Friar Tuck Everlasting (friartuck) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2020-07-13 13:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | friar tuck, little john, much the miller's son, robin hood, will scarlet, will stutely |
Who: Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet - Now open to ANYONE - but start new comment threads!
What: Waking up!
When: Monday Afternoon (We're pre-writing because work AND to then open it up and work on it for a few days)
Where: Parsonage
Warnings/Notes: TBA - but talk of death and gross body shit
It happened slowly, the awareness drifting in at his fingertips first and flowing inwards. Everything was cold, so cold and dark, and Tuck genuinely thought he must have been in the Sheriff's basement for sure.
Until he realised he could open his eyes.
They fluttered open reluctantly, semi-stuck together and so dry, but the room was bright. He was in his own bathroom, he seemed to realise-
And Tuck couldn't breathe-
He tried to flail out his hand, but they were so heavy. He could feel the tissues in his throat closing up and it itched, and dimly he realised he had woken up before his windpipe had completely repaired itself. And as his lungs started to burn for the need of oxygen, Tuck started to panic.
He couldn't scream, but Tuck found that the adrenaline suddenly shooting through him meant he could kick. He kicked at whatever the heavy substance on top of him was, holding him down, until it shifted. Then he kicked against his wall, his feet flailing out as if beating the shit out of the wall would help him breathe.
It didn't.
His skin, which had so recently flushed pink with renewed bloodflow started to go white, then red, then purple and blue, and still he flailed in the bath, unable to draw breath. And god. God. God, it was worse than anything he had ever suffered in his long life.