#he routinely doesn’t go to the doctor when he should and refuses to get treatment for things to the detriment of himself and others

[sxcretricciardo]

out of breath

You’re in the middle of rehearsals, the music pulsating through the studio. The choreography is demanding, but you thrive on the challenge. You glide across the floor, your voice rising and falling with the melody. It's a perfect blend of movement and song, and you feel completely in your element.

Suddenly, you feel a tightening in your chest. You try to shake it off, focusing on the next step, but the constriction grows. Your breaths become shallow, and panic sets in as you realize you’re having an asthma attack.

You stagger to the side, gasping for air. The room starts to blur, and you hear the concerned voices of your dance crew calling out for help.

Just then, Daniel bursts through the door. He had come to surprise you, but his joy turns to alarm when he sees you struggling to breathe. Without a second thought, he rushes to your side, cradling your face gently.

“Breathe, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice steady but laced with worry. He helps you find your inhaler and holds it as you take a few puffs, but your breathing doesn’t ease up.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” he says firmly, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to his car. The drive is a blur, Daniel’s hand never leaving yours, his thumb soothingly stroking your skin.

At the hospital, the emergency room is a whirlwind of activity. Doctors and nurses swarm around you, hooking you up to monitors, checking your vitals, and administering medication. Daniel stands by your side, his eyes never leaving your face. He grips your hand tightly, his worry etched into every line of his face.

“Just keep breathing, love,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”

Time seems to stretch endlessly as the medical team works to stabilize your breathing. The doctors explain the treatment plan to Daniel, who listens intently, asking questions and making sure he understands every detail.

After what feels like an eternity, your breathing finally begins to ease. The tightness in your chest loosens, and you can take deeper breaths. The doctor smiles reassuringly.

“She’s responding well to the treatment. We’ll keep her here for a while to monitor her, but she should be fine.”

Daniel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you, doctor,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

As the nurses finish up, Daniel sits beside your bed, holding your hand. “You gave me quite a scare there,” he says softly, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the ordeal.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Just focus on getting better.”

He stays with you through the night, refusing to leave your side. He dozes fitfully in the chair next to your bed, waking up every so often to check on you. Each time you open your eyes, he’s there, his presence a constant source of comfort.

In the morning, the doctor gives you the all-clear to go home, with strict instructions to take it easy and avoid strenuous activity for a while. Daniel thanks the medical team profusely before helping you to the car.

When you arrive home, he’s determined to make sure you’re comfortable. He tucks you into bed and brings you a cup of tea, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re going to be alright,” he reassures you. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Later, he sits beside you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, I’ve been working on some new dance moves. Wanna see?” He stands up and begins to perform an exaggerated, clumsy dance routine, complete with silly faces and over-the-top gestures.

You can’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your body. “You’re ridiculous,” you giggle.

“But I made you smile,” he says, sitting back down and wrapping an arm around you. “And that’s all that matters.”

As the day turns into evening, Daniel continues his mission to keep your spirits high. He brings out a stack of your favorite movies, orders takeout from the restaurant you both love, and tells you stories from the racetrack, each one more outrageous than the last.

By the time night falls, you’re feeling more like yourself again. You curl up against him, exhaustion pulling at you but comforted by his presence.

“Thank you,” you say softly, looking up at him.

He kisses your forehead. “Anytime, love. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Next time, let’s aim for a drama-free rehearsal, okay?”

You laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

With Daniel by your side, you know you can face anything. And as you drift off to sleep, his arms wrapped securely around you, you feel nothing but safe and loved.

•

The next morning, Daniel insists on making breakfast. He’s not the greatest cook, but his enthusiasm makes up for it. You sit at the kitchen table, watching him struggle with pancakes, batter splattering everywhere.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” you ask, amused.

“I’ve got this,” he declares, flipping a pancake that lands perfectly in the pan. He grins triumphantly, and you can’t help but laugh.

When breakfast is finally ready, it’s a bit of a mess—pancakes slightly burnt, eggs a little too runny—but it’s the thought that counts. You eat together, savoring the moment.

After breakfast, Daniel suggests a walk in the park. The fresh air and gentle exercise might do you good, he reasons. You agree, and soon you’re strolling hand-in-hand through the leafy paths, the sunlight filtering through the trees.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, glancing at you with concern.

“Better,” you assure him. “Much better.”

He stops and pulls you into a hug. “Good. Because you really scared me yesterday.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just... promise me you’ll take it easy for a while, okay?”

“Promise.”

You spend the afternoon lounging on the couch, watching movies and playing board games. Daniel does everything he can to make you laugh, from his terrible impressions to his attempts at singing your songs. It’s impossible to feel down with him around.

In the evening, he surprises you with a bubble bath. He lights candles around the bathroom and fills the tub with warm water and your favorite scented bubbles.

“Your royal highness, your bath awaits,” he says with a mock bow.

You laugh and give him a peck on the cheek before sinking into the tub. The warm water and soothing scent help to relax the last of your tension. Daniel sits on the edge, chatting with you, making sure you’re comfortable.

Later, as you’re getting ready for bed, he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

“More than okay,” you reply, leaning back against him.

“Good.” He turns you around and kisses you gently. “Let’s get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“We do?”

“Yep. I’m taking you somewhere special.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see,” he says with a wink.

Curiosity piqued, you snuggle into bed, Daniel’s arms wrapping around you. As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for his unwavering support and love.

The next day, true to his word, Daniel takes you to a surprise destination—a secluded cabin in the mountains. It’s a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle, just the two of you surrounded by nature’s tranquility.

You spend the day hiking, exploring the woods, and enjoying each other’s company. At night, you sit by the fireplace, wrapped in a cozy blanket, sharing stories and dreams.

“Thank you for this,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Anything for you,” he replies, kissing the top of your head.

As you gaze into the crackling fire, you realize that no matter what challenges come your way, with Daniel by your side, you can face anything. And in this moment, you feel nothing but pure, unadulterated happiness.

[yay-depression]

my dad just sent me an article on the like over-prescription of psychotropic medicine and i’m gonna fucking scream, maybe at him, we’ll see

[heliads]

Patch Me Up

Thomas can’t help but set his heart on the prettiest Med-Jack in the Glade, Y/N L/N. The only problem is that Thomas is fairly sure that she’s way out of his league.

masterlist

The first time Thomas winds up in the med-jack clinic, he’s kind of embarrassed about it.

It wasn’t like he really meant to injure himself, anyway. It just so happened that he was really behind on clearing the weeds from whatever woebegotten section of the gardens the track hoes had allowed him to use, and Newt and Zart had stepped away for the time being, so Thomas got the bright idea to grab a longer blade from their casual resting place in the grass and try to lop all of the vines down before his friends saw. It was a great idea, of course, until his shins happened to be in the way.

Now Thomas is standing in the middle of his garden plot, blood leaking down into the soil, and all he can think about is the fact that he has no idea where to go from here. The vines have all been savagely cut away, which is perfect for him, but it’s too late to hide the bloodstain on the blade or the smear of red on his leg. He doesn’t really know what he expects Newt to say when he finds out, but he definitely doesn’t expect the blond boy to start laughing.

“Jeez, Greenie, you really are a klutz. First you trip while running to the Maze when you’re not even five minutes out of the Box, then you manage to stab yourself while gardening. How do you do it?” Thomas glares at his friend, who’s almost doubled over laughing now. “It’s not like it happened on purpose. Besides, I didn’t stab myself, it’s just a scratch.” Newt attempts to control himself. “Right, I’m sure about that. Not sure why you would go around slicing yourself, but I’m not about to question you. Come on, then, you’ll have to get the med-jacks to see to that.”

Thomas frowns, but follows Newt as the blond second in command starts to lead him away from the gardens and back towards the buildings of the Homestead and the center of the Glade. “The med-jacks?” Newt nods. “They’re what passes for doctors around here. They’ll fix you up with some bandages and antibiotics and you’ll be good to go, so long as you don’t stab yourself when trying to pick the tomatoes.” Newt was expecting Thomas’ attempt to hit him and dodges easily, which is unfortunate.

Eventually, Newt and Thomas enter a door into a structure that’s less a building and more just a hut. A roof is propped up on logs and twigs and whatever else the Builders could find, and Thomas can see rows of beds and tins of medical supplies lying around. It’s a mess, that’s for sure, but what isn’t in the Glade? Thomas has to hurry over to Newt, who’s already disappearing around a corner. 

When Thomas catches up with Newt again, he’s surprised to see the blond boy talking to someone, a bright smile on his face. Newt, upon seeing Thomas approach, beckons for him to come over. “This is Thomas, by the way. Thomas, this is Y/N. She’s the one who patches most of us up around here.” 

All of a sudden, Thomas feels like he’s been caught in the middle of a sunspot. There’s a girl in front of him now, a beautiful girl that makes Thomas wonder how on Earth he hasn’t seen her around before. He’s sure that he would remember her- even now, he’s doing his best to carefully memorize every detail of her face and hands and smile so he can cherish the memory for the days to come. She’s gorgeous, that much is certain, and she’s looking at him with so much happiness over just him that Thomas wants to grin stupidly.

However, he can’t just stand here gaping like an idiot, so he closes his mouth and manages a nod in greeting. Newt, watching with a raised eyebrow, seems to be enjoying this. “Don’t get too infatuated, Greenie. Y/N’s used to all of us and so she won’t ever go out with any of us. That’s just how it is.” Y/N laughs. “Maybe I’m just sick of the rest of you coming in here all the time to bother me.” Newt shrugs. “That too.”

They talk for a few moments, then Y/N claps her hands together, almost startling Thomas. “Right, Greenie, what’s your problem? I mean, what happened that would bring you to the med-jack hut?” Newt grins first at Thomas, then at Y/N. “I’m going to let you explain that one, greenbean. I’ll meet you back in the gardens.” With that, and a parting wave, Thomas is left alone with the closest thing to an angel he’s ever found in his life.

He doesn’t have time to sit and think about this, though. Y/N’s still regarding him expectantly, and Thomas can feel his cheeks start to heat up at the ridiculousness of his injury. Of course, the first time he meets a girl like Y/N he has to do it by the stupidest of means. Thomas gestures roughly towards his leg. “I, uh, accidentally cut myself.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “While in the gardens?” Thomas nods. “While in the gardens.” 

He half expects her to laugh at him like Newt had, but instead she shrugs and reaches for a roll of bandages and some ointment. “Not the worst injury I’ve seen, or the worst story. You should have seen the things Newt used to come in here for. I think he once twisted an ankle when he was walking too close to a tree and forgot to move out of the way.” Thomas almost snorts. “He what?” Y/N looks up at him, halfway through treating his cut. There’s a laugh dancing behind her eyes that makes Thomas’ smile widen in spite of itself.

“Yeah, he tripped over a tree. We all thought it was hilarious and wouldn’t stop teasing him about it for weeks. Ask him and he’ll deny it, of course, but it happened nonetheless.” Thomas’ cheeks almost hurt from smiling this much. “Is that why he limps all the time? He hurt himself doing something like that?” All of a sudden, Y/N’s smile slips away from her. There’s a look in her eyes that tells Thomas that something happens, something bad that she can’t seem to shake. “No, not that.”

She stands up now, pressing a roll of bandages into his hands. “Here, that should hold for a while. Change your bandages before you go to bed, you don’t need me for that. It’s a shallow cut, so you’ll be fine.” Thomas wants to curse himself. Why’d he have to bring that up and make her feel so bad? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Y/N forces a smile, which is almost as bad to see as if she’d just started glaring at him. “No, it’s fine. You should probably go back to the gardens, though. I think Newt is waiting.”

Before he knows it, Thomas is standing outside the med-jack hut, staring at the door closed right in front of him. For a moment, all he can do is just stay there and think about what just happened. Thomas thought that whatever had happened to Newt was old, an injury that happened a while ago. Judging by Y/N’s reaction, though, it’s still fresh in her mind, and now he’s gone and reminded her of it. What does he do about that?

The second time Thomas finds himself in the med-jack hut, he does his best to avoid it.

It wasn’t like this injury was all that bad. Still embarrassing, still ended up with blood on his hands, but he didn’t need to go to the med-jacks, he’d be fine. That’s what Thomas tried to tell Minho, anyway, but his friend wouldn’t listen. “If you end up getting that cut infected, it’ll be a lot worse and Y/N will kill us all. Just go, you’ll be in and out in ten seconds and it’ll be fine.” Thomas tries his best to protest and come up with excuses to stay away from the flimsy hospital room, but in the end, Minho won’t take no for an answer, practically dragging him towards the hut anyway.

It’s not like Thomas has a particular aversion to getting medical treatment, it’s just that he’s afraid to see the girl there waiting for him. Ever since that day, when he’d mistakenly brought up Newt’s injury, Thomas can’t help but feel guilty. He can’t figure out quite what it was that would make Y/N’s seemingly ever-bright eyes darken like an approaching storm, but it was definitely something he’d said. He’s not sure that Y/N will really want to talk to him, as she’d more than given that impression by shooing him out of her workplace, so he’s done his best to avoid the med-jack hut.

However, he can’t exactly tell all this to Minho, so all Thomas can do is try his best to argue his friend out of a trip to the hut. Minho refuses, of course, and Thomas finds himself waiting in the med-jack hut a few minutes later, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. He sends up a silent prayer to whoever is listening that he’ll get Clint or Jeff, but when he hears someone say his name in a surprised voice, he recognizes it as Y/N and Y/N alone.

She walks over to them, holding a thermometer from where she’d been organizing a box of supplies recently arrived from the Box. “What’s up, you guys?” Minho jerks his thumb towards Thomas with a grimace. “This shank went and cut himself on the walls of the Maze while we were out running. He tripped and caught himself, but his shoulder bit it. It was kind of funny, actually.” Y/N playfully swats Minho while she walks by. “No making fun of injuries, Minho. We’ve talked about this. I’m the only one who gets to do that.”

Now she’s standing in front of Thomas, grimacing in sympathy at the small bloodstain over his shoulder blade. “You’ll need to clean that up pretty soon. Minho, you go ahead to the Map Room. I’ll take care of Thomas.” Minho flashes her a thumbs up, already starting to jog out of the room. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” Y/N grins as she watches him go, then turns back to Thomas, who’s still standing there with apprehension rising in his chest. What is he supposed to say now? Sorry I brought up what might have been a traumatic incident in your past, I didn’t know and kind of felt loopy whenever you smiled at me? Yeah, that wouldn’t really work out too well.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to think at all. She’s already conjuring up a fresh grin for him, an inquisitive expression on her face. “You know, usually whenever Greenies show up, they go through the same routine of showing up here with fake injuries just to see the one girl in the Glade, but seeing as Minho had to physically drag you here, I don’t think that’s the case. Bandages again?” Thomas manages to nod. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Y/N’s already spinning back across the room to grab the roll of bandages, but she holds up a finger in the air just in case. “That’s good, because I wasn’t asking. That’s a little check, just to make sure you aren’t out of your shucking mind.” Thomas snorts. “Who isn’t?” Y/N laughs as she starts to dress the wound. “Well, I was kind of wondering if you were. You’ve practically been avoiding me ever since we met.”

Thomas has to admit that this is true- in all of his fear to misspeak again, he’s been constantly passing up opportunities to talk to Y/N again. He doesn’t sit next to her at meals, he doesn’t cross the bonfire to say hello. Looking back at it now, it does look as if he’s been trying to distance himself, even if that couldn’t be further from how he felt. Thomas scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Maybe I’m still a dumb Greenie who doesn’t know how to talk to the one girl in the Glade.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “That’s a lie and you know it. Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?” There’s a hesitancy in her question, like she’s second-guessing herself. Thomas almost rushes over himself in his haste to convince her that this isn’t her fault. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just- I know I upset you the last time we talked, and I felt bad about that. I guess I just kind of figured that you wouldn’t want to see me for a while.”

Y/N looks up at him in surprise, bandages forgotten. “What are you talking about? Thomas, that was a one time thing, I swear. It was just a hard day and a hard memory, nothing more. Shuck, you’ve been guilting yourself over this the entire time?” Thomas shrugs, a slight smile on his lips. “Well, not the whole time.” When Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, he clarifies. “Maybe a little bit more than most of the time. Okay, a lot.”

Y/N giggles, and Thomas almost wants to make a fool of himself a few more times just to hear it. “Consider this whole thing over and done. I officially forgive you for something that I forgot about an hour after the conversation.” She grins, and Thomas grins with her. “That sounds good to me.” Y/N nods, taking a step backward to consider her work. “You know what would sound good to me? If you stopped injuring yourself all the time. I mean, I go through a roll of bandages like every hour.”

Thomas scoffs. “That’s because there are more shanks in the Glade than just me, Y/N. I’m not the only one getting hurt.” Y/N points at him to further her point. “Yeah, you’d better not. In fact, simply stop being injured. Easy as that.” He can’t help but laugh, and Y/N’s eyes sparkle triumphantly at this. “You’ve got a nice laugh, Thomas.” As with anyone else, Thomas’ laugh dries up slightly when he hears this truth, like the second he’s complimented he has to hide that very thing.

He doesn’t know what to do now, where to go from here. All he can really do is stand here and watch her smiling at him. To be honest, Thomas is fairly sure that’s all he would ever want to do. He knows it’s time for him to leave and stop bothering her, but Y/N’s looking at him like she just might give him a chance, so he decides to offer her one. “I hear they’re having a bonfire later tonight. Want to go with me?” Y/N’s grin broadens. “Absolutely.”

Just like that, Thomas’ day is made.

maze runner tag list: the a-maze-ing (haha) @underc0vercryptid​, @ellobruv

[spyrothesquish-0006]

Can I ask about the brothers visiting an MC in a coma, assumedly sometime after they left their 1 year school year at Devildom? Also would it be bad to ask for a platonic/familial relationship instead of romantic?

How the brothers react to visiting GN!MC in a coma (platonic)

Warnings: None besides hospital and coma mentions, also if you're uncomfy with platonic kisses I'm sorry 😢 I see Asmo as very touchy-feely so even if it's a strictly platonic/familial relationship, it would not be rare for him to kiss your cheeks. And platonic requests are always fine! I hope you enjoy!😊

Lucifer:

• surprisingly was not the first to find out, but once he did, he was quick to be at your side

• depending on how you got to be in a coma changes his reaction

• if it's because someone hurt you, Lucifer will be on a war path to make whoever did it pay dearly for hurting someone in his family

• if it's because of an accident, his worry over you will increase, never wanting to see you in such a state again

• will take whatever measures necessary to make sure you stay safe once you wake up

• if the coma is due to an illness, Lucifer will do everything in his power to get you the best treatment possible

• only the best doctors and nurses are fit to care for his family

• if allowed, he will move you to a devildom hospital to be treated

• will not be leaving your side any time soon

• if you thought this demon didn't sleep before, it's even worse now

• he will stay by your side and hold your hand until he sees your eyes open again

• the paperwork in his office might pile up, but honestly he couldn't care less

• you become his #1 priority

• would often pet his hand over your hair and talk to you at night

• even if you can't hear him, he still tells you how important you are to him and his brothers

• "We're all worried about you, MC. You need to wake up. Please.."

Mammon:

• the minute he knows you're in the hospital he takes off, not even stopping long enough to learn why or that you're in a coma

• completely loses it when he sees you in the hospital bed

• it's a mix between fear of losing you, and anger at whatever it is that put you in that coma

• even if it was in no way his fault, he still blames himself for not being there to protect you

• still feels a bit guilty even if it's something completely out of his control, like an illness

• will be by your side any chance he gets

• definitely tries to curl up in the hospital bed with you

• if he isn't allowed to/there isn't enough space, he will curse until the entire hospital knows infernal curse words

• nothing gets between him and MC, that's his family!

• if for some reason he has to leave your side, his crows are stationed outside your window until he gets back to watch over you

• would call in any favors he has to if it means paying for the best medical care, or finding healing potions

• he remembers Satan once saying how if someone is in a coma, that they can still hear

• he often talks to you as if you're awake and responding, late night conversations lessening his worry about you, but sometimes these end in tears if he gets too carried away, knowing you're not responding and might not any time soon

• "Be a good human and wake up, won't ya? You got us all so worried, and it ain't fair."

Levi:

• once he hears the words "MC" and "Hospital" in the same sentence, he has the worst panic attack imaginable

• accidentally summons Lotan and destroys part of the HoL in his panic

• races to the hospital, not caring who he has to talk to or push past to get to you

• all he cares about is his Henry being okay!

• hospitals aren't really his favorite place, being filled with people and germs, but he will stay by your side until you wake up, no exceptions

• he basically moves into your hospital room

• brings his and yours favorite handheld games and plays them all hours of the day and night

• doesn't want to fall asleep in case you wake up

• even though it makes him a blushy mess, he sits on the edge of your hospital bed and keeps his tail firmly wrapped around your hand to "hold" it while he plays video games

• even if you aren't awake, he still watches your favorite animes with you, hoping that maybe the sound of it will make you want to open your eyes

• "Hey, MC, this is your favorite episode right? Do you think maybe you could open your eyes and watch it with me?"

Satan:

• once he knows you're in a coma he rushes to the hospital and immediately sets to work questioning every doctor and nurse that's treating you

• wants to know everything, why you're in a coma, for how long, what can he or any of his brothers do to help you?

• if the doctors treating you are not to his standards, he will throw a temper tantrum until better ones are brought in for you

• refuses to even entertain the idea that you might not wake up

• he gets very irratible with everyone and everything, but it's only because of how worried he is about you

• he may be pissy and quick to let his temper flare, but he's nothing but gentle with you

• he always holds your hand, sitting by your bedside and reading to you to calm his wrath and worry

• he picks only your favorite books, eyes flicking expectantly between the pages and you when he gets to your favorite parts, hoping that just maybe they'd excite you enough to wake up

• "MC, I brought your favorite again. We left off on chapter 6 right? I know your favorite part is coming up, so give my hand a little squeeze once we get to it, okay?"

Asmo:

• nearly faints when he hears you're in a coma

• once he's at the hospital, he demands to know everything

• Who, what, where, when, he accepts nothing but the most thorough answers possible

• is so wracked with worry that he actually forgets his own routines while he takes care of you, not bothering with his lengthy skincare routine or his beauty sleep, instead focusing on yours

• even if you're out cold, you still should be looking your best and be taken care of!

• after all, he would never leave his family helpless to take care of themselves

• he often talks to you while he brushes your hair or does your skincare for you, never wanting to let you fall behind on the gossip

• talking to you also keeps his nerves in check, often falling asleep while he fills you in on what everyone has been up to

• if he doesn't fall asleep while talking to you, he most likely ends up sleeping while scrolling through devilgram posts, curled up in your bed with you so he can still cuddle you until you wake up

• while he holds you he often peppers your face in gentle kisses, murmuring his affections for you and saying how much all of his brothers care about you

• he'd often call you sleeping beauty at night, but now that nickname leaves a bitter taste in his mouth

• "Do me a favor darling and wake up, hmm? It's so boring without you to talk to. If you wake up soon, I'll take you on a shopping spree, alright?"

Beel:

• worried sick once he knows you're in a coma, rushing to the hospital and refusing to leave your side

• he doesn't even feel hungry as he watches over you, far too worried about you being okay to think about eating for once

• seeing you so fragile looking in the hospital bed reminds him too much of losing Lilith

• plants himself by your bed and is incredible gentle while he holds your hand

• he knows how strong he is, and seeing you in a hospital bed makes him even more wary about accidentally hurting you

• he does have to eat eventually, almost snacking on things in the hospital room before a worried nurse got him some food from the cafeteria

• it may not be the best quality, but he honestly doesn't care that much

• if it means he can stay by your side, he'd eat dirt

• despite how worried he is about you, he keeps a brave face and is always smiling and laughing as he talks to you, telling you about all the things him and his brothers have done after your year at RAD ended

• he always brings your favorite snacks when he sits with you, hoping that maybe you'll be hungry enough to wake up and eat with him again

• "MC, I brought your favorite snacks again, I'm sorry I ate them last time...if you wake up before I get hungry they're all yours though! I can get you more if you're still hungry after."

Belphie:

• to everyone's surprise, he was the first to know you were in a coma

• he often visited you in your dreams after you left RAD, making sure you didn't have any nightmares and to just chat with you

• so when he went to visit you in your latest dream, you told him how you were in the hospital and couldn't wake up just yet while your body healed

• he promised to relay the information to his brothers and was quick to be at your side

• he's less worried about your condition than his brothers, only because he can still visit you while you "sleep"

• just because it's not as bad doesn't mean he has no worries though

• part of him is scared that one day he'll try to visit you and you just won't be there dreaming anymore

• because of this fear, he sleeps as often as he can

• self care isn't exactly his strong hold, so he figures his brothers will take better care of you than he can

• instead of helping you physically, Belphie helps you mentally

• he makes sure you never feel lonely in your coma

• he keeps any bad dreams or negative thoughts away, and he never lets you lose hope about waking up, no matter how long your coma lasts

• to make things more fun, he often alters your dreams so you two can go on adventures

• if you feel like flying? He's got you. Wanna be pirates for the day? There's a sword an eyepatch waiting for you

• even though he can still spend time with you in your coma, he still insists on being at your side physically too

• would bring your favorite blankets and pillows and plushies to put in bed with you so you stay comfortable

• is another brother who would curl up in the hospital bed with you, even letting you use his pillow until you wake up

• snuggles you like a koala 25/8 and sleepy mumbles into your ear are common

• "mm, MC? I know it's fun and all, but you gotta wake up at some point dummy. Don't make me go in there and drag you out."

[free--therapy]

More About Dealing with Anger

How to Know When Anger is Getting Out of Control

Anger becomes a problem when it starts to harm you or the people around you.

Signs of anger problems include when:

You find it difficult to avoid expressing anger through unhealthy, unhelpful or destructive behavior such as: - Verbal anger: aggressive shouting, swearing, threats, or name-calling - Physical anger: violence and lashing out, hitting or pushing others, breaking things, punching objects to feel a sense of release - Non-violent or passive anger: ignoring people, sulking, refusing to do tasks or doing them deliberately poorly - Inward anger: hiding your anger, harming yourself, denying yourself your basic needs, saying you hate yourself,

Your anger has a negative impact on your mental and physical health

Anger becomes your go-to emotion, blocking out other feelings

You react quickly and violently to minor issues

You wrongly accuse friends and relatives of disrespecting or lying to you

You consistently have the same arguments with people when reacting to similar triggers each time, without finding new ways to deal with these feelings of anger

You feeling frustrated with your actions during an argument or regretting them instantly after the event

You struggle to compromise or arrive easily at mutual agreements without getting angry

You have problems with expressing emotions in a calm and healthy way

Cycles of bad behaviour may be affecting relationships

Symptoms of An Anger Problem:

Depression, anxiety, paranoia, frustration, lack of sleep, social isolation, headaches, increased blood pressure, heart palpitations, tightened or anxious feelings in the chest area, blushing, sweating, fatigue, substance abuse or addiction.

Anger Management Tips

First, recognize the signs of anger:

heart is beating faster

breathing is quicker

feet are tapping

you're clenching your jaw or fists

a churning feeling in your stomach

tightness in your chest

legs go weak

tense muscles

you feel hot

you have an urge to go to the toilet

sweating, especially your palms

a pounding head

shaking or trembling

dizziness

feeling tense, nervous or unable to relax

feeling guilty

feeling resentful towards other people or situations

you are easily irritated

feeling humiliated

Then, buy yourself some time:

Count to 10 before you react. Take a few moments to collect your thoughts before saying anything you’ll regret— and allow others involved in the situation to do the same. As soon as you're thinking clearly, express your frustration in an assertive but non confrontational way.

Take a timeout. Take yourself out of the situation by going for a short walk – even if it's just around your block or local area.

Talk to a trusted person who's not connected to the situation, such as a friend, family member, counsellor or peer support group. If you don't feel comfortable talking to someone you know, you can confidentially call the Samaritans 24 hours a day to talk about anything that's upsetting you.

Techniques to Manage your Anger feelings:

Breathe slowly – try to breathe out for longer than you breathe in and focus on each breath as you take it.

Relax your body – if you can feel your body getting tense, try focusing on each part of your body in turn to tense and then relax your muscles.

Try mindfulness techniques – mindfulness can help you to be aware of when you're getting angry and can help calm your body and mind down.

Exercise – try to work off your anger through exercise. Sports like running or boxing can be really helpful for releasing pent up energy.

Use up your energy safely in other ways – this can help relieve some of your angry feelings in a way that doesn't hurt yourself or others. For example, you could try tearing up a newspaper, hitting a pillow or smashing ice cubes in a sink.

Do something to distract yourself mentally or physically – anything that completely changes your situation, thoughts or patterns can help stop your anger escalating. See our positive outlets below.

Identify possible solutions: Instead of focusing on what made you mad, work on resolving the issue at hand. Remind yourself that anger won't fix anything and might only make it worse.

Stick with 'I' statements: To avoid criticizing or placing blame — which might only increase tension — use "I" statements to describe the problem. For example, say, "I'm upset that you left the table without offering to help with the dishes" instead of "You never do any housework."

Don't hold a grudge: If you allow anger and other negative feelings to crowd out positive feelings, you might find yourself swallowed up by your own bitterness or sense of injustice. But if you can forgive someone who angered you, you might both learn from the situation and strengthen your relationship.

Use humor to release tension: Lightening up can help diffuse tension. Use humor to help you face what's making you angry and, possibly, any unrealistic expectations you have for how things should go. Avoid sarcasm, though — it can hurt feelings and make things worse.

Know when to seek help: Seek help for anger issues if your anger seems out of control, causes you to do things you regret or hurts those around you. - Anger management classes allow you to meet others coping with the same struggles and learn tips and techniques for managing your anger. - Therapy, either group or individual, can be a great way to explore the reasons behind your anger and identify triggers. Therapy can also provide a safe place to practice new skills for expressing anger.

Managing Anger in the Long Term

Explore what’s really behind your anger: is your anger masking other feelings such as embarrassment, hurt, insecurity, shame or vulnerability? Is it stemming from what you learned as a child? Is it a symptom of an underlying health problem such as depression, anxiety, trauma or chronic stress?

Identify your triggers:  Look at your regular routine and try to identify activities, times of day, people, places, or situations that trigger irritable or angry feelings. When you identify your triggers, think about ways to either avoid them or view the situations differently so they don’t make your blood boil.

Negative thought processes that can trigger anger: anger doesn’t always stem directly from external factors. It is caused by how you react to and think about what happens in these instances. Here are common negative thought patterns that can trigger and fuel anger: - Overgeneralizing: For example, using phrases like “He ALWAYS interrupts me” and “NEVER is on time” or “EVERYONE disrespects me. - Obsessing over “shoulds” and “musts”: having a rigid view/structure of the way things should or must go cultivates anger when reality doesn’t line up. - Mind reading and jumping to conclusions: Assuming you “know” what someone else is thinking or feeling—that they intentionally upset you, ignored your wishes, or disrespected you. - Collecting straws: Looking for small things to get upset about, usually while overlooking or blowing past anything positive, and letting these small irritations build and build until you reach the “final straw” and explode, often over something relatively minor. - Blaming. When anything bad happens or something goes wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault. You tell yourself, “life’s not fair,” or blame others for your problems rather than taking responsibility for your own life.

Take care of yourself: taking care of your physical and mental health and wellbeing can help ease tension and diffuse anger problems - Manage stress - Talk to someone you trust - Get enough sleep - Exercise regularly - Be smart about alcohol and drugs

Treatment and Support: Talking Therapy and Counseling - Talk to your doctor or PCP about finding a trained professional (a counselor or psychotherapist) to talking about your problems with

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 4

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1  2 3 4 5

4. Yavin IV

“Captain Kallus.”

Kallus turns the best he can, gripping the handle of his cane as he does. Zeb is making his way over, his tall frame parting the flow of traffic in the hall.

“Kal,” Zeb amends with a smile, brushing a hand against the small of Kallus’ back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kallus nods, and grimaces. “I don't suppose I can use my position to get out of physical therapy?”

“No. I’ll still carry you there myself if I have to.”

Heat flames across Kallus’ cheek, but there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. His daily routine has been centered around his recovery for weeks, despite his protestations. On his first day back, he reported to Command for an extra few hours rather than going to the medbay, which caused a small uproar among the likes of Hera and Zeb. The resulting situation was a lecture from Zeb and the entire medical staff, as well as a warning from Command as to where his priorities should lie.

But aside from the initial excitement, Kallus has settled in quite well. He has his own post and a small command to his name. He’s been forgiven by the Rebels in an official capacity, and has learned when to ignore the snide comments made by his less-forgiving compatriots. For the most part, his job is normal and steady- he’s in the company of fellow spies most of the time, but everyone on Yavin is well acquainted with danger, regardless of their roles within the Rebellion. He nearly fits in.

It would be better if he were not so limited by his physical ability. He cannot stand on his leg unsupported, so he has been using a cane constantly, save for a few small excursions across his quarters, which, so far, have been painful and short-lived.

Suddenly, Kallus is bad at keeping himself out of trouble, between his efforts to heal and his apparently lacking self-care habits. This is yet another change he attributes to rebel influence, but he rather likes it, even if he is adjusting to this new life slowly.

“You’re improving and you’re not going to stop now,” Zeb growls. He may as well be threatening Kallus, who minds this fact very little. His hand tightens on his cane.

“I know,” Kallus breathes, and drops his gaze. His next step forward is slightly unsteady, but he’s overly aware of Zeb watching him closely and that his friend is fully prepared to catch him should he trip.

Kallus hasn’t fallen in weeks. He can make it all the way across base without needing to rest now. The medics say the fracture is largely healed, and he thinks he must have made some kind of progress over the last few weeks.

“Are you coming with me?” Kallus tries not to sound too hopeful or excited; Zeb usually accompanies him to the medcenter for checkups and therapy, if only to ensure that Kallus himself actually attends.

“Of course.” Zeb glances at him. “‘Til you say you don’t want me there.”

“I do,” Kallus affirms, too quickly, and tries to discern if he’s blushing again. His face still feels hot.

They make their way down to the medcenter, where the staff greets him and Zeb both by name. The journey takes longer than he’d like, and Kallus tries not to count how many people pass him. It’s mid-afternoon by then, and his leg has started to twinge, although he turns away from Zeb and bites the inside of his cheek to get through the moments of pain.

Zeb steadies him as he strips off his jacket and boots, clutching Kallus’ left elbow. Kallus shoots him a grateful smile. He wobbles on one leg, unsteady, and he knows he will not fall.

“Ready?”

It’s not Zeb who asks, but a nurse. Cida Amada, who was one of the first people he got to know during his stay in the medcenter. She barely looks old enough to have such responsibility, with her shy smiles and soft tones, but she and Kallus took a liking to each other. They made each other cry, he lost in frustration and agony, and she hurt after discovering his tendency to yell and swear when in crippling pain. Yet once he had apologized, their relationship improved, and Amada became his primary caretaker, which most predominantly includes cajoling him into showing up for his appointments.

She and Zeb seem to adore each other for this fact. Kallus can only pretend he hates it so much.

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and she reaches out to take his hand. He lets her, and Cida smiles at him, not meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll feel better later even if it’s uncomfortable right now, Alexsandr. How have the last few rotations been?”

She is gentle and kind. Forgiving, too, which is the strangest of offerings he’s even been gifted in his life. Kallus mostly expected to be dead by now, rather than guided through a half-stocked medbay by a medic exclusively trained by war doctors. Cida genuinely likes him, too, which is odd. Both Hera and Zeb had to assure him of this fact, though Kallus is sure she wouldn’t be capable of pretending otherwise. He first had doubts about the girl’s abilities as a liar since she apologized for taking a blood sample from him. She is too good to lie, which, he supposes, is why he’s a former Imperial-turned-spy, and she is a rebel war doctor.

Cida stretches his legs and guides him through a few exercises that should be simple but prove exceedingly difficult for Kallus. He has to touch his toes. Climb stairs. Walk 2 meters with support on either side. He grits his teeth and sweats through it, mumbling curses that Cida and Zeb pretend not to hear when he inevitably falters.

His hands shake for an hour afterward. Kallus showers and lies on his bunk, exhausted.

His leg feels better than it did before.

 Had he stayed with the Empire, Kallus would have received higher quality medical care.

He might not be stuck with a limp and a cane. 

First, he would have needed to swallow his damned pride and ask for treatment, and then the initial break would not have affected him for the rest of his life. The Imperial meddroids would have returned him to normal in a matter of days, if not weeks, and Thrawn would have never rebroken the leg, even if Kallus had pursued life as Fulcrum. The Empire is equipped with better resources and better training.

But he didn’t ask for help, not upon his return from Bahryn nor any of the painful days after. Konstantine didn’t even look up at him. If anyone noticed he was uncomfortable or weaker, they politely looked away and saved that topic of discussion for when his back was turned. Kallus was alone in caring for himself, and it was thus unimportant to everyone in the Empire, including him. He adopted the same attitude regarding his own health.

Hera had caught him when he collapsed, after Atollon. Cida cried when he cried because she hated seeing him in pain. Zeb has been there for him in more ways than he can count.

Sometimes, Zeb calls him Alex. He hasn’t had that nickname since he was a little boy- his parents never bothered with it and he had few friends by the time he entered the Imperial Academy.

Zeb is the only one, in his entire life, who has called him Kal.

That’s yet another thing they share. Kallus has gleamed that Zeb never fully revealed the truth of what happened on Bahryn, even to the rest of the Ghost crew.

He does not know what would be enough to repay the Rebels. They have so little, yet they give to him, in time and effort and supplies and trust. It would be more just if these things were diverted to another, not to a formal Imperial, but they will not let him refuse their generosity.

Kallus would give his life for these people. For Zeb and the Spectres, certainly, but for those he does not know, too. For the ones who hurl dirty looks and harsh words at him in the mess and hallways, for Cida, for the other Fulcrums, for every rebel on Yavin and the galaxy beyond.

His life would not be enough, when they are the very people who have given it back to him. Kallus’ life is marred and stained and broken. He can offer the rebels service and secrets and loyalty, and he will do all he can to see them to victory. 

He wonders about that, too. He would be more confident about winning the war were he still an Imperial agent. He is a man of facts and logic, and he knows that the odds are against the rebels to prevail over the Empire.

But he believes in the rebels. Kallus believes in their cause and their people. That alone has carried them further than Kallus ever predicted.

He would give his life for them without thinking. He gives his hope and keeps his doubt and his cynicism, heavy as they are, so that they do not burden those like Pica and Leia Organa and Ezra Bridger.

Even as a rebel, being a spy still demands a certain mindset of coldness and hardness. Kallus is learning mercy, and he is learning how mercy does and doesn’t fit into his role. Draven has told him more than once that they serve the cause of the Rebellion, not its people.

Kallus is not sure he agrees. Draven has the end of the war in sight, and that is what grants Kallus peace of mind while the familiarity of Draven’s words nags at him.

Draven has also told Kallus that he is still useful, despite his leg. The General had looked at Kallus with pity while he had said it. Kallus will prove him wrong, and his heart sings with a small amount of pride with the knowledge of the difference he has made already under and to Draven’s command.

Kallus is trying to be good in his new role. He is also trying to become someone worthy of the friendship and care that the rebels have shown him.

He wants to be accepted by them. He wants to be their friend.

 “Alexsandr!”

The use of his full first name startles him, nearly as much as the alarm in Zeb’s voice does. Zeb is staring at him from across the hangar, Hera by his size. The droid, Chopper, makes some obscene noise that Kallus can only assume is scolding.

The trio is at his side quickly, and Kallus grunts as he loads the shipment onto the shuttle.

“I can do that,” Hera says. She sounds mildly scandalized, and she takes the box from his hands. Chopper wags his mechanical arm at Kallus, and emits a horrifying cackle at the indignation on his face.

“No cane?” Zeb sounds surprised, but Kallus has had a good few days. He’s permitted not to use it for short amounts of time, given that his leg doesn’t start hurting. He and Cida are hoping that this will become the norm, that he will only need his cane some days. Kallus has floated the idea of field missions once or twice already, but he’ll push for more unsupervised walking first.

“Not for a while.” It’s nearly strange not to have the cane in his hand, but he’s been making good use of his free hands for a while. Then: “General, I assure you I am very capable of doing that.”

Kallus tries to take the next box from Hera, who passes to Zeb. In turn, he holds the box over their heads, then sets it in the shuttle.

“You could hurt yourself,” Hera chides. “Let us help you.”

“Lifting a few crates will hardly send me into critical condition,” Kallus protests, but the words are weakened when Hera glares at him. Chopper laughs again. “My leg is injured, not my arms.”

“No extra weight,” Zeb reminds him, taking another box from Hera. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“It’s just-”

“We’re happy to help,” Hera interrupts. She exchanges a look with Zeb, and Kallus bites back a retort. He’s perfectly capable.

The next time he sees Cida, Kallus is sure to mention lightening the restrictions on his carrying weight. She’s willing to negotiate, at the very least, and they argue until it’s agreed that Kallus can lift, but not carry, a few kilos. He’s sure to complain very little for the rest of the session, and the nurse sends him away with a smile at the end of the day.

She tells him he’s making progress; a statement constantly echoed by Zeb. Physical therapy becomes easier and less frequent; he’s fully adjusted to using his cane, although he has started to go many days without it. At first, it’s painful- he can only endure the day without his cane if he stays in Command, but then weeks pass and he can move around base on his own. He’s outfitted with temporary mechanical braces, and he goes on his first field mission as a rebel.

The days are not bad, and the initial mission goes smoothly, as do all the ones after that.

When night falls after he returns, Kallus can barely stand, and the pain reduces him mostly immobile.

Cida worms this fact out of him after he spends two rotations chasing down a rogue informant. He had been late to see her, and stiff and quiet during their appointment.

“You’ll make it worse,” she warns him. His leg has been swelling, too. “Too much at once will only hurt you.”

“I’m useful out there,” Kallus insists, staring at his injured leg. It would be a waste if he remained on base all the time. “If I can get stronger, then I can fight.”

Cida sighs, her eyes full of worry. Kallus looks away, his heart poisoned with guilt. “If you keep doing this, you may last a few months or a cycle. After that, you could spend the rest of your life walking with pain and assistance.”

He nods once. That’s as much time as he needs, regardless of what follows.

Kallus has greater potential than what his leg allows. He could be one of the best ground fighters on base, if his body worked right.

 “Does your leg hurt?”

Kallus grunts. “My leg always hurts.” He shifts, moving his lower body as little as possible, but Zeb moves into his full view a moment later.

“You shoulda said something on way back-”

“I’m fine, Zeb.”

“Your cane-”

“It hurts with or without the cane,” Kallus snaps, then averts his eyes. Zeb’s ears flatten, and Kallus’ stomach flips.

“Are you gonna use it now?” Zeb asks quietly. They still don’t look at each other.

Kallus reaches for the offending object and thumps it against the ground. “Yes,” he mutters. That’s the only reason he got here, in some dirty corner of the base. The cane saw him back from the medbay and into the spot where he had chosen to sulk.

Apparently, the covert location wasn’t quite private enough. That, or Zeb knows him too well, because he seems to have sought Kallus out with ease. But here he is, sitting on the floor with Kallus and watching the rest of the Rebellion walk by, totally oblivious to their discussion.

“Today is a bad day,” Kallus says. That’s how he measures time- in good days and bad ones. “I’ve been having a lot of those, recently.”

“You’ve been working hard.”

“I want to go back to normal,” Kallus mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired.” He smiles at Zeb, his lips thin and pursed. “I’m done.”

“Alex.” Zeb is imploring.”How could you think you’re weak?”

“Because I can’t walk down the damned hallway!” Kallus scoffs. “Because I have gone through all this suffering and I am not better! And all I wish is that it would end!”

“That makes you weak, does it?”

“It doesn’t make me strong, Garazeb. Not the way you think I am.”

The Lasat next to him snorts. “Kal, I have seen you walk through hell and back-”

“That doesn’t make-”

“- I know how strong you are,” Zeb finishes, talking over him. “Do you trust me?”

Kallus blanches, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re strong.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

The words are nearly inaudible. It’s a shamefaced confession, and Zeb stares at him with wide eyes, taking both of Alexsandr’s hands in his.

“Just because I survived doesn’t mean I’m a martyr, Zeb. Or some inspiration to look up to.”

“That’s half of one of the many reasons I care for you,” Zeb whispers, his voice so, so low. “Not because you’ve managed to survive, but because of how determined you are. It’s the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating and the way your voice gets all high when you tell me about how fine and capable you are.” Zeb chuckles, and Kallus is very acutely aware that Zeb is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. “You’ve always been so damn stubborn.”

“You like that about me?” Some alarmed voice in Alexsandr’s head warns him that this is barely tangential to the topic at hand.

“Yeah.” Zeb’s ears twitch, and he drops his eyes from Kallus’ wondrous stare. “Even if it pisses me off.”

“I know it does.”

“Yeah,” Zeb growls, then he deflates as he sighs. “I’ve always known that about you. Even when you were trying to kill me.” He gestures to Kallus, to his brace and cane. “Seeing you recover is another way you’re proving this to me. Your absurd relentlessness. And your strength.” He glowers at Kallus when he says the last word, as if daring him to object. “You’ve always had that.”

“Someone better would have handled it with grace.”

“Maybe.” Zeb shrugs. “You’re tough, not a saint.”

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

Zeb rolls his eyes, shoving against Kallus’ shoulder gently. “Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Maybe all this made you stronger. I don’t care if you get back to normal, or whatever you’ve dreamed up for yourself. I only want you to be happy with where you were.”

“And go to physical therapy.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Right.”

Zeb grins. “By the way, if you didn’t want the hurt from your serious injury to go away, then you’re twice as big of an idiot as I thought you were. I have no idea what else you expected.”

“I expected for it to last a few weeks. Not the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing for that.” Zeb looks up at the trees, and Kallus thinks of a burning world, razed to the ground by the Empire. Zeb didn’t come away from Lasan unscathed, he knows. “Whatever happens though, here you are, Kal. Even if all you’ve done is survive.”

Alexsandr reaches out for Zeb’s hand, and his friend takes it. Zeb’s words are muddled with affection and friendship and respect. The person Zeb describes sounds like someone Kallus can appreciate. Somebody with an iron will and a conviction for the right kind of things. Somebody worthy of love

 That night, Kallus cannot rest. He wanders the halls, on a dreadfully familiar path- the one Zeb takes him on when Kallus has to stretch out his leg. His feet carry him into the cool night air, his cane thumping against the stone after every uneven step.

Kallus searches for privacy, but he cannot make it far outside the base. There are still lights blinking from the hangars and a quiet bustle of nightlife shows that the base is still busy, but Kallus staggers along as far as he can and settles on a log under the cover of some trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

Alexsandr jumps, then he squints in the dark. Some 30 feet away is Kanan Jarrus, sitting on the forest floor with his legs folded beneath him. He appears to be meditating; his shoulder pauldrons and mask are off, and he sounds relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Kallus calls. He fumbles with his cane and readies himself to stand; he’s still slightly out of breath and now he has nowhere to go.

“No.” Kanan stands instead and approaches Kallus, nimbly stepping over branches and rocks. Kallus stares up at the blind Jedi, then averts his gaze when Kanan takes a seat next to him.

They sit together in silence. Kallus doesn’t mind the company very much; he fiddles with his hands and does his best to ignore the aching in his leg.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Kanan says finally. He turns to Kallus expectantly.

Kallus gives a nervous chuckle. “What is?”

“Healing.” Kanan opens his hands as if he’s referring to the whole jungle, instead. “Even with the people who love you at your side.”

Kallus opens his mouth to protest- he’s not sure who loves him, even if a few people come to mind- but the depth of Kanan’s words hit him a moment later.

“I don’t-” Kallus struggles for the right words. “I don’t believe I’m alone.”

Kanan nods slowly. “I had Hera with me every step of the way. She’s the most understanding, caring person I know.” Then, Kanan shrugs. “But it was impossible for her to understand what it was like, no matter how hard she tried. It was lonely.”

“Yes,” Kallus says slowly, exhaling.  “Even- even-”

“Zeb doesn’t understand?” He can hear the humor in Kanan’s voice, although Kallus cannot piece together why Kanan would be amused. “I think that’d be impossible unless he’d been through it, too.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

Kanan shakes his head. “Not quite.” He smiles, and again, Kallus can’t comprehend why. “I had to find solace in other places.”

“Do you think you’re on the other side?”

“Of recovery?” Kallus inclines his head. “Yes. It’s different now.” Kanan’s smile becomes wistful. “But there’s no going back.”

“You made it through.”

“I did. And you will too. In time.”

“I want it to be over.” The confession falls from Kallus’ lips before he can help it. “I’m so tired of being in pain.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think it will ever pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then…” Kallus sighs. “Then I move forward with it, anyway.”

There’s no other choice. He will stay with the rebels until the end, and he will do so however he can. He could lose his leg tonight or he could wake up entirely healed tomorrow morning. Either way, there will be little change to his plans.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kanan rests his hand on Kallus’ knee. “It gets easier.”

“I know.” It has already. Maybe Zeb is right. Maybe he is strong because of what he has survived, and maybe there’s truth to Kanan’s words, too. 

“I think you’ll find someone who makes it less lonely. I believe you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

Kallus bows his head in acknowledgment, suddenly exhausted. “Zeb will be yours again, once we get back from Lothal.” Kanan’s seriousness disappears, and Kallus knows the moment has passed. He can’t help that the corners of his lips are quirking up, and Kanan seems to both know and enjoy this fact.

“You leave soon?” The thought is bittersweet; the Lothal rebels returning home again, and Zeb will leave his side.

“Three rotations.” Kanan answers. His tone has become heavy again, but the Jedi does not sound afraid.

“I wish you luck.”

The earliest sign of civilization is a healed femur.

[mainviper]

The new player card Reyna x Viper has my mind racing for answers and I love the theory you posted sooo....

Caaaan we get a one shot? 🥺

I'm so sorry it took me that long to answer @boxedyogurt , I tried to compensate working really hard on this one

Reyna x Viper Card • Poor Unfortunate Soul

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Regina was only six years old. She loved ice cream, her teddy bear which she affectionately named "Tactic Bear", and dreamed with a better life. She was very loved by her parents and older sister, but when she was seven years old everything changed.

Pains started to appear, the girl was getting more aggressive and hardly slept anymore. Her eyes didn't focus and sometimes it was possible to see them completely purple, when she slept she had nightmares and several attempts to wake her and get her out of this terror failed, the girl had a superhuman strength and almost killed her family several times .

So, when her older sister discovered that there was a convention on radiants going on in the city, she didn't think twice about going after ANY answer that could help the girl. She arrived at that Congress, signed up with the justification of wanting to pursue a career in science, since it was her last year of high school she had a priority. Reyna didn't want to be a scientist, nor was she interested in the study of radianite, she just wanted to save her family.

So when she saw the lecture of a young scientist, perhaps five or six years older than she, on the technological advancement and security that contained the Kingdom Corporation's experiments, her naive teenage heart believed her.

And Sabine believed it too. When they signed the contract, her idea was that in a year the girl would be recovered.

She met little Regina and became enchanted with her, made her mission in the world to save the girl from all the evil she was experiencing. She also enjoyed talking to young Reyna, explaining to her what they were doing so that the girls' parents would understand. She let the teenager stay in her laboratory to calm her sister, played with the stuffed animals that the girl brought and tried her best to make it very clear that she was on their side. Always.

After a year, her colleague and best friend was relocated to help with the case. Frederick was an excellent chemist and his analyzes were essential to reduce the pain that the girl had throughout her body. Fred, Sabine and Reyna talked until after work to find solutions and discover the source, the root of the problem.

Two years passed, something was beginning to change in Regina. She grew and became quieter, more restrained, her eyes lost their brightness and became more wild. Control of her, when she went into “radiant mode” was gone and she was capable of anything. These tantrums were frequent when her sister was not around and when she felt threatened. Due to her extraordinary strength, she ended up attracting the attention of Kingdom's Weapon team.

Three years passed before the extension of Regina's power reached a level that no one foresaw. War agents made weekly visits, no matter how much Sabine loathed interruptions, they only increased.

Frederick was examining the girl, the pain was starting to return and it was necessary to have a blood test.

Reyna was on vacation from college, she was on her sister's side and saw one of the agents at the door. She didn't want to let go of her little sister's hand, only that the girl insisted that the man stay.

At this time when the two separated, the girls' parents began to view the sessions as routine, she was left under the tutelage of Sabine and Frederick, and while the two argued at the end of each "consultation", Regina made a friend. He constantly asked about her day, always praised her and said that she should not try to limit herself, that her radianite should be a source of pride. He even gave a plush sloth to give Tactic Bear some company, so the only thing Regina wanted to do was impress him.

Reyna's hands started to burn, the older sister asked the youngest to stop but the girl would not let go. Her eyes shone in a purple tone and her body started to hover in the air, Reyna cried begging for mercy. The girl screamed and all the windows on the floor shattered, the two fell together but the older one passed out.

Sabine ran to help them both, but saw that Reyna's case was serious, she took the matter in her own hands, asked for a full list of tests, did all the procedures to ensure that nothing but that black circle on the teen's shoulder was the result of the accident but there was one more thing: she didn't wake up. All the tests done showed that there was no change in Reyna but she didn't open her eyes, nor responded to any stimulus and no one, not even the young and brilliant doctor, would know why.

Frederick stayed with the other sister while Sabine ran and tried in vain to bring Reyna back to consciousness. The girl panicked, she started crying hysterically and said it was all her fault, that she just wanted to show what she was capable of, that she SERVED to help. The chemist's heart sank, he hugged her and comforted her.

That day was the start of a huge battle in Kingdom Co.

Sabine and Frederick against the entire War department, the two refused to give information and claimed that the patient couldn't be treated as a weapon of mass destruction, after all, she was a human being, just a girl who was very frightened and blamed herself for almost losing her sister.

Sabine became obsessed with finding a solution, she worked day and night in search of a way out and five years after they started treatment it finally came.

Regina was eleven, her sister was in a coma for two years and all she wanted most was to get the radianite out of her. Her parents agreed, they asked for this to be the case and against all their beliefs the war department wanted to help find a way to channel the girl's energy.

An intern presented a device, something capable of sucking the radianite from spaces without the need for mining.

It was a prototype. And Sabine hated it.

Of course, technological advancement was incredible in her eyes, but what she loathed most was the prospect of using it on a patient.

Every part of that idea she tried in vain to argue and bring risks to parents and staff. She knew that she had lost when even Frederick admitted that the idea was a good one, that it could work, almost choked him for saying that in front of the patient's family. Could it work? Yes. But it could go terribly wrong and then they would have lost not only Reyna but Regina.

Years of study, years of experiences to treat the girl and to understand how a radiant body worked would be thrown in the trash. She was almost deciphering, almost mapping the powers and body composition of young Regina completely. No one had any idea how important her research was for the development of new technologies that would help other patients and, well, she loved working with that family so much.

They explained the whole process to her.

She provided some data so that nothing could go wrong.

She promised to follow everything closely, Frederick said that he would put the girl himself and tie her in the extraction room.

When the day came, she went to visit Reyna. Not that she stopped, Sabine took care of the young woman almost every day, saw her grow old on that stretcher, confided things to her and even though she knew she couldn't be heard she continued. She apologized for not having any answers and for not finding another alternative for "hermanita". Intubated on that stretcher, the young woman seemed to show a peaceful expression almost every day, but her doctor noticed something different.

She seemed to suffer. The black circle on her shoulder took on a purple color at its edges.

A very bad feeling started, she called Frederick asking him to wait for her to be there to start.

"We are about to start, the team's agenda is very busy. I'll be in with Regina in five minutes."

Sabine ran off when she hung up the phone. The procedure was scheduled for two in the afternoon ... How much time did she spend with Reyna? How could she lose track of time in such a reckless way? She looked at her watch and yes, they were almost late. If she ran she would have time to get to the front building.

To this day, Viper doesn't know how she survived.

When she entered the elevator everything seemed normal, but when she leaved she was faced with the huge wreckage of an accident. People were running desperately everywhere, and she was incredulous walking, but then running to the center of everything. Her heart beated faster and faster as she approached, she fought the desperate tide of colleagues and patients trying to save themselves. Screams echoed, people agonized beside her, but she was hipnotizedd by the scene she encountered.

Regina, her little and beloved patient, was lying in the middle of everything. Her eyes were completely empty, she didn't move and as she touched the girl, Sabine realized that the worst had happened. There was no sign of Frederick or the girl's parents. In the midst of the rubble, she hugged the girl and cried. Trying in vain to bring her back, patting her face and calling her name.

Another explosion occurred in the building where she had left. Sabine watched Reyna's floor go completely dark for a moment and a purple glow came out of the young woman's window. She screamed, and to her surprise, Regina's sister appeared. She was staggering, barely able to steady her own feet, but what caught Viper's attention was not the sudden awakening, but the color of Reyna's eyes and the black circle that now enveloped the woman's entire arm with some lines that looked like a tattoo.

She was filled with a purple aura that grew stronger and stronger as she approached the doctor. An orb, hovering over Regina's head appeared, had a strange and supernatural shape, Reyna raised her hand and pulled the orb towards herself.

Viper would never forget that scene, the terror of people around her, panic, Reyna's wrath and how many lives she took. People who were struggling to get out of there, who had either been buried in the wreckage or crawled to safety, died.

Only one orb hovered beside them, this one, Reyna managed not to take for herself but to place it inside a prism-shaped bottle that she kept. Sabine would stay with it and find a way, she understood who was in it and started crying again, passing Regina into her sister's arms.

And silence was made.

And Reyna came to her senses, with a small sparkling pulse that glowed in her chest. The young woman seemed to have awakened, leaving her stupor and finding terror soon afterwards, when she saw her lifeless sister.

The mexican never blamed Viper for what happened, she remembered the doctor's words while she was in a coma.

The following week Sabine resigned. She refused to pass data on her research with Frederick and was impeached for it. They took away all her professional credibility, Kingdom made sure to ensure that she never worked in her profession again.

And Viper didn't want to either. Her anger at the corporation took shape, and she would make it a point to help and find a way to save radiants before Kingdom got their hands on them and treated them like lab rats.

She moved to another country, went into hiding and started a new degree in chemistry. She still had contact with Reyna and the two visited each other from time to time.

It was after one of those visits that a man knocked on her door. She recognized him as one of the employees of Kingdom's war department, the man who was always talking to Regina and who also liked the girl asked to come in and seemed to be nervous about the situation.

Suspiciously she listened to what he had to say, he told that he spent the last few years trying to contact her, said that he was sorry and wanted to get away from Kingdom too. He felt guilty, but he was not humiliated when he left. The man then proposed the idea of ​​working together, of making the world a better place so what happened to Regina would not be repeated.

Which, according to him, was very close to happening.

The bottle Sabine was carrying, containing Frederick's soul, began to shine and that was how she knew that helping the man would be the right thing to do.

Fortunately, Brim already had a few people in mind and Viper knew exactly where to start.

[ohmywhump]

Day 29: I think I need a doctor (Jonah & Vincent)

previous / masterlist / whumptober masterlist

CW: knives, hand surgery (implied), drugging, mention of former drug abuse

Jonah was sitting at the kitchen table, anxiously staring down so he wouldn’t have to look at Domenic; somehow it had become some kind of routine for Vincent to call his friend over for babysitting whenever he had to leave for a meeting.

'Tell me, Jonah - which hand do you use for writing?' the man asked with a dangerous smile on his face.

'W-what?'

'It's not a difficult question, is it? I saw you using both of them for different things and now I want to know which hand you write with.'

Instead of replying he could only stare at the knife in Domenic's hand, paralysed by fear.

'If you don't answer my question I'll cut off your thumbs – both of them.'

'No, p-please..,' he whimpered.

'Answer my question, then.'

'The... the l-left one...'

'Okay,' Domenic smiled viciously, 'I'll pierce through the other one then...'

'No, please don't, please, noooo!'

His pleas turned into a scream as the knife cut through the back of his hand, pinning it to the table. He couldn’t move since every tiny inch made the blade dig deeper into the flesh, sending a searing pain up his arm. His head started spinning when he saw a small puddle of blood extending from under his hand and he felt like he was about to faint. 

His vision blurred. He could hear people talking but he didn’t understand a single word of what they were saying, a high-pitched whistling noise in his ears drowning out all other sounds. He stared down at his hand but his eyes refused to focus, the outline of the knife stuck in his hand being the only thing he saw. Shouldn’t there be much more blood? His whole arm grew cold and numb, his heart was racing, sweat running down his forehead… and suddenly, a strange feeling of peace started to spread in his chest. 

I’m dying.

Maybe this had finally been too much to bear for his body. And maybe it was for the best. Nobody had been searching for him, so there wouldn’t be anyone missing him once he was dead. He wouldn’t have to wake up in Vincent’s house every morning, either chained to his captor’s bed or locked up in a dark and soundproof cell, panicking when he thought about what the next day might bring. No more worries. No more pain. Just… peace.

He felt someone’s hand closing around his wrist, pulling up the sleeve. A stitch, just like being stung by a bee… except that it had been a needle that pierced through his skin.

‘Whaaaa…’ he mumbled, trying to pull away, but only causing the blade to cut deeper into his palm. He forced his eyes shut. If he didn’t look at it, he could pretend it didn’t happen, like it had been after the accident. He had been through so much worse, so there was nothing to be scared of now, right? Wrong. Back then, he had been in hospital. People had taken care of him, had given him something to numb the pain, to make him feel better… now it was the other way round. No-one was taking care of him. Instead of being given medication to feel better, they were hurting him. Drugging him. Humiliating him. And now maybe even killing him. A stabbing pain shot up his arm when the knife was removed from his hand. Seeing it glide through his skin, the blood gushing out, he fainted.

*

‘What the fucking hell were you thinking?’ Vincent hissed at Domenic while Jonah was shoved into an examination room on a stretcher.

‘It’ll work out fine, just trust me for once, will you?’

‘It better does,’ he replied through clenched teeth while entering the room.

‘No, get him away from me!’ Jonah whined as soon as he recognised him, just waking from his dazed state and pulled away from the doctor who had been examining his hand, ‘He abducted me! And his friend did this to me! Please help me! Call the police!’

‘My lovely baby, why are you saying such nasty things?’

Vincent looked up at the baffled physician, tears welling up in his eyes while he rested his hand on Jonah’s shoulder in a firm grip.

‘You need to help him, he… he got himself injured because of… well..,’ the dark haired man whispered. ‘It’s the goddamn drugs again.’

He sniffed and turned away, sat down on a chair near the door and hid his face in his hands.

‘He promised me to stop taking this stuff…,’ he mumbled, shaking his head, ‘And now… What if I hadn’t found him in time?’

‘What? I didn’t! You have to believe me, he tricked me into coming with him and locked me up for… oh my God, I don’t even know how long I’ve been with him, please, you have to help me!’

‘See? He’s completely out of his mind, he doesn’t even remember what day it is and he believes I abducted him just because I tried to keep him away from his dealer… but obviously I didn’t succeed…’

‘He’s right.’

Domenic had appeared in the doorframe and looked from Vincent to Jonah and finally to the doctor.

‘I was there when his partner found him, he was sitting at a table and there was a knife sticking in his right hand, we called an ambulance but he ripped the knife out of his hand and ran away from us, so we decided to get him into the car as soon as possible and brought him here right away.’

‘They’re lying,’ Jonah sobbed, pointing at Domenic, ‘He did this to me!’

‘Only one way to find out the truth,’ the doctor declared, clearly sick of the whole discussion, ‘We’ll do a tox screen.’

*

‘You have tested positive for-’

‘No! I don’t take drugs, they injected something into my arm, just take a look! Please, you have to believe me!’

The doctor looked down at Jonah, his expression a mixture of pity and sternness.

‘Your hand - does it still hurt?’

‘Yes..,’ Jonah mumbled.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the older man kept staring at him; there was no more pity showing on his face anymore.

‘You’ve been given morphine after we finished surgery. In fact, you’ve been given a very high amount of morphine, similar to what we usually give to people who had an amputation. And you say it still hurts? This should have knocked you out for hours, but here you are, awake, talking - and complaining about the pain you feel…’

Jonah wanted to explain, wanted to tell him about the accident, about the pain medication he had been given back then, about his former addiction.... but the doctor didn’t look at him anymore. Instead, he walked over to the door, shaking hands with someone Jonah couldn’t see from where he was lying. But he didn’t need to see, because he would have recognised this voice among thousands.

‘Thank you, Dr Sheehy - I’ll take him home now. When are we supposed to return to remove the stitches?’

‘In 14 days. But you should make sure he’ll receive the right treatment for his… other problem too.’

‘I will. Thank you, doctor. Jonah, get up! We’re going home!’

***

Taglist: @faewhump @whumpinbloom @legallylibra @lonesome--hunter @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpasaurus101 @whumptober2020

[annathewitch]

An Apple A Day

Summary: Leonard McCoy x Reader. An unexpected encounter with Leonard McCoy at the Academy leaves you with a poor impression. Will he manage to redeem himself when you encounter him again years later?

Word Count: 6,000

Warnings: Little bit of swearing, and a tiny bit of angst. Incidental o/c death.

A/N: My entry into @thefanficfaerie’s West Wing Challenge! I LOVE The West Wing and it has some really quotable lines. I chose “Nature, like a woman, will seduce you with its sights and its scents and its touch, and then it breaks your ankle, also like a woman.” It screamed cynical post-divorce Bones to me... This is the first thing I have written to completion in a long-while - I hope you enjoy it!

..........

Your training as a cadet is intended to prepare you for the unexpected and unexplained. After all, there’s so much out there in deep space that cannot be predicted. However, you’re more than a little startled by the man lurching out of the bushes with a shout, as you take your usual shortcut across the Academy grounds from the botany lab back to the dorms.

You find yourself assuming a defensive stance, noting with detached surprise that Lt Commander Ono’s persistence in teaching you basic combat skills has actually paid off. Still, it’s a relief when you don’t have to test your tenuous muscle memory further, as the man — another cadet judging by the reds — simply grunts a string of inventive obscenities and sits heavily on the path in front of you clutching a tree branch.

He’s most likely drunk, but, just as you’re thinking you should really check, you realise that you actually know him.

“Cadet McCoy? Is that you? You, uh, startled me.” You crouch down beside him and he squints at you, a little unfocussed in his gaze. You gesture towards yourself. “Cadet Y/L/N? We have an advanced xenobiology class together?”

He grunts again and you try not to feel too hurt that he clearly doesn’t recognise you. The class you take together is compulsory for all science track cadets and you’re not the type to draw attention by debating with your professor. Not like McCoy. It still stings just a tiny bit because by any standard, even in his less than pristine current state, he’s an attractive guy.

“Are you okay?” You wave vaguely around in the direction he came from.

He shifts a little and winces, and just when you think he’s not going to answer, he sighs. The whiskey scent of his breath confirms your initial suspicion that he’s had more than a couple of drinks.

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” It seems like a dismissal, but as you stand he actually looks at you properly and bites out, “Dammit. Help me up would ya.”

“How could I refuse such a gracious request.” You roll your eyes, wishing that he had stumbled across some other poor unsuspecting cadet and that you could be back in your dorm. Still you stick an arm out and brace yourself as he uses it to lever his unstable frame from the ground.

It becomes apparent that he is less than fine the minute he tries to take a step away from you. He bellows like an enraged bull, and does what looks like an awkward pirouette before toppling towards you. It’s all you can do to catch him under the arms and stop him crashing to the ground again. Unfortunately, this means he practically faceplants in your boobs and you’re on the receiving end of another boozy exhale.

“Shit, McCoy, you’re no ballet dancer. How much have you had to drink?”

“No more than usual. It’s my damned ankle!” McCoy protests, righting himself on one foot. “Stupid fucking tree.” Turning pink around his collar, he glares at the fine specimen of an apple tree that was probably here long before the Academy built a dorm right next to it and long before an intoxicated cadet decided to take exception to it.

“What did the tree ever do to you? Besides produce perfectly edible fruit?” A single apple, presumably from the branch McCoy was wielding, is sitting at the edge of the path and you pick it up. “White Pearmain. Dates back to the 1200s.”

McCoy looks at you with a raised eyebrow as if you’ve grown an extra head. “What are you? Some kind of fruit historian?”

“Botanist, actually.” You pocket the apple. “Look, can you manage from here?” You ask, more out of hope than expectation.You’re vaguely curious about the situation and, before this evening, would have jumped at the chance of spending some time with the tall, dark and brooding cadet, but right now he just seems grumpy and ungrateful.

“There’s a satellite med-centre just around the corner. Can you help me there?” It takes a pointed look for him to mutter something unintelligible and growl, “Please?”

You smile as if to say ‘there that wasn’t so hard now’ and he huffs impatiently.

“It won’t be staffed at this time of night,” you point out.

“Doesn’t matter.” He does a kind of wobbling hop in the direction he wants you to go. “Are you gonna help me or not? Please?” He adds without any prompting this time. When he’s being polite, there’s a pleasing southern lilt to his voice.

You glance around, but there’s no one else in sight and by the time you could comm security you could have deposited McCoy where he wants to go. Even if it seems patently pointless.

“Fine. But I want to know why you were lurking in the bushes in the first place.” You stand on the cadet’s good side, and let him lean his weight across your shoulders. You reprimand the part of your brain that insists on making you aware that underneath the liquor he smells warm and spicy.

With you as a crutch, you make steady shuffling progress to the med-centre, mostly in silence except for McCoy’s occasional cursing when he tries to put too much weight on his injured ankle.

The centre, one of the daytime ones for check ups and routine treatment, is in darkness when you get there and you resist the urge to tell him ‘I told you so.’

“What now? You can’t just sit out here until morning?”

“Don’t intend to darlin’,” he grins crookedly as he places the palm of his free hand against the entry pad and to your surprise the door slides open. “Doctor’s privileges,” he stage whispers.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Got it in one Sherlock. On rotation at Starfleet Medical between classes.” He steers you both towards the exam room which also swishes open at the touch of his hand. “Physician heal thyself,” he announces with a flourish and a smug grin.

He hops around the small room leaning on the counter and furniture, rummaging in drawers and cupboards while you loiter awkwardly by the door unsure if you should just make your excuses. Doctor or not, surely this is breaking one of Starfleet’s many regulations?

“Uh, are you sure this is okay?” You ask tentatively. “Maybe I should just leave you to it?”

McCoy glances up from the cupboard where he’s going through vials of what look like hypospray cartridges. “It’s fine. Anyone asks, you had nothing to do with it.” He puts some medication on a little trolley next to the biobed, and hauls himself onto it swinging his good leg up then more carefully lifting his injured one up after. “You mind giving me a hand here?”

It’s not really phrased as a question, and part of you would dearly like to leave him to it, but for some inexplicable reason — maybe its the way he’s looking up at you from under his messy fringe — you find yourself asking, “What do you want me to do?”

“Play Doctor with me,” he drawls and you belatedly remember that this man is most probably drunk and not more than fifteen minutes ago jumped out of the bushes at you. You file away a reminder to reconsider your life choices when you eventually get back to your dorm.

Thankfully, McCoy seems sincere about the doctoring part, and all he wants is some assistance removing his boot. He administers his own hypo first, which he tells you is a painkiller, but he still muffles another string of curses as you ease the boot over his heel while he steadies his swollen ankle.

After a few breaths, he presses a few buttons on a tricorder and passes it to you. “Move this over my foot and ankle, slowly,” he instructs before tacking on a hasty, “please.”

You do as instructed, waving the instrument methodically up and down making sure that you don’t miss any spots. You can see an image forming on the display behind the biobed, but have no idea what it means.

McCoy is twisted around to look. “That’ll do, thanks.” He squints and mutters under his breath, something about a Jim or maybe a John.

“Is it bad?”

“Nah, just a sprain. An hour under the regen unit and it’ll be good as new.” McCoy has you bring over a piece of equipment sitting on the countertop, and talks you through setting it up around his ankle. He adjusts the settings himself though and it’s not long before he’s reclined comfortably with the unit gently whirring and bathing his foot in blue light.

There’s no other seats in the room, and so you perch on the countertop. Five more minutes, you tell yourself, and you’ll leave the doctor to it.

“You still haven’t told me why you were hiding in the shrubbery, McCoy.”

He glares at you, eyebrow raised and the pinkness creeping up around his collar again. “I was hoping you would forget about that.”

“If I’m going to get kicked out of Starfleet for breaking into a med-centre, an explanation is the least I deserve.”

You hold his gaze and eventually he huffs sulkily and looks away. “We didn’t break in. And I fell. Fell and sprained my damned ankle.”

You frown. Fell, not tripped. It dawns on you after a moment — the tree branch and the apple. “You fell? Don’t tell me you fell out of the tree?” His silence and flushed face is incriminating. “Why the hell were you in the tree in the first place?” A horrible thought crosses your mind. “Were you... spying on someone?”

“No!” McCoy protests, “I’m an idiot not a voyeur! My fool of a roommate managed to lock me out! I was trying to break in to my own damned dorm. Climbing the tree seemed like a good idea at the time.” He grumbles something about hypo-ing someone’s ass, presumably directed at his roommate.

His indignation seems genuine and you’re a little relieved that you haven’t managed to find yourself alone in a deserted med-centre with some kind of creepy stalker. Though on reflection he’s still a drunk who thought climbing a tree was a sensible course of action.

“You know you could have called security, unless you make a habit of breaking and entering?”

He props himself up on one arm to glare at you again, though you’re starting to think that perhaps it’s just his default expression. “I told you already we didn’t break in. And clearly,” he waves an arm in the general direction of his foot, “I’m not a very successful cat-burglar.”

Your lips twist in a wry smile. McCoy looks just a little bit self-satisfied and settles back with his head resting on his arms.

“So, you’re a botanist then?”

“Yup.”

“Rather you than me.” He chuckles a little as he says this and though a second ago you were starting to warm to him, now you bristle at his tone.

“You’re not a fan of nature then?’ you ask archly. “You seem pretty fond of trees.”

“Touché, darlin’.” He grins again at you, not seeming to register the coolness of your question. “Me and the natural world rub along just fine, as long as we maintain a respectful distance from each other. Trouble is, you botanists and geologists and biologists, you get all starry eyed at the thought of all those new worlds to explore, those billions of new specimens to examine — Vulcan vines, seventy different kinds of Denobulan phosphorescent moss.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Sure they look pretty, but you know what I see? A billion new potential bio-hazards that you scientists are just desperate to expose us all to, and it’s doctors like me that are going to have to pick up the pieces. People think that its red shirts who give doctors the most trouble, but give me a phaser burn or shrapnel injury over a blue shirt who’s inhaled a mystery pollen any day.”

This outburst is unexpected, and you’re unsure whether you want to laugh or be offended. Maybe both. “Well that’s a remarkably cynical view of Starfleet’s scientific research programme,” you say drily. “And here I was thinking we were discovering the wonders of the universe.”

McCoy props himself up on an elbow again and jabs a finger at you. "Discovering the wonders of the universe my ass. Nature, like a woman, will seduce you with its sights and its scents and its touch, and then it breaks your ankle, also like a woman.”

You think the noise you make is a disbelieving snort. Any sense of warmth evaporates as the doctor incriminates himself as just another egotistical, opinionated ass. He looks so utterly cocksure it makes your blood rise. You pull out your comm theatrically and flip it open.

He frowns. “Who you calling?”

“The Cretaceous period. They want their dinosaur back.”

“Very funny. That’s cute.”

Cute? You snap the comm shut, and throw your hands up in the air. “I mean, seriously?” You don’t even know where to begin. “I help you and then you insult my profession and my gender. Is there anything else you’d like to criticise - my family perhaps?”

McCoy jerks upright, looking surprised. “I meant women like my ex-wife and her cronies. Not you.”

“Why thank you for exempting me from the seducing, ankle-breaking majority. Though I guess I’m still a reckless botanist.” You berate yourself for staying as long as you have, swayed by a pretty face, and hop down from the counter. “I think I should be going.”

“Come on,” he drawls, “we were getting on so well. You know this is actually the best date I’ve been on in years.” He winks at you. An actual wink. The man is delusional.

“You need to seriously rethink your definition of a date.”

“Okay. I’ll take you out for coffee sometime then.”

“It’s tempting.” You mime an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose. “I mean, what with you being an irascible divorcé with a ton of emotional baggage that you’re dealing with by getting drunk, falling out of trees and insulting women you barely know and all. However, I fear I must decline.”

“Ouch!” he clutches a hand to his chest. “A simple no would have worked.”

You remember the apple you stuffed in your pocket earlier, and throw it at McCoy who catches it awkwardly before it thumps him in the chest.

“What was that for?” he grumbles.

You shrug. “You know what they say. An apple a day...”

As you turn to leave, you imagine for just a second that a look of disappointment flashes across his face. He’ll get over it. A guy like him will forget all about you in a couple of days.

You don’t regret turning McCoy down, even if you pause for a moment when the flowers arrive a few days later, with a comm number and a request to let him make it up to you. You don’t regret it either when he catches your eye in class, while he’s defending the point you were trying to make to the professor, though you have to remind yourself that he thinks you and your colleagues are nothing more than accidents waiting to happen.

By the time you get your first posting on the science ship USS Intrepid, the night you had to help a cadet who fell out of a tree has become nothing more than an amusing academy anecdote, and you’re far too busy to ever think about what might have been, had Cadet McCoy been a little less of an ass.

...........

It’s amazing then, how clear your recollection is of that night years ago as you’re being wheeled through the corridors of an unfamiliar ship inside some kind of stasis tube. It’s the unmistakeable southern drawl, alternating barked orders with unexpectedly gentle reassurance, that sends you straight back to a long-forgotten exam room light years away in San Francisco. If you could focus, you know there would be a messy dark fringe and pair of serious hazel eyes hovering over you.

It’s getting harder to breathe and the tube feels more and more claustrophobic. The overhead lights start to flash by more quickly as you realise the medical team has started moving at a run.

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’ve got you,” you hear McCoy say gruffly. “You hang in there.”

It goes dark.

There’s unconnected flashes of things — a spray of warm water with the sharp tang of antiseptic, hooded faces, the feeling of a mask that pinches across the bridge of your nose, piercing beeps — but the first thing you’re really aware of is waking up in a biobed with the gentle whir of a tricorder being waved over your chest. You try to sit up and a hand presses down on your shoulder.

A figure in a familiar biohazard suit leans over you. “Well hello there.”

“McCoy?” Your voice is little more than a croak and from somewhere behind you another pair of hands swabs your cracked lips with something syrupy.

“Got it in one, Sherlock. How’s my favourite fruit historian feeling?”

His brow is arched expectantly. He remembers.

“Like an elephant sat on my chest.” There are bands of tightness around your rib cage, but you take a deep breath anyway. “Or maybe like I fell out of a tree.”

McCoy barks a laugh, and you attempt a smile. But he’s quick to resume his serious doctor demeanour. “Y/N, you were exposed to toxic spores from a fungal sample that an Ensign was working with. You started bleeding into your lungs. You had us all worried for a while.”

“I remember,” you whisper as it comes flooding back — the shrill of the bio-hazard alarms, Ensign Collet’s containment chamber not quite properly closed, and the quiet Frenchman coughing up blood. You remember triggering the containment protocols on your lab section and dragging Collet into a decontamination chamber while the rest of your team look on from the other side of the glass. “Collet?” you ask, already knowing what the answer will be.

The doctor shakes his head. “His exposure was more serious than yours. By the time the Enterprise team arrived planetside it was too late. I’m sorry Y/N. It was a miracle no one else was exposed, you were very brave.” His gruff sincerity is too much.

“Stupid and reckless more like,” you growl, as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut so you can’t see the ‘I told you so’ expression on his face. Tears drip down the sides of your face into your ears. “I think I need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

A hand presses your shoulder again, then there’s the clunk and hiss of an airlock and then silence.

The next time you wake up, everything seems a little less sore and your breathing is easier. You focus on the room for the first time. It’s a tiny little box, with an observation window on one wall and the biobed, a little table and two chairs. Apart from the airlock, there’s another smaller door, which you assume must be a bathroom. You sigh — it’s just like every other isolation unit you’ve seen.

McCoy comes in, still in the suit, and helps you sit up in the biobed. He checks your vitals, murmuring approvingly every so often. When he’s done he sits in the chair beside your bed.

You try and scrutinise his expression through the plastic visor. “Hit me with it McCoy. How long am in in quarantine for?”

“Until you’ve been asymptomatic for three weeks. Spock, Commander Spock that is, is ninety-nine percent certain that will cover the maturation cycle of any spores that might have survived decontamination.”

“Three weeks.” You blow out a breath and nod. “Okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll get you a padd to help pass the time and Uhura will hook you up with a comm link if you need to contact anyone. It’s going to be pretty dull though.” He reaches out a gloved hand and rests it on your arm. You stare at it mildly surprised at how nice McCoy is being, given, well... before. He seems to remember himself and pulls away, flexing his fingers.

“Will you come and talk to me?” you find yourself blurting out. “I mean only if you’re not busy. Of course you’re busy, but, I don’t know anyone else.”

“Me?” The eyebrow is doing its thing again. “I could find you someone a bit less... irascible.”

“Oh. Right. That. I was probably a bit harsh.” You’re surprised to find that you’re disappointed.

The doctor stands up and paces the few steps towards the window. He rocks back and forth on his toes a couple of times, before turning back to face you.

“No Y/N. I was an arrogant, self-absorbed, asshole, with a chip on my shoulder a mile wide, and within a hair’s breadth of becoming a drunk. You punctured my ego with ruthless efficiency. I was hurt at first, and determined to prove you utterly wrong, but the more I thought about it, the more obvious it was.” McCoy lifts a hand to his head as if to run his fingers through his hair until he realises he can’t and he just ends up smoothing the top of his hood awkwardly. “Dammit Y/N, I’m just surprised you want to even speak to me after what I said. It’s been years and I still cringe.”

You grin wickedly. “Come on. I thought we were getting on so well!”

The doctor groans. “Are you going to remind me of everything I said word for word? If you are I’m going to get Spock in to sit with you instead. You’ll be begging me for mercy after three weeks.”

“Not word for word...”

You’re surprised by how much you start to look forward to McCoy’s visits. He brings cards and you argue good-naturedly over the cheat rules of Ferengi poker and he teaches you the basics of chess. Sometimes you just talk. He asks you questions about botany and where you’ve been posted since leaving the academy and seems genuinely interested in your replies. In return he tells you all about the less glamorous side of serving on the flagship, with an unexpected flair for the dramatic. You wonder if he notices that neither of you talk about anything too personal.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a tiny bit disappointed on the days where the doctor can’t spend more than a few minutes with you, taking vitals and swabbing for spores. Usually Christine Chapel comes and sits with you then, and you try and slip unobtrusive questions about McCoy into the conversation. If she notices, she’s too polite to say anything.

It’s one day towards the end of the third week, that the person in the suit is someone new. Though you’ve ever met him, you’ve seen his face in holo-form a million times and would recognise the Starfleet poster boy anywhere.

“I’d stand to attention, Captain, or salute or something, but I’d probably fall over.”

Kirk smiles dazzlingly, “Relax, this is a social call. Call me Jim.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jim. Take a seat.”

He sits, leaning back with one leg crossed, looking for all the world like he’s lounging in his quarters not sat in an isolation unit with a stranger.

“Bones sends his apologies, he was called away. I offered to come and keep you company and it’s past time I introduced myself to you as a guest on my ship.”

“Bones? You mean McCoy?”

Kirk grins. “Yeah, it started as a joke at the academy and kinda stuck. I don’t think he minds, much.” He sweeps a glance over the room and shudders. “I’ve spent my fair share of time in these units, but not three weeks. I’m amazed you’re not climbing the walls.”

The corners of your mouth lift into a half-smile. “I’m too tired to climb anything, Captain. Jim. McCoy’s been kind enough to distract me.”

Jim leans forward propping has elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “So I hear. You know, when I’ve been in isolation he usually just visits me to stab me with hypos and yell at me that I’m ‘out of my corn-fed mind’.” He does a passable imitation of McCoy and you giggle. “I like to think grumpiness is his form of affection.”

He spots the chess set. “You play?”

“Badly.” You scrunch up your nose. “McCoy’s been teaching me, but I’m not as quick on the uptake as usual.”

He rub his hands together in a rustle of fabric. “Well then let me teach you a couple of moves to help you beat him.”

You play for a while, Kirk coaching you through a couple of Vulcan gambits. It’s only when you’ve begun to relax a bit that he turns the conversation back towards you and McCoy.

“You know I didn’t ever think I would get to meet The Botanist,” Jim says as he casually moves to take one of your rooks.

“What do you mean.” You eye the Captain suspiciously. He clearly knows more than he has let on so far.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The botanist from the Academy. The One That Got Away.” Jim wiggles his fingers in air quotes around the last part.

“That’s ridiculous,” you snort. The idea that your encounter had meant anything more than a bit of wake-up call to McCoy was madness, wasn’t it? You move a piece blindly.

Kirk shrugs. “All I know is that one night he met you, you turned him down — quite spectacularly by all accounts — and he couldn’t think about anything else for weeks.” He moves his queen. “Check.”

“But he got over it after that, right?” You hop a knight over one of his pieces and capture a pawn.

“Sure, he stopped crying into his cereal after a while. But I think you were always his biggest regret. There’s more than once when he’s in one of his more reflective moods that he’s wondered what if he hadn’t screwed it up with the Botanist. Checkmate, by the way.”

You’ve lost all interest in the game now anyway. Surely this is an exaggeration. “Why are you telling me this Jim?”

He stands and puts the chair back at the table. “I know McCoy. Even if he denies it, there’s a part of him that thinks maybe this is a second chance. His feelings run deep Y/N, I’d hate to see him get hurt if he’s wrong.”

“So you want to know if I plan to, I don’t know, seduce him, then break his ankles — metaphorically speaking?” This is a lot to take in, but it’s clear that you’re getting The Talk from Jim. It’s hilarious and mortifying at the same time.

“Metaphorically speaking, yes. He’s different than he was in the Academy Y/N, if you give him a chance.”

“I already know that, Jim. And I’ve never been the ankle-breaking type.”

“He’s still the grumpiest man I know.” Jim shakes his head.

“Irascible.” You smile. “But I think I’m getting to appreciate irascible.”

“Well... good.” As if a switch has been flipped, Jim’s serious expression is replaced by one of pure sunshine and he give’s you a jaunty wave as he let’s himself out of the airlock.

You flop back on the bed, hugging a pillow. There’s far too much to think about here when all you want is to sleep.

The final couple of days in quarantine drag. Something has shifted between you and McCoy, with the knowledge of what Kirk said hanging between you and you wonder how much of that Kirk has shared with his friend.

Though he visits as usual, the doctor seems more on edge, a little more watchful. It’s impossible to really tell anything, though, with the biohazard suit masking the truth of his expression. You’re itching to be out of this room, to have some privacy, to actually look into his face and tell him... tell him what?

Hi Doctor McCoy, I used to think you were an asshole, but now I want to jump your bones?

“Did you say something?” McCoy looks up from the biobed display and you realise you must have been mumbling. You feel heat rush from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair.

“Nope,” you choke out. “Nothing.”

He regards you with his customary raised eyebrow. “So, we’ll being doing your final decontamination tomorrow and then you’re free to go. Everything looks normal here and all your swabs have been clear for weeks.”

“Oh!” You knew it was coming, but it’s only just hit you now that it means the end of your almost daily visits. “We should have an end of quarantine party or something!”

McCoy busies himself entering some data into the panel on the wall. “Well, actually, Doctor M’Benga is going to oversee your procedure tomorrow.” He looks up at you frowning a bit. “I’ll hope to check in on you later when you’re settled in your quarters though.”

Hope to. You nod, deflated. This is it then. You think you should say something. You thought you would have time to prepare, but he’s making his way to the door so it’s now or never.

“McCoy!” He pauses at the airlock and looks back at you, just as your mind goes blank. “Thank you, for everything. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better.” You kick yourself mentally at your brilliant choice of words, which convey exactly your strength of feeling towards the doctor.

“Me too. Uhm, you that is. Getting to know you.” He clears his throat. “See you tomorrow Y/N.”

Emerging back into the real world is a bit of an anti-climax. Sparse white rooms seem to be the norm on the Enterprise rather than a particular feature of the isolation unit, you realise when Christine wheels you into your quarters for the first time. Still at least you have more than about 90 square feet of space to explore, and not everything whirs and beeps at your every movement. Still, it could use some plants.

Christine gives you a quick tour, before retrieving a bag from the wardrobe. She looks at you knowingly.

“Doctor McCoy mentioned that you have nothing with you. So I thought you might appreciate some clothes.” She opens the bag and pulls out some comfy looking loungewear that’s positively luxurious after weeks of disposable scrubs. “Someone will replicate you up some uniforms, but I thought it might make you feel a bit more human.”

You rub the soft fabric between your fingers. “Thanks Christine.”

“I, uh, also threw in a bit of make-up and a hairbrush and stuff. I can help you get ready if you like?”

You’re only going to be sitting on the couch, and then the bed, at least for the next 24 hours, but the thought of looking a bit more presentable sounds nice, and you’d be lying if there wasn’t a small part of you hoping that if McCoy comes later he sees you as more than a patient. “Sure, why not.”

Christine takes it more seriously than you expected, and really ‘a bit of make-up’ turns out to be a full on beauty kit, but by the time she leaves you’re brushed and moisturised and subtly glowing like you’ve spent three weeks in a spa not in quarantine with dubious lung function. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

Being shaken awake by a large warm hand is unexpected. As is the voice edged with concern calling your name. “Y/N, wake up for me darlin’.” After a beat, “Please.”

You crack open one eye, thinking how southern he sounds when he’s being polite. “M’awake McCoy,” you slur sleepily. He’s perched on the edge of the couch next to you in all his rumpled gorgeousness. “Been breaking and entering again?”

“Doctor’s privileges,” he says with a wry smile. He helps you sit up and you revel in the warmth of his ungloved hands. “You look different. Nice. Nice different not...” he stumbles and tails off.

Though he’s avoiding your gaze, you’re enjoying being able to see him properly again, to see the flush creeping up his neck. You take pity on him.

“Why thank you. I washed my hair in actual water. And Christine worked a bit of magic to make me look human.”

He nods and meets your eyes finally for a second, before jumping up. “I brought you something,” he says, retrieving an arrangement of brightly coloured flowers from the counter. “I checked them out with the botany lab, they’re officially the least dangerous plant in the Alpha Quadrant. Some kind of daisy from Risa. I thought you might be missing some greenery.”

“Leucanthemum Risaii — totally harmless. Thanks McCoy.” You fuss with the flowers a bit, smiling and put them on the table beside you. “So, do you want to check me over?”

He looks at you in confusion. “Um no. Unless you need me to? Dammit, I should have asked how you were feeling.” He reaches out to take your hand pressing his fingers against your pulse.

“No! No, I’m fine McCoy. I just thought you’d need to do some... doctory stuff.”

“Oh.’ His expression clears. “Right. So I, uh, passed your care over to Doctor M’Benga. He’s going to do all the ‘doctory stuff’ from now on.” He turns your hand in his to hold it properly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. After weeks of restricted contact, it feels electric. Kirk just might have been right.

“Why?” you ask tentatively, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach. If it’s true, you want to hear it from him.

He gazes at you with dark eyes and breathes deeply, like he’s steeling his nerves. You feel a little bad that he’s so uncertain, so much the opposite of the first time you met.

“Because I think you’re smart and beautiful. And so I could ask if this idiot doctor might take you out for coffee. Properly this time, not like a drunk entitled asshole. What do you say darlin’?” He squeezes your hand, smiling hopefully and your insides do a flip flop.

“No,” you whisper. His face falls and he swallows thickly looking down at your hands. You place two fingers under his chin and tilt his face until he has no choice but to look you in the eyes. “Coffee’s first date territory. I think we’re way past coffee, McCoy.”

“We are?” His voice is gruff and disbelieving.

“Are you kidding? These last few weeks we’ve had the best dates I’ve been on in years.”

McCoy growls. “Dammit Y/N, are you trying to kill me? You promised me you weren’t going to remind me of that!” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Okay then, not coffee. Dinner?”

“Yes.” You grin stupidly, and without thinking peck a kiss on McCoy’s lips to seal the deal. After a second of stunned silence he briefly kisses you back before leaning back on the couch with you in his arms. He smells warm and spicy just like you remember.

“Jim told me you’d changed your mind about me. He said you promised him you wouldn’t break my ankles. Hell, he couldn’t have made that up, but I hardly dared to believe it.”

“You know he gave me The Talk?”

“He didn’t!” McCoy looks down in horror.

“Oh he did,” you laugh. “It was sweet, but by then I didn’t need convincing.”

“He’s going to be insufferable when he finds out.” The doctor sighs. “Speaking of the infant that is our glorious Captain, he sent you a housewarming gift. It’s on the counter.”

You heave yourself up to standing with a groan and totter the few paces across the room and back again on unsteady legs. “I’m going to need that dinner sooner rather than later McCoy. I need feeding up.”

He chuckles and kisses your hair. “Sure thing sweetheart. Now come on, what’s in the box?”

It’s a plain box wrapped with a big blue ribbon, and it’s heavy. You pull the bow loose and lift the lid. It’s full of perfect red apples, and a scrawled note sits on top — An apple a day!

“Goddammit, Jim! That’s not funny!”

“You told him about the apple? What must he think — I was so mean to you!”

“He heard me call you my favourite fruit historian and wouldn’t let up until I told him the whole thing. He thought it was hilarious, said I deserved it. And I did.” He picks an apple out the box. “I told you, he’s going to be insufferable,” he grumbles.

“Are you not afraid I’m going to start throwing them at you again?” You ask putting the box out of sight on the floor and snuggle back in under McCoy’s arm.

“Are you?”

“No!”

“Well then, there’s your answer. Besides you forget, I’m not your doctor anymore. Apples have no power over me.” He takes a bite out of the one he’s holding and wiggles his eyebrows. “You can throw all the fruit you like at M’Benga.”

“Idiot.” You swat him playfully across the chest, enjoying this less serious McCoy. Something tells you if you can make this work you’re going to be very happy. “Okay so I have a very important question.”

“Fire away. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of many things.”

“If apples keep doctors away, how do you get them to stay? Pineapples maybe?”

McCoy hums thoughtfully and the vibrations in his chest tickle your cheek. “How long are we talking?”

You prop yourself up so you can see his face, brushing a piece of his fringe out the way. “A good long while.”

His lips curve in a satisfied smile. “Not pineapples then. That’s gonna need kisses.”

“Kisses?” You lean in further so that your lips are brushing his. “Like this?” you whisper pressing your mouth against his more deeply than the pecks you gave him earlier so you can taste the sweet tang of apple juice. He responds with a moan, until you both break away slightly breathless.

“Perfect darlin’,” he murmurs. “Plenty of kisses just like that.”

..........

Taglist: Tagging Urban Shitposters and a few other people I think may be interested. It’s been so long since I tagged I’m not sure who is on my general list. Just ask if you want to be added, or taken off!

@musikat18 @bkwrm523 @bookcaseninja @queenmismatched @outside-the-government @space-helen @starshiphufflebadger @yallneedtrek @feelmyroarrrr @mad-girl-without-a-box @kawaiiusagichansan @bonesmccoybones @thefanficfaerie @janeykath318 @fear0fdeathkeepsusalive @goingknowherewastaken @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

[thedreammweaver]

One of These Mornin's, You're Gonna Rise Up Singin' (Burton-schumacherverse riddlebird Victorian AU, hurt/comfort, Doctor!Ed, Patient!Oswald)

Warnings: sick pengu, respiratory issues, brief mention of drug use, Victorian medicine being Victorian, poor health, lack of appetite, neglect of self care

Ed felt the concern of both a doctor and a partner as he watched Oswald’s fitful slumbering. He’d had to administer opiates as well as the usual tincture the night before in order for Oswald’s body to allow him rest. Summer was hell on his already poor health. The heat made his ankles swell a bit more than they already did due to his unique proportions which worsened his unsteady gait. The heat was hard on his lungs as well, making most of his breathing whistly or wheezy. Ed kissed his sleeping lover on the cheek before heading downstairs.

   Ed was making sure the three live-in maids weren’t using their master’s poor condition as an opportunity to slack. He’d asked one of them to fetch some ice from the small ice house outside and was now pacing about the house waiting. He traced his fingers along the intricate carvings in the fireplace daydreaming about it being lit come winter and cozying up in front of it with Oswald. His happy thoughts were halted by a terrifying one ‘What if Oswald doesn’t make it to Christmas?’ Ed shook the thought off quickly. If Oswald had somehow managed to survive many summers before he’d hired Ed surely this one wouldn’t be the death of him. As if on cue the sound of Oswald coughing could be heard from upstairs. Luckily just then the maid Ed had sent out returned carrying a tray with a bowl of ice on it “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you.” He said absently, taking it from her and heading back upstairs.

   Oswald looked miserable as Ed held ice wrapped in a cloth to his forehead. His eyes were watery and he was struggling to catch his breath. He leaned into the cold of the ice as that seemed to be the only thing that helped. “My poor bird..perhaps you’d care for some ice cream?”

“Not hungry..” Oswald groaned.

This only worsened Ed’s concern, Oswald rarely refused food especially if it was something sweet. He hadn’t eaten well the day before either. “Hmm..” Ed pondered as Oswald took the ice from him to better press it to himself. “Perchance hopping over to the lake for a swim would help you to feel better?” Ed offered, referring to a lake that lay in the back part of the property. Oswald sighed “Yes, a swim would be nice.”

“Very good!” Ed clapped his hands together, happy that Oswald felt like getting out of bed at all “You’re ready to get up then?”

Oswald moved to a position where Ed could help him up “If you’re ready to catch me should I faint then yes.”

“I can certainly do my best to break your fall.”

Oswald gave Ed a skeptical look “Not to undermine any strength you may possess, Edward, but I’m certain I’d be more likely to break you.” They both laughed as Ed hauled Oswald to his feet.

    Oswald leaned on Ed as they walked down the dirt path to the lake, Ed had managed to get him to eat a bit of bread before they left the house. Ed couldn’t help but think the other man looked adorable in the striped one piece bathing suit he was in. He was obviously relieved to see the lake as once they were close enough he abandoned using Ed as support and waddled into the water. He sighed happily as he started floating on his back. It was the first time Ed had seen Oswald smile in a few days, he was watching the man peacefully float when he was startled from his thoughts by a request. “Why don’t you join me, Edward?” Oswald hummed, looking up at the taller man. Ed felt a bit stunned “I...erm- I can’t swim..” he mumbled.

Oswald scoffed “No bother, It’s not so deep, dear. Please, being in here by myself makes me feel lonesome.” he pleaded. Ed couldn’t stand the thought of Oswald being lonely in any capacity. His face flushed as he began disrobing to go into the water. He’d seen Oswald undressed many times but that was only due to routine, they hadn’t been intimate in such ways yet which meant Oswald hadn’t even seen Ed shirtless. Ed fought the urge to cover up once he’d stripped down to his drawers. He cautiously waded over to Oswald, the water was only up to his hips. Oswald looked at him with concern “Good god, darling, I can see your ribs.” He moved a flipper along Ed’s side. Ed often let himself get so busy he neglected things like eating properly. Oswald frowned “I won’t have you getting malnourished, Edward.” He scolded, though his face softened “I want to take care of you. You’ve been so very good to me...you’re the only doctor that’s helped me.” Oswald absently put a flipper to his own arm, tracing at old scars from countless sessions of bloodletting and other horrible ‘treatments’ “The only one to treat me as not just an oddity to be dissected and prodded but as a man.” Ed blushed at being praised so though it made his heart ache to think of what Oswald must have endured  “I’m happy to be of service,” Ed cooed, he kissed one of Oswald’s hands “For as long as you need me.”

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: The Operation

Dorothy needs surgery and must confront her fear of hospitals. Blanche and Rose work on their tap routine.

Picture It...

Blanche and Rose carry Dorothy into the house, limping. She somehow injured herself while they were rehearsing their tap dance routine, which Rose is only too happy to demonstrate. Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy go into the kitchen, where Rose apologizes for being a little overexcited about tapdancing. When Dorothy spasms in pain again, Blanche and Rose insist she needs to go see a doctor. Dorothy is resistant, but agrees when she can’t manage even a single tap without pain.

DOROTHY: Alright alright, I’ll go . . . for the sake of the act. BLANCHE: If you want to do something for the sake of the act, have one of those two left feet made into a right one.

Blanche and Rose are doing their dance in the living room. It’s a cute little routine that involves each of the girls getting a solo tap. They leave a gap for Dorothy’s solo, and Blanche quietly frets about Dorothy’s health in time to the song. Sophia comes in just as they’re finishing the song and refuses to join in.

Dorothy comes home with a cane, but insists that she’ll be okay with some rest. Sophia immediately knows she’s lying, and Dorothy confesses the doctor actually said she has a tumor in her foot and needs surgery. It’s a simple surgery, but Dorothy refuses to do it, as she’s afraid of hospitals. The other Girls try to talk her into it, but she’s not listening to reason. Sophia pulls out her best Italian mother skills and guilts Dorothy into it.

DOROTHY: Ma, it’s my foot. SOPHIA: Your foot, my heart. Do you have any idea how much a mother suffers when she sees her child in pain? DOROTHY: Look Ma, don’t do this-- SOPHIA: I’ll tell you how much. Worse than the twenty-three hours of labor it took to- DOROTHY & SOPHIA: --bring you into this world. Worse than the burns I got working nights as a fry cook to help put you through college. Worse than-- DOROTHY: Alright! Alright Ma! I’ll have the surgery. You win. You always win, but you don’t play fair. SOPHIA: That’s why I always win.

The Girls visit Dorothy in her hospital room, and comfort her before her surgery -- or try to; Rose and Sophia don’t help much. After they leave, Dorothy’s new doctor comes in and reveals her previous surgeon is being sued for malpractice and he (the new doctor) won’t say why, and half-jokingly tells her how likely she is to die during the surgery. Later a priest comes in while Dorothy is sleeping to perform the Last Rites on a patient for whom he mistakes Dorothy, and scares her by offering to come by after her surgery to do the same. She puts on her coat and flees the hospital.

From her bedroom, Blanche catches Dorothy by her sliding door trying to sneak back into the house. Rose also saw her and comes in to see what’s wrong. They try to talk Dorothy into going back by talking to her about facing her fears, but Dorothy’s not having it. Sophia comes in, and isn’t pleased to see Dorothy there. Dorothy reveals why she’s so scared: She was left alone in the hospital at age 5 before her tonsil operation. Sophia finally puts her foot down and threatens to cut Dorothy’s tumor out herself if Dorothy doesn’t go back.

ROSE: Blanche, call the police! I just saw a big, ugly man with a limp walk past my bedroom window. He was wearing Dorothy’s coat! *sees Dorothy* But then again, it was dark, and I tend to overdramatize. What are you doing home? BLANCHE: She snuck out of the hospital. She’s too scared to have her operation. ROSE: Dorothy! DOROTHY: Look, I couldn’t help it! When the doctor came in with the release form, he told me what could possibly go wrong. I just panicked! BLANCHE: Darling, nothing is going to go wrong. ROSE: Blanche is right. Of course, one summer when I was a candy striper, you wouldn’t believe the things I saw. Lost patients, mixed-up medications, botched operations-- DOROTHY: Rose, do a big, ugly man with a limp a favor and shut up.

Dorothy is wheeled back into the hospital room, where she’s got a new roommate. Bonnie, the other woman, is upbeat and makes conversation with Dorothy, who warns that she’ll be cranky. Bonnie tells Dorothy that her own surgery is happening after Dorothy’s, and she’s surprisingly calm about it. She’s having her second mastectomy, and admits she’s scared, but says she’s reconciled herself to the situation. After all, she doesn’t really have any other choice. Dorothy is quietly ashamed of herself for the way she’s been acting.

Later, Blanche and Rose are getting ready to go perform their now two-person tap recital, but Blanche is nervous and jittery. When Rose confronts her, Blanche confesses that she hasn’t told Rose something: She’s afraid of performing, and she wet her pants during her first ballet recital as a little girl. So now she doesn’t think she can do the tap recital. Rose, however, isn’t sympathetic -- in fact, she snaps on Blanche and tells her to buck up in the most amazing way possible before dragging her out.

ROSE: Hey,  we’ve all got our sad stories. BLANCHE: What? ROSE: Look Blanche, we’ve practiced for six weeks. We’ve paid for our costumes. We told everybody we’d be there. Now you’re not going to wimp out on me. You’re gonna go to that recital. And if you end up in a puddle tonight, well you’d just better break into “Singin’ in the Rain.”

Dorothy wakes up in her hospital bed with Sophia next to her. Sophia is more gentle now that Dorothy’s had the surgery, if a bit grumpy from spending so much time in a chair next to Dorothy’s bed. Dorothy looks over to thank Bonnie, but she’s not there. No, she hasn’t gone to surgery -- she’s getting Sophia a sandwich.

Blanche and Rose arrive from the recital to check on Dorothy, who asks how the performance went. They were a hit with the crowd, and they’ve received several requests to perform again. Dorothy is excited to dance again once she recovers. Blanche and Rose have to awkwardly admit that they have reworked their act from the Tip Tap Trio to the Two Merry Widows. They proceed to show off their new routine to Dorothy and Sophia, including throwing flowers from a decoration onto Dorothy’s face for some reason. Once they finish the dance, Dorothy initially applauds them, then proceeds to put her fist through Rose’s top hat.

“I won’t dance! Don’t ask me!”

It’s another Dorothy spotlight episode, and another one where she has one of her less-flattering character traits brought to light. I don’t know if it was because Bea Arthur was the most recognizable actress out of the four at the time (which is debatable, I admit), but Dorothy sometimes feels like the “main” character of the first season. I could be wrong, but I think we’ve had more Dorothy-centric episodes this first season than anyone else-centric. I may have to do a season breakdown after we finish this first season just to see how it shakes out.

In any case, here we get to see Dorothy having anxiety about hospitals and surgery. While I do enjoy a good Very Special Episode every now and then, I enjoy it more when Golden Girls deals with fear in an amusing way. The actresses are all good enough to sell both versions, but the funny ones usually have some of the best scene setups, and this episode is no exception. Dorothy getting scared in her hospital room by three well-meaning-but-tactless people in rapid succession -- Rose, Dr. Revell, and the priest -- is one of those things that shouldn’t be funny, but really, really is.

Realistically, I would probably be running too if my surgeon’s bedside manner were as bad as Dr. Revell’s, to say nothing of encountering a priest who’s a little too eager to perform the Last Rites on me. Bea Arthur’s reactions are what sell the humor -- I could (and someday might) write a whole paean to Dorothy reaction shots.

BLANCHE: *about Dorothy’s hospital room* Isn’t it a lovely room, Rose? ROSE: Very lovely. I just keep wondering how many people have never left this room? DOROTHY: Where are they, Rose? Hiding in the shower?

This is one of the better-balanced episodes. Blanche and Rose hold down the B-plot while Dorothy takes the A-plot, with Sophia running support for both plots (though only briefly for the B-plot). I know I talk about this a lot, but I’m mostly doing it to show how the show changes and improves over time. It’s really hard to write a story with four primary characters and ensure they all get their share of attention. Sure, only one or maybe two Girls are the main character in every episode’s story, but even when that’s the case, all of the non-main Girls should get an equal amount of screen time. My intent is to show how the writers get better at this throughout the show’s run. And this is one of the really good first-season episodes for balance. All four Girls are present for the major scenes and no one is forgotten.

The condition Dorothy has, Morton’s neuroma, is a real thing, by the way. Dorothy’s case must be pretty severe: According to the Mayo Clinic, it’s a swelling in the tissue around one of the nerves leading to the toes. It can be treated in various other ways, with surgery being a last resort. Dorothy’s original lie about how the doctor told her to “take it a little easy for a few days” would indeed have been one of the treatments they’d have tried first, probably.

SOPHIA: *after Dorothy says she has to take it easy* You’re lying. ROSE: Oh Sophia, Dorothy wouldn’t lie! SOPHIA: A mother knows when her child is lying. It’s like bat radar.

This episode features one of the more cursory of the side characters in this show: Bonnie, Dorothy’s hospital roommate who inadvertently helps her cope with her hospital phobia. I say “cursory” because she’s not a major character in the episode, appearing in only one scene and having only a few minutes of screen time, but she does trigger an epiphany in Dorothy. I kind of wish she were around longer, because as a character she’s kind of one-note. She has to be the one who finally gets Dorothy to calm herself and get through the surgery, which she does by being the world’s most stoic cancer patient.

I get the idea: Her dignity in the face of her very serious surgery is intended to do what Sophia’s threats and guilt and the other Girls’ reasoning couldn’t. Trouble is, I’m not exactly sure how -- by which I mean, I don’t know if Dorothy feels “like a damn fool” because Bonnie’s showed her how to brave her way through the fear, or because she’s realized her operation is relatively easy and low-stakes compared with Bonnie’s. Either would fit the narrative, honestly. I almost wish we got to see the scene where Bonnie agrees to fetch Sophia dinner from the cafeteria, because at least then Bonnie could have shown a little humor.

BONNIE: I hope my exercising doesn’t bother you. DOROTHY: No, not at all. What is it, some kind of therapy you have to do? BONNIE: No, I just like to stay healthy. DOROTHY: Hate to break this to you Bonnie: You’re in a hospital. The exercises aren’t working.

But if the A-plot ends on a somewhat bland note, I think the B-plot more than makes up for it. In fact, I’d hazard a guess that Rose and Blanche’s dance scenes are what most people remember this episode for, rather than Dorothy’s fears. Dancing and singing on this show is almost always a treat: These actresses were ridiculously talented, and from what I can tell from the behind-the-scenes material, they also looked forward to doing these scenes. Neither Rue McClanahan nor Betty White had much tap experience, so they would walk around the studio in their tap shoes to get used to the sound. According to Betty, they would also dance a bit as they did so, because it’s hard to be in tap shoes and not tip-tap around.

We also get to see a bit more of Rose the Hardass in this episode. It turns out it’s not just bowling that brings out Rose’s aggressive side. Usually Rose is only this way in competition, but in this case I think she’d just had enough after spending the whole episode trying to coddle Dorothy, only for Blanche to panic a couple of hours before a recital for which they’d been practicing six weeks. I question why Blanche’s fear of performing didn’t come up at any point during those weeks, but Blanche does say she’d thought she was over it. In any case, it’s also a little bit cathartic for the audience, who might just want to snap on someone after watching almost a whole episode of Dorothy stubbornly refusing to move past her childhood trauma. I’m not saying Dorothy’s not sympathetic, but I think we needed that moment of someone harshly telling the complaining person to just get over themselves after the more quiet humbling she got from Bonnie.

I also found a quote in Golden Girls Forever from producer Winifred Hervey saying that everyone was admiring Betty’s and Rue’s legs while filming these scenes. And they do, indeed, have very nice legs. Though I will say the one big question that lingers over this episode is: Given that Dorothy says the recital is “next week” the same day she first injures herself, how in the heck did Rose and Blanche manage to scramble together a whole new dance routine in a week?

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

The performance of the Two Merry Widows.

[blogging-time]

Mealybugs

Send me a random word and I will attempt to write a Hurt/Comfort Fic containing/based on it. My Fic Masterlist

Word: Sick - Submitted by @3amthebitchinghour! 

Summary: Roman couldn’t deny the fact that he’d found Patton’s seemingly unjustified concern to be somewhat endearing at first... but now things were quickly getting out of hand...

If only Roman had known why Patton felt so protective over him, it could have saved the pair oh-so much heartache. 

Warnings: Mild illness/fever. Very brief Remus mention.

Pairings: Platonic Royality. (Can be interpreted as romantic.)

Word Count: 3,595

~ ~ ~

Roman couldn’t deny the fact that he’d found Patton’s seemingly unjustified concern to be somewhat endearing at first. Despite his well-sown fear of appearing both feeble and childish, there was just something about the dad Side’s ever-blossoming kindness that chipped away at the prince’s protective thorns until he was nothing more than a delicate collection of crimson rose petals in the botanist’s careful hands.

Perhaps to Patton, Roman was little more than a single clipped rose, powerless to fight off the tender love and care that he had deemed the prince beautiful enough to be deserving of. Still, Roman had enjoyed every last moment he’d spent simply being a part of his friend’s heavenly garden. Every day he’d let his roots embed themselves further and further into the soil until there was seemingly no moving him, and every day his friend would come by to perform his routine check-up.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you flourishing, kiddo!” his friend would chirp with a carefree smile.

But even the most attentive of botanists will one day see their flowers wilt. Even the most well-tended gardens can become victims of disease. And when this happens, perhaps one of the worst things you can possibly do for an already suffering rose is overwater it.

In the beginning, the whole thing had seemed as innocent as a timid field mouse cautiously poking its head up to greet the cold evening breeze. True, you typically wouldn’t want to see any type of rodent rummaging around in your garden, but there had just been something so careful and genuine in Patton’s eyes that had made the man seem far sweeter than any succulent berry he could possibly steal away.

Besides, Patton had been Roman’s faithful botanist, not some common thief. The prince knew there was nothing in this world that his friend would intentionally deprive him of. However, the intention doesn’t always match the outcome, and one simple observation was all it took to set off a rather unfortunate series of events.

~ ~ ~

“Oh, kiddo… you’re sick,” Patton had commented, concern dripping from his voice like melted ice-cream.

“Oh, Padre, you’re too kind,” Roman had joked back, hoping against all odds that he could bury the dad Side’s concern with his quick wit.

But Patton’s heart was not so easily satisfied.

“What in Thomas’ name do you think you’re doing out of bed? You should be resting.”

The prince sighed before answering, “It’s just a passing cold, Patty-cakes. There’s no need for you to be getting your buns in such a twist.”

“You leave my buns out of this, little mister,” Patton countered, taking a step forward and gently placing his hand on the ill man’s already damp forehead.

Looking back, perhaps the moment Roman instinctively let himself melt into the touch of the moral Side’s cool hand was the moment he’d sealed his fate.

The botanist’s persistent supervision began not long after that.

~ ~ ~

It had all started with a humble offering of chicken soup.

“Now you just lie here, Roman, and I’ll serve you up one of my very own Patton-patented pawsitively palatable poultry plates in just one moment!”

“Now look who’s paid a visit to the alliteration station!”

Then came the many cutesy looking coffee mugs, almost all of which contained some different variation of Healthline’s ‘Top 10 Healthiest Herbal Teas You Just Have to Try!’

“As the wise Uncle Iroh once said: Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights!”

“Padre… we’ve known each other for almost thirty years.”

“And yet this dashing prince simply never fails to fascinate me!”

And who could forget all of those simple yet tedious everyday tasks that Patton had offered to fulfil in Roman’s steed?

“Oh, most sweet and noble knight of mine… are you absolutely certain that this quest I have assigned to you won’t prove itself far too time-consuming or demanding?”

The moral Side chuckled faintly at that.

“My liege, I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll see to it that Master Thomas gets his chance to rehearse this afternoon, and that the last of the required props are picked up from Ye Olde Hobby Lobby in plenty of time for supper!”

“You have my eternal gratitude.”

“And you, my tissues.”

One could easily argue that the feverish prince had been entirely too willing to comply with the botanist’s generous wishes during those first two days, but how was he to know just how overbearing his friend would become over the course of the next seventy-two hours?

It had all started with Patton’s refusal to let Roman prepare his own toast.

“It’s just a simple slice of toast, Doctor Ramsay,” Roman bantered, “And if it’s any consolation I’ll promise not to cut the bread with my sword this time – Prince’s Honour!”

“Kiddo, you shouldn’t be handling food at all while you’re not well; that’s how you end up spreading germs.”

“To whom? Myself?”

“You never know, Roman. Please… just leave all of the cooking to me for now. I can have everything done within five minutes.”

Then came the many unnecessary yet incessant visits to Roman’s room that Patton would make throughout the day.

“Knock, knock!”

“Oh, I wonder who could possibly be there?” Roman drawled.

Patton giggled weakly at that.

“Just your happy-chappy pappy checking up on someone sappy!”

“Somehow I don’t think I’m the sappy one here, Patton.”

And how could Roman ever overlook the fact that he’d practically been put on strict bedrest for multiple days when there were so many other things he’d rather be doing to elevate his growing boredom?

“Listen, nurse… I understand you’re just trying to look out for me, but I can’t see any good reason as to why I shouldn’t be allowed to go and play ‘Mario Kart’ with the court jester. I feel like I’ve done nothing these past few days, and besides, my temperature barely even meets the criteria for a fever anymore.”

“First of all, we’ve already spoken about you referring to Virgil as the ‘court jester.’ Second of all, the reason your health has been improving is because you’ve taken the time to do nothing. Thirdly, Roman you’re far too competitive to be playing videogames right now. You’ll just end up psyching yourself up too much and making your headache so much worse.”

The prince had done his best to tolerate this sort of treatment for five whole days before allowing himself to finally admit the obvious: Patton wasn’t his knight in shining armour; he was the dragon-witch responsible for keeping him locked up in a tower.

He knew confrontation was inevitable if he wanted to see the outside world again anytime soon - Too long now had he been kept inside of a restrictive vase as opposed to an open flowerbed. Still, going into the discussion, Roman had downright dreaded dealing with the resistance he would surely be met with from his fellow Side. Of course, he knew the moral Side would never be mad at him for standing his ground, but if he didn’t want his friend to worry then he felt he’d still have to prepare a solid rebuttal.

The creative Side had braced himself for his moral counterpart’s troubling frown. He’d fully anticipated his friend’s most frequently recycled justifications and prepared what he considered to be an adequate counterargument for each. Heck, the prince had even taken the liberty of preparing an evidence casefile should the dad Side ever demand to see proof of his ongoing recovery.

“Behold! The piece of evidence that clearly contradicts the witness’ testimony!” Roman rehearsed, finger pointing rather dramatically at his bedroom mirror, “If you take a good look at this thermometer, you’ll see that my temperature read as 98.6F this morning. Mr Sanders, you claimed I couldn’t leave the room for as long as I have a fever, but this device clearly shows I now have a perfectly normal body temperature!”

Undoubtedly Roman had done enough preparation to ensure that even a man as tight-lipped as Logan couldn’t help but feel proud of his work. If only history had been kind enough to repeat itself, then perhaps the creative Side could have even found himself standing in the middle of another ‘Sherlock Holmes Fan-Fic’ type situation.

However, there had been one rather unfortunate series of developments that the prince had not fully fortified himself for – one that had proven itself to be far more regrettable than unlikely, and one that the prince would have no choice but to embrace as he failed to sway the conversation back in his favour.

For within mere minutes of opening his carefully planned, well-constructed and adequately researched argument, both the poor over-watered wilting rose, and his apparently not-so-attentive botanist had completely abandoned their cool demeanours in exchange for a far more contentious persona.

“Roman, please, just be reasonable,” the dad Side pleaded, arms outstretched in a halting motion as he took yet another step back towards Roman’s doorway.

“Oh, my stars!” the aforementioned Side proclaimed incredulously, “Do my ears deceive me? Or is that truly ‘The Hypocrite of the West Coast’ sincerely asking me to be more reasonable?”

Had the man standing before the prince been anyone but his favourite fatherly figure, then surely he would have pressed him on the long sigh he just let out.

“Kiddo, I understand why you’re upset, but you know I’d never try to deter you like this if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary. I hate seeing you cooped up in here just as much as you do!”

“Then why won’t you set me free?”

“Because I believe-”

“Oh yes, because you believe it’s the right thing to do, don’t you? That’s always what it seems to come down to at the end of the day! Everything in the entire Thomas-sphere has to revolve around what Morality thinks is right and wrong! Honestly, what have the rest of us ever done to deserve a seat at the table?”

The moral Side’s entire body seemed to tense at that, his breath hitching as though he were trying to force some unsavoury words back down his own agitated throat. Tears were now threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes, yet his gaze remained almost perfectly fixed.

“Roman…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it, Pat! I’m sick and tired of listening to what you have to say!”

“You’re sick and tired, full stop, Roman! Please, you should really just go back to bed while I-”

“While you do what, Patton? Are you planning on tucking me back into bed again? Perhaps you could infantilise me even further by reading me another bedtime story, or- Oh! I know! Why don’t you go and prepare me yet another bowl of your infamous chicken soup? I’m not sure the first couple-hundred bowls have made me entirely anti-poultry yet!”

Undoubtedly, hunched up shoulders and pointedly narrowed eyes weren’t a particularly good look on the usually oh-so-cheery dad Side, but he simply couldn’t help the fact that his composure was shrivelling up so fast.

“If you really want to get me out of your hair so badly, then why won’t you just let me take care of you? The sooner I can get you healthy again, the sooner I can leave you to your own devices!”

“Because it’s not your job to take care of me, padre!” the prince snapped back, this time sounding utterly exasperated. “I’m not some delicate little flower that you should feel obligated to attend to! You’re not my designated botanist! You… You know what you are? What you really are, Pat? You’re just some aggravating little mealybug that’s latched onto my leaves that now adamantly refuses to let go! You’re sucking the life out of me, Pat, and it’s causing me to wilt! How on Earth do you expect me to stand it?”

With those words, the last of the moral Side’s composure finally slipped away.

“I don’t know, Roman! How do you expect me to cope with losing Creativity again?”

The words had come barrelling out of his mouth before he could even think to stop himself, and the tears don’t fall too far behind.

The room fell completely silent in an instant, bar the sound of the dad Side’s sombre hiccups.

Try as Patton might, he genuinely couldn’t help the feeling that he was being cruelly suffocated and torn apart from the inside. It felt as though someone had forced him to swallow an entire packet of dandelion seeds, and now the unwelcome plant was blooming, stems sprouting painfully from the pit of his stomach before forcing its way up through his throat, and finally bursting out dramatically from his silently screaming mouth. It seemed that no matter how hard the botanist had tried to suppress this unruly weed, the truth was always destined to come to light in some horrific way.

“Patton…?” Roman hesitantly asked, his previous shouting voice having been replaced by an almost-whisper.

The man in question only let a single choked sob escape before continuing to speak…

“…He was just like you, you know…” he blurted out, voice sounding unnaturally strained from trying to suppress his own emotions. His eyes were now utterly transfixed on the floor, almost as if he were willing it to magically open up and swallow him whole.

The prince audibly gulped as he mentally prepared himself for the question he’d inevitably have to ask, regardless of whether or not he already knew the answer.

“Who was, Pat?”

Another choked sob escaped; this time followed by a long, shaky, uneven breath. The question seemed to hang in the air far too uncomfortably for far too long as one Side watched the other pathetically curl in on himself.

“The King,” Patton eventually rasped out, words slicing through the tension in the air so swiftly and so grotesquely they almost seemed to mimic the actions of a rusty lawn mower blade.

Roman could practically hear the machine whirring around inside his head.

“He told us all it was just a cold – That he’d be perfectly fine if we just left him alone for a few hours…”

“Patton…”

“He told us all to just go out and play… He promised us he’d come and join us as soon as he was feeling better… At the time none of us even realised that would be our last chance to run around in the garden together… Our last chance to marvel at the early Spring flowers together… Our last chance to weave intricate little flower crowns together with the King… and so we missed it… We missed our final chance to say ‘goodbye’ and then he was just… gone…”

As the well finally overflooded, allowing for two long streams to suddenly pour down the older Side’s fiercely flushed face, the young prince swore he could feel his own still beating heart immediately split in two.

“Patton,” he tried again, “Surely you don’t blame yourself for any of that. I highly doubt there’s anything you could have done to prevent such a fate from befalling the old Creativity – and even if there had have been, you couldn’t have possibly known any better!”

“I could have been by his side!” Patton snapped back, punctuating his words by gripping his upper arms even tighter. “I knew one of my friends was sick and I did nothing to help him! Worse than that, Roman, I left him alone to play hopscotch.”

“Darling, it’s not your fault for having such faith in an old friend. He was the one who told you to give him some space! You were only doing what was asked of you!”

A sudden wave of realisation swiftly struck down the prince’s confidence the moment he heard those words aloud.

“Oh, my dear little heart…” he cooed as he watched his shaking friend visibly shrink. “I’m so sorry, Pat… I didn’t mean to-”

“No… No, you don’t have anything to apologise for…” Patton sniffled as he tried to stand up properly. “I… I understand I may have been a bit… overbearing these past few days, but I…” He was getting choked up again. “I… I just couldn’t risk losing Creativity again… I couldn’t risk losing you. I love you so much, kiddo, and I genuinely don’t know what I would do if I ever-”

Roman decided to silence that oncoming tangent by abruptly pulling his spiralling friend into a warm embrace. Perhaps the experience would have been a little more pleasant had his own body not decided to start trembling mere moments ago, but none of that seemed to matter as the dad Side slowly melted into his soothing touch.

“Do you want me to let you in on a special little secret, padre?”

The dad Side merely nodded his response into the crook of the prince’s neck, causing the slightly calmer man to let out a faint chuckle.

“The truth is… when I first appeared here in the mindscape, I really didn’t know much at all about… well… anything! Sure, I had a decent enough hold on what sort of things inspired Thomas, what stories he wanted to tell and how he wanted to go about telling them… but when it came to Thomas’ internal ‘Breakfast Club’ I was almost completely at a loss! By all accounts your quizzical looks should have made me feel like a Roman gladiator thrown haphazardly into a colosseum without so much as a broken stick to defend myself!”

“I’m sorry if any of us startled you…” came a muffled response.

“But that’s the thing, Pat,” Roman recounted with a kind smile, “None of you ever did… In fact, from the very first moment I ever laid my dazzling eyes upon all of your startled yet adorable – if not slightly nerdy – faces, I honestly never felt anything but… safe, secure… welcome, even! Now I know that may not make much sense at first given how little I actually knew you all at the time, but I happen to have my own little working theory as to why I felt that way. Would you like me to share it with you?”    

That question was apparently enough to make the dad Side look up from where he had been nuzzling his tear-soaked face into his friend’s now admittedly rather damp shoulder. The sight of his puffy eyes alone was enough to make Roman want to tear off his own crimson rose petals and use them as an overly extravagant tissue on the botanist’s grief-stricken visage.

Alas, a small piece of his velvety sash would have to suffice for now.

“Please,” Patton tentatively begged as the prince carefully wiped away at his cheeks.

“I reckon it’s because the Creativity you once knew never truly left. Even if I didn’t maintain the vast majority of his memories, I vehemently believe that all of those otherwise inexplicable feelings were the by-product of him having once loved all of you. He never felt betrayed… He never felt lonely… He never felt as though you let him down, padre, because it’s abundantly clear didn’t.”

“But how can you be so sure his feelings never changed?”

“I don’t know, my own little Patton-ted Piglet… How can you be so sure they ever did?”

Something in the moral Side’s expression seemed to change in that moment… Something subtle yet unmistakable that let Roman know he’d finally gotten through to the man.

It was only a matter of time before a contented smile had taken place on both of their blushing faces.

“I suppose I never really thought of it that way…” Patton sheepishly admitted.

“Yet you’d dare to entertain the thought that your dashing prince would ever leave you?”

The creative Side had fully intended for his sentiment to come across as light-hearted. Rather unfortunately for him, it appeared his words only served to make the dad Side feel more guilty.  

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you like that earlier, kiddo… and I’m sorry if my paranoia ever made me act unfairly towards you… I guess I just let my parental instincts get the better of me sometimes…”

“I’ll consider it all water under the bridge so long as you promise not to tell Teach I had to take a leaf out of his book today,” Roman joked, earning a stifled burst of heartfelt giggling from his now slightly more chipper and upbeat friend.

When the laughter eventually subsided, the dad Side decided to take a step back and get a better look at Roman, consequently breaking the embrace as he did so.

“I can’t tell if you acting all logical is supposed to be a sign that your health is improving or deteriorating,” he playfully teased.

“Well whichever one of the two it is, I just hope all of this exposure you’ve had to my sorry-self over these past few days hasn’t been enough to infect you.”

“Oh, Roman, I hate to tell you this, but I was already sick,” Patton merrily admitted after only a brief pause.

“What?” the prince dramatically exclaimed, voice suddenly sounding perturbed. “Oh, padre… Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? We need to get you tucked into bed with some medicine and a bowl of chicken soup right away!”

Although Morality had tried to contain their mildly inappropriate giggling, he simply couldn’t help but be amused by the irony behind Creativity’s words.

“I’m afraid there won’t be any need for that,” he giddily reassured, “After all, doctors say there’s still no known cure for love-sickness!”

~ ~ ~

General Tag-List:

@lunamay2006, @not-so-innocent-bi-sander, @saphael-malec102, @anastasialestina

Note: It’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic, so this tag-list may be a little outdated. If at any point you want to be added/removed from my tag-list then feel free to let me know!

Secondary Note: I may come back and edit the ending a little at a later date. This fic had been sitting in my WIP’s for far too long, so I’m worried it may have come across as rushed due to the fact I really wanted it to be completed.

As always, feedback is much appreciated! I was very out of practice and sleep-deprived here, so I’m sure I’d benefit a lot from constructive criticism! I hope you’re all having a fan-der-tastic day!

[curedofheadaches]

My mission with this blog…

To bring awareness to a grossly underestimated cause of headaches: caffeine.

To get to the bottom of why doctors don’t appear to know this.

Most of all: To help those plagued with headaches. 

I need your help…

          If you are a headache sufferer, you can help me test my caffeine-cause theory, possibly curing yourself of headaches, by participating in my experiment, and then simply describing your results here in my comment box. If I gather evidence from others that this works, then my argument will be stronger and I will be able to get more attention from the medical world. 

          Because migraines are closely associated with epilepsy, I certainly wonder if this would apply to those with epilepsy as well, and I would like to hear your experiences too as it relates to elimination of caffeine from the diet.

         The experiment…

          I need headache volunteers, who have a caffeine habit to any degree, to try a caffeine-free diet for two months, and report back to me as to whether or not you are having fewer headaches, if they are less painful, shorter in duration, or require less to no drug intervention. Every bit of caffeine must go: coffee, tea, sodas and energy drinks with caffeine, chocolate , or any other product with caffeine. This includes many of the very drugs that doctors prescribe for headaches, as well as many of the over-the-counter remedies. You must clean your system of caffeine for several months before you can tell if it will work for you. 

          Considering the pain you are in with headaches, this is not a hard thing to do. However, I have met many stubborn headache sufferers who refuse to try the caffeine-free diet and would prefer to have a sickening headache. You don’t have to cut out coffee or tea. You just have to switch to decaf. Switching to decaf products, is easy to do taste-wise, but could make your head ache from withdrawal, so do it slowly and in increments. I talk about it in my story  below.

So, please read about my own 27-year odyssey with headaches, and then leave your comments or questions below. Please write as much detail about your headache journey as you wish and be sure to include your experiences with doctors. I am especially interested in knowing how they communicate with a patient on a first visit.  

My own history of migraine headaches…

           For 27 years, my life was plagued by right-sided migraine headaches. They started when I was 22 and lasted until I was 49, when I figured out what was causing them.  In that time, I was prescribed a wide variety of powerful drugs that wasted my body, affected everything major aspect of my life, including possibly the loss of a pregnancy as well as my marriage and may have contributed to long-lasting health issues such as dry macular degeneration.

          Cafergot, Fiorecet, Fiorinal, Esgic, Midrin, Atenolol, Topamax, Elavil, a wide assortment of triptans, Tylenol with Codeine, Demerol, marijuana, botox, Excedrin and Depakote are the drugs I tried along my 27-year migraine headache journey. Some of these were prophylactic stabs in the dark at prevention, none of which worked. Many of them are painkillers that seemed to aggravate the problem and I would cycle through them, hoping for better results. Some of them are the big guns drugs that stop the headaches, but leave you wasted in their wake.

          The ergotamines were the old-fashioned drugs that worked as vessel-clampers. They worked, but they were dangerous. The first time a doctor prescribed cafergot to me, he prescribed a dose that was way too strong for my 100 pound body. I ended up unable to open my arms and legs to get out of a fetal position. My muscles became locked from lack of blood flow. It also made me vomit. For days afterward, I had rebound headaches. In the weeks to follow, I went through black out periods after taking too much of the drug again.  Working out the dosage so that I took just enough to kill the headache, but not so much that it made me sick or caused black outs, was tricky but once I worked out a good dosage and timing of that dosage, I was able to better control the migraines to keep them from escalating out of control. Cafergot suppositories became my crutch, the item I never left home without, for years. Then, the triptans became the popular migraine drug as Cafergot disappeared from the market due to safety concerns.

          The beginning of the end of my headaches came in 2008, when I was co-authoring a blog.  In a post one day, I mentioned that I had migraines.  Two of the readers of our blog commented on the post, telling me that the only way they had gotten rid of their own migraines was to eliminate caffeine completely from their diet.  

           At the time, I didn’t believe that I consumed enough caffeine to make a difference. In fact, no doctor I had ever seen about it, thought it could be problematic. Surely, they would know. They were even prescribing caffeine and telling me to try a cup of coffee at the onset. In theory, that might work since coffee is a vasoconstrictor which might help to shrink the swollen blood vessels in your head. I know now, that it doesn’t work and serves to aggravate the problem if you already have a caffeine habit. At the time, I thought my headache  attacks would have been much worse without the caffeine. 

           I was in the habit of having one cup of coffee in the morning that was made of half-strength caffeine (half-caf).  Then, I would have a glass of iced tea for lunch, and sometimes, as a chocoholic, chocolate in the evening. Adhering to my reader’s advice, I decided to wean myself off of a caffeine habit that I had had my entire adult life except when I was pregnant, during which time I did not drink caffeine and during which time I, incidentally, did not have headaches.  My doctors told me at the time, that the lack of headache was due to hormones and the miracle of pregnancy.  

           I first reduced my cup of half-caf in the morning to quarter-caf.  The day after I began this reduction, I had a nasty withdrawal headache that lasted a week and required drug intervention of Frova.  The following week, when I switched to full decaf in the morning, again I had a headache for a week.  Next came the tea.  I also reduced it to half twice, with an extended headache resulting each time.  At that point, there was no doubt in my mind as to how profoundly the small amounts of caffeine were affecting me.  The last to go was chocolate and again, a headache.  Once my system was clean, I was completely cured of migraine headaches, or at least had learned exactly how to control them. I have not taken a single drug for a  headache since. It has been 12 years.

           To test my caffeine theory, I have experimented with adding caffeine back to my diet in small amounts.  I can tolerate one dose of caffeine in the form of coffee or chocolate if, I do not consume it again the following day to set up a cycle of need.  I have tested this many many times. Now, when I do get a caffeine headache, I as able to ride out the attack without intervention of drugs, because I don’t further aggravate the migraine by adding the caffeine fuel to the headache fire. They do not get bad enough to bother me to the point I would waste my body with drugs like the triptans. 

           Through the course of my life with migraines, I have tried just about every remedy known to the neurological world.  I have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars on doctors, therapists, drugs, MRI’s, botox injections, biofeedback, and on insurance rates inflated because of my pre-existing condition. I have lost countless work hours and feel it drastically affected what would have otherwise been the most productive years of my life.  There was even a time when I considered applying for disability. To have altered my body’s chemistry with harsh drugs for 27 years could well have the long-term affect of shortening my life span and could possibly have caused my dry macular degeneration (no family history and “vascular condition” is a risk factor).  All of this, because I did not know that what was causing my headaches all along, in the smallest amounts, was the common substance, caffeine. 

           In those 27 years, each time I have been to a doctor about my headaches, I have been routinely questioned about my caffeine intake, but I was never once told that I should eliminate caffeine completely from my diet. It would seem that the doctors were looking for abuse of caffeine, and were not concerned about moderate use. Quite the contrary, I have been prescribed the very drugs with caffeine, that I know now, perpetuated my headaches.  These include Fiorinal, Esgic, and Cafergot, and over-the-counter medications that contain caffeine.  I am amazed that the complete cessation of caffeine consumption is not a routine part of headache treatment practiced by every doctor in this country.  Why, indeed, do doctors prescribe medications with caffeine?  Why do drugmakers produce it without warnings. Whenever a patient presents with chronic headache complaint, doctors should automatically ask if the patient has any caffeine habit. If so, they should eliminate it completely from their diet for two months to see if it works.

Misconception or fraud?

           And why is this unknown to the medical world?  After I cured myself of headaches, I went to see my neurologist one  last time to tell him that I thought I had discovered what had been causing them all along. He didn’t believe me, doubting that it could be true, and questioning whether it would last.

           Furthermore, I have never found any literature stating that all headache sufferers should cease all use of caffeine. In reading the National Headache Foundation site for instance, there is no mention of this.  To the contrary, the site lists ‘Excedrin Migraine’ as its first over-the-counter medication.  Excedrin Migraine has caffeine.  

           I am alarmed by the ignorance of the medical field with regard to the perils of caffeine for sufferers who already have a seamingly benign caffeine habit. How can an average person like me know this, but the nuerological field is ignorant to it? Is it negligence on the part of researchers and educators? Or worse—fraud? Malpractice? Consider the careers that are built on headache treatments. Consider the money that millions pay. Consider the loss of productivity and quality of life. Consider other people who might be plagued for 27 years like me.

Please write to me...

Again, please tell me your story in my comment section. If you would prefer to email me directly, my address is: lbtowers@aol.com. Many thanks, in advance, for your help to solve this mystery!

Lisa

[hollenka99]

Fighting Stolen Breaths

Summary: 1932 is a horrible year for Jameson.

Warnings: Terminal illness, implied death

The cough that refuses to disappear is the thing that alerts him. The fever and fatigue are worrying too. Still, his first self-diagnosis is simply influenza. That is until he recalls his meeting with Maggie Powell in December. The spots of blood mixed with phlegm cannot be ignored.

The doctor doesn't have to tell him the most likely outcome. He already knows. The question of prognosis is not 'Will I?' but instead 'How long?'

The truth is there isn't really an exact way to say for certain. For some, it only takes a handful of months, if that. For others, it can drag on for a year or two. Jameson knows he is likely on the briefer end of the spectrum. January 1st 1932 was the last New Year's he was to celebrate and he hadn't even known it.

He doesn't tell the children at first. He even lies to his wife about the severity of his illness. His bedroom becomes a quarantine zone. Still, he helped raise intelligent children and Oliver is the one to suggest he leave for a sanatorium. Reluctantly, he does.

He'll fight stolen breaths for his children.

They need him to come home. Likewise, he needs to ensure he sees Siobhan and Nora again. It's been too long for him to go without doing so.

The Barlow Respiratory Hospital is a decent establishment. He makes them promise to not release any information regarding his admittance there. He'd prefer for the public not to know he is gravely ill. If there are still members of his personal circle who don't know, why should anyone who reads a newspaper be aware before them?

The routine is tedious. He must lie down in the fresh air, as many hours of the day as possible. He sneaks in writing wherever he can. He promised Maggie Powell he'd write a story with skeletons and he has to leave Nora something. His youngest daughter will never have memories of him, not like her siblings. This is the least he can do for her.

June arrives and it becomes apparent he is not getting better. In fact, his health seems to be steadily declining. By his reasoning, there wasn't much point to staying at Barlow. Some had it within them to take to the treatments. Others, like Jameson, simply didn't respond to the efforts as hoped. He'd taken a chance and all it had brought him was nothing but wasted time.

Anthony is back from Berkeley when he returns home. He shows his father a picture of newborn twins, his first grandchildren. They are beautiful. A little boy and girl. He wishes his eldest son good luck with fatherhood.

He keeps fighting stolen breaths for the grandchildren he knows he'll never meet.

Not just James and Genevieve. No, those are the first two of who knows how many. Anthony is still 19 and the only one of his siblings to reach adulthood so far. Jameson has 7 children who are all probably going to have some of their own in the coming decades. So many individuals he'll never hear refer to him as Grandpop. Just another aspect of life this disease is robbing him of.

Anthony also alerts Siobhan to the situation behind his back. Reading her handwriting has never hurt more when her response is delivered. She is angry and desperate, as she has every right to be.

He keeps fighting stolen breaths for Siobhan.

She did make him promise, after all. And he would certainly hate for her to waste her energy marching straight down to the deepest depths of Hell to give him a piece of her mind.

Siobhan has always been so good to him. Even when he hasn't deserved it. Here she is, risking her own health to care for him. Waking to see her smiling sweetly at him on that afternoon in late August triggers tears. They haven't been in each other's presence in four and a half years. Yet here they are, in this atrocious situation.

He fights stolen breaths for his family too.

Pearl and Clifford visit occasionally over the warm months. Sometimes all the visit entails is them signing to each other. Simply spend time in each other's company while they still can. Mabel is briefly in Los Angeles as August turns to September. Her presence is comforting too. His sister is right, watching Nora play in the garden from his window is somewhat ridiculous.

For three weeks, Siobhan tends to him. She cools his forehead whenever he burns internally. She reassures him it really is fine to sleep. He'll swear he honestly isn't hungry but she'll ensure he has eaten something each day. This disease has put him through a lot. But he can't submit yet, he can't. There's Henry's birthday and Oliver's, and his own, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's Eve, there is so much he has to be there for. He has to persevere on.

So he fights and breathes, fights and breathes, fights and

rests.

[calleo-bricriu]

Guess what I’m still reading? Still reading out of spite but, still reading?

That awful book.

Right, let's get back to the worst book I've ever read and, to note, I am including every single malicious, aggressive, definitely is trying to kill you it's not your imagination Dark Arts book I have ever handled in my entire life, just so we're clear about how bad this story is.

Chapter 5 opens with Leigh, the clear projection of the doctor-author himself, waking up in a room he doesn't recognise and not thinking anything about that is weird, instead writing it off as to it being his "inherent love for the sea" guiding him there.

He then talks for most of the rest of the page about how he has no idea how long he's been there and maybe it was his 'second personality' that was in control which is the first mention we see of that ever having been an issue from him--unless that's just his way of saying, "Must've gone on a bender again."

Tries for awhile to figure out what day it is, apparently gives up, and decides to re-focus on winning...something...from his sister and that doing that would save his son who, as far as we know (as he's only been briefly mentioned), is perfectly fine and not in need of any sort of saving.

Several paragraphs of rambling about how sane and calm he is to the point that he’s sort of proven he’s neither.

Buys a newspaper, finds out he's been blackout drunk for ten solid days, finds out from some random guy on the hotel porch that he bought a yacht.

At this point, I'll remind you that previous chapters indicate he hasn't held a steady job in over a year (mostly due to being drunk and crying to the barman that he's such a misunderstood genius), is always weeks behind on bills, and hasn't paid rent in a few months but somehow dredged up money to buy a yacht while on a bender.

Isn't bothered by this, doesn't think it's indicative of a drinking problem and also it's not his fault because the yacht seller should have known he was drunk and not sold it to him or something.

This is, like, four entire pages in to chapter five and I'm already so tired.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement could read this book aloud in interrogations but even the Ministry might consider it torture.

Oh, Leigh’s problem isn't drinking, by the way; it's "psychic epilepsy" so it's definitely not his fault.

That's--not actually a real thing.

Anyway.

Dozen or so pages of him internally trying to figure out how the hell to get out of this, "I bought a yacht with money I have no idea how I got and possibly got by doing something very illegal" situation.

His wife is also apparently not bothered by this behaviour either, she's just happy to see him; I'd be the opposite because this has been shown to be a pattern of behaviour on his part but, well, she buys the "psychic epilepsy" excuse because she's terrified of being seen as a nag.

Nag him, good lord, do something that isn't completely enabling him to be this way.

Now the narrative is going on and on and on about "unreasonable women" who would pretty reasonably be upset if their husband couldn't hold a job, wouldn't even try to get one, wouldn't let her get one, couldn't pay the bills, and routinely did things like tell her he'd be home in a few hours then go on a 3-10 day bender and show back up without a word.

That's a reasonable set of behaviours to be at least a little annoyed about.

Leads into how it's hereditary, this psychic epilepsy thing, so absolutely not his fault.

He's a regularly paid published author now, by the way, and has been for some time despite this being the first time it's ever been mentioned in any capacity. The only two other careers we've seen from this guy are something to do with working in a laboratory in Germany and working at a hospital as a doctor before being almost immediately fired for a combination of the constant drinking and possibly just being sort of insufferable to be around at work.

Some guy named Rob walks in. No introductions apart from that, we're all just meant to know who the hell Rob is despite this being his first appearance.

Some guy named Charlie/Dr. Bell is also just randomly mentioned and is also in...the house sleeping. People think he's lazy but he's really just conservative, whatever that means.

Find out Mizpra was engaged to some guy named Moore who dumped her to go to Yale, which is evidently why she turned into a "masculine" bitch. Sure, why not?

Philosophy attempts again from Leigh the Misunderstood Genius (who definitely does not have a drinking problem and knows more than you about everything): "Love, Charlie, is  like medical treatment; if it is free, given lavishly and procured without sacrifice, it is thrown aside at pleasure, and the giver ridiculed and derided. Haud expertus loquor."

Okay, first of all, that's not what love OR medical treatment is like. Not even--remotely, especially medical treatment.

Second, stop trying to sound smart with the Latin; all you said was "not experience" there, Mr. Genius who is definitely not a direct projection of the quack doctor of an author.

Leigh used to pay stenographers to go to class for him and take notes so he could go and give theatrical performances to "insane patients". Lovely guy.

Just to remind you, we’re meant to be sympathising with Leigh in this story, not wanting to strangle him every time he opens his mouth to bore everyone for ten pages.

Leigh refuses a drink while they're all at dinner which is one of the few good choices he's made in 81 pages and a little over a year in terms of the story's time line but then ruins it all for answering a joke about it being because he's married with PAGES AND PAGES of him trying to be a fucking philosopher again and just boring the bollocks off of everyone both in the book and reading it. How the hell does this guy know what delirium tremens are yet still thinks his entire problem is caused by psychic epilepsy and not alcoholism?

Charlie asks about money for some reason, probably trying to change the topic and get this moron to stop pretending he knows what he's talking about in any capacity.

That triggers three pages of him doing the same thing, only about money this time. At least in this case, it's mentioned that Leigh "got carried away" so there's a glimmer of self awareness. Probably the only one we'll ever see.

They agree to play golf tomorrow and Leigh and Obera just--get up and leave, despite dinner having not even been delivered to the table yet. Nobody seems to notice.

Chapter 5 is now over.

Chapter 6 time skips an entire year and starts with Mrs. Newcomber and Mizpra sitting outside and it's mentioned it's been a year since Leigh tried to see her so--about a year passed between chapters five and six.

Mother dearest is described as a "pliant tool" that Mizpra somehow convinced to go to Colorado Springs to open up a school, and that's where we are now.

Colorado.

Mizpra gets to pick the ladies who get to go to the school and just seems to do so on a whim, which has made her and it wildly unpopular; fair reaction, no explanation given as to why she acts like that just that she did it "without giving any satisfactory reason."

Colorado has lots of "clever physicians" (but not enough, probably because Leigh isn't there. Yet.) but Colorado is populated by people who just hate doctors. Despite that, they keep moving there.

Then, it skips to Mizpra reading mail and one letter, "announced the  marriage of the plastic Zora to an untutored, scheming Yankee lawyer."

Okay.

First question: Who the HELL is Zora?

Second question: This isn't really a question, I'm just reasonably certain that lawyers, even lawyers in 1901, had to have some level of formal schooling. Then again, so did doctors and here we are with this guy who apparently just slept through every single year of med school he went to.

Someone named Marcia wrote as well and Mizpra doesn't like her either because she "insisted on standing for her rights" and was married to an "unknown quantity." No idea who Marcia is or how she knows Mizpra, it's not been explained yet but has been introduced in a way we’re supposed to know already.

Dr. Bell we finally fucking find out was a friend of her father's and that's why he knows both her and Leigh.

Could have explained that back in chapter five when the character was introduced but, hey, I'm no doctor, what do I know about constructing a coherent story?

Dr. Bell wrote to yell at Mizpra about her being mean to Leigh and his son. Not to Obera, to whom she has been directly mean multiple times so far, just to Leigh and his still unnamed son. The kid's like two years old now and we still haven't been told his name he's that irrelevant to the plot.

Somehow this trips her to decide she needs to just completely ruin Leigh's life because he's an obstacle to her 'designs and ambition' but it's never been explained what those are. It also doesn't explain what she's planning to do just that "she must place him in such a position as to make him helpless in his struggle for his rights. With these thoughts, horrible, fiendish, partly laid schemes arose".

They are never explained.

Maybe she's going to open another school that's just for boys and purposely and repeatedly deny his 2 year old son entrance, I have no idea at this point.

While she's distracted coming up with vague plans, her mother interrupts and says what amounts to, "I'm blind but even I can see you're an old maid."

Harsh.

Her response is to go on about how disgusting marriage is and "what poor, weak, helpless creatures women are! Such a degrading, vile, humiliating acceptance of the loss of personal freedom."

...okay. I guess that's one way of telling your mum to fuck off and that it's not that you CAN'T get married it's that you don't WANT to.

She calls some woman named Jane in to ask her if she...washed the horse yet.

The reply is "yes, mum" which is evidently how Jane pronounces ma'am. She tells Mizpra that she'd be better off hiring a man because mares respond better to men which is not at all how horses work.

Then, we have this exchange:

"No, Jane; what a man can do a woman can do better."

"You do be joking, Miss. How about the babies?"

"There are two many of them now. You should be a woman, Jane."

I was following Mizpra there up until the, "You should be a woman, Jane" bit when Jane has already been described as a woman several times in two paragraphs.

Jane tells her she is a woman and wants to get married and start a family some day, which makes Mizpra angry and somehow the author seems like this is a good time to mention her muscular frame because--that's not a thing women are allowed to have, and to emphasise that Mizpra is not a ‘good woman’, we just occasionally remind everyone how masculine she is.

I know we're meant to dislike Mizpra but, at this point, she's the most sympathetic character here, having to put up with all this nonsense and having the only reasons we're told she's 'bad' is because she has all these masculine traits (from previous chapters, broad shoulders, a deep voice, a square jaw, an 'unwomanly' figure, narrow hips, the author stopped just short of saying, "Yeah, she's basically a man in a dress that tells everyone she's my sister.")

This is page 88 of 403.

Anyway, Mizpra storms off because Jane's, "I want to get married some day" got her that mad, sits down at her desk, and starts reading which is also framed as a bad thing because Good Women don't use their brains for that, what's the matter with you?

Starts talking to herself about how her mom called her an old maid which, I mean, if she's single, not married, and implied to be over 40 that's--sort of what old maid meant. She says, to nobody in particular because she’s the only one in the room, "Well, I think I can show my sisters that I can throw off that appellation and still rule man!"

Now she needs a secretary and a lawyer to always be with her 24/7 and we finally find out that Zora and Marcia are her sisters.

That could have been mentioned much earlier in the story.

What is up with the naming conventions in this family anyway? Every other sibling gets a normal name and the others get names like Zora and Mizpra?

So, what we know now is that Mizpra:

A) Thinks her sister Zora is dumb as hell.

B) Thinks Marcia is whoring around and the way it's written comes off as envious not, "How shameful!" Nothing is stopping you from doing it too, Mizpra.

C) Thinks Leigh is a "clever fool" with a "spewing brat" and a "little, weak, dependent" all of which are entirely fair.

She goes off to arrange visiting Leigh, hoping the trip back East screws with their mother's health enough that she'll gain full power of attorney which is part of whatever evil devious plot she's got going.

Gets up to go to the mirror and get dressed, laments that she "had lost all youthful appearance of womanhood, though still young in years" gets mad at her reflection and throws everything on the vanity at the mirror then goes with, "No, I'll use my intellect, my power over him, not the feminine baubles of Eve."

Over who? Your brother? Please tell me you weren’t considering trying to be sexy for your brother.

She is then described as "short of hair and short of sex" on account simply because her hair is short. Again, the whole, "Hey, hey, have there been enough clues given to tell you that she's just straight up ugly like a man in a dress??" thing.

Even with the, "Hopefully this trip basically almost kills my mother so I can take all of her stuff and cut my brother out of the will" thing she's still the most sympathetic character so far.

Mrs. Newcomber's only real skill aside from being blind and insulting one of her daughters is droning on and on and on about the religious of ancient Egypt.

Then it goes into something that's--nice, actually, though probably wasn't considered a good thing at the time--about how more women should focus on getting an education so they're not stuck being a housewife if that's not what they want to do but, since it's 1901 that's not a thing and it wraps up with how they only think that because "neither knew they the emotions dormant in a woman's breast."

Which are, apparently, to be an uneducated housewife and mother because that’s what the men like.

We’ll just forget the fact that Mrs. Newcomber was married and has had at least four children that have made it to adulthood. That’s not important now. The important thing is she’s being an icky teacher and learning things now. How fucking unladylike.

Mizpra then goes outside, says hello to someone,  like that's it, "Hello, Burke!" and it's framed as a "clumsy attempt at coquetry". What? She--she literally just said hello to someone she knew! That's not how flirting works.

Burke, who is a pale, sickly young man, had evidently told her however long ago the other day was that he loved her and he thought she was mad at him about that.

She tells him she's not mad and explains she was in Denver and his response is to ask her why she's playing with him, she says she's not, he tells her she's being cruel (somehow? maybe because she keeps calling him a silly boy, which is, frankly, rude as hell), and we find out that Burke--as if the name and physical description weren't enough to indicate this--is kind of a social outcast because he's awkward and weird and more than a little bit dim.

But, he overheard some gossip about her and now she's literally shaking him down to make him tell her. Basically, The Men Folk don't like her ideas about women having an education, the public hates it too, and if it were the Middle Ages they'd just burn her at the stake.

Again, Mizpra comes off as the most sympathetic character in the story so far.

Oh, and she apparently doesn't like corsets and made some doctor's daughter, who is a student at her school, remove it at the front of the classroom then kept her standing there while showing all of the other girls the creases a corset puts into the skin which is admittedly entirely inappropriate for a dress code violation.

That's not the problem though, the problem is that Mizpra’s hands were "so cold and rough" that she fainted, and the implied manly hands and fainting are the part everyone is upset about.

Her reasoning for it was that the doctor's daughter, "is suffering from the feminine folly of imitating the male sex in all animal life on the globe--that is, the garnishing of the body to attract the opposite sex."

Again, not how that works; in most species, it's the male that gets all flashy and showy to attract a much drabber female's attention. I do sometimes listen to Lazarus ( @pocketsfullofspiders )  when he's talking about his work.

At the end of all that Burke...asks Mizpra to marry him at specifically 8pm that evening? What?

Okay.

Her response is to ask him if he knows how to use a typewriter. I actually kind of like her at this point, apart from the whole half undressing a teenager in front of the entire class thing.

Anyway, she agrees, because he knows how to use a typewriter so I think she just hired him as her secretary and he agreed to it because I guess his payment is getting to marry her at 8 that evening.

She leaves to go do the getting a marriage license thing and just talks to herself the whole way about how gross Burke is and, ew, he kissed her chin because she didn't get out of the way fast enough, what a fucking creep.

That's going to be a great marriage.

She chose her dressmaker based on the fact that that particular dressmaker's shop offers free cocktails to customers. Fair enough if you're getting fitted for a wedding dress to get married to someone you can't stand.

The reverend that's going to marry them is someone she's got under her thumb; she basically paid to clean up his reputation because he'd ruined it due to just sort of being a drunk, kind of like her brother. Takes him outside and first says she needs to ruin her brother's life.

With alcohol. "[...] and any other scheme you can concoct."

Leigh's weaknesses are, of course, alcohol and evidently women.

She'll pay him a salary to do this and also essentially said if he spends i ton gambling she'll track him down and break every bone in his body.

I'm still not really disliking her.

She then calls him a wind bag and a hypocrite, which he takes as a set of compliments.

He's also mad she's getting married but corrects himself and says it's a miracle; she tells him it's to Burke Wood, and gets, "He can't live six months; and married he won't live six weeks."

HAHAHA! Wives are terrible, am I right?

Her response to that is he definitely will because she's going to take good care of him and 'treat him humanely' which I feel like is the bare minimum required for a marriage, treating someone humanely.

His take on that is, "She is a eunuch in heart and mind! She possesses the soul of a sewer."

And Mizpra becomes an even more sympathetic character.

Some family she knows passed by in a carriage didn't see her so didn't wave to her and now she's also spitefully planning to ruin their lives over being blanked. Settle down, Mizpra.

Goes home, tells mom she thinks they should go see Leigh, mom rightfully points out that Mizpra has spent like two entire years repeatedly explaining why they shouldn't ever do that for any reason and that turns into a debate that the mother eventually loses and is convinced to sign over power of attorney to Mizpra.

She then explains she's getting married that evening then going to Denver the next day and her mother's only concerns about this are of her not--"taking care of Burke on your wedding night". Good priorities.

For some reason she goes off on how she has a fucking job and isn't getting married to turn herself into "a mere setting hen, a female destitute of all ideas save one--that of breeding" which is somehow shocking to her mother.

Mizpra isn't even going to tell Burke she's headed to Denver tomorrow morning until after they're married so he can't back out.

This honestly sounds like a lot of Pureblood marriages now.

Later on we find out that Burke has inexplicably been asking Mizpra to marry him for "some time" now so he's really bad at taking the hint.

So, those two are married now and he has no problems with her going to Denver on business and I'm not sure why the last half of the chapter was spent making it seem like that would be a Big Issue when his response was, more or less, "That's cool, I know how work is."

That's the end of chapter six and this is just so stupidly exhausting that I'm not even going to try to start chapter seven tonight.

Up to page 103 of 403 though!

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

How would the Papas and Copia do to help a Child of Sin with or recovering from an eating disorder?

Always remember to seek help and speak out if you or someone you know has an eating disorder. They are very serious and very life threatening. Remember lovelies, you are never alone and there are many out there who want to help you

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Eating Disorders

(These will be very unspecified, as there are several types of disorders triggered by different means. )

Papa Nihil: Nihil didn’t know you had an eating disorder at first. He was very scared at your health, thinking you had something like cancer and weren’t telling him. He is some what relieved when it comes to light you have an eating problem, but it also scares him to death. Eating disorders are serious, and he treats it with every amount of concern you should. Nihil doesn’t want to panic you though with his concern- fearing it might make you more closed off. Instead he sits you down and asks you to please talk to him. Let him know how he can help you. It’s one of the most difficult conversations you both have had, but in the end- it was worth it. Nihil supports your treatment, and is with you every step of the way. 

Papa I: Chances are he was the one who encouraged you to seek treatment. Papa is very observant and probably picked up on your health or eating habits, since you both are so close. Papa sat you down and calmly told you how much he loves you and wants you to feel good and healthy. Papa’s goal is to help you through getting help, without forcing you. Papa always made sure you knew he was proud of you for getting help. That you weren’t weak for your disorder. That, and he’s with you every step of the way. Whether you want him with you at appointments, or just to stay by your side. Before, during, and after treatment Papa is there. Every step of the way, he’s got your back. Even after treatment, every day he checks with you. Makes sure you are well, even on bad days. 

Papa II: Papa is more than likely to let doctors care for your medical well being. He’s not expert, so he won’t act like his advice or mindset will magically help your recovery. BUT- he will be a firm rock for you always. He won’t come up with his own remedies or routines, but if a doctor gives you one he is there to make sure you both stick to it like glue. Yes, I mean both of you. Papa makes sure he is every bit of supportive and caring as he needs to be. When he wants to be, he can be a downright pain in the ass to you. Like vehemently refusing to let you be triggered into a relapse. Or miss any therapy appointments, if you have them. Tough love, but he means well. He understands it’s a complex disorder and just wants to make sure you don’t suffer again. 

Papa III: Your biggest cheerleader. He’s there for you with emotional support and making sure you don’t have to recover alone. Papa will be there whenever you need him. Whether it’s to listen on days it’s rough, or days you feel like relapsing. Just know you are never alone with him. He won’t directly interfere with your routine or meals if you don’t want him to. But he is more than happy to help you if you need him. Whether that’s him sharing meal times with you, or just talking through your anxiety. As long as you don’t feel alone and feel supported, that’s all that matters to him. His favorite thing is to help you pick foods and meals together, though. To make you feel less anxious and that way you don’t eat alone. 

Cardinal Copia: Your initial seeking of help and treatment were only the first steps. Copia had been supportive and by your side the entire time. But for him, the important part and hard work was going to be when you got home. As much as he would love for you to be cured, he knows that’s not how these things work. But he wants to make moving forward as easy as it can be. Copia knows your food triggers, and anything that might set you back. If you are particularly focused on WHAT you are eating, he makes it a point to always share meals with you when possible. Or to at least make sure you aren’t alone when eating. Whether it’s planning menus, taking steps to start snacking, or even shopping with you. Copia will follow your lead, always. He just wants to make sure you don’t deprive yourself of necessary vitamins or skip meals.