#thankfully most of them have been minor concussions (still a concussion though) not to mention the fact that last year i played with two

[walking-power-generator]

No way she literally me fr!!!! (I am in near constant physical, mental, and emotional pain due to this sport)

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 17

Living with the Cowell's is going about as well as you'd expected it to go. In other words it's more or less a disaster for your mental health. Which is ironic considering you didn't put this much stress on yourself when you were sure a stalker was watching you.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the stalker didn't own your house and wasn't in your personal space at every turn.

You'd honestly been expecting Little Jo to be the biggest space invader but Dia and Nate were constantly hovering around you. Nate had taken up the other spare room, or rather his room away from home, the minute he heard you'd be staying with the Cowells. He's made it his job drive you to and from work for the past two days and you both take breaks together now closing the store when you do. Then the second you cross the threshold Dia is right by you either asking for some help cooking or rushing you off for hobby time in the sitting room. It's like living in a 1920's story book, minus the extreme prejudice you would've faced.

It's only been two days and you can't find a way to ask for more space. You tried asking to go on a walk earlier and it turned into a partial jog with Nate. You really just need a moment to yourself it's been five or six days since you last had some 'me' time. All your nerves are shot and you are just a few minor inconveniences away from snapping at someone.

And it would not be a smart idea to nap at your boss. Your boss who's been so considerate and helpful offering his support to you through this whole mess of a situation.

Nonetheless you need space and your own clothes. Nate's don't fit you properly and they're uncomfortably itchy against your skin. His detergent is also very smelly, more in the chemical sense than in a bad sense. Though it could be a bad sense considering the headache you've had the past day from the over bearing smell. You know it won't end well for you but you desperately need to go back home and grab your own clothes and maybe even your car.

Having the illusion of more freedom would put you more at ease.

After all it isn't like you want to knowingly put yourself in harms way, you just can't stand the suffocation any longer. That's why you decided to bring it up during dinner, and why you are now sat in the tensest atmosphere this table has possibly ever experienced.

“Installation ain't done yet.” is Big Jo's gruff response.

It's as if that short sentence gave everyone premission to breathe again.

“I'm not planning to stay, I just need my own clothes.” you press.

Nate glances over to you before placing his fork to the side, “Then why do you need your car?”

“I'd just feel more comfortavle if I had it.....y'know instead of just relaying on you for rides.” you gesture around to the table trying to get someone yo come to your defense.

Big Jo pinches the bridge of his nose, it's been a stressful week for him as well. You don't mean to be ungrateful in this scenario but you are Autistic and the routine you've spent months carving out for yourself is being ruined. You are wearing smelly itchy clothes and need to have something you have control over. Not to mention you're the one who actively experienced the home invasion and were sat in a hospital for two days.

Big Jo can deal with you asking to go collect your thing, as far as you're concerned anyway. You're at least entitled to that much.

Dia puts her hand on Jo's arm and he sighs, “Fine, if Nate takes you. You can go to the cottage.”

“Tio, they can't have the car.” Nate is wildly failing his arms and motioning to you as he explains that you're a known flight risk.

Great, nothing's been resolved and you are back to a tense dinner in the Cowell's home.

“Fine I won't take the car, just lemme give it to someone to watch it for the...the what's it gonna be a week?” directing the question to Big Jo who's been handling the security detail for your home.

He gestures in a so-so manner.

“Yea, just lemme give it to someone to watch for the week.” you pause before throwing your hand up, “Because let's face it none of us have any idea where those two are now, and they could've easily tampered with my car.”

That was the worst possible thing to say because the second you finish you sentence the table erupts into chaos. Dia and Little Jo voicing their concerns over you driving your car, Big Jo and Nate all but forbidding you from driving and you trying to find some sort of compromise.

“What if we had it towed to Whistle's? Nate takes me there after work and we make sure nothing's wrong with my car.” looking around the table at the mixed reactions before you.

“I'll call Lewis for a tow in the morning and you both can go after work.”

“thank you.” you say relieved that you can finally gain back control over your life. Maybe get a little bit of space a long with it.

Everyone calms down and goes back to eating. The air is still so tense you could practically cut it but without your constant stirring it seems to settle. The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, you've changed into some pajamas and are ready to lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

The antsy energy you've been building up these past few days have left you without sleep. Tomorrow the hallucinations will probably start up, you wonder if they'll be worse thanks to your healing concussion. Hallucinations aside, your real problem is being alone with your thoughts for the next seven or eight hours.

You have nothing to occupy your mind with and thus nothing to help block out the invasive thoughts.

You'd finished the TAZ graphic novels while you were still at the hospital. The Cowells had taken you straight to their home after you got discharged, so you hadn't been able to grab your switch or any smaller art supplies.

Ultimately knowing that all this was for your safety and benefit you understand them wanting to keep you away from your home. The sight of you attack. Even a supply run could prove dangerous. Try telling that to your restless and bored mind. Constantly feeling like one of the undead wandering around aimlessly with no real purpose has certainly not done anything good for your mental health The lack of stimulation was definitely making it harder to mask and not just explode in  frustration. To just let loose and rage at everything: from the situation to your stalkers, hell even to Jo and yourself. The after the brief flash of rage it would be washed away by the overwhelming guilt you felt about being in this web and dragging everyone around you into it. Whether directly or indirectly.

Safe to say, it is not good to be alone with your thoughts right now.

And it is with that restless energy that your night of staring at the ceiling turns into a morning of staring at the ceiling. Until a knock at your door signals the start of breakfast. A routine you've recently become apart of while staying with the Cowells. Getting ready for the day you make your way to the dining room, not before steadying your nerves and static filled mind with a long and drawn out huff of air.

Not quite cathartic enough to be viewed as a sigh.

And with that you begin you day.

The morning fades into late afternoon and you find yourself in the shop a little before close, just looking through the isles. A vaguely human figure, much too tall to truly be an actual person, had brushed past Nate and into one of the isles. Honestly you're sure it's one of your hallucinations but you still have to double check the isles before you finish locking up the shop. Today had been really slow and you can only recall a handful of patrons throughout the day, though you haven't been with it enough to actually hace much accuracy on that statement.

Nevertheless you are searching for stragglers, thankfully you find none. Really hoping to get out and to Whistle's soon, then home to grab things that'll keep you occupied. Things that are finally yous; actual comfortable clothes, that smell like you too. Eyes blinking in rapid succession at your near giddy nerves.

For once your tic helps you vision, you're able to catch the book laid on its side. Its cover a deep russet nearly matching the shelf in color, you'd have missed it if it weren't for the inverted shapes that pressed themselves into your eyelids almost burning the scenery into your memory. Picking the book up you try to discern where it had come from.

Upon further inspection it appeared to be more of a journal. Half written in English with margins made out it – was that German? Yeah that was definitely German, the Eszetts is way too distinctive for it to be any other language. Poorly drawn out sketches littered several pages as you flip past them. Until you see a familiar but scrathy image. It's of a symbol a circle with an 'x' through it.

As you look at the jagged lines you can't really place where you've seen this symbol before. It's so familiar but the ringing bells do nothing to help you remember where you've seen this symbol. Flipping further in you catch sight of a drawing of a being that is slim and taller than the trees. Wasn't that the figure you'd seen moments before? Right as you were doing you check for customers? You're beginning to think this shop's haunted.

“Hey YN, coast clear?” The sound of Nate's voice stops you from inspecting the book any further.

Placing it back on the shelf and nestling it in between to larger books you turn and head out of the isle.

“Yea, no customers.”

“C'mon then, I don't want to be out all night.”

Rolling your eyes at Nate's exaggeration, Whistle's probably wouldn't take more than an hour tops and you won;t take long gathering your things from the house – you follow Nate out the door.

Waiting close behind him as he locks up. One thing about the attack is you've become hyper aware of your surroundings and are nearly always on high alert now when you're out in the open like this. Luckily in most spaces you had already noted the number of exits and where to find them. Having to plan escape routes ahead of emergencies might not be the healthiest mentality but it's kept you sane throughout this ordeal. Thank you American public school system.

When you get to the auto shop you see a familiar ticcing brunette talking to a group of mechanics as he leans on your car.

“Who the hell is that?” Nate says squinting at Toby who's practically laid out across the hood of your car.

Weird, haven't they met yet? Toby did hang out at the shop for an entire day. Had Nate not noticed him then? What about the picnic? Before you can say anything Nate's already out of the car and shouting something to the group. Most of the men standing around tense up as Nate storms up to them.

But you catch the dead look in Toby's eye, the other is still horribly out of commission. Honestly without your glasses faces blur from so far away but it's undeniable that there isn't a light reflecting in his eye. Nate seems to be directing his lecture to Toby who doesn't appear to do anything. He's like a big old house cat, tired and done with everyone's shit if they aren't actively feeding him.

Sighing you exit the car, your only real thought is defusing your Karen.

You aren't at all surprised when Toby locks onto the movement of you walking towards the group. The man perks right up and lifts himself off your car in one fluid motion. He's so agile, just like a cat. You can't help but smile a bit at the connection automatically reaffirming with yourself that Toby would totally push over a precariously placed glass of water.

“Hey, wh-mrrow-what'd you bring the car in for?” Toby asks side stepping Nate, completely ignoring the older man.

“Huh – oh, yea boss wanted it checked out to make sure it wasn't like tampered with – I guess. Y'know after the accident.” you know the mechanics probably know what happened to you, you do live in a small town after all. Gossip stops for no one. But you do have control over details and talking about the incident and you won't be letting go of that any time soon.

Toby's one good eye darkens as he nods, “Gotcha, well it's fine even had Jess take it for a drive. Drove fine. Fixed that weird clicky thing it did on left turns, you're welcome.”

Hah, during the drive through Franklin Toby lost it after two left turns. He noticed the clicking sound your car would make, oddly only on left turns, and started bitching about it to you. At the time you just thought he was being funny when he'd complained you needed to take it in to the shop to fix that. Guess he wasn't. But what's the point of fixing something so trivial?

You cross your arms and are about to sass Toby about how unnecessary that was when Nate interrupts.

“Well since the car's cleared we'd better go settle the bill with Lewis.”

“No need, no parts to replace plus my free labor.” Toby looks away from Nate and back to you “It w-w-was so sl-o-ow-w so I told the old man we were dating and I'd been wanting to fix up your car.”

Normally you'd protest a friend or anyone giving you free services but since this was on the Cowells' dime you weren't going to burden them anymore.

“That's sweet – really really stupid, but sweet.”

Nate's already moving around you two and motioning towards his car as he says, “Well thank you, now we really need to get going YN. I don't want to be out late.”

You nod to Nate, turning and saying bye to Toby from over your shoulder.

When you suddenly remember, “Wait, hey Tobias can you take care of my car for the week? I know it's probably a weird request, but I'm sorta “grounded” right now and can't drive till the cottage is set up. A little worried the battery will drain from disuse.”

If it weren't for the mask and swollen eye the confused sneer of his would be clear to everyone on the lot. He sputters for a moment before speaking up.

“Ok? I mean like that's valid – whoa – a valid concern...but your car's not that old. But I guess I'll watch it? I don't have Connor so it'll have to stay in the lot tonight, that ok?”

Oh this stupid beautiful boy just gave you an out. Probably not the one he meant to give you but you are taking it and running as fast as you can.

“Or, or, or-”

“No, no, and no. You can't be trusted to not just drive off in the dead of night.” Nate cuts in.

It took a bit of coaxing but after calling the house and getting Dia's blessing you obtained one night to yourself. Really it'd be one night spent at the lodge but it was still better than being a guest in someone else's house for the night, this way you're a guest at the lodge for the night. A little mini vacation if you will. And Toby seemed fine to go with you to the cottage while you packed a bag with your essentials, before you both go back to the lodge.

He even agreed to drop you off at the bookshop in the morning.

“Are you seriously going stir crazy after five days?” he asks as you pull up to the cottage.

“it's more their constant smothering I'm over. I know everyone's worried but I still need my own agency. Y'know?”

“Yea....I do.” he murmurs with a solemn look about him before he exits the car and makes his way to the front door.

Your steps falter as you near the cottage. A few flashing images pass through your mind before you shakily inhale. Fortunately Toby is right beside you squeezing your hand to remind you of his presence. You aren't alone this won't end like Monday night.

Opening the door the house is quiet and just as you had last seen it. Nothing was disrupted, even peeking into the bathroom where you expected a crime scene to be – only a toppled shower curtain and over turned bath mat remained.

It doesn't really feel like your house right now. A fuzzy sensation clouds your thoughts, like your brain is trying to protect you from connecting with this place after your recent trauma. Although you aren't sure how you actually feel there's a strong sense of discontentment.

Noticing how you linger in the threshold of the bathroom Toby gently guides you into your room, all without a word. Leaving you alone in your room to collect your things. You move around at a moderate pace, you aren't drawing this out but you aren't rushing to leave soon either. A handful of shirts, a set of jeans, shorts, and joggers later you are grabbing your switch. Before diving into your art supplies you hear a thud across the hall.

You freeze as if ice water had just been poured onto you keeping you in place.

“Tobias!” you call out not moving.

“Fuck – sorry I acc-ack-accidently kicked your trash can.”

When had he gone to the bathroom?

“Are you ok?” you receive a quick 'yea' in response.

Jittery and in no mood to sit and draw you pick up an embroidery kit you'd been meaning to rip into. Should keep your attention long enough, but maybe you should grab another kit just in case. Bag loaded with enough of your things so you aren't driven mad during your stay – you turn to leave but decide to grab your goat plush as an after thought before leaving your room.

Walking out and into the rest of your house you notice a lack of Toby anywhere. Going towards the front door you spot him as you pass the kitchen. He's messing with your garbage can before he takes out the bag and ties it up.

“Wha' cha doin'?” he's been a bit off since you both arrived but you don;t blame him. Not like you're fairing any better.

“I, I kicked it and a whole bunch of trash came out. So then I had to put it-it all back, but there's a lot here and you aren't gonna be here for a week....I, I ju-just thought it'd be better to tak-take it out now.”

Nodding, you're thankful to have such a good friend looking out for you. It would've sucked to come home to a toxic waste site because you'd left trash in the garbage for three weeks.

You probably just thought it came from the bathroom because of the echo or something. Paranoia's been a pain this past week. Maybe you should look into getting a roommate, they might help.

“They're not that helpful trust me.”

“Wow, did I say that out loud?” Toby nods, “Fuck I am out of it. How are you and Tim doing?” you might be deflecting/ignoring your own issues. But Toby had his own shit going on Monday night and you doubt he's talked to anyone.

“We're fine. Just fucking hate him.” the sharp jerk of his head keys you in that he's very much not fine.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Who are you, my fuck-ing therapist?”

“Fine, wanna bitch then?”

He comes off the defensive like he realizes that he's talking with you right now. His good eye down cast after he relaxes his stance a bit.

You go to grab your kettle, filling it up and placing it down on the stove to warm up.

“Any preference on tea? I've got a few.” it was very much more than a few.

A chair screeches as Toby drags it out to sit down at your small kitchen table. He doesn't respond so you get one of your special blends out. This blend has rose hips which you normally dislike anything scented or flavored with roses but the ginger and cinnamon can normally over power the slightly floral sting of this tea. Plus it's made with the intention of healing the heart and promoting self love. A spell tea of sorts. Toby could probably use a little pick me up, you always did after a fight with a friend. Getting out the honey you ready the tea infuser into the cup waiting for the kettle's whistle.

“So just wanna start talking....or should I ask questions?” you turn to face Toby as you lean against the counter.

He's taken his mask off and placed it on the table, of course you remember his deteriorating face but it still surprises you to see it after a few days of not actually seeing his face. Maybe you'll get used to it and one day won't be so fascinated by his teeth.

“Tim's just a dick who thinks he has a right to act like he's my dad. Li-ike-like I'm twenty-four he doesn't need to constantly question the things I do. He doesn't have any room to talk to me about my mistakes he literally could've fucked staying here up for us....” Toby head had been snapping to the left several times during his rant and it continued as he got very quiet suddenly.

Tim could've messed staying here up? Did he mean here as in Kepler or the lodge? Barclay did have to break up the fight maybe he didn't want any of the trio in but let Toby stay out of concern for his condition.

“Hey I'm sure it wasn't that bad, I could even talk to Barclay to get you unbanned from the lodge.”

He takes the mug you pass him and spoons some honey into it/ It's weird to see half his face drawn into concentration since the other half isn't able to emote yet. Holding the cup in his hands he stares at the swirling steam rising up as you bring your own mug over to the table taking a seat. Not once does he look up at you as you stir in a bit of honey into your own tea.

Toby's neck snaps, “Am I...is it bad that I don't want you to?”

You send him a slightly pitying smile.

“No hun, you're upset. And you're having a totally valid reaction to a falling out.”

Toby rolled his eyes, at least you thin he did. Hard to tell with just the one.

“My therapist would love you. That's the kind of bullshit she tells me like all the time.”

Not knowing what to say to that you just nod as he continues to stare at you.

You both continue to talk, well you continue to let Toby rant about how stupid and dumb Brian and Tim are as you finish your tea. You still don't know the details of the fight but it sounds like the cause was just the last straw between the men and not the actual catalyst. According to Toby the other two tend to baby him or talk over his ideas and suggestions because he's the youngest of the group. Twice Toby mentioned Tim's paranoia and how that was really the cause of the tension between them. And how Brian wasn't any help because he'd always side with Tim to make sure his boyfriend was ok.

Toby was very bitter when talking about Brian's role in this more than Tim's. As if his role of passive bystander just sent Toby over the edge. Which from the way he spoke seemed like it's been dragging on for some time. All of this was painting an even worse picture of the smug asshole. Though you didn't break your silence or series of nods and hums until Toby off handily mentioned Brian getting him in trouble with his therapist by saying he was the one who started the fight.

“He fucking snitched....wait no he lied?!” Toby had to blink a few times before he finally understood what had gotten you so upset.

“Yea I mean it's not that big a deal. I was able to tell Clarise I missed a few days of my meds and she made me set reminders in front of her on the call.”

Apparently Clarise was sure Toby suffered from Bipolar Disorder, he was very flippant when he told you like it wasn't anything big. When you mentioned ADHD he kind of blanked. He got fidgety when you mentioned the symptoms you saw and  nervously told you his medication was working just fine for him. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable you dropped the topic. Soon it was dark and you needed to leave to make it to the lodge for dinner.

“You sure you want to take the garbage out? What if Chonk is over there?” joking as you lock the door.

“Good point. Trash you live here now.” he dumps the bag onto your lawn and walks towards your kia.

“Toby!”you gasp out, which sounds weird amidst your laughter.

He stops and looks at you his expression more unclear than it's been all evening. Your heart skips a beat as you stare at each other for a moment, your laughter gone now.

“It's weird to hear you say 'Toby'.”

That's all he says before he grabs the bag and carrying it to the side of your house where your bins are.

The conversation in the car is pretty light in comparison to what it has been. Just jokes getting thrown around and sharing the gossip that you'd head in the hospital because nurses' can't keep their mouths shut. Neither of you know any of the characters in the stories but they're still pure gold. Like the man who came in after getting his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Nervous and scared his wife would find out he's been eating the new holistic dog treats. A few stories or more like vents about the auto shop got thrown in. By the time you got to the lodge both of you were in lighter spirits.

Everyone was ecstatic to see you up and about and made an extra spot for you at the table. You didn't miss how Barclay would rise an eyebrow every time you locked eyes. You just roll your eyes and continue eating. When it got time to settle in for the night you were planning to commandeer the couch but Toby offered his room.

More accurately he offered a chance to hang out with Connor which you readily accepted. The rottie was just as excited to see you, bounding over the second you stepped through the door.

“Sigh if only there was a way to see Connor everyday.” you say dramatically whistful as you hold the pup's jowls in your palms.

Toby responds in turn in a drawn out sarcastic monotone “Oh my, how sad your life must be. There's only one solution, marry me. So Connor can finally have the second parent he's always wanted” he ends with a scratch behind the pups right ear.

“I was just gonna kick you and steal your dog.”

He turns to face you, “I can't feel-”

“So if I kicked you in the back of the knee it wouldn't buckle?”

Toby goes silent before conceding to your point. A mumbled “Connor would avenge me.” is heard.

After you two settle down you both hop into bed to try and get some sleep. Toby was holding your switch hostage so you had no choice but to “sleep” now.

You really hoped he changed his sheets from the other day. You'd hate to find out you're laying in milk stained sheets. Pushing those thoughts away as your body finally starts to relax, you can feel when your mind begins to drift into the beginning stages of sleep.

“Tobes, you can crash at my place if you need to.” is the last thing you say before falling into a peaceful slumber.

Toby on the other hand wasn't able to get much sleep at all that night. He couldn't shake the feeling something bad was about to happen. And unlike Tim he didn't think it was because of you, it just had something to do with you. You were too kind to be one of The Operator's proxies, with all the clues of His presence in this town you were one of many red herrings. Looking over to you Toby only hoped you wouldn't get hurt in the crossfire. Not like Lyra did, he doesn't think he could handle something like that. Especially with how shitty Tim's been lately, he's on edge and constantly about to snap. He just needs a break from everything. Maybe then the weight in his stomach would go away.

In the morning Toby's keen to hold up his end of the deal and drive you to work. You buy him breakfast and an iced coffee from Dunkin' and a pup cup for Connor. The three of you eat in your car while you wait for Nate to arrive. When he does you say your goodbyes and head off to start your shift. Promising Toby you'd call once you've been ungrounded.

Nate's face is grim as you approach the shop, you're starting to get used to the cold sweats from these dread bearing encounters. That can't be a good thing.

Did something happen last night? Were the Cowells targeted? Was everyone alright? These thoughts and more swam through your head as Nate motioned for you to follow him into the shop quickly.

He locked the door and pushed you into the back room. His hast doing nothing to settle your fraying nerves as you stumble past the threshold.

“That Rogers kid, how well do you know him?” his eyes dart around the back looking at every shadow as if watching their movements.

“Who's Roger?” you feel out of the loop.

Was Roger one of your assailants? Had the police already found suspects so soon on what little information you had to go on?

With a groan Nate smacked his hand against his face muttering something under his breath.

“Toby, Tobias Rogers how much do you know about him?” his tone is rushed and sharp.

You didn't even know his last name until now. But maybe you had heard it before but it never clicked with you. Honestly you've known each other for a month that's not very long at all. But maybe it's long enough to learn some things?

“...ah not much?”

There's a panicked look in Nate's eyes and he does his best to control his breathing. But it's clear that Nate is either about to hyperventilate or go into an anxiety attack. You wonder what's got him so worked up as he reached into his bag and pulls out a manila folder.

He hands it to you, you can see the water marks left by his sweaty palms.

What on Earth is going on?

[tsarisfanfiction]

Night Out

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott

#fluffember day 18 - ‘touch’ - and something a little different, mostly because @janetm74 decided to call me out about whacking ‘unsuspecting characters’ with a chair of ‘pain and suffering’ and @gumnut-logic mentioned literally hitting them with a chair...  I promise this is mostly fluff still!  That Teen rating (Teen for a fluff fic?  Tsari what are you doing?) is for language and alcohol, because we have two former military boys in a London pub.

Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason.

Gordon couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone out with Scott – just Scott – for a reason that wasn’t mission related.  He’d hit the town with Alan (not that alcohol was allowed on those occasions, what with the kid being underage and all that) a few times, and Virgil on more than a few post-mission de-stressors, but Scott was always too busy for frivolous things like having fun.

No more.  It had taken some convincing, a lot of wheedling, and the strong-arm combination of Grandma and Virgil, but a blissful forty-eight hours’ downtime was being spent in England, just because they could.  The gracious offer of being chauffeured around by Parker – made by her Ladyship, to the man’s apparent disgruntlement – just made the choice all the easier.  And what better way to unwind than a nice, rowdy night in the pub?

Karaoke, free-flowing alcohol, and Scott’s communicator firmly confiscated in the Creighton-Ward manor to ensure he didn’t slip back into work habits meant that he was having the time of his life, and Scott seemed to be enjoying himself, too. At least, if the gaggle of girls he’d acquired, flirting with him and being flirted with in kind, was anything to go by, his big brother was definitely enjoying himself for once.

Unwilling to spend the entire night as the wingman, and definitely not interested in finding out if Scott managed to go further than just exchanging some smooth words, Gordon had found himself over by the pool table.  He’d spent enough time in pubs – even if he’d been underage for most of it and Scott (probably) didn’t know that – to be able to find entertainment with a group of strangers, so separating from his brother wasn’t much of an issue.

He was good at pool, too.  Good enough to quickly work his way through the ranks until he was the champion everyone else paid to play, and all in all he was having a really good time of it. The drinks were good, the company was fantastic, and best of all, he was having a blast.  Maybe later he’d drag Scott away from the girls for a game – show the Londoners exactly how good the Tracys were (and hope Scott was inebriated enough not to beat him, because Scott played a mean game sober).

At least, that was the plan.  The world liked to mess with plans.

It started with raised voices.  Nothing unusual in a pub, especially now it was entering late evening and the alcohol had been flowing for a while.  Gordon thought nothing of it, and continued to roast his latest challenger at pool, beaming when the black ball found the pocket.  Well-meant congratulations passed between the two of them – they had manners, after all – and Gordon cast around for his next opponent.

Then the tingle ran up his spine, and immediately on its heels came a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, bro,” the guy – Dennis, Gordon had trounced him two games earlier to much laughter and another pint – started.  “Didn’t you come in with that guy?”

There was only one that guy he’d come in with, and combined with his squid sense kicking in, Gordon had a sinking feeling as he turned to look at where he’d left Scott.

Just in time to see a bar stool smash into his head.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Gordon’s default reaction to seeing someone smash a bar stool over his brother’s head, but his vision went red.  The pool cue dropped, but he paid no attention to where it landed, already surging forwards towards where his brother had crumpled to the floor.

Someone was laughing, someone else was screaming, but Gordon had eyes for only two things: his unmoving brother, and the guy still holding the bar stool aloft.

“Hey!” he roared, elbowing gawkers out of the way and slamming into the guy hard enough to make him loose his grip on the stool.  It fell to the floor with a crash, thankfully missing Scott, followed by the man himself. Gordon kept his feet, feeling the buzz of alcohol mixing with adrenaline, and placed himself firmly between the aggressor and his brother.

Everyone else backed off; in his periphery Gordon could tell that the three of them – him, Scott and the stool-wielding asshole – were loosely ringed in by the other patrons of the pub, all looking on with varying emotions ranging from astonishment, fear, and bloodlust.

“You with ‘im?” Stool-Bastard spat, pulling himself to his feet with a glower that was supposed to be intimidating.  Gordon hadn’t served in WASP to be cowed by a drunkard in a London pub.

“You attack him for a reason?” he shot back, hearing shuffling noises from directly behind him. Good, that sounded like Scott was conscious.  The pleasant fuzz of alcohol was gone, leaving him as sharply aware as it was possible to be after however many drinks he’d had, and he tallied everything up as the guy snarled, swaying on the spot but not attacking.  Not yet.

Tabs were all paid up; no need to worry about any unpaid drinks.  No sign of the bouncers, but that could change any moment and a barfight was not high on Gordon’s list of reasons to get arrested (yes, he had one. No, his brothers didn’t know about it). The nearest exit was… there, by the group of girls Scott had been with.

If Scott was conscious, as he suspected, it wouldn’t take much to get out of there.  He just needed to not be attacked the moment he turned his back.

“’E was ‘itting on my girl,” the man snarled.  Gordon had many things to say to that, including the fact that Scott – even drunk – had morals and that if the guy didn’t trust his girlfriend around other guys then maybe he should be looking for problems a little closer to home.  He said none of them.

He didn’t have to. The girls surged forward, arguing the point for him – good for them, and did he need to take note of their names to hand over to Lady P? – and he took the chance to crouch down and assess Scott’s condition.

His brother had managed to drag himself up onto his elbows, one hand holding his head, and there was a scowl on his face.  Blue eyes were dilated and a little unfocused, although how much of that was the alcohol as opposed to the knock, Gordon wasn’t entirely certain.

“You good to stand up?” he asked, gently touching where Scott was holding his head.  The dazed blue eyes blinked at him for a second, and his brother grimaced but tried to move.  Gordon caught him when he swayed, wedging himself under one arm and dragging Scott’s arm around his neck for support, wrapping a firm arm of his own around his brother’s waist.

Dennis from pool came over, clearly offering help, but Gordon waved him off with a smile that was probably more strained than he’d planned.

“I got him,” he said. “If you want to help, make sure that bastard doesn’t get another hit in.”  He didn’t want trouble – this was supposed to be a relaxing downtime, dammit all – he just wanted to get Scott somewhere safe so he could check him over properly.  Luckily, the man got the message and moved to stand so that he was blocking Stool-Bastard’s view of them, leaving Gordon to haul his brother out the door.

No-one else stopped him, and with a few stumbles – Scott was heavy, okay? – he got them over to a nearby bench, which Scott sank onto bonelessly.  Gordon shot a quick message to Parker to come get them – fun night out was over – before turning his attention to Scott.

“You with me?” he asked, keeping an arm around his shoulders and peering at the shock of brown hair resting on his shoulder.  “Scott?”

“M’fcker,” his brother slurred, sounding vaguely annoyed.  He didn’t move, though, seemingly content to remain slumped against Gordon’s side and trust him to hold him up.  It was just un-Scott-like enough for him to be a little worried, but he had also been drinking and he wasn’t entirely sure how much Scott had had. Nor had he actually ever seen Scott drunk before – at least, not without the buffer of Virgil and/or John to handle him. He vaguely recalled something about him being an affectionate drunk, though, so with any luck that was all that was.

Still, he ran his free hand through gelled hair, gently probing for signs of injury.  Scott hissed when he reached the back of his head, where he’d seen the blow land, and Gordon explored the area lightly with his fingers.  It didn’t seem like it was a bad knock – certainly not as bad as it could have been, and he was starting to realise it had actually only been a glancing blow rather than the square hit he’d initially thought – but it could definitely do with some ice and painkillers, and he was pretty certain there was a minor concussion in there, too.

No amount of alcohol explained Scott’s suddenly quiet and slightly lethargic attitude, when Gordon knew he’d been laughing and flirting right before the attack.  Virgil was going to be so pleased.

“Hey,” he tried again, poking his cheek when he didn’t get an instant response.  “Talk to me, Scott.  What happened back there?”

Scott groaned at him and buried his face further into his neck in an additional show of drunk and concussed.  “D’nno,” he muttered.  Gordon felt more than heard the words.  “M’fcker came’p ‘hind me ‘nd yelled sommat ‘bouta girl.  D’nno what.  Then th’bast’d hit me.”

A very small part of Gordon was amused at the filterless language.  He knew Scott knew how to cuss – he’d Served, the same as he had – but Big Brother also had a very strong grip on his language around family. To hear what was no doubt a throwback to the Air Force days was quietly satisfying.  However, most of Gordon was a combination of furious and worried, in approximately equal measures.  Maybe a little more worried than furious, but there was a large part of him that really wanted to show the guy why you never messed with a Tracy.

Fortunately for his PR, Scott needed him here, not embroiled in a fight or spending the night in a lockup, so he swallowed down the rage and pulled his brother a little bit closer.

“Anything hurt except your head?” he asked, brushing his fingers through his hair again.  Scott shook his head then groaned.

“’m fine,” he claimed, still not lifting his head from where it was buried in Gordon’s neck.  “St’p fussin’.”

“I’ll stop fussing once we’re back at the manor and your head’s been looked at properly,” Gordon countered, to another groan.  “How much did you drink?”

“Was’nly weak sh’t,” Scott told him.  “Few p’ntsa cid’r.”  Enough to get buzzed but not enough to get blindly drunk, then.

A breeze blew past them, reminding Gordon that London was in England and therefore cold.  Scott shivered just a bit – not enough to be noticed if he wasn’t plastered against Gordon’s side – and he tightened his grip again.  Neither of them were dressed for the night air, not with the original plan being for them to remain inside the pub until Parker arrived, and the thin jacket Gordon did have on wouldn’t fit his brother, even if he could peel him off long enough to shuck it.

“Not the best end to an evening,” he mused instead, rubbing at the denim jacket Scott had on in a vain attempt to give him a little more warmth.

“C’n say thattag’n,” Scott agreed, burrowing into his side even more.  Gordon assumed he was trying to leech body heat.  “S’posed t’be fun.”

“Well we’ve got all of tomorrow to lounge around the manor,” Gordon reminded him, spying a flash of pink approaching at speed.  “You know that’ll be fun.”

“W’th this h’ngov’r?” Scott complained.  Gordon winced – he had a point.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised, letting go of his brother with one hand to flag Parker down. “Water and painkillers and you’ll be good as new.”  Depending on the severity of the concussion, that might be stretching it a bit. Scott was definitely going to be off duty for more than another day, though.

FAB1 pulled to a stop next to them and Parker jumped out, eyes sharp and alert as he took in their condition.

“Trouble, sirs?”

“Someone took a swing at Scott with a bar stool,” Gordon admitted, prodding his brother.  Parker’s eyes narrowed and he suspected Stool-Bastard might find his own brand of trouble later, once Parker was convinced they were safe.  The man seemed to have a soft spot for Scott – hell knew he didn’t have one for Gordon, despite his best efforts to the contrary.  “C’mon, Scott.  Let’s get you in the car.”  His brother groaned but at least made a token effort to stand up, freeing Gordon long enough for him to get to his own feet and haul Scott up.  Parker slid around to Scott’s other side without waiting to be asked, and between them they helped him stagger into the back seat, where he promptly slumped again.  Gordon slid in beside him and was immediately reclaimed as a pillow, which he resisted long enough to make sure they were both strapped in before allowing Scott to bury his head in his neck again.

“’Ow ‘is ‘e?” Parker asked as he slipped back into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. Gordon caught sight of him looking at them in the rear view mirror and offered a tight grin.

“Minor concussion,” he answered, running his hand through Scott’s hair again, to a quiet noise that could have been either complaint or contentment.  “He also drunk enough to get buzzed, so I’m not entirely sure how much of this-” he shrugged at the big brother draped against him “-is that.”

“Hmm.”  Parker sounded unconvinced, but did at least return his attention to the road.

Gordon glanced down at his brother and poked him lightly.

“You’d better not be falling asleep on me, Scott,” he warned.

“’M n’t,” came the muffled response.  “W’k m’up wh’n we g’t therr.”

“Scott, no,” Gordon scolded, shrugging his shoulder and forcibly peeling his brother off of him. “You’re concussed.  Don’t sleep.”

The baleful glare he got was pretty pathetic, on the Scott scale, but his brother huffed in defeat.

“F’n,” he grumbled. Gordon caught his head when he attempted to bury it in his neck – again – and guided it to rest normally on his shoulder.

“We’ll have a proper look at the manor,” he promised.  “Then you can rest.”

Scott huffed, but didn’t close his eyes again.  He did, however, wrap an arm around Gordon in a tight grip, which he returned in kind.

“Are you always this cuddly when you’re drunk?” he asked.  The grumble he got wasn’t a coherent answer, but the way Scott purposefully looked away was.  Gordon laughed.  “That explains why you don’t go out drinking with us much.  Do any of the others know this?”

“Shuddup,” Scott grumped. It was a shame he was also concussed, otherwise the blackmail would have been glorious.

Aw, who was he kidding. As soon as Scott came out the other side clear, it was totally acceptable blackmail.  For now, though, he was content to hold onto his brother while Parker drove them back to the manor, more than a little relieved it hadn’t been worse.

So much for a relaxing night out with his brother.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Aftermath (Liam x MC)

Summary: Aftermath of the car crash

Honestly...Liam just deserves a space to be emotional, and angry, and vulnerable, and I decided to be the one to give him that. It’s been a rough few chapters for him, dealing with all of this stuff with his mom, and now his wife. I wrote this for purely selfish reasons.

Word Count: 6.6K. Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope  @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @aworldoffandoms @badchoicesposts @doroshi-desu @senseofduties

~~~~

Liam tries to ignore the ringing in his head as he sits anxiously in the waiting room of the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Maxwell on the phone, probably talking to Bertrand. And he can hear his friends talking — maybe Olivia or Hana, he doesn’t know — but it sounds like white noise. He has a singular thing on his mind: his wife and child.

Kendall was transported via helicopter to a hospital in the Capital, Liam riding along with her while the rest of their group followed behind. Now the entire gang, minus Kendall and Bastien, is sitting in a luxurious private sitting area, waiting on updates. The room is thankfully secluded from most of the hospital, and large, with comfortable couches, magazines, and a flat screen tv mounted on the wall. But no one cares. They’re all waiting on updates.

The image of the car crash is still fresh in Liam’s mind. The sickening crunch of metal as the car rammed into the road, the blinding lights of the paparazzi cameras, the sound of Kendall calling his name as they crashed.

Hit his stomach flips at the memory of his wife losing consciousness upon the arrival of the ambulance. She held out as long as she could, mostly due to adrenaline, but she eventually passed out.

It’s been three hours and he still hasn’t heard anything. Everyone else was treated for their injuries — mostly some cuts and bruises, save for Bastien who was getting treated for his shoulder — except for Kendall. And himself, because he refuses to leave the waiting area until he gets some answers.

“Liam,” Drake says softly, shaking his friend’s shoulder, “Liam, you should really get your head checked out.”

“I’m fine,” Liam says, his eyes never leaving the tiled floors.

“Dude, you can have a concussion or something. We can at least have a nurse come out here,” Drake suggests. He’s trying his hardest to be useful in this situation. The helplessness is driving him insane.

“I’m fine,” Liam repeats, much more aggressive this.

“Just leave it alone, Drake,” Olivia says softly, cutting in. “Leave him alone.”

“But–”

“Leave it alone.” Olivia knows all too well the feeling of being trapped and helpless, but until they get an update on Kendall, there isn’t much anyone can do for Liam. He’s not going to budge. “Please.”

Drake sighs but ultimately backs down. He glances around the room, spotting a fancy coffee maker on the counter. “How about I make some coffee. Does anyone want a cup?”

“Sure,” Maxwell says. It’s obvious that Drake is going to find a way to do something, so someone has to humor him. “Give me the strongest cup you got.”

“Coming right up.”

There’s a knock on the door, and in walks Bastien. His arm is in a sling, there’s a small cut  on his upper lip from a shard of glass slicing him, and he walks with a slight limp. He’s also holding a plastic bag in his hand, holding some personal belongings.

He walks over to Liam who promptly stands up. Bastien greets him with a slight bow. “Your Majesty.”

“Bastien. How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little banged up, but I’ve been worse. My shoulder should heal within a few weeks.”

“You’re limping,” Liam points out. 

“I just sprained my ankle. I can handle it, sir.”

“Once this is all settled, I want you on paid vacation for the next three weeks,” Liam says.

“Sir, that’s not necessary.”

“It is, and you’ll take it, I insist. Go out, enjoy some time off, rest up and properly heal your injury. The rest of our security team can handle it, and trust me, after tonight, we’ll be doubling, even tripling our security measures.”

Bastien’s head drops at the mention of what happened just a few short hours ago. “Your Majesty, I am so sorry about what happened tonight.”

“Bastien it’s not your fault.”

“But–”

“Someone recklessly ran into us and you made a snap decision in an attempt to keep us safe. It was a high stress situation. I don’t blame you, I blame Sam-” Liam can’t even say his name without his skin feeling like it’s going to burst into flames. “You made the right call in a snap decision.”

“I should’ve had more security measures in place at the bookstore,” Bastien continues. He can’t help but feel guilty.

“Bastien, I won’t have you blaming yourself. That’s a direct order from your King.”

Bastien nods after a few seconds of silence. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Now, as for the person who did this, are there any updates on his condition?”

In all honesty, a part of Liam hoped that the man was dead. It would be the swift justice he deserved after what he did.

“Nothing more than a few cuts and scrapes when I last saw him,” Bastien answers regretfully. “He fled the scene.”

Liam clenches his fist together tightly. So his Queen is in the hospital fighting for her life, while the perpetrator gets away minor injuries?

He closes his eyes and silently counts to 3 in his head, calming himself down. Unbridled rage in a situation like this will do him no good.

So he pivots. He points to the large bag in Bastien’s hand. “What’s in there?”

Bastien opens the bag and lifts out a large camera. “This...is Samir’s camera. I managed to confiscate it from him at the scene of the accident before he ran off.”

Liam takes the camera out of Bastien’s hands and observes it thoughtfully. He carefully touches it, noting that it’s not too banged up. “It’s in surprisingly good condition,” he muses. “Did you go through it?”

“...Yes. And I’ll dispose of it right away.”

“I want to see the photos.”

“Sir,” Bastien starts, “with all due respect, I don’t advise you to do that. The images are...quite disturbing.”

Liam ignores his guard and powers the camera to life. He scrolls through the photos, skipping through ones of celebrities and socialites around Cordonia. He then stumbles on the pictures of them tonight. Ones of them exiting the book store. There’s a few progression shots of Kendall holding up her hand, trying to shield her face from the flashing lights, another hand wrapped tightly around her stomach.

There’s more of them, photos of their friends ushering Kendall in the car and driving off. And then there are lots of them that he took while he was driving alongside them on the road. Liam’s chest clenches tightly at the panicked and wide-eyed look on his wife’s face.

He’s not prepared for the next set of pictures. They’re right after the car crash, and Liam can see everything so vividly. The shattered glass, the smoke from the engine, skid marks on the snow, everything. Liam’s breath catches in his throat as he sees a photo of Kendall, trapped in her seat. He can practically feel the fear and anxiousness rolling off of her in these photos, and it feels like he can’t breathe.

Samir has the audacity to still take photos of them after he caused the accident? While Kendall was lying there, injured and scared out of her mind?

At this point, Liam can feel his hands trembling uncontrollably and the sound of his pulse pounds fiercely in his head. Having seen more than enough, Liam takes the memory card out of the camera and puts it in his pocket. Without warning and an incredible bout of strength, he hurls the camera forward with an incredible speed. It narrowly misses Maxwell’s head and he has to duck out of the way as the camera hits the wall, shattering into tiny little pieces as it drops to the floor.

The room gets so silent, you can hear a pin drop across the street. No one says anything about Liam’s outburst. They silently wait for him to make his next move.

All Liam can feel in his blood is white hot rage over the situation. It’s stifling and it threatens to swallow him whole. Involuntarily, he clenches and unclenches his hand and the next thing he sees is his fist connecting with the wall. He doesn’t register the pain though, too worked up to actually feel anything at this point.

“Lady Hana, can you please find a nurse?” Bastien asks, his eyes never leaving Liam. He’s seen his King mad before, hell, he’s even seen him downright pissed. But this...this is something he’s never experienced before, and he doesn’t know how to subdue Liam in this moment.

“Of course.” Hana rises from her seat and quickly scrambles out of the room.

After a few moments of silence, Liam removes his fist from the wall. He looks down at it in a daze. He can already see it swelling up, and his knuckles turning an ugly shade of purple.

He ignores his hand and turns back to Bastien. “I want him found, immediately. I want law enforcement, airports, and train stations to all be aware that he’s on the loose and he is not to leave the station. Check all the ports too, and make sure he doesn’t try to sneak out of here via boat. I want him brought directly to me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And give me information on what tabloids he was going to sell those pictures too. And if you can get the names of the paps who caused that scene in the Lythikos and if there were any other paparazzi chasing us, that’d be great as well.”

Bastien nods. “I’ll get in touch with the other royal guards and we’ll get started right away.”

“Thank you.”

Bastien exits the room and a few minutes later, Hana returns with a nurse, who’s carrying a ton of supplies in her hands.

As the nurse makes her way over to Liam to tend to his hand, Hana sinks back into her seat next to Olivia. “Were there any updates while I was gone?”

Olivia shakes her head. “No. The waiting game continues.”

~V~

An hour later, they’re still in the waiting room, anxiously waiting on an update about Kendall. The entire gang is there, except they’re now joined by Bertrand, Savannah, Regina and Leo, who was in Rome when Bastien called and said he was needed in Cordonia.

“I called a few of my personal security connections and they’re doing a very thorough sweep of Lythikos to ensure that all of the press that was there are brought to the capital,” Olivia tells Liam. It’s really the least she can do. They were visiting her duchy, she should’ve been able to keep them safe.

Liam nods, acknowledging that he did hear the Duchess, but doesn’t say anything. The more time that goes by without any update on his wife and child, the more reclusive he becomes.

Leo smiles. “Thank you Olivia, it’s really appreciated.”

“Of course. If there’s anything else I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

“Can you heal Kendall?” Liam asks.

The question catches Olivia off guard, and she doesn’t know if Liam is being serious or using sarcasm. “W-What?”

“You want to be useful, right? You want to help? Can you magically become a doctor within the next 5 seconds and actually work on her treatment? Perhaps you can make sure she hasn’t gone into preterm labor, or I don’t know, swap our bodies, so she’s the one out here and I’m the patient. Maybe you have the ability to turn back time so this horrible night never happened.” His eyes sweep around the room. “Can any of you do those things? Because that’s all I want in this moment. I don’t want any fucking cheap hospital coffee, I don’t want to eat something, I don’t want take a nap, I don’t want any more of your bullshit platitudes about how strong and brave Kendall is in an attempt to placate me. I know how strong my wife is, but our car wrapped around a fucking pole, and she’s not invincible. So until anyone can give me any of those, how about everyone stop trying to pacify me.”

“Okay,” Olivia says. She’s not going to press the issue and potentially agitate Liam further. He just needs silent support in this moment, nothing else. And she can do that. She just sits down in the chair next to him and looks straight ahead.

Time ticks by slowly, and when Liam checks the clock on that wall, it’s almost 2 in the morning. He’s exhausted, but he refuses to fall asleep, though most of his friends have dozed. 

There’s a knock on the waiting room door and Liam jumps to his feet, hoping to see Kendall’s doctor. Instead he’s greeted by Madeleine. She’s dressed impeccably, in a signature green dress, and clipped back hair. She’s carrying a large garment bag in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other.

Liam falters once he realizes who it is. “Oh, hello Madeleine.”

“Liam,” Madeleine greets back. “Any updates on Kendall’s condition?”

“No.”

“Have you talked to law enforcement?” Madeleine asks.

“No.”

“Maddy, I think this conversation should be tabled for a later time,” Olivia hisses. 

Madeline dismisses Olivia’s suggestion with a flick of the wrist. “I think you should talk to them while everything is still fresh in your mind.”

“I’m not talking to anyone or going anywhere until I talk to Kendall’s doctors.”

“There’s a herd of people outside of the hospital,” Madeleine says. She drops the garment bag onto an empty chair. “I almost wasn’t let in, until they realized I worked for the palace. Everyone is waiting on their king to make an official statement about what happened.”

“I’m not crafting a speech right now, Madeleine.”

“It’s a good thing you have me on your team because I’ve already prepared some talking points for you,” Madeleine announces proudly. “I don’t know if you want to convey a somber tone or a fiery, passionate one, but I have tweaks in the event of either one. I personally think we should go with a somber note. Let them feel all of your emotions, your hurt, your anguish. Obviously you condemn the people who did this, but don’t go full on angry. You should still be the pinnacle of calm and dignified that the Cordonian people have come to love. And I brought you a suit to change into, because no offense, you’re still wearing the one you crashed in and it’s–”

Liam reaches out and forcefully grabs Madeleine’s arm, yanking her towards him and making her drop the cup of coffee she’s holding. It happens so fast, Olivia barely has time to react, but she stands up beside Liam nonetheless. “Madeleine, I put up with a lot of your unnecessary, invasive bullshit on a daily basis. Kendall and I take your shitty attitude, your disapproving looks and your passive aggressive comments in stride because you’re somewhat decent at your job and you have absolute tunnel vision when it comes to the Crown and Cordonia as a whole. But what I am not about to do is dress up and be your puppet and give a ridiculous speech in front of the very vultures who caused this situation.”

“I don’t know whether my wife and child are going to make it through the night, and you think I give even the tiniest fuck about a statement? You think I want to put on a brave face right now and go settle someone else’s nerves right now, I don’t give a damn about how people view me?” His grip on her arm tightens and his voice drops to an incredibly low octave. “Now I know you aren’t able to feel empathy towards people because you’re a cold hearted, advantageous viper and you probably have a shriveled up lump of coal in the cavity where your heart is supposed to reside, but can you at least pretend to have some sort of human decency? I am not doing a goddamn thing until I have a doctor tell me to my face that Kendall is alive and well. Am. I. Clear?”

Madeleine has never seen Liam like this before. His usually warm and inviting eyes are darker than the midnight sky and even though he hadn’t raised his voice once, she can practically feel the venom dripping from his tongue. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and nods. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Liam drops her arm and Madeleine releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “And when this is all over, we are going to have a very serious conversation about your position on our team”

Having had enough of being cooped up in a room with so many people, Liam decides to exit. Thankfully, the halls are empty due to how late it is and he can roam around in peace.

“Liam!” Liam stops dead in his tracks and turns around. Leo is jogging towards him trying to catch up.

“Leo, what do you want?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve scared Madeleine shitless. I’ve never seen her rendered speechless before.”

“Good. She talks too much.”

“Amen, brother.”

“Look Leo, I really don’t want to be bothered right now.”

“I know.”

“So...you can leave.”

“I can’t do that. You aren’t going to scare me off like you’re able to do with everyone else, and I am not going to let you bottle everything up inside. So, can you please talk to me?”

“And say what?”

“Anything! I know you’re pissed–”

“I’m not pissed, I’m downright furious,” Liam says. 

“Good. You have every right to be,” Leo goads. He wants Liam to talk. He’s an expert at holding his feelings close and burying things down deep.

“I don’t think I’ve been this mad since I found out that dad was the one behind the scandal with Kendall and Tariq. These vultures just prey on her. They don’t even see her as human anymore, let alone as their Queen. Kendall is just a commodity to them, to be exploited and sold to the highest bidder. From the moment we got married up to now, it has been invasion after invasion.”

“Why didn’t you tell me things had gotten so bad?” Leo asks.

Liam shrugs. He’s accepted the press as a part of his life early on, and didn’t think much of it. And until recently he was relatively good terms with a lot of reporters and paparazzi. “I don’t know. Dealing with the press is just par for the course.”

“Yes, you’re a king and yes your life is public, but that doesn’t mean it’s open season on your family. Sometimes I don’t think you realize that you don’t have to always be so...nice. So benevolent and forgiving. You’re the fucking King, and you have the right flex whatever muscle you have in order to let people know that there are certain things that they can and cannot do.”

Liam sighs. He’s never wanted to rule with an iron fist and be seen as evil tyrant, squashing anyone who dares look at him the wrong way. He’s always wanted his people to feel comfortable around him.

“You can still be yourself,” Leo continues as if he’s reading Liam’s mind. “But they need to know that this will never happen again.”

“You’re right.”

“And if you need some support, I’ll be around to help,” Leo adds.

“Thank you.”

The men continue their trek up and down the hall, falling into a comfortable silence. Leo knows Liam isn’t in the mood for idle small talk, as he has much bigger things in his mind.

The brothers are startled out of their simple walk by a doctor walking towards them. He bows upon reaching Liam. “Your Majesty, hello.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Doctor Saunders, I’m one of the attending general surgeons here at the hospital.” The doctor extends his hand, and Liam eagerly shakes it. “I am one of the surgeons assigned to your wife’s case.”

“Of course. What’s going on? We haven’t heard anything and we’ve been here for hours and no one has told us anything.”

“Good news first, Her Majesty and the baby are okay and they made it through surgery beautifully,” Dr. Saunders says.

Relief flows through Liam’s body and his knees buckle at the news. Leo hooks an arm under his brother’s arm, keeping him upright. “T-They’re okay?”

Dr. Saunders nods, happy to give the King such good news. “Yes. The Queen is not in any distress, there’s no sign of preterm labor, the baby has a stable heart beat and the placenta is still in tact, which are all great.”

“What happened to her?”

“The impact of the crash caused abdominal trauma. There was some internal bleeding that we had to get under control, and her spleen ruptured so we had to remove it. Thankfully, you can live a long and productive life without a spleen, but going forward, Her Majesty will be more susceptible to infection and may have a weaker immune system. Since she’s pregnant and we had to perform an open surgery, her recovery time will be about 4 to 6 weeks, but we expect her to be back to herself in no time. And she did break one rib and bruise two others. Now there’s no way to fix a broken rib, except with rest and time, so she’ll be a bit sore for a while and she’s going to have to take it easy.”

“Of course.” Kendall isn’t going to have to lift a finger, not on his watch. “Where is she now? Can I see her?”

“She’s being settled into her room right now, but yes I can take you.”

Liam starts to follow the doctor, but stops in his tracks to turn to his brother. Leo waves him off. “I’ll tell everyone the news. Go see your wife.”

~V~

The sun is finally starting to rise when Kendall is lulled out of her sleep. It takes her a minute to understand her surroundings. The noise, the itchy blankets, the overwhelming smell of disinfectant. She’s definitely not in her own bed, at Valtoria or the Palace.

She looks around the room as her eyes slowly adjust to the light and she finally spots her husband. He’s on a pull out couch, curled into the fetal position. 

“Liam?” She says, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. She clears her throat and attempts to speak again. “Liam?”

He stirs in his sleep and mumbles, “Mhmmm.”

“Liam!” Kendall repeats, a bit more forcefully.

The third time manages to get his attention and he wakes up from his sleep. He sees Kendall and he springs off of the couch. “Kendall? Oh Kendall, my love, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Why are we at the hospital?”

“Do you remember anything? The last thing that happened?”

“We were in Lythikos for Maxwell’s book signing,” Kendall recalls. 

“Anything else?”

“And as we were leaving, there was a mob of reporters outside of the bookstore. And we tried to get them to back off, but they were relentless. And once we got into the car, they still chased us and…” her voice trails off and she closes her eyes, trying to think. Everything is still slightly foggy. But then she remembers. The crash. “Oh my God, Liam! Someone hit us! Is everyone okay? Is the baby okay?”

Kendall tries to sit up as the panic sets in, but an overwhelming amount of pain shoots through her stomach, rendering her motionless.

Liam puts his hands on her arms, keeping her in place. “Easy, love. No sudden movements, you’ve just had surgery.”

“Surgery? Surgery for what?”

“First things first, the baby is fine,” Liam assures her. He points to one of the monitors surround her bedside. “See that? That’s our baby’s heart rate, nice and steady.” Hearing that their baby is okay instantly calms her down. “And you had surgery because your spleen ruptured, so the doctors had to remove it. And you broke a rib.”

“But the baby is fine?”

“As perfect as ever.”

Kendall settles back into the bed, relief coursing through her body. As long as her child was okay, she could handle everything else. “Good.”

Liam calls for Kendall’s doctors to come to her room, letting them know that she’s awake and alert. After checking all of her vitals, giving her a very thorough examination, and explaining the extent of her injuries, they let her know that she’ll be in the hospital for a few more days and leave once again.

Soon, all of their friends and family come to visit her, elated that she’s okay. The once spacious room is packed wall-to-wall with people. Flowers, cards, and balloons fill up all the remaining space.

“You gave us quite a scare, Little Blossom,” Maxwell chides. “You don’t get to scare us like that ever again.”

Olivia scoffs. “Oh please, speak for yourself. I knew she’d be fine. Kendall is much tougher than she looks.”

“Aww, Olivia,” Kendall coos. “I knew you loved me.”

“Must you always push things too far?” Olivia asks. She rolls her eyes, Kendall notices the small smile tugging on the corner of her lip.

“Yes.”

“Is there anything we can get for you, Mason?” Drake asks. “Is it warm enough in here? Do you need more blankets? Because I can flag down a nurse and get you more blankets.”

“Nonsense,” Bertrand says. “I’ll go to the store and get some cashmere blankets and silk pajamas for her. If our pregnant Queen is going to be staying in the hospital for a few days, it might as well be in comfort and luxury.”

“You guys spoil me too much. But Bertrand, I will absolutely accept a cashmere blanket.”

“Of course.”

Hana steps up, holding a large box. “We don’t know if you can eat, but just in case you can, I went to your favorite bakery and got you a dozen cronuts.”

Kendall’s mouth waters at the mention of her favorite pastry and the baby kicks excitedly. “Hana, you win.”

“Yay.”

“I can’t eat cronuts yet, but I’ll definitely save them–,” Kendall yawns mid sentence, “for later.”

“While it’s been great to see everyone, and I’m thankful you all came back, I think my wife needs her rest,” Liam says. “It’s been a long 24 hours.”

Regina nods, “We understand. Call us if you need anything, okay?”

“I will.”

Everyone says their goodbyes to Kendall and Liam, showering her with hugs and affectionate hand squeezes before filing out of her suite.

Liam sits down in a leather chair at her bedside and sighs. He’s absolutely exhausted, and Kendall knows it.

“You should get some sleep too.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I slept for a few hours earlier.” He just doesn’t want to take his eyes off of her, not even for a moment.

Kendall gently places a palm onto her stomach, careful of the stitches from her surgery. “Your daddy is stubborn.” The baby kicks and Kendall giggles. “They agree with me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” She takes Liam’s hand and presses it against her stomach. “Tell daddy he’s being stubborn, little one.” The baby kicks again. “See? I told you.”

“You two are already ganging up on me?”

“Yup. And you love it.”

He nods slightly. “I love everything you do.”

“Smart answer.” She notices his hand, tightly bandaged up and covered in a brace. She didn’t notice it before, with everyone focusing all of the attention on her. “What happened to your hand?”

Liam almost forgot he bruised his hand the night before, so worried about Kendall he barely registered the pain and discomfort. “It’s nothing. Just...fallout from the accident.”

“Is it broken?”

“No. Just a sprain.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s wrapped so tightly, I barely feel a thing. Don’t worry about me, my love, it’ll be fine.”

Kendall wants to fret over Liam a bit more, but she’s knows he won’t let her. So she drops it. “Can you come close to me?”

“As if you even have to ask such a thing.” Liam scoots his chair much closer, and he places his head in Kendall’s lap. He can feel a pair of tiny little feet pushing against him, but he doesn’t mind. Kendall takes a hand and softly runs it along his head, massaging his scalp.

For the first time since yesterday, Liam feels at peace. Everything he needs is with him in this moment.

Now that everything is sort of settling down, the weight of the situation dawns on Liam. Kendall could’ve died, leaving their child without a mother. Or perhaps the baby could have, the baby they wanted for so long. Or worse, both of them could have been taken from him in an instant, over something as trivial as tabloid pictures. 

It’s an overwhelming epiphany, one that threatens to snatch the air straight from his lungs.

“I could’ve lost you,” Liam says quietly, so quietly Kendall barely hears him.

“Hmm?”

“I could’ve lost you yesterday. You could’ve died, and our baby could’ve died, both of you.” Liam’s eyes sting with tears. “And it would’ve been all my fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s the truth. You gave up everything to come here, and you’ve dealt with more than your fair share of grief because of it. I was born into this, I accepted this life a long time ago when I stepped up to become the Crown Prince, you didn’t. You didn’t ask for any of this, and yet, you’ve received the brunt of the obstacles. Those vultures came after you because you’re the Queen, you’re my wife, and you’re carrying the heir.”

“They almost took you away from me last night.” The tears are falling freely at this point, but Liam doesn’t care. “I am so sorry. It’s my job to keep you and our baby safe, and I couldn’t protect you yesterday. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it.”

Kendall cradles Liam head between her hands, forcing him to look at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so distraught. “Liam, I don’t want you to blame yourself. I certainly don’t blame you. None of this is your fault, the only people responsible are the ones who forced Bastien off of the road.”

“But–”

“No buts. You don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders all the time, Liam. You’ve done your best, and that’s all I need from you.”

Liam takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm down. Kendall grabs one of his hands and places it on her chest, letting him feel her steady heartbeat. “You feel that? I’m okay, we are okay. You don’t have to worry about losing me.”

Feeling the steady beat of her heart calms him almost instantly. He leans forward and kisses Kendall urgently, careful not to lean over her too much. Kendall kisses him back, tasting the saltiness of her husband’s tears.

“I love you,” Liam says, once he pulls away from the kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“And I swear to you, nothing like this will ever happen again,” Liam assures. He’ll die before he gets this close to losing her ever again. He’ll kill, even. “And I promise there will be consequences for the people who put you in here.”

~V~

The next morning, Liam decides it’s finally time to do a press conference. Kendall seems to be in good spirits , and it’s clear that the press is not going to leave the front of the hospital without some sort of statement. So, Liam showers and changes into the fresh suit Madeleine brought for him the day before, and with two royal guards in tow, he makes his way out of the hospital.

To say there is a crowd will be an understatement. Liam doesn’t think he’s seen this many reporters and photographers at once ever before in his life. It’s slightly overwhelming, the murmurs, the flash of the cameras, the civilians lingering around hoping to catch a glimpse of the royalty, but he isn’t going to turn around now.

The crowd only buzzes with more excitement upon seeing Liam advance towards them. But silence falls when they notice his usually pleasant demeanor is nonexistent.

Liam inhales deeply and tries to settle his nerves before talking. It’s taking every ounce of willpower he has to not launch into a tirade.

“A few nights ago, my wife, myself, and a few members of the royal council were at a book signing to support a friend, Lord Maxwell Beaumont. When the event was over, we were leaving, but as soon as we stepped outside, we were greeted by a crowd, not much smaller than the one I’m looking at right now. This crowd was intrusive, pushy, and completely lacked boundaries or any sense of decorum.”

“We managed to escape the mob of reporters, shouting at us, shoving us, taking our photos, and we retreated to the safety of our vehicle. That should have been the end of the melee, but unfortunately that was not the case. We were chased through the dark and snowy streets of Lythikos, paparazzi still taking our pictures, dangerously swerving and driving. And I’m sure you all know how this story ends. One of your colleagues, a photographer named Samir ran into our van, my guard Bastien swerved off of the road and ran into the pole. And you would think that the story ends there. Surely. But no. The photographer continued to take our pictures as we laid there, trapped and injured in our wreckage, before he fled the scene in cowardice.”

Liam’s eyes sweep the crowd. Everyone is watching and listening with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word. Good. 

“Most of us faced only minor injuries, able to walk about with a few bumps and bruises. My guard Bastien sustained a dislocated shoulder and sprained ankle, but he’s going to be fine. My wife, Her Majesty, Queen Kendall of Cordonia, Duchess of Valtoria, sustained major injuries, to which I will not share the extent, but know that she and the baby will be okay as well. And while I will never be able to express the true depths of my eternal gratitude towards the amazing staff at this hospital, as well as the first responders in Lythikos, she should have never been put in this situation.”

“While Queen Kendall is expected to recover from her injuries, I want you all to hear me well and grasp the full severity of the situation. You chased and harassed her. You caused the car she was riding in to crash. Take away the titles for a moment and let it sink in that a pregnant woman and her child could have died. The baby that you were all so eager for me to have, that you’re all anxiously awaiting, you all put them in harm’s way and they haven't even had the chance to take their first breath. And for what? Pictures? A couple hundred dollars? A few thousand? Is that the going rate for a human life these days? This is a travesty that I will absolutely not stand for.”

“The royal family and the Cordonian press have always had an amicable relationship in the past, but somewhere along the way, the respect has been lost. My wife and I were harassed on our honeymoon—which took place on a private island, upon our arrival back home to Valtoria, in my wife’s native city of New York, as well as in Texas. Someone even followed us to the hospital, going as far as to impersonate hospital staff in order to get personal details about her pregnancy. We’ve dealt with the press harassing us, asking invasive and inappropriate questions about her pregnancy, which she has dealt with with an undeserved and unprecedented amount of grace and class. I think you’ve all forgotten that you’re dealing with your Queen. These are situations that Kendall should have never been in, but that’s a mistake and oversight on my part, a mistake that will never happen again. I let all of you get too comfortable. I let you become entitled, greedy, and spoiled. I apologize for making such an error, but I assure you that it ends today.”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear in saying that my wife will never be your Princess Diana, may she continue to rest in peace,” Liam continues. He knows that he’s going to cause some level of controversy invoking the late British Princess’s name, but the point has to be made. “Until my dying breath, I will protect Kendall, our child, and any future children we may have.”

“And to do that, boundaries will be put in place. Effective immediately, the press is no longer allowed at Applewood Manor or the Valtoria Estate, save for Apple Blossom festival and the lantern lighting festival,” Liam announces. The crowd gasps at the announcement. “They are private residencies, which we graciously opened up to the public in the past, but for the time being they will be private. I have filed permits to also ensure no drones, planes, jets, or helicopters fly over as well, in case anyone tries to get any bright ideas. For the time being, all news regarding my family will be released via the palace’s website and social media platforms. As for press at the palace, if I or anyone else in the royal family needs to address anything directly to the media, it will be done so right outside of the palace gates. There will be no press conferences near the fountain, in the throne room, or in the gardens. Members of the press will be welcome to attend any official engagements or royal tours we do in the future, but they are to be at least 30 meters away from members of the royal family at all times. If I see or hear of anyone belonging to the press violating any of these perimeters, there will be consequences, including severe fines and possible jail time.”

“As for the consequences to what happened the other night, the reporters who were in Lythikos that night will be charged with inciting a riot.” Gasps and rumblings of protest being to ripple through the crowd. “SILENCE!” Everyone goes quiet, shocked at the outburst from their normally stoic king. “Note that this is a very serious matter. It wasn’t just my safety that was at risk, or my Queen’s, my child’s, or my friends’. When you caused that dangerous scene, you had absolutely no regard for the private  citizens of Lythikos. There were children in attendance, elderly people, people with disabilities, and so on. You exercised absolutely no restraint and showed no care for anyone. So as I was saying before I was interrupted, you will be charged with inciting a riot, and your employers, the magazines, papers, and tabloids that pay you to stalk my wife and spread gossip about her, they will also be facing severe fines as well. And to the man that ran into us, Samir, you have 24 hours to turn yourself in for the hit and run charges. Failure to do so will result in additional charges.”

“This is my first and final warning on this matter, and it is not up for debate or discussion. Thank you for taking the time to listen to me speak, but I think I’ve been out here long enough, and it’s time I get back to my beautiful wife. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your day.” 

And with that, Liam turns on his heel and walks back into the hospital, ignoring the chants and calls of the crowd behind him.

[ducktales-wco-oo]

✩ Injuries/Side-Effects ✩

(Fenton has sustained at least two concussions in the show- that can be deduced by him being knocked out. Twice in ‘Who Is Gizmoduck’— falling from the sky and the explosion at the end: but that could have just been a result of exhaustion, unlike the impact of hitting the ground from such a great height —and once in ‘Astro B.O.Y.D’ after his head was squeezed in the helmet. This doesn’t even take into account concussions he could have sustained from the many, MANY blows and injuries he takes to the head. Based on what we’ve actually seen and the line of how often he is superhero-ing— ‘You’re the third weather-based villain I’ve faced this month’ Just WEATHER-BASED —these instances happen often.)

(Some examples are when he was punched twice by a superstrong MegaBeaks, was kicked in the face by Boyd, as well as hardcore headbutted during their battle. Not to mention, the focus people seem to give his helmet; like when his visor was broken by MegaBeaks and pressure was put on his temples by Boyd, hard enough to crack the metal deeper against his head. Of course, his head isn’t the ONLY part of him that gets injured in the line of duty.)

(He has been roughly thrown to the ground, hurled through buildings, and just- beaten and battered tremendously while in the suit. Thankfully, the armor takes the brunt of the damage, but it still can’t take it all. Fenton specifically mentions he has ‘very bruisable skin’ during ‘Astro B.O.Y.D’. While being hurled around by enemies or haphazardly moving around in the suit, it stands to reason he might get a bit banged up. From the abrupt movements and violent hits he sustains— even when the ‘armor’ is receiving the blow, we can still hear Fenton call out in pain —he sometimes hits against the interior of the armor. In Astro, it was shown that the suit is very much ‘put on’ and loose enough for him to wriggle free from.) 

(This isn’t even touching upon the electrical shocks he’s received while connected to the suit. Shocks that have been shown to be incredibly painful and cause him to lose control over the armor because of the distraction and stress on his mind/body.)

Tally Of Some Injuries I Noticed (there is room for some error):

Passed Out: 3 

Hit In The Face/head (HARD): 4  

Head Injury: 2

Explosion/Focused-Blast: 2

Electrical Shock (MINOR): 1

Electrical Shock (MAJOR): 2 

Smashed Into Ground: 4

Smashed Through Building: 2

Broken Bones: 1 (arms, legs, full-body cast) 

(Frequent concussions/head-injuries and electric shocks are bound to have Side Effects) 

FREQUENT CONCUSSIONS: 

Long-term effects of a concussion are rare. The vast majority of people see symptoms resolve within a few weeks. Only about 20% of people might suffer from post-concussion syndrome, where they continue to experience symptoms after six weeks. However, the more concussions you get, the more likely you are to suffer long term consequences, especially if you don’t give your brain enough time to heal between injuries.

Memory problems- His memory is normally remarkably sharp and for the most part, he can still remember the really important things. Regarding his responsibilities, projects, or those he cares about. But smaller ones easily slip his mind, such as packing himself lunch, little errands he meant to complete, names of the characters in Patos de la Pasión, etc... Things that used to not be an issue become more noticeably difficult for him to keep retained in his mind.

To help with this, he often writes things down on sticky notes and puts alarms/reminders on his phone as well. 

Trouble Concentrating: He was already prone to bouncing from idea to idea, but he was still capable of laser-focusing on a task or project when inspiration REALLY struck. Now, however, he needs to haphazardly juggle different ones at least every few hours or so because his mind becomes befuddled if he remains on a singular one for too long. It becomes difficult for him to properly focus and his work risks becoming sloppy because the littlest things end up distracting him.

Sensitivity To Light: Average lighting doesn’t bother him, and he can even handle bright sunlight, mostly. It’s a sudden change in lighting that gives him trouble. Quickly going from dark to light or just having an intense light abruptly appear gives him a headache- something he is more prone to now for other reasons. They usually just last a few minutes while his senses adjust and aren’t too hard for him to fight through, but there are times when it can ignite a massive migraine. His eyes also start to water a bit, momentarily blinding him as if he was looking at the sun. 

To help prevent headaches and blindness when chasing after criminals, he suggests that his visor be equipped with protective measures for his eyes and automatically adjust any lighting to a comfortable constant, so he doesn’t have to deal with any surprise changes no matter where he is.

A Lack Of Coordination/Loss Of Balance: This is harder to notice since he was already rather clumsy and accident-prone to begin with. It just becomes more apparent and burdensome, with mistakes nearly or actually happening even more frequently than usual. Even Fenton’s top-notch dancing becomes riddled with a few errors here and there, but he recovers from them quickly and well-enough. 

ELECTRICAL SHOCKS: 

His memory, concentration, and coordination are further exacerbated. 

Chronic Headaches: Occurring at least fifteen days per month— not counting the ones spurred on by Light Sensitivity —they range from dull pain that lasts a brief burst of time to actual migraines that last several minutes. Symptoms of migraines may include- nausea, vomiting, and sensitivity to light and sound. 

For this and several other reasons, antidepressants combat/prevent the pain, as well as alleviate other symptoms he was already contending with— and felt like he was ‘managing’ well enough —but were HEIGHTENED to more difficult levels thanks to his head injuries. Taking two tablets per day indefinitely, right before bed because they make him sleepy, as a way of helping with his increased anxiety and making it easier to rest. Which is helpful, because he was already plagued by nightmares and had difficulty falling asleep.

Muscle Twitches/Spasms: If he works for hours upon hours without allowing himself at least a small amount of time to stretch and loosen up his body, then he risks brief muscle spasms disrupting him instead. Mainly in his hands since they do the brunt of his work. He also is prone to spasms in his CHEST— since that is where the full force of the shock was administered —if he becomes overly-angry or frightened. But usually, this doesn’t happen unless he is nearing overwhelming levels.

When a chest spam occurs, he can experience: tightness in it, shortness of breath, pain in his chest, and/or intense nausea. Feeling as if he’s going to throw up, even though he never does. The full force of the symptoms usually depends on the intesnity of his emotions. Although, he’s noticed fear tends to bring more issues with breathing and nausea, while anger entices tightness and pain. 

Lichtenberg Scarring: Located on his chest.

[thewhumperinwhite]

FBI AU: Interrogation

Continued from Rescue. I’ll update my story and character list with more info about this one eventually, I swear. In the meantime if you’re curious you can always send me an ask, Every Side Character Has A Deep And Fascinating Backstory Because Of Who I Am As A Person.

TW for: panic attack, vomiting, referenced noncon, stitches

Thankfully, Simon’s shoulder is about as minor as gunshot wounds get. 

The gun is high enough caliber that while the hole is fairly large and the bone isn’t in great shape, the bullet was never in there festering, so they sew him closed and tie it in a sling with stern instructions not to move it, and they let him wander around within twenty-four hours of his arrival at the hospital, with instructions not to leave or fall asleep without permission, since the man he now knows was Tenor Bradshaw apparently had fists made of granite. He gets debriefed by more than one Bureau official, though Farah is notably absent, which is a bit of a relief, to be honest. He kind of can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now. He also talks to the local chief of police, after getting clearance from the Bureau, since the murders took place in his city. He does not answer the many requests for interviews, though the Bureau invites him to come stand at the press conference. The outreach officer who asks him is visibly disappointed; he knows they’ll ask Rona next and he guesses she might even say yes, but he knows his sling would make him good press. He doesn’t have the stomach for it at the moment.

Instead he finds the reception desk and asks for Heinrich Arthur Lange’s room.

He knows the kid’s name now, it was the first thing he asked when he woke up. He also knows that he’s the surviving son of Senator Heinrich Lange Senior and the solution to a missing person’s case that hadn’t been his division, obviously; apparently the kid disappeared from the Senator’s secure townhouse three weeks ago, which is a hell of a long time to be chained to a wall, and an unthinkably long time to be alone with at least two violent rapists.

Simon doesn’t look at his chart, because he already knows more than he wants to. He asks the doctor about the prognosis, and it’s about what he expected, though to be honest he’s surprised the boy’s heart is still beating--in addition to all the injuries Simon could see and feel, the kid lost a dangerous percentage of his blood volume, triggering a stroke. Parts of his brain look wonky on scans, probably were even before Tenor Bradshaw hit him with a fist like a freight-train, but there’s no way to know the extent of the damage until and unless he wakes up and tries to talk. The doctor calls his survival to this point a miracle, but Simon remembers how he looked at Tenor Bradshaw and thinks god had very little to do with it; that skinny kid just has a spine of steel.

He’s deeply unconscious when Simon goes in to see him, and presumably will be for a while. His shoulder and hip needed to be reset; the hip was broken and had started to heal badly, and Simon thinks they had to rebreak it, though he was thankfully out at the time. Some of the cuts on his mouth had needed stitches, and he was probably already concussed when Simon found him, before Tenor’s punch fractured his skull. There are bandages wrapped firmly around his head, and they’ve bandaged his swollen eye over, something about broken blood vessels. The doctor almost straight didn’t believe Simon when he told him the boy had been awake and talking, though Simon had told him he could see how much it took out of him. The doctor just shook his head and said he hoped it hadn’t worsened his condition too much, which made Simon feel like scum even though he doesn’t really think there’s anything he could have done differently.

Simon knows the Coven members have given statements, including Karim Mun, who seems to have spent the most time with the kid. Simon has pointedly not asked about them, though he did hear that Mun had asked if he could see him, which made his vision go red for a while until he did some very regulated breathing. In the Coven members’ defense, they all agree that they thought he was dead for at least the last two days he was held in Micah Trent’s torture room, and DNA tests seem to show that only Trent and Tenor Bradshaw actually raped him, though given that most of the other Coven members are women, Simon isn’t sure how much that’s actually worth.

Simon flops into one of the chairs around the kid’s bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. It’s all so fucking awful; thinking about it makes his head hurt worse than it already does.

He looks up too fast when he hears the door open, and Farah is already in the room by the time the stars clear from his vision. He starts to leap to his feet, but she holds out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Agent Blake,” Farah says, and her voice sounds different than usual, almost gentle. Simon sinks back down, his body grateful even though it feels disrespectful.

“Did you get to--” He isn’t sure how to ask. “Farah... is it them?”

Farah isn’t looking at him, though she nods in response to his question; she moves forward to take the seat at the head of Heinrich Arthur Lange’s bed.

“It’s them,” she says softly.

“Jesus,” Simon says. He has no idea how she’s feeling, whether to be happy or horrified for her. “Farah, I’m--I don’t know what to say.”

Farah looks at him then, and she smiles, though it looks a bit--baffled. “My children are alive, Agent Blake,” she says. “There’s a lot more--a lot that needs working out, between the three of us and the court system, too, I guess, but that’s the biggest part. He didn’t kill them.”

Simon twitches slightly. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that Trent did something much worse and made them monsters instead. It’s not his place. Holding it in is kind of hard work, though.

Farah smiles, like she knows what he’s thinking and it doesn’t hurt her. She looks back down at what’s left of Arthur Lange. “You found him, huh?” she says in Simon’s direction.

Simon swallows hard. “Yeah.” He doesn’t really want to talk about this, not with Farah, but he doesn’t catch himself before he blurts out, “He mentioned him. Karim.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Your son, I mean.”

Farah looks at him, a tad sharply. “What did he say?”

He said it with his mouth full of blood, and it almost tore him apart, Simon doesn’t say. “I didn’t really understand. He asked if we’d found him. He said--to tell Karim that Micah hadn’t killed him.” Simon feels his face twitch, but isn’t sure what he’s feeling exactly. “I don’t know why.”

Farah nods slowly, and looks down at Arthur Lange, who is nineteen and may never wake up. “I see,” she says.

Simon wants to hold it in, because none of this is Farah’s fault, and it must hurt her more than it hurts him, but he doesn’t make it. “Farah,” he says. “Did Karim Mun--Did Karim do this?” Farah looks confused, and Simon waves his good arm jerkily. “I know Micah Trent did it. I’m asking--if Karim brought him in. If he let him. If he--gave this kid to Micah Trent.”

Farah looks at him, and she doesn’t really look angry, thank god, though he can’t read her face beyond that.

“My son was missing for almost ten years,” Farah says, and Simon winces, because yeah, that’s what he’s been trying not to let himself forget. Farah waves his chagrin away. “What I’m saying is, I don’t know who he’s become in that time.” She pauses to catch her breath; that’s not a sentence anybody can say without pain, even Farah Mun. “I do know he wasn’t a particularly good liar before, and that his story seems to match up with the others’. But I only have their word at this point, and I’m not promising you it’s the truth.” She looks at Simon, maybe to see if he accepts her premise, and he nods warily. “He says he didn’t.”

Simon’s lip curls before he can help it, even though he asked. “Of course he does.”

Farah sighs, and rubs one of her eyes; Simon starts, it’s such a weirdly human gesture, like she’s acknowledging that even she can’t help but be exhausted by this. “I know there’s no reason for you to believe I can be objective about this,” she says tiredly. “I’m still his mother, death-cult member or no. But for whatever it’s worth--” She lowers her hand and makes eye contact with Simon, like she’s making sure he remembers who she is, and to be honest, it means more than he feels like it should. “I believe him, for now.”

Simon looks down at Arthur Lange to get out of looking at her face, and it’s a mistake. He’s nineteen, and Simon’s had so much of his blood on his shirt. He feels exhausted suddenly, like he’s just now remembering that it doesn’t really matter either way; knowing whether Karim Mun is or isn’t a monster won’t make this kid wake up without brain damage.

“I hope you’re right,” Simon says, and it’s true, and not just for Farah’s sake. The kid hadn’t asked about Karim Mun like he hated him.

“So do I,” Farah says, and she reaches out to touch Arthur Lange’s hand, the one that isn’t wrapped up in a sling to avoid strain on his shoulder, but is studded with a stomach-turning number of tubes. “If Karim’s lying, he’s a better liar and a worse man than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Simon looks at her face when she says that, and sort of wishes he hadn’t; she looks for a second a little like a mother whose missing children are probably going to be tried for murder.

“Farah,” Simon says, and isn’t sure what to say after that. He’s grateful when she sighs and gets briskly to her feet.

“I have a small mountain of paperwork to fill out, in addition to the number of different kinds of therapists I have to find,” she says, and yeah, he doesn’t envy her that part. “If he wakes before I’m back, tell him--” She glances down at the bruised body in the bed, and laughs, a little hysterically. “I have no idea what you should tell him, actually. Do your best.” She gives him a half-salute, and walks out.

Simon watches her go, and then he squares his shoulders, and takes his time getting to his feet. He knows where to go next.

There’s a guard posted at the door of Karim Mun’s hospital room, but he isn’t handcuffed to the bed, which seems highly premature to Simon, but he guesses it isn’t his decision, and he hasn’t heard anything about any of the Coven members trying to escape, and maybe it isn’t worth it just for the principle of the thing. Simon tries not to let it bias him. It doesn’t feel like it’s working.

Karim Mun is twenty-four; Micah Trent took him when he was fifteen and his father was dying of prostate cancer. Simon knows all this from Farah, and knows that it should impact the way he feels right now more than it is, but all he can think about is that Karim Mun is right now working his way through a bowl of scrambled eggs, while Arthur Lange might never be able to eat on his own again. It’s an easy thought to get distracted by.

Karim turns to look at him when he enters the room. His hair is bleach-blonde, cut in a way that is probably highly fashionable when styled but is now a mess of curls hanging in his face; he has the slightly shrunken look of someone who has lost a great deal of weight in a very short amount of time, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. 

“I thought I’d answered all your questions,” he says in a slightly scratchy voice, sounding not resentful so much as tired. He blinks at the look on Simon’s face, a little guarded. Simon has no idea what that look might be; he’s trying hard to keep his face neutral.

Simon sits down next to Karim Mun’s bed, to give himself time to take a few surreptitious deep breaths. Then he makes firm eye contact, which Karim accepts, looking a bit wary. His eyes are a pale greenish-blue, striking against his brown skin; probably he’s very handsome when he’s less exhausted. Simon tries not to let this make him angrier.

“You’re Karim Mun,” Simon says, even though he already knows that. Karim nods once, waiting. “I’m Agent Simon Blake. I found Heinrich Lange in your little compound.”

All the blood visibly leaves Karim’s face. If the eggs weren’t already resting on his tray table, he’d certainly drop them; his fork clatters loudly to the floor as it is. He stares at Simon, face almost green, but doesn’t say anything.

“He asked about you,” Simon says finally, and Karim sits bolt upright so fast he does upend the tray table, eggs flying everywhere; Simon can see his heart rate skyrocket and sighs, not wanting to be interrupted by orderlies.

“Is he awake?” Karim demands, and Simon waves at him dismissively.

“No. They don’t know if he’s going to. Sit down.”

The life drains back out of Karim’s face immediately and he flops back down against the pillows, looking weaker than he did when Simon entered. Simon frowns at him, not sure how to feel.

“He asked if we’d found you,” he says, and Karim closes his eyes. “He told me to tell you that Micah Trent didn’t kill him. I guess you know that by now.”

Karim lets out a shuddering breath and scrubs at his eyes with tube-studded hands. 

“I didn’t know,” he says very quietly. “I thought--I saw them bleed him. I saw his eyes go dead. I thought he was gone.”

He looks at Simon, his hands tightening into fists on his blankets. His eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“I wouldn’t have left him with them if I’d known he was alive. I’d have taken that stupid key from Diana or torn the hinges off the door or something. I’d have died before I left him there. You have to believe that.”

Simon feels his face twist at that last part. “I don’t have to believe anything,” he snaps. Simon realizes that Karim Mun is crying, and he’s suddenly so angry he can’t think; he can feel his hands shaking. “I don’t have to believe anything except that I found that kid with his arm pulled out of its socket and blood coming out of his ass, and all I want to know is if you put him there.”

Simon knows that it’s wrong the second he says it.

He’s never seen a look like that on someone’s face before. Karim stares at Simon like he’s put a fist through his ribcage, and then he hunches forward and throws up all over himself.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon says, catching Karim Mun’s shoulder to keep him from toppling right over out of the bed, and turns to call to the guard at the door that he needs a nurse, now. Karim’s heart is going faster than Simon’s ever heard one, and Simon can hear his breath tearing in and out of his lungs like the air is serrated. “Jesus Christ, kid, don’t, I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it; he’s actually maybe never been this sorry before in his life. Karim convulses again, bile pouring up out of his throat and onto his lap. “Karim, listen to me--he knew.”

Karim freezes, eyes wide but seeing nothing.

“He told me to tell you he was alive. He knew you didn’t know. He didn’t think you’d left him.”

Karim looks at Simon, still coughing up stomach acid, like he’s thrown him a lifeline--like he isn’t the one who shoved him in the water in the first place.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the nurse bawls at him when she bursts into the room, and it’s a very reasonable question.

“I fucked him up,” Simon says, scrambling out of her way. “I think he’s having a panic attack.”

The nurse pushes past him, supporting Karim’s back. “Put your head between your knees, hon,” she tells him, and as he’s doing so she shoots Simon the most disgusted look he’s ever received; it physically rocks him back onto his heels. “Get out,” she bites out, and Simon is more than happy to follow that order.

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader(f)    Chapter 10

Authors Notes:  If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.6k

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Master List

The week was almost over and Y/N and Steve had fallen into a comfortable routing of being around each other. Every morning, Y/N would get up and start the coffee and then head into her office to answer emails. Steve would get up some thirty minutes later and bring her a hot cup and a kiss. He’d then head out to Bucky’s and be with the club while Y/N worked through the day.

 But today was different. Y/N had a meeting with a new client and Steve had never seen her so antsy. she ran around the house trying to get herself dressed and ready while mumbling to herself about selling points and skills she could offer. She almost ran into him for the third time.

 “Babe, take a breath.” He tried to grab her arm to stop her bustling but she slipped away.

 “I'm breathing just fine, Steve.” She snapped.

 Steve's brows raised and Y/N sighed. 

 “I’m sorry. I get so nervous with first meetings. I'm about to be finished with three clients so I need this new one but what if he doesn't like me?” She pressed her forehead into his chest.

 “You're meeting a guy? By yourself?” He couldn’t help but be bothered by it.

 “I mean, I think it’s a guy.” She shrugged as she went back to her stack of papers on the kitchen counter. She had a habit of printing everything out and Steve loved that about her, kind of new-aged, old-fashioned. She lifted up one sheet and studied it. “Email address says Chris but there's no other tell so it could be a girl I guess.”

 “But you don’t know.”

 She sighed. “No, I don’t. Being drilled by your jealous tendencies isn’t helping.”

 He shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I just-”

 “I know, I know.” She waved him off.

 Steve snaked his arms around her again. “I gotta protect my girl.” He kissed her neck and she stilled. 

 “But you do trust me right?” The look in her eyes was sincere. “You know I’ll call you if anything doesn’t feel right.”

 “Yeah, I know.” And he did. He trusted her. He just didn’t trust anyone else with her.

 Thunder rolled in low and deep as the faint sound of rain pattered over the house.

 “Great and now my hair will be a mess.” Y/N huffed.

 “But a beautiful mess.” Steve smirked. “You just make sure to drive careful. Don’t rush or speed. Your client isn’t worth your life, baby.”

 “I know and the same goes for you on that bike.” She pointed a finger at his nose and he chuckled. “I’m serious, Steve. Don’t get cocky and get killed-”

 It had meant to be a semi-serious comment but somehow it ended up giving her flashbacks of Danny.

 Steve watched the life flash from her for a moment. She almost turned white. And she looked like she was suddenly really worried he might die.

 “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She stuttered shaking her head and coming back to the present.

 Steve pulled her back into a firm hug. “Hey, don’t worry. I promise I’ll be careful. I promise.” He kissed her head and she nodded. “You good, baby?”

 “Yeah,” She said quietly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I do need to get going, though. I don’t want to be late. That’s not a very good first impression.”

 And there she was again. Bright and smiling. Steve just hoped it wasn’t an act.

 “Okay, let me know when you’re done and I’ll meet you somewhere for lunch.”

 “That sounds perfect.” Y/N said as she threw her bag onto her shoulder. She kissed him quick and was out the door. 

 Steve watched as she fumbled with her umbrella for a second before getting in her car and driving off. Then, he grabbed his helmet, set the alarm and left for the club.

 Thankfully, Steve’s ride wasn’t wet for long. The rain let up only a few minutes after he left, making the rest of his twenty minute drive humid and sticky. When he pulled up to the club house it looked like something was wrong.

 Prospects were watching Bucky and Nat hurry onto their bikes with Sam and Luke shouting orders on who’s responsible for what until they got back.

 Steve pulled up to Bucky who flagged him down.

 “Where is your phone, punk?!” Bucky shouted and swore.

 “In my pocket, why?” Steve growled back at the unwelcome tone.

 “You need to be able to answer it. Even when you’re riding, you know that!”

 Steve did know that but he’d promised Y/N to ride safe and it seemed like a distraction especially on wet roads. 

 “Y/N was in a car accident.” Nat explained as she buckled her helmet. 

 Steve’s heart fell to his boots and without a word he revved his bike, turning on a dime and speeding out of the gravel lot.

 The next thirty minutes were the worst of his life. He probably should have let Nat finish talking but he was too scared to stick around. Y/N had told him which coffee shop she was going to and he knew what route she’d most likely taken so, now, he was just waiting to see the flashing lights.

 And sure enough, there they were. He got as close as he could then jumped off his bike and threw his keys at Sam, who’d kept pace with him for this very reason.

 He ran up towards the first cop he could find but his feet slowed when he saw the two cars that were smashed up. Y/N’s car had been T-boned on the passenger side. Her airbag had been deployed and the drivers side window had a huge crack in it.

 Steve ran his hands through his hair and muttered a string of curse words then pulled himself together. He found a cop talking to a tow truck driver. 

“Hey, this is my girl’s car. Where is she?” He tried not to sound panicked but he wasn’t sure how good of a job he was doing. 

 The female officer looked hesitant but pointed to an ambulance. “In the back of the bus. She-” 

 He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Y/N!” He yelled as he ran the few dozen yards to the neon-yellow boxed truck. He rounded the corner to the back of the ambulance and could have cried.

 “Steve!” Y/N’s chin quivered and her eyes watered as he grabbed her tight in a hug. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see him!” She sobbed.

 Steve pushed her back to get a better look at her. Now that he knew she was alive, he wanted to know how bad she was hurt so he’d know how long to make the guy who did this to her suffer.

 She had a massive cut on her head that was bruising all around. There was dried blood on her cheeks and she was holding a white towel that was almost completely red. Her shoulder was bruised and her left arm was in a sling.

 He turned to the paramedic. “What happened to her?”

 “You the boyfriend?” The paramedic asked. At Steve’s short nod, the man in the blue jacket sighed. “She wouldn’t let us take her until you got here but she needs to be checked for a concussion. She was a little dazed when we got to her but I think it was mostly shock. Her shoulder and head took the brunt of the blow and she’s going to need at least four stitches on this gash, here. Her shoulder should be fine but I recommend an x-ray.”

 Steve nodded. “Thank you. You can take her now.”

 “I don’t want to go to the hospital, Steve.” She almost pleaded with him.

 “You’re going to be fine but you need to let them do their job. You need to see a doctor.” He gently helped her back to the spot she’d been sitting in and, after checking the cut himself, put the towel back on her head since it was still bleeding. 

 “Steve, please.” She looked terrified. He knew this reminded her of Danny’s accident and he figured going to the hospital was freaking her out.

 “You’ll be fine. I’m coming with you.” He reassured. He turned to the paramedic. “Can you give a me a minute before you go?”

 The paramedic shrugged. “That’s up to her.”

 Y/N nodded. “I’m not leaving without him.”

 Steve looked back to the wreck. He could see Bucky speaking with a man that he assumed was the man who hit Y/N. “I’m going to talk to Buck real quick. I’ll be right back.” He gave Y/N’s hand a quick squeeze and was off.

 He walked with a gait that screamed ‘murder’, both Bucky and Sam had to step in front of him to get him to stop.

 “It’s not his fault, man.“ Sam started.

Bucky put a hand firm on Steves chest, holding him back. “Sam’s right. This guy isn’t who you want.” 

 “Then tell me who, Buck.” Steve demanded.

 “First of all,” Bucky started with raised brows. “You need to remember who you’re talking to. Secondly, this is club business and we don’t handle that out in the streets for the cops to see. You got me?”

  Steve took a deep breath and his jaw ticked. “Yeah, I got you, Pres.”

 “Some punk on a chopper cut this guy off and when he swerved to try and keep from hitting the bike, he hit Y/N instead. This guy says the guy on the bike had a kutte on. Didn’t know the club but we’ll get to the bottom of that later. Right now, you need to be with your old lady and make sure she’s okay.”

 Sam patted Steve’s shoulder. “Save that fire in your eyes for the man who deserves it.”

 “Get on that bus.” Bucky instructed. “Nat will ride your bike over to the hospital.”

 Steve nodded and huffed, turning back to Y/N. He stood by while they loaded her in, then he hopped into the back. 

 With a flick of the lights, the ambulance headed out.

***********

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[velathetanager]

Child’s Play

Chapter 7: Bring It On Jennifer was at the bar that night, and it had cleared out the second she'd walked in. "Huh. Cowards," she muttered. "Aye, barkeep, how about a whiskey?" she called, looking over her shoulder briefly.

"Sure thing Jen," The bartender said, taking one of the many whiskey bottles down and pouring her drink.

"I have a feeling this is gonna be an eventful night," the reporter told them. "You saw my show?"

"Yeah I saw it. Brutal's got it out for ya, huh?" she asked, beginning to clean one of the many glasses.

"Aye. I mean, I found every last one of his hideouts and put them on the air. Proud of it, too. He's a hard guy to find. And that's coming from the girl who's brought down politicians and businesses."

"One of them ya messed up on though. Hope that Chaos girl doesn't get some nasty visitors anytime soon."

"I put out a retraction and a correction. On air and on the website. She should be fine."

"I don't think evil Freaks much care for retractions. Hell I don't think the majority of them even have internet. Painis sure as hell doesn't."

"I put Brutal beating him in a fight on air, too. Surprised he hasn't come after me."

"Probably too busy plotting his revenge," the bartender snickered.

"Aye. Did you see that fight between Hero and Underling?"

"I did. Underling gave Hero a run for her money, didn't he?"

"Aye," Jennifer bit out as if offended. "And you saw what she did to that blindfolded Freak."

"That was Two-Face, wasn't it?"

"Aye. Hit hard, too." Jennifer scowled.

"The landlord that owned the hotel Hero threw him into wasn't too happy 'bout it."

"Hero restored it. She always does."

"So, what else are you having tonight? Or is it just the whiskey?"

"Got something crunchy?"

"We got some chips in the back."

"Thanks. Gonna need the energy."

The bartender left for the back room, leaving Jennifer alone. When someone else entered the bar, the reporter took a drink. "So you showed. Good to see you." Behind her, the door gave off a faint glow, closed, and locked. 

"I assume you want to get this over with?"

“Nah, for people like you I like to drag it out,”

"Your funeral," came Jennifer's reply as she reached into her purse. Then she sat back down, smirking. "Before you fail miserably at killing me, I have to congratulate you. It took me more work to rat you out than it took for me to bring down the Governor of Michigan."

“Though you put my niece in danger, clearly you have your flaws,”

"That was a mistake. That I corrected. And I got Hero to start patrolling her base."

“Sure,” he sharpened his knife.

Jennifer took one last swig of whiskey before setting it down. "I'm blasting you on air after I survive. You know that, right?"

“If you survive you have the right to, just once though,”

Jennifer tilted her head. "Like you could stop me."

“I can and will. I’d hate to see your spy friend end up dead in a ditch,”

For the briefest moment the lights flickered brighter. "Leave him out of this. He blew up at me for challenging you."

“Then keep your end of the deal Sheila,”

"Fine. I will talk about it only once."

He chuckled as he finished sharpening his blade.

Jennifer pulled out a spray bottle, smiling.

He tilted his head and picked up a small knife throwing it at the bottle.

Jennifer dodged, catching the knife by the handle. "Nice throw."

Another one pierced it. “Never turn your back on the enemy, Sheila.”

The ground dissolved where the liquid dropped. Acid. "Alright, I thought that was perfume."

“Stick with pepper spray.”

Jennifer shrugged, throwing the knife back at Brutal and bolting. He dodged and chased after her.

Jennifer, forgetting that she had locked both doors, ran into the front door, cursing. "Sh**!!!" Using magic discreetly, she opened the door and ran into the parking lot. "Ha! So long, son of a-"

Something stabbed her trunk.

"That's what I get for my arrogance." She grabbed something out of her purse: a C.A.P.P.E.R. "Get away from my car." For a moment, red light resembling wings flashed behind Jennifer. She held the gun steady, eyes blazing.

He chuckled, “You flip out over a car but not your own life?”

"Do I look worried?"

“Should be,”

Jennifer shrugged. "But I'm not," she answered, pulling the trigger.

Brutal dodged it, and case in closer for the kill.

Jennifer moved out of his swings' way as though she had been born for battle. "Okay, you're faster than I thought."

“I’m high tier for a reason, Sheila,”

Jennifer rolled out of the way of another blow, firing her C.A.P.P.E.R. again. "Is that reason your inability to hit a human news anchor or your decision to practically take hostages instead of threatening the person you want something from? And where I'm from, you call your opponent by their name." She fired one more time, catching Brutal in the side. "How'd that feel, a**hole?"

He laughed and lunged at her catching her side. “How’d that feel?”

"Reminds me of a fight I was in once," she replied, wincing. Then she reached into her purse. Well, look at that, I still have a bottle of acid.

"You sure you wanna get that close again, Brutal? I'd consider very closely."

The smile seemed unnatural, considering the gash in her side. Which, Brutal noted, had a glowing blue substance seeping out.

“I knew it..”

"Wait, what?"

“Your blood,”

Jennifer facepalmed. "Of course," she said, reaching into her pocket.

“Not this time Sheila,”

Jennifer shrugged. "You already know I'm not human, what's one more power use?" she asked, throwing some glitter into his face.

He dodged it. “I saw your amnesia dust trick before,”

"Concussion should do it, then," she answered, aiming her C.A.P.P.E.R.

“Well, I hate to back up on a killing, but my boyfriend is calling,”

Jennifer shrugged. "He'll have to wait," she answered, getting into her car and charging him.

He dodged. “Nice try,” he sneered, running off to  one of his bases.

Of course, an edited version of the video made the rounds the next day. Jennifer said during her show: "He's made it abundantly clear that Spies aren't off limits. That said, Brutal, and I know you're watching, don't touch the guy you mentioned last night."

Not three minutes after the show ended, Chaos got a text: Meet me at Starbucks. I want to talk.

Chaos met Jennifer at Starbucks. “I saw Brutal, nice editing skills. Though no Freak will buy it,”

Jennifer looked ten seconds away from attacking. "Let me start out by saying that you have one minute to convince me you didn't tell your admitted uncle about Jeff before our relationship turns sour."

“I never told him about Jeff, Brutal hides in the shadows and learns things. He probably saw you recording and noticed you talking with Jeff,”

"Alright then. Thankfully, considering public opinion about most Freaks- no offense to you- the human population won't believe them if they try to call me on it."

Chaos chuckled. “Attacking the minority of Freaks now huh? I smell bad ratings,”

"I'm a Freak, too, but I’m willing to abuse our bad reputation if it means my enemies don't know about me."

“Looks like Brutal does,”

"Eh, he's a madman and a serial killer. Nobody's gonna believe hi-" she hesitated. "You better not be recording this."

“Wouldn’t think about it. You however  I would believe being caught saying this live,”

"Thanks for the compliment," Jennifer groused.

“You cussed Brutal out on live TV, Jennifer.”

"...Alright, fair. How's that Isa doing with her powers?"

“She hasn’t shown much of them, looks like now it’s just training to get her to control them,”

Jennifer nodded, smiling. "Give her my best. And this." She handed Chaos an apple. "That's a wishing apple. Consider it a congratulations." Then she stood up. "Gotta to to work now. See you."

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Scorched Earth, part 2

Hey, you’re back. Welcome to hell. So, when I last left off, we’d just gotten a glimmer of hope that we’d manage to get away from Aurora and her hellish group. None of us dared make a peep as the campfire exploded, causing a huge cloud of smoke to appear everywhere. We heard a few wet snaps in the darkness and a bunch of running around and fighting, while Mossimer broke through our cage and motioned furiously for us to follow him. None of us were in the mood to argue, so we slipped out and hurried as fast as we could into the Hedge.

Oh, right, I was going to tell you about the Hedge. Um, okay. Cliff’s notes: the Hedge is the boundary between Arcadia, realm of the fae, and our mortal world. It can come in a lot of different forms, but the most common one (and pretty much the only one I’ve seen) is as a brambly forest, full of spines, thorns, and other really unpleasant stuff. So we get into the Hedge and Mossimer, whose real name is Adrian, gave us the lowdown on what was happening. We’d been kidnapped by Aurora, Buck, and company to be brought to a fae for her use. He tried to explain it to us by saying that we were in a fairy tale, but not the cutesy, Disney kind: this was like of German and Russian fairy tales were trying to outdo each other in creepiness and being disturbing.

It turns out that Adrian was part of a resistance movement trying to fight back against the fae taking humans for their own use. They were there to take out Aurora and her crew and rescued us as part of the operation. He told us that he was going to take us to his compatriot Cassi at a checkpoint somewhere deeper in the Hedge and that if we were careful, they’d then try to get us home. That sounded pretty good to just about all of us at that point, as crazy as the whole story was.

Adrian told us that he was a seer of sorts and that he could offer us a demonstration. He asked Day for a few strands of hair or his handkerchief. Day handed his handkerchief over and clearly was not expecting much. Adrian carefully removed the tag and gave the handkerchief back to Day. Then he pulled out this adorable little creature who looked like a gecko with wings. Her name’s Paisley, and she’s the best. Bella was gripping onto me the whole while and even she was taken with the little dudette. Paisley also can belch fire, which she did, making the tag go up in smoke. That’s when things got really weird. Adrian lifted the veil over his – well, I’ll say eyes, but they weren’t like any eyes I’d ever seen. It was almost like orbs of black glass where his eyes should have been, and as he inhaled the smoke, it was like the smoke got pulled up into his eyes. He told Day that Day had an opportunity for freedom ahead and that he had someone who hadn’t given up on him.

Day was starting to freak out a bit at this – I think what was happening hit him a little later than the rest of us – but we didn’t have time to stop, we had to keep going. It was probably good we got going when we did because only a few minutes later, the Hedge itself started turning against us. We were attacked by colossal vines, even bigger than the ones we’d seen around us. Most of us managed to dodge what was happening. I almost got smashed by a huge thorn, which I picked up and handed over to Day. Right after I did this, Aurora showed up (“like a bad penny,” Yova said. Truer words…) and told us she’d be reclaiming us. She descended a vine and made to attack us.

And here’s where I realized the people who got taken with me were actually pretty awesome. Yova and Day proceeded up the vine, arms raised, and between them dealt a one-two punch to Aurora that knocked her bitch ass out. She collapsed like the Russian Parliament. Now amidst all this, I should mention that there was one of us who didn’t manage to dodge when Aurora’s vines attacked, that being Adrian. Pam thankfully managed to drag him to safety and we quickly reassessed what was going on. Bella and I managed to get him back to consciousness, but he’d suffered a bad concussion and was completely out of it. Yova, thankfully, managed to spot a path through the Hedge and picked Adrian up, carrying him onward and the rest of us following.

Day’s hand was clearly hurting after knocking Aurora out, so I patted his shoulder and said, “You know, I’m not usually into sloppy bears, but that was kind of hot.” He looked up at me with an absolutely indecipherable look for about thirty seconds before he was able to get out, “Careful, princess, my hand doesn’t hurt that bad.”

After we continued trekking for about another hour or so, we managed to come across a tent that had some rations and sleeping bags inside. We figured this was where Adrian was intending to bring us and we set him down, propping his head up. After a minor debate, Yova convinced us that having a fire would be a good thing and make us feel a little more comfortable at least. Day and Pam went out to find some wood and then Paisley assisted us with sparking it. Yova also started smoking a cigarette, which normally I hate the smell of, but it was actually kind of comforting at the moment: it was reminiscent of home, even a part of home I normally couldn’t stand. Pam insisted on us eating something – there was dried fruit and jerky there – and even though I wasn’t feeling very hungry after the bark-and-dried leaves canape I had earlier, I relented. Pam’s such a mom. We were all so drained it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

The next morning, Pam and I got up early while the others slept in a bit. The first thing the two of us noticed was another person there: a short young woman with dark skin and a blond bob. Oh, and the lower legs of a white deer. Pam managed to figure out this was the elusive Cassi. Cassi was a cheery sort, telling us that we were going to get out and that she was there to take us to the next checkpoint, their encampment, at which point we’d get to go back home. Yova and Day managed to get up with no real trouble, but Bella was proving hard to rouse. So, being the big brother that I am, I decided to wake her up by gently lifting her hair away from her head, putting my index finger in my mouth, and then giving her one hell of a wet willy. That got her up. Cursing the world and the fact that she ever met me, but it got her up.

Cassi helped us pack and warned us that our next stretch through the Hedge was going to hurt. And oh, man, she wasn’t lying. The path was barely visible, it was so narrow. We all had to walk single-file and we brushed up against the thorns and brambles the whole way. It tore at our clothes and our skin, but it was worse than that. It barely makes sense to describe, but it was like something inside of me getting ripped, like my emotions or my senses were getting shredded. I’d never felt anything like it in my life and never want to again.

We finally got through it and arrived in a surprisingly dry, barren plain with a multitude of tents set up. There were a lot more vaguely human figures there, like Adrian and Cassi. One of them, a woman who looked half-cockroach, came storming up, yelling at Cassi that the raid had been a waste of time and that we weren’t worth the effort it took to get us. We were all bristling at this, but Day snapped back at her and it looked like they might be about to fight before Yova smoothed it over, charming the bug-lady as much as she could be charmed. Bug-lady, whose real name was Luca, buzzed off and Cassi assured us that Luca hated everybody and it didn’t have anything to do with us.

The next thing to do was head to the commander’s tent. We went in and Cassi immediately took a knee. We followed suit with shows of respect and the commander rose. She was an imposing ginger woman who looked like a noble from a movie about Camelot. There was a very strange pressure emanating from her the whole time; I can’t explain it that well, but it was almost like that feeling you get at the bottom of the swimming pool where you have the water pressure all around you, even though you know you’re not in any real danger. Behind her was a more timid-looking woman who was nearly identical but had much redder hair.

The commander introduced herself as Amberleigh and asked for Cassi’s report. She was decidedly unhappy about Aurora’s escape, but Yova again managed to smooth things over and apparently saved Cassi from a major tongue-lashing. Amberleigh explained to us about what her army was assembled for: they were waging war against the Fae, the ruling creatures of Arcadia, who constantly took humans and changed them into their slaves, changelings. She told us that there was no room for layabouts and weaklings and that we would need to make ourselves useful in order to earn our keep until such a time as we could be brought back to safety.

Amberleigh requested a pledge from each of us stating that we would be willing to serve in her army through the upcoming battle. We didn’t really have a choice: she made it abundantly clear that we would be thrown right back into the Hedge if we didn’t. Personally, I was willing to do just about anything to get out of this crazy place and get home at my first opportunity. So I swore fealty to Amberleigh, as did all the others. She explained that we were fighting Scathac, a demonic Fae lady who was a warmonger. Scathac was apparently our intended Keeper, and Amberleigh’s own Keeper who she’d escaped from. At one point, the other woman in the back attempted to say something, but Amberleigh quickly hushed her.

After we were dismissed, Cassi explained a few more things to us. One of the things she mentioned that really freaked us all out (at the time, anyway) was that there was a possibility of us still changing into changelings due to Arcadia’s magic. We were not happy about that in the slightest, especially once we found out that Amberleigh had forced all the other changelings into a pledge to serve in her army until the fae were defeated. This apparently had been going on for a terribly long time and none of them had managed to go home; they weren’t allowed to go home after joining Amberleigh’s army. Not until the war was over. Cassi seemed pretty determined to explain how this was different from what their fae masters were making them do, but… I’ll be honest, it wasn’t that easy to see the differences. I’m sure to them it was a lot clearer.

Cassi also told us about fetches: things left in the place of changelings that take their place and live their lives. Both Yova and Bella remembered seeing something like that as they were taken. It turns out that Belle, the redheaded woman in Amberleigh’s tent, was Amberleigh’s fetch: Amberleigh had made it home, saw Belle having dinner with her family, and grabbed her, taking her back through the Hedge, apparently as some sort of trophy. Creepy. As one final question, Cassi asked us what year it was when we were taken. When I told her it was 2018, she got a very sad look in her eyes and said that it had been twelve years since she’d been home. The whole conversation left me with a weird feeling in my stomach.

After that, Cassi took us to see Adrian, who was at least conscious and looked a little better. He wanted to make sure we were okay and we told him about how we’d been pressed into service for the upcoming battle. Like Cassi, he seemed to think we were getting a pretty good deal – we only had to help for one battle and then we’d get to go home. He also was the first one to tell us that life in Arcadia wasn’t all bad, that there were places of incomprehensible beauty along with the horror, and he said he hoped we’d at least get to see that before we left. It was a nice thought, especially since after this he told us that everyone in the army was going to hate us, but nobody was going to hurt us.

And with that, we decided to go leave and find the mess hall. We ended up getting to work doing various and sundry duties around camp to earn our keep. There’s not much to say about that, so I think I’ll cut it here and next time pick up when things got interesting again. See you then, and until next time, may your willies always be the wettest.

[the-operated]

Striving For Normal

Drabble incoming!

You can’t just tell a kid he’s crazy.   But even if you don’t tell them, they know. They can tell, by how you look at them. That look of pity in your eyes.

I tried to go to school eventually. After I was out of the hospital. I got into a lot of trouble for being late to class. I’d get this feeling in my chest and run to the bathroom. I hid, not like teenagers approach someone who’s crying. Not in highschool, not in the men’s bathroom.    Not that I wanted to be found. I desperately, DESPERATELY wished to come off as normal. Maybe if I said it enough I’d believe it and I’d just become normal.

     I sort of did, too. I managed to believe myself after a while. I still broke down though, and I hated myself every time. I’d hit myself a lot, or bang my head on a wall, anything. Trying to beat it out of my skull. The voices and visions they could medicate. Depression was a little different. I ‘got better’ in the hospital and got out so I could be out. I was fine with taking meds for the voices, they were terrifying.   That’s all I can ever remember about the voices.            Never really remember what they said to me. I remember lots of yelling.

  School was hell but isn’t that normal? Probably the most normal thing I went through I guess.

   Graduated high school. What the hell do I want to do with my life? I was always fair on the drums, took lessons for a little while. I decided to try and make music. Took acting as a minor because why not cash in on my ability to lie to people by smiling?

    I managed to get a fast food job, something simple. Took me a long while, but I was able to get a dorm room with someone. That’s how I met Brian. He was that kind of cool extrovert that all introverts in high school wished to be. He didn’t really ask questions.      Though since I have seizures I was kind of inclined to tell him. Just in case.

  He helped me through a few seizures, but definitely not all of them. Probably a good 2% of them. My medication helps with the convulsions, it doesn’t exactly prevent them.     Makes it a little less hellish I guess.           I don’t have a whole lot of memory when it comes to seizures. Thankfully I didn’t have any influx of them during College or anything. At first anyway..

My seizures generally end with me being really out of it. Like REALLY EXTREMELY out of it. Memory loss, paralysis, headaches.    Headaches I get randomly, pretty much every day. It’s how I tell if I’ve taken my meds or not, generally. Aside from coughing and seizures. Headaches though? They just.. Appear. Especially if I’m stressed or my mental state gets screwed. If I have a psychotic break I’m going to have a headache for some time.

Eventually Brian and I found Alex. I’d heard of him in passing for a while, something about auditions for something. We stopped at the auditions one day and I got roped into it.   Why not. Marble Hornets.

Marble Hornets was a shitfest.     Bad writing,     Kind of awful filming     Even for a student film it was.. Really bad.

Keep in mind that at this point I’d found medication for my other issues as well. Namely my anxiety.

    Then out of nowhere? I wake up in my car feeling sick. My left arm can barely move, everything is shaky and blurry. I finally get some movement and I feel my head because the headache is worse than normal this time.   Look at my hand and of course there’s blood.           Because I apparently can’t have nice things.

     I get myself the hell to a hospital because I’ve dealt with doctors before. My memory is generally fairly fuzzy even after blackouts, but I do remember the hospital. I had a concussion, had to stay overnight.   Now a good time to mention that I really hate hospitals?        They just smell wrong.

   Anyway, I went back to school. I don’t really know how long I was gone. Got reprimanded at my job and by my teachers, but I was.. Okay.

    Alex was always shitty to work with but it just kept getting worse, and then he just.. Dropped it. Brian and I didn’t really see him much anymore. We were too focused. I’d gotten an apartment, a better job. I was getting better after that little relapse.

  Then Jay shows up. Asks me a few questions about starting up Marble Hornets again. Told him what I knew, read from a script or something. Thought it was weird but I moved on with my damn life. I forgot about it easily.       Forgot about redoing the stupid movie.

   Then, years later? I start blacking out again. Frequently. Randomly.  No idea why. Talked to my doctor about it, talked to a therapist. I spent hours at home crying, trying to figure out why this is happening me. Why.       I moved meds again, started taking a slightly heavier dose too.   It helped until it started going missing.

Something really awful happened.      I blacked out apparently for weeks.

I woke up.     In some random fucking building in the woods.            With my leg SMASHED. I remember waking up in pain, looking down at my leg. I remember trying to stand, then I blacked out again.    I don’t know what happened.       When I woke up again I was in a hospital, being questioned by doctors as to how my leg got smashed and why I didn’t come sooner.    I pretty much ignored their questions. I kind of ran. Well, figuratively.

I got away from it all, for a while.

Then guess what...

     Jay, holding his camera, approaching me in front of the building I see my therapist in. Talking about Marble Hornets again. Thought it was weird, but I indulged him. Got him the tapes I had left over. They were in my freaking attic for whatever reason. Why he was wasting his time on Marble Hornets I have no idea, but I didn’t care.       I didn’t care until he asked me to go back to that hospital.

I’m too good at lying. I’m too good at not letting on that I’m not okay.

    I said fine. I took him there. I got that awful feeling in my stomach, my leg kept hurting too. I get ghost pains a lot in that leg. It never really healed right considering I left the hospital early.   Before I knew it we were chasing some random guy through the abandoned buildings.

I left because NO.      No I’m not doing this again.              I’m not risking another fucking relapse. But I wanted to know what the hell was going on.

     So eventually I gave in, looked up Marble Hornets. There was a youtube channel.

         Suddenly it all made sense, and not in a good way.    I’ll admit. I cried a lot. I can’t tell if they were good tears or what.       I felt a little relieved, knowing at least what had happened to me.

       I was angry. Why the hell didn’t Jay just tell me? Why didn’t he leave me the hell alone?!                             I was getting better. I was okay. I was normal. Finally.

He wanted to know more. He wouldn’t stop.      Wanted me to call him. So I did. Set up a meeting.    Clocked him across the jaw.

     I shouted at him for a good while about staying the HELL out of my life, talked about how he’s probably the reason I was relapsing again. Yelled for a good long while. Glad I knocked the stupid camera out of his hand too because I was angry to the point of tears. Not a fan of crying in front of people. Guess it doesn’t matter now.

I told him to stay the hell away from me, and I went home.

    Wouldn’t it be great if it ended there?

No. No it got worse.

   I started to have more panic attacks. Called my doctor in the middle of the night, apparently. I couldn’t get to my meds in time. Had a seizure, broke down, blacked out.

     Woke up outside of some random cabin in the woods, Jay approaching me as I finally get movement back in my limbs.   At that point it became painfully obvious that I wasn’t getting out of this. This is my life now.      Great.

We went our separate ways. Went back to my job, I was lucky I wasn’t fired really...      Either way, got back in touch with him and started to plan. Or trying to plan.

  The idiot had found a file with my personal medical history inside and decided “Hey maybe I should post this to the fucking internet” Because of course he did.    Kind of growled at him about that...

But lingering on it wouldn’t help much so instead, we planned. on going back to Rosswood. Because of course.

       We went back, he walked me through some stuff that happened which was surprisingly therapeutic for me. It’s nice to know things you forgot doing.   Unfortunately it didn’t last long at all.

I blacked out again and let me tell you, rewatching the tape from the chest mounted camera is still something that haunts my nightmares.    Just.. The screaming..                      I almost drowned..       I found some guy. His head was barely even there, it was disgusting. Terrifying.

I took him back to the hospital. I had to tell him.

    What if it’s all my fault? God I hate myself.. What if I’m the one that caused all of this? This thought continuously haunts me. To this day it’s sitting in the back of my mind. Fueling breakdowns and self harm..   It’s not healthy.

I told him everything. Sad backstory time..     Told him about living in the hospital as a kid.         I’d always run to Rosswood Park.

  I fucking hate Rosswood Park.

Something sort of productive came out of it though, found another tape. I was incredibly frustrated though, because that hooded asshole showed up. The one that snuck in and filmed me having a seizure.    I really wanted to punch that guy...

We go out to the park again and that’s when Jay started. Well, that’s when I noticed. Maybe if I’d noticed sooner.

     He was starting to hallucinate. I couldn’t see it at first but god I wish I had. I could have helped him I could have convinced him to start on the medication. It’d been sort of helping me through all this. Helped me not black out. Long as I didn’t run out.

      We found tapes in the woods with some weird stuff on them. Decided to go back to Alex’s old house.

    My memory’s pretty shaky on this particular event, but I remember Jay. I remember that he had a seizure and I didn’t. I remember staring at that t h i n g. It didn’t have a face but it was staring at me.        I swear I see it in my window sometimes. If I haven’t taken my meds..

I helped him through it.. I kind of have some experience with this sort of thing, so I knew what to do.

   After a seizure, with me at least, once I’ve calmed down I get sort of.. Weird. Like my mind is in limbo but I sort of follow commands? If you told me to do something I would try. Might take me a bit but I’ll try.       Apparently it’s the same for Jay. Or this Operator thing gives everyone the same kinds of seizure. Or only targets people with certain mental illnesses. I don’t give a shit at this point.

I made sure he ate, hydrated, all the healthy stuff, but he wasn’t coming back to me. For a few days he was in that dissociation limbo. So I decided to give him some of my meds.

     It worked but he got mad when I mentioned the medication. His paranoia was getting worse and I guess I was too late to stop it by then. I’d found a tape of the hooded man in my house. Stealing my meds again.   Alex was there, so that was the plan then.

  I managed to get Jay a doctor’s appointment, kind of. I got him to the place, who knows what he actually told them. Paranoia does shit to your brain, you’re afraid of everyone. Thinking they might hurt you. He might have lied to them and said things were fine.

Went back to my house, got some extra medication from a stash. Sometimes Paranoia pays off.

    Found a picture of Amy with an address on the back and the message “I have him” which is some cryptic bullshit if you ask me. Who wrote it of the two? Was it Alex? Was it the hooded guy? God it annoys me.

   There was.. a tape in my house.. I’d hidden it.... I knew Jay’s paranoia was starting to get out of hand. My plan was to show it to him after he saw the doctor, but he found out about it before I could get him to see one.      It wasn’t me.            I’m not him. I’m not that masked creep. It’s not me...

But he thought it was.

        Masky.. Carrying Jessica out of that motel... Didn’t try to hurt her.. But what did he care.

He came to my house and tried to fucking stab me. He’s such a weak fighter... I tried to help him.   I wanted to help him.        I could have helped him, but he.. He saw me as a liar.

Makes sense that he’d blame me for Jessica disappearing. It showed Masky on that tape.. Me.. Masky.. I...

        Even if I had known where Jessica was there is no way I’d tell him. Not in his state, not in my state. We were both too far into it at that point.                  I was not going to drag her back into this hell like Jay did to me.

I tied him up and left him there. I knew I’d be back soon enough that he wouldn’t die of starvation or anything, but that damn hooded guy.    Fucking gave him a knife.

Meanwhile I was investigating that address...

                             Everything just.. Went further into hell.                Jay.. He... He followed me..      I wanted to help.

                       I wanted to be okay.

Is it selfish of me to want to be okay? To want to be normal?      Is it selfish to want to not hate myself all the time? I wanted to help them, but I also knew that if I didn’t help myself then I wouldn’t be able to help them.

    Jay got himself shot by Alex...

Disappeared..

                          I just found the camera and the tape inside.

Why did I leave him.     Why couldn’t I help him.

    I found Jay’s stuff in his car, went through some files. Found tapes of him at that cabin we both woke up in. He called me saying he didn’t blame me for Jessica’s disappearence. I guessed it was just before he came and attacked me. Something happened that changed his mindset from friendly to deadly.

     Posted the damn videos.

Went back to that place. Benedict hall. Jay had been watching for me there, waiting for me. Not even sure why..     I thought I’d found him but I found that hooded guy..

    I remember the phrase ‘YOUR FAULT’ being everywhere. Everywhere I ran it was somewhere. I remember running. I remember being so out of breath.. Suddenly it was night, suddenly all these different locations.                          There was so much running.  It’s all so blurry. God that’s annoying.

   I remember falling.. Got up, fell again into a room.. Jay was there... He was dead, holding his side. Not breathing. There were papers everywhere.

I remember chasing after the hooded guy more. We were back at Benedict Hall. He tried to climb out of a window. I grabbed.. Something. I don’t know.. I was going to hit him with it or something, threaten, intimidate.. I don’t know.          He’d fallen out of the window. Down a few floors.

      I ran down, got my meds. I’m... Probably addicted at this point.

He was dead... I found a tape on his body, and tried to unmask him. I couldn’t really get close though, that fucking t h i n g was there. I blacked out and woke up in a field....

So much for relapses.

He was dead. Jay was dead. The chest mounted camera was dead. I had to finish this, but I was so tired..

       I waited for Alex to come find me. I was sure he’d be watching me. Made sure he wasn’t already in my house, kept looking out my window like some paranoid...     Whatever... I am some paranoid guy..

I finally came up with a bit of an idea. I ‘left’ the house, made him think I wasn’t there or something.

          I don’t know what I expected the asshole to do.

                                  He fucking burned my house down.

The bitch.      Burned my house down. Told me that if I didn’t do the right thing and burn to death.. In my own house... To come and find him at Benedict hall.

         Didn’t have anything left to live for, really...      I was.. Way too ready to die that day, honestly. I went to Benedict hall. I may have been ready to die but I’d go down fighting, brought Jay’s poor tiny fucking knife. Whatever...

                                I tried to offer Alex help. After everything he’d done.

This man, mind you, this man killed several people. Some poor guy that wasn’t even attached to all this. He was just.. There at the wrong time. God.. Sometimes I get flashes from one of my blackouts. I found the guy’s body..

    But I still wanted to help him. I’d lived with these illnesses for my whole life. Maybe I could help.

But he attacked me.

                                  I don’t want to talk about the fight..

He’s dead.

   I found Jessica.

         I got her a good doctor. Medication. Made sure she was okay.

Threw away. That damn. Mask.

                Watched the tape I found on the hooded one....

Me and Brian... Our auditions for Marble Fucking Hornets....

I miss him.

    Guess he was the guy in the hood.

I..... I was going to hit him when he was climbing out of the window. I was so angry.     He wasn’t even Brian anymore though, right?

I’m done...

           I’m going away somewhere. Somewhere quiet, hopefully.

                                                 I’m so tired.

                                          But everything is fine.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Early Concerns; Updates on Jones and Pettersson; Game Recaps – October 23

  We have a few lineup and injury notes to get through so let’s start there.

Seth Jones should be in the lineup for Columbus on Tuesday. He skated in a full practice (again) on Monday and coach John Tortorella said after practice he’s likely to return for the team’s home game against Arizona.

Where Jones slots with the power play is uncertain. The beat writers that I saw intimated that he was practicing with the PP units, but not which specific PP units.

Which PP unit is important if only for ice time. While the forward mix has changed since the start of the season, it’s still Artemi Panarin earning 4:30 of PP ice time per game. That’s over a minute more than other regular forwards. An extra minute per game for 75(ish) games could be 6-7 PPPs. I guess we’ll know for sure once Columbus takes the ice for their game.

*

Cody Ceci looks ready to return to the lineup after skating with the team on Monday. He said after practice that the official decision would come sometime Tuesday, but it should be sooner rather than later.

With the production from Max Lajoie and the superlative play of Thomas Chabot, not to mention good days from Chris Wideman, Ceci may never see the power play. On the other hand, he’s not drafted in fantasy leagues for point production anyway. All this does is limit his upside. As long as the even strength and PK minutes are there, so too will his peripherals.

*

The Kings have sent rookie Jaret Anderson-Dolan to the AHL. The second-round pick from 2017 had one assist and six shots in five games.

Los Angeles needs their young players to pan out soon because their depth is horrid. All the same, this is likely the right move. He had his chance playing higher in the lineup and nothing materialized. Let him go get some big minutes in the minors and try again next year.

*

Boo Nieves was skating in a non-contact jersey with his teammates on Monday. He looks close to returning after suffering a concussion a month ago.

Not that there’s much fantasy relevance here immediately but he could take the spot of a Rangers forward who is fantasy relevant right now. Keep an eye out for line combinations.

*

It appears as though Elias Pettersson could be back very soon for the Canucks. He took part in the game-day skate on Monday and is expected to talk to the media on Tuesday. That’s a very good sign for him, his team, and fantasy owners. And just fans of hockey in general; the game is at its best when its young stars are flourishing.

*

The Coyotes should have Alex Galchenyuk back very soon, maybe as early as Tuesday, as he skated on the top line with Clayton Keller in practice on Monday and the coach said he is a game-time decision. Lawson Crouse was on the left wing.

This is big news for Arizona. It’s no secret the team has had trouble scoring in the early going and that’s definitely an area where Galchenyuk can help. It’ll be fun to watch he and Keller develop chemistry.

*

Sometimes, the puck just doesn’t want to seem to settle for you. The Philadelphia Flyers had their chances in a home matchup with Colorado, but mostly couldn’t finish. Nolan Patrick redirected one shot past Semyon Varlamov but the Avalanche netminder stopped 37 others in Colorado’s 4-1 win.

Naturally, it was Colorado’s top line that did nearly all the damage. Mikko Rantanen had two goals, Gabriel Landeskog had another, and Matt Nieto scored the fourth.

Jakub Voracek once again skated on the second line and assisted on Patrick’s goal. Voracek now has 12 points in 9 games this season.

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The Red Wings got dragged up and down the ice by Carolina in their home game Monday. At one point in the first period, the shots were 13-0 Hurricanes and they were 36-12 after the second. Thankfully, Carolina slowed down in the third period. Unlike previous iterations of the Hurricanes, this team managed to score and win 3-1.

Ironically, after the team managed just two power play goals in their first eight games, their first two goals in this contest came with the man advantage. The first from Justin Faulk and the second from Micheal Ferland (look for a bit on Ferland in Cam Metz’s Eastern Edge posted Tuesday morning). Andreas Athanasiou replied for the Wings while Jordan Martinook put away the empty netter.

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Those hoping this would be the year for Jack Roslovic’s breakout, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news:

Jets fourth line icetime at 5v5 through 40 minutes: Perreault: 3:00 Roslovic: 2:01 Lemieux: 1:52

Perreault has 2:20 on the power play as well but, on a night where the top two lines aren't going, I'd argue Winnipeg's depth could help more.

— Murat Ates (@WPGMurat) October 23, 2018

The rest of the games will be updated in the morning.

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Last week in these Ramblings I covered a few early stats that fantasy owners should keep an eye on, specifically focusing on line stats and individual shot rates. Again, this is still very early in the NHL season. For evaluation purposes, I don’t touch my fantasy rosters until October, with exceptions being injury or demotion. It’s a delicate balance in fantasy leagues; owners need to wait until we have a decent sample to work with before making decisions, but wait too long and someone else in your fantasy league will get the first bite at the apple. In general, I favour aggressiveness over passivity, but I would wait until we have a few more games of data to work with for each team.

Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, I had to make a decision today, whether on a team or a specific player. Maybe I had a waiver move to make or a trade offer to consider. Maybe there’s a close race developing at the top of my league and aggressive moves need to be made to separate myself.

Regardless the reason, there are some emerging storylines that, at the very least, should be monitored. Here are some that stick out for me. Data via Corsica as of Monday afternoon. 

  There’s something wrong with the Jets

The line of Kyle Connor, Mark Scheifele, and Blake Wheeler has been absolutely torched by the opposition to start the season. In nearly 110 minutes together, the trio has controlled 45.9 percent of the adjusted shot share at five on five, their expected goal share is under 43 percent, and their actual goal share is abysmal. That last part doesn’t matter too much for evaluation purposes but the first two points sure do.

This is a deviation from last year. The line was over 52 percent and 54 percent, respectively, in those first two categories in 2017-18. For fantasy purposes, having such a poor shot share is not in and of itself a significant issue. There are players from bad teams or skating on bad lines aren’t automatically disqualified from fantasy relevance; just think of the Tavares or Eichel line from last year. The problem for Connor-Wheeler-Scheifele is they are generating absolutely no offence, clocking in at 45.1 shot attempts per 60 minutes. Among the top-12 most-used lines in the NHL this year, they’re last in this regard, and a distant last at that as no other team is below 50 shot attempts per 60 minutes.

It’s not as if they’ve had a brutal schedule to start the year, either. Their eight games have been in STL, in DAL, vs. LAK, at NSH, vs. CAR, vs. EDM, vs. VAN, and vs. ARI. It’s possible we see one playoff team emerge from that group, and the Jets are basically mid-pack in adjusted shot share, coming in below 50 percent as a team.

If the Winnipeg top line can fix their woes, this team can turn around things in a hurry. But it’s been a brutal start to their year for the top line, even if Connor has seven points to lead the way. Fantasy owners need to decide whether this start portends things to come or is just a 100-minute blip, because now would be the time to either trade them away or trade for them, depending on your view.

  The Ducks are terrible

Injuries played a factor early in the Anaheim season undoubtedly. They lost Corey Perry, Ondrej Kase, and Ryan Getzlaf early on. They recently got Getzlaf back but lost Jakob Silfverberg. I was thinking to myself, “ok things are bad, but once Getzlaf is back, they’ll start to turn things around.”

Not quite.

They got Getzlaf back on the weekend and got absolutely thrashed by the Golden Knights on Saturday. The score was just 3-1 but Anaheim’s shot share came in just over 42 percent at five on five in that game. Not to mention that Vegas has their own significant injuries and suspensions they’re dealing with.

Sunday wasn’t much better as the Ducks lost 4-2 to Buffalo and the Sabres scorched them to the tune of a shot share over 60 percent. So yes, they got Getzlaf back, and then they got dominated on the road to a team missing Paul Stastny and Nate Schmidt, then got dominated at home by the Sabres, at best a middle-of-the-road team.

Sure, they’ll be a bit better once they get their wingers back but adding a couple second-line wingers won’t turn a 40 percent shot share team into a 50 percent shot share team. John Gibson owners will need him to play out of his mind in order to put up respectable win and goals against totals.

  Tampa Bay lines will be an issue

We’ve already seen it so far this year: JT Miller has been moved to the fourth line, Brayden Point is skating with Steven Stamkos, the Triplets line has been reunited, and Yanni Gourde is skating top line minutes. We’ve also seen Alex Killorn take the top PP spot away from Point. All this and we’re still over a week away from Halloween.

A lot of fantasy owners like to draft pairs or entire lines. This can work out very well if a line stays together most of the year. Many people probably targeted JT Miller to pair with Stamkos or Kucherov for this exact purpose. The power play correlation is still there, at least. For now, anyway.

This is a team facing significant pressure. It’s a team built for a Stanley Cup. Not a playoff appearance, not win a round. It’s Stanley Cup or bust. As we’ve seen already, if the smallest thing starts to go wrong, we will see changes, some of them being significant. I wager we’ll see this all year long.

  What do you fantasy owners and readers say? Are these situations where you agree or disagree? Even though it’s still very early in the season, what situations are raising a concern for you? Let us know in the comments.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-early-concerns-updates-on-jones-and-pettersson-game-recaps-october-23/