#and jonny

[whiterosesblackroses]

Someone raise the alarms!!! This is a code red!!

Changing my schedule to plan my day around this

[sohasters]

Whelp that's it I guess, the TMA fandom has reached the size where it's gone fully feral.

Can't wait for five years from now when we all refuse to admit we were ever involved, a la homestuck...

[tenfifteenthirteen]

i’m so sad for patrick

[tenfifteenthirteen]

ugh i hate that 2014 was such a bad year for him because he looked so sexy that year and wow that makes me sound shallow

alkfja;lkjf ai’M SCREAMING you can think he’s sexy AND ALSO be sad for him it’s possible

[sirlampsy211]

😍 Fairytale ending 😭

[shownus-biceps]

@imxthexdoctor oh yeah same! I mean they were such a baby band it blows my mind to see them when they were still small

[simoneclouseau]

I wrote a little something something to cheer up @cooliofoolios in this trashfire time we’re living in.

I was supposed to write her forced bonding, or H/C, or a serial killer AU, and somehow she got a little something of none of that! Sorry, boo, hope this helps cheer you up anyway. This is a grosse point blank au, I have no idea where it’s going, or how long it’s going to be, but have at it. Shermer, IL is the Chicago suburb used in all of the John Hughes’ movies.

Patrick left and has never regretted it. He left because the world got so small. He left because he couldn’t breathe. Because he didn’t know how to be anymore. There was the mess with his father, and the way hockey had been taken away from him. It’s funny, he thinks now, as he receives the letter proudly inviting him back to his tenth high school reunion that the very day he drove to a Marine recruitment office was also the day of his senior prom. He’d abandoned his date, tossed his cell-phone, and headed for San Diego. Never even graduated. He doesn’t know how the letter even managed to reach him. He takes pains to move undetected, and somehow Crystal Le, former homecoming queen and senior class president and current real estate agent, had done a better job of finding him than the US Government. Of course he’s not going to go, it wouldn’t exactly be wise given his current occupation, but also because he put Shermer, Illinois in the rear view mirror and never looked back.

“That’s not exactly true is it?” his therapist breaks in, peering at him over his desk with the slightly crazed look he always has around Patrick.  

“What?” Patrick replies, caught off guard.

“What about Jonny?” Dr. Bowman asks carefully.

“Oh,” Patrick says. “I mean—he was a good buddy.”

“You mention him a lot,” Dr. Bowman points out.

“We met at thirteen,” Patrick replies. “It was formative, you know how it is.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Bowman says.

“What does that mean?” Patrick asks dryly, leaning forward in his chair.

Bowman jumps, hands clutching at the armrests of his chair like he expects Patrick to spring over the desk at him. “Oh, ah, nothing!” he replies quickly.

“Oh c’mon, ‘hmm’ does not mean nothing,” Patrick says.

Bowman shakes his head, features white and strained, his bald head shiny with sweat. “This is why I can’t work with you, Patrick!”

Patrick slowly blinks at him. “Why’s that?”

“I’m emotionally involved with you,” Bowman replies. “It’s unethical.”

Patrick scoffs. “What? How are we emotionally involved?”

“I. Am. Terrified. Of. You!” Bowman bites out.

“I don’t know why,” Patrick says, leaning back in his chair to pluck at his tie. “I already said I wouldn’t kill you.”

“See!” Dr. Bowman very nearly screeches. “There you go with the killing again. This is not how a normal-doctor patient relationship should go!”

“I mean, I don’t know what normal is, obviously.  That’s why I’m in here,” Patrick answers with a snort. “Turns out running away from home to go kill people for a living can kinda fuck you up.”

Dr. Bowman throws up his hands. “You know I’m legally bound to report you when you say things like that.”

Patrick slants him a look. “Ah ah ah,” he says, enjoying the way Bowman blanches. “You wouldn’t want me to let a certain angry mafia don know your whereabouts would you?”

“You can’t extort therapy! That’s not how this works!” If Bowman had any hair left he’d be tearing it out. Patrick very nearly laughs out loud.

He was being truthful. Bowman really does have nothing to worry about from him. He’d never liked the guy who put out the hit on the doctor in the first place. The mob is messy, camorra in particular, and Patrick likes things neat and clean. It’s why he’s so good at his job. Besides he really does think the sessions are helping. If the doctor is so terrified, he never should’ve gotten tangled up in organized crime, accepting all that money to treat Don Franchioni, and then turning states’ evidence on him. Bad business that. But the doctor’s a good therapist. Very highly regarded.

“Well, I can’t exactly go telling any other psychiatrist what I do now can I?”

“Ugh, this is hopeless,” Bowman says, leaning forward to thunk his head on the desk.

“I really feel we’ve made progress,” Patrick replies evenly.

“You’re insane!”

“Very likely,” he says, moving to get up out of his chair. “Same time next week?”

Bowman, still thumping his head down across his day planner and muttering, stops and looks up to skewer Patrick with a baleful glare. “Go to your damn reunion. Go—” he waves a hand in the air, obviously struggling for words, “—confront some of your issues!”

Patrick pauses. “You really think so?”

“Yes!” Bowman shouts back.

“Huh,” Patrick replies, thinking about it. He’s been avoiding Shermer and the greater Chicago area for ten fucking years, trying to wait out his godforsaken father’s lifespan, but it might be nice to see his mom and his sisters again, see some of the old sights.

“And Jonny,” Bowman points out, looking resigned.

“Yeah…” Patrick says slowly, “and Jonny.”