#lincdawson

[rosesjustdie]

Merry Christmas Hermione!!

You are such a beautiful soul and always bring such high energy to the group. I’m so glad and fortunate to have met you and always keep being your fabulously positive self.

Please enjoy these aesthetics of your brilliant characters (some of the information might be wrong-- I tried). I LOVE YOU!

@adashofnadia

[bodyxprisonarchive]

      location: java addicts.       open to: @lincdawson​

      he’d learned, a long time ago, that ignoring a glaring problem did not make it go away. in the same vein, ira was so much less likely to do something if it was repeatedly told to him. talk to lincoln, talk to lincoln, talk to lincoln. he’d heard it so much since halloween that it could practically serve as a poor man’s mantra ---one that summoned some hideous, snarling demon that ira was not ready or willing to combat quite yet. on the best of days he only lost some words, only found himself partially tongue-tied when he read something aloud, only mildly forgot a concept instead of the entire idea and had to toe around the right phrasing to put it into reality. (in a lot of ways it felt like he was learning english again, where he’d forget the word he wanted and try to attack it from another angle, substitute the lost concept with something similar to, but not quite the same ---a throwback to thirty-five years or more prior). on the worst of days his migraines were debilitating where ira was something of a shut-in with all of the effort to stave away the ache enough to even get to the bathroom and be sick somewhere proper. all in all, he wouldn’t recommend concussions to anyone who might be considering it.

      and in truth he still wasn’t ready to talk to lincoln, not really, considering how much anger still roiled beneath his skin. at least he could manage that anger without it driving a sharp spike into his brain every time it flared up. so he drummed his fingers against the small table in java addicts, his coffee mostly untouched save for the one or two sips he’d taken initially, and waited. if he’d thought that reaching out to set this up was the hard part, he was sorely mistaken. arms crossed over his chest, somewhat slumped in the seat, hair mussed from tugging off his beanie on the way in, he waited. maybe he wouldn’t show ---and maybe all of this could be avoided. but the bile threatening the back of his throat suggested otherwise, and as much of an idealist as ira evans could be, he new it wouldn’t be so easy as that.