#mention of seizures

[monstersandmaw]

today i read about spider ball pythons where they have an attractive-looking spiderweb pattern on their skin but unfortunately it's tied with a genetic disorder that gives them vertigo and seizures. and it got me thinking about naga royalty who similarly have royal bloodlines with beautiful colors and patterns on their scales but have inherited illnesses that run in the family like both irl human royal families and fancy ball pythons

Oooh, I like this as a piece of interesting and grounded worldbuilding!

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] || Also on AO3 and my personal website

Chapter 9: And what you spurn, I'll wear

The weather for the week was bitterly cold, but mostly clear. Once Gerry had a day to recover, they ventured out into the streets of Chicago to see the sights. Gerry had never done the tourist thing—even when he’d gone to Italy to get out of the country for a bit after getting out of prison, he’d been trying to avoid people and therefore hadn’t done much more than hide in out of the way cafés and bookstores, and most of the time when he traveled it was with a purpose. Tim, the veteran of dozens of family vacations and solo trips, was determined to give him the full experience, even if it did have the specter of the upcoming appointment looming over it. He didn’t exactly plan it down to the minute, but he had a few destinations in mind, and he was determined they would hit as many as they could.

Gerry went along willingly. His breakdown in the shower seemed to have done him some good—which was more or less what Tim had expected, God knew he needed to let himself have emotions sometimes—and he seemed calmer, lighter even, as they walked or taxied around the city to various can’t-miss destinations. They visited the Art Institute of Chicago, where Gerry gave Tim the history of almost every single painting and waxed surprisingly poetic about the artistic techniques and Tim surprised him by quietly singing a song from a musical that was loosely inspired by one of them, and the Field Museum, where they had a lighthearted debate over whether SUE could have been an avatar of one of the Fears in life. They strolled the Riverwalk, visited a jazz club that was apparently world-famous, and dined at restaurants Tim had solicited recommendations to from the staff, stressing as he did so that they wanted to try where the locals ate, not where the tourists went. They even managed—somehow—to get tickets to a game played between the local team and a team called the Buccaneers, and while neither of them understood the rules to American football, they agreed it had been worth the visit, if only for the experience. An usher, overhearing their conversation, had suggested they come back in the spring to see a baseball game, and they’d politely agreed to try, even though both of them doubted they would make it.

The stress had returned the morning of Gerry’s follow-up appointment, and Tim had simply held his hand on the taxi ride to the hospital, but in the end there was nothing to worry about. Dr. Greene removed the stitches and declared that Gerry was healing remarkably well. He asked a few questions about Gerry’s pain level, decided he could finish up the current round of medications and not need to renew them, and released him with a reminder to follow up with “your regular doctor” when he got back to London. Another admonition from Debbie—who had, as she promised, popped in to say hello—about staying away from the cigarettes, and they were free to go.

“So I guess we’re heading to—what’s it called—O’Hare, then?” Gerry asked as they stepped out of the front doors into the biting cold. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing a puff of steam. “Heigh-ho and off for home?”

Tim was reaching for his phone when a nearby church tower began chiming, tolling the hour. He counted the strokes, then shook his head. “Well, we missed checkout for today, anyway, so I guess we’re leaving tomorrow. And no, we’re heading to Union Station.”

“Why? You’re still on about me not flying for a bit?”

“For another five weeks, yeah. So not until after Christmas at the earliest. And anyway…” Tim hesitated. They hadn’t actually discussed what came next. “Come on. I was saving this one for today because I thought we’d need a bit more time. We can talk there.”

Gerry sighed tolerantly, but followed along without argument. Tim knew that the only reason he was getting away with this was that Gerry trusted him absolutely—that he knew Tim would explain everything, and that if he wasn’t saying it now, it was for a very good reason. And it was—primarily that standing in front of the hospital wasn’t the place to talk about things like this, but also that he wanted to get at least a start on a good day before they discussed it.

Their destination was the Navy Pier, which, according to the concierge at the hotel, was just one of those places you had to visit when you went to Chicago. Tim had picked up a brochure from the lobby, but he hadn’t done much more than skim it, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect other than water of some kind. It turned out to not be that different from Brighton Pier, save that Tim couldn’t see an arcade of any kind. Still, there were a number of rides, including a giant wheel looming over the space, plus shops and restaurants, the tantalizing odors mingling pleasantly in the air. Even as cold as it was, and even though it was the middle of the day on a Monday, the place was still bustling. Beyond the crowd they could just make out the masts of a tall ship, probably some kind of reenactment or museum, as well as a more modern boat steaming back to dock. Past that was a vast, sparkling world of water.

“Huh,” Gerry said, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. “I can’t smell the sea from here.” He paused, then added, “Actually, I thought Illinois was landlocked.”

“That’s not the sea. It’s Lake Michigan,” Tim told him. “It’s one of the Great Lakes, and the only one that’s fully in the United States instead of being shared with Canada. Second-largest by volume, third-largest by surface area. Anyway, it’s a freshwater lake, so you wouldn’t smell any salt.”

“Seriously, how do you know that?”

“It’s in all those tourist guides in the hotel lobby. I had to do something to keep myself sane when they kicked me out of your hospital room, and I didn’t bring any books with me.” Tim looped his arm through Gerry’s. “Where do you want to start? We’ve got all day.”

Gerry gazed up thoughtfully at the wheel. “Think that’s too high for my cracked brain to handle?”

Tim grinned. Perfect. “Please. Our hotel room is probably further up than that. C’mon.”

They took their time getting to the wheel, which they really didn’t have much of a choice about; a large horde of children, evidently a school group of some kind, got in their way and they had to work to avoid them—and avoid getting trampled by them. At last, however, they made it to the ticket booth, joined the queue, waited patiently, and eventually climbed into a bucket. The attendant lowered the bar onto their lap, and they were off.

To his credit, Gerry waited until they had risen slightly and the car had stopped briefly, presumably to let the next set of riders on, before he turned to Tim. “So. What’s the plan? I assume you have one. We can’t exactly get to London without flying.”

“We’re not going to London.” Tim patted his coat and hoped Gerry could hear the muffled thunk as he hit the folio Gertrude had given him. He was afraid to leave it in the hotel room. Maybe Gertrude’s paranoia was rubbing off on him a bit. “Not for a while yet, anyway. Gertrude told me before she left that she wants us to keep looking for those answers you two were after. We’re going to Pittsburgh. She left me her notes on what she was planning to do when she got there, and she’s gone back to London herself. We’re going to pick up where she—where you—left off, and…go from there.”

Gerry blinked, then clutched at the bar as the car got moving again. “She trusts us that much?”

“Yeah. She does. Not just to continue the work, but to figure out where to go after, which tells me she doesn’t think we’ll be coming back to London any time soon. I can’t imagine this will take that much longer, you guys had already been gone five months when she called me out here, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I guess so.” Gerry slid his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Just…it’s been two weeks. I’m worried that whatever we’re supposed to be finding…what if the trail’s gone cold? What if we’ve lost the chance?”

Tim shrugged and leaned into Gerry’s side. “Gertrude’s not stupid. She had to have known we’d be stuck here a bit. Even said I would ‘officially be on leave’ until we set off for Pittsburgh. If it was really time-sensitive, I don’t think she’d have told us it could wait. She’d have kept going, waited until I called to say we were ready to leave Chicago, and told us where to either meet her or pick up the trail, and then gone back to London.”

“Good point, as always,” Gerry admitted. “Okay. If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I guess it’s on to Pittsburgh tomorrow night.”

The whole trip on the wheel, including a spectacular view of the city and lake when they stopped for a few moments at the apex, lasted about seven minutes, and the sparkle in Gerry’s eyes told Tim he’d enjoyed himself. They walked the Pier hand in hand, trying a few more of the rides that appealed to them and browsing the shops. The river cruises had apparently stopped for the winter, but they got drinks, sat on the end of the pier, and watched the sunset together. Once the lights came on around them, they made their way off the pier in search of dinner, then went back to the hotel. Gerry, who was after all still recovering, fell asleep almost immediately with one arm flung across Tim, but Tim stayed up a bit longer with his laptop. He booked two train tickets to Pittsburgh, found another extended stay hotel in the same chain as the one they were in now—since it was a national chain, he’d signed up for a rewards membership, figuring it would probably help in the long run if they were in the country for a while—and reserved their room, then forwarded the information to Gertrude.

Somehow, even though it was well past midnight in London, he wasn’t surprised when he got an email from her almost immediately, welcoming him back to work and telling him to be careful.

They checked out the next morning. As they stepped out into the sunlight, Tim turned to Gerry. “We don’t have to be to the station until after five. There’s only one train out of Chicago and it doesn’t leave until five after six. How do you want to spend the day?”

Gerry actually smiled mischievously. “Funny you should mention that. There is one thing I’d really like to do.” He took Tim’s hand. “Come on. We can stop at the station on the way and check our bags for the day so we don’t have to carry them around.”

Tim was thrilled to see Gerry looking so…normal. He’d have done anything he asked at that point.

They duly paid twenty dollars to have their bags stored, and then Gerry led Tim out into the streets. He’d evidently gotten directions from somewhere to…wherever they were going…or else he was making a pretty damn good guess. Either way, they stopped along the way for breakfast, then took a leisurely stroll along the streets until they reached an open park in the middle of the city, labeled Millennium Park.

“I can get behind this,” Tim said, smiling at the sign. “Love a good bit of green space. Even if it’s mostly white now.” It had evidently snowed in the night; the grass sparkled, even in the low light from the overcast sky, with an icy crust.

“Just wait,” Gerry promised. “There’s something here I really think you’ll like.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Not sure why. It just seems like your thing.”

“Okay, now I’m intrigued.”

They ambled through the park. A lot of people seemed to be heading in one particular direction. Tim found out why when they emerged on a large plaza and discovered an enormous sculpture that could only be described as a mirrored bean. He blinked. “What the hell is that?”

��You don’t know?” Gerry said. His tone was incredulous, but there was a teasing grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know everything in the world. Just the important stuff,” Tim shot back, making Gerry laugh. “Hang on, there’s a sign.”

The sculpture turned out to be called Cloud Gate. Tim had never heard of it before, but he was surprised that he recognized the artist, Anish Kapoor. He turned to point this out to Gerry, then noticed the look on his face as he stared at the artwork. Instantly on edge, he asked, “What? What is it?”

“Just…look at it,” Gerry murmured, tearing his eyes away and staring at the ground. “Tell me if I’m imagining things.”

Tim looked. Cloud Gate’s reflective surface was mostly flat matte clouds, the day being so overcast, although the vague impressions of the various tourists and visitors clustered under it taking pictures were much in evidence. He was about to ask for clarification when he found his gaze drawn to the inner arch of the shape. Two reflections seemed to cross, and for just a moment, he felt disorientated and…sideways. As though Cloud Gate was showing him the real world and he was the reflection.

A reflection turned, and seemed to make eye contact with him. Tim quickly cut his eyes away and stared at his and Gerry’s joined hands until the weird almost vertigo and headache dissipated. He slowly loosened his grip; he was squeezing so hard that his finger had puffed up and was straining at the ring beneath the gloves, so he had to be hurting Gerry.

“No,” he told him. “I don’t think you’re imagining things. I should’ve guessed from Kapoor’s other works that he’s at least seen the Spiral.”

“Yeah.” Gerry took a deep breath and tightened his hand around Tim’s, then tugged. “Come on. This isn’t what I wanted to bring you here for anyway.”

Tim followed without too much complaint. The sculpture wasn’t super involved with the Spiral; it was just that Kapoor had obviously been Marked by it, and he’d just as obviously put a bit of it into his work—wasn’t it said that all great artists put a bit of themselves into their art? Still, he made a mental note to mention it to Gertrude. If it was going to be used in a ritual, she’d probably like to be aware of it.

His mood lifted the further they got from the plaza where the sculpture was, and from the way Gerry straightened, his obviously had as well. They continued ambling through the park for a while, and then Gerry let out a soft, satisfied-sounding ah and quickened his steps. “There it is. Come on.”

Laughing, Tim picked up the pace, letting Gerry drag him forward. He laughed even harder when he realized what Gerry wanted him to see. A low fence with clear plastic set in the gaps of the frame surrounded a large, flat area that had been turned into an ice skating rink. A booth off to one side proclaimed that skates were available for rent.

“You want to go ice skating?” he asked, unexpectedly delighted.

“Mostly I want to see you ice skating, but yeah, I’ll get out there with you.” Gerry grinned at him. “So you do like the idea?”

“I love it.” Tim tugged Gerry around and kissed him.

It turned out that while the rink was free, they were supposed to reserve a time, and the first skate was completely booked. Tim pulled out his phone and booked them both for one o’clock, and they found a bench where they could sit and watch the skaters. It proved to be a pretty good mix of what Tim took to be university students, older folks who were probably past retirement age, and parents with small children likely too young for school. Some of the littlest ones were leaning on props shaped like penguins to keep themselves from falling face-first on the ice. Tim couldn’t help but grin as he watched them stumble around the ice.

“Too bad they don’t have those in adult sizes,” Gerry said dryly, watching a tiny child of indeterminate gender that seemed to be mostly comprised of snowsuit and hat. “I am definitely going to be terrible at this.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You might be surprised.” Tim nudged him. “Also, this might be a good time to tell you I’ve never done this either.”

“What, never?” Gerry’s eyebrows shot up.

“No, never. Been skiing a few times, snowshoeing once or twice, and one year Danny talked me into trying snowboarding, but I’ve never done ice skating.”

“Well, that’s more than I’ve done, so you’re up on me there.”

“Good. Then we can look like idiots together.” Tim dodged Gerry’s playful swipe and put his arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“I know.” Gerry leaned his head on Tim’s shoulder.

They got up when the rink stewards ordered the current crowd off the ice, went over to the booth, and rented their skates. It probably should have been at least a little embarrassing for the pack of schoolchildren on some kind of field trip to almost literally skate circles around them, but Tim was too busy laughing and holding onto Gerry to keep himself from falling over while Gerry did the same thing with him to care. Somehow, they managed to keep from actually tumbling to the ground. His legs were aching well before their hour was up, but he didn’t want to stop, not while Gerry was still going strong. He kept powering his way around the rink, but silently, he thanked God that they would have at least three or four hours to make it to the train station from here. It might have only been about a twenty-minute walk, but he was probably going to need at least a short rest first.

Finally, the rink stewards called that time was up. The two of them stumbled off the ice, nearly fell when they hit solid ground, and wobbled over to the bench where they’d left their shoes to get the skates off.

Gerry groaned, rubbing at his calves. “You’re a machine, you know that? I was having a hell of a time keeping up with you.”

“What? Oh, no.” Tim started giggling. He couldn’t help it. “I thought I was keeping up with you!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Gerry threw his head back and laughed, too.

It did, at least, give them time to recover, so they were a bit steadier on their feet when they finally got their boots laced back up and returned the skates. Still, they took their time getting back to Union Station. Retrieving their bags was easy, and they still had time to grab a bite to eat before heading to the platform. Once there, Gerry hesitated for just a minute, then led Tim purposefully over to one of the benches.

“Strategic view of the incoming train?” Tim asked lightly. He glanced at the arrival board. They still had close to an hour before their train pulled in.

“Something like that.” Gerry pointed to the bench on the extreme opposite end of the platform. “Did Gertrude tell you we’d made it all the way to the station before she took me to the hospital?”

“No.” Tim’s stomach flipped. “You didn’t tell her you weren’t feeling well?”

“They were just headaches. Never really thought anything of it. And it didn’t occur to me that I was having seizures with them—”

“Gerry!”

“It didn’t! I just…thought the pain was so bad I was twitching to make it stop.” Gerry sighed. “Anyway, I’m not sure Gertrude really noticed at first either, but something suddenly made her pay more attention, and the next thing I knew we were on our way to the hospital.”

“There was some supposedly inspiring news story going around about a basketball game that got moved up because one of the players is dying of brain cancer and really wanted to play before she died,” Tim said quietly. “It got her worrying. Which, you know Gertrude, just irritated her.”

“Yeah, God forbid anyone knows she cares.” Gerry sighed. “Still. I’m glad she did. And I’m really glad she called you, mate. I couldn’t have got through this without you.”

Tim put his arm around Gerry’s shoulders, then took his hand with the other and kissed his knuckles. “I’m glad she called me, too. There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

Gerry leaned his head on Tim’s shoulder, and they sat in silence, listening to the bustle of the station around them. Tim was peripherally aware of a woman glaring disapprovingly at them from further along the platform, but he ignored her. He’d been out and proud as bisexual since he was thirteen and he had the scars to prove it, and if he was likely to let the opinions of others bother him he wouldn’t have lasted this long. Besides, he’d just come damn close to losing Gerry. However they defined their relationship, he was the most important person in Tim’s life, and he wanted as much reassurance as he could get that he was alive and here. Other people could fucking deal with that.

Finally, Gerry spoke quietly. “What’s the plan when we get to Pittsburgh?”

“There’s something Gertrude wants us to check in the Hall of Records.” Tim patted his coat again. “It’s all in here. We can go over it on the train.”

“You don’t want to wait until we get there?”

“Train gets in at five in the morning. We can’t get into the hotel until the afternoon. And Thursday is some kind of government holiday, apparently, so everything will be closed until Monday, and they might close early tomorrow. Rather at least get started than hit a brick wall and get delayed entirely another week.”

“Fair enough,” Gerry admitted. “Leave it to the Americans to decide to add a holiday in the middle of November for no damn reason. What is it, anyway?”

Tim snorted. “They call it Thanksgiving. It’s a whole day to celebrate turkey and football.”

“Oh, joy. I suppose there’s a football team where we’re going? Seems like everyone has a football team.”

“Yeah, the Steelers, I think. But they’re not playing until Sunday.” Tim smirked down at Gerry. “And I’m not particularly interested in going to another game.”

“Good,” Gerry replied. “So we’ll get what answers we can tomorrow, hang around until Monday if we need to, and get out of town as soon as possible?”

“That’s the plan.” A low whistle sounded in the distance, and Tim glanced down the track. “Aha, our chariot approaches. Come, my prince, let us fly.”

“If this train starts flying, I’m setting it on fire.” Gerry bent to retrieve his bag.

“Nah, the Heartland Flyer operates in Texas.” Tim dodged Gerry’s halfhearted swipe and caught his hand, laughing. “C’mon. Maybe boarding first won’t get us to Pittsburgh any faster, but at least we’ve got a better chance of getting good seats. God only knows how many people are going to be taking this trip home for the holidays. And then once we’re settled, we can look at this damn notebook and figure out what’s what.”

“Sounds good.” Gerry squeezed Tim’s hand. “Let’s get going, then.”

[ka3l]

[abbeyofcyn]

Krang infection 42

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[arcticduckie]

Shoutout to people with Functional Neurological Disorder

Shoutout to people with functional tics

Shoutout to people who have dystonia

Shoutout to people with Psychogenic non-epileptic seizures

Shoutout to people with paralysis and or weakness

Shoutout to people with tremors

Shoutout to people who shut down/unresponsive episodes

Shoutout to people who have walking difficulties

Shoutout to people who have numbness

Shoutout to people who have speech problems

Shoutout to people with vision problems

Shoutout to people with hearing problems

Shoutout to people with memory loss

Shoutout to everyone with FND

[otterish]

A weird favor please...

I'm in a weird sort of bind... You see, I'm autistic, and along with that, I have narcolepsy and misophonia. What does this fucked up collection of weirdness mean? It means I am very sensitive to sound (The misophonia and the autism), and I have seizures that are triggered by stress and the tension headaches I get because of my spinal fusion.

Why all this info? You see, I have a lovely little MP3 player loaded with the most perfect white noise that is guaranteed to calm me down. It takes corded headphones, which is great because I can never find any bluetooth buds that fit in my ears. I have a birth defect that makes it nigh impossible to find any that fit. I did find some amazing corded earbuds though! They are the JVC Gummy in ear earbuds, and I've been using them for over 10 years. They only last about a year or two, but they are like 9 bucks and fit perfectly. Here is an amazon link so you can see what I mean: https://a.co/d/0drGMzDN

The thing is... I can barely afford food (We were on SNAP but they fucked everything up. AGAIN!), let alone the earbuds I need. One of my main misophonia triggers is anyone snoring, mouth breathing, and even sometimes just breathing normally. My husband snores really loud, and tends to have a stuffy nose a lot, so I cannot sleep in the same room with him if I don't have my headphones. If I had to, I would find something sharp and puncture my ear drums. It causes that much anxiety that I sincerely want to lose my hearing.

I'm down to my last pair of headphones, and when I couldn't find them at first I had a severe melt down. I wear them to bed due to my husband snoring, and I want to stay near him. I sometimes rest my hand on his back to feel him breathe, and when I wake up screaming due to nightmares, he always wakes up and holds me until I stop crying.

I know this is a long post just to ask for earbuds, but they work best for me and my sanity depends on them. If you can, I'd love it if you were able to slide one or two my way. I'm not picky on color, so my amazon wish list link is here: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/GTTJGT54GKDN

If you want another way, my cashtag is $JustAddOtter.

THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE! My disability case is still going slowly through the pipes, plus when it goes through I'm going to have to pay $85 out of pocket for some blue lenses which will help with the seizures.

Also, may the assholes who removed headphone jacks from phones always have angry wasps land in their ears.

TL;DR: I need new headphones to help with my disability.

BTW, no guilt in not donating or even not reblogging but I would appreciate a sage nod of understanding when you read this.

EDIT: Thank you to those pointing out that my wishlist wasn't working properly, it's all fixed!

[paingoes]

Aegean Seas

Destroyer AU

long awaited roleswap AU. featuring royal delta and (defective!) living weapon paris

delta still has some psychic ability in this AU, but only a moderate amount. its nothing to write home about.

paris doesn’t have any powers, just an incredible capacity for violence. 

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whumper, carewhumper vibes, institutionalized slavery, blood, biting, choking, electrocution, choking, suggestive language, background lady whump, clowns, hidden injury, past abuse, past trauma, PTSD triggers, emotional whump, scars, body image issues, war mention, alcohol, non-con touching (nonsexual), conditioning, magical exhaustion, seizure, kinda fluffy?)

“You don’t have to look so upset about it.” Delta twirling the pearl earring around within the pierced fin. The golden bangles of his wrist clicked together lightly at the motion — and all the silver and sea-glass ornaments he wore jingled in time with the movement of the airship. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he said it, and they were not the only ones in the cabin, but he understood it was meant for him.

“I’m not upset,” Paris said. At least, not as much as he could’ve been. 

Far below, the cerulean sea reflected the sun so that the water itself was blinding. Foam was gathering along the coast — a sure sign of rough waters. On the horizon, the embassy building jutted out from the cape.

~

The ship lowered itself in a hover just by the surface of the beach. Paris slid the exterior door open. He hopped the remaining few feet onto the sand right before the craft finally landed. By way of reflex, he extended one hand back to Delta, who took it without thanks as he stepped down.

The other members of the court soon followed, a handful of advisors and scribes sent to keep the time. With a home advantage, all support had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Paris shifted carefully in between them, eventually settling a few steps behind Delta and a bit off to the right, which he knew was the best sightline he’d get without drawing too much attention to himself.

The path up to the embassy was lined with basalt — and a pretty long walk uphill, considering how many of its visitors were geriatric. At the peak, he again pulled the entrance doors open, taking a cautious look in through the entryway. He felt the familiar weight of the blade tucked up into his sleeve, though he had no real expectation of using it. He held the door open for Delta alone, but deigned to let the rest of the congregation pass through in the same way. He stole a last glance out at the countryside before he pulled the door shut tight.

At the front, Delta’s eyes flitted up in the same clouded concentration he always fell into before the meetings. He refused to take notes, so dedicated to committing absolutely everything to memory. He played all the information back like rolls of film. He waved vaguely at the prompting of his advisors, but it was clear he was somewhere else. 

He only came to when they reached the center. It was a large room, polished, and most everything in it was the soft color of sandalwood. The painted monarch sat perched within the straight-backed chair. His own court spread out in a half-moon around him, all their papers all ready to go. Paris only caught a glimpse of them through the doorway, but the glimpse alone was enough to make him spiteful.

“Watch the entrance,” Delta whispered to him just before they passed through the entryway. Paris nodded and stepped off to the side of the door. 

Soon he was alone in the large hallway. The building was old and its halls were echoing, though not quite as bad as the castle. He leaned back against the wall, wishing he’d brought the cigarettes with him. He passed the butterfly knife idly in between his hands, having no better way to occupy the time. He’d gotten good enough at it that he didn’t even need to look while he did. His eyes still scanned the corridors in the way they’d been trained, sizing up each impotent official or underpaid clerk whose heels tapped down the linoleum tiles. There was no real threat. Nothing ever happened.

The jingling bells warned of her approach before she came into view. He sighed, slipped the knife back into hiding. Jo popped out from the doorway. She was quicker than he would’ve thought, skipping out a few paces before she even turned to see him. When she did, her painted face contorted into an express of unadulterated mirth. She giggled — and the bells of her hat jingled again as she flipped over to stand on her head.

“I was wondering where they were keeping you this time.” Her voice was raised in faux cheeriness. 

Paris watched her carefully — he couldn’t not. The rapid movements set all his nerves on edge. He was sure she knew that. He was sure it was why she did it. He didn’t answer.

She rolled over into a backbend and let her hands guide her up. When she was upright, she was not more than a few inches from his face. She was shorter than him, the difference exaggerated by the heels of his boots and the flatness of her stupid pointy shoes. She rose up on tiptoes to meet his eyes. He could see the glitter against her sclera. 

“No dogs in the house of law, eh?” She stretched one leg up over her head. Her movements continued so fluid and so completely uninfluenced by anything she was saying, as if they were completely different hemispheres of her brain.

“I heard that when the neophytes drop out, they give ‘em a new name and put ‘em out on the street. Painted silver! They spend the rest of their days doing tricks for spare change. Is that true?”

No one ever dropped out. He didn’t answer. She did a back walkover, her speech uninterrupted.

“Or I heard what they’re really doing now is selling all the new grads to Crimson’s West Front,” she paused for dramatic effect, “There’s a famine there, you know. They need new meat!”

She cackled. He stiffened slightly, because that part was probably true. Even if they weren’t getting eaten, a lot of the kids did get bought out for the war effort, and were given no arms when they arrived. They were getting pushed into the meat grinder, literally or figuratively.

She seemed disappointed with his lack of outward reaction. As she rolled onto the floor again, she laid there on her stomach for a second, kicking her legs back and forth.

“You don’t have to worry about that though. I bet he’s nice to you,” She grinned impishly, pushing herself up into another handstand. “I hear he’s nice to everyone.”

She erupted into a laughing fit at that. His eye twitched. He felt the weight of the blade in his sleeve. She looked over to see his expression and her smile widened. She cartwheeled towards him, again landing only inches apart from him.

“People on High Street got a name for him. What was it again? The something wonder? You’ve heard it before, right? You had to. You spend enough time with that whore to-“

He threw her into the ground before she could finish, the last synapse snapping within him. 

The sudden violence got a forced, clipped laugh from her. She did a back roll before he could strike again, sitting up on her knees before she swept one of his legs out. He dropped, but it didn’t slow him down. Nothing could have. He still drove his fist full force into her jaw, once, twice, about as many times as it would take to break it off. 

She didn’t let him get that far. Jo was stronger than she looked and just as quick as he was. She was not downed easily. When he pinned her, she slipped. When her nails reached up to scratch out his eyes, he bit down upon her fingers hard enough to break them. Her blood gushed into his mouth. It was familiar. He didn’t even stop to spit it out.

She elbowed him in the face at the same time she drove her knee up into his stomach — all sharp angles. It was hard enough to knock him off of her and onto his side. Blood poured from his nose. It splattered on the floor right beside her own. She crawled forward on her bloodied fingers, trying to get even. He forced himself back upwards, lunging at her again. He became vaguely aware of a commotion behind him.

“Stop,” Delta said tiredly.

Paris did not stop. No fucking chance. Not now. She was still moving, still breathing, still fucking laughing. His hands closed around the undulations of her throat. 

“Stop,” Delta repeated.

Blood dripped thick and hot from the both of them. Johanna twisted beneath him, her eyes shining like stars. He wanted them barren. He wanted her to stop moving.

“Stop,” Delta said it with no more emphasis than the first two times, but he’d closed the distance between them now. The prongs of the choke collar dug into Paris’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. 

He backed up on his knees, leaning backwards into the touch, the only way he could loosen the chain. But for all the slack the proximity created, Delta only pulled it higher, tighter. No air reached him, even when he’d stopped, even when he had stilled. It kept going. The panic gripped him immediately, tempered only by experienced. Delta wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and as soon as he started to think that he would, the chain released. Paris gasped shakily, collapsed down onto his hands and knees. One hand pawed desperately at his throat. Small beads of blood had formed there in the collar’s outline.

He felt the pressure of the chain being picked up and winced, but it did not tighten again.

“Sorry about him.” Delta frowned. “And…sorry about your…clown.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s had worse.”

And sure enough, Jo sat up again, the wounds he’d given her already half-healed. Her stupid fucking hat jingled as she shook her head clear. The sound was enough to re-trigger the prey drive. He lunged.

Sharp and course electricity ran straight through his body, aborting the attack before it could even begin. All his muscles locked up. He’d built up a tolerance for the dryer sparks, but being tased was rare. It was a different story. He knew the shock only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds dragged out like years. Delta didn’t even say anything, the tips of his fingers retreating from the raw skin of his neck. 

“Here girl,” the monarch snapped their fingers. 

The clown stood up in her wet clothes, skipping happily back into the employ. Paris kept his eyes trained on the empty space in front of him, the blood spots on the floor. He heard their footsteps retreating. The hallway was silent. One of Delta’s fingers was still hooked around the circle of his collar.

“Clean it up,” he said. Paris nodded. The chain went slack and he was alone in the hall once again.

~

“She started it-“

“She is a jester,” Delta cut him off. “She was doing her job. If she didn’t have that healing factor, you would have killed her.”

His eye twitched. Killed her. Kill her. It flared up within him again, without any target. He dug his nails into his wrist to keep from something worse. The anger burning so hot inside of him he thought he might just be sick from it. She’d done it on purpose. She’d got him on purpose, but it shouldn’t have worked. 

“You weren’t there,” he said, the ache of defensiveness rising in his voice. “You don’t know what she was doing.”

“Did she draw on you?” Delta asked, sounding bored. He already knew the answer.

Paris’s face flushed anyway. He gave no reply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Some small satisfaction crept into his voice, then faded quickly into irritation. “You didn’t have any impetus. Nobody was in any danger until you snapped. And now they know that if they so much as wave a flag in front of you, you act like a rabid fucking animal.”

“I was defending you, you ungrateful fuck!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Delta looked up in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Paris amended quickly, retaining at least some sense of self-preservation. He covered his mouth with his hand in a a belated effort to silence himself. It wasn’t enough. He’d been on thin ice before, but that could not be tolerated. They both knew it.

“Why are you like this?” Delta asked. He didn’t say it as an insult. He asked like he really wanted to know.

That only made it worse.

~

The inner courtyard of the Aegean palace was dense with marble and wildflowers. He always thought the statues looked out of place among the foliage, the vines creeping up the legs of the gods as if they’d already been forgotten. The last of the day’s light was held up in the violet clouds. Beneath them, the walls were doused in the cool blue of dusk. The air was warm and wet.

Paris went without prompting, without needing to be forced. He pulled the shirt off of his back, shivering a bit as the scars that already laid there were exposed to the open air. He knelt down by the post. The guard shackled his wrists to the side of it. He rested his forehead against the wood, curling and uncurling his fingers. It made it more tolerable.

He heard the whip crack against the ground as the guard made practice shots. Delta sat off to the side, one elbow propped up against the aluminum garden table, watching without much interest. He’d never get his hands dirty doing it himself. He wouldn’t even know how. 

That idiot guard didn’t know much better. The first strike came down unpracticed, landing diagonally along his shoulder and against the old scars. He pressed his head further into the post, preferring the pressure he felt there to the hot pain that was forming along his back.

It only grew. It layered. It would’ve layered already, in just a single beating, but his body had years worth of them just waiting to be reignited. The whip dredged up the old pain easily. It didn’t split the skin, but he could remember when it had. The thought alone made him dizzy. The pain quickly became all he could focus on. It kept going.

“Please stop,” he said, beginning to get truly nervous now. It’d been going on too long and was pushing up against the bounds of what he could tolerate. His hands turned over anxiously in the solid iron of the manacles. He couldn’t have gotten out even if he tried.

Delta held a hand up. The whip temporarily ceased. He stood up from the table, electrifying the air as he got closer. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Hm?” Delta asked, leaning down a little, “Stop?”

He could tell that he was feeling vindictive. Delta’s voice took on that soft, too-patient tone it always had when he was furious. 

“Paris, when I told you to stop, what did you do?” he chided.

“…Kept doing it,” he muttered miserably into the post. He hated when he got like this.

“So you do understand.”

“It hurts.” He kept his voice soft, somewhat whiny. It was calculated, but he didn’t have to force it. It didhurt.

“It’s supposed to. I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just listen the first time. You don’t have anyone to blame for this but yourself.”

There was no making him understand. Delta had no concept of what hurt meant — of how much was too much. His own body was unblemished. He’d never bled for anything. 

For as long as he was standing there, the punishment couldn’t continue. They wouldn’t dare swing the whip when Delta was in line of it, god forbid. He took the break for what it was, a few needed seconds for him to catch his breath. Delta seemed to catch onto what he was doing, taking a few steps back. He turned back to the guard.

“Finish up. Gag him if he talks again. He knows better,” he instructed. 

He paced out of the courtyard, retreating back inside the castle walks. He never liked to see the aftermath, either.

~

Delta had been sixteen years old on the eve of his first and only assassination attempt. It had been a failure, in the sense that he had not died from it. It had also been a failure in the sense that the assailant had not even gotten close. 36,000 volts ran straight through his circulatory system before the knife could even fall.

Delta had been uninjured — and in the end, unshaken. The King and Queen were not. They had no other heir.

Paris came as a knee-jerk reaction, dredged up out of whatever trench they’d found him in. He could play nice, when he needed to. He knew exactly what was on the line.

He was passable. The King bought him alone and unannounced. He’d complain for years afterwards that he’d been ripped off.

Paris had glanced up when he was first made to kneel in the throne room. His first impression was that Delta looked awfully calm for someone who had just survived an assassination attempt.

Delta was unimpressed by it, and had been unimpressed by everything since.

~

Almost everything. Kitty glowed blue in the light of the lounge. It was Delta’s favorite room. in the palace. It had been even since he was little. The walls were all made of glass, with thousands of gallons of seawater lying just behind them. Whole shoals of fish reflected silver onto the dark floor. The sequins of Kitty’s slit dress had the same effect.

She was wearing a collar. He didn’t know why he found this so funny. He guessed it could be considered a choker, if he wanted to be generous, but with the ears and the tail, “collar” was the first word that came to mind.

Hers wouldn’t choke her. If he wanted her to, he’d have to do it himself.

She draped herself over the arm of his chair. Kitty was growing into herself so beautifully. Her eyes still lit up at the sight of the fish swimming, just the way they had when they were kids, and he knew she wanted nothing more than to break straight through the glass to get at them. But everything else about her now shone with such a honed sophistication. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her eyes widening with concern.

“What?” He blinked. He hadn’t meant to.

But sure enough, a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose just as soon as she got close to him. Delta blushed, a pale blue hue rising up beneath his freckles. It came as a betrayal.

“You’re so predictable.” She almost smiled, pressing a pink handkerchief to his face before the blood could drip onto the soft sheen of his clothes.

The air around him crackled so badly both their hair stood on end.

~

Apollo tread into the kitchen with the golden fringes of his clothing catching all the light. He dragged the kitchen chair out and fell lightly into the seat. He made a soft sound of surprise  as he found Paris leaning back against the edge of the counter. 

“You have to stay up as long as he does?” Apollo asked. He leaned forward against the marble table, rocking the chair from side to side.

“I’m not supposed to sleep at all,” Paris responded flatly, only half joking. It was a bad look for him to be sleeping while Delta was awake, in the same way it was a bad look for him to be sleeping in. That left a very small window for him to get any rest at all. 

Apollo grimaced in sympathy. He placed the empty glass down on the counter. Wordlessly, Paris took it to refill.

“Oh, I didn’t- Is that even your job?” Apollo asked, a blush rising to his face.

Paris shrugged, pouring the last of the bottle out into the glass. He slid it back across the table. 

“You should let me fix that for you,” Apollo offered.

Paris yanked his hand back as violently as if he’d been burned. He thought it was invisible. It hadn’t healed that wrong. It still worked. It wasn’t an impediment. He clutched it to his chest protectively, shielding his wrist with his other hand.

Apollo gave him a knowing look. He stirred the drink idly. The ice made a soft noise as it clattered against the edges of the glass.

“They didn’t splint that for you in training?” He tilted his head.

Paris looked down. He tentatively loosened the grip on his wrist. It’d just been a fall. He’d gotten knocked backwards and he’d needed to stop himself from cracking his skull onto the floor. He’d done it wrong. The wrist had taken the brunt of the impact. He kept it in a splint at night — and when he was alone — but he couldn’t ever wear it around the trainers. He made use with the bandages instead, prayed everyday that medical didn’t come see him. In time, the bones had stitched themselves back together. Not enough, apparently.

Apollo was still staring at him.

“…It’s disqualifying,” he said softly.

“Ah,” Apollo leaned his elbow on the counter. He pressed one finger up against his lips. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Paris looked at him gratefully. Apollo took another sip of the drink, seeming to study the swirling patterns of the table’s surface. After a while, he added:

“He wouldn’t mind, though.”

Paris frowned. He didn’t think so either. That wasn’t the point. He couldn’t have his wrist be unusable for a full six weeks. He could not stand to be any more unusable than he already was.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He never would. The silence endured. Apollo shrugged, taking the drink back with him as he ducked out of the bright kitchen. Paris drew the sleeve of his shirt all the way past his fingertips.

~

ponyboy: heyyyyy

headrooms: holy shit

headrooms: i thought you fucking died

ponyboy: nope :-)

ponyboy: just busy yk how it is

headrooms: fuck

headrooms: dont scare me like that

ponyboy: sorryyyyy

ponyboy: how have you been

headrooms: im chill

headrooms: i got beat up by a jester last week

ponyboy: lmfao

ponyboy: dude shut up your job is cushy as shit

ponyboy: you wanna know what they had me doing last week????

headrooms: uphill both ways in the snow

ponyboy: i was pushing whole barrels full of petroleum and poison uphill in the coldest day of winter. they didnt even give me gloves until my fingers were already falling off!!!

ponyboy: hey fuck you

headrooms: lol

headrooms: are you good though like actually 

ponyboy: ya i mean

ponyboy: its definitely heating up here but we’re still holding a good position 

ponyboy: they kinda treat me like shit but they also dont want to lose me so im not being sent for the real suicide missions yet <3

headrooms: thats good i guess

headrooms: is vi chill

ponyboy: omg no shes been on her fuckin period lately 

ponyboy: bitch mode

headrooms: lmfao mine too

headrooms: i swear its the full moon

ponyboy: IT LITERALLY IS IDK WHAT HER PROBLEM IS

ponyboy: ughhhhhh

headrooms: i miss you

headrooms: like

headrooms: all the time

ponyboy: i miss you too !

ponyboy: ill let you know if im ever in your corner of the galaxy! i want to see you again so badly <3

Paris winced. If her people ever ended up in his corner of the galaxy, that was a bad, bad sign. Selfishly, he wished for it anyway.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly slid the phone back into his pocket. He was not quick enough to get rid of the cigarette. Delta paced out onto the balcony in a whirlwind. Little bouts of lighting lit up by his eyes.

He plucked the cigarette straight out of his mouth. His other hand smacked hard against the side of Paris’s skull. 

“Ow,” Paris winced, though it didn’t really hurt. Because he wanted Delta to feel bad. Or because he knew he wanted to hear it. Whichever it was that day. Whichever worked.

“Those are my fucking lungs,” he hissed. The guilt trip hadn’t worked. Paris shrugged.

“Sorry.”

The apology worked better. Delta’s body language relaxed some as he snubbed the cigarette out on the palace wall. He didn’t ask for the rest of the pack. Smoking was fair game, really. It was getting caught doing it that was the issue. 

“Who were you texting?” he asked mildly.

He hadn’t hid the phone quick enough. He tried to play it off.

“Just Lorry.” He looked down. 

“Oh.” Delta’s expression seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered automatically. His heart quickened right after. “…Why? Did you-“

“No,” Delta cut off that train of thought before it could really begin. “No news. I was just wondering.”

“She’s fine, then,” he confirmed. As much as she could be.

It was only then that Delta actually looked guilty. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t his fault. Lorelai had been purchased months before Paris had. It was a miracle he was even allowed to stay in touch with her. He knew most of the program’s graduates weren’t half as lucky.

He still wanted the cigarette. He leaned back against the wall, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth when it was gone. Delta didn’t leave after that, the way he’d expected him to. He pulled himself up onto the railing with a kind of stupid abandon.

The air carried the scent of salt from over the ocean. Down on the beach, two kids flew a white kite right above the waves, blissfully unaware of the peacetime’s fragility.

~

“Keep?” Paris asked, holding up the alligator skin boots. They’d been dyed a shade of ruby red.

“Absolutely not.” Delta shook his head frantically, “Toss. Don’t even tell anyone I had those.”

“I thought they were nice,” Paris muttered. 

He tossed them into the trash pile anyway. He crossed back over the length of the massive closet, pulling another bag off the shelf. This was absolutely, definitely not his job. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He liked anything that did not make him feel like a total waste of space.

His knees hit the ground before he really knew what he was doing. It was a better instinct, though, probably the least harmful out of all the ones he could not control. Delta looked up in surprise, only realizing what had just happened as the King stepped in through the doorway. Delta’s attention recentered on his father. They both acted as like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t you have a dispatch to be filling out?” Ulysses leaned against the doorway, surprisingly casual in the company of his only son. It was a reprimand, but his tone was still playful.

“I’m fuckin’ working on it, jeez,” Delta snapped. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” the King glanced around the room. Paris flinched a bit as his gaze passed over him, but it didn’t linger long.

“Oh!” The queen Andromeda appeared in the entrance before Delta could even respond, looking excitedly at the gown Delta held in one hand. “I’ve always loved that dress! You never wear it!” 

“Oh my god,” Delta said, “Can you leave me alone.”

She rushed forward anyway, squishing his face with one hand as she kissed his cheek.

“Mom!” He blushed terribly.

She smiled, knowing exactly how much she was embarrassing him. He shoved her lightly back towards the door and shut it quickly before either of them could protest. He slammed his head against it once it was closed.

“You can get up,” Delta rolled his eyes. Paris did, rigidly so, in the same mechanical way as when he’d gone down. He blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back to the present.

“They’re so fucking annoying,” Delta muttered to no one in particular, wiping his face off.

“Your parents are nice,” Paris protested weakly in their defense.

“He beat you with a 2x4,” Delta reminded him.

Paris shrugged. The King could’ve done much worse. He’d snapped at Delta that time — not on purpose. Never on purpose. It was only the nerves firing wrong, the signals getting twisted. He couldn’t help it. But it’d been grounds for immediate termination. Paris got off easy, and had moved on from it fairly quickly. Delta still held a grudge against his father for it. 

“Keep?” Delta asked this time, desperate to change the subject. Paris guessed he was glad, too. Something in him ached awfully whenever they were around.

“Keep,” he affirmed.

~

It was awful. They had to hold court later, had to hold it in ten fucking minutes, and his heart felt like it was about to explode if he didn’t kill something. He paced uncontrollably, snapping at the air no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Delta watched idly from the throne. Not angry. Just visibly unpleased with it all.

“Come here,” he called finally. 

Paris flinched. It was not a request. He tried anyway.

“I don’t…want you to…” he protested weakly.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.”

Paris reluctantly approached, kneeling beside the throne. Delta tilted his head, the tiara slipping down a bit as he did so. A soft blush rose to Paris’s face. He pulled his shirt off, then lowered further onto the floor, laying down flat on his stomach. He rested his head against his arm, burying his face. He heard Delta rising up from the throne and settling cross-legged onto the floor beside him.

Delta made that same soft, dissatisfied noise he always did when he saw the old whip scars all along his back. Not his work. The lashes he gave didn’t leave a mark. He didn’t like it when they did. Paris winced.

They were ugly. Paris knew that if the King had caught a single look at the lattice, he’d have never been bought in the first place. Because it was defacement. Because they were ugly. The thought echoed in Paris’s brain every time he caught a glimpse. It was pure vanity. He was a weapon, he knew it didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have even cared about that kind of thing. But he did. He hated them. 

“So tense,” Delta murmured from above him. His hands kneaded into the ridges along Paris’s spine – that strange, analgesic touch. Paris could feel his muscles softening involuntarily, the tension in them forcefully removed.

The urchin spine slid into the center of his shoulder blades. He bit his arm to keep from gasping.

It wasn’t the toxin alone that did it. He knew that because he’d pricked himself with it once, just out of curiosity, and he had felt almost nothing at all. It was the way he used it. 

He didn’t always hate it; sometimes it was almost nice. It was nicer when they did it alone, when he wasn’t forced to take it, exposed on the floor of the throne room. It was viscerally unpleasant to experience against his will. He did not like Delta having that much control over his body. He didn’t want to calm down.

The spine entered again, and he calmed anyway.

It went on like that until all the rigid tension seeped out through his skin like poison, then a while afterwards too. It was gentle, despite everything. He could’ve cried.

“Better?” 

He nodded, though he really just felt hazy. He didn’t think he could even hold a sword anymore. The calm felt intrusive. He was sure he couldn’t move at all, almost limp in the aftermath. He didn’t need to, though. Delta pulled him up a little, trying to straighten him out. He found his position again, on his knees. 

He pulled the shirt back on, roughly. His arms had gone numb; it took so much more effort than it had to take off. He shifted, readjusting so that he was facing the rest of the room this time. It took so much effort just to sit upright then. He felt high.

“Good boy,” Delta said, about a half second before the doors opened. He was only saying it to be mean, but in the moment, Paris couldn’t bring himself to care.

~

Delta yanked his hand away from his face just before Paris could snap it off. Paris hissed in frustration, falling abruptly to the ground. He pounded his fists against the tile. It was all he could do to not fucking kill him. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” He hissed out through gritted teeth. It was wrong. He was making it worse for himself. He had no fucking right to be talking to him like that. 

He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was going to scream.

Delta watched impassively.

“It’s getting worse,” Delta said. There was real concern in his voice. 

Paris pressed his forehead to the ground, curling up. Anything else. 

“I know it’s getting worse,” he growled.

Delta started to bend down, which was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“Get away,” Paris warned. For fucking once, Delta actually listened, taking a few cautious steps back.

It took ten whole minutes for him to get back to a state where the prey drive wasn’t waiting two inches beneath the surface. He sat up wearily. Exhausted. Fucking embarrassed.

Delta’s eyes were wide, but then, they always were. The rest of his expression revealed nothing at all.

“You need to figure that out,” he announced quietly.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Paris buried his face in his hands. “You know I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“That isn’t going to matter to them and you know it.” His voice was soft. Almost sympathetic. “And don’t talk to me like that,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Delta…” Paris whined into his hands. It was an undisguised plea. As if the way he was talking was what mattered right now.

“I’m serious. Don’t.” The plea went unanswered. If anything, his voice hardened. Paris watched with some small horror as all the patience seemed to bleed out of him. As if he could afford to lose a single ally.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Figure it out,” Delta said with such sincere urgency that it seemed like now was his turn to beg. He stormed off, unwilling to let anyone else get the last word in.

Paris picked himself up off the ground and put his fist through the nearest wall.

~

No matter what happened that day, he still came crying in the night like a little kid. 

Paris flinched a bit as he was awoken, but not for very long. He guessed he should’ve been used to it by now. Delta stood over him, tugging at his sleeve impatiently, wordless. His eyes shone like beacons in the darkness of the bedroom. His hair was down. He looked so young when he was like this. His look was all pleading.

Paris sighed, letting himself be roused from the bed. He just barely had time to grab the sword before he was dragged out into the hallway. He followed Delta all the way up the stairs, all the way up to his bedroom. He could hear the water trickling well before he entered.

His parents really did spoil him. Delta’s room was probably the most expensive part of the entire palace. Water rushed down from the ceiling in an artificial waterfall, landing into the koi pond that took up a whole quarter of the room. All the rest of the room was crystalline, opalescent. Absolutely cluttered with anything that would shine.

Paris didn’t roll his eyes at the giant seashell that held Delta’s mattress. He’d seen it enough times that it had lost its novelty. He didn’t expect anything less.

“Watch the door,” he begged.

Paris nodded. He knew the drill. He sat down on the floor by Delta’s bed while the sheathed sword rested in his lap. He wouldn’t need it. He knew he wouldn’t need it. Delta was just scared.

Delta crawled up into the bed, arranging himself carefully for the meditation. The low drone of electricity began to fill the room. Channeling again. All the stars had aligned for it.

“παρακαλῶ,” Delta muttered beneath his breath. “παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ…”

The incantation began shortly after that. The hair on the back of Paris’s neck stood up. He kept his eyes on the door. He didn’t like to watch.

He’d learned to tune out the rambling, for the most past. He knew Delta didn’t like it when people overheard — and he only let Paris do it out of necessity. It was fine. He didn’t understand any of the Greek. It was only the rapid, manic way he spoke that really scared him. Hushed and quick and ancient. It felt right to avert his eyes for it. It was something he had no business witnessing.

His eye twitched a little bit as he realized just how loud the incantation was growing behind him. The room was getting brighter. He got the awful feeling he always did when he felt lightning was about to strike. It was getting bad this time. It was getting worse than he could ever remember it being.

He turned around.

It was about as bad as he imagined. The light burned and radiated off of him, bright enough to be blinding. Delta was definitely seizing beneath it all. His eyes were shut tight like the power was painful. His hands clutched at the blanket. Paris realized with horror that the bedding was turning blue from all the blood that then dripped from his mouth and his eyes. 

“Fuck,” Paris muttered beneath his breath. 

He should have known better than to wake a sleepwalker.

He regretted it as soon as he touched him. For a minute, he thought he’d really gone blind. The pain exploded in his arm as he was thrown back against the wall. His own body seized with the residual electricity. He gasped, crumbling down into a heap onto the soft floor.

“What the fuck did you do?” Delta coughed up blood onto the floor. Blood or tears poured from his eyes. In all likelihood, it was both. He wiped at them idly, not seeming to be in any particular hurry. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get all of it off with his hands.

He stumbled up from the bed — and immediately fell onto the floor. He crawled the rest of the way over to the koi pond, scooping the water up with his hands to remove the rest of the blood. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he repeated, even angrier now.

“You were seizing.” Paris gasped. His arm hurt badly enough that he thought it might be broken. He couldn’t tell. He was still mostly blind.

“I told you not to interrupt,” Delta pressed his forehead onto the stone. He couldn’t even stand.

“You’re pushing it too far,” Paris said. It was all he said. It was all he needed to.

“Shut up,” Delta warned.

“You’re pushing it too far,” he repeated, sing-song.

“Shut the fuck up!” Delta stood up again. Paris knew he meant to hit him, meant to fight him, and suddenly that was what was happening. 

“Oh god damn it, you fucking moron.” Paris blocked his fists with his arms. It hurt a little bit, but not nearly enough to incapacitate. He pushed Delta off with zero effort, which only seemed to piss him off more.

Delta growled, stumbling to his feet. He marched over to the bedside table, pulled out what Paris recognized belatedly as a fucking muzzle.

“Wait.” He tensed up, still not having risen off the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, chill-“

Delta fell messily to his knees, trying to secure it onto him. This time, Paris actually did fight. He caught his wrists. He hated that thing so much. It was the middle of the fucking night, he’d never be able to sleep with it on. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been trying to help.

“Stop,” he pleaded while he still had the ability to. “Come on. Stop. Please.”

Delta sighed in defeat. He dropped the muzzle to the floor — and let himself fall to it a few seconds later. He mumbled something in Greek.

“I’m tired,” he muttered into the carpet. His mouth was still bleeding.

Paris stood up, with a lot of effort, but he was still in better shape that Delta was. He picked him up with his uninjured arm. It wasn’t difficult. Delta was light. He wouldn’t have won the fight he’d tried to start. Paris pushed him back onto the bed, letting him collapse there.

“On your side,” Paris reminded him. Delta readjusted onto his side so that the blood wouldn’t asphyxiate him.

“Fucking goodnight, I guess,” Paris muttered, picking his sword back up from the ground. He picked the muzzle up too, placing it back in the drawer. Should’ve just thrown the damn thing out.

“Stay?” Delta asked.

“Yeah, think I’m good on that.” Paris started to walk out the door. 

“Stay.” It was an entreaty, now. Paris groaned. He walked back, collapsing onto the other side of the bed.

“Not all night. You cry in your sleep. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this.”

“So do you,” Delta muttered in reply, already half-asleep.

Paris shrugged. The waterfall was quiet and reassuring. He could stay for that, if nothing else. 

~~~

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @a-formless-whumper

[waywardwritesstuff]

I have a little bit of a hurt/comfort request for Logan if you're up for it! I was thinking something along the lines of gn!reader is already having a bad day and then during their training they hurt themselves with their mutation and it just makes everything come to a head and Logan comforts them through it? If you're not up for it that's totally! Either way I hope you have a good day/night

Summary: Having a mutation isn't easy, despite what all the other superheroes around you make it seem. A mutation that conducts electricity and uses your body as a channel for that energy takes a toll on the wielder. And that wielder is you.

Word Count:

Tags: based on the 90s x-men but with movie logan in mind, hurt/comfort, soft, fluff, boyfriend!logan, electricity mutation, electrocution, accidental self-harm, the danger room, no use of y/n, scott mentioned, nightcrawler mentioned, rouge mentioned, seizures, can be read as platonic or romantic

"You're up!" Scott called to you from outside the danger room. You took a deep breath and walked in.

The room was dark, you could faintly see a few obstacles in front of you, but the rest of the room was hidden in shadow.

"Your task-" Scott's voice rang out over the loud speakers planted in the walls around the danger room "-is to light each set of lighting equipment you can find, whilst also defending from on coming enemies. This is a support style mission, you need to keep the environment as lit as possible so you're teammates can get in and get out completing the mission"

You nod your head hoping he can see you, even if you can't see him.

You also couldn't see any teammates but you could hear small amounts of shuffling, assuming that someone was in here with you.

A singular, fairly dim light turned on in the roof. You assumed this was some sort of night-simulated training course since the little light kind of looked like a full moon.

You took a step forward trying to find the lights Scott was talking about. Taking a deep breath you drew on the naturally occurring electricity in your body, concentrating so the flow would reside directly under your skin where you could use it.

You found a machine with a large lightbulb in it and shot a pulse of electricity through it. It lit up instantly and the surrounding area looked clearer. The danger room had brought up a holographic image of a warehouse at the dockyard.

You went around finding the mechanism around the edge of the dock when you heard shuffling from behind you. You whipped around keeping the pulse in your hand at the ready instead of putting it into the light.

The small amount of light you were radiating gave you enough light to see in front of you but not enough to see further out. The sound had come from the area you were yet to light.

You heard a sudden bamf and Kurt appeared on one of the shipping containers to your right. He jumped again, headed straight for you but you let of a bolt of electricity and pushed him away from you. He almost slammed back into the container, but he pushed his feet against it and disappeared in a puff of smoke again.

You span around trying to find him but couldn't see him. You lit up the mechanism but by the time you turned around, Kurt was already too close for you to bring up a blast. He kicked your feet out from under you and you collapsed onto the ground.

The electricity under your skin flickered and then went out. You got up and focused on pulling your power back. Trying to concentrate whilst also keeping an eye out for Kurt, it was hard to hear since the buzzing in your ears made it harder to hear the subtler noises.

Kurt didn't reappear, but now that you knew for sure you weren't alone and that there was potentially more than one person in the danger room with you, you had to move quickly.

You used the height of the shipping containers to your advantage and made your way up from there. You saw a storm light sitting on the side of the warehouse and you blasted it, making a large part of the dock become lit in a dim yellow glow. From here, you realised who else was in the danger room with you. You looked above the light and saw Rouge floating there.

"Hiya sugar" she smiled at you before making a dive for you

You jumped off the shipping container only to hear Rouge burst through it, she would have taken you with her had you not moved. She ripped open a hole in the side of the shipping container and followed after you. You watched as she flew at you again, charging up a blast enough that would knock her off her aim so you could finish your mission.

You concentrated your fire directly at Rouge and she was blinded by the light that you hit her with. You blast sent her flying back and you made a break for the next set of lights. You only had 4 more to go. You raced over to the still dark area of the docks only to see someone crouched at the edge of the dim light. A big blue mass that could have only been Beast.

You made a break for the first of the four mechanisms. Blasting it from a far and only just hitting your target before you heared the sound of someone landing on one of the wooden boxes beside you. You don't turn in time as Beast's legs are colliding with your side.

You slam into the next box and cry out.

"Apologise my friend" he says in the near distance

Your light flickers and dies out again. You scramble to your feet quickly as you hear a bamf and the whooshing of Rouge flying through the air.

Suddenly feeling very overwhelmed and crowded your body begins to light up. Brighter and brighter as the neurons in your brain work overtime putting your body into fight or flight. But the combined stress and mutational light makes something in your mind snap.

Suddenly your whole body is glowing brighter than ever before, your veins light up brighter than the rest like lightning bolts and all the energy can no longer be contained. The heat inside of your veins boils your blood and the stress on your brain causes something to faulter in your mind.

In a burst of light you let out a large, whole body pulse of electricity and fall to the ground. Everything goes dark even though you can still feel your mutation working over drive. Your body is twitching from head to toe as you spasm out of control. Letting a pulse of energy out each time your body twitches.

The group around you are blinded and are pushed away from the force.

You can't see anything, can't hear anything except the ringing in your ears.

Everything is dark, you are afraid. And then it all stops.

Once the pulsing stops Beast approaches you. Realising what has happened

"We need to get them to the med bay immediately!" He shouts as he scopes your limp body up.

He rushes to the med bay accompanied by Scott, who watched the whole ordeal.

Logan was in his room at the time, he didn't have any classes to teach and it wasn't his turn in the danger room yet, so he was waiting idly by.

But when the lights had flickered and the mansion lost total power momentarily he knew something was wrong.

The way has hair stood on end in a familiar way told him something had happened. And that something was you.

He rushed down to the danger room just as Beast was leaving, with you in his arms.

Logan rushed to Beast and Scott's side. His face stricken with worry

"What happened" he hissed

"They had a seizure. I need to take them to the med bay to check what caused it and if any more damage has been caused" Beast explained calmly though he could smell the anxiety radiating from him.

He let Beast walk further down the hall before he turned to Scott holding him by the collar against the wall.

"What did you do?" Scott was the one in charge of creating and overseeing the training drills. It had to be his fault

"Let go of me Logan. I didn't do anything"

"Bullshit" he had to be involved. He had to

"It was a fucking training exercise I didn't try to kill them. Are you insane?!"

Logan wasn't thinking straight but he didn't care. He was worried about you. Instead of continuing to bother with Scott, Logan dropped him and hastily walked in the direction of the lab. Leaving Scott to pick himself up.

He sat by the benches as Beast hooked you up to a heart monitor and vital scanner. He measured the level of electric currents flowing through your brain and thankfully found that they were back to normal.

Everything about you was completely intact, except for the scars all over your body. In the same places where your veins had lit up, lightning strikes like old white scars had been burned into your skin. The map of you veins now etched into the outside of your body.

Beast informed Logan of this pulling away your shirt to show him.

Logan sighed not knowing how you would take this when you woke up.

"They will wake up right?"

"Yes all brain activity is normal and all their vitals are steady. Right now they are more or less sleeping. They should awake within the hour"

Logan grunted in acknowledgment but Beast could see the worry in the ever growing frown lines in his face

"Logan, if you wish you can stay here. I however have other matters to attend to. Will you be alright?"

"Yeah Hank, I'll be fine" his voice sounded flat. But Beast knew hidden underneath was a valley of worry.

He waited. Patiently. Not moving an inch. His eyes flicking between the heart monitor that was beeping steadily and your breathing figure laying on the lab table.

He heard the movement before he saw it. The barest sound of cloth on metal as you shifted. He smelt your breath as you opened your mouth slightly. Consciously breathing. You then sat up suddenly, startled and confused.

Logan ran to your side and took your hand

"Shh, hey it's ok. You're ok"

You looked around frantically for a moment before locking eyes with Logan

Your breathing sped up as your body reacted to its last memory. You clutched his hand, not fully realising you were holding it as your eye began to light up

"Hey, listen to me. Look at me ok? We are in the lab. It's just me and you. No one else"

You stared at Logan but didn't see him. Not really your eyes were glazed over and partially hidden by the light shining through them. You blinked hard a few times before you fully realised where you were.

On the last blink you saw Logan. His curled hair and whisky eyes taking up most of your vision. And you felt the glow slowly dissipate.

"God, Logan I-" but you couldn't get much more out before your voice broke and tears began to fall from your eyes. Logan wrapped his arms around you, cradling your head against his chest as your harsh breathing picked up slightly

"You wanna try and tell me what happened?" He tried tenderly after a moment.

You took a deep breath in, you heart rate had decreased significantly but it was still too loud in your ears.

"I just...I got overwhelmed. I wasn't expecting Scott to have brought the others in. I thought at least- they would have been holograms"

Logan's chest rumbled in your ear as you heard him growl at the mention of Scott.

"I'm gonna kill him"

"Logan don't. It's not his fault" you clutched his shirt as you said it. Worried he might leave.

Logan noticed this and didn't move

"What happened" you sniffed quietly

"You had a seizure. Too much of your electricity went to your brain and it couldn't take it"

You clutched his shirt tighter. It had been scary living it in the moment. But hearing about it was somehow equally as frightening.

Logan pulled away but didn't start far. Slowly he took your hand and turned it over. At first you didn't see. But then the faint white lines registered in your eyes and you gasped clutching your own hand

"Logan?! What is this?"

Logan took your hand again and tried to steady you as he watched the panic rise.

"Bub, breathe ok. You're fine. Hank said it was from the seizure. The level of electricity you let out left a print-"

You open your mouth to cut him off but he jumps in

"-and before you ask. No, no one got hurt"

You shut your mouth

You pull back the sleeve of your shirt to see that the lightning bolt trail traveled all the way up your arms like a map of the lakes from all across the world. You did the same with your other arm and even pulled your top up half way. Still more imprints

You didn't know what to think. They weren't ugly. But a scar is a scar.

Logan could see it in your eyes as you looked that there was much confusion and pain held there that you were silently holding back.

"Bub? You're gonna be ok. We're just gonna have to help you find your limit yeah? And I ain't gonna let you do another training session alone until we do"

You nod and he pulls you close again. His embrace warm and comforting.

Logan felt like home to you, even after you had snapped, he still didn't run away from the danger you potentially held inside of you. He still let you cling to him, and you could feel it in the beat of his hear how much he cared.

You would get through this, with Logan by your side. Always

I hoped this turned out the way you were hoping. I really enjoyed writing it. It's been a while since I've gotten a request so if you have another please send it in. And maybe even recommend me to some other Logan fans out there.

[mossyclaw]

I genuinely start tweaking when I see someone say that “Marvin’s giddy seizures” are actual seizures. Like I get it’s very vague and up for interpretation I guess but. Like.

[aliusfrater]

what are your thoughts on Sam's seizures? the demon detox one was like a withdrawal case but the others..like when he got back his soul, and also that time in the ambulance, would you consider them semi-supernatural seizures? do you think sam is epileptic? It's a headcanon I like.

i've posted about how intriguing it is that sam was a regular seizure haver for a few seasons before and although i do like the epileptic!sam headcanon, i prefer to relate sam's seizures to being psychogenic than relating to a non-canon underlying disorder like epilepsy mainly because it's more interesting to me to think of sam's seizures as directly correlating with the events that trigger them both in a major character conflict encapsulated moment kind of way as well as an action -> reaction kind of way.

so like taking his 4.21 panic room demon blood detox as an example: sam's entire season four arc centres around using his abilities, an invariable part of him that represents both taken autonomy and his Otherness in his family, hunting, and his idea of normalcy, in a way that facilities agency for some perceivable good while also crossing boundaries within the dynamic of his and dean's relationship, the dichotomy of monstrosity, and even his patriarchal role in an attempt at independence (also relating to his addiction). the demon detox scene represents every facet of how sam's monstrosity represents these parts of his character; the characters he hallucinates represents these facets in different ways. his seizure is an extension of this in a more direct way—the idea of sam's inability/struggle to fit within his role within these structures mentioned is, i think, the foundation of his character and being forcibly made to quit his addiction, an addiction related to an invariable aspect of his being, relating greatly to multiple parts of what the foundation of his character represents (as well as his own autonomy) is just being further represented within something as (non-)physical as a seizure.

the same can be said about 6.13 and 6.22 sam. 6.13 sam has had his autonomy violated twice-fold (soulless!sam's and sam's) and he's actively attempting to atone for every aspect of his non-role that soulless!sam breached and for every decision he didn't make but is actively violating him as well as his victims while also being restricted by dean and dean's decision to resoul him. his seizure represents this within something that is (non-)physical. 6.22 sam has has his wall broken in a way that reaffirms his lack of autonomy in several ways: his wall was broken by cas to keep dean preoccupied, the wall exists against his will, he doesn't even remember the ordeal of having his wall broken, and he's a metaphysical prisoner within his body. sam is quite literally having to reclaim his body from himself by himself and (almost) against his will; his seizure represents this within something that is (non-)physical.

in 7.03, it's basically an extension of 6.22, but with the added aspect of both sam's established psychosis and sam's relationship with hallucifer. his conflict with his autonomy relates to the struggle within his relationship with reality and how conflated it is with his relationship with lucifer; by 7.03 his reality is in the process of being re-established as existing synonymously with his and dean's relationship, perpetuating the push and pull between dean-sam, lucifer-sam and sam's reality; his autonomous reality has been slipping through his fingers (in a similar way to 3.11, which is a connection i love to make). his seizure represents his struggle within something that is (non-)physical.

it's a metaphor and symbol, basically and there's just more canon to think about in the context of this perspective than it is from an epileptic!sam, which you'd have to build outside of canon. the latter is still fun though, in the same way that thinking about sam as schizophrenic, autistic, or having ptsd (headcanons that i do feel relatively strongly about) is fun.

[druidshollow]

mask idea. i want the plate on top to vaguely resemble his face as an iterator but i might tweak it idk. i also wanted the shape of the mask to resemble flowers' mask, which makes sense since they have such similarly shaped faces

[mrsmarlasinger]

Told nurse that I could not have my blood drawn today because I would have a reflex anoxic seizure. Nurse told me I could lie down (I was already lying down).

Told nurse that I would have a reflex anoxic seizure if she drew my blood. Nurse said it would be "just a little pinch."

Knew this particular nurse would be unable to hit a vein. Nurse was unable to hit a vein.

Told nurse to stop because I was going to have a reflex anoxic seizure (as portended by my shaking, crying, and hyperventilation while she tried to find my vein). Nurse said, "Oh, you don't want to try again?"

Had reflex anoxic seizure immediately. Nurse was surprised by my very preventable reflex anoxic seizure.

First seizure in years. Felt like bad disso trip; was incredibly traumatic; convinced me I was dying. Woke up sobbing because I thought I was dead and didn't know where I was or what had happened. Could not stop crying.

Nurse said, "Well, now we know you're serious, so we can put a note in your chart!"

Yeah. Well. I knew I was serious about the disorder I've had for two decades. That's why I've had it noted in my chart for years and warn every nurse, immunizer, or piercer who approaches me with a needle.

Left the clinic crying. Did not get my bloodwork, throat swab, urine test, or pneumonia shot.

[shadedheart138]

Too Much Thinking Is Bad For My Health (Part Two)

Several hours had passed, and Wars hadn't woken. If anything, he'd gotten worse. Wind and Time refused to leave his side, Wind holding one of his hands and Time constantly checking and rechecking him over. Wind's sobs had long been quieted, but his eyes were red-rimmed and still teary.

Wars' breathing had stayed painfully shallow and he'd barely moved once. Hyrule had tried his magic, hoping to ease at least some of his brother's pain, but it hadn't touched the agony. Legend had pulled him back with a tired, remorseful expression on his face.

Four was curled up against Wild, still shaking and talking to themself. Their colors refused to be quiet. Twilight had taken to pacing, while Sky just watched with fear.

"Are ya sure 's hemlock?" Twilight asked, for the upteenth time.

"Yes, Twilight. It's hemlock." Time said quietly.

"Are you-" "Hush." Legend snapped. "We're worried enough as is, we don't need you pacing and fretting and driving us up the fucking walls. Sit down."

Twilight wrung his wrists and frowned deeply, before sitting down near Sky. He seemed ready to leap up at any given second, but at least he was sitting.

There was no known antidote for hemlock. At all. Even the tiniest amounts were fatal. Potions didn't touch it, no amount of Hyrule's healing magic was able to help, and even the fairy that brought him back didn't treat it.

They could only hope he didn't die again. They only had three fairies amongst them all.

XXX

That hope was short lived, and before the end of the night, they were down to two fairies. It was Time who was up and pacing now, just as frantic as Twilight had been. Wind had been corralled to sleep near Four and Sky, held tight to try and keep him soothed.

"Are there any Fairy Fountains nearby?" Time asked Twilight, voice wavering and cracking in the middle. He was grasping at straws, trying to find some sort of way to keep his brother alive and make him better.

He refused to lose Warriors.

"Not that I can recall. But we can always go lookin'. There ain't many that I can actually think of."

"Fuck." Time whispered under his breath, crouching to run his hand over Warriors' forehead, feeling the still-climbing fever. They really shouldn't move him. He was frail enough as it were.

"Do you have a map, by any chance?" Time's voice was even quieter, now that he was closer to Warriors.

"No. Usually didn't need one, anyhow. If we weren't so far from Ordon, I'd say we take him to th' spring. But that's about a day's walk, at our normal pace, from here. It would take more time than I reckon he has."

It would. In maybe six, seven hours, Warriors had needed two fairies. He was barely hanging on. They only had two left, so maybe they had about seven hours, eight if they pushed it, to get to the spring before they were out of them. But the spring was the only chance they had.

No one in camp was really asleep. It didn't take long for Time to have them up and aware.

"Let's pack up camp. Sitting here, waiting, none of it is going to do Warriors any good. He'll only get worse. Hyrule, Wild, while camp's being broken, can you go looking for fairies? If we're going to get to Ordon in any reasonable time at all, we're going to need more than just two."

Wild and Hyrule went off into the woods, for once without the intent of play or exploring.

Time settled down near Warriors, and started packing up his brother's things. A notebook, his pens. Time folded his scarf neatly, hands trembling. How many times had he himself been wrapped in it, when he'd had one nightmare too many, or was too sick to get out of bed? No matter how bitter he was, during the war, he'd loved this scarf almost as much as the owner of it. It was a comfort, even now, as Time ran his hands over it.

Time opened Warriors' bag a little more to fit the scarf, not wanting it to get ruined. There really was no other place for it, other than someone's hands or Warriors' neck. The bag was crammed full of things, and even though there was so much, it was neat and tidy.

Time pulled out a book, hoping taking it and putting it somewhere else would make room for the scarf. He caught a glimpse of the cover.

Old and worn, this was the book that Warriors had used to teach both Wind and Time how to read and write.

Time's eyes immediately teared, and he held it with a gentle grip. Why did Wars still have this old thing? At the bottom, in Warriors' scraggly handwriting - not neat like he would for war papers - were the words "The Good Ones".

Good what, exactly? Time opened the book, seeing the simple, childish shapes and letters. He smiled, and turned to a dog-eared page.

Oh.

So this was what he meant by the good ones.

The good memories, of the war. There were pages taped over pages and scribbles and drawings. Many of them were Time's own, when he'd barely known how to hold a pencil. Some of them were Wind's, when he was older, of Wars, of Mask, of the seagulls and the flowers and the things that reminded him of family. Of home. Some of them were Warriors', of a sleeping Mask and Wind, of Proxi, of Artemis. Pages of Wind learning how to spell. Pages of Mask learning how to draw a cat that didn't look like triangles.

Time didn't realize he was crying until a tear dropped onto a lovingly laminated page. He gently wiped it, then his own eyes. He tucked the book back where it belonged, in Warriors' pack. The scarf could be held. It didn't need to get shoved in here, unorganizing things Warriors clearly had in certain places. Time got up, zipping up the pack.

Time made his way over to Wind, who was folding up his bedroll.

"Here. Can you hold onto this?" Time asked, holding out the scarf. Wind's eyes widened. "Are you sure? I- I don't-" "It won't fit in his bag, and I won't have the hands to carry it. Please."

Wind took it in shaking hands and just sort of looked at it. He hadn't lived the war yet. This version of him was still fourteen, hadn't seen everything that he and Mask could get up to. Hadn't seen Warriors two years before now, commanding an army. But he'd naturally gravitated towards Warriors. It wasn't hard to see who had won his favor first.

Wind carefully wrapped the scarf around his neck, having to do it three times more so that it didn't touch the ground. "Thank you." He said quietly.

Time had already made his way back to Warriors. It hurt to see just how thin and weak Warriors had gotten. How had Time not noticed? How did he let it get this bad?

Time carefully helped Warriors out of his bedroll, and moved him to lean against a tree. He was so out of it, he almost looked like a doll. Limp and fragile. Time packed up the bedroll quickly, then scooped Warriors up gently, like a child. Warriors' head was easily pillowed against Time's chest, and he seemed to cling to the cold, hard armor.

He held Warriors while everyone waited for Wild and Hyrule to return. It didn't take long, maybe four more minutes. Wild's face was muddy and Hyrule's hands were scraped.

"We didn't find many. They gave us a run for our rupees trying to catch them. We only got three." Hyrule's voice was slightly breathless.

Five fairies total. Maybe fifteen hours to get Wars to the spring, if his cycle of decline stayed the same. Time nodded. "You did what you could. Keep them close. Let's be off."

XXX

Warriors' cycle of decline did seem to stay consistent, even three hours later. One more fairy down. Twilight was heavily skeptical about reaching Ordon in time. Even with the brisk pace they'd set, it was hard to keep it.

There was no warning when Warriors started to seize, jolting Time out of the half-aware state he'd been in. It had been a frantic rush to get him on his side and stay near him, fairies at the ready if they were needed.

That was thirty minutes ago. Currently, they were surrounded.

Wolfos, and lots of them. Not to mention the lizalfos. Legend tossed Twilight one of his fire rods, and drew his sword. Hyrule stayed near Time, ready to heal. He'd never been a fighter. He would, if needed. But he would heal, before he fought. Time gritted his teeth.

They didn't have the time for this. Wild climbed a tree and readied his bow, and started letting ice arrows fly. Wind was fighting, Sky was fighting, Four was fighting, they were all around, getting rid of the enemies.

Time was standing there, doing nothing.

Time gently set Warriors down near Hyrule, but before he could take his hands away, Twilight put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. Pick him back up, we can't afford to fight here. Th' others'll stay back and fight them off. We've gotta get him to th' spring." Time looked at his boys, his brothers. He didn't want to leave them to their own devices, what if they needed him? A shiver wracked Warriors' body, making Time look down. This brother needed him more than the others did.

"Alright. Let's go." Time whispered. He scooped Warriors back up, and with Twilight at his side, they bolted from the battlefield.

XXX

One fairy. They had one more left and they were several hours away from the spring. Running for so long was making Twilight wheeze, and Time had reluctantly made them take a break. Chest heaving, Time put his head in his hands and cried. They wouldn't make it to the spring in time, he just knew it. No matter how they rushed and ran, they wouldn't make it.

Time had failed.

Worst of all, he'd failed his brother. Someone who took care of him, who loved him, who taught him that all life was to be cherished. And Time couldn't even repay him the same favor. Warriors would be dead, by the next sunrise. Time would never hear his laugh, his teases, his advice, his comforting voice ever again. Time would never be able to forgive himself.

Twilight looked down at his hands. Eight hours, that's all they needed. They only had about three. They wouldn't make it. No amount of praying to Hylia to save Warriors would help. They just wouldn't make it.

Time had himself convinced of that fact, when Twilight scooped Warriors back up. He'd given up. They'd never reach the spring in time. He kept chasing his thoughts in circles, while Twilight watched him. What were they going to do? XXX

holy shit the people who reblogged this, that messaged me, that read this, holy shit. You guys are amazing! This part two is for all you guys because WOW. I didn't think it'd be received with so much enthusiasm! But guess what? I'm gonna have to make a part three >:)

@rrainydaydreams, @rebornofstars I thought you guys would like to know :)

[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #7

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••

I don't think I've ever seen Carbon Monoxide poisoning in whump...

I mean, there's just so much potential!

Characters falling ill with some mysterious sickness, everyone in the house having similar, if not the same symptoms.

Maybe it's just dizziness, fatigue, headaches, muscle aches, and nausea. All things that are inconvenient, and after a certain point, become worrisome and quite concerning but not life threatening and some might just brush off. Maybe if they live alone they think they're over-dramatic or that their age or past experiences are finally getting to them. If they have roommates, maybe they chock it up to food poisoning or seasonal allergies being extra bad or maybe it's all the studying, work, and/or parties. Some could even think it's a virus of some kind.

But it continues to get worse. With things like seizures, hallucinations, and disorientation making a character who lives alone think they're going completely insane or maybe they finally go to the hospital because y'know. Seizures. If they're roommates, then wow, that's some bad food poisoning. Or they've been having some awful trips lately.

Anyway, eventually if nothings done about it, it can leave a character or two comatose or even eventually dead.

Just seems quite whumpy and with a ton of potential. Whether it's a sickfic, environmental whump, etc.

Not to mention; what about a recovering whumpee? What or who are they hallucinating? This sure would make physical and mental recovery a hell of a lot harder. Especially when the caretaker is extremely ill and experiencing similar symptoms as the whumpee.

Would be a shame if this happened to your poor recovering blorbos :(

[pomeraniandancer]

I bought BG3 three weeks ago, and I adore Karlach as much as the next person, but speaking as someone who has had an external fixator (and still has some internal fixation), MY GOD do those rivets look painful.

I'm obviously still pretty early in the game, but thus far it seems Larian missed an opportunity to include a chronic pain aspect to her infernal engine storyline.

[sleepy-bi666]

hazbin hotel headcanons but its based on my dr- vox edition

autistic but doesn't know he is (due to dying in the 1950s and it being considered "rare")

intersex trans man (uses he/they pronouns)

bisexual

off and on relationship with valentino

glitches a lot when hes stressed/overstimulated

you can literally power him off with a remote (velvette does this whenever he spends too much time in his office)

Very much overprotective

He often forgets to eat

he would've loved Baby Bugs music

literally owns like five pairs of the same outfit

his head makes a pinging noise when he shuts off from low battery

he acts like a sickly victorian child when ill

speaking of being ill, he doesn't get sick often, but when he does it hits hard

he was the oldest child of his family

would literally kill for those he loves

severe trust issues

massive shark hyperfixation (Vark is his favorite pet shark)

if human movies get to hell, his favorites would be M3gan and Afraid

he techinally supports piracy unless its something he owns/created (lmao hypocrite)

i hc he died from a seizure

he essentially raised his siblings (think Luisa vibes from encanto)