Lousy with stature

Proud and defiant, We'll slay the giant

[the-line-of-pan-promo]

A Paradise Outside Of Time

Neverland once belonged to the Shadow. The spirit ruled over a world of ferals, fae, and fantastical creatures. The world was a land of a child’s dreams. Children yearning for paradise and permanent youth soon populated the realm, and the Shadow maintained order by selecting one child to be their leader. The very first child selected for this position was a boy who came to be known as Peter Pan.

Several children have served as the Shadow’s Peter Pan, helping maintain the magical balance of the island. The most recent Pan, however, became corrupt. Recognizing the threat the boy served, the Shadow planned to oust him and allow another child to become the new Peter. Before the Shadow could give full power to the new, pure-hearted Peter, the malevolent Pan sealed the Shadow within himself and made the spirit his slave.

The Line Of Pan is a full-app, literate roleplay depicting the power struggle of two boys on the island of Neverland. We accept applications for both premade characters and OCs.

Home || Plot || Navigation || The Good Peter || The Evil Pan

[oldpaintings]

New York Street Scene by Ernest Lawson (American, 1873–1939)

[phil-the-stone-deactivated20180]

Death doesn’t discriminate …

[conor-mcginness]

Power Placement? Sounds fascist ~ super squad aesthetic

[sirredmayne]

“I don’t want to be irritating about it, but this is the dream job for me.” - Eddie Redmayne, on his Tony-award winning role in Red

[conor-mcginness]

A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life. (x)

[conor-mcginness]

You’ve got a warm heart, you’ve got a beautiful brain. But it’s disintegrating, from all the medicine. (x)

[conor-mcginness]

In the clearing stands a boxer, And a fighter by his trade (x)

[isaaccoll]

As the door clicked shut behind Lydia, the boy made a face and tossed his bag carelessly onto Isaac’s chair, which was already piled with clothes in need of folding. He had been casual when the nurse was in the room, but now that she had left he took on a nonchalantness bordering on swagger, the kind of air that Isaac associated with rich douchebags on MTV shows. Conor was wandering all over his room, his hands now as well as his eyes skimming over all of Isaac’s belongings. Although Isaac wasn’t particularly happy about what he was doing, he just tugged unhappily on his beanie, hoping he would retreat to his side of the room soon.

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[conor-mcginness]

He was touchy, this Isaac kid. Of course, anyone with half a brain would be able to see that he had every right to be, but Conor didn’t particularly care either way, so that fact was discounted before it could even be considered. It wasn’t really his intention to make his new roommate uncomfortable — he had just met the guy, there was nothing yet to begrudge him for — but he really did not want to be sitting here in this hospital room, regardless of who he was sitting there with, and Isaac was just taking the fallout in the form of snark.

"Well, it’s your lucky day." Conor was funny. Really, he was, if you caught him in a good mood. But he seemed to have left that sense of humor at home, along with half of the stuff he would need if he was going to be stuck here for the next week. Still, that didn’t excuse him for being a dick, but he probably wouldn’t realize that until tomorrow, if he hadn’t already forgotten all about it. Conor had always struggled with that every so often, tiny bits and pieces disappearing from his short-term memory going down the toilet. Apparently this time his manners had gone down with them.

His efforts to glean some sort of information from an empty CD case thus frustrated, Conor shrugged and handed it back to his new best friend, who didn't look too good. Oh. The kid looked positively green. Conor wasn't squeamish, but he also wasn't in the mood to get puked on. He already felt gross enough, his scalp still prickling from the dried conducer.

"Nah, didn't pack too well." Conor scratched his head absently, flakes of the leftover gel coming off under his fingernails. Ew. He didn't do well with itchiness, and the distraction certainly wasn't helping whatever this weird pukey-hypothermic-roommate situation was. But it was true: the bag that was currently lying on top of what looked like Isaac's dirty laundry was unfortunately limp, containing only the clothes he had worn yesterday and a phone charger. Unless he had left that downstairs? Shoot. This was going to be a long couple of hours.

As such, there was nothing much to hold his attention any longer, except for a door to his left. It was the narrow kind like they had on airplanes, made of the exact same material as the wall, and in Conor's experience those doors led to one of two places: a bathroom or a horribly disappointing linen closet that usually didn't even have any linens in it. He was hoping for the former.

Hopping up again, Conor tugged at the latch and let himself into what he discovered was a cramped little cubicle bathroom, square-foot shower and all, much to his delight. Oh, to be clean again! He turned it on and watched it run for a couple of seconds contemplatively, as one would watch a vaguely interesting commercial about some political candidate you had never heard of.

"This is better water pressure than we have at my house." He was only half-joking, which was sort of impressive, actually. He had been expecting one of those hotel showers that trickled out maybe a gallon a minute, but it would seem the plumbing here was a lot better than their choice of wallpaper. Without another word, Conor shut the airplane-bathroom door (he wished) and stripped, stepping into his tiny but glorious shower kingdom. If he was going to be stuck here with Mr. Freeze, he wanted to at least wash his hair first.

[isaaccoll]

A roommate… Oh. Lydia had mentioned the possibility to Isaac the day before. However, he hadn’t expected the idea to come to fruition any time soon, if he had even expected anything to /actually/ happen at all. The other side of his room had sat unoccupied for most of the time Isaac had been staying in the hospital. Only a few patients had passed in and out of his room, most of them before he’d gotten to know much about them besides their name and their disease. He had grown used to the extra space, and wasn’t particularly looking forward to sharing his room - or his sickness - with another person. He had learned over the past months that it was just a little easier to deal with puking all day, if you didn’t have a roommate to watch you do it.

"Hi." Isaac said shortly.

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[conor-mcginness]

“Tutoring?” As soon as the door clicked shut behind Lydia, Conor made a face and slung his bag onto the chair at the foot of Isaac’s bed. There was an identical one on the other side of the room -- his side of the room -- but he had never been too good with the concept of personal space. Frostbite kid probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but that didn’t exactly cross Conor’s mind. Sharing is caring, after all. “Don’t tell me they give detentions, too.” He was perhaps being a bit too flippant for his own good, but in the presence of so much silence, he felt the need to fill the space himself. Whether or not that was a good thing was anybody’s guess.

His fingers drummed along the railing of the cot as he took another look around, vaguely hoping that he would be able to find the remote that he guessed would go with the tv that was tucked up on a countertop, beside a some sort of machine that was presently silent. Thank God. He didn’t find the remote, but a couple of books did catch his eye on his second go-around. One or two were textbooks (did they seriously make people do school stuff here? Like being sick wasn’t bad enough, they had to learn about the Civil War too? Screw that).

Conor’s wandering hand came to a clipboard hanging from the metal piping, its dogearred pages interrupted by spats of cramped writing and neat typewriter numbers. It looked familiar-- Conor had one too, though his was noticeably thinner -- so he unhooked it, almost humming under his breath as he carelessly leafed through the first couple of pages, skimming over indecipherable scribbles in favor of neater notes that he still couldn't understand. He made a dissatisfied noise at the back of his throat, replacing the clipboard and opting to grab a random CD case from one of Isaac's piles instead, crossing the room in two long strides to hop up onto the edge of his own bed.

"So, what’re you in for?" Conor's eyes were on the back of the CD case when he asked, scanning a list of songs he had never heard, his lanky limbs sprawled easily across the starchy sheets. He knew Isaac couldn’t be happy to see him. He also knew that he could be annoying as hell, but neither of those things looked like they were going to change any time soon. He asked the question like they were a couple of delinquents, confidential and dry, like the two of them had done something worth mentioning to wind up there; his voice suggested that they were something close to co-conspirators plotting a dramatic jailbreak, rather than strangers left alone in a hospital room. Oh well.

Conor happened to have the very bad habit of becoming far too comfortable in uncomfortable situations. It just served to make everyone else more uneasy, and to make him look like a cocky idiot. That was what what happening, but it was how he coped.

With some difficulty, he pried open the CD case, only to find that the disc inside was missing. Conor frowned at the empty plastic sheath, turning to look questioningly at its owner. There was a pregnant pause, broken again by the brassy-haired teen.

“Are you usually this quiet?”

Lydia had already told him that yes, Isaac was, and Conor had promised that yes, he would play nice, but it would seem that their conversation had gone in one ear and out the other. He was just a little too fond of stirring the pot.

[isaaccoll]

Isaac had never really had the privilege of being able to breathe properly. He had suffered from asthma as a kid, his occasional shortness of breath aggravated by unclean air and anything that even vaguely resembled a fun sport. And although he’d grown out of it slightly as he aged, he had never stopped having to carry his inhaler with him. That was why, years later, he hadn’t paid enough attention when his lungs had begun to ache at odd times - his own insidious cells spreading throughout his lungs, turning his breath to bloody hacks and wheezes when he wasn’t paying attention. It was amazing how much the early stages of lung cancer resembled a recurrence of asthma, and how little an inhaler helped if you ignored the problem. His last surgery had removed a particularly cancer-ridden chunk from his left lung, but the cancer had dispersed itself by then, settling in his lungs like a pack of deadbeat friends in a parent’s basement. Bad luck for his breathing, he supposed. Maybe he should have taken it a bit easier on the smoking.

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[conor-mcginness]

"Did you forget already?" A teasing glimmer lit her eyes as she pushed the door all the way open and flicked on the rest of the lights. "I'm glad you pay so much attention to what I say to you, hmm?” She was kidding, of course, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows in feigned disappointment, but she was the sort of person whose smile sprang through any other expression she attempted.

Lydia was undeniably fond of Isaac. She could always tell which kids needed a little extra sunshine, and this boy was certainly one of them. He had never been one to say much about his family, unless it involved the little ones. But whenever they did visit, there was a distinct aura of discomfort between them. Most of the time, they weren’t even the ones checking up on his treatment plan; instead, she found herself talking to a sesquipedalian social worker with worn-out shoes and an equally battered briefcase. There was more going on behind the scenes than Isaac was letting on, but between his chemo schedule and sick spells and referrals, she knew it was her place to ease his journey, not ask questions he probably didn’t want to think about. So she played the alternating roles of caretaker and cool aunt, making sure he got his meds on time but also that the staff remembered to put jello on his tray when he had to eat in his room. It was the little things that got people through the day, and she had been here long enough to realize that.

Some people said that nurses shouldn't get emotionally invested in their patients, but how could she not? Sometimes she was the one of the only ones beside them to talk to them and hold their hand, to tell them that they would be okay, that she believed that they would be back up and good as new in no time. And to believe, she had to care.

Sometimes that landed her in a diner with someone who remembered her checking books out of the library for them when they were sick ten years ago. Those were the best days, when everything paid off and she got to meet the children of the girl who had danced with death and escaped it under her care. Other days she found herself holding hands with a grieving mother as she tucked her child in for the last time, their earthen blankets softer than any found in life.

And sometimes, she was at a point somewhere in between the two, with one hand on her hip and the other on the door handle. She chided, she joked, she did all she could, and hoped for the best. Whatever the situation called for, she put her heart into it and gave it her all.

"No treatment for you today, just a present." Lydia glanced over her shoulder to find her newest charge staring at her quizzically from the hallway. "Well come on then, you're letting the cold air in." She stepped out of the way, and shut the door behind Conor after he passed her by.

"Isaac, this is Conor." They had discussed the new boy's impending arrival, if only briefly. But she couldn't blame Isaac for not remembering.  "Conor, this is Isaac. You'll be staying with him for now."

Introducing a new patient into a room tended to be very similar to introducing a puppy to a previously single-dog household. There was no way to predict how the two were going to get along or how the first dog would react to the new one encroaching on its space, no matter how well familiar you were with its temperament. You could see the moment of tension the moment the newcomer's paws hit the floor, when the two dogs looked at each other with uncertainty. Were they supposed to play? Defend or delineate territory, whether it be maintained by the elder dog or claimed by the younger? The best thing to do, at that point, was to step out of the way and let the two of them try to figure it out. So that's what Lydia did.

As she busied herself rearranging the empty side of the room to make it more hospitable, pulling linens out of a cabinet (without commenting on the missing pillows), Conor was finishing his visual scan of the room. It was a standard hospital room, nothing particularly exciting, save for an unusual number of CDs stacked up on a shelf beside the other guy's bed. If he had any other interesting personal possessions lying around, they had yet to catch Conor's eye.

And then there was the kid himself, Isaac. Once again, there was nothing particularly telling in his expression or demeanor -- like Lydia had said, he was generally unassuming. And for Conor, who lived out loud, that was kind of weird. But this kid was kind of skinny, kind of pale, and wearing entirely too many articles of clothing. What was he here for, frostbite? It sort of made Conor want to buy a snuggie and offer it up as a weird sort of housewarming gift. Literally. Then again, if Conor had the money to buy a snuggie, he would already own a snuggie himself. Which he didn't.

So that option was out. Conor wished he could hear the music that he assumed had been coming from the headphones lying in his new roommate's lap. But he couldn't, so he just stuck one hand in his pocket and raised the other in a jaunty little wave with a smile to match.

"Hey, man."

[ohpippins]

I walk around talking to myself in accents, usually people look at me like I’m a complete fruit loop. 

[astrokittygurl]

[conor-mcginness]

Conor didn’t belong here. He was convinced of that, and his conviction only grew as each moment passed. Shadows shifted back and forth on the other side of the glass door, blurred by the reversed etching of the name in the center panel. He couldn’t see them, but he didn’t have to. He knew the wheelchairs that traversed the halls, the IV bags, the pale patients and overly cheerful nurses, serious-faced doctors with heavy jaws and gruff voices. The constant pressure of the things people were afraid to say. Everything here was so diluted. There was nothing too loud, nothing too exciting, nothing too anything -- hospitals were greenhouses full of plants grown in the dark, limp and colorless, all pastel and white and chrome. Moderate. Mild. Uninteresting. And everywhere the little blinking lights, the pervasive beeping that seemed to follow him around. It wasn’t loud, no, not at all, just incessant -- beeping came from the rooms, from the desks, from the machines, from the intercom. It was enough to drive someone crazy.

But the uncomfortable silence that currently filled the office was worse. At that moment, there were at least a thousand things Conor would've rather been doing. First of all, he wanted to call his sisters, to let them know he would be staying over again. Second of all, he wanted to shower. After spending the last day in the EMU with a bunch of five-year-olds and old people, Conor was ready to run a few miles and listen to loud music and eat a couple meal’s worth of food. Anything but sit here quietly, tapping his foot. His scalp still itched where the electrodes had been settled, and he scratched at it as the lady in front of him kept talking.

"...and since your preliminary results are indicating that you’ll probably need the surgery, Dr. Guerra suggested that you stay here while they finish running the EEG, just in case they need anything else, and that you'll probably be going in sometime tomorrow."

The flaking adhesive in his hair rasped under his fingernail, reminiscent of the way the woman's acrylic claws scratched along the close-set type in the file in front of her. Conor's file.

He was no stranger to doctors and tests. There were papers in that folder that were ten, eleven years old, but the most recent ones were filled with more complicated words and longer notes that spiderwebbed around the print. Until six months ago, Conor hadn’t had a major seizure since those first pages were printed out. But now here he was, with a wristband pinching at his skin and a major surgery looming over him. He wasn’t keen on spending another night in a hospital wing -- let alone a week recovering from having half a dozen scalpels poking at his head -- but if that's what it took to get him back to normal, then it would be worth it. Even if it meant splitting his brain in half.

But the lady with the horn-rimmed glasses was staring at him expectantly, and Conor hastily scanned his memory for a question that he was meant to answer.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure."

The faint sound of her fingernail tracing the paper paused, and he was faced with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of disapproval radiating towards him.

“I asked if you had any questions, Conor.” Oh.

He guessed she wouldn’t be able to answer any questions about the operation (she was just a glorified secretary, after all), but he couldn’t think of much else that seemed important or relevant to ask.

“No, I -- actually, uh, will I still be in the unit?” He had spent the last twenty-four hours in a wing reserved especially for epileptic observation, and it had been about as exciting as sorting socks. But without the subsequent satisfaction of having sorted socks.

“No, you’ll be in the pediatric wing for the night. If you end up having an extended stay, that’s where you’ll be post-op.”

“Right.” Her lips pressed together, highlighting the frown lines at the corners of her mouth.

“Anything else?” Did she have her lunch break after this, he wondered, or did she just hate her job? Conor shook his head. “Good.” The door behind him opened quietly, admitting a nurse with pale yellow scrubs and a round, cheerful face that just made the woman behind the desk look even more dour in comparison. “Lydia, this is Conor.” Lydia smiled, shifting her clipboard so she could extend her hand to him.

“I’ll be getting you set up in your room, Conor.” He rose to shake her hand, standing a few inches taller than either of the adults in the room. And just like that, he had shouldered his bag -- which didn’t contain nearly enough to last a week, now that he thought about it. He would have to ask Siannon to bring him more clothes when she came -- and then he was following the nurse out of the office to join the stream of people flowing through the hallway.  “So, I heard you were stuck in the monitoring unit last night. How was that?” Conor shrugged, sidestepping a small child who was toddling alongside his mother.

“Boring.” He had caught up on a couple of TV shows, but Netflix could only entertain him for so long. He was much too ADHD for movie marathons. Lydia laughed at that, which was a welcome change.

“Well, I hope you’ll find your new room more interesting.” She gestured for him to take a left, and the kept walking down a second hallway, lined with doors on either side. Some had pictures and posters hung up in the windows. Some were dark. Some were cracked open the slightest bit, just enough for Conor to pick up on the low rise and fall of voices inside and, in one case, a rerun of the The Walking Dead episode that he had seen yesterday. But the door they stopped in front of was shut tight. “You’ll be rooming with another patient for the time being. He’s more of a quiet kid, so play nice, okay?”

“Nice? I am the definition of nice!”

“Then I’m sure you two will get on just fine.” Lydia smiled again and knocked twice on the door before turning the knob to poke her head in.

“Isaac? Can we come in?”

[thecutestofthecute]

Irish Wolfhounds are also known as gentle giants.

[burrito34-deactivated20150224]

I want one!

[newpenzance-deactivated20190126]

[beyondabookscover-blog]

broadway-boo replied to your post:((I have a sudden need for amputee!Books))

That’s awful We should do it

((YES WE SHOULD))

[conor-mcginness]

I’m going to live to regret this

[beyondabookscover-blog]

((I still regret Books’ fate))

[conor-mcginness]

yeah how dare you