way he hadn’t cared for anyone in far too long. He hated seeing you in pain and would do anything to prevent the pain you were forced into constantly. Logan had even talked to Hank about somehow using his healing mutation to help you. Hank said it was impossible. So Logan was forced to keep a careful eye on you, no matter if that meant you were often mad at him. 

~~~

You did your best to avoid Logan for the next few days. But no matter how hard you tried, Logan was there, stopping you from training, or carrying heavy items, or using your mutation. The anger was festering inside of you, and it all came to a boiling point when you were called into a mission briefing. Everyone was already in the briefing room when you slipped in. You hung back by the door, trying to prevent Logan from seeing you just yet.

“The base that you will be infiltrating is in an interesting location,” Charles explained. The table everyone was surrounding changed to show the base. “It is several hundred feet down in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Long Island. Due to their security system, there is only one way to reach it.” Charles’ eyes fell on you, causing the rest of the team to turn and look.

“No,” Logan immediately said. “No fucking way.”

“Logan, Y/N has been training for this. She has known about this mission for weeks now and is prepared.”

“Don’t care. She’s not a part of this. Find a different way.”

“Do I get any say in this?” You piped up.

“No,” Logan quickly responded, still focusing on Charles. “She’s not going. It’s too dangerous.”

You were growing angrier and angrier, forcing yourself to clench your fists as you felt the water pipes in the wall begin to tremble. Jean noticed and came over to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we take a break and reconvene later?” Ororo suggested.

“Later or not, Y/N is not going,” Logan argued.

“It’s not your choice!” You yelled. “It’s mine! I can do what needs to be done.”

“No, you can’t! You are too weak.”

A few gasps were heard throughout the room.

“Weak?” You repeated, both hurt and angered. “That’s what you think of me?” Suddenly, the pipes burst in the walls.

“Enough!” Charles commanded. “Y/N will be participating in the mission. And you will all be leaving at nightfall.”

You rushed out of the room, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall. You could hear loud footsteps behind you, already knowing who it was. A large hand caught your wrist, forcing you to stop, but you didn’t turn around.

“You can’t go,” Logan’s voice was stern but slightly wavered at the end. 

“You’re not in charge of me, Logan,” you replied, trying not to let him know how you were feeling. “I am going on this mission, no matter if you think I’m weak or not.” You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but his grip only tightened. “Let me go, Logan.”

“Not until you drop out of the mission.”

You finally looked at him, anger replacing hurt. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N—“

With a flick of your free hand, the pipes in the hallway walls broke. The water shot out of the walls and pummeled Logan, throwing him back and away from you. You were breathing heavily as you stopped the water. Not wanting Logan to see how hard that was for you, you quickly left.

~~~

The jet ride was completely silent. You grabbed the pilot seat next to Scott so that you didn’t have to look at Logan. You could feel Logan’s eyes staring daggers into you.

“We’re here,” Scott announced, having the jet hover over where the base was located. He looked over at you. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you responded, determined.

“Great.” Scott stood. “Everyone get tethered up, then Y/N will clear a channel once everyone is ready.”

“I’m not going down,” Logan said. “I’m staying with Y/N.”

“We need you down there, Logan,” Jean said. “We’ll all be connected through the comms.”

“I can handle myself,” you added. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

You could see Logan’s jaw clench tighter. He let out a grunt before focusing on getting tethered up. Once you were sure they were all ready, you opened the bottom of the jet up. You took a deep breath before stretching your arms towards the ocean water and creating an open circular channel.

“Let’s go!” Scott said, jumping down first. Jean and Ororo quickly followed, with Logan lingering behind, watching you.

“Go, Logan!” You shouted. 

He watched you for a few more seconds before jumping down with the rest. You ground your teeth together as you began to feel the strain of using your mutation like this.

“Alright, Y/N,” Scott said over the comms. “We’re in. We’ll let you know when we need the channel opened.”

“Got it,” you responded.

As you let the water go, you stumbled back, falling to the ground. You could feel the achiness start to set into your joints. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe you were weak. The jet suddenly shook as it was hit. You fumbled over to the pilot’s seat, trying to steer the jet away.

“Guys!” You shouted into the comms. “We have a situation up here. I’m being fired on!”

“What?!” A chorus of voices yelled over the comms.

“It looks like they got a few of their own jets in the sky.” The jet rocked as it got hit again. “Shit!”

“Y/N?!” Logan’s worried voice flooded through the speakers. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You quickly punched a few buttons. “I’ve gone into stealth mode. Hopefully, that holds them for a little bit, but that means you have to free those mutants fast.”

It was another ten minutes before Scott gave you the signal to reopen the channel. You reopened the bottom doors and focused all your energy on opening the channel. Unfortunately, that also meant that the opposing side could find the jet. The jet shook yet again with another hit.

“Hurry!” You urged. “We’re open for hits!”

Scott and Jean came up the tethered lines first, each with a mutant with them. Ororo was next, two mutants with her, and then Logan with the last one. He could immediately sense that you were hurting more than the strain on your face was giving away. Untethering himself, Logan headed for you, but the jet shook once again before he could get to you. You released the hold you had on the water as you flew up and rammed into the ceiling. You let out a cry of pain. Logan moved fast, sliding as he barely caught you before you hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, I've got you,” he whispered, holding you tightly against him.

“Hang on!” Scott shouted. “We’re going to get out of here!”

Everything hurt inside. You couldn’t even hold onto Logan, just laying against him limply as you cried. Logan did his best to hold you steady as Scott flew the jet every which way to avoid getting completely shot down. Jean ended up using her powers to keep Logan and you still as everyone’s hearts were breaking at the cries and whimpers of pain coming out of you.

It took far too long for Logan’s liking for Scott to lose the other jets and return to the mansion. As gently as Logan could manage, he carried you out of the jet and to your room. He laid you down before moving around the room to grab a heating pad, medication, and a change of clothes for you.

“You were right,” you whispered. If Logan didn’t have enhanced hearing, he would have missed it.

“About what?” He responded, bringing all the items over to you.

“I’m weak…”

“No, I— I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you did… and yes, I am… I shouldn’t even be on the team. I can’t even handle one mission.”

Logan sighed, trying to get his thoughts together before he spoke. You took it as a sign that he let you win. With a whine, you sat up.

“You can go,” you told him. “I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he responded gruffly.

“Logan,” you sighed. “I’ve taken care of myself before… flare-ups can’t stop me. I’ve got to keep living.”

“There. Right there. That’s why you’re the strongest person I have ever met.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I… I’m sorry. You are not weak. I just… I, God, I’m terrible at this.” His hand raked through his hair. “I—Sweetheart, I care so much about you. I am constantly worried about you, but it’s out of…”

“Out of what, Lo?”

He gave you a knowing look. “I think you know what.”

“I think you need to say it so I don’t go assuming things.”

“I… I love you, sweetheart. And I just hate to see you in pain. I wish that I could take it from you, and trust me, I asked Hank about it, and I—”

You winced as you placed your hand on top of Logan’s mouth to stop his rambling. “I love you, too. And I know that I haven’t said it enough, but thank you for taking care of me.”

His hand carefully wrapped around your wrist as he kissed your hand and moved it down to your lap. “Always.” He looked at you, wanting to kiss you, but he could sense the pain you were in. “What do you need?”

You looked away. “I… I can’t change.”

“Alright.”

“I need some heat.”

“I grabbed your heating pad.” He held it up.

“Could you hold me?”

“Are you sure? I’m a lot heavier than you and I—“

“And your body is my personal heating pad. Please, Logan.”

“How do you want me?”

You winced as you moved to lie down. Logan’s hand hovered over your body, not knowing exactly what to do to help. You moved onto your side, back facing Logan. He got the hint and carefully maneuvered around you so that he was the big spoon and you were the little spoon.

“Like this?” He muttered nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you replied.

“You sure. I can—“

“Logan. Just hold me.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck before resting his head there. “I’ll hold you as long as you need, sweetheart.”

[op-81-lvr]

💪🏻 PhysicalTherapist!Oscar Piastri x Male!reader

F1 X Reader; Role Reversal series Masterlist

Summary: When you get into a pretty horrific crash that costs you the rest of the season Oscar is there to pick up the pieces and help nurse your leg back to health.

CW: car accidents, talks of amputation, crying, screaming, probably inaccurate medical terminology (if anyone wants to correct me on anything I can change please let me know!), swearing (It’s just embedded into my vocab), use of drugs in a medical sense, one mention of foreplay, One mention of sex, content is a bit jumpy and the ending is rushed af but I just wanted to get this out.

A/N: Oscar has a PhD, The timelines don’t line up I am aware. For the sake of this we are pretending he is a child prodigy because I said so.

Sources of information: https://www.healthywa.wa.gov.au/Articles/F_I/Ilizarov-frame,

~

Your_Username

❤️ 💬 📟 🔖

Liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 269k others

Your_Username Boyfriend took a week off work y’all know what that means. Oscar is coming to a race 🥰😍❤️😘💕💖♥️😍🥰

oscarpiastri I think you need more PR training because wtf 😦

Your_Username What? I never said (Or did for that matter) anything sexual, I just love you

oscarpiastri I love you too but what is with the emojis?

mclaren We like Oscar, Oscar keeps you from downing a monster and then wondering why you can hear your own heartbeat

oscarpiastri I feel so loved 😍

User1 Oscar and Admin teaming up against (Y/N) will never not be funny 😭✋

User2 This means we get more videos of “goo-goo eyes” (Y/N) again because you already know Oscar is being dragged everywhere with him this weekend.

~

“I love you” You said, catching Oscars lips against yours. Whenever he was at a race you had to kiss him before you got in the car, you claimed it was for ‘luck’.

You then pulled your balaclava and your helmet over your head and Oscar kissed the top of your helmet, another thing you insisted he do “I love you too” he responded.

You climbed over the halo of your car and slid into the seat, waving to Oscar as your mechanics guided your car to the grid.

Then it was interviews, reviewing data, the national anthem and then another quick word with Martin Brundle with Sky Sports before sliding your balaclava and helmet over your head again and climbing back in your car for the formation lap.

You were starting P3, not bad all things considered. You had Carlos in P2 front of you and then Charles in P1, in the grand scheme of things not too shabby.

The cars kicked off as you did the formation lap, you went round no problems. getting into your place on the grid, Lando next to you.

The race kicked off, Lando managed to gain a place on you which you very quickly take back in the first corner.

You went back and fourth for the next few laps, swapping positions every few corners. Everything was going fine, you had been allowed to race each other.

Then you were side by side chasing each other down a straight and as you got to the corner he didn’t turn with you and he didn’t brake. Lando was having a brake failure and you were away to be a victim of it too.

Landos car completely T-barred yours. You kept gliding across the gravel trap until you hit the barrier.

And then came the pain.

The impact made you body ache, everything hurt. You couldn’t source where you were hurting from because everywhere hurt.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) respond please” Your engineer demanded. You pressed the button on your wheel but found no energy to speak, your lungs hurt too much. You just groaned down the line, hoping that would satisfy. “Okay. Okay, the marshals are on their way. Please just hang in there” He sounded distressed.

Lando was already up and walking. Your car has cushioned the blow of the crash for him and now his front wing was pressing into the side of the front wing of.

Landos helmet appeared above you, shielding your eyes from the sunlight a little more.

“C’mon mate, you have to get up” Lando said reaching his hand into the car for you to take it. You took it and attempted to stand up but when your left leg got any weight on it you fell. The pain travelled al up your leg, striking every nerve in your system.

You collapsed back into your seat and let the warm embrace of darkness take you.

~

Oscars heart was away to fall out his throat. He watched you make contact with the wall. He watched Lando get out unscathed and now he was watching Lando attempt to help you because the marshals were taking too long.

He watched as you took Lando’s hand and try and pull yourself up and then he watched as you fell back into your seat. That was when Lando turned to the drone cameras nearby and made some sort of gesture to them. Then the broadcast was cut and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

He chucked his headphones provided by McLaren onto the table before him, got up and went to your drivers room. He needed to get his stuff and leave. He needed to be with you when you were inevitably admitted to hospital.

He was rushing, recklessly throwing your things in your backpack you brought with you. It had both your things in it but you being the ever loving gentleman you were to carry it.

“Fuck, keys” Oscar muttered. He had no clue where you left the keys to your rented McLaren. Eventually after spiralling for a good 10 minutes he found the keys in one of the drawers you had in your bathroom. Keys, phone and wallet all kept safe in one place. Oscar felt like he could breathe again.

“Mate, are you really away to drive like this?” Your performance coach, Mitchell, said from the door to your drivers room.

“Yeah, I need to be with him” Oscar said, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he turned around.

“Do you even know what hospital they’re taking him to?” Mitchell asked, Oscar hesitated. Shit. He didn’t know where you were. He shook his head.

“I know where they’re taking him let me drive you Oscar, It’s not safe for you to be driving right now” Mitchell added.

“Yeah okay” Oscar said, placing the keys in the jacket pocket (Just in case). He swing the backpack over his shoulder and began following Mitchell out of the room. He just wanted out of here and be wherever you were.

You had been taking to a high level trauma centre in Milan. The drive wasn’t too bad considering the crowds were still at the circuit and in no rush to leave.

It was smooth sailing, right through the roads until they got to the hospital. Oscar still felt sick. He didn’t know what was wrong with you. His hand’s were shaking. He was scared, he needed to hold your hand and tell you were okay before he would even think about calming down.

He abandoned your trainer before he had even properly parked the car. As soon as he seen the doors he swung the car door open and bolted.

“I’m here to-“ He took a breathe, he ran too fast, “I’m here to see (Y/N) (L/N), he should have been admitted about 5 minutes ago” Oscar said, he eyes moving erratically as if you would instantly appear before him.

“He was admitted to the ER on red alert 3 minutes ago. May I ask your relation to the patient?” The nurse enquired.

“Uhh- I umm. I’m his boyfriend and power of attorney” Oscar said. Your team would have transferred over your paperwork, the nurses would know who he was, his power of attorney was listed on your papers.

That was one of the most difficult conversations you had ever had with Oscar. You brought it up one night when you were in bed, Oscar remembers being asked so clearly, ‘If I ever become incapacitated, will you speak for me?’ Oscar though it was just a safety precaution, your job was dangerous, he never thought he may actually have to decided what was best for you when you couldn’t.

“Name?” The nurse further enquired. Typing something into the computer before her

“Oscar” He said, pulling out his wallet and handing over his ID “Oscar Piastri”

“Okay, your boyfriend is in trauma room 3 right now. You can wait in the waiting room until someone comes to see you.” Oscar just nodded. He sometimes forget that just because he was technically a doctor he still could not see you, he didn’t work here.

Your trainer eventually caught up with him. They both sat side by side in the waiting room expecting news, waiting, watching people come and leave and still no news.

Oscar wept numerous time in the 2 hours they were sat in the waiting room. Mitchell being the one to rub his shoulder and remind him how stubborn you were.

Eventually a doctor in bloodied scrubs came and requested him, he doesn’t think he has ever stood up so fast.

“Mr. Piastri?” The doctor asked before beginning. Shit. The doctor does not sound like he has good news.

“Yeah” He said, letting in a deep breath.

“We have an update on your partner” Oscar glanced up at the doctor, something hopeful sparked within him. “He is in surgery, his lung collapsed and we had to re-inflate it. He currently is breathing on his own however. He has some swelling on the brain, that should go down with rest.”

“Thats it?” Oscar asked, why were you in surgery if you were going to be fine?

“Its his left leg we’re worries about, its broken in 3 different places and he is already showing signs of infection” The doctor began “Do you wish us to try and save it with pins and screws or guarantee his safety and get rid of his leg?” The doctor enquired.

Oscar was going to spew, what kind of sick twisted act of god was this. Why did he have to be the one to decided whether or not to keep it.

On one had, he knew first hand how long certain types of breaks took to heal, breaking a bone in more than one place would take months to heal and he knew you would spend most of that time in agony, feeling sorry for yourself.

On the other hand however, putting you though an amputation would most likely kill your spirit, end your career and make you hate him. It would however save you from the infection that, if it spreads, could very well kill you. Why could Mitchell not have just stayed your power of attorney? Life would have been so much easier and he would not have to make the choice.

Oscar bit his lip.

Why did it have to be him to make this call?

Fuck.

“Save the leg” He blurted out. It was probably the right call. At least try and fix what was broken. Amputation was a total worst case scenario.

“Okay, we’ll see what we can do” And with that the doctor pivoted on their heel and stormed back down the hall to what Oscar assumes was the surgical ward.

Oscar slumped back down in the chair next to Mitchell. Mitchel looked back at him, as if waiting for a response but not wanting to push.

“He’s in surgery, his lung collapsed and he has minor swelling in the brain.” Oscar began, Mitchell just watched intently as Oscar spoke “His leg is broken in three places and he’s showing signs of early infection, they just asked if I wanted them to try and fix it or amputate it” Oscars voice kept cracking as he tried not to cry.

“Oh” Mitchell said, leaning back in his chair. Oscar and Mitchell became pretty close friends since they met, they watched a lot of races together and both had degrees in sport science, even if Oscar went on to achieve a PhD and Mitchell went straight into work.

“Yeah” Oscar sighed out, rubbing the corners of his eyes to stop the tears flowing. “I told them to try save it, I think he would kill me if I didn’t” Oscar said, smiling slightly trying to lighten the mood

“I need to call him mum” Oscar said, pulling out his phone and wondered into a more isolated corner of the waiting room.

Your parents worked, they couldn’t just drop everything just to come see you. Oscar was there and there was no point making the journey if Oscar was there and you were stable.

Your mum picked up after 1 ring. She must’ve been waiting by her phone for news. “Hello, (Y/Mothers/N)”

“Oh Oscar, where is he? Can I speak to him?” Your mother exclaimed, she sounded like she had been crying. Understandable considering she had just watched one of her sons get into a horrific accident, watch him collapse and then hear nothing again for hours.

“I’m sorry, he’s in surgery right now. His leg is broken in 3 places and it needs to be screwed back together with metal plates” Oscar said down the phone. He did not want to be the one to relay this news but he was the only one that could.

“Oh…” Your bother began “Well keep me updated then. Thank you Oscar” Your mother said before promptly hanging up the phone. She clearly was in no fit state to talk to anyone right now.

Oscar sighed and returned to Mitchell. He sat in the seat and curled his knees up to his chest. Your mum would be fine, she had your siblings with her.

~

Hours passed before they heard anything again. It was just silence, crying, him and Mitchell catching up a bit, more silence until the doctor in the scrubs showed up again.

“Relations of Mr. (L/N)?” Oscar and Mitchell stood up and nodded. “He’s out of surgery, he is stable, still breathing on his own but we want to keep him sedated for the time being.” The doctor began “You can however go and see him, No plants for children in the ICU however and please mind the wires and metal.”

Oscar never reacted so fast. He had never wanted to get somewhere more than he did right now. He followed the signs to the ICU only then to remember he still didn’t know what room you were in. He pulled a nurse aside.

“Do you know where I could find (Y/N) (L/N)?” Oscar asked her. The nurse just started blankly at him. Crap. She didn’t speak english, he totally forgot he was in a country where the native language was not english.

“Uhhh- Leg, broken leg” he repeated, gesturing down at his leg, thankfully she got the message and nodded. Signalling him to follow her.

She led him to a room a little further down the hall. She opened the door and looked at Oscar. Oscar thanked her and she nodded and left.

Oscar took one look at you and started crying again. Oscar had never seen you so still. Your chest was still rising and falling but you were far too still.

Your leg was secured in metal. You were going to freak the fuck out when you woke up again.

“Oh baby” Oscar said gently, he takes a seat in the chair by your bed. Takes your hand and kisses it gently. “You’re gonna be okay”

He had no idea if you could hear him however, if on the off chance you could, he wanted to talk to you, remind you he was there.

“Lando’s gonna be okay at least, you cushioned his blow” Oscar said, he didn’t know if he was joking or not but if he didn’t laugh he would probably cry so he just went with it.

“Your mum is worried about you” Oscar began, he had to keep talking because he could get so easily freaked out by the silence of a room. “I think she needs to talk to you before she believes you’re okay, I know your siblings won’t leave her though.”

~

Oscar stayed with you for 3 days, he left to go shower and shave once but it was rushed and he missed bits. He was terrified of leaving you and coming back to you having some sort of issue. Expecting to come back and you were not breathing.

Mitchell had gone home, he had a family waiting for him at and as much as he cares about you he knows you have Oscar and he would be okay to go home and be with his kids.

“The doctors say you’re making good progress at least. Say your head is healing quite well.” Oscar began, picking up your hand and kissing it, trying not to irritate the cannula you had in your hand.

“I’m gonna go and update your mum, I will be right back baby I promise” He said, kissing your forehead gently and leaving the room, phone in hand.

Little did he know that in the 15 minutes he had spent talking to your mother you would wake up surrounded by nurses with no clue where you were or what was happening.

~

“I want Oscar” You cried out through sobs of pure agony that was running through your body right now. This was far from the most dignified moment of your life but you didn’t care, you were in pain and you wanted your boyfriend to hold you.

The nurses were scrambling about trying locate Oscar, he was in the waiting room on the phone updating your mother the last time any of the nurses had seen him.

Eventually he came back up the corridor, expecting you to still be asleep under the sedative they had given you when you had been taken into the hospital when you wouldn’t stop screaming.

Instead he was met with 2 nurses all looking slightly distressed as they stood at the outside of your door, a further nurse in the room trying to calm you down.

“He’s awake and wants you, Mr. Piastri however if you do not calm him down we may need to sedate him again before he does himself another injury.” The shorter nurse of the two said as she glanced back into the room behind her.

“O-okay” Oscar replied, paling a little at the thought of them having to sedate you again just because you could not come to terms with what was happening right now.

He entered the room not really knowing what to expect from you considering you had just woken up from being asleep for 3 days and had just found out you needed reconstructive surgery on you leg. He was met with your tear streaked face followed by hiccups and more of you shouting at nurses to find Oscar.

“I’m here baby, i’m sorry! I shouldn’t have left” Oscar announced his presence in the room, the nurses parting so that he can get through and see you.

Oscar approached you gently, still unsure if you were considering attacking or not. He gently kissed your forehead and you just started crying again.

“It hurts so much” You cried through more sobs. This was probably the most you had cried like… ever.

The last thing you remembered was kissing Oscar goodbye on the grid as you pulled your helmet over your head and prepared for lights out so why were you in a hospital? Why were you in so much pain?

“I don’t- what even happened?” You said, practically gasping for air between words.

“You were in a crash, shattered your Tibia and did yourself some internal damage” Oscar began, he sat in the chair that was beside the bed you were in. The nursed had cleared out now, they no longer thought you were going to hurt yourself or anyone else “Baby, your lung collapsed and I was so scared. They had to sedate you when they brought you in just to calm you down”

You sat there looking at Oscar as if he had just grown 6 heads. You blinked, hoping maybe you were dreaming, that you would wake up and this would all be a nasty dream and then you didn’t wake up, this was your new, horrific? reality.

You looked down at your leg and there it was again, that ugly metal rods that poked out of your leg, mocking you and your career. You needed your leg, it was not something that you could just live without and still be an f1 driver.

“Wh- Oscar this is some sick joke right? Do you know how long bones take to heal? Months, Oscar, months” You say, your breathing speeding up again as you spiralled into panic, realistically you knew he knew how long bones took to heal it was literally his job to deal with patients who suffered broken bones and trauma that impacted their mobility

“(Y/N), look at me” Oscar said, holding your hand up to his mouth and kissing it. “This is not what you needed right now, I know that, but you should be grateful you even still have your leg, it was touch and go for a while” Oscar knew it was harsh to tell you such cruel things when you were panicking but he also knew that sometimes a slap back to reality is needed.

“I- okay” You said taking a deep breath through your nose and out through the mouth trying to calm yourself down. “It still hurts, can they give me more drugs?” you asked, normally you would swear off using drugs for anything. Even taking ibuprofen made you weary but you were genuinely in so much pain.

“Afraid not baby, they already maxed out your dose before they woke you up. You’re gonna be real floaty soon” Oscar said, a slight smile grazing his face. You had never been high before so the amount of drugs they had you on were going to hit you like a train.

Your doctor came into the room a few moments later after being told by the horde of nurses that you were awake and distressed. (and that they gave you more drugs so he better be quick if he wants you coherent).

“Ahhh Mr. (L/N), you’re awake!” He said in an overly put on happy voice. “As you may have noticed you’ve been out for a while” You just nodded along.

“Your injuries were quite extensive. You punctured a lung, gave yourself quite the concussion and the most obvious injury you may have noticed is your shattered Tibia.” You bit your lip slightly and nodded, looking at the metal structure that surrounded the bottom of your left leg.

Oscar squeezed your hand a little tighter, letting you know he was here. He wasn’t interfering with the doctors conversation, letting you take in what you were being told.

“We’ll assign you with a physical therapist once your leg is healed which we hope to be sorted in the next 2-4 months.” The doctor began and Oscar took this as his moment to interrupt.

“Hold it- i’m right here, I can take care of his physio” Oscar began, he knew you didn’t cope well with new people and people touching you so he, ultimately, would be your best bet at getting anywhere with physical therapy anyway.

“Mr. Piastri, I understand that you want to help but you’re much too close to this” The doctor began before Oscar cut him off.

“No, he doesn’t cope well being touched by strangers. It’ll take numerous sessions just to get him to let another physio touch him, let me do this” He begged, arguing for you as if you weren’t right there (metaphorically you weren’t, the morphine was beginning to kick in and you were feeling loopy as fuck) “I know him, we live together and I travel with him when I manage to close my clinic for a few days please just assign me to take care of him”

Oscar didn’t care how pathetic he sounded right now, He knew you, he knew your routines and little rituals you had before races and things you did to put yourself to sleep at night.

You two had known each other since you were young, you had both been shipped off to boarding school and were educated together. You separated when Oscar when to university to study sport science and you went off to persue Formula 1 and met each other again after your trainer referred you to a proper physio after a particularly bad bout of neck and back pain.

Ever since then you had been inseparable, never seen apart. Point is he needed to care for you in anyway he could. He would make room for you in his schedule, he ran his own private clinic in london so it wouldn’t be that hard to shift his schedule around for you.

The doctor bit his lip, considering it for a moment. “Now are you absolutely sure about this, because frankly I don’t think this is a good idea” He began

“Yes, yes I am. I can take care of him. I know him, I know what he liked and what he doesn’t plus he already is comfortable with me touching him” Oscar began spewing out reasons he should take care of you, why he needs to take care of you.

“And I live with him, I would be with him most days. Just please. It would save the hassle of you trying to find a physiotherapist in London from here anyway” Oscar would literally start a war if this doctor did not get his shit together and let Oscar take over your care.

“Okay fine, we can discuss paperwork later but as for just now I would go and sit with him. He’s gonna get real giddy in a few minutes” The doctor said, gathering up his stuff and promptly leaving the room. It was just you and Oscar again, just this time you’re awake.

“Has anyone ever told you, you have pretty hair” You said, staring at Oscar as if he was the Sistine Chapel. You eyes were already getting a bit bloodshot and glassy, Oscar just blushed slightly.

“Maybe once or twice” Oscar said, playing into what ever mind games the Morphine was playing in you. It was in fact you that always told Oscar he had pretty hair and got all stroppy when he got a haircut.

He took your hand and kissed it again. “I think you should go to sleep before you say anything else you’ll regret”

“Fine” You said like a stroppy toddler. You lay back and let yourself fall asleep. Your soft breaths once again filled the room as you let yourself rest.

Oscar just sat back and sighed, it was going to be a long few months with you but he was willing. He wanted this, it was always you that took care of him. He wanted it to be his turn to take care of you.

~

After another few weeks, a fuck tonne of drugs, loads of tears and lots of sleeping you were eventually discharged and sent home with crutches and a prescription for more pain killers.

The flight back home was a bit of a nightmare considering you couldn’t go through a metal detector without setting it off, you were in so much pain it was ridiculous. You would have taken pills for the pain but you had put them in your suitcase and not your carry on.

Oscar had tried his best to soothe you but ultimately there was nothing he could do but hold your hand and give you kisses until you got off the plane.

“You know you never had to shut your clinic to stay with me, you could have gone home to run the place” You said. You had felt guilty as anything after Oscar told you he was staying and taking time off to be with you.

“I didn’t shut my clinic, I left in Tina charge while I was gone.” He shrugged, casual as anything “Plus I was technically seeing a patient” He said smugly.

You were Oscars patient now, he had your medical file on his work computer, he had your patient history and he was not gonna let it go. He was so serious about this that he blanked you when you said it would make for great foreplay.

“You are such a sap” You said, pushing him gently. You were, thankfully, flying private. You weren’t sure you could deal with the public and the paparazzi taking non -consentual photos of you in an airport with crutches, a metal brace around your leg and your boyfriend correcting your posture every 5 minutes.

The flight was uneventful for the remainder. You eventually dozed off, Oscar had opted to lay you in his lap and rub your scalp until you fell asleep and he didn’t wake you up until you were away to land.

The car ride to your London home was also largely uneventful. You called a cab because neither of you had a car readily available (not like you could drive anyway).

The first issue you faced was when you got to your house and remembered you had stairs to climb to get into your house. Oscar had to take your bags inside and then have to guide you up the stairs slowly.

“This is fucking humiliating” You mutter as Oscar guides you up the stairs. “World’s greatest athletes and I can’t even climb the stairs to my own house” You mutter, Oscar hears though. He always does somehow.

“You are still a good athlete baby, you’re just hurt and need taken care of right now thats all” Oscar responds gently. He was always patient with you when you started spiralling and getting into your own head.

You had an athletes mentality and that was something Oscar had gotten very used to considering he worked with athletes of varying professions and levels and though you. With you he saw the mental ups and downs he assumes most athletes go though.

“What am I supposed to do for the next 3 months” You exclaim as Oscar helps you onto your sofa. “I can’t exercise properly, Can’t go on walks or runs, I can’t even sleep in my side” You whine. For some a break like this would be ideal but not for you, you could not for the life of you sit still for long periods of time.

“Exercise is actually good for your leg, even if your shin is fucked right now you still need to keep the leg moving.” Oscar explained “You’ll just be in more pain if you don’t move it”

“Now, you’re gonna take your painkillers and then go for a nap because I think you need rest” Oscar said, slipping a pill in between your lips and forcing you to drink the water he gave to you

He lifted his head from its place on the sofa, threw the cushion out from under it and slotted himself in it’s place. Placing you back down so your head was lay in his lap.

“Now, i’m comfy, you’re comfy and everyone is safe so go to sleep” He said, stroking your face gently with his hands “I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise”

You let your eyes droop and your aches to go numb as the warmth of sleep overtook your system. You had no problems letting Oscar massage your face to send you to sleep.

In reality Oscar felt he needed to watch you sleep, to watch you breathe, the even rise and fall of your chest was a comfort to him. The last time he could not see you sleeping your lung collapsed and you could not breathe. Oscar felt it was his duty and as a doctor (technically) to be the one to take note of your health, make sure your body was working properly.

He turned the TV on and eventually he himself dozed off. He would never tell anyone, especially not you, how tired he let himself become those last few weeks in Italy. He was going to make himself sick if he stayed in hospital with you a little longer just so he could stay with you.

~

The next few weeks were hellish.

Oscar had been helping you move your legs and clean the entry site of the pins in your leg. Or he was trying, you kept doing so well and then having days where you were in nothing but pain and cried all day.

In between all of this Oscar had also gone back into work, just with reduced hours, he did still have clients after all. Your injury didn’t just magically heal his other patients that he saw regularly

Today, Oscar wasn’t really doing much with you. He was just having you practice walking on your crutches again.

“You know this would be easier if you came into my practise instead of using our living room” Oscar said, looking up at you from the sofa

“No!” You exclaim “I cannot leave the house like this, Do you know how humiliating this would be if a fan found me, I can’t fucking walk Oscar!” You wanted to shout so very badly but you couldn’t because you knew better than to piss of your physio (and boyfriend)

“Baby, I understand I really do bu-“ Oscar began

“No you don’t! You do not understand, I am under constant scrutiny from the press and the fans and the news. I cannot have them see me like this. I cannot handle the rumours about my career by random people on the internet” You snap.

“You’re right” Oscar said, looking at the floor. “I do not understand baby but you need proper equipment, which I have, it’s just at my practise. Please just let them speculate for the sake of your health. Hell even make a statement yourself just to shut them up.”

“You’re right, i’m being stupid.” You began, adjusting yourself as you lean onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping, I love you”

“I love you too” Oscar said kissing your hairline gently.

~

Your_Username

❤️ 💬 📟 🔖

Liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 704k others

Your_Username Life since my accident 🩶

Seriously though I would like to send a massive thanks to the Paramedics and Doctors in Italy that literally saved my life. I’m not gonna go into detail about my injuries until I feel ready but it was scary. Even bigger thanks to Dr. Boyfriend who took me home and has dealt with my moody ass for the past few weeks

As for my career, I am still unsure as to what will happen with my future. You aren’t rid of me just yet though, I can promise you that.

Lots of Love, (Y/N) (L/N)

oscarpiastri So very proud of you baby, We’re gonna get through this together 💪🏻

mclaren We’re gonna miss you at MTC for the next few months ☹️

Comments on this post have been limited

~

The following weeks were a nightmare, Oscar began working close to his full schedule. You wondered if this is what Oscar felt like when you were away for weeks at a time for racing. Only so much TV could fill the time you spend sitting on the couch, doing basic exercises to keep your leg moving and more sitting on the couch.

When Oscar was home you spent a lot of time listening about his day, you not having much to add to that conversation these days. Sometimes your recovering and his work overlapped.

That was the times you enjoyed the most lately.

You got to see Oscar in his ‘natural habitat’ as you would call it. It’s where he was content, in his zone. It was so nice to see him so comfortable in an environment most people feel tense in.

Earlier in the week you had been papped waking from Oscar’s car to the clinic on crutches. You had never been phased by the paparazzi but now, in your state you were mortified.

“I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal” Oscar said, you were sat in his office in his exam bed as he cleaned the entry points or your pins. “I mean the media know you’re injured, they know you won’t be driving for a while and they know i’m doing your physio” He shrugged.

“I know, it’s just a bit irritating that they can’t just let me be injured in peace y’know?” You reply, wincing slightly as Oscar pressed at a particularly tender piece of skin

“I get that but surely it could be worse, people know you’re okay, The media can stop trying to contact you for your where about and People know you’re with me and you’re all mine” Oscar said, leaving a slightly unprompted kiss to your knee

“I supposed” You grumble, laying back on the exam bed as Oscar began making you bend your leg. “I love you”

“I love you too”

~

“(Y/N) you fabulous, fabulous man! You my friend have just won your first championship” You engineer yelled over you comms.

You couldn’t respond, you were crying while trying to navigate your cooldown lap.

A 18-months ago you almost lost your leg, told that you would probably never walk again. A year ago you could barely bed you knee. Eight months ago you were falling behind in the championship, the media beating you up. Five months ago you began your record breaking comeback and right now you had just won the championship off all championships in Vegas

You climbed out of your car after taking a moment to yourself. A deep breath. A moment of silence.

You did the usual jumping into the crowd of engineers as they pulled you over the fence and held you up. It took 5 minutes for your feet to return to the ground. And then there was Oscar, who was also crying.

You went to hug him, pulling him close and then pulling him over the fence so you could properly give him kissed “This is all because of you baby, all of it. You’re the one who nursed me back to health, back to this point” You whispered in his ear, over the crowds of people screaming your name.

“I’m so proud of you” He said kissing your cheek. Photographers taking this as their moment to strike. “And you are getting railed so hard tonight”

And now you’re less glad you’re surrounded by photographers.

[chelledoggo]

given the state of... things... i wanna really dissect the ending of episode 2 of TADC.

old news, yeah. but... i think the message of this scene hits harder in this time.

obvious spoiler warning below the cut!!! (also religion CW since i share a Bible verse at the end.)

so by now you probably know the ending all too well.

Pomni made a new friend in Gummigoo, hoping to help him find a better life in the circus... only to watch him be unceremoniously blasted into confetti by the well-meaning but completely tactless Caine.

and of course Pomni is understandably traumatized, going into absolute hysterics.

Caine, the oblivious godlike AI in charge of the show, believes he was just keeping things safe and in order, and shows no real empathy as he teleports himself out of the situation.

Pomni just stands there. dissociating. confused. God only knows what thoughts are going through her mind right now.

the ever-nurturing Ragatha, who's made it her mission to make sure everyone else is as happy as possible, tries to step in and raise Pomni's spirits.

of course, none of this is of any consolation to Pomni. like... how could it be? she watched her friend (presumably) die.

it's like those who believe in an afterlife watching someone die in front of them. even with that little bit of hope and comfort that you may one day see them again, that can't erase the horror you bore witness to.

Pomni stands there unresponsive. Ragatha feels helpless to comfort her.

Zooble approaches, letting Ragatha know that they've finished preparations for Kaufmo's funeral...

Ragatha turns to Pomni and extends an invitation.

this is enough to bring Pomni out of her traumatized stupor.

Ragatha explains the custom that the circus crew developed themselves. whenever a friend abstracts, they hold a "funeral" service to honor them.

now Pomni never knew Kaufmo. he abstracted just before Pomni entered the circus. they never had a chance to meet.

and yet Ragatha still invites Pomni to mourn him along with the rest of the humans.

Ragatha realizes that hopeful platitudes won't really do anything at this time. so instead she opens to her new friend a safe space to grieve.

Pomni accepts the invitation. she stands before the "casket" of a perfect stranger, unsure of what to think.

Ragatha takes her place next to the casket, allowing herself the rare opportunity to express vulnerability around the people she usually puts on a brave face for.

Pomni watches and listens as each of these people she'd only met yesterday share their eulogies for Kaufmo.

they share their experiences. their happy moments with their abstracted friend. and, most importantly, they share their grief and anguish.

Pomni obviously can't relate to any of these stories of Kaufmo. she never knew him.

but that's not the point.

the point is that she's witnessing the camaraderie of the humans in a way she never could before.

she's witnessing them in a vulnerable moment where they can break their goofy facades. and, more importantly, she's witnessing just how deeply these people love and care for each other.

brotherhood doesn't always take the form of trying to fix everyone's pain and cheer each other up. sometimes brotherhood is simply allowing those you care for to feel their feelings without judgement, and to hurt along with them.

and that's when it hits Pomni for the first time.

she's Not Alone

i think this scene hits harder after... recent events.

it's okay to feel the way you feel right now. it's okay to be anxious, scared, angry. it's okay, for right now, to feel... hopeless.

hope will come eventually. but oftentimes grief has to come first.

and that's okay. it's in the moments of communal despair that the seeds of hope are planted.

times of fear and suffering are inevitable. a perfectly happy outcome can't always be guaranteed. but comfort exists even in grief.

so take your time.

hope has no deadline. rest assured that it WILL come eventually, but don't rush or force it.

rest.

feel your feelings.

find those who can lament with you.

find those who need you to lament with them.

we should let ourselves hurt together today. and then we can hope together tomorrow.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep." - Romans 12:15 (NRSVUE)

[achillean-heartbeat]

Listening to the AWTWB Baz playlist Rainbow Rowell has posted on spotify is... devastating.

i am in love with all of Rainbow's playlists and her annotations on her site. i absolutely love how much thought she puts into them in relation to her characters, and how much you can find Simon and Baz in their respective playlists.

But the AWTWB: Baz playlist, specifically, holds a special place in my heart...

The absolute fucking SOFTNESS from the first song till the very last... while listening i can SEE Baz cradling his own vulnerable bleeding heart in his hands and holding it out to Simon no matter the consequences...

I will never shut up about Rainbow's playlists for her characters. They're so good they make me weep everytime i listen.

Edit: Fuck it.

Here's all the specific lyrics in the AWTWB: BAZ playlist by Rainbow Rowell on spotify that made me physically clutch my heart from pain (and love. For Baz.):

"We thought love was something, we weren't meant to find, but now you're a stranger"

"but you don't remember, August honey, you were mine."

"I can't forget those earlier days, when i was in your heart, Now you take my hand, and it's as cold, as when you speak."

"Cannot count the ways you used to love me, But I can count the ways you used to try"

"The cries are just the start, To a fallen angel, While one hand takes the cross, Another lights the candle"

"would you feel, together and inebriated, enabling of a fable, we were never meant to be but together."

"I want say what lovers say to you, I want to feel what lovers feel with you, I want to do it with you. Would you be my lover?"

"Remember the time you told me love was touching souls, Surely you touched mine 'cause part of you pours out of me."

"You're in my blood, you're my holy wine. You taste so bitter and so sweet. Oh I could drink a case of you darling"

"You felt shelter somewhere in me, I find great comfort in you, And I keep you safe from harm, You hold me in your arms"

"I've got your back, And though, it's stacked against us, I've got your hand, It's us against consensus, And I will burn, The people who hurt you"

"You know it's time that we, Grow old and do some shit, I like it all that way"

"Won't you please let me go?, These words lie inside they hurt me so, I've Lost you, I've Lost you, I've Lost you."

"Please don't let me hit the ground, Tonight I think I'll walk alone, I'll find my soul as I go home."

"Looking out at endless snow, Waiting in the silence, If you won't spill your heart, I'll chase you for the worst you owe."

"You are the answer to my question, You are my accomplice in a crime."

"In the twilight they danced and played, The fireflies they go light like cray, In the dreaming we struck each other, and prayed, for pain."

"Two melting candles against the sun, Modern angels they broke our wings in the wind, For what?"

"But when I'm asleep, I want somebody, Who will put their arms around me, And kiss me tenderly"

"Who knows how long I've loved you, You know I love you still, Will I wait a lonely lifetime, If you want me to, I will."

The more i listen to this playlist, the more i cry, the more i ache over baz and the unconditional love this boy, this man, holds in his heart.

Thank you @rainbowrowell.

[ram-bles]

Plsplspls daisuke and reader romance hcs and my soul is yours

gn/transmasc whichever you prefer thank you so much

daisuke x reader | headcanons

part 4:

Romance edition

pay up anon 🫴👈 /j no, bc I have notes about this already and I saw you pop up in my notifs.

⚠️: 🔞 gn pronouns and masc pronouns* used, fluff, nothing explicit but there is implied sex (don't worry, it's optional. I put it at the end so you can skip.)

*bonus transmasc!reader category

🌺 Mentioned in a previous post. You fall first, he falls harder. He doesn't even notice until later on when he's doing the most mundane task and he catches himself smiling - "Oh."- while thinking of you. "Shiiiit."

🌺 The D in Daisuke stands for dense. Dense, dense, dense. To be fair, you guys are close and everything you've done together was seen as platonic. Heavy on was.

"Are you really bros if you don't cuddle to sleep?"

🌺 C'mon. He'll treat this like a romance visual novel game and you are the main and only love interest. It makes him less nervous this way.

🌺 Daisuke - for the life of him - could not use endearments. It makes him cringe. Will most likely call you by nickname or dude/bro (gnc).

"Babe... Baby... Honey— PFFT-"

"Daisuke." Last name mouthwashing. Followed by whatever his last name was. You gave him a warning tone.

"I can't help it!" He stifles his laughter but it turns into a fit of giggles.

🌺 Best friends to lovers is a perfect trope with him. I feel like the confession will come in naturally. You become best friends, blur the lines of platonic and romantic without realizing it, and the next thing you know, you're dating.

🌺 Experience wise? He's had a few relationships in highschool. Doesn't even know if he considers it as a relationship if he were honest. More-so flings.

⚠️ Implied sex. Ignore if uncomfortable.

🌺 If I were to lean more on to his mature side, then maybe things got too intimate. No promises of what happens next, but surely, you'd both question it. Don't get me wrong though, definitely an each other's firsts situation still.

Your sports watch vibrates on the table side, its buzz louder against the surface it was on. Groggily, you sit up, stretching and flinching at how sore you were before orienting yourself, unconsciously tugging the blanket closer to you.

The faint sound of the shower beside the shared room reminds you of the events last night and your brain felt like it was about to shortcircuit, thoughts silencing quickly as you hear the bathroom door open, making you snap your head back up and you felt like having another wire shorting in your brain at the sight, but you push it away for now.

"Mornin'!" And he says your name so sweetly, enthusiastically. Your heart ached. "I didn't take too long right? Did you just wake up?"

Your silence scared him, even more so when you hung your head low. He calls your name. "Did you not like last night? Ah, fuck- Is anything painful? I'm sorry. We don't have to do this again. I'm s—"

"Daisuke?"

"Y-Yeah? What's up? Seriously, you're worrying me, dude. Did I hurt you?"

"What are we?"

[ Bonus: Transmasc!Reader ]

🌺 Seeing your binder for the first time?

You two were back at your shared quarters. The day had just ended and you just wanted to change into your sleepwear and crash.

"Dude, that looks uncomfy. You sure it ain't too tight?"

"Nah. I made sure it fit. I have looser ones just incase. Don't worry, Dai." You were about to remove it when you notice him staring. Before this, you've been changing in the bathroom already, and at times he'd just turn away when you tell him to. He only realizes when you haven't moved for awhile and he instantly flinches. "Oh, sorry- turning riiiight now!"

"We're dating already... It's okay."

Plus, totally normal to see dudes topless.

He tilts his head curiously as he watches and it would be a lie if it didn't make you slightly conscious of your appearance, but you trust him. The smitten look he has makes you feel better. His eyes dart down to the small dents on your skin left by the band and his hand twitches.

"Can I massage it?"

"What? My tits?"

He calls out your name in mock frustration before laughing. "Y'know what I mean!"

"Yeah, yeah. Make some space on the bed then."

🌺 Probably would love pressing the marks away. Also, he gets to cling onto you while at it so win-win right?

🌺 Top scars?

"Duuuuuude. That's sick as fuck." His head was hanging by the edge of the bed, watching you change while upside down.

"Hm?"

"The scars. How'd you gettem? Don't look like it's from an accident."

"... Surgery?"

"Oh?" He stays quiet for a moment trying to piece two and two together. You wait for him with an amused expression. "OHHHHHH."

Right, he didn't know.

"Still sick as fuck though."

🌺 feeling dysphoric? he already treats you like a king, but hopefully you won't get too overwhelmed with his advances when he notices you feeling down.

"hey, handsome." "pretty boy!"

🌺 if he didn't know you were trans and you tell him, he'd be confused but in a way that's like, "I still love you, y'know. That ain't changin'!"

[ Updates: ]

🪓 i'm working on another ask at the moment and it involves a pilot intern!reader. they req afab!reader but it's difficult for me to write femmes and i usually go for gn or transmasc readers :(( I hope that's alright. I can try to make a separate post and do femme pronouns. What do you guys think?

it's going to be longer than my usual posts so it may take some time. so yeah! hopefully the anon who req it sees this.

That's all, thank you for reading!

[nothorses]

Well that was a lot of really creative ways to avoid saying donate to a Palestinian.

Hey, I understand the hurt and the panic you're feeling, and I'm worried about Palestinians too. I'm hurting too, and I'm worried too.

This ask sucked to receive. It hurt a little to feel like the effort I have been putting in to promote Palestinian fundraisers, particularly to double check that what I promote is vetted by someone trustworthy so that people do not lose more faith in the validity of these donation efforts on my account. More than that, though, this ask made me feel angry and isolated.

The post you're referring to is a post about local community support networks, and what I said on it was just a list of small things people can do to build local community connections, starting from 0. It's for people who don't think they have friends and don't know how to make them, or who don't know how they can translate friendship into material support and action that benefits the whole.

This ask made me feel frustrated that you don't understand that point, or the importance of it. Or maybe you do, and you weren't willing to see or engage with that point because of other feelings you were having. Maybe you chose to direct those feelings at me because you needed an outlet for them, and you weren't thinking about the impact your actions would have on someone else.

Donating to Palestinians is also good, important work. I have fundraisers in my pinned post for that reason. I haven't had time or energy to go through the asks I've received to verify, promote, and add them to that list in a while, and I feel bad about that! And it's weird to me that you think I'd avoid advocating for that after all the energy I've put into doing exactly not that.

And like, again, I feel bad that I haven't done more. Part of that is because my expectations for myself are too high, and I am a person who tends to feel guilty over stuff that I shouldn't feel guilty for. Part of that is because I really could be doing better. I just haven't figured out how to do that in a sustainable way yet; which also means getting over the guilt so I can redirect that energy into productivity.

I wanted to respond to this ask with the frustration and irritation I was feeling when I first read it. I'm choosing not to because, when I started drafting that response in my head, I realized that telling you off for guilt-tripping me in this hostile, unproductive way would be hypocritical.

Community connection is more important than ever right now. We need each other. We need patience, forgiveness, grace, and connection. We need to be vulnerable with one another, even and especially when it's hard. When it hurts.

I would have preferred you ask me why I didn't add a suggestion to donate to Palestinians in my response. Better yet, that you add it yourself! I would have been happy to reblog that addition, and receiving that as a reminder, or as building on what I said, would have felt encouraging. It would have made me feel more connected to you, more hopeful, and more excited to do this work. It would have made me excited to dig into my ask box and promote more Palestinian fundraisers, in solidarity with them as well as with you.

I understand why you didn't do that; it hurts right now. It's hard to make the choice to embody critical hope in the face of so much pain. I don't blame you for the guilt I feel, and I know I can't let that discourage me from doing work to help other people either.

I also know you're less likely to hear any of this than the uninvolved people who'll see it without feeling any defensiveness over this critique of your choices, and like, that's fine too. But I don't think I'm wasting my breath either way; I want to set an example in my community, promote connection, and promote the healing and growth that will allow us to do the hard work we need to do in the coming years. We're entering a fight, and we need to do it together, with grace for each other and the vulnerability that will allow us to connect and heal. We need to practice the future we're fighting for, and we have to start now.

[t1oui]

i will never get tired of toxic bartylus that leads to jegulus & rosekiller (but reg and barty are still best friends ofc).

like -

bartylus who get together because barty is head-over-heels in love with regulus and regulus is bored and wants a boyfriend. it's nobody's fault it goes sideways, really - they just don't feel the same way about each other. barty wants to be with regulus and regulus has other stuff to do. they fight, they kiss, it doesn't make things better but they pretend it does. all their friends are worried. they ignore it.

finally, regulus breaks up with barty. he knows how bad it's gotten, sees the concern on pandora and dorcas's faces every time they're together, knows barty will never break it off himself. barty doesn't come out of his bed for three days, but reg knows it's for the best.

they're fourteen then.

when regulus is fifteen, he starts dating james potter. everyone sees the hurt on barty's face at first. regulus tries his best to ignore it. they don't talk for a few months after james and reg's first date.

and regulus? he's happy, of course, but he keeps expecting it to get worse. to start hurting. after he and james have their first fight he avoids james like the plague because he's too scared of what happens after - the pain, the silence, the growing hatred. he thinks he's right when james corners him, visibly angry. thinks of all the things he can yell back to defend himself, thinks of all the insults he can use to cut deep. but then james says he was worried, says he wants to talk, and regulus is surprised. he and barty rarely talked.

eventually, he stops expecting it to get worse or to start hurting. he doesn't know why it was so bad with barty, but he knows now that james is it for him. he and barty are talking again.

when regulus and barty are seventeen, james and pandora and evan are already graduated, and it's just them and dorcas. barty does a lot of thinking that year.

seeing regulus and james has made him, too, wonder what went wrong with him and regulus. it must be his fault, barty thinks, if regulus can go and move on with someone else.

at the end of the year, james picks regulus up at platform 9 3/4. evan picks up barty. barty thinks he knows, all of the sudden, what he needs to do if he wants to be happy.

their first kiss is in july. evan intertwines their fingers and presses their foreheads together when it's over. barty made the right choice.

he wonders, for a little while, if it will begin to hurt, if he's repeated the mistake of falling in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way. but evan seeks barty out just as often as he seeks out evan, and he smells like flowers and tastes like the meadow they first kissed in. he leans on barty and pulls him close and whispers snarky comments in his ear, and barty knows there's no one else for him.

regulus and barty are best friends again. they're both happy. love doesn't hurt anymore.

[timeskip]

I have Thoughts about how the idea of "calling someone's name" in chimera ant arc ties together with Killua witnessing Gon transformed, at the end of the arc. And this is especially important for my personal POV that Gon didn't actually survive because he saw Killua there, the way I've seen some people say (though I do think this POV has merit too). It was a hopeless, tragic situation, and Killua couldn't do anything to stop it because Gon went alone :')

The concept of names is SO important to all of CAA, especially with how the ants form their identities, but it appears related to Gon and Killua too!! Killua calling out to Gon when he was transformed was such an important moment, because he's trying to save him the only way he knows how!!! And the fact that Gon RECOGNIZES that Killua is there and tries to reassure him but still continues to destroy himself is important too, because while Gon is being called for, he still keeps fighting Pitou! It's all Gon thinks he can do in his current state! It's an exemplification of how tragic CAA is for both of them, that Gon can never be saved until after it's over,,

Back to calling Gon's name; first, Killua talks about the importance of calling Gon's name in chapter 294:

"That's my one condition! Let him know you're okay. He was so worried about you, up to the minute we came in here. Give him some peace of mind. Please, put his mind as ease. Only you, Palm, can do that now. Nobody else can reach him. Not me..."

Killua really does believe that just by calling his name, Palm would be able to help Gon. Palm, not him. That the act of knowing she's okay would be a relief that could help Gon in a way Killua was completely unable to, because to Gon, Killua wasn't involved in this--pushing Killua away in order to take on Pitou alone--and Palm IS, because she went missing. But this perspective that Killua has isn't true! Killua is important to Gon, and Palm tells him this!!!

But Killua is horrified at this because he doesn't know how to save Gon!!!

It's such a vital moment. Killua desperately WANTS to be needed, to be someone Gon relies on. And Gon has already pushed him away, so Killua thinks that even if Gon needs him the most, Killua wouldn't be able to do anything--not even as simple as calling Gon's name.

Either way, though--Killua thinks that calling Gon's name is important, whether or not Palm's presence would help. After all this, Gon is spiraling so hard and he goes with Pitou alone, and kills Pitou alone, which is what Killua was afraid of--he wanted to be needed, and he's being faced with Gon leaving, which makes Killua powerless to do anything for Gon's sake (unlike what Palm is telling him). Even when Pouf tells him what's going on, all he can do is try to make it in time.

And then in 307, when Killua finds Gon:

For Killua, this is him checking that it IS Gon, because... this Gon looks ENTIRELY unlike the Gon Killua knows. And in return, Gon calls Killua's name. He acknowledges Killua's presence.

Gon knows Killua is there. They've both called each other's names now, they both know each other is there, and Gon knows that Killua is watching him not just kill Pitou as Pitou's puppeted corpse goes after him again, but also expend all his power and life in order to do it. We KNOW what Gon is going through, the guilt he feels, and all the pain he's finally unleashing on Pitou, as his sole object of revenge. He'd already chosen to give up all of himself by this point, and I... don't believe there's any way to go back on a nen contract like that. He's using all of himself, one way or another.

Even though he knows this is the end, Gon is telling Killua that he's happy. That it's not hurting him. He's trying to comfort Killua, or he's just so numb he doesn't understand what he's doing to himself. Either way, he's HAPPY that he can be like Kite, losing an arm before he dies, because this is the self punishment he feels he deserves, and he doesn't realize how much pain he's causing Killua. Gon is fully aware of what he's doing and he knows that Killua is watching him, but it's impossible to stop the self destruction he's started.

In a way, I think Killua was right. He can't reach Gon now, or at least he stopped being able to after Gon made his nen contract. He wasn't able to save Gon during the palace invasion, because Gon WOULD'VE died if not for Nanika.

But at the same time, I think Palm is also right. She wouldn't have been able to do anything for Gon just by telling him that she's okay, because this is so much bigger than her, and bigger than just knowing that Palm or Killua are okay when Gon isn't; Gon needs someone like Killua, someone who's able to call his name and help him come back to himself. Gon wants Killua to live, even if he's unable to accept Killua's help.

This is a tragedy, after all :')

I'd be willing to argue that it's Killua watching Gon which allows KILLUA to choose to live, the opposite of Gon looking at Killua and deciding to live. Killua had been planning to commit suicide with Gon, to make sure Gon isn't alone, but seeing Gon like this and desperately yelling at him to STOP, because if he keeps going he's going to lose his entire life, and watching Gon turn back and look at him tearfully... Killua wasn't prepared to witness that. And I think it must have changed his mind from thinking it would be fine if he died, as long as it was useful to Gon, to him wanting Gon to apologize. Obviously it isn't healthy, but it was a change that needed to happen. Killua needed to choose to live and save Gon, instead of sacrificing himself for Gon's sake!!!

And then offscreen somewhere, Killua finds Gon barely alive. When Killua first saw transformed Gon, Gon had called KILLUA'S name, bringing Killua back to his senses and making him realize what he needed to save. After all, isn't Gon the same as Palm? He showed up, looking like that, and Killua was terrified. And Gon needed to call his name.

They're BOTH the one each other need the most, even if they couldn't save each other!!

But I do think Killua is helpless to do anything even up to the moment Gon's jajanken explodes. After all, Gon saw that Killua was there and still kept fighting Pitou's body with his full strength, not even relying on Killua, reassuring Killua that he was okay (like saying that Killua didn't need to be involved) after Killua pushed him out of the way of Pitou's attack (which Gon was fully going to take!!! He was fully going to die if Killua hadn't saved him!!!). His self punishment didn't have anything to do with Killua, but Killua watched it anyway.

And that is of course part of why Killua is so upset after the arc!! Because he's finally starting to realize that he's been putting so much of himself on the idea of being "needed" by Gon, but he can't live like that anymore. He needs Gon to apologize for running ahead without him and being someone Killua couldn't save until after it had already happened.

Anyways I love the ways that the arc builds into the tragedy throughout the whole thing, it's so good <3

[zaynelusmusings]

Winter's surprisingly warm in September

Synopsis: M/C loves Zayne, and Zayne loves M/C. They spend a week away in a quiet cottage to celebrate Zayne's birthday. Zayne is thankful, yet he cannot truly express it in the way he wants to but he finds a way.

Word Count:c2.5k 

Warning/s: None, just good ol' fluff hehe.

Note: I had initially posted this on A03 for Zayne's birthday but had only gotten around to proofreading it and making some changes. If there are any other grammatical mistakes welp sorry call it a rebellion against the coloniser's language lmfaooo.

______________________________________________________________

Zayne is not a cold and indifferent man, he really is not. It is simply that his bashful grins and crinkles beside his eyes are solely reserved for one. Locked and kept away for years on end - he had known for just as long that she had held the key. It was merely a test of his patience and trust in fate that she had taken her time to realise her ownership.

His passive face is one that she and everyone else have grown accustomed to, so it warms her to no end when he spoils her with his boisterous laughter and endless affection. She likes it though (almost feels selfish too sometimes) yet the fact that this side of him is reserved solely for her? She treasures it like an intimate secret, the honourable one he’d chosen to bear witness to his most vulnerable moments and parts. As beautiful as the raw Zayne is, a protective lover she is - she’d close the blinds at anyones else’s attempt to steal a peek at her treasure trove.

It is snowing, and Zayne looks right at home. Sure, it is a little on the nose, with his Evol being ice after all. But he is beautiful, the green in his eyes the perfect apology for the lack of leaves, all fallen as nature dances into the cold season. She wonders sometimes, if he realises that every part of his body and character sung symphonies and wrote poetry illustrating nature’s best work. A crimson shade has found home across his cheeks, a little due to the cold, many due to her unbashful flirtation. She loves complimenting him and is very well aware that she does it a lot, but she likes to think of it as making amends for all of the time lost from forcing the distance between themselves from each other. 

It was a funny yet regretful story that she would hope to tell their future children. About how she went so long bearing the weight of forcing her true feelings to the side out of fear of rejection from him? A seasoned hunter in combat she was, but even the bravest soldiers lack the courage to bear vulnerability.

As frustrating fate can be sometimes, it can also be sweet. She had determined that her and Zayne are fated to be together - a little cliche - the Doctor who heals, and the reckless hunter who gets hurt. But as puzzle pieces go, opposing shapes are the best pair. Hence, despite their feeble attempts to stay away from each other, it was always fated that they would end up together anyway. Despite, despite, despite.

Despite how a chief cardiac surgeon and a hunter’s schedules would never compliment one another. Despite the fact he still hasn’t found a cure for her heart condition (and it pains him to no end after each working day of research that leads to nowhere, so much so that he feels unworthy to be sleeping in the same bed as her at night). Despite the fact that he isn’t able to tell her that he loves her. (He does, very much so.)

Despite betraying Astra to love her, only to be punished for doing so.

But reasons of despite were set aside this weekend, the swirls of adoration and awe crystal clear in her eyes as she watches Zayne pet the black stray cat and welcome it into their lodging - a quaint cottage by the mountains. Nestled near the fireplace, she watches quietly as the raven haired doctor brushes snow off the feline’s fur, his voice an octave higher as he coos at the cat. The black cat, one that Zayne muses has the same mannerisms as his lover, nuzzles its head thankfully against his warm and large palm. The faint buzz of its purr is telling of the cat’s fondness of Zayne. Well, it seems like this gentle and loving side of him is reserved for two now.

“Found him underneath the bench outside,” Zayne chuckles as it begins to knead its wet paws on his trousers, but he paid no mind to the now soiled material. “Three’s not a crowd, right?” He briefly glances at her, still a little distracted by the cat.

She watches it all, and feels it in her chest. The way her heart races, the tingle in her fingers as she clutches the material of her knit sweater - Zayne is too good to be true. She swears she physically feels the atoms of love form within her chest, and her discipline wears thin soon enough as she makes her way over to the raven haired pair by the front door.

“Not at all, as long as he’s okay with sharing Doctor Zayne with me.” Folding her legs, she also begins petting the cat, and the purring grows impossibly louder. They both laugh, and he feels his heart squeeze too. He could not ask for more, no. His lover, a warm purring companion and a fireplace. Santa had packaged and wrapped up his gift in this quaint cottage. Zayne immediately says a prayer of gratitude, a pang of panic and fear attempting to whisper distractions into his brain. But Zayne wills them away, he refuses to give into the possibility (or as the narrator of his life would call ‘inevitability’) of losing her and the heartbreak that will follow suit - not tonight anyway.

In an ideal world, this is the life he would be able to live everyday. They’d both be married, and he’d come home to a cat and her. It’d be cold outside, but it’d be warm inside. Zayne doesn’t think he’s asking for much, too. Home could just be four walls, and a symphony made of their combined laughter and their cat’s purrs would be the only song he’d have playing on the vinyl. 

In this world of reality, they’d be back to the status quo. Zayne would be ending a day of surgeries with at least three hours of research (that would still lead to more disappointing revelations) and she would be deep in quarantine zones fighting wanderers. (Her occupation does nothing, maybe only worse things for his anxiety for her safety and health) It is then another four days of yearning and rounds of nervous regulations before he has her safe and sound in his arms again. He’ll have the kettle of green tea freshly brewed for her in the kitchen, her (his) favourite worn our Akso Hospital staff t-shirt and cotton shorts laid out on the bed, and the new crime documentary about the case she hasn’t stopped babbling about ready to go on the television screen.

Reality isn’t bad at all though, he thinks. Any reality with her in it is one worth sacrificing for. 

“Hm, are you saying you’d be okay with sharing? I remember the sigh you gave me when I asked for a bite of your dessert.” He teases her, pressing a kiss against her cold cheek. The chilliness of her skin makes him frown immediately, and he stands up carefully, pulling him with her. The softness in his eyes fade a little, worry glazing them instead. “You’re cold. You should get under the covers in the bedroom. I’ll get the heater going.” Nothing gets him back into the stern and moody character than his worry for her. He plays around with different reasons as to why, but it is exceptionally hard for him to see her cold, especially. (It’s because in some other world, he freezes her as an act of retribution for her attempts to steal the Creatio Protocore.)

Everyone loves their Evol, humans were always encouraged to celebrate their unique types of Evols - but not Zayne. Perhaps it was because he still hasn’t figured out how to control it the same way everyone else is capable of doing so. The ice, though woven in his DNA, is never truly his companion - only a fair-weathered friend who has more loyalty to Astra than to him. He’s well familiar with the freezing pain caused by his own Evol. The same freezing pain he has to endure, enough to make him nauseous to think if even a hint of it was felt by his beloved. So, in this world, he usually settles for this reason as to why he simply cannot stand seeing her cold.

Sighing, she slides her arms around his waist, her red nose nuzzling against the thick material of his sweater. “It’s snowing outside, of course I’m a little cold. But I’m okay, I was just waiting for you.” Her voice is muffled against his clothes, her nose scrunching as the fibres of his sweater tickles her skin. Slowly, his shoulders relax, though the frown on his face stubbornly stays. He sighs, but wraps his arms around her shoulders. “Thank you for waiting for me. We should get in bed now.”

And so they do. Nestled underneath the thick blanket, Zayne exudes the opposite of his Evol. He is a man of warmth, her own personal furnace as she continues to nuzzle herself closer against her lover. A familiar thought intrudes her brain, he is too good to be true.

Little does she know, Zayne feels the same way. Despite the complex lore of their story and compounded complication of their fates, Zayne knows one thing - he loves truly and deeply. True to his Evol, the icy terrors are already covering his skin as soon as he begins to form the intention of rolling a syllable of the three words off his tongue. 

Astra was a being that Zayne has grown to hate, yet knows that he would still get on his knees in gratitude for their mercy upon him for he is still able to show his affection for her with little to no consequences. He’ll take anything, anything at all. A prized possession like her, the exact molecules that both the sun and moon are made of – oh to be graced by her presence, it is more than enough reason for him to pilgrim Astra’s both heaven and hell.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” his voice barely a whisper as his arms naturally pull her closer against his chest, their blushing noses meeting for a brief moment. “This is truly a birthday I will remember for the rest of my life.” He speaks so earnestly that it causes a flip in his own stomach, his own body physically reacting to the profound feeling of love in his chest.

“Thank you for letting me celebrate your birthday with you.” She knew that Zayne had never truly celebrated his birthday, and the fact broke her heart. While she also knew that it was not necessarily something Zayne got upset over, the fact being of his own scheduling faults too, it was a habit she wanted to break. She’d spent everyday celebrating this man if she could, and the day Earth was graced of this kind and selfless man was not a day she planned to take lightly. Hence, after pulling some strings and endless communication with his colleagues at work, here they are. 

She feels the emotions bubble up in her once again, unknowingly causing a jerk reaction of her fingers to clench around the material of his sweater and she whimpers. With furrowed brows and an immediate worry, Zayne gushes out, “What’s wrong? Is your heart in pain?”

Shaking her head immediately to soothe his worries, she releases her grip on his sweater promptly as her cold fingers gently caress the smooth skin of his face. 

“Zayne,” she begins, her voice laced with shyness.

“My love.. If it hurts, you must let me know.” She feels his grip on her waist tighten ever so slightly. “It’s not my heart. I’m okay, I promise.” Biting on the flesh of her lower lip, her eyes darted down to his own plump ones. Her impulse wins, and she presses a chaste kiss onto his lips. Sighing, she rests her forehead against his and feels his body relax soon after. “I love you, Zayne.”

It isn’t not a profound confession, it was something she knew that he knew. But she also is aware of his condition, and the curse of it all that prevents him from saying it back.

It truly doesn’t matter to her though, because a lover like Zayne would never make her doubt his true feelings for her. Through his gentle caresses, the separate kettle of green tea that he brews her (despite the fact that he likes coffee, and she doesn’t), the safe late night rides back to her apartment after her long hunting days (and his very own long night of surgical procedures) – she knew that he loves her.

She feels his eyes flutter open, a pained look in her green orbs. Swirls of guilt are evident in his green orbs and though this look would have fooled people into thinking he was guilty for not feeling the same way, she knew that it was because he couldn’t repeat the sentiments.

“Shh, It’s okay.” She shakes her head, pressing yet another kiss to his now trembling lips. “I love you, Zayne. I’m not saying it because I need to hear it back. I’m saying it because that’s how I feel. I’m telling you, Zayne.” Her voice shakes against her will. “I love you, Zayne. I want you to know that I love you. I want to tell you that I love you.”

“And I don’t need to hear it back. I know you do.” Her fingers move to the back of his head, as they comb gently through his raven locks. “I don’t want to not say it, just because you can’t say it. I love you, Zayne.”

It isn’t the first time she has said it either, but definitely is one of very few times, considering their situation. She wishes to change this fact, because a man like him deserves to be showered with love. The grip on her waist tightens, and she swears she hears him let out a whimper before his lips crashes against hers.

“Thank you.” He whispers, voice wavering ever so slightly (but she doesn’t miss it), and he moves impossibly closer to her. “I love you too.”

It is now her turn to be in panic, yet before she could even protest, he continues despite the wince on his face, the thin layer of ice already beginning to form on the side of his neck. “But more importantly, I live for you.” He confesses through a pained voice. “This curse, or whatever pain life may bring me, I promise to live for you. So that I can take care of you.” He blows air out of his mouth as he awaits for the ice to melt away - and it seems like Astra beared mercy this time - it does so quickly enough under her touch.

He smiles tiredly as the pain fades, nudging her nose with his own. “I live for you.” He repeats, and immediately, she understands what it exactly means.

Because it will hurt - he knows that. The curse is a curse that he knows would not ever be retracted. Despite the exhaustion that plights him, despite the fate of pain written in his destiny, he lives for her.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I live for you.” He echoes.

Author's note: Anyway it's been like 927492 years since I had tumblr so I started this blog anew!!I've been creeping on here to satiate my LNDS cravings so I thought I'd join the fun lol. Pls enjoy and feel free to send in requests/prompts (I am in my 20s but I refuse to write smut lol)

[mikuni14]

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo - Ep 7-8

There have certainly been many smart words written about the finale, I've managed to read only one post so far (and I totally agree with it), I've got a busy end of the week and don't really have time to read more. So I'll quickly list what I particularly liked about the finale:

as far as I can tell, the series probably wrapped up all the threads. Some things may be a bit incomprehensible, but I think that may have been the creators' intention, so that we could guess many things rather than be told specifically by the series. Like, for example, the reasons why JuYeong stayed and took care of DoHoe's father. There could be several such reasons and each one is good (and each one could be wrong lol). Such a wrap-up of threads, a satisfying finale and leaving viewers with a sense of closure is not that common in BL series, especially those that aspire to be more serious, we all know that 🤷‍♀️ so I really appreciate it!

the actors are excellent, I really liked, for example, how looking at DoHoe's body, figure, face, one could clearly deduce his current condition. This zombie-like rigidity, apathy versus ease, a broad smile, uncontrollable bursts of laughter... it was just 👌

I liked this juxtaposition of the oppressive, homophobic, obedience-enforcing and punishing version of religion, with the positive version of religion, i.e. "and the truth shall set you free" :) Because yes, truth, honesty, liberated DoHoe, made him feel free at last, made him feel at peace

I liked this "simple, ordinary" ending in general, where the answer turned out to be a simple, ordinary truth and honesty. Even if it involves pain, loss of something, consequences. And how even these consequences cannot overshadow the overwhelming sense of freedom and peace that is immediately visible in DoHoe. I like the lack of a sugary-sweet ending: DoHoe suffers the consequences of his lies, although as viewers we root for him and want him not to be punished at all

I absolutely love JuYeon's unconditional feelings, how he helps DoHoe over and over again, just like HyeonHo, who, even when rejected, after a difficult conversation, is still ready to help DoHoe

just like the unconditional standing by the child, even at their own expense

JuYeong, when he is serious and so matter-of-fact, when he sees reality for what it is, not believing DoHoe's "mean" but also empty words about breaking up. How many such situations have we seen, when one rejects the other for Noble Motives, or Out of Fear, or for some other Bullshit Reason, when due to an irritating lack of communication the other leaves hurt and then, frustrated, we watch them suffer for several episodes convinced of their unrequited love 😬 JuYeong is not like that, he knows DoHe, he believes in his love, he doesn't believe DoHoe's words because he knows him - this knowledge of the other person, their past, their personality is something I love in my romances, and what makes me believe in love watched on screen as a viewer. Personally, I can't stand this trope when someone is pretending or saying something ooc for them and the other person just buys it. I always ask then: do you even know who you love? Because it's so obvious ooc for them! 😤Super happy that JuYeong is like "I'm not going anywhere and I don't think you actually mean it"

I love how they talk about themselves, their relationship, their life together, their future together, like a real couple, real people 🥰

I love JuYeong because he educated himself in various, sometimes serious, sometimes funny topics 🤩 I often hear men people complaining that they can't handle various things because their parents / school / no one taught them, while Google and books in the library are free. JuYeong asks the internet how to live and how to be a perfect little boyfriend for his pookie and the internet answers him lmao, this is just so simple and perfect. JuYeong is the best!

teddy-bear pajamas! (I will put a gif of them later, love it so much!)

HyeonHo is so fiiiiiine

(apologies for the screenshot from the gray pages but I can't make them on Gaga)

To sum up: I won't hide the fact that whether it's my own fault, or the fault of the subtitles, or the plot, or the aura of depressiveness, but episodes 4-7 were incomprehensible and chaotic for me in some parts, overly complicated at times with conversations full of ambiguities and understatements to the point of being incomprehensible (but I also completely buy the fact that I'm just too stupid to catch all the nuances lol). Overall, the series is very good, although unlike Where Your Eyes Linger, I can only watch it once. The series showed the long-term effects of domestic violence very well, realistically but with respect for the victims, without sugarcoating, without idealizing the victims. It also showed struggling with traumas, which is not always successful, it also shows how important unconditional support is, but also coming face to face with the unpleasant consequences of untreated traumas. It shows the value of love, friendship, honesty, doing what is right, without irritating moralizing. The series had a very realistic vibe, I was able to imagine all of DoHoe's feelings, and the actor convincingly played him as a lost kid, tangled in his own guilt, traumas, lies, yearning for love and hope - even though he is an adult.

The only tiny reservation I have about the series is that I would like more of JuYeong, who has also suffered so much, but from the beginning he has been a strong,leading force in their relationship and is often "the adult one". However, his type of personality, his openness, courage, honesty and straightforwardness are responsible for the fact that he copes relatively better with difficult situations. So it's not really any complaint, more an observation ;)

But apart from that, this series is really good aaaand has a good, happy ending, yay!💖

[bellatrixobsessed1]

They Dream In Unison

Trix Week Day 1 - Sisterly Bonding

Summary: After the Trix form the Megatrix, their souls bind to one another.

She comes home bruised and bloody on most days. 

All three of them do. 

But she likes to take most of the hits. 

It hurts like hell and sometimes it is more than just a scratch or a cut. Usually it is a burn or two. Most of which have healed and faded aways. But she still has the scars from the Great Witch Invasion. They cover her left side and part of her stomach save for the portion that she had shielded with her arm. 

It is fine. 

She doesn’t mind. 

Her sisters don’t bear any scorches nor burns. 

They have been through a lot together and they will go through a lot still. She supposes that that is that path that they, with all of their drive and ambition, have chosen for themselves. 

It is said that witches can’t form bonds.

That they have no loyalty.

And Icy does delight in that image.

She delights in it while proving it false. A fairy could never get as close as the three of them have. It had been quite a decision to become the megatrix; a being of pure shadow and darkness. A being of ice and gales. To have become so wholly interwoven has changed them. Altered them and connected them in a way that the three of them still don’t fully understand.

It is a state wherein not one of them could take more control than any of the others without risking their own ruin. A state that few covens have ever managed to reach, for trust had been at the core of the spell. If they couldn’t trust each other fully and completely then their magic would shrivel and their physical forms would corrupt and disintegrate.

And now she knows things about them. And they know things about her. Things that they had never been able to bring themselves to tell one another. Darcy doesn’t like her nose. Stormy thinks that she is too short. And Icy wishes that her face wasn’t so naturally soft and delicate. Darcy is afraid of mice—which does explain a few things. Darcy also fears losing she and Stormy. Stormy who gets quite uncomfortable at the sight of clusters of holes and the thought of the responsibilities that come with growing up. And Icy is afraid of failure and being forgotten and losing her magic. And also ducks. And plenty more. They give her a hard time over the duck thing and the sheer amount of fears that she has concealed so very well. 

They know that Darcy had a history of being terrible and flirting and getting rejected until she blossomed into herself. They know that Stormy is actually quite scared about what their future holds and that she sometimes questions the path that they are on. And they know that Icy herself isn’t really as confident as she makes herself out to be. That she feels as though she is a waste of potential, that she should be much further than where she is at.

It is something of a relief to have at least two people who know. Truly know and truly understand. They know each other because they have become each other. For a moment and forever. They had interlaced their spirits and such a feat can never be completely undone. 

Sometimes Darcy wakes up screaming over Stormy’s nightmares. Sometimes Darcy weeps over Icy’s memories—she never wanted anyone to know where the scars on her back have come from, let alone that they were given to her by her own parents. She certainly didn’t want Darcy or Stormy to live those memories, to feel that pain exactly and as intensely as she had. And Stormy never wanted she and Darcy to feel the exact moment when she had dragged the razor across her calf. She said that alleviates anxiety and that she wouldn’t do it again. 

They feel each other’s pain, each other’s humiliation, and dreads. 

They feel each other’s pride, each other’s delight, and affections. 

In fact, Darcy knows it before she does that she cared quite a lot about Tritannus. 

That she still does. Darcy wonders why she has broken Tritannus out of Oblivion just to pretend like she has no affections for him at all. Darcy can’t seem to figure that one out because Icy also has yet to understand it. Icy just likes knowing that he is there and available for when she is ready. What Darcy has figured out is that Stormy only loves women before Stormy had figured it out for herself. 

And Icy realizes that she is fine with that. Content and even comforted in knowing that two people will always understand her perfectly. Content and comforted in that she can understand them. That they will always have each other. 

She has heard tell that most covens never consider becoming one with each other. That it feels unnatural and that they would never give up even a portion of their agency. 

She thinks that they can hardly be called covens if their trust is that null. 

For Icy, the convergence had been the most natural thing in the world. They have known each other for so long now that it feels almost exactly correct. Natural, as though they should have become one with each other ages ago.

And so it is no surprise that when they drag themselves back from yet another battle covered in gashes in bruises, most to their bodies but some to their egos, they fall upon the sofa and lean against one another. Icy is tired. Frustrated. They know this. 

“Maybe next time you should let us take a few more hits. We’re tough too.” Stormy insists. 

Maybe she could use that. 

Darcy sighs. “You’re a complete mess.” 

“I do hope that you are referring to my disheveled appearance and not the state of my life.” Icy grumbles as Darcy fetches a washcloth to dab at her bloodied cheek. It is starting to swell. 

“I’m referring to both.” 

Icy gives a dismissive wave and then a hiss, “you didn’t tell me that you put alcohol on that.”

Darcy shrugs. “Because you would have tried to stop me from cleaning your wounds. Stormy and I are not dealing with another infection because you don’t want to feel a little sting.” She pauses. “Which is wild because you get burnt worse than that all the time.”

“That’s different. I don’t know that it’s coming so it hurts less.”

“Right…” Darcy mumbles and rolls her eyes. 

“More like you don’t have time to be worried about it.” Stormy adds. 

That is her nature, to be worried about every little thing all at once. Sometimes she wishes that Darcy and Stormy didn’t know this particular thing about her. She frets over things before there are things to fret over.

“Next time we go out to fight the Winx you’re going to…” Darcy reaches for a bandage and plasters it onto Icy’s cheek. “Let us get a bit banged up. How much more do you think that you can take before you sustain some real damage.”

“Yeah! Darcy and I don’t want to be bombarded with distress if you find out that you have permeate damage to one of your organs or something. You’re really dramatic about it.” 

“It’s my mind, I can think what I want with it. If you don’t like my silent brooding and lamenting then maybe you should work on blocking me out better.”

Stormy slugs her in the bicep. “Just let us takes some hits, will you!?”

Icy sighs. “Fine. I suppose that it would be nice to not…” she hisses a second time. “Have Darcy sneak up on me with alcohol wipes and…ow! And forcefully stick bandages onto my arm.”

Darcy gives Icy’s knee a pat. “There, you’re all cleansed and bandaged.” 

Icy grits her teeth. “Oh how lovely.”

She will deny it to the end that they actually love each other. All three of them will; bonding and deep friendships are for faeries. And yet they have interconnected themselves more deeply than most anyone else has. 

So much so that if anything were to happen to one of them the other two would have an insatiable hole. A yawning void. To lose one another would be to lose a part of their soul. Their shared, sister soul. 

Icy leans herself against Darcy’s shoulder and Stormy lays herself across their laps. It has been a hard day.

It is time for some rest.

They fall asleep. 

They dream in unison.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

~

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 

That’s not. 

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing. 

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table. 

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was��� what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.