finally got updated draculaura collection pics, one of g1, and one of g3!!! i think the last time i took a picture of them was in april 2022, so its been a while!!

April showers bring May flowers but around here April just brings more pain. 

April fools! Its 29/4 but guess who turned out to be the biggest fool? 

spoiler alert, me!

You surely have noticed many people having favorite and lucky numbers of 2 , 3 , 7 or even 11 but as a kid i couldn’t help but notice that somehow I’ve always been associated with the number 4 (which later on will be described as my cursed number and YOU will see why), It bothered me SO much for some sorta weird reason that i felt like it’s a sign for bad thing, I just HATED the goddamn number and i didn’t even know why. For example, l’m the 4th granddaughter from the oldest to youngest, my family consists of 4 members, ive sat in the 4th disk away from the board in elementary and middle school and ive meet my lifetime best friends in the 4th grade. Now pay attention as you’ll see this taking an absurd turn where you start overthinking your whole life as a kid, if we subtract our apartment floor from my grandparents’ apartment floor 11-7 = 4, the addition of my birth day numbers 3+1 = 4, the subtraction of my birth year numbers 6-0-0-2 = 4 and uk the silly tiktoks that gives you a number for whatever reason? It ALWAYS was a 4.

As i grew older, i never gave it much thought until ive met my beloved month of the year, April🫶🏻

Oh April, the month during which i spent and initiated the most painful moments and heart-wrenching relationships (with guys mostly) of my whole life. Today (more accurately tomorrow) marks the end of you, and believe me i ended it with a one good of a cry that I vomited :>

And for the special moment of it ending, let me recall the memorable events engraved in my heart that have taken place during this month.

*wild drums* 3rdddd of april marks the birthday of my ex! really what a fresh start, and the very next day that same ex first texted me privately, mad at me for befriending the most 2 popular guys of my high school (sounds insane out of context lol). Next! I had the best moments with three of my ex-guy bestfriends, one of which turned out to be THE “enemy” to most of my guy friends currently and the other two did me SO FUCKING dirty that i won’t forgive them for it until the end of time. Regarding these two, I spent the first few days of the month living the worst week (seriously whom I kidding the rest of my life) in fear, high blood pressures and sudden panic attacks, luckily for me tho god came to the rescue as always and I’ve met my soulmate who got me out of the troubles I made with my own consequences, thanks to him i am who i am today<3 Moving on, I also first met the first true love of my life and ex of 1 year :/ (i really miss you). Lastly, concerning my bestie best guy best of best friends, it marks your birthday on the 16th of April that I’ve celebrated with you(?) for the first time this year.. YAY 18th HAPPY BIRTHDAY :3 and whom i cant even talk to properly anymore :( 

I also just got to 400 songs on my playlist! And found out that there’s only a period of 4 days between the day on which I fell in love with the loml and the day that changed everything thereafter between us.

Moral is: shit happens and although I got to live through the miserable month over the past 2 years, I’m still quite excited (terrified) to see what it holds for me in the future, and owing to it, I’ve grown into the person I am today. Looking back, I could finally wrap my head around what my younger self had of what I like to explain as a vision of awful stuff happening to us associated with the number 4. 

s/p first year as a PA

I was hired as a hospitalist primarily for the transplant service. However, in the setting of the pandemic and staffing shortages, I am all over the place now and work in almost everything non-pediatric and non-surgical. 

In my first few months as a PA, I was incredibly overwhelmed. I went from being a learner who switches specialties every month to a fully-fledged provider making life-or-death decisions on an hourly basis. Oftentimes I’d find myself in the room of a patient actively crumping, surrounded by the patient’s family and multiple nurses awaiting instructions on what to do to save the patient. I thought that I faced a lot of pressure in school, but it was nothing compared to this. 

And just when I started to get a hang of it all, the pandemic hit. What a nightmare. As mentioned above, I was hired to work with with transplant patients. Prior to the pandemic, my transplant colleagues and I were masking and gowning for almost every patient: 1 surgical mask and 1 gown per patient and per patient encounter. But once COVID hit, we were rationing PPE. 1 N95, 1 pair of goggles, and 1 face shield for the pandemic. 1 surgical mask per week, and 1 gown only if a patient had Cdiff or a history of MDRO bacteremia.

What did the pandemic mean for our transplant patients? 

Our patients are on immunosuppressant medications to prevent transplant rejection. Unfortunately, this makes it difficult for them to fight infections. 

Our department did what it could to prevent COVID. We'd test patients on admission for COVID, regardless of symptoms or exposure history. If they were positive, they went to the COVID team and quarantined on their unit for a period of time and had to test negative before returning to our unit and being transplanted. We took many other measures to reduce COVID risk to the best of our ability. 

People still died. To see someone get transplanted successfully and then die of a virus is horrifying. Unfortunately, despite our admission tests, sometimes patients contracted COVID within the hospital. Patients would be happily FaceTiming their family one moment, telling them all of their plans for once they were discharged- then the next day they'd be intubated. We tried Remdesivir, Dexamethasone, prone positioning, etc. But the virus moved through them quickly, and these efforts often were too late. No amount of hoping and praying brought them back. 

As a first year PA, I learned to go to an empty conference room, close the door, and remove my mask before calling to the family of the deceased. This way, as they gathered around the phone in their homes, the family could hear me unmuffled as I delivered the news. Also, this way my tears didn't ruin my mask for the rest of the week. 

I learned a lot this year. It's been a mixture of crying and laughing. There are times that I question why I ever became a PA, and then there are times when this career feels like home. In addition to transplant, I’ve also been working in the  ED, IMC, ICU, inpatient hospice, clinic, and infusion center these past 6 months. I’ve learned quite a lot along the way.

Lessons learned as a first year PA:

1. Check your pager hourly: This is in addition to checking it whenever you get paged. Sometimes I’ll get paged while I’m rounding, read it, and then forget about it. Now I go through my pager at every hour to ensure that I already responded to all my pages and then answer ones that I missed/forgot.  On a semi-related note, a while back I wrote about good paging etiquette.

2. Let people know when you're out: I work a rotating schedule. As a result, it’s hard to predict when I’m in or out of the hospital. Sometimes I’ll come back on service and find urgent emails or texts that are a few days old. Now I leave an away message with my return date and my supervisor’s contact information on both email and hospital text. If someone really needs to get a hold of me, my supervisor has my personal cell phone number.

3. Be conscientious of what time you consult: I generally try to get all of my nonurgent consults done before 3pm. Many services have only 1 resident covering after 3pm, so I try not to page/call unless I have an emergency. 

4. Call the nurse if something needs to be done urgently: Being a nurse means being the ultimate multitasker. Room 5 is due for his IV Amphotericin, Room 2's Foley is supposed to come out prior to void trial with Urology, Room 1's infusion completed and is beeping, and Room 4 is a bit altered and yanked out her PICC. Now I’m placing an order for Room 3 to get IV Lasix due to concern for pulmonary edema. However, the nurse may be preoccupied with Room 4 and not see the order in the computer for some time. If I really need to the patient to get the Lasix right way, I’ll place the order through EMR and then call the nurse and see what their situation is. If they’re crazy busy with Room 4 and likely to be unable to get to the Lasix within the next 15min, I ask whether they’re okay with me asking another nurse to give the Lasix now. Usually the answer is yes.

5. Value your nurses: Nurses know the patient best. They’re the ones answering call bells, giving meds, doing dressing changes, etc. Unfortunately they oftentimes bear the brunt of everyone’s frustrations, from patients to patients’ families to attendings to managers. Not to mention, they’re the ones doing the dirty work. Bedside nurses are the heartbeat of healthcare, but they also are high risk for burnout. Always support your nurses, whether that’s volunteering to answer a patient’s family member’s 17th phone call of the day or responding to a patient’s call bell yourself. 

6. Know how to get a hold of someone quickly: It’s less than ideal to page someone repeatedly. At my hospital, if I need to talk to an attending urgently, I call the operator and ask them to connect me directly to the attending’s cell phone. If a patient is crashing and we’re not in the ICU, I dial the emergency number and call a rapid response, which sends people running into my patient’s room. 

7. Plan your discharge meds from Day 1: The goal of every admission is to treat the patient and then discharge them safely. Send medications early for prior auth and call the pharmacy to make sure that they have medications in stock. (One time a patient’s insurance didn’t cover Levofloxacin, of all things.) 

8. Keep social work and care coordination aware of all needs from the start: Does your patient looks unsteady? Place a PT/OT consult and let social work and care coordination know that the patient might require home therapy services and/or DME so that they can start looking at services and companies that may be covered by insurance. Does your patient have a central line? They’ll likely need a home health service to teach them how to care for it daily at home. Do they seem to require frequent transfusions? They’ll probably need labs on discharge. Is the patient’s living situation safe (no heat/AC, possible abuse at home, financial difficulties, etc)? They may need alternative housing.

9. The attending is not always right: Generally speaking, the attending has the last say on how the team manages a patient. However, I’ve come across situations in which an attending’s decision put a patient in more danger. Sometimes asking them about their decision can help steer the care plan toward better patient care. Other times you just have to stand your ground and be okay with being on the receiving end of an attending’s misdirected rant. Report these instances to your manager and to other higher-ups.

10. Always have gloves in your pocket: You never know when you’ll find a mess. Or which part of the body someone asks you to examine. Or how hygienic a person is (or is not).

11. Verify weird vitals: I was very new when I walked into work, opened a patient’s chart, and promptly bolted down the hallway when I saw a patient’s O2 sats recorded as 15-20s. I found the patient sitting up in bed, eating breakfast, and bewildered by me bursting into the room. Turns out that overnight someone mistakenly recorded his respirations as the O2 sats.

12. Remove whatever tubes you can: Anything entering the body is an infection risk. Does your patient still need that Foley placed by the surgery team? No? Yank it (don’t actually yank because ouch). Is your patient A&O and able to eat without aspirating? Remove the NG tube. Does your patient have good veins and require infrequent transfusions/labwork? Pull their central line.

13. Take a buddy with you to emergencies: Two heads are better than one. Even if you’re a seasoned provider and well-equipped to manage an emergency, you might need another body to help with performing CPR, making urgent calls, grabbing supplies, etc. 

14. Ask your patients about premeds for procedures: We all have different levels of pain tolerance. A procedure goes far more smoothly if your patient is comfortable. Note: if you’re going to premed with Ativan or an opiate in the outpatient setting, make sure they have a driver.

15. Be good to your charge nurse and unit secretary: I don’t know how they do it. If I had to manage the unit’s signout, patient complaints, calls from other floor, being yelled at by providers, verifying paper orders, and finding beds for incoming patients- all at the same time - I’d lose my mind. 

16. If your patient is mad, just shut up and listen: There are many things that you can’t control: the time it takes for a patient to get a room, the temperature of hospital food, the dismissive attitude of your attending, etc. And oftentimes the patient knows this. My reflex is to want to apologize for things and overexplain why different things are happening. But sometimes the patient just needs to rant. Take a step back and just listen. That can make all the difference.

17. Fact check your notes: The framework for your progress note often is the note from the day prior. It sounds obvious, but make sure that you go through the note and make updates and changes accordingly. If today is 01/15, there’s a good chance that the Fungitell from 12/31 is not still pending. 

18. Try to learn some nursing skills: This is one of the areas in which I most envy my NP colleagues. If a patient’s IV pump is beeping or their central line need to be flushed, I oftentimes awkwardly step out of the room and look vacantly into the distance for a nurse. I’ve finally figured out how to spike a bag (albeit I do so very slowly, and it certainly makes the RNs giggle some). I talked to our unit’s nurse manager, and she’s willing for me to learn some nursing skills from the staff during a slow day- we’ll see when thing slow down!

19. Be kind: Generally speaking, being in a hospital is stressful. Patients are feeling out of sorts, and staff are working with constant dinging in the background. I rant plenty on this website, but I’m kind to everyone at work (with few exceptions) because it makes things more comfortable for everyone. Additionally, if you are always kind to your patients and colleagues, your reputation will speak for itself. One time I was walking down a hall with poor reception while on my ASCOM with a notoriously standoffish nurse from another unit. My phone cut out. She called my unit’s nurse manager to complain, and the nurse manager told her that I would never hang up on purpose. My interactions with the nurse going forward were always more pleasant in nature.

20. Support your team: The best colleagues are not the smartest colleagues; the best coworkers are the ones who have your back. Whether it’s a medical emergency or just a strange situation, it’s important to be supported and to give support.

I know that I’ve learned a lot more than this, so I���ll likely be adding to this throughout the year. Happy Snow Day, all!

On tumblr i feel like i have the most transparency, least ppl i actually know following me, and out of the social media apps, i feel like tumblr has the least judgement. so im going to express some things here in addition to what i wrote in my journal.

I experimented with drugs at a very young age. Like 13+

I’m 20 years old now, going to be 21 next month and last time i was really addicted to something was cocaine when i was 17-18.

At an even younger age than 17 and 18 when i was 14-16 i was in a relationship with a boy 2 years older than me who had a history with downers, when we started dating he wasnt using any of that shit but few months into our relationship he relapsed with pills while he was having trouble as an indigenous boy with the law that was targetting him. He eventually moved on to heroin. And i dabbled in it a bit. I was never a fullblown heroin user like he was, but i tried it a couple of times. And you dont just try heroin . After one time that substance changes your brain chemistry, it is THAT addictive.

I never used it as consitently as i saw other people using it in, and my city was heavily affected by the opiate and fentanyl crisis. The amount of kids and young adults thats i still know who are affected by it is devastating. But i havent used the substance since i was 17. Before i got addicted to cocaine.

Just this past week, i had to get an abortion. The most recent man i was with got me pregnant. We’ve been clean together, just weed and occasional alcohol like most people. But i had to get put to sleep for my abortion it was in an IV, mind you i have never shot up any drug in my life. I was put to sleep this past summer 2020 for my wisdom tooth and it must have been a different anesthesia. It was probably morphine (which i experimented with in my teens too, but never got addicted) it didnt feel the same as this time when i went under.

When i went under this time it was like this painful surge all thru my left arm where they shot it, and they warned me of that, then i fell asleep but im quite sure that that was fentanyl, which is fine! The doctors are allowed to use fentanyl, especially for something like that. Im greatful i live in a country with the right to choose and free health care.. but since that anesthesia i’m most definitely having heroin withdrawals. And like i said i wasnt addicted physically to heroin. I watched my ex boyfriend and ex friends go through dopesickness and were truly addicted to the substance to the point where if they stopped cold turkey, the withdrawals could kill them. Yeah it isn’t like that, however now i’m having dreams of smoking heroin and it’s definitely a withdrawal effect from the anesthesia...

I have to be realy careful now and aware of myself. I’ve cut ties with my old drug dealers, and my current weed dealer happens to be a survivor of the opiate crisis himself. I have good family that support me the best that they can and i’m so grateful and blessed that i’m far out of that hole that i was in, in my teens.

There’s not really any reason that i’m writing this except to get it off my mind, and maybe some people relate . I dont know. I’m just reassuring myself of where i am and who i am. And im not there anymore. But i’d feel like i’m lying to myself if i didnt address it somehow.

I really need therapy and i havent taken my ssri’s for 2 days since my abortion because i forgot them at home and ive been staying at my moms for 2 days since to recover.

Its a sunny day and i live around lots of ocean, so im going to go out and watch the waves and smoke a blunt and listen to the birds and just have compassion for myself. Anyone thats gone thru addiction or is still going thru it, or have a love one who is affected by it, know that you’re not alone and it might get tough some times but anything else is a step in the right direction. Some times theres days when i just cant do anything, and thats okay. I dont have a whole lots to say because i’m still healing but i hope this reaches someone that needs to hear this.

ok. ok. i have written in the tags of my original post and twice in the replies about how i KNOW this. and that i don't need people correcting me. and yet nobody takes the time to see the like. thousand comments correcting me on this. like u guys know i was posting this for myself right? it was originally untagged and everything and it's me talking to myself. if i knew it was gonna blow up i would've worded it differently and put a disclaimer in the original post?? but everyone here thinks i'm an idiot or something lmao like

1) there's a bunch of replies/reblogs/tags saying this same exact thing and i can see ALL of them.

2) if you scroll BEFORE you reply/reblog. you may notice i have acknowledged this (i'm gonna have to do it again, but it's hard to miss! my reblogs/replies are in BLUE as the OP)

3) i'm a person who regularly uses Know Your Meme and it comes up sometimes. i've mentioned it on my blog. i like knowing where things come from and i don't post content i don't know anything about

4) i've had this yahoo answers version of the question saved to my phone for over three years (got a fresh screenshot for the post) and it's something I quote regularly

a few days ago i wanted to compile each response of two types ("op you're wrong this is from 4chan" and "omg am i having a stroke") and compile them into two large images for my amusement but it's impossible to get every single response because of the continuous additions :((

EVERY OTHER RESPONSE in my notifications for the past TWO WEEKS has been about the origin of this meme. having an "um actually" moment with me because of the way i worded the post. ive already brought this up and mentioned it and people still reply without reading what i've said!

anyway. i was gonna end this post with a funny image but i don't have anything suitable.. thank u for reading this rant post if you do. and uhh. yeah. I Know This Already. i knew this goin in. i did NOT think of an average person's response to me being Not Quite Correct on a tumblr post because i thought three of my close friends were gonna be the only ones to see it but noooo it turned out to be a 12 THOUSAND note post??? hello??

Grand Theft Auto IV: The Lost and the Damned

It is impossible to play the first expansion to Grand Theft Auto IV, The Lost and the Damned, and not see a rough draft of what was to come many years later in Red Dead Redemption 2. A gang of outlaws that are slowly falling apart due to a mad leader who demands trust in the face of their obvious downfall. A tragedy that struck just before the player takes over that affected members of the gang adversely and sets off the chain of events that ends with most people dead and the gang destroyed. Johnny Klebitz is the expected Rockstar protagonist, world weary and full of sardonic comebacks to his surroundings. His ex-girlfriend keeps trying to drag him back into her life. There’s a Micah prototype in Brian who is the yes-man to Dutch’s prototype Billy, himself newly released from custody and ready to run the gang he claims as family into the ground for nothing but some cheap thrills and a belief in reliving “the good times” that have gone on by. Angus, Jim, Terry, and Clay are the only real friends among the largely procedurally generated clubmates. Even comparing the actual characters to the generated ones, Jim is the only one I had a thorough understanding of by the end. The gang has a home complete with a bed and activities to do with fellow bikers. The motorcycle itself may as well be an owned horse in Red Dead Redemption 2 with almost the entire runtime spent on Johnny’s custom ride. Hell, many characters even point towards Johnny and the gang as people out of time, a holdover from the 1960’s that society has left behind, a cowboy in a concrete jungle.

Lost and the Damned as a condensed rough draft of Red Dead Redemption 2 also leads to disappointments. Time spent with these characters, their hang ups, their comradery, could be better strengthened with more time, something nobody would accuse Red Dead Redemption 2 of not doing. Deaths are pretty weightless due to this. They read as just another mission, just another NPC character model who maybe has a few unique lines before they are gunned down with little fanfare before mounting your motorcycle and riding off to the next waypoint marker. It could just be an attempt to show that while these characters might have names and more dialogue than a random citizen, their life can be extinguished just as easily. However my read is that Rockstar just didn’t spend as much time developing their villain deaths like they end up doing in later games, and I think Lost and the Damned suffers for it.

Johnny’s story weaves in and out with Grand Theft Auto IV proper at multiple moments, and it is a strange curiosity to satiate seeing which of Niko’s actions that I, as the player, did in that campaign that reverberate into and effect Johnny’s story in this expansion. The earliest moment is a background detail: riding with a Lost member who can’t shut up about a Russian mob boss daughter he’s dating. As soon as I heard that I knew he was destined to be gunned down by Niko Bellic. The coke deal gone wrong with Niko and Elizabeta later on feels a bit empty, Niko appears for the same cutscene and then a gunfight breaks out while Niko quite literally ghosts out of existence. Later on, during the botched diamond sale, the same thing happens but you do get to walk past Niko’s trail of dead bodies and Johnny will even comment on it, building up Niko as a sort of unstoppable force within the fiction of the game and not just as your standard player character with a giant kill count. The final time there is a cross over with the main game’s campaign is actually quite subtle. After rescuing Jim from Ray Boccino, the deadbeat Italian mobster who lies to Niko about helping him find the traitor within his army squad, Jim goes off to find some additional Lost backup to evade Ray. Unfortunately for Jim, Ray sends Niko after him which results in Jim’s death. While this would be a nice way of contextualizing what was otherwise just another nameless NPC you gun down as Niko and turning them into an actual human with a history and relationships, the delivery of his fate is done by Ashley, Johnny’s meth head girlfriend, and she does a terrible job of making the death feel affecting. This is repeated by the executions of Brian and Billy, the latter of which is the last mission of the entire campaign. While it is fittingly epic in terms of a long drawn out gunfight in a unique location, it ends as Johnny casually walks up to an unarmed Billy who delivers one line, you shoot him until health bar hits zero and then leave. A far cry from the finale’s for both Red Dead Redemptions. While I may not have as high regards for Red Dead Redemption 2’s story and delivery as most everyone else, at least its character deaths were appropriately dramatic or shocking, and were helped by the large amount of time you spent with them beforehand.

I am very curious what it would be like for someone who has not played Grand Theft Auto IV to just jump into The Lost and the Damned. Without the knowledge of events happening concurrently and therefore an appreciation for how effortlessly Johnny’s integration into Liberty City’s crime story fits, this game might still be a pretty solid Grand Theft Auto outing. Liberty City is as great a city as it ever has been to drive through and listen to the radio, and there are plenty of side activities to fill out what isn’t accessible from the main game, namely the assassinations and most wanted activities. Races and car thefts (now purely for motorcycles) return, and added on top are odd jobs for a politician and the return of gang wars from San Andreas. Races are enhanced by the addition of beating opponents with baseball bats. Charged hits guarantee they will be knocked off their bike and it is immensely satisfying to pull off thanks to the way their bodies get flung about. Sadly the races lose any friction by the last lap and still suffer from being overly long with too many laps. Gang wars lets you be joined by several club members to chase and gun down opposing gangs. A war with the rival motorcycle club, the Angels of Death, is set off at the beginning of the campaign but doesn’t really go anywhere beyond the first few missions which I was very disappointed in. Even here I can see the prototype for the rivalry with the O’Driscoll’s as well as the progressivism of The Lost compared to others, as the Angels of Death pride themselves as white supremacists while The Lost freely associate with various races throughout the game. These activities bring some nice distractions when I tired of scripted missions but themselves become tiresome due to both their quantity and spread.

The Lost and the Damned is mainly a curiosity in 2021. Having replayed through Grand Theft Auto IV proper last year, I was happy to return to Liberty City for another crime outing and pleasantly surprised to see the inspiration for Rockstar’s most recent game held within this expansion to the Grand Theft Auto most of time has forgotten. This isn’t even the end to Liberty City, as there is one more expansion, The Ballad of Gay Tony, which I’m sure will bring its own flavor and improvements to this fictional city I know so well.

Forgiven, Ch 2

Chandra had seen plenty of strange sights on plenty of different worlds; it came with the territory of being a career planeswalker/renegade/aspiring hero. She’d had days full of zombie hordes, days where she’d defied gods (with mixed success) , and days where she clashed with everything from dragons to giant demon frogs.

Today seemed set on one-upping all of that.

She’d expected to see some interesting things when Vraska asked for help with the reactivated eternals terrorizing the undercity. It was new territory, even if the foe was an old one. Still, the sewers of Ravnica were a bigger and more tangled maze of tunnels, caves, and entire districts than Chandra expected, stuffed with more variations of fauna, flora, and fungi than she had seen in one place. The izzet cyclopses who’d come along to assist in the clean-up were some of the oddest allies she’d ever had (their voices were so high pitched...and how were their heads so tiny?). The eternals, their blue lazotep now covered with an additional layer of fungal plates and clinging moss, had looked strangest of all-

-at least until an imp with a bow-tie offered her dinner.

“I insist, it would be shabby in the extreme if Pivlichino’s accepted so much help without offering a hot meal in return.” The imp, Pivlic, wrung his hands together imploringly. He hovered just in front of Chandra, taking conspicuous care not to drift close to the grimy walls or knee-deep filth of the undercity tunnel.

“It’s fine, really.” Chandra glanced back at Samut, who just shrugged. “We’d have to clear out the eternals here even if the tunnels didn’t run under your, uh, restaurant?”

“Ravnica’s newest, grandest restaurant, club, and bar,” The imp exclaimed with a bow and a flourish. “And please. Consider it a gift on behalf of the entire city. These metal monstrosities have been a blight on our streets, and to think there are still a few lurking about...”

Samut tensed in the corner of Chandra’s eye, but said nothing. Quietly, efficiently, she continued to lay out the still bodies of eternals along the dry side of the tunnel.

“...it’s truly a blessing to know such capable mages are seeing to the elimination-”

“Thank you,” Chandra cut the imp off. “And sure, we’ll take a meal. We should be done with for the day in an hour or two.”

“Excellent!” Pivlic clapped once, the crisp sound echoing down the tunnel. His attendant, a stooped ogre with a collar and bow-tie pressed crisply against his bulging neck, stepped forward, holding out a small silver tray Chandra. On it were two silver-embossed slips of paper, which Chandra took with a furrowed brow.

“What are-?”

“Show those tickets to the maitre d’ and she’ll see you sat at one of our best tables. We’ve got genuine Gruul folk musicians playing this evening; the perfect compliment to a hearty meal!” Pivlic bowed, spun in the air, and flew off up the service tunnel that led back to the streets. His attendant followed, ascending by ladder slowly, grumbling under his breath.

“Are we getting a feast in our honor?” Samut was sitting up against the sewer wall, next to the neat row of eternals, a tired smile and a raised eyebrow aimed at Chandra.

“Fancy dinner.” Chandra waved the tickets and slumped down next to Samut. The ground was filthy, but they’d gone through waste up to their shoulders several times already that day, so the added grime barely registered. “Um, I hope that was alright that I accepted the offer for both of us. If you’d rather not-”

Samut waved the apology away. “I was going to ask if I could buy you supper for all your help and your company anyways, so all the better.”

“All the better,” Chandra echoed. She tucked the tickets into a satchel on her belt. “So...what do you think so far? One last bit of Bolas’ magic keeping them going? Maybe he had another necromancer waiting in the wings with the Golgari?”

“Either. Both. That would make sense if the false god is half as clever as all who know him claim. I wonder though…It doesn’t seem as if touching them endangers our sparks any longer. If it was the false god, well you’d think those enchantments would still be in effect.”

Chandra nodded. She had bare-handed grappled at least two of the eternals that morning, and gotten away with nothing but scrapes. “Maybe. Must have been a pretty exhausting spell to maintain.”

“Probably. Either way, one less spell desecrating my sisters and brothers.”

“Oh yeah, about that...” Chandra looked across Samut at the broken Amonkhet warriors. “Should we, um, say anything? Do you have some kind of burial rite or…?”

“I’ve said what needs to be said.” Samut leaned her head back until it rested against the stone. “You know, I don’t have a clue what burial customs my ancestors had. The false god left our viziers with the practice of mummification, but none of our proper rites of remembrance.” She sighed. “Nothing to be done but to say goodbye to them as warriors.”

Samut lapsed into silence. They sat listening to the rush and gurgle of the sewers for several long minutes before she shrugged and stood.

“My comrades and I have a lot to re-discover, if we survive the coming years.”

“Yeah,” Chandra nodded and stood as well, “I uh...I can imagine that’d be, uh...” Her mind grasped for the right words to continue this conversation she’d started. “Actually, I guess I couldn’t. I am very sorry, though.” She pointed at one of the growths on the nearest eternal’s armor. The fungus was grown in the patterns reminiscent of the Golgari undead, with spongy masses and plates forming crude, partial armor. “Do you want me to burn any of that off, at least?”

“It’s no worse than the lazotep,” Samut laid a gently hand on the smashed skull of the closest metal-coated zombie. “And since we haven't seen any partial eternals moving under the control of the growths, I don’t think it’s much of a danger anymore.

“Thank you, though,” She added.

Chandra nodded. Her hands fell back to fiddling with the cool wrist of her gauntlets. One of the eternals had cast a volley of arrows through a gas line, puncturing it in over a dozen places. Chandra had resorted to fire-free means of fighting for the rest of the day while the izzet cyclopses struggled to fix the ruptures. She could still hear them further along the tunnel, stomping through the muck, sifting for any remaining zombies in the area.

Vraska had approached each of them separately about the renewed eternal problem. While Bolas’ death had brought the entire force to a standstill, the vengeant ravnicans had not destroyed all of them. A significant number had made their way into the sewers and waterways before they’d been deactivated. Some, for whatever reason, had congregated in dead-ends and abandoned shafts, where they had simply hunkered down and seemingly waited for the war above to end.

That would have been easy enough to clean up. Then a blue-metal hippo had attacked Zonot, killing three researchers before the guard-krases could put it down. The Simic had assumed the fungal growths were the result of some rogue project gone awry. A week later, a squad of spear-wielding eternals attacked an underground Rakdos poetry slam, and this time there had been no mistaking the Golgari fungi covering the attackers.

“Which is a bad look for the swarm,” Vraska had explained. “I could point to the half-a-dozen attacks on our own undercity territory as counter-examples, but no-one wants to hear it. Even if my guild wasn’t at war with itself regularly, other would just say I sent those attacks as plants to throw suspicion off of myself.”

Chandra had agreed to help immediately, just for something to distract from her latest bout of restlessness. She had almost even turned down the gold Vraska offered for the job.

It was quite a lot of gold. The gorgon seemed to still feel bad about how things had gone with Baan, as if that creep’s fate had been anyone’s fault but his own. Chandra hadn’t asked yet if Samut had been offered the same price for her help. It was clearly personal enough for Samut regardless, and ambivalent as Chandra felt about payment, she couldn’t imagine offering Samut the same without it being at least somewhat insulting.

“So just, uh...leave them for the Izzet grunts to move?”

“Yes.” Samut nodded. “I’ll trust the natives do what’s best for their own plane.” She looked over the line of fallen warriors. “A whole lifetime perfecting our bodies for the afterlife, and it turns out the best we can hope for after death is that we lie still and unused by evil.”

“I...I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you said that.” Samut smiled faintly. “I’m not much for being sorry about what’s past. I’ve lost a lot of my life already...I need to focus on making the future better.”

“Better life...” Chandra stared across the tunnel at the opposite wall. “What do you have in mind?”

Samut nodded, lips pursed.

“Dinner would be a good start.”

* * *

Pivlichino’s (or Pivlichino’s IV, as the sign outside read, for some reason), was spacious, crowded, and loud. Chandra adored it. The tables were laid out in a patterned sprawl, built to every size and shape needed for accommodating the different bodies of Ravnica. Groups of goblins shared drinks at long, short-legged benches. Minotaurs and elves and humans wolfed down meals at an array of middling tables. Chairs with legs the size of tree-trunks loomed large against the near wall for the odd giant diner. Waiters bustled among the diners, hefting barrels of bumbat and platters of every kind of food. Plates of steaming intestines. Sliced fruit arranged over sweet ices. Bowls of beetles drenched in vinegar.

The maitre d’, a harried-looking Viashino, had taken one look at Chandra and Samut, and escorted them to a small side room before they’d made it ten steps into the building. There, they’d been presented with a huge selection of fancy clothes to change into.

“Seriously?” Chandra had asked, pointing over the maitre d’s horned shoulder at a troll lumbering into the restaurant. “She’s covered in spiders.”

The maitre’d had sniffed. “They are not sitting at our best table.” She waved her arm at the tiers of clothing covering the walls “You may have your pick of the lot. Our thrulls will even clean your current...garments. If you would like.”

Samut had picked a tiered red-and-gold formal dress, then replaced the skirts with a set of pale white trousers and fancy riding boots. Her stride through the dining room was confident and fresh, and not at all like someone who had been trudging through sewer-muck all day. Chandra, on the other hand, was very much showing the day’s labor as she ambled beside Samut in a hastily-thrown-on set of Selesnya robes that reminded her of Ghirapur-style dresses, in cut if not in color.

Still, despite the fatigue, the heads they turned and eyes they caught were definitely aimed at her as much as Samut, and Chandra felt a little swagger sneak into her walk, even as she gawked like a tourist at the main dining room.

Pivlic practically glowed with delight at Chandra and Samut’s reaction as he escorted them to their table. He needed no encouragement to show off every detail of the establishment, from the “authentic Gruul wall-art” to the “specially Simic-grown kelp-thread carpets.”

“-and of course, our mealtime entertainment for the evening.” Pivlic gestured toward a group in Gruul hides dragging instruments into the main dining room by a side door.

“Real...real popular place you’ve got, huh?” Chandra commented, consciously restraining herself from stopping and watching in awe as a trio of demons devoured a tower of chocolate ice the size of a small house.

“Patrons from every guild and guildless walk of life enjoy the fine food and facilities of Pivlichino’s,” Pivlic beamed. “Paid for with Orzhov gold, of course, but co-owned and run with the best cooks, entertainers, and brewers of the Rakdos and the Golgari. A true symbol of collaboration and goodwill among guilds.”

“Impressive,” Samut replied, absently. She was glancing all over, at every diner and dish and decoration in sight. Chandra would have thought it just enthusiasm of the newly sparked if she hadn’t been gawking herself.

“We have a few private rooms, but I can tell you two will be happier with a full view of the action.” Pivlic gestured to a set of tables on a raised dais, right next to a small balcony. There was a clear view of the setting sun down a long boulevard through the window, and a panorama of most of the dining area on the other side of the table. The chairs were made of wicker and resin, and the cushions looked suspiciously like Simic oozes, but were soft as silk, and Chandra felt every bruise on her shoulder slide away as she leaned back and peered at the pedestrians walking a few stories below.

“Start our dear friends with a round of Appetizers Allegiant,” Pivlic dictated to a waiting minotaur waiter, standing at blank attention with a red cloth draped over his forearm. “Our special until the end of Seleszeni,” He added with a wink. “Variation without spoiling your appetite for more.”

The band started setting up as they waited for water and appetizers. The Gruul had brought several large drums, carved horns, and a massive string instrument that had clearly been carved out of a six-foot chunk of rubble. They hauled everything onto a raised stage in the center of the dining space. A serviceable place to play music, though something about it made Chandra think of a fighting ring.

“Do you like music?” Samut asked, nodding at the stage.

“Some of it. We have the best dancing music on my home plane. You have to come listen to Kaladeshi qawwali singers someday.”

“I think I’d like that. Anything you can move your feet to is best.”

“Yeah. I bet Gruul music is good for dancing” Chandra eyed the band. The largest of them, a towering centaur, had wrestled the rubble-harp upright, and was plucking at it experimentally. “Though I guess even if it is good to jam to, there’s not much of a dance floor.”

A quick glance around the massive room confirmed this. Chandra frowned.

“Huh. I thought Pivlic said this place was a club too.”

“What does that mean, ‘club?’”

“Oh! Ummmm….” Chandra bit her lip. “I guess they can change from place to place, but like...I guess I think of a place with music where you can dance. Sometimes fancy, sometimes not. I prefer the latter.”

Samut nodded. “We’ll have to incite some dancing tonight.”

Chandra accepted a glass of water from their returning waiter and raised it to Samut. “We should hang out more often.”

The ‘Appetizers Allegiant’ arrived on five small plates, each showing off a fusion of tastes each guild was known for. The Golgari slow-roast slider with Rakdos pepper sauce was fantastic, as were the thin slices of thrull pate with a minty Azorius-inspired jam.

The band started playing as they worked through the dishes. The first song was a low, slow-building rumble of a song. The lead singer, a barrel-chested goblin, rasped out lyrics about the setting sun setting the world on fire.

“Interesting,” Chandra nibbled on a bite of toast points made from Boros rations and an organic mash of Gruul vegetables. “I was expecting more smashing-themed songs.”

“I like it,” Samut said. “Reminds me of the training songs from back home. Most of them are about the sun.” She made a slight face. “We’ll have to come up with some new lyrics now, I suppose.”

“How...how are things back home?”

Samut frowned. “Better than we feared, but harder than anyone could have imagined before...well, before. We’ve scraped together an outpost at Hashep, but just about every stretch of the desert is hostile even without the dangers of starvation or exposure. It’s about all Hazoret can do to keep the horrors at bay.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Chandra looked down at the table. “I, uh, went back to Naktamun, a few days ago. I hadn’t even thought to look for the survivors.”

“We’re a plane of fighters,” Samut replied, low. “No need for you to feel bad about having other concerns. It seems like every plane has its share of horrors. And things aren’t so dire that I can’t spare time to see to matters here. To try and find help for my plane on other worlds.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Vraska has put me into contact with one of the guild leaders here. Ral Zarek.”

Chandra nodded. “I’m familiar.”

“He’s come twice so far to survey the land. The land and what equipment we’ve been able to scavenge from the ruins. He’s confident that we can construct a device to bring the rains more frequently, which, basically, is to say at all.” Samut sighed. “But we persevere. We are strong. I find that I am able to best serve my people by assuring them our betrayed comrades and ancestors have been put to as honorable a rest as I can make for them.”

“If I can help at all...I can’t imagine the hardships your plane is going through, but whatever I can do...”

“I was actually going to ask if your lover was still around,” Samut replied. “-and if she would have the time to visit Amonkhet. Our excavator mages have made immense strides in re-discovering connections with the plane, and using them to coax new growth, but it would help to have someone of her talents who can travel with her own reserve of mana.”

“My…? Oh.” Chandra’s ears got hot, and the looked away, out the window. “That’s not...you mean Nissa. It’s um, it’s not like that, anymore. I mean, I could definitely ask, but...” She trailed off.

“Oh? Oh. Oh, I’m very sorry, I had just- will, I saw the two of you when she joined the battle, and afterwards, well, I just thought...”

Chandra jerked her shoulders in a small shrug. “Sure. I guess I thought so too.”

“It can be hard, when a fight goes wrong,” Samut offered. “It was the same in the trials. Even in training. The closest crop can feel disunity when faced with an overwhelming trial.”

“We’re just not right for each other,” Chandra said. She picked up a mizzium fork from the small plate in front of her, its tongs woven through with some kind of...blue roasted worm? “That’s all. We talked about it.”

“Didn’t like each other as much as you thought?”

“No, I...” Chandra set the fork down and frowned. “I’m still working that out.”

“Mm. Didn’t work it out when you talked?”

“Well...it wasn’t that long of a talk, I guess.”

Samut grimaced. “You ended your relationship before you knew why you wanted to end it?”

“Would you believe I told myself it was because I didn’t like girls?”

“The way I saw you look at her when we first met in Naktamun?” Samut’s grimace twisted into a smirk. “The way you two looked at each other when we felled the false god? No, I don’t think I would believe that at all.”

“I mean, she might have been the only one, for all you knew.”

“Only one?”

“Only, you know...” Chandra twirled her hand through the air, not quite sure what sort of gesture she meant to make. “The only girl I liked.”

Samut raised an eyebrow. “Was she?”

Uh...” Chandra’s hand fell to her lap. “No. She wasn’t the only one. She isn’t the only one, I guess.”

“Oh?” The smirk widened. “Well, who could blame you? When there are women like me in the world...” Samut shrugged, throwing both hands up in the air and tossing her hair.

Chandra rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I guess I was just grasping at reasons, so I told myself anything.”

“Are you though? Pansexual?” Samut asked, with a straightforwardness that caught Chandra out of nowhere.

“Uh, bisexual, I guess?”

“Bisexual?”

“Yeah, guys and gals. Love ‘em both.”

Samut tilted her head. “Ah. There’s so much more than just men and women in the world, though – oh, I shouldn’t have assumed-” She flushed slightly. “Is it just humans on your home plane?”

“What…?” Chandra tilted her head as well, quizzically. “Oh! Oh, no we’ve got plenty of – I don’t have a preference of genders.” She shrugged. “I mean, I’ve got a type, but, you know, it’s just one of many types.”

“I’ll toast to that.” Samut nodded. She raised her glass of water. “Here’s to everyone.”

“Yeah!” Chandra knocker her cup against Samut’s, spilling a few drops on the tablecloth. “The whole buffet!”

Samut burst out with a sharp laugh. “Buffet?”

“Okay maybe it’s not a perfect metaphor, I just mean...you know, curry is all well and good, but sometimes you want a-a mango, you know?”

“I’ve not tried either of those things, but I take your meaning.” Samut wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye.

“My guests!” Pivlic flapped up to the table, the minotaur waiter in tow. “Enjoying everything so far?”

“So far,” Samut replied. Chandra nodded, guiltily stuffing the last small plate – a Simic-bred eel-shrimp on a bed of selesnyan lettuce – between her lips.

“Is womderfulf,” she managed through her full mouth.

Pivlic beamed. “Splendid. And any thought on your entrees for the evening? I’m happy to go over the specials.” The waiter moved up and offered Chandra and Samut several crisp sheets of fine parchment. “We also have an extensive house menu, new to this iteration of Pivlichino’s.”

Samut looked both overwhelmed and delighted with the wealth of options, and listened eagerly as Pivlic listed the special dishes. Chandra zoned the imp out, and flipped through the sheets, which listed options for hot dishes, vegetarian dishes, and dishes for undead patrons.

“Errr...maybe just a steak...” Chandra scanned the meat options, looking for an animal she was familiar with.

“Mmmm, that does sound good,” Samut said. “Not very balanced though. Hardly the whole buffet.”

Chandra looked up from her menus. Samut was peeking over the edge of hers, grinning. Chandra stuck her tongue out. Pivlic looked between the two of them, a politely puzzled look on his face.

“I mean, if you only want the meat menu.” Samut extended her hand and beckoned with her fingers. “I’m happy to look at the rest.”

“Well it just so happens I am in the mood for a steak tonight,” Chandra shot back, a smirk of her own twisting the corner of her mouth.

“But just look at all these options!” Samut held up her stack of menus dramatically. “Greens and grains and all kinds of sweet treats! A whole world of food in front of you!” She gestured at Pivlic. “And the soups of the day, Chandra! Did you hear about the soups?”

Pivlic nodded graciously.

“I like meat just fine,” Chandra shot back. “Look at this: ‘side of beef with raze-boar bacon. Who could want more than that?”

Samut made a mock-offended face, and clutched a hand to her chest “Well, people with taste, for one.”

“I know what I like!” Chandra said, trying to stifle another laugh, but shouting instead. Thankfully it was only a little loud, the diners in the closest tables only gave her slightly affronted looks.

Pivlic coughed into his hand. “If I may, miss Nalaar, I don’t think your friend here is suggesting you aren’t interested in the, ah, side of beef. I believe she is merely suggesting that’s not the only menu you’d order from.”

“Oh, we covered that bit already,” Samut said, then turned aside and smoothly transitioned from the beginning of a belly-laugh to a feigned coughing fit.

“Right, right.” Chandra buried her face in the menu. “Um, a few more minutes, please.”

“Naturally.” Pivlic bowed and fluttered backward from the table. “No rush at all. I’ll be back shortly.”

Chandra fanned herself with the inside of the menu before setting it down.

“We were just talking about dinner just now, right?” Samut was straining visibly to restrain an even bigger smile than the one already stretching her cheeks.

“You’re awful.” Chandra rolled her eyes. “Sometimes a meal is just a meal.”

Samut held up her hands. “Fair, fair.” Her smile faded slightly. “Does it make you uncomfortable? I don’t mean to joke if it does.”

“It’s fine.” Chandra looked out at the band, taking in the current tune. “Thinking I was straight was a pretty ridiculous thought to have. I’d laugh at it if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

The new song was slow, with more focus on the percussion. The singer was speaking in some language Chandra couldn’t recognize. Guttural, but with the instruments it was, admittedly, a very pleasant sound to close the day with.

“Still not much to dance to,” Samut remarked, engrossed again in the menus.

“Mmm.” Chandra’s gaze wandered from the band to the nearby tables. A few patrons were engaged in watching the band as well, but most were well into their meals. Trolls. Humans. Vedalken. Centaurs. Goblins.

Elves.

A spot of blue among the tables caught Chandra’s eye. Jace was walking across the dining room with Vraska, Pivlic leading them along. He had caught sight of her as well and waved. Chandra grinned, pumping her own arm in the air. Jace said something to Pivlic, and the imp looked to Vraska, who nodded. The three of them changed course for the raised seating area.

“Chandra.” Jace surprised her by offering a hug when he reached the table, which she jumped into. Vraska she exchanged a handshake with. It was nice being on friendly terms with the gorgon, but she still felt more like Chandra’s employer than a friend.

“You clean up pretty good, Mr. Belts-and-Cowls,” Chandra teased, landing a light punch on Jace’s arm. He was wearing his customary blues, but instead of a cape and hood, he had a neat pair of trousers, boots, and a wide-collared shirt with gold buttons up the front. “Is that a loaner from the restaurant, or just a good illusion?”

“100% Ixalan threads.” Jace patted his thigh. “and I could say the same to you. Looking very sharp for someone who’s been in the sewers all day.” A look of concern flashed across his face, and he looked from Chandra to Samut, who was introducing herself to Vraska. “Is this – we’re not interupting a date, are we?” he asked, suddenly whispering. “I mean, I figured you and Nissa were still - I mean, that you had...”

“It’s fine,” Chandra whispered back. She could feel the smile slipping from her face despite her best efforts to keep it in place. “I’m happy to see you. Both of you,” she added, louder. “Would you like to eat with us?”

“As long as my wonderful date doesn’t mind?” Jace threw an unbelievably cheesy-looking grin at Vraska, and Chandra, once again unable to control her face, felt her eyes roll back a bit. Vraska just smiled, and actually blushed a bit.

“Yes, let’s have some tables pushed together then,” her golden eyes scanned the nearby settings. “If there’s one to spare…”

“Naturally; how fortunate to have so many friends of Ravnica joining us this evening!” Pivlic snapped his fingers and their waiter appeared seconds later, a table cradled in his hands, and a chair slung over each horn. “And have we decided on an entree?”

“Krovod steak and beans,” Chandra said, handing the menu back and shooting a defiant glare at Samut. Samut just rolled her eyes and ordered a vegetable stew, ogre-style.

Jace’s eyes glowed blue very faintly as he sat down. “Chef’s soup, please.”

“A very excellent choice, sir. Our most-”

“-popular dish this evening?” Jace finished. “Yes, I noticed.” He winked at Chandra.

“Rat roast,” Vraska said, not even glancing at the menu as she sat. “As rare as your chef feels up to.”

“Splendid all around.” Pivlic signaled another waiter to bring forward a pitcher of water, and bowed. “Your meals will find you shortly.”

“And the spirits for the evening, please!” Vraska called after the minotaur as she settled into her seat.

“So, um...” Jace looked between Chandra and Samut. “What were you both talking about before we got here?”

“Diet preference,” Samut said, raising an eyebrow at Chandra.

“Oh?”

“The conversation was wrapping up, actually,” Chandra said. “What have the two of you been up to?”

“Guild work.” Vraska rapped her fingers against her cup of water. “We’re trying to integrate the Kraul fungal farms with our larger food supply network, but there’s quite a lot of internal faction-fighting to put to bed before that can happen.

“To say nothing of the undead invaders you’ve been so helpfully taking care of,” she added.

Chandra and Samut both accepted the thanks with a nod.

“Leadership is, ah...rather stressful?” Chandra ventured. “I hope you’re getting enough down time. I can’t imagine being in charge of that many people.”

Vraska smiled back at Chandra. “I’m sure you did you’re best, Abbot Nalaar.” There was something very sad in her eyes, despite the grin, just as there had been when Chandra had first volunteered to help with the eternals.

“Abbot?” Samut asked.

“Like uh,” Chandra rolled her hand, looking for the right words. “Like a religious leader.”

Samut failed to stifle a laugh. Jace grinned broadly as well across the table, and Chandra presented them both with a flaming middle finger.

“Sorry, sorry.” Samut took a pull of water to settle herself. “You were a religious leader? You just...well, I suppose every world is different.”

“Speaking of worlds,” Jace said. “How is Nissa? Is she still on Zendikar?”

“Oh, uh, I think so.”

Jace frowned. “Is everything alright? Have you seen her recently?”

“Nissa is one of your planeswalking companions, isn’t she?” Samut interjected. Jace turned to her, and hopefully missed Chandra’s smile falling away a second time. “What has your crop been doing since the invasion?”

“Oh, um...” Jace started counting off on his fingers. “Kaya and Teferi are both back on their home planes at the moment; they’ve got matters they wanted to settle on their own, but they’ve promised to check in if they need a hand. Chandra, well you know what she’s been doing, and me…well, I’ve been making sure the esteemed Golgari guildleader takes some time off-plane to relax when she needs it. Um, as for Nis-”

“What sort of relaxations?” Samut asked.

“Oh, the usual silly couple things,” Vraska said, squeezing Jace’s hand on the tabletop. “Cafe dates. Visiting bookstores. Some off-plane piracy here and there, and of course-ah! The food!”

The waiter strode up to the table, a tray and folding table loaded with steaming plates in one hand, and several bottles cradled in the other. The food set Chandra’s mouth to watering, and she was immensely relieved when Samut started on her own dish right away, so she had an excuse not to wait while Jace and Vraska picked out a bottle for the table.

The steak was about two inches thick and incredibly tender. A pepper gravy coated the cut, and a large helping of butter beans sprinkled over with bitter herbs filled the rest of the plate. Chandra ate through almost a third of the plate before Jace and Vraska settled on a wine; a round blue bottle that they turned over in their hands, exclaiming about its color (and...viscosity?) in excited whispers.

“You two have a lot of interests in common,” Samut observed. “Books, piracy, wine?”

“Yes, well.” Vraska speared the cork with her knife and ripped it out. “We’ve been exploring many more common interests since we started therapy, haven’t we?”

“Cheers to that,” Jace grinned, holding out his glass. Vraska tipped the bottle and a blue, sweet-smelling wine splashed out.

“Therapy?” Chandra asked through a mouthful of beans. “For real? You guys are like...well, Jace acts like he’s a hundred years old sometimes, but you guys are a little young, right?”

“What’s a therapist?” Samut asked.

“Well, apparently it’s never to early too protect your investment in another person.” Jace exchanged a glance with Vraska, and they both grinned. “Tomik said that. He was the one who recommended an Orzhov specialist to us. Same one he and Ral see.”

Chandra wrinkled her nose. “Orzhov? The ones who were basically keeping Kaya captive?”

Vraska nodded. “I was about as enthusiastic as that. But it turns out it’s about the one service the syndicate offers that isn’t just part of an extortion machine. I mean, sometimes it is, but we’ve been lucky enough to take advantage a genuinely good specialist through the guildleader’s professional connections.”

“So you go and tell a ghost about your relationship problems?” Chandra turned aside to Samut. “Therapy is like...well I don’t know how it is on Ravnica, but they have people in Ghirapur who like, help people who have problems with their lives, or sometimes they help people who have problems with relationships.”

Samut nodded. “A confidant, or something like that?”

“Yes, though usually someone who’s trained to listen and give advice.” Jace sipped his wine. “Ours, for example, is an Orzhov advokist trained in mediation and dispute settlement.”

“And do they help?” Samut leaned in. “When you tell them about your problems?”

“So far,” Vraska said. “It’s funny. There are things you don’t realize are causing problems.”

“Or things you do recognize as problems that you just never talk about until someone helps you see the need for it.” Jace reached out a hand and took Vraska’s. “Sometimes it’s nice just to have good advice.”

Dinner rolled along with an ease Chandra hadn’t felt in months. They laughed, shared bites of their meals, and swapped stories. Chandra related her mother’s recent accomplishments with the Ghirapur consulate. Vraska dropped bits of low-level guild gossip. Jace and Samut engaged in a minor debate over the use of illusions in combat. Chandra tried a glass of the wine, and found it about the same as she did most other wines, but enjoyed the soft buzz in the back of her head to accompany the warmth in her stomach.

When the last ray of sunlight slipped out of sight, the band fell into a soft, almost wistful song, mostly focused around the huge flute-player, who swayed and pushed out a long, rolling stream of notes while the singer threw himself into a raspy spoken-word bit about a cyclops falling in love with the moon.

Pivlic re-appeared as the dishes were cleared away, bearing slices of cheesecake dripping with drizzled lines of jam and honey, and hot mugs of ogrish coffee. The hot, bitter drink snapped Chandra out of her post-meal drowsiness enough to enjoy the end of the Gruul set. The band had set their instruments aside, and for a moment it looked like they were packing up. Then they began dancing around one another in tight circles, beating their breasts. The big flutist started up a chant. One of the drummers, the viashino, began clapping out a sharp, precise rhythm, and the flutist took center stage, weaving his arms through the air with slow, jerking movements. The chant became a call and response tune that some of the patrons seemed to know, and were enthusiastically singing along with. Jace even knew a few of the words, and pumped his fist in the air each time he called out.

“Gruul riot anthem.” He whispered to Chandra between calls. “Very popular at Rauck-Chauv.”

Applause and a chorus of hoots filled the dining room at the song’s conclusion. Pivlic fluttered over to loudly and grandly thank the band. Vraska tapped Jace’s cheek.

“Not too shabby, blue-boy. I want to hear that much enthusiasm next time the crew does drunk shanties.”

Jace grinned sheepishly. “Are there other kinds of shanties I don’t know about?”

“Shanties?” Samut exchanged a look with Chandra. “A piracy song?”

Chandra nodded back. “A pirate song. It’s important that you know how funny it is to me to imagine Jace singing one.”

“Jace has many fine pirate qualities.” Vraska ruffled his hair with a free hand, sipping coffee with the other. “You’d both be welcome to join us sometime. If that sort of thing interests you, of course. It’s mostly taking gold from vampires, which is as noble a cause as you can find in the multiverse.”

“That could be fun.” Chandra rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. “I like the sound of Captain Nalaar, in hot pursuit of gold and adventure.”

“Hot pursuit?” Jace smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a phrase, blue-boy.” Chandra snapped her fingers, lighting a single flame on her index finger. “But since you mention it, just imagine the terror of being pursued by fire on the open sea.” She twirled the flame around, then doused it in the last bite of her cheesecake. “Uh, not that I would make an open flame on your ship, Vraska. Well, not without permission.”

Vraska laughed. “That’s fine. Glad to see you’re burning with enthusiasm. It’s a good trait for a pirate.”

Chandra rolled her eyes as Jace chimed in. “Yes, Chandra has a lot of good qualities that could, uh, light a fire under a reluctant crew.”

“Mmm...” Samut’s eyes glittered. “Like her warm personality.”

Chandra stuck out hr tongue and stood up from the table. “Beltwurms eat you all. I’m going to go get another drink.”

A second group of musicians were setting up on the stage now, and the waiters were clearing away a large swath of the tables around them, creating the dance floor Chandra had wondered about. She skirted the growing space while checking out the new band. They were a mixed group: two women wearing Rakdos colors with no instruments, an grey-bearded Izzet mage, hooking up his gauntlets to a large device that crackled with electricity, and two vedalken, on the drums and lute, respectively, that didn’t seem to be wearing any guild colors at all.

A number of the patrons from dinner had clustered around the bar that ran along one long wall of the dining room. New patrons were slowly filing in to add to the small crowd; a noisier bunch than most of the dinner crowd, and more eager for drink.

Chandra ordered an Uzvar and gin from a half-demon bartender, then perched up on a stool to bask in the crowd and the chatter of ravnican voices. Groups of guildless youths toasted clay mugs of pale ale. Two Azorius officials, looking out of place in their white robes, sipped green liquor from shallow glass cups. A centaur trotted past as the bartender slid the cocktail across the bar, and the look she flashed Chandra nearly made her drop the glass.

Damn it’s been too long. She almost followed after to ask the centaur her name, but an elf, also in conclave garb, greeted the centaur as soon as the thought occurred to her, and pressed her own lips against the centaur’s.

 Taken. Figures.

The Gruul band was lounging just as short distance down the bar, laughing and chattering with a clutch of other patrons. The singer was entertaining a pair of young women in Orzhov robes with some kind of impression, and the drummer was in a hot debate with a vedalken and two older humans. Chandra’s eyes slid past them to the musician who’d been playing the huge flute, a tall, long-haired hunk whose arms were on full display under a vest of woven vines and bones. She lost herself in a stare as he reached over the counter with one arm and easily hefted a tankard of beer half as tall as he was.

Definitely into girls , Chandra thought faintly, sipping her drink and vaguely aware her feet were carrying her in the direction of the band . But that’s alright too.

“Play here often?” The words were out of her mouth before Chandra could fully think through her approach. She compensated for the lack of planning with her winning-est smile and a smooth slide against the bar toward the Gruul hunk.

He blinked and looked down at Chandra, and for a second said nothing. Chandra held up her smile for that second, wishing she had a smoother come-on. Then, mercifully, the hunk grinned.

“Ah, first time, actually. I, uh, only joined a few months ago, but Skelly-” He gestured with his drink at the goblin on the bar, who was doing puppetry for the Orzhov fans using a pair of mouse skulls “-plays all over. He’s even did a set at the Juri Revue once!”

Chandra wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but grinned and nodded all the same. “That’s a big gig, I guess?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, pretty big. Plus Rakdos himself did the encore that night. Or so I’m told. I, Uh, wasn’t really in the scene back then but-”

A muffled burst of sound cut the hunk off mid-sentence. The new band was jamming, the beat was quick and exciting, but it sounded oddly faraway.

“Local enchantment,” the bartender said, catching Chandra’s confused look. “So folks can talk at the bar. And so I can actually hear orders.”

“Oh...makes sense.” Chandra threw back her drink and tapped the hunk on the arm. “Wanna dance?”

“Hm?” The hunk looked from Chandra to the dance floor. He set his tankard down on the bar, grinned, and cracked his knuckles. “Absolutely. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

The band boomed louder as soon as Chandra’s boot hit the floor, raising goosebumps along her shoulder. This music was sharp, rapid, and loud. Perfect for dancing however wildly and badly you wanted to.

Through the other patrons, Chandra caught glimpses of Samut coming down the few steps from their table to dance floor She paused right at the edge of the crowd, watching them for a few seconds before diving in, and Chandra lost sight of her. Jace waved from the table, behind the spot she’d disappeared.

Want me to keep an eye on you two?  Maybe check in a little later? He kept his mental visit brief, but Chandra was happy to hear his voice. She flashed him two thumbs up and turned back to dance with the hunk.

She had to laugh. The big guy had looked totally natural bobbing and pounding to the Gruul music, but whatever dance you were supposed to be doing to this more hectic, energetic Izzet-Rakdos stuff...well this definitely wasn’t it. He looked like he was having a good time at least. Chandra moved in closer and the hunk winked at her before making an absolutely absurd motion like he was hula-hooping with his shoulders. He was doing it on purpose.

Chandra hooted, and they danced close circles around each other, dodging and weaving through the wild thrashing of the other dancers.

Samut flashed in and out of sight through the crowd. She had already mastered the jerky new dance form, and was adding her own spins. A small ring of other dancers formed around her about seven songs in, howling and clapping as Samut threw a daring backlip into the routine, and cheering as she landed perfectly on her feet. Jace and Vraska were just beyond that, sitting at the table and overlooking the dance floor. They were both seated, but leaned up against each other, swaying to the music and whispering in each other’s ear.

The hunk finally started to look winded after a few dozen songs, and signaled that he was going to go sit for a while. Chandra followed him off the floor, and pretended to slip a little on the edge of the bar area so she could fall and steady herself on his side.

 Solid, and just a lil’ soft. Awesome.

All good? Jace asked in her head.

All good. Chandra waved back. Now shoo; gonna work my moves.

“SooOoooOwO, what do you say you and me get out of here and go hang out at your place, big guy?” Chandra forgot about the muffling enchantment, and shouted slightly louder than she meant to. A vedalken just behind the started, and knocked over a (thankfully bare) drink table.

“Uh, why don’t we sit for a while. I’m still a bit dizzy from dancing.” He stooped and picked the table up off the floor one-handed, and sat on one of the stools. Chandra hopped up on another to join him.

“You’re pretty...pretty strong.” Chandra slammed her elbow on the table and flexed her fingers. “Let’s see what you got.”

The hunk chuckled, and laid his own elbow down, taking Chandra’s hand. The rough leather of his gloves was rough, but made it easy to get a grip around his palm.

“Alright.” Chandra squinted in concentration. “Three, two, go!”

A few seconds later, it was over, and Chandra was massaging the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” the hunk said, with an apologetic, almost shy smile. “No mercy is the Gruul way, after all.”

Chandra beckoned for the bartender to bring them over another round, then pouted into her hands, both elbows on the table.

“If Nissa was here she would have totally kicked your butt.”

“Who’s Nissa?”

“An elf. We um...we used to work together. Really strong.”

The hunk laughed. “A strong elf? We had a lot of those in the conclave. Still do, I guess. Some of my toughest friends were elves.”

“Mmm, not strong like Nissa, I bet. She was depcep...decepticaly...deceptively strong. Like a slender tree, but strong like an oak.” Chandra took a pull of her drink and slammed the cup on the tabletop for emphasis. “Do any of your elf-buddies have eyes that glow like they’re magic?”

“Uh, sometimes.” The hunk sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Usually when they cast spells.”

“It’s really cool, right?”

The hunk chuckled. “I suppose. I’ve got a couple eye-glowing spells myself. Should ask around if I look cool enough when I use them.”

Chandra snorted into her drink, and set it down. The hunk did have nice eyes. Thoughtful and fierce like Gideon. Playful like Liliana. Kind like-

“So, uh, your elf friend-”

“Girlfriend,” Chandra blurted out. “Um, I mean ex-girlfriend?” she looked down at the table. “I uh, I’m not sure. I think I might have messed things up with her. I mean, I for sure did, but...”

“Oh.” The hunk nodded, a different sort of apologetic smile on his lips. “That’s...I’m very sorry. That’s um...that’s always very hard to go through.”

“She was like, really my type, you know? Big strong pair of arms to hold you. That’s like, the hottest thing someone can have, honestly. But she’s really gentle, you know? Like, treat you like you’re a flower gentle, but not like a delicate flower because all the plants she works with are as strong as she is.”

“A nature mage?”

“Yeah! Oh, you should have seen the gardens that she kept while we were here on Ravnica...they would have made every nature guild jealous. She’s like...one of those people who always smell like their work, right? And she’s always working with flowers and plants so she smells like paradise.”

“I’m sorry she couldn’t come tonight,” The hunk said with a smile that almost looked...sad? “I hope I’m not prying but is she, uh, is she not from Ravnica?”

“Huh? Oh. no.” Chandra waved her hand in front of her face. “I mean, I’m not either. We all came back here for the war, you know?”

The hunk look puzzled for a moment, then his eyes went wide, and he nodded. “That is impressive then.”

Chandra cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well. I mean, uh, that is, I’ve heard about the ones who walk from other worlds...there’s a lot, I’m told? Of worlds. If there there are dozens of worlds that each of you could be on.”

“Hundreds,” Chandra corrected, raising her drink and eyebrow for dramatic effect. “Thousands. No one’s counted them all, even.”

“Meeting a...a friend that’s precious to you? Over infinite worlds? That sounds like something special.”

“Yeah.” Chandra set down her glass. She heaved a breath, and realized she wasn’t feeling nearly as wired as she had been a few minutes before. “Um...I guess that’s how I felt when I first met her. Like, I’d been to so many places in the multiverse. That’s what we call it,” she added, “and, well...have you ever looked at someone and just thought, like, ‘that’s it, that’s the person that feels real?’”

The hunk nodded. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes something new in your life is just obviously right for you.”

“Right!?” Chandra put her glass up for a toast, and the hunk obliged with a clink of his tankard. “And like, it was really great with her because when we traveled together after that...well, she made me feel that way no matter where we went.”

“Comfort and constancy.” The hunk leaned back on his stool. “Sounds like a very special person.”

“Yeah.” Chanda looked blankly at her glass, vaguely offended at the absence of any more liquor at the bottom. “You know, maybe I don’t want to, um, hang out after all.” She looked up at the Gruul hunk shakily. “N’offense or anything; you’ve been real fun to talk to.”

The Hunk put his hands up. “None taken, miss. I uh, think I’m a bit too old for you anyway.” He picked his own tankard up and swilled it in his hand. “No offense.”

“Pffft, sure.” Chandra slumped in her stool, elbow on the table, chin in her hands.

“I spent a long time living a very different life than the one I have now,” The hunk offered “A life I thought was the only right path for me. When I finally had my moment of clarity, the moment that brought me to the Gruul...” He bit his lip. “...I don’t regret the life I led before that, and I don’t regret my choice to live a life that would’ve been unthinkable for me before. I guess...you’re young. Don’t be afraid of trying things you’re unsure about. Life’s too short.”

Chandra stared up at the hunk, blinking.

“Sorry; too corny?”

Chandra snorted. “A bit? But point taken.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Your friend looks awful concerned for you.” the hunk’s eyes flicked up and over Chandra’s shoulder. Samut had come off the dance floor, and was lounging by the bar, eyes on Chandra and the hunk. She had a few other dancers hanging around and talking at her, but she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to them.

“Better get back to the gang.” Chandra slid off the stool, and offered her hand to the hunk. “Chandra, by the way. ‘S been fun.”

“Ghired.” The hunk’s grip was solid, and the bones sewn into his sleeve rattled slightly as they shook. “Hope we meet again, Chandra.”

“Yeah.” She mimed a swat at his midsection. “Keep working on your dancing til then.”

Ghired laughed. “I’ll think about it. Come to the stomping grounds if you ever improve your arm-wrestling prowess.”

Chandra stuck out her tongue and trotted over to Samut.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”

“I trusted you could take care of yourself,” Samut said with a shrug. “But it’s always good to have some solidarity on the battlefield.”

“That what this is?” Chandra leaned heavily against the bar. The warm buzz in her head and the thrum of the music felt like a blanket. She didn’t much feel like dancing again, but right now it was enough to watch the other ravnicans having fun.

“Life is.” Samut perched up next to Chandra. “All of it.”

Chandra laughed. “What are you? 18?” She put an arm around Samut. “You’re way too young to be so down on life.”

“We’re not that much older, grandma Nalaar.” Jace heaved himself up onto a stool on Chandra’s other side. He sighed and rubbed his thigh. “Though I sure feel pretty ancient right now.”

Chandra shot an outraged glance at the dance floor, then back at Jace. “Don’t tell me  you  were dancing and I missed it. Did you turn yourself and Vraska invisible??”

“No, she’s not the dancing type either,” Jace sighed. “Just a lot of standing around and talking to people we’d rather not talk to. “Guildmaster PR, that kind of thing. “She told me I should go sit down.”

Sure enough, Vraska was standing up on the dais, near their table, having a hushed (or as hushed as the noise in the room allowed) discussion with a frog-faced mage in Simic biomancer robes. Long, elvish ears poked out from behind the frog-mancer’s eyes, and they didn’t appear to be having nearly as much trouble as Vraska hearing over the music.

“Ah.” Chandra bumped Jace with her shoulder. “Boy-toy blue-boy banished while the adults talk?”

Jace laughed. “Oh, nothing like that. Vraska knows I don’t like the extended standing and talking. She’s...very good at recognizing when I’m uncomfortable. I guess we’ve both been very good at that, and now we’re working on acting on it more often.”

Samut cocked her head, quizzically. “Was that a problem before?”

“Not at first,” Jace replied, pursing his lips. “but it was hard for a while after what happened here. I think it took more out of us than we wanted to admit, and it was affecting how we acted. That, and Vraska does so much for her guild. It’s like...well, it’s like a dozen full-time jobs, and I wasn’t supporting her as much as I should have.” He smiled at Chandra and Samut, and the smile, small and tired as it was, reached all the way to his eyes. “It’s been tough but, well I really think whatever we have is worth it.” He blushed a bit, and a second later Chandra recognized the signs of a minor illusion fluttering over Jace’s face, hiding the red in his cheeks.

“Still working a little on being honest though, huh?” Chandra elbowed him in the side, then threw her arms around Samut and Jace.

“A little,” Jace laughed. “I’m lucky to have friends who still call me out.”

They sat together and watched a while. The Rakdos musicians showed no sign of slowing down, nor did the dancers. Samut nodded off on Chandra’s shoulder after a few minutes.

“So, uh, it’s helped, then?”

“Hm?”

Chandra looked at Jace out of the corner of her eye. “The therapy? Talking to someone?”

Jace nodded, slow, then reached into his cloak. “I don’t know if they take clients still, but I can put in a word through Ral if you want.” He scribbled an address onto a scrap of parchment and handed it to Chandra.

Chandra nodded. “Thanks. I think that’d be good. I’ll um...I’ll let you know.”

Jace just smiled and took Chandra’s hand. They remained a while longer, as midnight slipped away into the early morning hours.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content  Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used  are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.  

Written for Nonbinary Month 2019 and also for @thedarkgodmogar​

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This is a companion piece to how to become a wildfire and it also deals with the topic of abuse. However, this work is focused more on the aftermath of being abused as a child, and features a lot of bad coping skills, including alcoholism. Trigger warnings will be posted on each chapter.

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Sting’s life has been a mess ever since he was eleven years old and Rogue told when he’d promised to keep a secret. Now Sting is an adult, and the only way he knows how to cope is by getting drunk and forgetting the world. When drinking nearly kills him, he gets a chance to turn his life around, and maybe fix his past mistakes. 

Chapter Summary: Sting hits rock bottom.

Chapters (1/20): 1 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe & Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

** TW for drinking/alcohol poisoning, mentions of past abuse & suicidal thoughts 

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worth· less | \ ˈwərth-ləs adjective : lacking; having no real value or use

.

xi december

.

Sting hits rock bottom three weeks before Christmas.  

“Holy shit, are you okay?”  

The voice coming from above him is familiar, but when Sting squints up at the person it belongs to, he doesn’t recognize them. To be fair, they’re nothing but a vague blur of blue and pink.  

“’m fine,” he mumbles, tipping his head back against the wall and sighing at the cool brick against his skin. He expects the person to leave – they usually do – but instead, there’s a warm hand on his forearm.  

“Hey, c’mon, look at me.”  

Sting frowns, looking down at the hand and then back up to the person. Now that they’re closer, Sting can see that the pink is their hair. He’s pretty sure he knows someone with pink hair, but everything is fuzzy and kind of numb right now, so it’s not important.  

“Go… ‘way,” Sting says, batting feebly at the hand on his arm. His arms are heavy, and moving makes the whole world spin until it’s nothing but a blur of colors and shapes that tug at whatever’s left in Sting’s stomach.  

He leans forward and throws up.  

“Fucking hell!” the person shouts, scrambling backward as Sting tips to the side, gagging on the taste of liquor that’s stuck in the back of his throat. He tries to push himself back up, but his arms aren’t really working, and Sting’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing.  

“S’rry,” he slurs, then throws up again, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he tries to gasp in air.  

“Sting, what the hell?” The voice is still there, and the pink blob moves back into Sting’s space, warm hand now on the back of his neck instead of his arm. Sting flinches and tries to shove the hand off, but they’re stronger than him. Everyone always is.  

“Don’ touch me.” He tries to sound assertive, but it comes out more like begging –  please stop, please don’t hurt me, please just leave me alone because I can’t feel anything and that’s fine.  

“Call 911,” the voice says to someone else, and Sting’s fear starts to turn to panic.  

“N-no,” he mumbles, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and actually look at the person in front of him. It takes him a second, but he eventually realizes it’s Natsu. They had worked together at the café until Sting had fucked up and gotten fired a few weeks ago.  

“’m sorry,” Sting manages, trying to shrug off the hand that’s still on his shoulder. Where is he? Everything’s just vague shapes that move in ways they shouldn’t, but Sting’s pretty sure that’s an Exit sign above Natsu’s head. The wall behind him isn’t really a wall, it’s metal bars, and… “Stairs.”  

“Yeah, you’re on the stairs,” Natsu says, keeping his hand on the back of Sting’s neck. “Are you hurt?” Another hand starts to move across Sting’s body and Sting finds enough strength and coordination to shove Natsu away.  

“… said don’ touch me.”  

Please. Don’t hurt me. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good, I’ll be better, I’ll—  

“Sting, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  

Continue reading on AO3

Someone else is nearby, another blurry shape that’s saying things like drunk and maybe high and  agitated into a phone.  

“It’s gonna be okay,” Natsu says, and a wounded, angry noise breaks from Sting’s throat as he tries to shuffle further back. He misjudges and everything tips beneath him again. The ground reaches for him, dragging him down until his cheek meets concrete.  

He can’t feel it. It doesn’t matter.  

“Not,” Sting mumbles as he tries to push himself up. He can taste blood now, but that’s nothing new. “Jus’… don’t.”  

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch you.” Natsu’s voice sounds distant, like the words are fighting their way to Sting, and that’s fine because he needs to get as far away as possible. “There’s an ambulance on its way, you’re gonna be okay.”  

“’m fine.”  

“You are the farthest fucking thing from fine,” Natsu says, and there’s that sharp edge that Sting’s been waiting for. He can’t bring his arms up, they won’t listen to him, but it doesn’t matter because everything is numb anyways.  

“Just keep breathing, okay?”  

Sting’s pretty sure he’s not in control of that anymore, and now his body really isn’t listening to him because everything’s going tight and it hurts like hell and he can’t stop shaking, and suddenly, he’s certain he’s going to die.

-----

Waking up is so unpleasant that the first few time Sting does it, he refuses to stay conscious and fades back into something numb. Eventually he can’t keep himself asleep, so he cracks one eye open and immediately wishes he hadn’t.  

“If you weren’t already half-dead, I’d murder you.”  

Pink hair again. Natsu’s sitting next to Sting, hair mussed and eyes red with lack of sleep. Sting blinks a few times. When he finally realizes he’s in a hospital room, he isn’t really surprised. It’s not the first time.

“You almost died,” Natsu says, leaning forward and rubbing his face. “What the hell were you thinking?”  

“I…” Sting’s not sure what to say to that. “’m sorry,” he manages, closing his eyes against the headache that’s starting to pound in his temples. His cheek hurts, and he vaguely remembers falling face-first onto the concrete.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the soft beeping of whatever machinery is hooked up to Sting. Then Natsu sighs, sitting up and running his hands through his hair.  

“You’re an idiot,” he says, glaring at Sting. “You know how long you’ve been out?”  

Sting squints at him. There’s still a foggy haze around everything, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth.  

“Two days,” Natsu says before Sting can answer. “You had a seizure before the ambulance could get there. I thought you were gonna die.”  

Sting tries to focus his gaze, then gives up and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry,” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to rub his face. The other is attached to an IV that aches beneath his skin.  

After a minute he opens his eyes again and frowns at Natsu. “Why’re you here?” he asks, realizing as soon as the words leave his mouth how ungrateful he sounds. He’s about to apologize again when Natsu interrupts him.

“Because you don’t have anybody else.”  

Sting’s cheeks burn and he tips his head back onto the pillow, trying hard to blink away the tears that are quickly filling his eyes. “Fuck,” he whispers. His throat hurts and his stomach aches and part of him wishes he  had  died.  

“I’ve...” Sting tries to talk but the words come out as more of a sob. When Natsu’s hand covers his own he flinches, but Natsu doesn’t let go.  

“Do you wanna quit drinking?” Natsu asks gently.

Sting can’t stop the tears, so he just lets them fall, streaking down his cheeks and dampening the pillow. Natsu already knows. When they’d worked together, he’d caught Sting sleeping off a hangover in the back room. Sting had managed to stay sober for six days before that, but it hadn’t stuck. It never does.  

Sting nods, rubbing the tears from his cheeks. “Yes, fuck, I...” He’s hit by a wave of nausea and he tenses, squeezing Natsu’s hand out of reflex. When the feeling passes, Sting lets out a quiet, gasping breath. He feels so small and stupid.  

“You can stay with me,” Natsu says.  

The words don’t register at first. Sting’s too busy focusing on not throwing up that it takes him a minute to process what Natsu’s said.  

“What?”  

“Stay with me,” Natsu repeats. He’s still holding Sting’s hand. “At my apartment. You don’t have anywhere to live, right?” Sting shakes his head, still dazed. “If you’re really gonna quit, you can stay at my place, but you’ve gotta be serious about it.”

Sting can’t look at Natsu because if he does, he’ll fall apart completely. He doesn’t deserve help. Part of him wants to refuse, wants to push Natsu away before Sting hurts him, too. All he does is fuck up and hurt people.  

But he’s scared and exhausted and so goddamn lonely, and he desperately wants to be more than this.  

“Okay,” he says, and the words scrape the inside of his throat, but they feel right.  

Workload

I felt creative in the past day or two and came up with this. It may need some additional tweaking, but I hope everyone likes the story! Also, I received a lot of positive feedback on my last story. I greatly appreciate that! 🙂

****

There's a common saying that goes “if you find a career you really like, you'll never have to work a day in your life.” For most people, the idea of this sounds fictitious, but it was a reality for Stephanie. Stephanie Crawford was a graduate of the prestigious Brown university, and went on to become a successful lawyer, specializing in corporate law and civil litigation. Being a lawyer was Stephanie's passion, willfully devoting large sums of time to her career, foregoing the opportunity to experience other life milestones such as marriage and children; Stephanie is someone that could be labeled a “workaholic.”

Even though Stephanie worked around the clock, her looks never suffered as a result of her high stress, high pressure job. Stephanie was a 37 year old white woman with brown hair that was slightly past her shoulders with angled bangs. She had blue eyes, a semi tan complexion, was 5'4, and had a slim build. Stephanie had a very classy, sophisticated appearance and had a refined demeanor.

This particular case started long before Stephanie was brought to our emergency department. Stephanie was at the office after normal business hours working on her latest case. The case involved something known as “frustration of purpose”, a scenario where contractual obligations become impossible for both parties to satisfy because of unforeseen circumstances. These scenarios can be quite messy and complicated, but Stephanie was always up for the task.

Stephanie was sorting through paperwork, working on her computer, eating take out dinner, and was the only person at the office. Stephanie was at work for almost 12 hours at that point, and she barely slept the night before. The 37 year old decided to call it a night and head home. Little did she know, the drive home would be anything but routine.

The roads were relatively empty at that time in the evening. It had rained earlier in the day, so the roads were still a bit wet. On the way home, Stephanie was focusing on everything except driving. She took a turn a little too fast and slipped on a wet spot, losing control of her car and crashing it into a utility pole on the side of the road, wrecking her brand new BMW.

Everything happened so fast. Her chest hit the steering wheel milliseconds before the airbag deployed, with the airbag smacking her in the face, sending her back quickly. The lap portion of her seatbelt tightened up, pressing exceptionally hard on her abdomen. The windshield cracked, sending a handful of small glass shards flying towards Stephanie, causing lacerations to her face and neck.

Stephanie wasn't in any pain immediately, but had some minor breathing difficulties. She was in a frenzied state due to a sudden rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Believe it or not, she reached for her cell phone and called 911 for herself.

EMS responded to the scene of the accident within a few minutes of her 911 call. The driver's side door had to be cut off by the fire department since it wouldn't open and Stephanie was in a confined space, unable to move.

The extraction took somewhat long. The fire department had to set up several types of mechanical equipment so they were able to remove the door from the mangled, black BMW. A feeling of nervousness consumed Stephanie while the mechanical device started crunching and pulling at her car door. The scene became very loud as a result, causing sensory overload to a minor degree. Stephanie was holding back tears, but kept her composure. “I'm ok. Everything's going to be just fine” Stephanie kept thinking to herself, unaware that she would be in the hospital morgue in just a little while.

Once the door was removed, paramedics placed a c-collar on her. Stephanie's seatbelt was cut, and she was carefully wiggled out of the confined space she was trapped in, and placed onto a backboard. Paramedics carried the backboard over to a stretcher, where they placed Stephanie. She was wheeled into the ambulance, and rushed to the nearest hospital.

During the ambulance ride, paramedics set up 2 large bore IVs and hung normal saline. Stephanie's top was cut off by the medics, exposing her toned body and black bra. She was set up on a heart monitor; her vitals were: BP 92/68, heart rate 124bpm with a thready pulse, and her oxygen saturation was at 95%. Stephanie complained of shortness of breath, so the paramedics placed a nasal cannula to help with breathing difficulties. Further along into transport, she began to complain of soreness in her chest, and she started to feel some stinging from lacerations on her face and neck. Stephanie was given a dose of lidocaine to take the edge off of the pain she was experiencing.

Approximately 7 minutes later, Stephanie arrived at the hospital. She was experiencing increased pain levels upon arrival at the emergency department, wincing and groaning, trying her very best to fight through the intensifying pain.

Stephanie was now in the trauma bay. She laid on the table, staring up at the blinding overhead light. She felt a nurse at the other end of the bed removing her shoes and the rest of her clothes while more people entered the room. Stephanie became more apprehensive, wondering what was coming next. She started feeling vulnerable for the first time in awhile due to her lack of control over her current situation; all she could do was wait.

The trauma team was finally fully assembled and began ordering tests and beginning their initial examination of the injured lawyer. The attending physician ordered trauma labs, a chest x ray, an echocardiogram, an abdominal ultrasound, and made sure that blood products were on standby.

The chest x ray showed a moderate pneumothorax on the right side with left sided tracheal deviation. There was some bruising and redness on the middle of her chest from the steering wheel injury. A nurse snipped off Stephanie's black bra, putting her b cup breasts on display. The echocardiogram revealed a myocardial contusion with fluid in the pericardium. The abdominal ultrasound showed minor, non specific bleeding that was likely to heal on its own, but worthy of monitoring. The main concerns were the collapsed lung and activity within the pericardium.

Stephanie's symptoms continued getting worse. She began complaining of heart palpitations and feeling cold in the seconds following the tests. Her blood pressure was still low, her heart rate was up in the 130s, and her o2 levels were dropping. Stephanie was visibly uncomfortable, writhing in pain. A nurse told the attractive lawyer to stay still and remain calm.

The trauma team was greatly concerned over Stephanie's deterioration. They had to urgently place a chest tube, and didn't have time to sedate their patient. A round of pain medications were pushed intravenously, and the procedure commenced. A 1inch incision was made in between her ribs on the right side. Stephanie moaned, feeling the scalpel's every move. Stephanie shouted and cried out in pain while the chest tube was being shoved into the small incision site.

All of the air that was trapped inside of Stephanie's chest cavity was blasted through the tube, and out of her body. Although her breathing improved a bit, Stephanie was still in pain and her vital signs weren't improving. Stephanie was breathing rapidly and appeared distressed. The attending physician was concerned about her worsening condition and wanted to make sure her airway wasn't lost, so it was decided that Stephanie would be intubated. Rapid sequence orotracheal intubation was performed. Stephanie was now unconscious from the intubation sedatives, with the metal blade of the laryngoscope leaning on the roof of her mouth, while a 7.0 ET tube was being navigated into her airway. Once the breathing tube was in place, a blue tube holder was connected to secure the tube.

Following the intubation, the trauma team decided to perform a pericardiocentesis to remove some of the excess fluid in their patient's pericardium. A fine needle was placed through the skin at the infrasternal angle in a subxiphoid approach, meaning the needle was navigated under the sternum and left ribcage, into the lining of the heart. After an echocardiogram confirmed correct placement, a small catheter was attached to the needle, which was connected to a collection bag. At first, a small amount of blood and pericardial fluid was aspirated. Seemingly out of nowhere, a large amount of bright red, arterial blood rushed into the catheter's collection bag. “what the hell?” thought the attending physician. “page cardio. She didn't cut the aorta because she would've died already, but whatever's going on in there is pretty serious.” Ordered the attending physician with a sense of urgency.

Stephanie's condition was much worse by the time the cardiothoracic surgeon arrived. Her blood pressure was dangerously low, and distant heart sounds were heard through the stethoscope. The cardiothoracic surgeon ordered a repeat echo and hung 2 units of blood products from the rapid infuser.

Before the repeat echocardiogram could be performed, Stephanie became pulseless. The pericardiocentesis catheter was carefully removed, with chest compressions commencing immediately afterwards. The lawyer's chest was pumped robustly while the defibrillator paddles were being gelled and charged. The paddles were charged to 250j and pressed up against Stephanie's bare chest. Once everyone backed away, shock #1 was delivered. Stephanie's torso rose upwards, arching her back for a brief moment before returning to her previous position. The heart monitors showed V-Fib, so a round of drugs and cycle of compressions were performed during the handful of seconds it took for the defibrillator to recharge.

The paddles were charged to 300j and placed back onto Stephanie's chest, releasing a stronger current of electricity. Stephanie's body jolted violently on the table. Her arms tensed up and her head lolled to the side, with the monitors still chirping in the background.

Shock #2 did nothing to better the situation, so a 3rd shock at 360j was delivered moments later. The 37 year old's body flopped on the table. Her feet jumped into the air an inch or so above the table and crashed back down, showing off the prominent wrinkles in her soft soles.

Defibrillator shock #3 also didn't improve the situation. The next round of intravenous drugs were pushed and CPR was resumed while the trauma team thought about their next move. One of the nurses delivered strong, rapid compressions onto the attorney's chest. Her belly bounced outward and her breasts shook from the vibrations created from the compressions.

Another 2 and a half minutes of chest compressions and another defibrillator shock weren't enough to bring back Stephanie. The situation was growing more and more desperate by the second, and the trauma team needed to make a move. Stephanie had an injury inside her chest cavity, and likely to her heart, so the trauma team elected to access her chest cavity by performing a clamshell thoracotomy. Betadine was quickly splashed all over Stephanie's chest with harsh chest compressions still ongoing. A large incision was made extending across the entire 5th intercostal space, underneath both breasts, and through the sternum. CPR continued while the underlying tissue in Stephanie's chest was incised further. The next step was to separate the sternum to make room for the rib spreaders. A Gigli saw was used to divide the sternum horizontally. The manual wire saw was placed around each side of her sternum, and the cutting began. The saw worked its way through the sternum, with the cardiothoracic surgeon pushing with all their strength. The saw made short work of the solid bone in the sternum. The rib spreaders were placed on each side of her chest, and her chest was cracked open shortly after.

Stephanie's frantically twitching heart was revealed upon opening of the chest. A vascular clamp was placed on the aorta near her diaphragm and internal massage began. A 2nd round of drugs were pushed while the cardiothoracic surgeon made an incision into the pericardium. Blood squirted out of the incision area, with copious amounts of blood following. The surgeon couldn't locate the source of the bleeding. The surgeon wanted to perform a pericardial window right there in the ER due to the dire circumstances. With the monitors showing V-Fib, it was decided that an internal shock should be delivered beforehand.

The Zoll 8011 internal paddles were charged to 20j and placed around each side of the fluttering organ. A jolt of electricity was released directly into Stephanie's heart, causing her torso to flop on the table. The internal shock regained a faint heartbeat.

The cardiothoracic surgeon began performing a pericardial window. This is a procedure where a section of the pericardium is removed to allow excess blood and fluid to be drained, giving the heart an adequate amount of space to pump effectively.

The pericardial window was met with blood squirting out of the pericardium. Stephanie's pulse was lost again as more and more blood seeped out of the opening. More blood products were hung and direct cardiac massage was restarted. The cardiothoracic surgeon extended their incision in the pericardium in an attempt to locate the source of hemorrhaging.

Hemopericardium was discovered by the surgeon's continued efforts, but that still didn't explain where the bleeding originated. V-Fib appeared on the monitor again, so the surgeon's investigation was paused so an internal shock could be delivered. The internal paddles were placed back around her twitching heart, and a 30j shock was delivered once everyone backed away. A dull, wet thunk was heard, accompanied by her torso jolting quickly and sharply. This shock couldn't convert the beautiful patient out of V-Fib, so another shock was delivered immediately afterwards. Stephanie converted to PEA after this shock, so internal compressions were resumed while the next round of IV drugs were given.

Stephanie's heart was being squeezed by the attending ER physician, trying to force it back to life. The surgeon continued probing around inside Stephanie's chest cavity. The ventricles and atria were intact, the SVC and aorta were also intact. That only meant 1 thing: a coronary artery laceration. Coronary artery lacerations are exceedingly rare, but that doesn't mean they don't happen.

The cardiothoracic surgeon located the left coronary artery. Surprisingly, it was still intact. Stephanie was back in V-Fib so another unsuccessful internal shock was delivered. After the shock, the surgeon continued looking around. Finally, the surgeon located the bleeder. The right coronary artery was severed completely in half and ripped off of the myocardium. The heart muscle in that section of the myocardium was already dead upon discovery. Due to the catastrophic nature of this injury, the trauma team abruptly ceased resuscitation efforts, calling time of death at 11:04pm while Stephanie was still in V-Fib.

The monitors were shut off and the ambu bag was detached from the ET tube. The room was eerily silent as some people were exiting the room, while others were beginning postmortem care. Stephanie's heart fired off its last few dysfunctional, erratic bits of electrical activity while the nurses worked. Finally, a cover was placed over Stephanie's lifeless body, leaving her feet exposed. A nurse filled out a toe tag that read:

Name: Crawford, Stephanie

Date of birth: 1/12/1982

Date of death: 4/27/2019

TOD: 23:04

COD: Blunt coronary artery rupture

The toe tag was placed on the big toe of Stephanie's left foot after it was filled out. The tag dangled in front of the silky wrinkles of her soles while she was wheeled off to the hospital morgue, only an hour after her accident.

Thank you for the tag, @moonchildwildheart! I honestly love these things so much. 😂

1. What is your middle name?

Raeshell. Pronounced RAY-Shell.

2. How old are you?

25

3. When is your birthday?

September 23rd

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Libra

5. What is your favourite colour?

Black

6. What’s your lucky number?

13 or 23

7. Do you have any pets?

One dog (a chow named Maurice), two cats (Gary and Snoopy, who is currently missing), a savannah monitor (Gem, who was originally named Jim after the Lizard King himself, but we ended up finding out she was a girl), and a ball python (Edgar)

8. Where are you from?

Kentucky

9. How tall are you?

5'4″

10. What shoe size are you?

8

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

I don’t know, it’s been a while since I counted. Probably bordering on 100.

12. What was your last dream about?

I was under my sister’s house, walking through a drain system, looking for my cat Snoopy. 

13. What talents do you have?

I can draw pretty well. 

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I have dreams that end up coming true quite often, so... Maybe?

15. Favourite song?

Nutshell by Alice in Chains or Spooky by Classics IV

16. Favourite movie?

What's Eating Gilbert Grape

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

I have my ideal partner! He's hilarious, kind, caring, fun to be around, adventurous, determined, motivated, encouraging, artistic, and so, so much more. 😊🖤

18. Do you want children?

Maybe one day.

19. Do you want a church wedding?

I never really cared where I got married until Tyler showed me this cute church that's over 100 years old and told me that's where he'd want to get married... And it's cute because he's not religious at all, but he's so set on that church.

20. Are you religious?

Somewhat.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

Multiple times!

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

I've had quite a few speeding tickets. One was double the speed limit, but that's about it.

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

I've met a lot of bands members. Ronnie Radke, Brian Welch, all the members or Black Stone Cherry, Spencer Charnas, Hugo Ferreira, and quite a few more that I can't remember off the top of my head.

24. Baths or showers?

Baths when I'm alone or showers when Tyler takes them with me. Lol

25. What color socks are you wearing?

I'm barefoot right now... And basically all the time.

26. Have you ever been famous?

Nope

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

No, I like my privacy.

28. What type of music do you like?

Classic rock and metal

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

Nope

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

My side

32. How big is your house?

Small. Big houses make me uncomfortable.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

I usually don't eat breakfast

34. Have you ever shot a gun?

Plenty of times

35. Have you ever tried archery?

Yeah, not my favorite.

36. Favourite clean word?

I don't think I have one.

37. Favorite swear word?

Fuck. It's very versatile. 😂

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

Almost 72 hours

39. Do you have any scars?

Lots. From surgeries and various injuries.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Yes

41. Are you a good liar?

No, I'm terrible.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

Definitely.

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

Not very well

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I don't think so.

45. What is your favourite accent?

I don't really have one.

46. What is your personality type?

Laid back and mostly reserved

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

I have like a $200 black Victorian style coat. It's so freaking warm.

48. Can you curl your tongue?

If I try hard enough

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

Innie

50. Left or right-handed?

Right

51. Are you scared of spiders?

Terrified

52. Favourite food?

Lasagna or broccoli casserole

53. Favourite foreign food?

I'm not really sure

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

Clean

55. Most used phrase?

“but anyway" because I get sidetracked a lot.

56. Most used word?

Okay

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

Depends on if I really feel like trying. Sometimes and hour, sometimes 10 minutes.

58. Do you have much of an ego?

Nope

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Both

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Sometimes

61. Do you sing to yourself?

All the time

62. Are you a good singer?

Absolutely not

63. Biggest Fear?

Drowning or losing someone I care about

64. Are you a gossip?

I'd like to say no, but I can be sometimes.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

What's Eating Gilbert Grape

66. Do you like long or short hair?

Long. I don't look good with short hair. Lol

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

Yes, but I'm not going to.

68. Favourite school subject?

English or Art

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

Introvert. I'm trying to formulate a plan as we speak to get out of a team bonding dinner for work tonight.

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

No, I'm not really a good swimmer so that would be a terrible idea.

71. What makes you nervous?

Starting a new job. When Tyler and I move and I have to transfer to a different office, I'm screwed.

72. Are you scared of the dark?

Not anymore.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

Sometimes, but I really try not to because I feel rude when I do.

74. Are you ticklish?

Only on my feet

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

I'm sure that I unintentionally have at some point.

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Often

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Once, but I've never really been into drinking. Nothing about it is enjoyable to me.

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Nope

79. Who was your first real crush?

One of my close friends in fourth grade that I'd known since first grade. 

80. How many piercings do you have?

Well I have three in my nose (two in the right side and septum), my ears are stretched and then pierced once above that on both sides, and then my left ear has four additional piercings. So... 11?

81. Can you roll your R’s?

I can't.

82. How fast can you type?

Fast enough

83. How fast can you run?

Pretty fast, but not for very long.

84. What colour is your hair?

Black

85. What color is your eyes?

Blue

86. What are you allergic to?

Any animal with hair and basically anything outside

87. Do you keep a journal?

Not really

88. What do your parents do?

My dad works at a Toyota Manufacturing plant and my mom works in retail

89. Do you like your age?

I guess

90. What makes you angry?

My sorority girl neighbors that like to party until past midnight and scream and yell for no reason so no one in our subdivision can sleep. Like, Tyler wakes up for work at 4am. Some people work. Don't be dicks.

91. Do you like your own name?

I guess so

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

Kind of, I don't know.

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

I'd like to have both.

94. What are your strengths?

I'm a problem-solver and I try to do as much as I can to help people.

95. What are your weaknesses?

I have a hard time saying no to people sometimes.

96. How did you get your name?

Janet came from my dad's mom and my mom just heard a variation of Rachelle somewhere and it inspired her to alter it to Raeshell.

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Actually, yes.

98. Do you have any scars?

Pretty sure this was already asked, but yes.

99. Colour of your bedspread?

Dark grey

100. Colour of your room?

Grey

So... Now I'm tagging @autumnfell, @astarkey, @i-have-no-username-idea, @edyaleda, and @bonjourmiamigo 🖤

Self-Sacrifice is a Bitch Chapter 5

Ao3

Chapters 1 2 3 4 5

-

Sorry this is late! I was slow writing and my beta was busy. Thank you @minkcatus​ again for betaing! Also guys I am now understanding this is going to be REALLY LONG so like... hang in there. I’ll get better as I go along.

*updated tags and rating. I’m combining all the parts into one, and it gets dark as far as death and illness. No major character deaths tho- don’t worry.

Rating:M

Category:Gen

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter: 5/?

Chapter Summary:

“Kid, you’re okay. You’re arm is gone, but you are okay. We are just going to sit here and breathe, and I will take care of everything else. You are okay now.”

Okay… he was okay. The doctor put something in his IV, but he was okay. He tasted metal in his mouth as the drugs entered his system, but he was okay. He felt like his body just turned to lead, but he was okay.

He couldn’t move, and that wasn’t— that wasn’t okay—that wasn’t—

“Peter shhh…It’s fine.” Tony said, and May was running her fingers through his hair. The pain dulled, and he breathed.

He was okay.

Additional Tags: endgame fix it fic, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Whump, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Near Death Experiences, Recovery, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, probably more than i remember, Sickfic, Major Illness, Blood, Legoland, Kidnapping, Torture, god what else happens everything happen, Seizures, Fainting, Medical Trauma

.

.

.

Peter didn’t want more medicine— that much he knew. Mr. Stark was right though— it hurt too much. All of this hurt too much. He was tired of being in pain.

He wanted to reach out and hold his hand. He wanted Mr. Stark to squeeze his hand tight and suck out all of the pain in his arm.

When he tried to move it though, nothing happened. Only a sharp agony in his shoulder.

Why won’t his arm move?

He looked down.

His eyes widened as he was greeted with the sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bloody bandages and very much missing what goes underneath.

He was missing his arm.

The beeping in the room started screaming in his ear, but everything was muffled as he looked at his shoulder, the agony spiking as he realized what it was he had felt.

They had been amputating his arm.

His chest felt tight, air coming in short gasps as he tried to grab at his shoulder. This couldn’t be real. He didn’t really lose his arm. That’s crazy. This is crazy.

A gentle hand took his chin. It turned him away from his arm, carefully avoiding the side of his face.

“Pete-Pete, look at me.”

His eyes searched Mr. Stark’s face as he stared down at him, sympathy pouring into his gaze.

“You’re okay, Peter.”

A sob tore through Peter’s throat. 

It wasn’t okay.

He wasn’t okay. 

His arm is gone.

He desperately reached for Mr. Stark’s hand with his other arm-— thank god still attached— and tried to pull him as close as he could. He needed Mr. Stark to fix this. He needed someone — Anyone— to fix this. Panic was making the pain more intense, and he could feel the knife slicing deeper and deeper and deeper—

“Peter, calm down. Cho—”

“Peter, we are going to give you the medicine now,” a woman said, and no please not yet he can’t yet!

“Peter.” It’s May this time, her hands in his hair.

“Relax Peter. Tony and I are right here. Just breathe.”

Breathe. Right. Breathe. He was panicking. He knew this. He just lost his arm and he was panicking. Of course he was panicking because his arm, his arm—

“Kid, look at me.”

His eyes flicked up. Tony was staring at him, the same panic that he was feeling reflected in those tired eyes.

“Kid, you’re okay. You’re arm is gone, but you are okay. We are just going to sit here and breathe, and I will take care of everything else. You are okay now.”

Okay… he was okay. The doctor put something in his IV, but he was okay. He tasted metal in his mouth as the drugs entered his system, but he was okay. He felt like his body just turned to lead, but he was okay.

He couldn’t move, and that wasn’t— that wasn’t okay—that wasn’t—

“Peter shhh…It’s fine.” Tony said, and May was running her fingers through his hair. The pain dulled, and he breathed.

He was okay.

-

Tony held Peter’s hand as the panic in his eyes started to fade. His body was slack, and Tony begged whoever was listening to please let that mean he was in less pain. The kid’s eyes were still open, but he wasn’t talking.

“Cho—”

“We didn’t give him enough to put him under. He probably can’t talk, but he should be able to at least blink. He can definitely feel when you touch him though.”

“Peter baby, can you blink once if that sounds right?” May cooed, and Peter blinked.

“Does it hurt less, baby? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

One blink.

Tony sighed in relief.

“Is it numb? No pain?”

Two blinks.

He frowned. That was to be expected though. He rubbed his thumb against Peter’s knuckles, the hand limp in his grasp.

“You should talk to him, Tony. Distract him,” Cho said. He nodded softly, tapping Peter’s cheek to get his attention.

“Let’s shoot the breeze, kiddo. Get yourself out of your head, huh?”

Peter breathed deeply as he tried to push through the pain. He looked at him expectantly.

“So… I guess you heard it’s been five years,” Tony said softly.

One blink.

“Well a lot has happened that I’m sure you want to know about. Pepper and I got married— I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.” Tony chuckled. The kid’s eyes crinkled a little in what he guessed was a tired smile. “The ceremony was small in the end. It just didn’t feel right to make a huge party after what happened.”

Peter blinked up at him rapidly, and Tony could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. It was still wonderful. It was nice actually— Only having a few people. Rhodey was there, Happy. Some of Pepper’s family. It was nice. You and that monkey suit I bought you would have fit in well.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to May, and harshly squeezed before blinking again.

“Me?” May asked quickly, furrowing her brow as she tried to decipher his signals.

Peter closed his eyes slowly then snapped them back open.

“May got dusted, Peter. Is that what you’re asking?” Tony said quietly. Peter blinks once and then looked to her pleadingly.

“Yes baby. I did, but it’s okay. It meant I didn’t have to go a single day without you,” May said soothingly, scratching his scalp. He relaxed into her touch. “Ned did too. He called me to check on you. I told him you were going to be okay. He’s going to come see you when you feel better.”

Peter let out a deep breath of relief. He scrunched his face again though, as if the action pained him. Tony scooted closer.

“I had a kid while you were gone,” he said softly. Peter’s eyes fly open, looking at him in shock before blinking like a mad man.

“Okay, okay, Jeez!” Tony laughed, squeezing his hand. “Her name’s Morgan. She’s 4 now. Looks like me and acts like Pepper.”

Peter’s eyes sparkled despite the exhaustion, joy radiating through them. The kid was happy for him.

“I think you’ll like her. She uh— I’ve mentioned you once or twice, and she always seemed interested in you. I bet she’ll like you too.”

Peter’s eyes softened. Tony didn’t know how to interpret it. He pushed on though.

“She doesn’t give me as many heart attacks as you do, though. The worst trouble she gets into is sneaking sweets before bed,” he chuckled, and Peter rolled his eyes with as much energy as he could.

“I don’t think any kid could give you heart attacks like Peter can,” May teased, and Tony snorted

“Only one kid ever came close to giving me a heart attack like he gives me,” Tony said with a shake of his head, flattening his hand on Peter’s sheets. “At Stark Expo 2010, there was this kid— must have been around six or so— that stood toe to toe with one of Hammer’s drones. Do you remember that incident? It was a PR nightmare.”

Peter eyes widened before forcefully blinking.

“What- what is it kid?” Tony asked as he looked to May. She was smiling.

“Did you come up and save that kid? Telling him ‘nice shot?’” she said with a grin, and Tony frowned.

“How did you—”

“You were right, Peter. He did remember you,” she laughed and Peter breathed out what Tony guessed was a chuckle.

“What do you mean? Kid—” Tony clicked his mouth shut before looking at him incredulously. Peter was beaming.

“Oh for fucks sake— That was you?! You were the kid that scared the shit out of me?!” He breathed out in exasperation. He could picture the shit-eating grin Peter was trying to give him.

This kid was going to be the death of him… if the guilt of almost getting a child Peter murdered didn’t kill him first.

“You know I always thought— ‘God that kid must have driven his parents crazy. What is that kid up to?’ and I guess this is it! You’re out here, saving the universe— giving me all the heart attacks I thought were going to be someone else’s problem!”

May snorted next to him.

“We will both need pacemakers at this rate,” she said breezily. “I know I’m going to need one after this.”

Tony hummed in agreement, but he looked down to see guilt in Peter’s eyes.

“Hey-hey…” he chided, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Don’t worry about us, kid. We’re just glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back in shape in no time. Then you can get back to giving us regular sized heart attacks that comes with being a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, okay?”

Peter relaxed and blinked once.

“Good man.”

The next few hours pass easily, with May singing songs and Tony droning on about things that had happened in the past five years. Peter never quite fell asleep, the pain keeping  him up, but did seem to fade in and out every once and awhile. Now, about 12 hours after the battle, Tony could barely see straight as the kid zoned out to the sound of May’s humming. He absently stroked the kid’s hand, staring at the heart monitor with the reassuring and steady beeping.

“Tony.”

The man startled at the sound of Bruce’s voice, Peter blinking at the jump of his hand.

“Shhh… Sorry kiddo. Just relax,” Tony said softly, turning to see Bruce looking at him apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry,” he said quietly, leaning over to fiddle with Peter’s medicine. “How are you doing, Peter? Still hurting?”

One blink.

“That means yes,” Tony said tiredly.

“Okay, well I am going to take a few samples and mix them with the medicine I’m making. If it works, I will come back and give you a dose, okay? You should feel a lot better after I give it to you.”

Peter blinked, exhaustion pooling in his eyes, before looking back to Tony.

“You’ll be okay, kid. All of this will be over before you know it.”

Bruce cleared his throat.

“Tony, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked while motioning to the hall. Tony frowned

“I’ll be right back Peter. You hang tight, okay?” he said tightly. God he didn’t want to leave this kid, especially not in a room like this— sterile and foreign— even with May there. Peter blinked in acknowledgment, and May nodded.

He followed Bruce into the empty hall outside of the room, the brighter lights making him squint. It was quiet without the beeping of the monitors, and exhaustion seeped into Tony’s bones in its absence.

“What’s up?” Tony asked as he dragged his hand down his face. 

“I just—. I wanted to check on you,” Bruce said in a hushed tone. “You came straight from a battle with Thanos into the waiting room, and then immediately into Peter’s hospital room. You haven’t left since. I think you need to take a break.”

Tony scoffed.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll just go home and sleep this off while the kid lies in agony. Great idea, Bruce.”

“Tony, listen to me,” Bruce said softly, placing his big hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s eyes looked anywhere but his face, not wanting to hear what he had to say. “I know you want to stay by his side, but you are going to collapse if you don’t take a breather. The kid wouldn’t want that. Pepper’s at a hotel with everyone else— why don’t you go see her? You have another kid wondering where you are.”

“Low blow using my daughter, Brucey,” Tony said with a scowl. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing at his neck. “And you’ll call me if anything happens?”

Bruce smiled softly. “I promise. The medicine should be done in about 12 hours if the tests are successful. We don’t know the long term effects of the stones, but so far everything seems to be progressing without damaging him. We are playing the waiting game now, and you have to sleep when you can.”

“I’ll be back in four hours max,” Tony said as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Eight,” Bruce said firmly.

“Six, and that’s my final offer.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Okay. I will see you in six hours minimum.”

“FRI, start a timer.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Tell him you’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah yeah… Whatever you say, Doc Green,” Tony said with a small smirk.

Bruce returned it with his own lopsided grin.

“Fatherhood looks good on you, by the way. You’re suited for it.”

Tony scoffed, a fond look in his eyes.

“Yeah, yuck it up. Just go make my kid some medicine.”

He turned on his heels, pushing through the doors quietly as to not disturb Peter. May looked up at him in exhaustion and motions for him to sit down.

Tony returned to his chair, grabbing the kid’s attention and brushing through his curls.

“Hey kiddo. I’ve been sentenced to bed by the Jolly Green PhD— says something about staying up after a fight isn’t good on my body. Personally, I think I could run a marathon right now, but the good doctor could not be convinced.”

Peter blinked up at him, worry on his face.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry,” he said, but Peter blinked firmly twice. Tony frowned.

“I think he’s telling you to take care of yourself,” May said softly. “When you get back, I’ll take a break too. I haven’t been fighting aliens, so I’m good to go for a few more hours.”

Peter relaxed at her words, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Jeez kid… You shouldn’t be worrying about me when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” he chuckled, but the guilt still sits heavily in his stomach. This kid was here because of him, after all. He shouldn’t be leaving his side. “I’ll be back in six hours. I don’t think Bruce will let me back in a minute sooner.”

Peter blinked once and then closed his eyes, May returning her fingers to his hair and smiling at him.

“Tony… Thank you,” she said as he started to stand. “For being here.”

Tony blushed. These last five years have definitely made him less emotionally constipated, because he doesn’t brush off the comment.

“Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

May nodded, and Tony stepped outside. Exhaustion washed over him as he walked down the hall, catching a ride with a shield agent to the hotel everyone was staying at. His mind was numb now that he was out of the room, and he could barely keep his eyes open through the ride, the trees and headlights blurring before him.

When he arrived at the hotel, he was too tired to really take in his surroundings, but he did notice the beautiful mop of golden hair that stood in the lobby, soothingly talking into her phone.

“Pep.”

Pepper turned when she heard his voice, murmuring something into the speaker. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him softly. She brought her phone to her ear.

“Yes, Daddy’s right here. Everything’s okay.”

Tony motioned for her to give him the phone, and he could cry with relief when he heard his little girl’s voice on the other end.

“Daddy! I saw Spiderman on the TV!” she squealed, and Tony chuckled fondly.

“Yeah, Baby. He saved everyone,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He couldn’t let her hear how tired he was.

“Is he hurt? He looked hurt,” she said sadly, and Tony’s heart clenched. Pepper looked up at him expectantly.

“He’s a little banged up, but he will be okay. He’s resting right now.”

“You should rest too, Daddy,” she said firmly, and he could picture her little nose scrunching up as she laid out orders. This was definitely Pepper Potts’ kid.

“Okay, sweetheart. I will rest. When Spiderman is better, you can come visit him,” he said with a small smile, and an excited squeal echoes in his ear.

“I get to meet Petey! Daddy, tell him to get better soon!”

Tony chuckled. The thought of his kids meeting was like a dream, and he held onto the thought as he tried to ease the anxieties that came with being away from both of them.

“I will baby.”

Pepper took the phone back, wishing Morgan goodnight before turning back to him.

“How is he really, Tony?” she asked quietly, her hand clenching on his shirt.

“He’s hurting, but Bruce says he should have medicine ready soon. I’ve been ordered to rest up for… Five hours and 42 minutes.”

Pepper smiled fondly before pulling him towards their room.

“You clean up and then get in bed. I could use some sleep too.”

Tony nodded as he headed to the room and into shower, watching the blood of battle wash down the drain. He absently ran through the motions before climbing into bed next to her.

“Just try and close your eyes for as long as you can. He will be here when you wake up,” she said as she pulled him close to her, running her hands through his hair. Tony nodded.

Thoughts of his kids playing by the lake-side lulled him to sleep.

Whats Been Going On With Me Lately

So basicly the TLDR is:

I’ve been super ill in weird and new brain ways since about mid-december, when withdrawal from my antidepressants resulted in strange intense psychological events, and I’ve been dealing with the fallout and day-to-day distress ever since. I’m terrified that i might have suffered permanent alterations/damage to my mental state, but who can say.

Details under the cut for anyone who wants to know how ive been doing, or wants to hear about what happens when you quit a high dose of fluoxetine cold turkey after five or six years.

Or for anyone who is going through something similar and wants some info/hope, since withdrawal experiences seem to be super idiosyncratic and variable and its almost impossible to find detailed descriptions.

I’d really appreciate it being read, esp. by people in my life, but dont feel compelled or whatever idk i dont make the rules but srsly please read it if you can it took a lot of time and effort

PS: this and several other articles on that blog were a huge help to me getting through the first couple phases, if you’re having trouble with withdrawal please go read PPS: fine to reblog, in fact please do

In 2017 I started getting painful physical side effects from my antidepressants, which gradually got worse until in lateish-2018 I decided to stop taking them outright. Everyone ever says you shouldn’t quit antidepressants cold-turkey, and they are right, but I’d been taking them inconsistently due to the pain, and I was beginning to suspect they’d stopped helping me anyway, so it seemed the best option.

I quit in probably mid-October and for a couple months felt much the same as usual, but then around the 13th of December it all kicked off. At first I had no idea what was happening, and I thought I was suffering a sudden and intense flu coinciding with a bad depressive spike, but after a couple days I figured out that withdrawal can be offset by weeks or months in rare cases, and decided this is what must be happening. That first round of Withdrawal Time had a few soft-edged but distinct phases (lasting about a week each), and I went through by far the worst experience in my entire life, closely followed by the second-worst and then third-worst.

Round One Start! Phase One: intense existential dread

It kicked of very suddenly, around the 13th december, getting rapidly worse over a couple days. I was paralysed with fear as my mind sunk into thinking in infinite circles, unable to do anything other but endlessly contemplate and debate morbid philosophical topics, forced to confront the inevitability of death, emptiness of life, terror of oblivion, impossibility of afterlife, and so on. I also suffered sensory experiences similar to those ive heard described by people who take drugs like LSD, or very severe fever dreams. Sensations of expanded perception, becoming trapped in imaginary scenarios on other planes, that sort of thing.

In this phase I ate almost nothing, and over that week lost 4 or 5 kg. I also had some flu symptoms, mostly as fevers and chills, and could ony, really sleep in short bursts of a couple hours each. There was very little I could safely occupy myself with, as almost all media (books, games, film, fiction and nonfiction, everything really) would in some way trigger me into thinking about an existential topic, and then the terror would resume. I spent what time I could working to fix the problems with my life that I had suddenly become aware of (my social isolation, my medial issues, my mental health, etc), so I made a lot of phone calls, doctor visits, and applied to some mental health counseling services. I also started looking for avenues to make friends and acquaintances online and in person, and did a lot of research on antidepressant withdrawal.

Towards the end of this phase, the dread got more manageable and began to ease off, and I found I could play simple puzzle games to help occupy myself during the day. Listening to certain podcasts also was a source of relief and distraction. However, things remained bad in the morning and evenings, and I ended up referring to these times as ‘morning hell’ and ‘evening hell’. Also, I began to keep a basic daily log of my symptoms.

Phase Two: generalized anxiety

As I segued into this phase, the existential dread mostly withdrew during the day, leaving instead a sense of severe generalized anxiety. I’ve had issues with anxiety in the past, but it’s always been event-related or social, so Generalized Anxiety Disorder style anxiety was an interesting addition to my mental health cocktail. I still suffered the existential dread, but primarily during the Morning and Evening Hells, and as occasional spikes during the day. Mostly, I felt like it was off to one side somewhere, and felt anxiety about thinking about existential topics.

I got little done, but was able to occupy myself with podcasts, housework, simple games, and (oddly enough) Star Trek: The Original Series. Almost anything else I tried would worsen the anxiety, and threaten to trigger existential dreads. During this time I started sleeping more normally, but also began waking every night with chest pains and leg pains, which of course caused a great deal of anxiety about heart issues and blood clots. I also began to feel like I had begun to ‘wake up’ after having sleepwalked through the past year or so.

Phase Three: misc badfeels and weird sensory effects

As phase 2 segued into this one, around christmas day, the anxiety started to recede during the day. I’d get a window of safety varying from half an hour to a few hours, usually starting in the early afternoon. I began to leave the house more, going for walks with my partner, which could occupy me safely during bad feeling times. During those windows, I often still felt bad, but it felt like a ‘normal’ bad, like depression and ennui, rather than the very active generalized anxiety or severe dread. I also began to be able to read again, and to play games more widely. I committed to attending some local social events (some board games/RPG things, and a support group) and mostly tried to get on with life. 

I was frequently quite sluggish and slow, and didn't usually get much work done, even napping occasionally. As my days improved, my nights worsened, with bad sleep and bad dreams. I would also have odd brief sensory effects, such as hallucinations and waking dreams. For the first time since withdrawal started, I began to worry that I was slipping backwards and getting worse again. Up until that point, I had felt like, as awful as I was feeling, there was a slow but consistent improvement.

By early January I was having inconsistent bouts of the existential stuff and the generalized anxiety in the day, but looking back probably not as intensely as in the earlier phases.

Phase Four: inconsistent rehash

Phase four was similar to phase three, except without the consistency that phase three had (at least earlier on) of ‘morning bad, day safe, evening bad’. It also lasted longer than the ‘about a week’ of previous phases. I had ups and downs of general bad feelings throughout the day, with occasional spikes or longer bouts of existential fear or generalized anxiety, and I developed an aversion to going to bed (as most mornings would feel worse than evenings). I usually slept badly, and I started waking up during what I’m pretty sure were sleep-panic-attacks an hour or so after going to sleep. Chest pains and so on were very common and worrying, so I talked to the doctor a lot and ended up on some cardio waiting lists.

I had some depressive episodes which felt very much like the kind of depressive episodes I’ve had over my life, and about the same topics, though more intensely. It was almost comforting, in a back-to-normal sort of way.

Frankly, this whole phase felt like a random jumble of previous phase symptoms and pre-withdrawl mental health stuff, almost like dimming lightbulbs on an old electrical system, fading in and out and going on and off randomly and unpredictably.

Towards the end of January, I had a bad bout of flu, but during that time I felt a lot better in mental health terms. I don’t know if this was due to the distraction of a big obvious ‘thing to survive’ or if it was a natural upswing as part of the arc of that phase. After I got over the flu, I had a couple days of existential stuff reasserting itself, and I was worried that it was a second bout of Phase One, but I stopped recording my log on the 5th of February, so it’s hard to recall anything past this.

Interstitial Period

I’m pretty sure that for most of February, I felt ‘back to normal’, and was feeling more-or-less how I had been before withdrawal kicked off. That said, my capacity to occupy myself has not really recovered. I’m occasionally able to play games or read, but I often have a bad sense of ennui. This may be my natural yearly Seasonal Affective Disorder, or a natural depressive episode (I have consistently if infrequently had times where I’m unable to occupy myself and suffer ennui, just as part of being a depressed person), but I’ve not had one this long before.

I have a strong fear that my cognition/way of being/mental state has been permanently altered by that first phase, that it in some way ‘opened my eyes’ and now I will never be able to go back to how I was. I’m scared that I might never be free of this existential dread lurking in the back of my mind, but also trying to dissemble, forget, or distract myself feels like a foolish naivety. Its something we all have to face, so postponing the inevitable is pointless, but also I can’t overcome or accept it, so I’m trapped in a limbo.

Round Two?

After feeling mostly ’back to normal’ for a while, I’ve been having some bad times again. For about a week or so (end of febuary/beginning of march), I’ve been having existential fears and the ‘big mix of generalized bad feeling’ again, on and off during the day, and especially in mornings/evenings. I was very afraid that it was the beginning of a downslope into a full repeat of this entire cycle, but it’s been pretty consistent so far, rather than getting worse.

I’m hoping that this is indeed Round Two, and that its just a lot less bad than Round One, which would be consistent with what I’ve read about this stuff.

Final Thoughts

Phase one was the worst thing ive gone through in my life, but on good days I feel somewhat optimistic that it’s had a ‘rock bottom’ kind of effect, that I can find some positive things to come out of it.

It’s given me some perspective, and it’s helped me come out of a sleepwalking time in my life. I feel what i’m missing in my life much more keenly (social isolation/ lack of friends, lack of passion, lack of purpose/drive/meaning in my life), but I’m also able to work on them to some extent for the first time in years.

That said, I know these take a lot of time and work to fix, but it’s hard not to look at the glacially slow progress i’ve made as ‘no progress in basically three months’, and sink back into the things-will-never-get-better-so-why-try kind of depression.

I’m gonna keep trying, though.

( harry styles, cismale, he/him ) – wait a minute, wasn’t that 28 year old bastian york walking through the town square? i heard that they’ve been living in augusta for their whole lives and they live at 306 penrose avenue. i often see them at chase & co where they spend their time as a driver. the people closest to them say that they are sagacious & virtuous but can also be rigid & dishonest 

i was supposed to have this up earlier today but i ended up going to the cinema to see detective pikachu and my company did not depart until 2 am. righteo i’m evg, a struggling twenty year old in the est, and i use she/her pronouns. i’m super excited to be here because im in love with this concept ???? and im super late so ive already seen enough of everyone being talented on the dash :’)  im going to try and introduce my ( somewhat ) bitter son but he has a good heart !!!! and that’s what matters !!!! i’m a full time idiot but i’m always down to plot if anyone wants ! i’ll have a connection page listed somewhere below dklskd lmao it’ll be hella weak tho,,, gucci. 

BASTIAN YORK was the first born to a loving mother, berit, and a father who, shortly after the birth of his second child, would leave to start a family elsewhere. far from augusta ; never quite able to keep in touch with his past life. to completely their lovely little family, berit would soon bring in a third child via adoption, having always wanted a trio of children, just as she had been raised. berit worked a nine to five but also brought in extra income by selling handmade jewelry and trinkets online. for the most part, they lived happily. not too rich, not too poor.

HE WAS NEVER THE STAR, but he got by. a good head and heart. still the type to tear across the lawn and declare SHOTGUN or hold his position as eldest over the head of his siblings — but he was NEVER a bad soul. he partook in extracurriculars at school ( mainly sports ) and was the type to be in good standings with most, if not all. never too loved, but never quite disliked. just enough to pass by almost unnoticed. school life wasn’t hellish but it was never as wild as it could have been. 

COLLEGE. HE STARTS FIGURING IT OUT. trial and error. experimenting. the best days of your life ---  a time to make mistakes. still typical, but he was broadening his horizons. his initial studies were in early childhood education. the goal was a master’s degree and to finally finish with a teaching license. a lengthy process but it would pay off in the end. in order to ease some of the financial strain, he drove for uber part-time ( and eventually a limousine service once he’d had some years experience under his belt ). unknowingly preparing himself tor the rest of his life. 

24 YEARS OLD. he’s only a year into his master’s when death comes knocking. berit’s time is up. it takes everyone by surprise. the doctors said it was a brain aneurysm. money doesn’t buy happiness but in this case, it bought time. life support, a couple days at best, the york’s don’t have money to burn. just enough time to say their goodbyes. he made the final decision, signed the paperwork, sealed her fate. the blame is always in the back of his mind. a constant worry that his siblings will see him as the one who ended their mother’s life and not some twisted act of fate.

DREAMS DON’T PAY THE ELECTRICITY BILL. they were never going to be able to keep living as they had. belongings get sold off, their childhood home is put on the market. however, determined to stay in augusta, he moves down to the southshore. his dreams of a masters and teaching are gone in the blink of an eye. he doesn’t have the experience in the field nor has he gotten his license to teach. he’d once thought he had all the time in the world but now he was watching it slip between his fingers. 

LITTLE WHITE LIES. bastian still needs to move up in the world. it isn’t until he’s 27 that he tries to worm his way into chase & co. drivers are supposed to be experienced, the older the better. his youth sets him back, he’s not about to let his residence do the same. in addition to some embellishment, he includes the address of a home much better off than his own. it isn’t a total lie, he had once lived in the nicer part of town. but the company was big, important. they might not trust someone slumming it in the dangerous parts.

HE HATES EVERY MINUTE. the flaunting of wealth, individuals without a clue. who will never want or worry for anything. he does a good job of remaining hush, lets secrets pass in the back of the car in disinterest. it puts food on the table and ensures his family is taken care of at the end of the day. it’s a bitter pill but he’ll swallow it. in just a few short years, he’s aged, reality weighs heavy on his mind. he’s not the same as when he started. 

MODESTY IS KEY. he’s gotten good at keeping a low-profile. fitting suits that cover all traces of ink on his flesh. jewelry kept back home in dresser drawers, rarely touched. a boring persona. like two separate individuals entirely ; one reserved for work and one for play. the cameras scare him, not in the literal sense, but he sees destruction in the lenses. the worst of them coming out for a show. he wants himself and his family kept out of the limelight, or at the very least remain the boring extra in the back. he’s always been good at keeping his head down, now he had to execute it perfectly. 

TO SUM IT UP. he’s not a bad individual. just extremely stressed and worried about his family’s future. he keeps his life pretty private and will tell a little lie where he has to in order to move ahead. he’d never lie to put someone in harm’s way or sabotage anyone - he just wants to stay afloat. he probably doesn’t bring a lot of people around to his house, since he likely stays very hush about his living situation given that he lied on his resume about it. he really hates the idea of the reality show but isn’t very vocal about his feelings, just cautious. he wants to stick to his morals and not sell out or take hand me downs. which is also a bit of a pride thing but sue me. overall, he’s matured a lot and takes on too much responsibility which he should probably be sharing but that’s a lesson he’ll learn the hard way. help? it isn’t in his vocabulary. we’re shutting everybody out. 

CONNECTION / PLOTTING PAGE   ( and i’ll be adding a WC for his siblings when i stop being lazy (’: and if you made it through all this !!! thank you !!! ily )

little info dump of lizzie’s la muses

ADELAIDE LINDHOLM  :   they still need a last name but . whatever. i was gonna make her like really boring n a lil mean but. i changed me mind. she’s still uninterested in fame but im pulling her out of management she did it for like 3 years and then realized it brought her nothing but stress and pain so she quit and is doing temp work for the time being she’s trying to figure some stuff of her own out but deflects it onto still trying to boss around her siblings all the time. this sounded more interesting in my head. know it all, bossy, putting on a front of being in control of her miserable life

plots for her include  :  former clients she completely abandoned when she snapped, im working on more but sometimes... being a big sister is a full time job am i right girls

ALISON COLLINS  :  a woman at a crossroads . wants to follow her big artistic ambition of [redacted] but it just hasnt worked out for her yet so she’s teaching elementary art classes at a Hippie School to pay the bills til something comes her way , but its hard to be the edgy artist type when u got the school breathing down ur back and checking 2 make sure ur on the straight and narrow.

plots for her include  :  another big sister im ltrying to think of plots for but . sometimes things arent easy you know. she could have art circle friends who make fun of her for Selling Out and making pipe cleaner crafts for a living now

BRUNO VARGAS  :   i’m copy pasting the fc meme. he bought a “capitalism is unsustainable” sticker off of amazon. prime example of that “little confused but he’s got the spirit” meme. he threw himself into the social activism scene after he dropped out of college and ran away to the city to really make something of himself. he really wants to do good things for good reasons his heart is in the right place he’s just a dumbass. grew up in a traditional catholic military family but hasn’t had contact w them for a minute. lives in the fold because he thinks its cool 2 force people 2 hang out with him. works for an indie underground news publication.

plots for him include  :  yeah  maybe i am still stuck on the boyfriend/girlfriend plot. im not married to it being bf n gf if it just works 2 be 2 gfs or 2 bfs anyways. plot would be that one partner bruno has had longer and has openly been with for a minute now. second partner would be more recent and bc of that less of the whole official We’re Together :) kind of thing. both partners would know he’s seeing other people, but he hasnt gone out of his way to specifically out either of them, p2 just knows about p1 bc they were openly w bruno whereas they arent yet. if that makes literally any sense

COLE EDWARDS  :  bit of a weirdo. she does something behind the scenes i was thinking like set design because thats something that weirdly really interests me. anyways shes a doormat but in a different way than molly could be read that way she really just likes to be involved in things and help people. ~quirky~ but one day , she will snap. u can tell when u see her at craft night and she gets so much hot glue on her hand but doesnt even react. its like she cant feel it... feel better cole...

plots for her   :  cole could work for laguna beach or as the mystery novak stepsib im not married to her being on the show or not yet. i figured she could be fun there because she would be a light addition to all these Reality Tv Bastards u know. her bg and plots will fit whichever subplot i use her for so . tba

HOLLIS MESSINA   :   kill him NOW .   hollis is a bad man. not to godmod michele but in my head their parents are also like weird arsty types not necessarily famous but always very into the arts all thru their childhood. they grew up eating a lot of kale and maybe thats why hollis is the way he is. he’s vapid and very insecure because he wants so bad to be cool and funny and talented and suffers from major impostor syndrome which contributes to his online shopping addiction. take a nap hollis...

plots for him  :  we know im always looking for a plot where my musician writes a song about how crusty their ex is and their ex doesn’t appreciate it, or in general just maybe someone who got past the Phony Fakeass Cool Hollis act but then he decided to be very mean to them because soemtimes it hurts to let people in

JAMES ZAMORA   :  instagram model and youtuber. new media thot. she makes beauty, fashion, lifestyle, and travel related content. her entire brand is being A Sexy Little Trollop for people to envy. came from humble beginnings believe it or not, but she will never tell anyone that. as far as they need to be concerned shes been toddling around in heels since day one. lives in the fold because it makes for quirky content but once a month she threatens to get the hell out of here.. no one knows why she stays..

plots for her  :  frankly between the Novak Boyz and the mean girl squad im happy w her plots for now but shes always around to *cheryl blossom voice* create a little chaos if needed...

MOLLY SEKULIC   :   for the first week he lived at the fold noah thought she was a ghost :0  jadede film school student who thought she would get to do real documentary work at a place like b*zzfeed news but got put on projects shes not as passionate about 2 put it kindly. constantly planning her escape from the fold and worth it and all of that but 2 depressed to actually put any of it into play so she just sticks around and hopes one day she’s tapped for something with Substance

plots for her  :  she just doesnt get out much. shes got her Horrible sons (alec and [redacted]) and the girlies she hangs out with at the fold so shes not a completely friendless loser. with muses also working in film i think it could be fun to have a plot where they went to school together/worked on a project earlyo n together but now shes doing this and is embarrassed to talk to them abt it not that its even that real of a plot..

NOAH FITZGERALD  :  i wrote an intro for him in fold and im just gonna link it here. tldr hes very shy,, be gentle,, he wants to be liked and validated which is a common theme for me becuase yeah maybe in my core i dont believe anyone pursuing art does it for any reason but validation i sure know i do 

plots for him  :   he’s got a little going on but other fun stuff could be musicians he jams with that could catch onto his and bradys Scam, maybe some other dorks to commiserate with ive obvisosuly not got as many ideas as i let on huh,

WYATT SONG   :   gay writer bitch. came from money so he’s just casually pursuing writing full time minus the time he spends on the show (bit less than everyone else just because watching him sit in his home office and do nothing for hours just isnt interesting) but i kinda like the idea of him being a Villain within the show like idk what dynamics we were wanting to set up but i feel ike since he’s more reclusive than the others and when he is around hes Annoying he could be someone the show kinda frames as Not Likable which mostly doesnt bother him but . stings a little

plots   :  someone whos really nice 2 him off cam but plays to that villain thing on cam, which could work for a few muses on different levels like a friend whos just flighty to someone he’s ~ secretly dating ~ bc it would mess up the current plot of the show if they were fucking just yet

Air ride suspension & Insurance?

Hello, I am male, nearly 18. I want to buy a 2004 / 5 Mini cooper for my first car. Insurance at about 1000 - 1500 quoted. When I get it I want to do some visual mods such as new rims, possibly a colour change, window tints. I know I have to notify my insurance company, whomever it may be and it probably wont effect what I'm paying. But I also want to lower the car, so I researched this and came across these air - ride kits that are air suspension that can be lowered and raised all from in your car with buttoms. These arnt hydralacs, there quite slow to adjust. This would be great for me as I live in a town but I have to drive on a lot of moorland roads, so I could raise it on the moors, lower it in the cities and on motorways etc... Would this effect my insurance at all? Its quite an expensive mod but would it change ( increase ) my insurance costs? Cheers, Alex. I suggest that you try this web site where one can get quotes from different companies: http://insure4car.xyz Which insurance carrier could be the cheapest to get an 18-year old? Iv passed my examination, and bought a citreon saxo 1.1, iv been on many evaluation websites along with the finest quote i get is 3500 third party just which is a lot of. Can anybody help me find a better offer Cheers" Are you currently in support of getting rid of medical insurance if you have preexisting situations? Are you currently in favor of eliminating health insurance for those who have pre-existing conditions? "Just how much per month may be the regular homeowners insurance payment over a 100,000 residence? Cheers a Marine but automobile insurance as well as 20 firmis need to charge me 500$ a month??? HELP? 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Sting’s life has been a mess ever since he was eleven years old and Rogue told when he’d promised to keep a secret. Now Sting is an adult, and the only way he knows how to cope is by getting drunk and forgetting the world. When drinking nearly kills him, he gets a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the kind of man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting moves in with Uncle Wes.

Chapters (6/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe & Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

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ca·su·al·ty | \ ˈka-zhəl-tē noun : a person or thing injured, lost, or destroyed

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iv summer age eleven

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When Sting wakes up the first day after the hospital, he stays in bed under the blanket for a long time before sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The room is dark, and when he looks down and sees the teddy next to his pillow, he scowls and throws it on the floor.

Sting curls up again and drifts in and out of sleep until there’s a quiet knock on the door. He blinks at the clock – it’s 10:37 a.m.

“Abbey, would you like breakfast?”

Uncle Wes’ voice is gentle – Sting remembers him as being loud and booming, but Sting’s never been scared of him. Now, he’s not sure. Uncle Wes is bigger than Dad, and stronger, but Sting feels safe with him.

“Abbey?”

Sting pushes himself slowly out of the bed and wobbles, catching himself on the side table as a wave of dizziness washes over him. The alarm clock cord catches on his fingers and it falls to the floor with a bang.

No, no, no.

The door flies open and Sting flinches, falling backward onto the floor and bringing up his arms to cover his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, tensing in anticipation of a loud voice or angry hands.

Instead, Uncle Wes crouches down next to Sting and says, “it’s okay, it was an accident,” in a gentle voice. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t mean to scare you – I thought you’d fallen.”

“I’ll fix it,” Sting says, peeking up at Uncle Wes. He doesn’t look angry, but Sting’s not completely convinced. Maybe he’s saving it for later.

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“It’s not broken,” Uncle Wes says, picking up the clock and examining it, then setting it back on the side table. “And even if it was, it’s okay. Are you hurt?”

Uncle Wes reaches out a hand and Sting hesitantly accepts it, letting Uncle Wes pull him to his feet. His arm aches and his head pounds, sharp throbs that slam against the inside of his temples. Other things hurt, too – a scrape on his back, a bruise on his shin, the bottoms of his feet where he’d run over the rocks on his way home from Rogue’s house.

Rogue, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. Hurt and anger fill his chest, and he holds his breath to keep himself from crying.

“You must be hungry,” Uncle Wes says, interrupting Sting’s angry, confused thoughts. “Most of my cereal is boring old-man stuff, but I think I’ve got some Reese Puffs hidden in the back of the pantry.”

Sting looks up, not saying anything but following Uncle Wes out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. A bright beam of sunlight falls across the room, making it seem warm and inviting. Sting lets Uncle Wes help him up onto one of the bar stools next to the counter. He winces – everything hurts, and it’s harder than he expected to do things with a broken arm.

Sting’s eyes roam over the pictures on the fridge while Uncle Wes gets the cereal from the pantry. There’s a photo of Sting in grade one with chipped teeth and freckles and curly hair. There’s another of Grammie sitting with Wes and Dad when they were little boys – Sting looks away from that one quickly.

Most of the other photos are of Uncle Wes with a man in a wheelchair that Sting doesn’t recognize. He’s got short black hair and dark brown skin, and a soft, kind smile. In one picture, Uncle Wes is kissing him.

Something funny flips in Sting’s stomach.

“That’s Muhammad,” Uncle Wes says, setting down a bowl of cereal in front of Sting. It’s followed by a glass of orange juice, and when Sting looks down at Uncle Wes’ hand, he sees a wedding ring.

“Is he your husband?” Sting asks. Yukino has two moms, and a lot of the kids in their classes teased her about it. Sting had told them to shut up, once, and they’d called him names too.

“He was,” Uncle Wes says in a soft, sad voice. “He died last year.”

“Oh,” Sting says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Uncle Wes says, squeezing Sting’s shoulder and sitting down across from him. His bowl of cereal is twice the size of Sting’s, and he digs into it right away. “Muhammad had a sickness that made his heart very weak.” He looks fondly back at the picture. “We spent a good few years together – I’m glad we had what time we did.”

“I didn’t know,” Sting says softly, poking at his cereal. “Dad didn’t…”

“Your father didn’t approve,” Uncle Wes explains. He takes a sip of his coffee and studies Sting over the top of the mug. It takes Sting a minute to realize that it’s a silent question.

“I do,” he says quickly, looking down at his bowl. “I mean, it’s… fine, I don’t…” He scowls at his spoon, trying to figure out why he suddenly wants to tell Uncle Wes. He’s about to say, I think I like boys too, when he realizes that Uncle Wes thinks he’s a girl.

Sting has never told anybody that he’s a boy – not even Rogue, who was his best friend.

Uncle Wes sits up, reaching over and grabbing the bottle of Tylenol from the counter. “How’s your arm?” he asks, and as soon as it had appeared, the tension in the room is gone. Sting shrugs, staring down at the cast. They’d asked him what color he’d wanted, but he’d been too overwhelmed to answer, so it’s pink.

He doesn’t answer the question, but he takes the pills from Uncle Wes and swallows them down with his orange juice. After a minute, he asks, “is dad going to jail?”

Uncle Wes sighs, and it almost feels like he’s going to take Sting’s hand but decides against it. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “Officer Kelly is going to come by in a couple days to ask you some more questions, but your father is being held by the police right now.”

Sting doesn’t say anything. His feet don’t touch the ground, so he kicks his legs back and forth.

“Did he do this to you?” Uncle Wes asks gently. Sting keeps his eyes on the table, but he knows Uncle Wes is talking about his arm and his head.

He wants so badly to say no, to tell them that they’re all wrong because his dad loves him. But yesterday was the worst it had ever been, and Sting’s still terrified.

He nods.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Uncle Wes says, sighing sadly. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have been there.”

Sting shrugs.

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes as they finish eating. Uncle Wes takes their dishes and piles them in the sink, wordlessly offering Sting more juice before putting it back in the fridge. Sting stares out the window – there’s a planter outside full of bright flowers, and an apple tree beyond that.

“I’m not going back?” Sting asks after a while. Uncle Wes settles down across from him again, leaning forward on his arms, but Sting doesn’t look at him. “To dad,” Sting clarifies. “I can’t go back to live with him.”

Uncle Wes shakes his head. “No,” he says gently. “I know this is overwhelming, but you’re going to be staying here now. Officer Kelly is working with someone called a social worker – do you know what that is?”

Sting shakes his head.

“It’s someone who helps people – and families – solve problems,” Uncle Wes says. “They’re going to help us with lots of things, and one of those things is figuring out if you’re going to be staying here for good.”

“Do I have to go to a new school?”

“Probably.”

“Oh.” Sting thinks he should be angry about that, but the space where he’s usually mad or sad is filled with nothing right now. He rubs his face, then looks up at Uncle Wes.

“It’s a lot to think about,” Uncle Wes says gently. “Officer Kelly will explain more when she comes to visit, okay?”

Sting doesn’t want to cry again, but he can feel his throat doing that funny thing that he hates where he can’t quite breathe. None of this seems real, and he can’t tell if he’s angry or scared or relieved. Maybe all of them at the same time.

“I need to go to the grocery store,” Uncle Wes says, pulling Sting out of his thoughts. “Do you want to come with me? I’m not sure what kind of food you like, so maybe you can help me pick out some things.”

Sting chews his lip uncertainly, looking back down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

“If you’d rather stay here, that’s okay,” Uncle Wes reassures him. “We don’t have to go anywhere. I can ask Helen next door to pick us up some things, or we  can go later when you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Sting says quietly. He still doesn’t quite feel real, and leaving the house seems like too much. If he goes outside, he’ll see the rest of the world going on like nothing happened, and he’s not sure he can handle that quite yet.

“Okay,” Uncle Wes says. “Why don’t you have a shower, and then we can find a movie or a TV show to watch?”

Showering is hard because Sting can’t get the bandage on his stitches wet, so he ends up wetting his hair in the sink and rinsing it with a cup instead. Standing under the hot water feels nice, though, as long as he keeps the plastic bag wrapped around his cast.

Eventually he’s clean and dressed in a set of pajamas that are size too big for him. Sting curls up in the corner of the couch and wraps a knitted blanket around him, watching as Uncle Wes flips through channels on the TV. Eventually he hands the remote to Sting.

“I have no idea what kind of shows you like,” he admits.

Sting flicks to the cartoon channel and eventually finds an episode of Pokémon. He’s seen it before, but when the theme song starts to play, it relaxes a little bit of the anger and confusion in his chest.

After a few minutes, Sting realizes that Uncle Wes is still sitting on the couch with him. He’s far enough away that he couldn’t reach Sting without standing up, but he’s still there, leaning back with his arms behind his head and watching the show.

“You don’t have to stay,” Sting says, looking back at the TV. Guilt washes over him, suddenly – Uncle Wes probably has better things to do than sit with Sting and watch some stupid TV show.

Uncle Wes looks over at him. “I want to,” he says simply.

Sting frowns but doesn’t say anything else – just burrows into the blanket and listens to Team Rocket scheme about kidnapping Ash’s newest addition to his team.