He's unfortunately quite okay.

Hehe, hello to anyone reading this. My name is Lamont Toucey. Hanna... convinced me to start one of these ask-me-stuff blogs, so... hehe, here you go? I'll try and be prompt about answering, but.. hahah sometimes the clientele takes up all my time. So, feel free to ask me something, haha.

[asktouceyirl]

((Still here. Hopefully, things will get back to normal soon? IDK Man. But know I haven't left yet. Just... waiting on stuff.))

[asktouceyirl]

((Hey everyone!))

((Just dropping a line out there to note: I am not dead. I do have two asks to answer. Currently my timeline is on pause because I want to finish this arch with my Worth before I can start getting back into posts from the boys, since Lamont is currently... in worse off state. :D Just letting y'all know.))

[crazythatcounts]

I finally finished Lamont's family tree.

God damn that took a while.

[asktouceyirl]

((I'll post it here as soon as I scan it in.))

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[asktouceyirl]

“Don’t care.” The response was quick and hard, Sanders finding his fingers feeling thick as he fumbled at the keys of his phone. “Gonna… taxi. Walk. Something.” He shook his head, legs guiding him outside without his knowledge. His world was so very small at that moment, focused on the phone and Toucey and nothing else. Drive? Fuck that, he didn’t care. He was getting to his brother. He only looked up - wiping his eyes when did he start crying fuck that he didn’t care - when a familiar horn sounded.

Lily was waiting in his car outside, looking panicked herself, leaning out the window. “Frank texted me too and I knew you boys weren’t going to be sober. Get in.” In these moments it was easy to see how the petite girly little woman with the short hair was a Toucey, the words so utterly commanding it was as though being able to take charge of a situation were a hereditary character trait.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

Worth sat in the backseat. He said nothing. Lily said nothing. Sanders said nothing.

He remembered when he was young how much he hated sitting in the back. He sat in the back with his family, with his friends, and goddamn was it hard to feel cool while doing so. He had always felt as if he had no control when he sat in the backseat, and now, having no control over anything including himself for the entire day, he felt stripped of any power, any life-force, any will to endure that he had once had.

Lily screeched the car to a halt just past the sliding emergency doors and the three of them spilled out of the vehicle. They were running down the halls, shoes slapping against the sterile linoleum, shoving nurses and patients alike out of the way. Worth skidded to a halt behind Sanders with Lily coming up behind the both of them. He looked over the top of Sanders’ dark hair to see a doctor walking briskly towards them. Worth could feel himself pale at the sight of the white lab coat and calculated expression. He briefly thought about how glad he was that this never became his job.

[asktouceyirl]

The stop only lasted a few seconds, Sanders striding forward to grab sloppily at the doctor's coat and Lily rushing past them to the sobbing man on the floor that was Frank. However drunken the grab might have been, however, the hold was strong and the voice he managed incited danger if answers weren't given, the slurs forced out of his words to make sure each deadly syllable was crystal clear. The man was a different beast with his brother on the line, dead, dying, lying in there without them, and by god someone was getting hurt tonight for this mess."What happened to my brother?!" The growl was emphasized by a hard yank, pulling the doctor's face into his own. "What the fuck did you do to my brother?!"

"Sir, you need to get your hands off my shirt." Somehow, the doctor managed to keep a composed face, and after a moment one stiff white fist left the coat's collar.

"Tell me what the hell happened." Sanders demanded again, raising the loosened fist in a slightly threatening gesture. "By god you better tell me this whole my brother is dead thing is a fucking misunderstanding because my baby brother is an idiot and not because someone fucked up and killed him."

"Sir, calm down." The doctor insisted, starting to look slightly nervous.  "I have a lot of things to tell you and I find it hard with your hands in my coat, please." After a moment, the grip loosened, letting the doctor straighten and clear his throat. "At ten fifty six this evening your brother did... experience death on the table of the operating room." He said.

He didn't get to say much more because he found it hard to speak around Sanders's fist, which was shoved firmly and repeatedly in his face. It was accompanied by a profound list of obscenities that weren't all in English, spilling from Sanders like the blood from his fists, the swinging limbs and the thrashing on the floor signs of pure madness. He didn't hear his sister telling him to stop it, didn't see Frank start crying harder, didn't see the other nurses scrambling for security. It only stopped when Sanders found himself overwhelmed with tears to the point where words could not be formed, and his fist began to miss and wiff in the air until he found it no longer necessary to keep swinging and collapsed, face buried in the now red stained coat of the doctor.

"....Sir?" The doctor said, when Sanders had finished, speaking around a bloody nose and a split lip. Upon no response, he waved off the security that had gathered. "Sir, I was going to say Mr. Toucey was revived several minutes later and is currently... critical but stable. I just... wanted to speak with you, your father and a man named Luce Worth about the current situation and Mr. Toucey's living will."

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[asktouceyirl]

“If… ya wanna.” Sanders shrugged. “I just… y’know…. we care about’cha.” He gulped down a seventh drink. “‘Cause… faggy ‘r not, yer with m’brother. He likes you fer some reason.” Sanders giggled, hiccuped, and took another swig.

It was then that his phone went off, and he fumbled with it, squinting at the screen to read it. It was all of ten seconds and the phone left his hand, dropping to the floor from his limp, shaking hands. The look on Sanders’s face was one of pure terror, unmasked and unabated, fueled by alcohol. Shaking hands grabbed for his phone and Worth’s arm, missing the arm and landing on the collar of his shirt. He pulled Worth close, quickly, mouthing words he couldn’t get out.

“We gotta go. Gotta… go.” He managed. He gulped, swallowing thickly and quickly flashing Worth the screen instead of trying to say more. It was from Frank, and it was brief and hard to read from the shaking hand, but it was enough.

Come quick. Toucey dead. Need you here.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

There were no words: no words and no emotions and no thoughts. His mind was blank but for the words on the screen. This had to be a joke. A sick, twisted joke. They would go to the hospital and everything would be fine and Lamont would be out of surgery and sleeping and Frankie would say it was their dad playing tricks to get Worth away from his family, and in all honesty, Worth would rather have that than have Lamont be dead…

Worth’s arm itched. The cuts were healing. He wanted to rip off the bandages and tear the wounds open again; break down the process. Break down the positive:negative flow of the world. There had to be a give, a break, anything at all to prove to him that all of this was a sickening nightmare; a joke.

He stood slowly with Sanders, hand latching to his bandaged arm, squeezing tightly, forcing blood to well and lightly spot the perfect white of gauze. He glanced at the empty beer bottles.

“Can’t drive.” Was all he could think to say.

[asktouceyirl]

"Don't care." The response was quick and hard, Sanders finding his fingers feeling thick as he fumbled at the keys of his phone. "Gonna... taxi. Walk. Something." He shook his head, legs guiding him outside without his knowledge. His world was so very small at that moment, focused on the phone and Toucey and nothing else. Drive? Fuck that, he didn't care. He was getting to his brother. He only looked up - wiping his eyes when did he start crying fuck that he didn't care - when a familiar horn sounded.

Lily was waiting in his car outside, looking panicked herself, leaning out the window. "Frank texted me too and I knew you boys weren't going to be sober. Get in." In these moments it was easy to see how the petite girly little woman with the short hair was a Toucey, the words so utterly commanding it was as though being able to take charge of a situation were a hereditary character trait.

[asktouceyirl]

((PREMIUM BEAUTIFUL PERSON! Once you receive this award, you are supposed to paste it into the ask of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it is sweet to know that someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. ｡◕‿◕｡ <3<3<3))

((;slfdkjga;slkgjas;dgasg tumblr decided not to tell me this was here until now ldkgja;slgjs;lgs THANK YOU ;afgj;aslkgja))

[crazythatcounts]

I want to apologize for my unexpected absence? I got drafted to volunteer for the con on Thursday and Friday morning and I’ve been avoiding tumblr since Monday.

However, there will be pictures eventually. I didn’t take all that many from the Con, but I have a few of Kirk and a few of Jack. I...

[asktouceyirl]

((Just go read this for why I've been goneish. :D))

[asktouceyirl]

sodoffyabuggers said:

((YOU BITCHES OMG LOL IM LAUGHING AND SOBBING))

((You're welcome. :D If I didn't know what I was planning I'd be sobbing too but instead I'm just, you know, laughing my ass off at the reactions leaving it there has caused. :D))

[asktouceyirl]

sodoffyabuggers replied to your post: The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

((NOOOOOOOOOOOi knew it was gonna happen but stillNOOOOOOOOO))

((Guess where we're leaving it for tonight? Probably not until Thursday? :D))

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[asktouceyirl]

The first few drinks were also had in silence, the only sounds the chatter around them and the clink of glasses as one ran into another and one drink ran into the next. However, as the alcohol began to flow, words began to spill from Sanders. They started out making sense. He talked about what he dared not say sober - he talked about Michael, about how Michael had been like Worth, had cut, had chewed his arms to death. He talked about how Lamont had been shattered - that his older brother, someone he looked up to, could break so easily - and how he guessed Lamont had been projecting that onto Worth. He started telling stories - stories about how Lamont would hurt himself, or do this, or do that, and even with the beginnings of slurs and the occasional hitch as the man held back tears speaking so about the brother that now sat in surgery for yet one more thing, his voice maintained a heartfelt affection that belayed all gruffness. And as the sixth drink reached his hands, Sanders started another story, face now somber beneath the haze of alcohol and worry and heartache, wiping his nose roughly.

“But back t’the… the cutting thing.” He muttered, having veered from the topic a while ago. “I was… gonna tell you… in the drive, I kept… seein’ this one memory of me and Toucey… when we walked in on Michael. He was… covered in blood. Covered in it. Sitting on the toilet with a razor in his fingers and just… sitting there and his arm was this mess ‘n he just… looked up at us with this face and he was gigglin’… and he looked manic… ‘n like he just wanted us to stop him.” He shook his head, eyes closing as his mind rushed back to the moment, the sound of half crazy giggling and the wide, insane eyes of his brother, the blood smeared on the toilet and the floor and the walls, the razor shaking, and this clear look in Michael’s eyes as though he were sitting there asking them to help because he couldn’t. “He just looked so powerless… Always ask Toucey if he remembers, he says no. But I know. For the longest time he would wake up screamin’… had to check Mike’s bed before he could sleep again.” Sanders finished his drink.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

With his seventh drink is his hand, Worth sat silently, listening to Sanders talk just like he had in the parking lot. The world seemed more distant than he could ever remember it being. It was like it was flitting in and out of his peripherals but he could never catch it and look at in the face; never ask it what the fuck was going on and why. He hummed softly at Sanders’ recounting of what was obviously a very dark memory. He couldn’t remember if he had ever looked like that. Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember what Lamont had looked like the first time he found his friend sitting in the locker room with a razor pressed to his wrist, with blood on the floor, with a blank expression on his face. Worth couldn’t even remember what he was thinking or what drove him to do it, all he could remember was the pain and how it made him feel like he was flying, that it was so much better than the pain he got from fights and burns he got from stoves.

“Ya wan’ me t’talk ‘bout it don’ ya.” It wasn’t a question. Worth knew Mickey was okay and that Sanders was relaying memories to him because he was worried. It seemed almost dumb to Worth that the kid cared. He’d only just met him after years of hating him and now suddenly he cared. Now, suddenly, his whole damn family cared. Worth gulped down the rest of his drink.

[asktouceyirl]

"If... ya wanna." Sanders shrugged. "I just... y'know.... we care about'cha." He gulped down a seventh drink. "'Cause... faggy 'r not, yer with m'brother. He likes you fer some reason." Sanders giggled, hiccuped, and took another swig.

It was then that his phone went off, and he fumbled with it, squinting at the screen to read it. It was all of ten seconds and the phone left his hand, dropping to the floor from his limp, shaking hands. The look on Sanders's face was one of pure terror, unmasked and unabated, fueled by alcohol. Shaking hands grabbed for his phone and Worth's arm, missing the arm and landing on the collar of his shirt. He pulled Worth close, quickly, mouthing words he couldn't get out.

"We gotta go. Gotta... go." He managed. He gulped, swallowing thickly and quickly flashing Worth the screen instead of trying to say more. It was from Frank, and it was brief and hard to read from the shaking hand, but it was enough.

Come quick. Toucey dead. Need you here.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[asktouceyirl]

And then came the awkward chuckles, the characteristic Toucey giggle that betrayed the hard look on Sanders’s face. “I… figured he had.” He said. “Mikey…” He paused, stopped himself from saying anything more, and rerouted the thoughts. “Bandages. Right.” He made his way back to the house, quietly climbing in the first floor bathroom window and returning with a roll of bandages for Worth. “Don’t want the bar staff getting worried…. or anything.” He chuckled, clearing his throat.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

Long fingers gently grabbed the roll of bandages and made quick work of wrapping the gauze over the stained set. Worth swallowed thickly. He needed a few drinks before he talked about any of this, before he was even able to say Lamont’s name without choking on the memories it brought up.

Once he had finished, Worth followed Sanders across the street and down a few blocks to a small dimly lit bar. They took their seats in silence.

[asktouceyirl]

The first few drinks were also had in silence, the only sounds the chatter around them and the clink of glasses as one ran into another and one drink ran into the next. However, as the alcohol began to flow, words began to spill from Sanders. They started out making sense. He talked about what he dared not say sober - he talked about Michael, about how Michael had been like Worth, had cut, had chewed his arms to death. He talked about how Lamont had been shattered - that his older brother, someone he looked up to, could break so easily - and how he guessed Lamont had been projecting that onto Worth. He started telling stories - stories about how Lamont would hurt himself, or do this, or do that, and even with the beginnings of slurs and the occasional hitch as the man held back tears speaking so about the brother that now sat in surgery for yet one more thing, his voice maintained a heartfelt affection that belayed all gruffness. And as the sixth drink reached his hands, Sanders started another story, face now somber beneath the haze of alcohol and worry and heartache, wiping his nose roughly.

"But back t'the... the cutting thing." He muttered, having veered from the topic a while ago. "I was... gonna tell you... in the drive, I kept... seein' this one memory of me and Toucey... when we walked in on Michael. He was... covered in blood. Covered in it. Sitting on the toilet with a razor in his fingers and just... sitting there and his arm was this mess 'n he just... looked up at us with this face and he was gigglin'... and he looked manic... 'n like he just wanted us to stop him." He shook his head, eyes closing as his mind rushed back to the moment, the sound of half crazy giggling and the wide, insane eyes of his brother, the blood smeared on the toilet and the floor and the walls, the razor shaking, and this clear look in Michael's eyes as though he were sitting there asking them to help because he couldn't. "He just looked so powerless... Always ask Toucey if he remembers, he says no. But I know. For the longest time he would wake up screamin'... had to check Mike's bed before he could sleep again." Sanders finished his drink.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital: Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[ask-luceworth-blog]

For a long moment Sanders said nothing, just stood there. His expression went hard, though, almost like he might punch someone, but without the fire in his eyes. Eventually, he sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “Let me grab you that bandage.” He said, though no smile came to his face. He couldn’t help but keep glancing at the blood with a sad sort of expression, a haunted display of his features that just wouldn’t leave. And neither would Sanders. He stood there, and stood there, and after a moment his lips formed another question, softer.

“…He ever ask you to stop?” The man looked at Worth with honest eyes, haunted, honest eyes, and quickly looked away with a grimace. “Nevermind, it’s not my place to ask that.”

Worth grimaced slightly at the pain on the man’s face. The hard, sad look in his eyes like someone who had seen too much, who had grown up too fast. He knew that look. He knew that feeling. “S’fine… He said somethin’ a couple times, yeah.”

[asktouceyirl]

And then came the awkward chuckles, the characteristic Toucey giggle that betrayed the hard look on Sanders's face. "I... figured he had." He said. "Mikey..." He paused, stopped himself from saying anything more, and rerouted the thoughts. "Bandages. Right." He made his way back to the house, quietly climbing in the first floor bathroom window and returning with a roll of bandages for Worth. "Don't want the bar staff getting worried.... or anything." He chuckled, clearing his throat.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital:

[ask-luceworth-blog]

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

[asktouceyirl]

“No problem. We can walk to the bar from here, it’ll be easier that way.” Sanders stood, and with a final goodbye to his wife, led Worth from the house. He was down the drive before he said a word. “Your arm is bleeding through the bandages.” He eventually said. He didn’t look at Worth, nor did his voice have any sort of tone. It was just a statement. A statement that understood. “You need me to run get you another? I can hop through the bathroom window real quick so no one will know.”

He turned, and his face was taught with a frown, eyes buried in distant memories. He paused. “Does Toucey know you do that?” The question was simple, but honestly curious and honestly worried.

[ask-luceworth-blog]

Worth’s steps faltered and he looked at his arm. Damn it, he didn’t wrap it tight enough. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “If ya wanna.” Worth looked up to see a distant, concerned yet passive expression on Sanders’ face. “He knows.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of the too-big jeans and produced the pack of cigarettes he had taken out of his coat, tapping one out, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “He knows.”

[asktouceyirl]

For a long moment Sanders said nothing, just stood there. His expression went hard, though, almost like he might punch someone, but without the fire in his eyes. Eventually, he sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment. "Let me grab you that bandage." He said, though no smile came to his face. He couldn't help but keep glancing at the blood with a sad sort of expression, a haunted display of his features that just wouldn't leave. And neither would Sanders. He stood there, and stood there, and after a moment his lips formed another question, softer.

"...He ever ask you to stop?" The man looked at Worth with honest eyes, haunted, honest eyes, and quickly looked away with a grimace. "Nevermind, it's not my place to ask that."

[ask-luceworth-blog]

The Hospital:

[asktouceyirl]

And then Sanders was retreating from the dark room with a soft murmured declaration of love cast behind him. He closed the door, smiling softly. “Sorry if she got in your way.” He smiled. “You want to wash up and go? …You’ve got blood on your pants.” The smile faded as he stepped away from the door. “You want to borrow a pair? They’ll be a bit big, but whatever.”

[ask-luceworth-blog]

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

Somehow the pants fit him relatively well (just one miracle after another) and only required that Worth roll up the hem slightly and use a belt to hold them to his skinny hips. He sighed and leaned on the sink as he looked in the mirror. He was tired. He looked more strained that he usually did and it had only been a few hours since learning about Lamont’s condition. Worth felt his jaw. He remembered Lamont made him shave and looked at him like he’d just seen the second coming of Christ. That was the same night he… confessed, if you could call it that. Worth hung his head. Damn it. This was too much. He banged his fist on the sink, causing a straight-razor to clatter to the floor. The blade looked sharp, solid, clean. He crouched and slowly plucked it from the floor, turning it over in his hands. He stood, heartbeat quickening, and rested his elbow on the edge of the sink, arm poised above the basic. Worth swiped the blade quickly over the giving flesh of his wrist, hissing at the sharp tug of the metal. Blood welled quickly, slithering over the side of his arm like Lamont’s blood had slithered through the rubber tubing. He made another cut, another, and another; each one leaving him feeling more lightheaded and distant than the last…

Worth finally emerged from the bathroom wearing too-big pants and a fresh set of bandages on his left arm. He nodded to Sanders who sat at the kitchen table with his wife. “Thanks,” he tugged at the side of the worn jeans. “Fer the pants.”

[asktouceyirl]

"No problem. We can walk to the bar from here, it'll be easier that way." Sanders stood, and with a final goodbye to his wife, led Worth from the house. He was down the drive before he said a word. "Your arm is bleeding through the bandages." He eventually said. He didn't look at Worth, nor did his voice have any sort of tone. It was just a statement. A statement that understood. "You need me to run get you another? I can hop through the bathroom window real quick so no one will know."

He turned, and his face was taught with a frown, eyes buried in distant memories. He paused. "Does Toucey know you do that?" The question was simple, but honestly curious and honestly worried.

[askirlhanna-blog]

To: the Touceys | RE: Lamont.

[asktouceyirl]

Hanna,

This is Mr.Toucey. I apologize if my typing isn't the best,as I am still not used to this whole computer thing. However, I have gotten on this in order to make you a deal.We will tell you where he is, but if you could... wait afew days. Let us deal with this Luce boy that popped in from who knows where, and let my boy have a day out of surgery withoutcomplications so he can heal.

I do understnad if he is like your brother, but this family is his family and this family must come first. Ihope you understand that.

Frank Toucey

[asktouceyirl]

...You think I'm a girl. You think I'm a girl?! Jesus fuck what is WITH people?! They hear 'Hanna' and suddenly I'm some busty woman. NO WAY HOSÉ. 'Mont's like a brother to me; you tell me where he is or I will fuck you up something FIERCE. -H!

well I mean your name is hanna hanna is not usually the name of a boy so when toucey told us to try and find a hanna and luce we sort of thought he meant like his secret girlfriend or something I'm sorry. but I mean really I can't let you come see him just right now cause it is family only and luce didn't give a crap so he just kinda stormed in and pa will probably kill you if you show up outta the blue. I wish I could help more hanna really but right now all I know is I have to sit here and wait for toucey to get out of surgery.

--frank

[asktouceyirl]

What hospital is 'Mont at? Somebody tell me. I need to see him. -Hanna.

I guess you're the hanna girl toucey mentioned right? I'm frank I'm one of his brothers uh and I don't know if you can come see him right now? he's still in surgery from last night so no one can really see him now and pa was already pretty mad at luce when he came bursting in here to see toucey since you know apparently they're together and while that's really cute pa doesn't know and doesn't need to know hahahaa so uh maybe you can see him when he gets out of the hospital? they said to tell me to make sure everyone that wants to see him knows its family only and that doesn't include... whatever you are to him? we thought girlfriend for a while but apparently thats not the case unless he's actually two timing you or something if so I'm sorry

-frankie