#I had a seizure and just got taken off everything I was on

[littlebittywildflower]

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXII. “superglue”

parts: previous / next

plot: rumors spread about the circumstances of your interview with Bruce Wayne. You might have been more partial to each other than you realized…

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, depression, passive suicidality

words: 8.3k

a/n: it’s getting warmer in hereeee !! ahhh!!! this might be my favorite chapter yet!! as always I LOVE hearing what you think, please tell me everything!! <3

Watching the door close behind Bruce again, you felt a bruise forming.

All you’d done was check in on him, and he’d shunned you for it. Shut the door. Threw away the key. It was evident he wanted nothing to do with you.

Maybe it was all in your head—he hadn’t said he was done with you, he’d just… acted exasperated and absolutely finished with any semblance of your concern. How were you supposed to navigate that with only a week separating him and his attempt?

The phone buzzed in your hand. Dr. Crane. How were you going to navigate that while having to answer to someone else?

“Hey!”

Dr. Crane cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N! Wanted to check in. Have you made contact with Mr. Wayne since we last spoke?”

“Yes.”

“And how is he?”

“Well, he said he was feeling bad. But he didn’t want to talk about it further.” It sounded worse than it was (at least you hoped it wasn’t so bad) so you pivoted. “He thanked me for helping him. He came over and cooked me some food a few days ago. We visited. Asked if I was okay. After seeing it.” You set the phone on the counter, taking a few steps back from it. Maybe if you spoke further away from the receiver, it would make the lie less painful. Make your conscience a little quieter.

“Hmm… anything since then?”

“Yeah, today. He visited again. To check in, I uh, I got in a tussle last night.” You winced at how it came out. Tussle? Really? You didn’t want him thinking he’d visited just to say ‘bad’ and then left. “That’s when he said he was feeling bad. But thanked me.” Your breath caught on the last sentence. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to reveal it to Bruce, and you didn’t want to think about what he might do if he found out you’d been lying.

“I see a city hall meeting slated for this evening. Do you know if he’ll be in attendance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let me know after. We’re in the sweet spot for another issue.” He said it like the ‘issue’ was something as trivial and inconsequential as traffic on the way to the grocery store. You heard him typing on a keyboard in the background. “Are you aware of the side effects for the class of medication Mr. Wayne is on?”

“No.”

“In addition to assessing the state of his nervous system, I have a few more symptoms I want you to be on the lookout for. Rashes, fever, trouble breathing, fast heartbeat, seizures, uncontrolled movement of any part of his body, fainting, heat intolerance. Some of these are relatively benign, but I want to be kept informed if you gather any of that happening. Alright?”

You’d taken as many notes as you could while he spoke, and had zero concept of how you would know about most of those. Bruce could probably make fainting look intentional, or play it off before anyone could notice.

It was a short call, and he prompted you to trust your gut before signing off.

Showering was annoying; the Tylenol had taken the brunt of the pain away, though your head still ached when you delicately massaged shampoo against it. You had your phone in a baggie sitting on a ledge of the shower in case you slipped. You wished Mar could’ve stayed for you to shower, to make sure you were alright. Part of you was surprised she had stayed until you woke up. If you’d slept another hour, would she have left with Gianna? Would she even have left a note?

While you toweled off you tried to boil down the last 24 hours to something tangible. Mar had nearly been assaulted. You’d both gotten fucked up. Bruce had saved you. Mar had seen Bruce. Mar knew Bruce. Mar thought you and Bruce were together. Bruce knew she knew that, as far as you knew. The phone sat in the baggie on the bathroom counter, holding all of its secrets. You got out your blow dryer and started in on your soaked hair with one hand while the other scanned the video.

At 4:18 in the morning, Mar had emerged from your room. You turned up the volume, barely edging out the roar of the dryer.

“Hey.” She rubbed her eyes and walked to the medicine cabinet. You could only see her back from this POV. Bruce stood up to help, but waited. She pulled something out of a cabinet and he spoke. “Tylenol is better.” Bruce left frame for only a second, and returned with the bottle of it from where you laid on the couch. They exchanged bottles and you heard the sink run for a second.

You couldn’t see either of their faces, just their torsos, only hearing their voices. Mar was situated by the sink on the opposite side of the island. Bruce stood on the other by the middle stool. She didn’t let there be much silence.

“Where did you meet Y/N?”

“City Hall. She asked me for an interview.”

Oh, it felt strange hearing someone talk to him about you. To hear him talking about you. Couldn’t tell if you liked it or hated it.

“Why’d you accept her interview?”

He waited a few seconds, and from knowing her, you knew she was about to drill him if he didn’t speak. You wondered if he sensed it too, and that was why he was being forthright. “The timing aligned. I declined them for so long, people stopped asking. Worked out with the graduation speech.”

Mar’s tone was cold, investigative. She sounded a lot like she had back at Mora’s. Not wanting to deal with nonsense. You figured they were cut out for each other, if Bruce was cut out for anyone. They both didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. If they had a goal, they didn’t mind being pegged an asshole on the way to meeting it. “All the way back in Spring, huh? Interesting.” You heard a slurp of some water.

“How did you and Y/N meet?” It was so fucking weird to have him talking conversationally. Lightly. Politely. Couldn’t be more out of character. You had an itch to start a spreadsheet of all his different personas.

“College. We took some sociology classes together. When did you ask her out?”

AH! She was so nosy. Your stomach clenched. “I haven’t.”

“She’s just gonna tell me tomorrow if you don’t.”

“We’re not together.”

“Whatever pact you guys made, I respect it, but I’m not a fucking fool.” Pact. At least she was making it seem like you were saying the same things he was.

“There must have been a miscommunication.” He sighed.

“What are your intentions? None of that bullshit stands here. I have a really good radar.” Her face moved slightly into frame, a glare set as she gave him a once-over. “If it’s just to fuck she needs to know that, man.”

You could’ve wrung her neck.

“It’s business.” If he was exasperated, his voice didn’t give him away. He was getting better at this.

“Fine. Keep your fuckin secrets. But if you mess her up, I don’t give a fuck who you are, or how many lawyers you have. I know who you are, Bruce Wayne, and I will not hesitate to use my voice to send you into the darkest pits of hell.”

“Noted.” Spoken genuinely, without sass. You mused on how he might’ve said it to you, and smirked.

“I won’t hesitate to fuck you up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fucking sleep.”

Bruce sat at the table, far enough away from the lens that you couldn’t make out his expression. He sat there on his phone for the next few hours until Mar entered again. It was hard to scrub while heat stung the back of your head, but you were forced to multitask.

“Did you even sleep?” It was like she was talking to someone completely normal; no worry about if he might hurt her, yell at her, no dancing around it like he was a stranger. The same framing situation: only able to hear their voices and see their torsos.

“I stay up late.”

Mar muttered something you couldn’t make out. He spoke again. “How are you doing? Y/N said you might have been drugged.” You hadn’t gotten used to him saying your name.

“You don’t have to act concerned because you’re fucking my friend.”

You nearly dropped the hair dryer, the hot metal grazing between your fingers as it slacked in your grip. Jesus fucking fuck. You wished more than anything you could crawl into his thoughts. “I wanted to check in. It’s a fucked up thing to go through.”

She paused. She actually paused. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. “Not the first time it’s happened. And this time nothing actually happened.” She scoffed. “Piece of shit. He was acting so fucking nice at the bar, I should’ve known something was up.”

“You took his behavior at face-value. No blame in that.” Damn, an actually nice sentiment.

“Thanks for last night.” She uncrossed her arms and started rummaging by the phone, which was by the pantry. Bruce spoke unprompted. “Someone from the GCPD should be in contact within the next 48 hours. For your statement.”

Mar scowled. “Love doing those.” She’d done one before? She sighed. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna make pancakes.”

“I can help, if you’d like.”

“Trying to impress me?”

Bruce didn’t respond. They didn’t speak again until you heard a rustle by the couch; probably you adjusting. “How is she?”

Bruce’s voice was dryer now, and you watched him reach for the dregs of his energy drink. “Seems fine. Pupils are reactive, she’s oriented to time and place.”

“What are you, a doctor or something?”

“Special interest.”

You grinned knowing the real reason. Nah, he’s just Batman. You’re not only talking to Bruce Wayne right now, you’re talking to a vigilante. She’d probably shit herself.

As soon as she had finished making breakfast and sat at the table opposite him, she started asking the frivolous questions. You felt a bit jealous of her. Getting to talk to someone she perceived as a celebrity without all the baggage, without all the fear. It might have been interesting, cool, fun. Regardless of if you thought he deserved it, or any ideological ick you got from his upbringing and social status, he lived a life entirely out of reach, kept exclusively behind a locked curtain. His life was the carrot on a stick dangling in front of every American chasing The Dream. He didn’t make it seem very fun. “What’s it like to be a billionaire?”

“I don’t think about it much. Lots of financial meetings.”

“You grew up in it so of course you don’t think about it.” A pause. You almost laughed thinking about what she was probably… “You wouldn’t miss a couple thousand, would you?” … yup. A laugh actually did escape you. As frustrating as it was to be on the receiving end of her questioning, it was decidedly enthralling to watch her do it to someone else. She took another bite and prattled more. “Nice disguise. Is it weird to have paparazzi follow you? It sounds annoying as fuck.”

“Certainly makes things more difficult.”

“What do you even do? Up in your tower, I mean. I don’t ever hear of any parties there.”

“Mostly keep to myself. Travel some. Prying eyes only got worse after my parents. Didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Damn, that’s right. Makes sense.” She finished her plate in thoughtful silence.

She put her plate away and offered some food to Bruce. At this point you looked at the recording and saw the time was one in the afternoon, just two hours before you’d woken up. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a few pancakes, dry. In less than a minute his plate was clean.

Mar had gone back to your bedroom, telling him she was taking a nap. “Let me know when she wakes up.”

The next time you saw any movement was when Mar had made a slice of toast before speaking to you. You stopped the video when you heard her calling your name. You finished your hair, mindlessly combing through the strands, fretful about if she would ever put the pieces together herself. Black paint around his eyes. Good at fighting. Hell, she’d even said the word disguise! Why was it so clear to you, and no one else?

Between skincare steps, you’d perused Scypher, where you by far had the most notifications. It was soon evident why Mar hadn’t put two and two together: the people of Gotham thought Bruce Wayne no more than a reclusive drug addict. Maybe Bruce hadn’t had to put on the playboy show at all; everyone was already thrown off his scent.

He probably shoots heroin up in his ivory tower

swear i saw him buy on the east side

another rich scumsucker off his rocker

Then came conversations you were mentioned in. Your eyes widened at the sheer mass of them, and how cruelly they painted you. A particular thread stood out, having garnered tens of thousands of likes.

No one has talked about this STUDENT JOURNALIST — to me there’s no way someone like that would get the first pick. My sister works in editing and says people have been trying to get an interview with him for twenty years. What are we thinking, chat?

There was a poll attached that had thousands of hits. ‘See Results’ showed you that between Fucked Him, Scripted, or Both, most people had chosen… both.

The replies were especially heinous.

Is ‘sucked off his limp cock’ an option ? cant imagine the man has any stamina anymore with all that fucking dope. The man had an NFT profile picture and ‘your mom’ in his bio. Stellar. You’d been tagged right below it. what does @youruser think about this?

Someone had answered in place of you, coming off so high and mighty you had to put the phone down before reading more responses to it.

She got bought off. Scripted responses and interview. Wayne Enterprises didn't want stocks to go down. That's why they couldn't get a real journalist, no one would agree to that unethical mess. Screams litigious. Probably signed an NDA anyway with his fuckass company

|

this tracks. aint pretty enough to bargain that way. less then mid if were being honest. females only care about $$$ anyway, he could pull any one if that was it

You put the phone down. It didn’t matter. You had a life to get back to.

You couldn’t be bothered to wear heels tonight, but you needed to wear something dressy; you stared a little too long at the mirror before tugging on your dress, a haze of insecurity swooping over you. You forced yourself to walk away.

You had to stay off your phone, save calls. You turned off notifications for everything besides, noting Dr. Vry had called you earlier. She’d left a voicemail detailing that there were another hundred-fifty School of Journalism applicants. Apparently, before your interview, they’d only gotten around forty-eight a year.

Outfitted in a pair of old loafers and your same dress, hoping it didn’t look too haphazard a combination, you grabbed your PRESS badge, notepad, pen, and recorder. You tucked your ID and other personal things under your dress and into your shorts pocket. If you didn’t feel like total ass, you could’ve imagined you were a spy. Jetting off to the Meeting of the Elite to uncover clues and inquire between the lines. A resentful, anxious, overwhelmed, stubborn spy. It couldn’t have felt less magical.

You shook off the past week, the past summer, the past year. Bruce Wayne wasn’t your life, he was a minuscule part of it. No longer would you let him take over your brain space—his life was his, yours was yours. As massive a secret you held, as bizarre as it was to be on a first-name basis with a modern Kennedy, you had your own life to attend to. Interviews to conduct, business to get to, truth to find. For the first time in months, you began to feel a bit hopeful as you left your apartment. If Bruce showed up tonight. If not you would literally panic. You willfully ignored the contradiction, just as you ignored the nagging thought that this newfound hope was a fleeting attempt at coping.

Gotham was normal. Cloudy, smoggy skies. It was easy on your aching head. Flickering street lamps as the evening light got ready to wane were not, however. The bustle of the people on the sidewalks, the cracked concrete, the glimmering potholes that had every other driver making a face as they slammed into them. Everything was the same as it had always been. You walked past the same people on their same commute. Saw the same taxis pass. The walking sign on the left was still out of order, murdered by kids sticking their gum into the crevices.

You kept to your usual space, the furthest to the right you could possibly get without scraping your arms against the jagged—sometimes bloody—brick, or stepping in someone’s vomit. You recalled your first month here when you’d had to hold your breath for most of your walks. Breathing ‘fresh’ air here was like gulping someone’s rancid morning breath.

The walk to City Hall wasn’t long, but it was annoying. Cobbled streets, men who wouldn’t move out of the way even if they took up the entire sidewalk. Most of your shirt sleeves had snags from being squeezed against the sides of buildings on walks like these. You had half a mind to kick a dirty puddle at them whenever they forced you to the margins. You didn’t want to double your concussion.

The air was teasing you with autumn; a few excited trees plopped leaves for your feet to crunch, though there weren’t many of them in the area. The city was mechanical, industrial. Something as sensitive and nurturing as foliage didn’t have a place here. One time you’d seen a dandelion growing out of a concrete mound and you’d cried. Maybe you’d been unhappy here longer than you’d thought. That had been in the second month.

As you walked the last stretch of blocks, your destination sitting just in the distance, that hopeful, determined version of you dwindled. You thought about if he didn’t show up, and if he did. You thought about how unfairly singular your life was. You thought about that a lot lately.

On Tuesday, to pass the time, you’d read through Bruce’s interview responses again. This time had been a lot more painful. You’d forgotten about it in the flurry of the attack, but you’d sat with your notebook for hours. Looking at the way he wrote his letters, the Gs in particular, written with a long tail that folded in on itself, seeing the grains of the paper indented in black streaks. It made you feel better holding his writing. It made his being alive feel more real. You wanted to know more about his family camping trip. Where had he gone? Where had he traveled to? Where did he want to go that he hadn’t yet?

It was his loneliness. You smelled the burning sting of it on every page and it attracted you like a moth to flame. It was never written outright, but it was strong subtext, as clear to you as him candidly naming his nerves. It felt exceedingly intimate reading back even his most playboy responses, the hindsight of his desire to die blanching every pen stroke.

This city was brutally lonely, and everyone was so desperate not to feel it. People clustered to fragile friend groups full of superficial conversation, filled their bodies with substances, stayed out all night not daring to slow down otherwise the world might fall apart. All you were was slow. All you did was think, and feel, and think again.

You’d had a lot of time on Tuesday to think about his attempt. You had a horrifying feeling of jealousy about it. You never let your mind sit there too long. It wasn’t normal to feel that way. Reminiscing on the places depression had taken you always made you feel incredible shame. Its vice grip in the middle of the night, three in the morning, when the world was quiet and asleep, but you were so painfully, entirely awake. It was why you’d come to Gotham in the first place. This city never slept.

A masochistic part of you, as you carefully labeled it, thought that Bruce might be the only person in your life who truly understood despair. He’d come face to face with it. It had nearly won out he’d let it come so close. He was willing to show his sadness. Willing to sit in it. Willing to marinate in it, really.

“He doesn’t like to show it, but compassion comes easily to him.” Alfred’s voice punctuated your contemplation. Even if it was out of guilt, Bruce had stayed with you all night; and by the looks of the video, he’d stayed fully awake for it, even with nothing to hold his attention save whatever the hell he had on his phone. Mar had left before asking you how you were—Bruce made sure to ask. Possibly because he could handle it. Probably because he’d acclimated to pain. Your mind wandered to more projections.

Gabbi, Lara, and Rose hadn’t been able to handle the good you, the best behavior you. Your dad never wanted to talk about the reality of your mother’s sickness. Couldn’t even say the word cancer. Your mom didn’t want to dwell, either, and Debbie… she was an emotional wreck. If you stepped on a crack in the sidewalk she might burst into tears, lamenting on how she missed her mother, her father, her old pair of shoes. You’d always been the one to calm her down growing up. The one to hold it when no one could. Bruce seemed like he might be able to hold it. Engage with it. When you argued, he argued back. It wasn’t lost on you how he’d asked about your mom last Thursday when you’d started crying. You felt a lump forming in your throat. He couldn’t actually give a fuck, could he?

Perhaps you were propping him up on a pedestal, delirious from being forced to orbit around him for the past 168 hours. You weren’t exactly comparing him to the world’s finest communicators. His version of handling things was to storm off, deflect. His version of handling things was to argue. His handling things was violent, aggressive, impulsive. And, you thought wistfully, you were actively in the throes of suicide watch. He was everything and nothing all at once.

The steps were easier to climb in loafers, each step jolting you back to time and place. Why the hell had you ever tried to fit in and wear anything different? You tallied how much money you had left, wondering if you could afford a trip to Target for some slacks and a sweater. City Hall was exceptionally busy, even for being only five minutes early. Conversation appeared buzzier tonight; caterers were already handing out dozens of drinks. People were usually more subdued at this point. What had happened?

When you fully stepped inside (instead of just peering through the side window like a dork), every head snapped to you, the din going calm. A few people rolled their eyes, or sighed, and went back to their conversations, but some people continued to stare, leaning in to whoever was nearby to mutter something. You struggled not to squint as the lights pouring from the chandeliers bored a hole into your skull.

You went to your usual place of refuge, near the middle of the back wall, opposite the appetizers and wine where most clustered. Except… there was a group standing now, with PRESS badges in varying fonts, sizes, pins and lanyards. Some had beautiful cameras with lenses that begged to be inspected, adored. As far as you knew, the Gazette only had one Canon you could rent out, limited to once per term per person. Stingy.

“Y/N Y/L/N, is that right?” A gorgeous blonde woman with gleaming veneers and impeccably styled 70s curls held out a manicured hand for you to take. You took it, your hand threatening to go limp when you noticed the VOGUE logo braided into her lanyard. “Eva Reveé, chief staff writer. I read your interview with Mr. Wayne, it was such a pleasure.” You swallowed hard. You felt supremely underdressed. Understood why people had rolled their eyes at your entry. A mousey small-town wannabe student journalist scoring one of the most sought-after jobs in the industry. You wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“Yes. Y/N.” You smiled and did a small laugh, trying to act like you weren’t talking to someone who worked at fucking Vogue. She flashed another smile at you. “You are just the cutest.” Patronizing. “Get a chance to read my email yet? I am sure your inbox is positively flooded right now.”

You turned red. You needed to remember to upgrade foundation when you came to events, a tint wasn’t nearly enough to camouflage your nerves. “I haven’t, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re perfectly fine. I was only wanting to chat about your experience interviewing him! Potentially get some ins for other journalists like myself. We were all chatting before you arrived and were so impressed you were able to score a high-profile case for your first publishing.”

You didn’t like her tone, but you were probably just irritable after the concussion. To play up the awe, or play up the professionalism? Shortchange yourself or prop yourself up? You opened your mouth to speak, but then everyone gasped, hushedly. Before turning your head, you knew Bruce Wayne had just entered the building.

“Mr. Wayne!”

“Are you alright?”

“Your accident looked horrible.”

“What caused it?”

“Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Eva and the other journalists all inched toward him, eyes bright and ravenous. Glancing at him was a bit painful, more than it had been earlier when you were already desperate to escape his gaze, but you needed to assess—you quickly realized this was, in fact, the very worst type of event for you to get any true read on him. He’d never been more on than in this room every week. How were you ever supposed to assess his mental state when he was putting on a show between these four walls?

Last night was far from written on him, not even smudged. He had no bags under his eyes, they were clear and engaged, his posture was tall and at ease. Even his voice, when he spoke, had been relieved of its crackles. It was like the past 24 hours had been a ghost. The only evidence of his attempt were some scratches on his neck and jaw, and scabs on his hand. They already looked better than they had a few hours ago. You imagined a team coming to Wayne Tower to do some fancy makeup over his injuries. The image was hilarious, but faded faster than it ever had before. Usually you adored watching Bruce squirm, even if it was relegated to your imagination, but you saw through it. I feel nervous before every event, he’d written. I don’t like crowds.

“Folks,” Bruce walked toward the center of the room and clapped his hands together, holding them tightly at his waist. The room orbited around him, the audience going still listening to his words. It was eerie. You’d never seen him have this much control over a group. “I’ve heard a lot of discussion surrounding my accident this past Friday.” He seemed to make eye contact with everyone at the same time. “I want to reassure everyone that I am okay. By the grace of God and the incredible team at Gotham General, I’ve been healing wonderfully.” He paused and looked around the perimeter of the room again. His eyes flit onto yours, and held for a second too long. He blinked and continued, and you exhaled when he released you.

“Many people are speculating that substances were involved. I want to assure everyone in here—and outside of it—” He gestured toward you and the throng of press. “That is not the case. I take the safety of my fellow citizens very seriously.” He let that sit. “I have a penchant for fixing up old cars.” He did a dry chuckle. “On a test drive around Tower grounds, my steering went out. Thus, the tree.” He was referring to the viral photo of his car nearly entirely wrapped around a thick oak tree. You gulped.

Some people mumbled, a few grumbled. Bruce stood taller, straightening the last few discs in his spine. “I was disappointed to see how far I have left to go with the residents of this city, though I understand it. I hardly leave my parent’s estate for twenty years, and now I’m in campaigns, given a voice in the election for Gotham’s mayor, and it’s only been a few months.” People’s shoulders were beginning to drop. “I’ve forgotten that though I’ve been in the public psyche, that doesn’t mean we know each other, and it certainly does not foster trust. The reactions to my accident this week have been eye-opening. I’m excited to start working with you all, and the city, to build that trust in the first place. Being Thomas and Martha Wayne’s son is a ticket into a lot of rooms, let me tell you.” Leaning a bit more playboy rich kid. “But I realized you don’t really know me, and I don’t really know you. I want to bridge that gap with this campaign season, and beyond.”

Some people nodded, less grumbles. You were absolutely mesmerized by this version of Bruce. He commanded the room flawlessly, like every syllable was a meticulous sculpture, but made everything also seem casual, off the cuff. Alfred had to have given him public speaking lessons. This was jarring. Somehow knowing precisely what to say and how to say it to lend public favor, but making it look humble, unassuming. Without a lick of nervousness.

Right then, you remembered you hadn’t turned on your recorder. This was a part of the meeting, and a massive conversation right now. You’d have to report on it. You looked down to start fiddling with it, but the REC button was stuck.

“Hopefully, that began with the publishing of Ms. Y/L/N’s interview with me last Sunday.” He both looked at and gestured toward you, the room following his hand like a cat to a laser. You went still, frozen, with your hands clutching the plastic, as a hundred or more eyes, elite eyes, powerful eyes, fixed on you. Analyzed you. Judged you. It took all your power to grin and not faint. It felt like the entire world was in this room, and in a way, it was.

“It was a great honor, and I want to publicly thank Ms. Y/L/N for handling it with utmost tact, integrity, and humor. She could not have provided a more professional, comfortable experience. We are truly indebted to the hardworking, prodigious talent of our university graduates.” He turned back to the room, consequently removing his grip on your neck. “Now, enough about me.” He held his hands up. “Let’s all enjoy tonight.”

You felt like you were buzzing; the room quieted, noise fading to the background. The sensitivity in his eyes before he’d looked away, the firmness of his words, he must have been briefed on the conversations online. You headed into the conference room when Mr. Convoy propped open the doors.

As Bruce walked away, he hoped he had stilled the criticisms hurtling toward you. Alfred had informed him upon his very late arrival back at Wayne Tower that the internet was lit up after the accident, and that it had catapulted the critique of you (and him) from the fringes into the forefront. He’d gone on the Wayne Enterprises account to see some of the conversation, but quickly had to abandon it before typing something that would’ve made everything catastrophically worse. He hadn’t been in any mood to think about you, or to think about anything, but he couldn’t stop himself fuming until the very second the words had left his mouth in front of the group. Even now, as he followed after your lead into the conference room, every step was straddling a mine. His contact lenses irritated his dry eyes after staying up so long, and it didn’t help that this was the first time wearing them to City Hall. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replay that speech later.

The first thing he did after sitting down was scan the room for you. His eyes moved to the righthand corner, where you always stood with your notebook and pen. The lurch of panic cinched his chest until he saw you nestled in with the other reporters in the back left, just barely out of peripheral view.

Convoy started the meeting the usual way, sprinkling in some good vibrations toward Bruce and his continued healing. As he explained why the candidates had not come this evening (“They are getting ready for their first respective rallies. At the meeeting’s end, we will go over the election calendar.”), Bruce fought the urge to shift his chair toward you. He wanted to check your face and see if you were okay. He was shocked you’d shown up tonight; you’d barely been able to look out the curtained window at the filtered, low light without visceral wincing. Had you only come to check on him? He wanted to dead that. How could he do that without talking to you? Was he not going to talk to you anymore?

His mind argued with itself the rest of the meeting, distracting him entirely from its content. An innocent, passing thought interrupted his ruminations and the pros and cons lists he’d drawn up to interrogate himself: he’d just talk to you after the meeting and you’d bring him up to speed about what happened. That thought felt like the first nail in the coffin; his body was already instinctively reaching toward you, trusting you.

By the time Convoy had started listing the tentative schedule for the campaign rallies, he knew he had to lock in. This… fondness he felt toward you…

He visibly grimaced. He was tired, no, exhausted. Coming up on thirty-six hours without sleep, on new meds… gah! He felt the exasperation in his bones. It wasn’t fondness, it was illusive familiarity, when in reality: he didn’t know you, even if he felt like he did, and you didn’t know him, even if you felt like you did. You’d blackmailed him. You’d done an interview. You’d saved him. You’d visited him. You’d argued, caretaken, whined, and promised, and threatened, and talked to him. That was all.

He was crushed by guilt. He’d traumatized someone. He told himself he’d feel the same way if it had happened to anyone else. He felt responsible for cleaning up the mess he’d made of you. But as he glanced behind him to see you nonchalantly scrawling something between college-ruled lines, he couldn’t read any distress in you at all. Still, the need to save you remained.

You looked at him right then. Your eyes explored the injuries on his hands, then traveled to his chest. Still vigilant. Still worried. He didn’t know if you knew he was watching you. He considered having a final conversation about it all; express his thanks, reassure you he was—he suppressed a groan— prioritizing safety, and be done with it, but exploring the guilt with you would only keep it in the present. He’d just have to grit his teeth and bear it. Let the time pass without fiddling with it. Let your wound scab over. He wouldn’t be doing you a service picking at it.

He focused instead on how he’d handle Batman going forward. He could plan well into the night, concentrate this energy toward something useful. He’d need new protocol; he’d have to talk to Alfred about developing a second distress signal; one that was for mental things, not about to bleed out, come rescue. His throat threatened to close whenever he thought about it. How his brain wasn’t reliable. The fabric of reality would fall apart around him if he thought too much about it right then. If he thought about it at all, ever.

“Didn’t think you were the religious type.”

Bruce turned to the left again and saw you closing your notebook. You looked normal; loafers instead of heels, though. Smart. Wouldn’t want to risk falling again. Tiny glance about the immediate area, and he leaned in ever so slightly. “Gotta get on their good side somehow.”

Why did he lean in? Why did he listen to his body pulling closer to you? You’d caused this. You’d decided to talk to him, after he’d made himself clear. You rolled your eyes. When you looked back up at him, you squinted. Christ, if you were able to see his lenses too… You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your fingers up to massage your temple. It didn’t relieve his worry. “Just wanted to touch base. Surprised you came tonight.”

“Couldn’t not.” He led the both of you toward the door, stopped right before the doorway, and leaned down to ‘fix’ his shoe. He lowered his voice, pretending to wrangle a knot out of his shoelace. “I saw what they’re saying online. You and I can’t be seen together.”

“I didn’t know it would be so… aggressive. I’ve only seen a bit of it.”

He was surprised you were. Always a pessimist, and you seemed to know much more about the social landscape than he did. Every single reaction you had eluded him, further solidifying you as a lock he couldn’t pick. He stood up and pretended to fix his hair. You weren’t looking at him, instead eyeing the ground as if wanting to speak. “What?” It wasn’t a conscious decision to egg you on, but, he’d done it.

“You don’t want it.”

“Pity?”

“Concern.” You tucked the notebook into your armpit and flipped your hair over your shoulder to get it out of your face. You got quieter, barely audible. Your eyes were all over the place, everywhere except him. “Are you sure you’re safe?”

His heart began to pound. The time to have the conversation had been thrust upon him, opportunity presenting itself on a silver platter. Maybe this wasn’t picking the scab, but applying ointment. His eyes latched onto the room you’d used last week, and he hid his next sentence under a cough. “Go to the bathroom.” He yawned. “Room from last week in five minutes.”

You left, your dress flouncing behind you, and he set out to find Convoy. After a seconds-long conversation about needing to make a ‘private call’, he’d gotten the man to open the room. “Make sure to lock it on your way out, Mr. Wayne.”

Now that he was alone in the room, he felt unsettled. This decision was impulsive, but necessary. The playing field needed to be leveled, in whatever way possible. The record set straight. A million other phrases and idioms whizzed around his thoughts, trying to come up with an itinerary. He needed to be grateful for what you’d done. What you’d witnessed. Sure, it was fucked up that you’d initially blackmailed him to get the interview, but the interview was assisting his public persona. He had to do one sometime. As much as he hated to admit it due to how uncomfortable it was to be known, it wasn’t your fault that you’d noticed it was him. He’d met a few people as both Bruce and Batman, in passing—as much or more than you had, and you’d deduced it.

You probably wouldn’t have stayed in his house if the flooding hadn’t happened. You’d seemed horrified at the prospect, remembering your gasp from across the table as he’d slammed himself out of the chair. You’d been rude, and intrusive, but you hadn’t committed any cardinal sins. And the elephant in the room: you’d watched him attempt to end his life. You’d seen him hit the ground. You’d gotten him help. He was sure that was etched into your memory like a scar. He had to be appreciative of that, and for calling Alfred in the alley, or he’d ruminate on it for the rest of his fucking life. Whatever guilt was eating him up, he needed to excise it to get back on his way. He needed to be the scalpel, detangling all the gluey tissue and muscle joining the both of you. So your thoughts wouldn’t ever wander back to him. So his thoughts wouldn’t ever wander back to you.

A crucial aspect of that was setting up expectations for future interaction. Unless you were leaving tomorrow, he’d have to see you again, here, every week, indefinitely. With public scrutiny at an all-time high, and you both getting wrapped up in vigilance for one another, everything was getting too complicated. You’d become entangled in his life, and his yours, to a lesser degree. Unless you were also a vigilante in your respective hometown, he didn’t think he could get caught up with you the same way. He needed to make you free of him. You were worried. He needed to soothe that worry, firmly, thoroughly, so that you might start keeping to yourself. You’d meant to leave last week, anyway. It appeared safe to assume the only reason you’d stayed was because of him.

Five minutes. He did a quick scan of the room with the watch on his wrist. The exterior was luxury, but he’d swapped all the internal components to check for bugs. The room was cleared in about five seconds. He let his shoulders drop.

When you entered the room his thoughts exited. The door clicked shut. The only light Bruce could chance keeping on was a lamp in the corner by a stray podium. He was being risky enough talking with you here, he didn’t need to draw more attention, but it was hard to see your face clearly. Also elusive: that his night-oriented vision served him in every other circumstance, but not with you. He gestured for you to sit down, and you did. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk with you.”

You looked afraid again. You looked like you were expecting him to lay out an imminent plan of taking his own life. Appreciation. Reassurance. Goodbye. “I left abruptly earlier. I wanted to reassure you I am safe, and I have no plans to take my own life or anyone else’s.”

He realized he’d been looking slightly above you, not at you, and dropped his gaze to your eye-level. You were squirming. Breathing too fast. He continued, choking back the grief that suddenly threatened to annihilate his body. The words came out of him with robotic monotony. “I promise that I am prioritizing safety. I’m adding a new distress signal into my suit. Keeping up on medication. Checking in with Alfred. I promise I will keep doing that.”

It was the lenses. He didn’t want to relive this. “Thank you for helping me. I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.” His jaw was starting to tremble, and he prayed you wouldn’t notice. He watched helplessly as your eyes glazed over. Fuck. Why did this feel so distressing? Grueling? Why was he starting to sweat? Long stakeouts, heated fights, he’d never been stricken by such apprehension. But you were shaking. And it stamped an ache onto his heart in a shape he’d never felt before.

You were so fucking close to blurting it out. You were trembling in an attempt to contain the lie clawing its way out of you, tooth and nail. I didn’t see it. I only said so so you might stay alive one more day. The words wouldn’t come, yet they couldn’t remain. It was a fucking prison.

Outside of him thanking you for effectively lying, it was evident this was the last time he wanted to talk to you. It was clear he was annoyed by you. That your concern and care wasn’t warm or cozy, it was sharp and inhospitable. A strange sensation settled into you. It was your first year of undergrad. Your boyfriend of three months had packed his car to head home with you for the holidays. You’d gone about four miles until you stopped in front of Lara’s house. He handed you a note. “I want you to read this.” He hadn’t even been able to say it to your face, speeding off right after he handed you a backpack of your things.

At least Bruce was looking you in the eye while he shed you.

You rid the comparison from your mind. You’d thought you were falling in love with that guy. You’d been infatuated with him from the moment you’d met. Bruce was just… Bruce. The only feelings you felt toward him were frustration, guilt, anxiety, and all of it was flooding you now. The mind was simple sometimes. Trying to find patterns even if they weren’t there, overlaying memories. Trying to make meaning out of a meaningless life.

You and him had formed a strange, flimsy, temporary camaraderie, if you could even call it that. He’d helped you, you’d helped him. He’d hurt you, you’d hurt him. He worried about you. You worried about him. Becoming intertwined in each other’s lives in secret, specific ways; suddenly, without asking. Moreso than camaraderie, you’d been in cahoots. Knowing something no one else knew was intimate, but not inherently special. Like a dollar store superglue. It got the job done of sticking things together, but the bond was easily broken apart, leaving a bunch of residue no one wanted. Whatever weird fairytale of connection sat dying in the pit of your stomach shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Before today, it hadn’t even reared its ugly, confused head.

You hadn’t realized he’d gotten a call until you heard his voice lower to a gravelly hue. You moved your eyes to look at him, unblurring your vision by focusing on the phone pressed to his ear. “Can they give it to him?” A pause. Whoever he was talking to, they knew him as Batman. It was uncanny seeing him speak like that dressed in polished Dior. You instinctively spun your chair around to look at the door, making sure it was closed. On the swivel back, you noticed his gaze slip away from you as you scooted back to the table’s edge.

“I’ll check it out.” Click. He got up and pushed his chair in. You followed suit. “What is it?”

“Miller made bail. Said something on the way out about security footage.” He was already nearing the door. It took you longer than you liked to recognize the name. Your brain was mush.

“I thought you said you were taking a break this week,” There you were, going right back to abandoned houses, bitter friends, empty fields.

He pushed past you, but stalled right after. “Tell your friend to stay away from the neighborhood until his trial. You too.”

“Bruce.”

He adjusted to face you and you took a stuttered step back, way too close for comfort. So close you could smell the detergent on his clothes, see the setting shine in his hair as it dried from a recent shower. The microscopic speck of black he’d missed by his tear duct. “We don’t need to do this anymore.”

You opened your mouth to protest but nothing came out; his eyes dropped to it for a half second before resuming domineering eye contact. You felt faint. “Don’t make this difficult.” His biting enunciation made your eyes narrow. So heartless, and for what? But it didn’t hold. I see right through you. His sensitivities were scrawled on the walls of your mind in sloping, hurried letters.

You both drew a deep breath at the same time, forcing the both of you to turn your head and avert your gaze. The only sound in the room was too fast, too shallow breathing. He turned around abruptly, whacking you with his cologne.

The room’s oxygen had been replaced with smoke. At last, facing the door he could gulp down a breath. He kept a tight rein on his tone so the ebbs of adrenaline rushing through him wouldn’t taint it. “Stay in here for a few minutes, lock it on your way out. Get a ride.” He grabbed the doorknob and walked out calmly, every muscle in his legs frenzied for him to sprint off. He smiled his way through the foyer and out to the valet. His sweaty palms left prints on the steering wheel as he drove off.

He needed to sleep. Staying awake so long had made him hysterical.

[wombywoo]

anything more you can tell us about mr best friend danny?? 👀

A brief bio for you:

Danny Chambers, 33 (just a few months older (edit:) younger than Quinn). Born and raised in Sheffield, lived with a single mother and three sisters. Appearance-wise--he's black, usually sports a buzz cut, average height and stocky build, big goofy smile. He never excelled in school and considers himself rather dumb, so he thought the army might be his best option. He's got a good personality, very likable and talkative; seems to get along with everyone and always has something to say.

Early on in his service, he met Quinn and the two of them developed a strong dynamic both on and off duty. He's fiercely loyal, so he's always willing to stand up for his friends and comrades. I think at some point, he became quite protective of Quinn--not that he needed defending from others (for the most part), but rather from himself. Quinn is just a sopping wet dog of a man, lol, so Danny took it on himself to try to improve him, bit by bit.

He did get concerned when Quinn started dating Marc, as he doesn't care for the guy at all from what he's seen (seems everyone can sense this but Quinn). Quinn tried not to equate Danny's disapproval of Marc as an indication that he harbored feelings for him, but..poor guy was still hopelessly in love 😭 I don't think Danny ever fully understood the extent of it, but yeah...he did not approve, and this put a strain on things for them while Quinn was still actively dating Marc.

I've talked about this briefly, but at some point, Quinn asked him in a moment of desperation to assist in inducing a vision via self-drowning 🙃 As you can imagine, Danny was extremely resistant to this idea, but perhaps it's a testament to their deep level of trust that he agreed to go through with it. After much negotiation and a few attempts to back out, he held Quinn's head under the water, even as he started resisting, until his best friend stopped breathing. He then had to watch him writhe on the floor in a brief seizure after frantically attempting CPR. So, um...not a great friend bonding moment, but it was definitely a turning point in their relationship. Quinn swore he'd never ask it of him again, but he ended up forsaking that promise pretty quickly. After that, Danny grew more and more concerned for him, even threatening to report him to the higher-ups so he could just get some fucking therapy. That protectiveness turned into a guilty sort of obligation for Danny, and things grew even more strained after Quinn confessed his feelings and tried to kiss him. They talked about it though, and Danny didn't want Quinn to feel rejected despite his lack of reciprocation. He really does care about him so much, and that just made things all the more complicated during their service together.

Their final turning point occurred when Danny was bitten by a vampire during a mission gone horribly wrong. He'd taken the bite in his left arm, and Quinn arrived just in time to eliminate the bastard (after getting his shoulder rebroken in the process). Danny was already affected by the venom by then, screaming and thrashing as Quinn tried to find the source. Once he did, it was really just a matter of necessity. He had no choice but to amputate, severing Danny's arm just above the elbow. (another intensely traumatic moment for them both #bonding #bffs4life) Thankfully, Quinn's measures were able to stop the flow of venom before it became fatal, so he saved Danny's life.

After that, Danny was discharged and has been readjusting to civilian life back in Sheffield. With Quinn in the neighborhood, as it were, there is still that unspoken agreement that they'll remain friends, but it's...it's different and somewhat awkward now. Quinn's been healing from his own shoulder injury, but he's reluctant to check in on Danny even though he knows that he should. He feels guilty about the arm, and well..everything else. Danny had reconnected with one of his old girlfriends and they've become quite serious in the aftermath of his injury, so Quinn feels like he might as well take a step back and just...let him live his life without him. It's all very complicated and heartbreaking and whatnot :'D

With the new vampire bf now in the picture, there's even more complication--I think Danny feels immensely happy and relieved to see his friend with someone who takes care of him as well as Vincent, but.... like...vampire. There's definitely some resentment and awkwardness there, as his amputation is still fresh enough to serve as a constant reminder of just how dangerous this guy could be. It is a weight off Danny's chest to know that Quinn's happier and that he doesn't need his protection anymore, even if he doesn't quite know if he can trust Vincent yet...

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Burning Branches au - Part 3 Aftermath

Okay so if anyone has not read the other posts on this AU, I highly suggest you do. Believe me this will be much more fun with context. The previous posts are by the same title, minus the "Part 3". I will also be tagging all of them with the title after posting this.

Char = Branch

Lets get into it...

When we last left of the Family Harmony was complete and the V-Twins were being carted off to jail. Char and Poppy kissed and wondered if they could finally get married now.

Then Floyd collapsed. The troll literally had the life drained out of him for two months, he is not walking away from that with just a new hair style. This sends the happy moment into one of panic. Floyd does not wake up when prompted, and not even when the other moved him on to Rhonda. It's clear he needs a doctor, but none on Mount Rageonus know troll physiology, so they need to leave as soon as possible.

But where will they go? Anywhere is still few days drive, and there is barely any supplies on Rhonda. No food. There was water but not enough for everyone. And most importantly no medicine beyond a very old, very basic first-aid kit John had for gotten about. Barb and Bruce stay behind to make sure Floyd doesn't die (and make sure Tiny takes a nap). Floyd has a seizure and Barb steps in taking control of the situation with Bruce freezes. Bruce asks her how she knew to tend to someone who's sick, and Barb explains that Char used to have them as a kid and she was usually the one who nursed Char through his head aches, and when he got sick from the volcanic fumes. This leads to bonding between the two of them, and Bruce starts to think of Barb as his little sister too.

When the others get back, John and Clay kind of freak out about the seizure when told. Trips home can wait they need a doctor. Rock territory is closeted and the doctor that treated Char originally is still around and on call. Still few days drive, but it's the best guess they got.

When Floyd finally wakes up he's a mess. Exhausted, nauseous, with a killer head ache. It's also in the middle of the night, and everyone is still asleep. Well, everyone except Poppy and Char. They were still up due to some shared insomia, and discussing their re-do wedding plans. Floyd's perception of things are still hazy, so he's calling Char by Branch and not noticing the latter's discomfort over the name. Still Char helps alleviates Floyd migraine so he can go back to sleep. Floyd asks how Char would know that it would work, Char says it works for me. Floyd would continue to ponder that, until he passes back out.

When they get back into Rock Kingdom territory, Floyd is taken into the hospital rather quickly, and is put on supportive devices, to combat server malnutrition, dehydration, and oxygen just incase. Brain scans, reveal scaring on his brain from several concussions that went untreated. The source of his seizures, and possibly other symptoms that have yet to show themselves. Once he's conscious he reports of, numbness, pain and tingling in his legs and is looking at possible nerve damage.

During this time, with the help of Barb, Bruce manages to get a letter out to his family explaining what was going on and it would be little longer until he was home. Char and Barb re-unite with their Dad and Riff. And the rest are just trying to make sense of everything.

Floyd has, at least one of his brothers with him at all times. When he's awake they talk and bond, and when he's asleep they comfort his nightmares. He notices that Char isn't there most of the time (he's out making princely announcements explaining the situation and dealing with some back-lash about "returning to his own kind" from some of the less accepting citizens), and is worried that his Brother is mad at him for not coming back. He practically breaks down upon hearing about Char amnesia, and asks to see him.

Char comes, but is very awkward when he first arrives. Floyd takes in all the difference, and mentions the green vest. Char says he can't remember being without it, Floyd says he gave it to him, before beginning to apologize for leaving him. Char shuts it down, telling Floyd his injury isn't his fault, maybe a few days ago he'd have been mad, but he doesn't regret how his life turned out. He hugs Floyd and wipes his tears. Floyd tells Char that comforting was his job, Char says no matter who's older siblings comfort each other. Floyd wants to know how Char's life turned out. Char, eagerly tells him about Barb and Thrash, how he grew up as a prince, and his betrothal to Poppy. Floyd is shocked his brother grew up as a prince, but is happy his brother grew up in a good home, and wanted to meet Poppy, Thrash and Barb as soon as possible.

Eventually, Floyd is released. He's on crutches, with braces on his legs and has physical therapy routine he needs to follow to walk again. They stay at Char and Barb cavern (their royalty they have the room, and Thrash is loving the company, he's convinced their all his kids and no one corrects him) during this time and for a few days after the release, but tension with the public is spiking and they can't stay for long. Barb stays behind to control the crowds and the others go to Pop village. Viva would re-unite with Peppy, and begin preparations to move the Put Put trolls to the village, with an escort of Rock guards off course.

The saga would end, with Poppy and Char finally getting married and Char coronated as king of pop...with an epilogue of years alter when they had twins trollings, named Rosie and Ash (named after Grandma and Thrash).

---

Part One and Part two

And those are my currently plans. I'm going to outline this, but Not sure if I should fully write this thing out now or later. What ya'll think?

[slaymitchabernathy]

An Eternity

When Coriolanus comes home, he finds their bedroom empty.

He doesn’t worry though. Not like he used to.

He does find Petunia in her usual spot, right below the window in the living room, soaking up the last bits of sunlight.

He slowly climbs up the steps that lead to the rooftop, two hot cups of tea in his hands. Tea always seems to make everything better.

When he reaches the top, he’s welcomed by the scent of roses. She says he smells like roses, that’s why she likes coming up here so much.

She’s sitting on one of the benches, overlooking the city, the Capitol. Her blonde hair blows in the wind.

“You should wear a coat, my love,” he says before setting the two cups down on the edge of the table next to the bench. It’s October now, it’s getting colder by the day and he worries for her health even more than ever now.

Soarynn looks up at him and gives him that smile that he fell in love with all those years ago. “I’m not cold,” she says but he can see the goosebumps on the skin of her arms. She’s always cold.

He simply hums and shrugs off his suit jacket, gently draping it over her shoulders. Coriolanus lets out a soft groan as he sits down on the bench, it was a long day at work. It always feels long when he’s not with her.

“How was your day? Did your meetings go well?” She asks him, her hand instantly finding his. Coriolanus nods and stares out at the skyline, “Yes, everything went quite well. I might get some time off in a couple of weeks, to take care of you.”

Soarynn lets out a frustrated sigh and Coriolanus gives her a stern look, “Don’t argue with me about this darling, you need proper care at all times of the day.” Soarynn shakes her head and takes her cup of tea, bringing the rim to her lips, “I’m perfectly fine and I’m not alone during the day.”

Coriolanus already knows that Soarynn’s idea of company is Petunia but they both know he’s right. Soarynn needs proper care, like a nurse. But she’s always been so insistent on her independence.

He doesn’t have it in him to fight her on it, not when she’s already lost so much.

“I just want…I just want to have as much time with you as possible,” he whispers. His eyes burn with tears but he’s no stranger to these emotions.

Not since the diagnosis.

He remembers it perfectly well. How they went to the doctor with concerns after Soarynn had a seizure. He hoped it might have been a one-time thing, a freak accident. It was much worse than that.

It was a fatal illness, no cure, no timeline to predict how much longer she had on earth. How much longer she had with him.

It was so unfair. It wasn’t right that she had to go through this, to know that her life was coming to an end. Soarynn was just starting her life, she was still so young, so promising.

She deserved more time.

He did everything he could. Bought all the medications, got second and third opinions. Nothing worked.

All they could do was try to make the most of the time they still had together.

He watches Soarynn take a sip of her tea and can’t help but notice how her hand trembles when she sets it down.

She’s getting weaker by the day. He’s surprised she’s still able to make it up the stairs. And suppose she fell one day, who would help her?

But Coriolanus doesn’t have it in him to confine her to their bedroom. Soarynn deserves to live her life to the fullest. And she has. He’s taken her to the zoo, the ballet, he even arranged for a trip to District Four so she can see the ocean. She doesn’t know about it yet. He’s going to surprise her in a month, tell her on her birthday.

He’s going to propose to her at the beach.

She’s always wanted to see the ocean and Coriolanus doesn’t want to spend one more day without being her husband, without being tied to her for an eternity.

“Well, what did you get up to today my love?” He asks, hoping a majority of her day wasn’t spent lying in bed, slowly withering away.

It’s been hard to watch her slowly fade away. It started with her skin. Her beautiful, tan skin slowly faded day by day. Then her eyes. Her dazzling blue-gray eyes lost their spark. Little by little, she started losing weight until none of her clothes fit her anymore.

Soarynn tries to act like it’s all fine, like she’s fine but Coriolanus has heard her cry before, watched her stare at her reflection in the mirror, and hate what she sees.

She’s losing herself as much as he’s losing her.

“Oh, you know, I did some reading, finished that book you got me the other week. And then the girls came over and I gave them some of my clothes.”

Coriolanus furrows his brows, “Why did you give your clothes away darling?”

Soarynn has beautiful dresses and clothes, top-of-the-line. To give them away confuses him. Soarynn waves him off, “None of them fit me anymore.”

Coriolanus takes his cup and doesn’t say anything. Sometimes, he wishes she didn’t act like this, like she’s already accepted her fate. If she gives all her clothes away, what’s to stop her from doing the same with her shoes and bags? He’ll have nothing left of her by the time she’s gone.

How strange to think one day she’ll be gone. But he can’t focus on that. Won’t focus on that. They’ll take it day by day, like they always have.

꧁ ꧂

“What do you want to do for your birthday, my love?”

When Soarynn doesn’t reply, Coriolanus peeks his head out of their shared closet to find her struggling to stand up from their bed. Her legs are trembling and her face is pale. ���Let me help you, darling,” he says, quickly striding over to grab her waist but she shakes her head. “No,” she grits out, “I…I can do it just fine by myself.”

But she can’t. And when she goes to fall, he’s there to catch her.

And it breaks his heart to see Soarynn cry. Usually, she doesn’t let him see her like this, so vulnerable and weak. “I want to cut my hair,” she gasps out between sobs. Coriolanus wraps his strong arms around her as they sit on the floor, “Why would you want to cut your hair darling?”

Soarynn has beautiful blonde hair that falls below her waist. It’s a bright blonde, nearly platinum but it compliments her beautifully.

“It’s starting to fall out,” she whispers, burying her face in his chest, “I might as well get ahead of it and cut most of it off.”

Coriolanus swallows because he doesn’t want her to cut her hair, to give up so easily but he has to support her no matter what.

He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t do everything he could for Soarynn while she was still alive.

“Okay,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “we can go get your hair cut.”

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus watches as the hairdresser cuts Soarynn’s hair off. It falls onto the floor like a golden halo around the chair.

He watches Soarynn’s face through the mirror. There’s a single tear running down her face but she remains strong and resilient.

“Short hair is very in for the summer, do you two have any big summer plans?” The hairdresser asks the two of them. Coriolanus manages a polite smile and shakes his head, “No, not really.”

He can’t tell her about the beach, not yet.

Soarynn’s birthday is two weeks away and then he can surprise her.

By the time they’re done, Soarynn’s hair comes up to her chin. "You look beautiful," he tells her as they leave the hair salon. Soarynn shrugs, "I look different."

When they go home, Petunia is more than curious about her owner's new haircut. Coriolanus watches the two with a smile on his lips. Petunia loves Soarynn with all her heart, it'll be his responsibility to make sure she'll looked after once Soarynn is gone.

"Aren't you a proper little lady?" Soarynn asks as she ties a pink ribbon around Petunia's neck, giggling when Petunia bats at her hand.

Coriolanus used to worry about how Soarynn would be when Petunia passed away, how inconsolable she'd be, and how grief-stricken the death would leave her.

But she'll be gone before Petunia. Then it'll be just him and the cat.

How terrifying to love something that death can so easily touch.

꧁ ꧂

"I want you to meet new people," Soarynn says gently, her small hand engulfed in his large one.

Coriolanus blinks away the tears as he sits at her bedside. It feels impossible to think about anyone else in the world when the woman he loves the most is dying right in front of him. "You're the only one I want to be with Soarynn," he tells her, his voice trembles but he's so past caring.

Today she should be turning twenty-three, instead, she's bedridden, and on the cusp of death. The sickness progressed quicker than they thought. The months he thought he had with her are now hours.

Soarynn will never get to see the beach. He will never propose.

"I was going to take you to the beach," he whispers, "ask you to be my wife, to be tied to my soul for an eternity and now I fear that I'll never be given the chance."

Pain reflects in Soarynn's eyes and he can't tell if it's from the sickness or the sadness. "Coryo, you'll always have me, always. My soul is entangled with yours far too well for wedding rings to truly mean anything."

Coriolanus nods and tears fall freely down his face, he's losing her.

Soarynn looks up at the ceiling, a faraway look in her eyes, "I'm scared," she whispers, "I must admit that I don't want to leave."

Coriolanus leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss on her cheek, "Don't be scared my love, I'll hold your hand the entire way."

Soarynn lets out a soft wheeze, "Don't let go."

It happens so quickly. The way her eyes finally close, and the last breath leaves her small body. She's resting now, no longer in pain.

Coriolanus cries, he sobs and shouts at the sky. He wanted more, more time, more laughs and smiles. But his sweet girl was so tired, she deserves to rest.

He'll see her again soon. Until then, he'll have Petunia, he'll hear someone laugh and think it's her. But one day, he'll see her again.

They'll have eternity.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[copias-girl]

The Papas vs Technology Headcanons

Ask and you shall receive! @ivyanddaisies

Prompt here

Primo

Ok Peepaw has no use for social media or technology. He’s still marvelling at his vintage tube tv, because he’s old and he was around before the tv <3 And he’d literally rather send a raven with a message rather than text. You pushed him to give it a shot, and being the sweet elder goth that he is, he gave it the good old college try just for you. Alas, he grew frustrated easily. He kept having to whip out the reading glasses to read what was on the screen, and he couldn’t tell if that vibrating in his pocket was the iPhone or if he was having a seizure. Not to mention, he accidentally activated Siri on several occasions and he thought the spirit of a demon was speaking to him and apparently telling him the weather forecast. The only thing he really found a use for was the gardening stuff on Pinterest, but he has plenty of books in the library for that anyway. And as for nudes? He has a Polaroid camera for that. Our sweet old man much prefers the feeling of answering calls on his candlestick phone, and he’ll gladly leave the selfie-taking to you ♥︎

Secondo

Alright, Mr. Worldwide tries to be hip and cool, so he definitely owns the latest iPhone. However, he’s had to replace it several times because when he gets frustrated, that thing goes flying across the room. He tried to use the voice dictation one time and his entire text came out hilariously wrong so he threw his phone out of one of the ministry windows. He texts with one finger like an old man, never uses emojis (he calls them hieroglyphics), and he keeps telling you that he wants to “duck your brains out”. He genuinely tries to take selfies, and that can be hit or miss. Sometimes it’s a typical old man selfie where you can see all the way up his nose, but he did execute this fantastic shirtless selfie one time,,, Bone Daddy starts an Instagram where he makes a few adorably lame posts trying to be edgy and dark. But he mainly uses that to post selfies (ones you’ve taken of the both of you) to show you off. He loves when you send him dirty pictures and he’s also found that FaceTime is perfect for some,,, fun activities 👀

Terzo

Oh my god, the biggest social media whore. He’s only two months younger than Secondo, but he’s somehow overcome his oldness and mastered the art of the iPhone. He has an Instagram, where he posts pictures of the two of you on dates or in bed together covered in rose petals and lip prints. Dude even has Snapchat, where he updates his story with some chaotic videos every now and then. He can text with his thumbs, but he does make some really hilarious typos which are exceptionally frustrating when he’s trying to sext with you (this man demands nudes from you constantly). He actually knows what most emojis mean- he will literally text you the eggplant emoji next to everything 🍆- and only has to ask for your help to decipher some of them. He rubs it in his brothers’ faces as much as he can, calling them old men because they don’t know how to use tech as well as he does. And Secondo finds his use of emojis really irritating because he has no idea what the fuck ‘🤪😝🙃🫠🥴🙄🥸💀’ means

Copia

Oh, Copia. Sweet pitiful Copia. He tries, he really does, but this man has no idea how to use emojis. He types with one finger, makes plenty of typos, and always uses the rat emoji for no apparent reason. Also, he disperses emojis into sentences so his texts always read like this:

Ciao 👋🏻🐀 bella 😚 I am going 🔜 to feed 🧀 my rats 🐀 want to come 😀 with me?🤝🏻

He’s such a dork and you never ever correct him because it’s just too charming. His selfies are often painfully awkward, because he thinks that just staring dead-eyed into the camera and snapping the picture constitutes as a selfie. And he’ll post those on Insta too, sometimes with captions that he got off Pinterest. Or sometimes the captions will be about rats for literally no reason. However, he does make awfully sweet posts about you that have your heart melting when you read them. This sweet man LOVES when you send him naughty pictures and rile him up via text. It gives him a thrill and makes him feel so special. Copia also surprisingly uses Pinterest occasionally, because he finds it relaxing. He’s such a gentle soul, and he enjoys saving things about pet rats, aesthetic things that he’d like to show you later, or even some recipes that the two of you could cook together. However, he doesn’t use Pinterest correctly. He doesn’t pin things, he just screenshots them (because you taught him how to take a screenshot). So even though he isn’t the most religious social media user or the best at working technology, he tries and has a good time ♥︎

[cyclogenesis]

life update~

well kids the lousiness continues. went to visit grammy up in fresno last week after days of terror and bad air due to the la fires. she was not well enough to get out of bed for her birthday lunch on saturday, then on sunday she woke up in so much pain that she asked me to call her an ambulance. so i did that and then called my mom and she came and then we went to pick up my...ex-step-grandmother, my ex-stepdad's mother who grammy is good friends with and who my mom still sees. (mom still talks to stepdad every day. a picture of them is still her phone wallpaper. idk if the divorce has even gone through but "he's handling it". my mom is broke and getting no money. i am surrounded by people who have never made sense a day in their lives and aren't about to start now.)

we were at the er for eight hours while they tried to manage her pain and figure out next steps. we were allowed in the room with her one at a time. i happened to be the one there when the patient coordinator came through and talked about next steps and grammy said she wanted to stop radiation and go into hospice because she's ready to die. so i got to deliver that news to mom and step-grandma.

she wanted to go to a hospice house but they didn't have a bed for her so we took her home. she's since decided she wants to stay at home to die. the next couple days we alternated taking care of her between me, my mom, and our cousin (81, type 1 diabetes, actually had a seizure recently while in the process of caring for grammy). i had to go home and get clothes and ship an order for my shop but i'm going back today because i need to stay there and help take care of her. i'll have to close my vintage shop for the time being which is unfortunate bc it's my only income but the 3+ hour drives each way are just not doable at this frequency. i have appointments next week for this heart issue i'm seeing a cardiologist for but i'll just have to put those off. what can you do? i don't know when i'll be able to come back home.

also grammy doesn't have internet at her house, so if i want to do anything on my laptop i have to tether from my phone and it's a pain in the ass. (i have never taken to using my phone and apps for everything. i need the big horizontal rectangle. 😭) so i won't be as present here. still trying to write every night though because i need the escape. (nb. currently writing all stuff for the dead dove account. sorry to twink wade wilson upon whom i am performing a vast number of crimes.) so. anyway. that's what's up with me.

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 16

rated: t | wc: 885 | prompt: Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” Steve ending up in hospital after the fight with Billy and again after Starcourt.

Steve didn't really know where he was by the time the reached the hospital. The drive over had blurred together with the rest of the night, leaving him confused about everything. Or maybe that was the concussion. Who knows? All he knew was that his head hurt and all the lights seemed a little too bright.

Hopper had to help him out of the car, but he didn't make it more than a few steps before his knees gave out and he collapsed right outside the emergency room doors. He was vaguely aware of yelling, groaning as it made the insane headache worse. He couldn't make sense of any of the words being said, or what anyone was doing, other than touching and moving him. He faded in and out of consciousness, slowly realizing he was strapped to a gurney, and being rushed through the hospital. He shut his eyes again, to block out the harsh lighting that flooded the halls, and let himself sink into the darkness.

When he woke up, he was lying in a bed, in a dimly lit hospital room. There seemed to be wires and tubes everywhere, accompanied by the whirring and beeping of the machines. He slowly turned his head from side to side, the slight movement making him feel exceptionally dizzy. Hopper was sat in a chair to his left, looking like he was half asleep. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but the dryness in his mouth and throat caused him to start coughing. Hopper jerked awake at that, immediately looking Steve over. "You good there, Harrington?"

"What happened?" Steve managed to mumble as he gained control of his breathing.

"Do you remember any of it?" Hopper asked, sounding concerned.

"Billy showed up. I tried to stop him getting the kids. Then we were in a car, and we set fire to the tunnels." Steve screwed his face up, trying to remember what else had happened, but nothing was coming to mind. Instead, it just made his face ache.

"Anything else?"

Steve just shook his head.

"You were barely conscious by the time we got back to the Byers' place. The kids were all pretty worried about you. I brought you in, you couldn't walk on your own. You collapsed outside when we got here, then you had a seizure on the gurney as you were being taken in for treatment."

"Jesus." Steve replied, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, but his movement was limited by the IV in his hand.

"I should let the nurse know you're awake," Hopper said, reaching for the call button.

A nurse came in a few minutes later, checking Steve over and asking a few questions. He didn't pay a huge amount of attention to what she was saying, other than that he was being kept in for a few days for monitoring in case he had another seizure. She administered more medication, and Steve could feel it starting to take effect, easing the pain and making him feel sleepy again.

"Get some more sleep, Harrington. I'll still be here when you wake up again." He heard Hopper say quietly.

Steve could only let out a small noise of affirmation as he drifted off again, in pain and hazy from the drugs, but felt safe with Hopper watching over him.

-

Steve felt lost as he was taken from the ambulance into the hospital on the gurney, and not just because of the concussion and drugs that he'd received courtesy of the Russians. He couldn't help thinking of the last time he'd been in a similar position. Eight months earlier, pretty much to the day. The last time he'd had a concussion, the last time he'd landed a stay in hospital. The seizure on the gurney that he still couldn't remember having. Waking up in the dimly lit room with Hopper in the chair next to him. Hopper always being there. Even letting Steve stay with him and El after he was discharged, until he was recovered enough to safely be home alone.

That was what was making Steve feel so lost. Knowing that this time he wouldn't have the concerned adult there to look out for him, to look after him. His parents wouldn't cut their business trip short for something as insignificant as him being hospitalized for the second time in under a year. And every other adult he knew had other things to worry about. Mrs Henderson had Dustin to worry about. Mr and Mrs Sinclair had Erica and Lucas to worry about. Joyce had everything to worry about, Will and Jonathan, El, losing Hopper. There had been so much death and destruction in just a few short days, Steve knew that his injuries were so minor in the grand scheme of things.

Because of everything that was going on, and the damage that had been caused to the hospital earlier, Steve was left on the gurney until there could be some space found for him and a doctor was free to do a full assessment of his injuries. He felt a weight at his side, and looked up to see Robin next to him. He took her hand and squeezed it gently, feeling slightly better in the knowledge that he had someone there for him.

[seriesxwriting]

Rafe x Reader who’s Barry’s younger sister👀👀

Thank you for the request!❤️

On my mind <3

W Rafe Cameron 🩶

Series- outer banks

Warnings- cocaine od (hospital, seizure) , swearing, mentions of drugs (cocaine).

Summary- you find Rafe during a cocaine overdose and save his life. Encouraging him to admit how he really feels now that he’s been given a second chance. (Request <3)

Rafe Cameron was a regular customer of my brothers. But I knew him before Barry did. Sometimes I blame myself for his coke addiction, if he’d never met me, he’d never have met Barry. I hated the stuff never went near it and I begged Rafe to stop so many times but he was stubborn as hell.

Instead I made sure he texted me every night after a party, so I knew he was safe. Rafe agreed to that and he did stick to from then on. Apart from when I woke up this morning there was no message from him. My heart skipped a beat as I scrolled through the bundles of Instagram and Snapchat notifications.

Rafes name was not there. I’d checked three times now. My stomach grew a sick feeling inside as it twisted like someone was graphically ripping out my organs. That’s what happens when your worried about someone who’s important to you. Someone who your around all the time. And someone you’ve fallen for.

Rolling over onto my back, I texted him to inspire a reply and conformation that he was okay. Usually he was pretty quick when replying to me but five minutes past. Then ten. Then an hour. I couldn’t just sit around waiting for Rafe Cameron to text me back. Knowing him, there were probably hundreds of girls doing that, I wouldn’t be one of them.

I climbed out of my bed throwing the covers to the side and quickly changing into daytime clothes. I didn’t really care what I was wearing, that wasn’t on my mind. He was. Always was. I didn’t eat breakfast I got straight into my car and drove to my brothers trailer home to see if Rafe was with him or if he knew where Rafe was.

It wasn’t far, plus I knew where I could speed on the cut and where I couldn’t. I pulled up outside only to see that the front door was wide open. That was the first sign that everything was about to go to shit. Smoke was coming off a log fire just outside rising into the fresh morning air. Jumping out of the vehicle I raced for the door.

“Barry?” I shouted pushing the door open wider to look into his home. “You home bro?” Calling desperately out for an answer. Slowly and apprehensively, I made my way into the house. Not getting an answer was the second sign. The living room coffee table was full of bottles of beer and ash trays.

“Barry?” I called again walking through the house ignoring the disgusting state of the place. I came to his bedroom, the door was close all the way. I had a bad feeling come over me when I looked at the door. Shaking, my hand came out pushing the handel down opening the door slowly. My eyes scanned the room. Barry wasn’t in his room, he was nowhere to be seen. But Rafe was.

He was lying on the floor shaking completely out of it. “Rafe” I gasped running over to his side as quickly as I could with tears in my bright eyes. The little boy I once knew was gone, addiction had taken him over now. He’d gone too far. Rafe couldn’t move or lift his head up to look at me. I pressed my hand against his heart, his heart beat was raising.

I heard his little wheezes as he tried to gasp for breath. My heart broke. “I’m going to call an ambulance okay, your- your going to be okay rafe okay” I comforted him and my hand trembled as I tried calling the emergency services. He was unresponsive obviously but I hoped he was focusing on my voice and staying alive.

“Yo country club where you at” I heard from the other room. “BARRY” I screamed as the first tear fell down my face “y/n? What you doing h- what the fuck” Barry’s eyes widened as he entered the room seeing Rafe on the floor and me crying next to him. “Shit- your calling the ambulance?” He shouted at me pointing. “Of course I am you idiot” I cried putting it to my ear.

“What have you done” I shook my head at him “I- I have to bounce- shit- I needa get all my shit” Barry ran around his room collecting all the illegal shit he was hiding in a bag while the phone line opened for me. Everything after was a blur. The ambulance came immediately, I think mentioning that it was Rafe Cameron that needed them helped the situation a lot. Everyone knew Rafe Cameron.

His eyes started fluttering in and out of consciousness when they came. Barry had already left with every bit of evidence gone. I didn’t want to get my brother in trouble but Rafe needed me. Rafe was immediately admitted to emergency unit and they connected him up to a drip to stabilise his heart rate ensuring he wouldn’t have a heart attack.

I sat there in the hospital room with him the whole time just listen to the beeping machine and staring at his unconscious body. I’d never been more scared than in that moment.

Rafes eyes fluttered open but struggled to stay open. “Shit” I heard him mutter with a husky voice “rafe” whispering lightly feeling my heart pound against my chest. “Y/n?” He questioned squinting at me from his bed. “your okay now, your safe” “you called an ambulance?” Rafe quizzed moving his hand to his head.

“I know your going to be pissed at the choice I made but Rafe- if you had seen yourself” I shook my head unable to continue without crying. He silently looked at me next to him. “I would have done the same thing- roles reversed” he whispered gently making me feel a whole lot better. As if he’d just taken the Effie tower off my shoulders.

“Are you okay” i moved the chair a little closer to the bed to hear his quiet responses. “I feel like death” “what happed rafe” I demanded scrunching my sleeves in my hands “I dunno- there was no snow at the party so I went to your brothers afterwards- we were drinking- sniffing” Rafe looked up at the ceiling to explain the rest of the story. I think my look of disappointment was too much.

“He went out to get food when it got light- I did some more sniff I- I don’t know after that” “what is wrong with you?” I asked immediately after Rafe had finished his sentence. The boy let out a little sigh. “Why do you do this to yourself I’ve asked you- so many times to stop” I told him letting them tears fall down my face. “I know” he replied quietly. “Is this what it’s taken? Almost fucking dying- scaring the shit out of me”

My breathing became shaky as my crying turned into a full break down. My knees lifted up and my hand went to my face. “I can’t go through this again rafe I cant” I sobbed into my hands. “Y/n please don’t cry” Rafe reached his arm out to hold my wrist. “I didn’t- realise you were that worried about it all” “worried?” I asked looking up him “I was terrified Rafe, I won’t lose you to something this stupid I won’t”

“You haven’t- im not going anywhere I’m done” he told me seriously, he took my hand when I stopped moving to concentrate on his words. “You mean It? Because I don’t wanna hear it if you won’t” “No I mean it- I’ll stop it all for you” the boy shook his brunette head against the hospital pillow. “What do you mean for me” “seeing you upset it’s worse than my od to me okay, I would do anything to take it back so you did have to see that”

“You say that like it’s a normal thing Rafe- do you not realise yourself how serious it is?” “I’ll stop” he repeated looking me dead in the eyes “okay” I nodded subtly as my tears slowly came to a stop. I wiped my wet cheeks dry so i could carry on the conversation. “I think- I need to tell you something” he told me shuffling closer and trying to roll onto his side. The boy winced out in pain before breathing calmly.

“You gave me a second chance- you saved my life and it’s time I’m honest with you”. I stared back at the boy tightening my grip on his hand curious to know what it was. “I think I lived so could tell you this- the thought of dying without you knowing is- torcher” “you know what’s torcher rafe? You dragging this out making me worried as fuck” I let out a nervous laugh making him smile small. 

“I will stop for you because I’m so fucking in love with you y/n” Rafe told me slightly reserved, he was being vulnerable with me and I loved it. But it scared me too. He just poured his heart out to me. Rafe Cameron is in love with me. With me? “Y/n Im Gonna need you to say something here to save us both the overthinking” Rafe smirked at me as my lips parted to speak.

“I am same- I am- also- your always on my mind I - I’m in love with you too” I stuttered trying to get the right wording exactly. His eye brows twitched together. “I don’t know if I was expecting that or not” “I wasn’t” I answered really quickly. We both looked at each other before laughing, Rafe brought my hand to his lips and he kissed the top of it. “I will kiss you for realz just let me brush my teeth first” Rafe joked with me. “I’ll wait for you Cameron” I chuckled rubbing my thumb across his hand before bringing it to my chest.

“Barry is gonna hate this” I giggled shaking my head “I don’t need him anymore, I don’t care if he hates me” Rafe answered, perfectly. “I’m so glad your okay” I whispered hugging his arm clutching it to my chest. “I’m glad your here” “wait so are we like- together now or?” I raised my eyebrow urging an answer from the boy. “You’ve been my girl for a while, you just didn’t know it” “is- is that a yes?” I checked just to make. Rafe chuckled to himself.

“Yes gorgeous your officially my girl- and I will sort my life out for you i promise, your worth it”.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

All the Little Aches

ai-less whumptober 2023 day 16- chronic pain fandom- Danny phantom TW- chronic pain summary- The portal leaves him with more negative consequences than just killing him

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist part 2 of DA

Danny rubbed his left hand. It ached. 

He could only be glad he was right handed because he still had several more class periods where he would be expected to take notes.

Sam and Tucker were good about giving him their notes when he needed it.

But he didn’t want to need it.

It had been three months already. Why wasn’t he getting better? Why wasn’t the pain going away? 

His hand pulsed in pain again, and Danny winced as the pain shot through his arm and his back. His whole left side felt tingly like it had fallen asleep.

He just had to get through the school day and hope there weren’t any big ghost fights. He just wanted to lay in bed and try to ignore everything.

If only his stupid ghost half didn’t make taking pain medication impossible.

If he could just have a couple days where it didn’t hurt, or feel tingly, or numb…

Then his ghost sense went off.

He dropped his head onto his desk and groaned.

Danny stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Mr. Fenton wait just a–”

Danny let the door close and made his way to an empty hallway before transforming and flying off. 

He grimaced. The pain was always worse in this form, his lichtenberg scars feeling like they were on fire, but thankfully not glowing through the suit like when he had a seizure. He had thankfully not seen Johnny since that incident.

“Beware!”

Oh, thank all the Ancients! It was just Boxy.

“Hey! Boxy! Over here!” Danny said, stopping over the park.

The Box Ghost floated out of a recycling bin. “I am the Box Ghost! Beware.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I get it, you’re the recycling ghost.”

“No. I am the Box Ghost! Beware!”

The pain in Danny’s shoulder flared again and he grimaced. “Look, I can’t really do this whole thing right now. So why don’t you go ahead and just stay still so I can put you in soup time?”

Danny had just gotten the thermos out when a beam of energy blessed him in the shoulder and crashed to the pavement. 

“You aren’t getting away this time, ghost boy!”

Danny picked himself up from the pavement. “Look, Red, can we reschedule? I’m really not feeling up to this today.” He dodged a pink blast meant for his head. “I guess that’s a no then.” He turned around. Aaaaand of course the Box Ghost got away.

He flew up, dodging blasts and flying towards Valerie. 

They grappled as Danny tried to get her newest weapon away from her, and as she tried to end him. 

He had finally gotten ahold of the weapon and landed on a roof. He was just about to phase it into the roof when his left hand spasmed and pain shot through his whole left side. The gun dropped from his fingers and Danny gritted his teeth waiting for the pain to ebb. 

He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes till he heard a familiar blaster power up. He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. And oh. He had apparently also fallen on his knees. That was probably going to hurt later.

His eyes were watery as he looked up at Valerie. 

She wasn't firing. Why hadn’t she fired? I mean, don’t get him wrong. He was grateful to still be among the mostly alive. But she had had plenty of opportunity to shoot him.

“What’s wrong, Red? Run out of ammo?” And okay, that came out wobblier than he would have liked.. He probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Apart from being a ghost?”

“Why’s your arm glowing like that? A new power?”

Danny glanced down at his arm. Ah shoot, two times in one week. His life sucked.

“What? This old thing, it’s just cosmetics.”

Valerie glared at him. Or at least he assumed she was glaring at him. It was hard to tell with the tinted visor.

“It looks like lightning.”

Danny flinched, he couldn’t help it.

“What’s it from?”

Danny couldn’t help it. He snarled, his eyes glowing. “None of your business.”

Val had taken a step back, but her weapon was now pointed at his chest.

“Is that how you–”

“I’d watch how you finish that sentence, Valerie,” she flinched, “most ghosts would kill you for mentioning such sensitive topics. Be grateful I have more restraint.”

They stood staring at each other before Valerie lowered the gun an inch.

“Why did you drop the gun?”

“Dying doesn’t fix everything.” Danny said, turning away. “I’m going to go. Got ghostly things to do, ghostly places to be.” 

He flew off, expecting a beam to hit him at any moment. When none did he turned over his shoulder to look back. Valeire was staring after him, her gun pointed at the ground.

AN: while everyone's experience with chronic pain is different, this is modeled after some of my own experiences with chronic pain

[jj-nhlgirly]

Summer of Love:- Bad Omens

Jack Hughes x F!Reader

AN I did originally have a different part planned to go first but I’ve decided to switch them around hence why this has taken me a little longer than I planned. This is gonna be a heavy one so please read with caution and look after yourselves. Anyone on the phone will be in bold.

TW:- mentions of divorce, car accidents, seizures, and abuse, mentions of ex’s and general hate

(Not my gif, credits to who made this)

On an average morning Mackenzie would wake up with Jacks arm draped across her small waist, his head resting comfortably above hers, hearing the soft snores and mumbling he tended to do as he slept. This morning however she woke up alone with her phone ringing out obnoxiously in the seemingly empty house. Reaching around to the nightstand, Mackenzie didn’t check who was calling and just answered, “he-hello?”. “Hey sweetheart” Mackenzie’s mom Angie replied. “Mom? Is everything alright?” Kenzie asked worriedly looking at the time and seeing it was 8:05 AM, meaning it was 7:05 AM back home. “Yes sweetie, Nerf and I are fine! Just thought I’d give you a call as I walked him before work” “awww how’s my little nerfie, give him a big cuddle from me” Kenzie giggled. Angie rolled her eyes, not that Kenzie could see it before huffing out “He was the worst and best thing I ever got you girls and he’s not little anymore Kenzie. He’ll be bigger than you soon.” Nerf was the family’s German shepherd, Angie was a nurse who often worked the night shift and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving two teenage girls alone in the house and so they decided to get Nerf as company when the girls were away for hockey matches and protection for when Angie wasn’t there. “That’s not exactly hard mom, I’m not exactly big.” Kenzie huffed rolling her eyes jokingly. After chatting to her mom for an hour catching up, Mackenzie wished her mom a good shift at work, exchanged I love you’s and Kenzie promised to tell Skylar that her mom loved her as well and hung up the phone.

Sitting up, stretching and climbing off the bed Mackenzie made it to the en-suite to shower. Whilst showering Mackenzie tried to rack her brain to figure out where Jack was, she tried to remember if he’d mentioned going anywhere last night but he didn’t. Mackenzie wasn’t worried, he was a 22 year old man he could go where he wanted and she felt comfortable enough in their relationship to not need to know where he was 24/7 however a heads up he was going out would have been nice. Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her, Mackenzie walked to the sink to brush her teeth and started her summer makeup routine which consisted of tinted moisturiser, a small amount of concealer, waterproof mascara, a little blush and tinted chapstick. After spraying some body mist she ventured back into their bedroom to get dressed into denim shorts, a peachy brown crop top and white high tops. Finally making her way downstairs she saw Skylar sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of fruit loops, “Hey Sky, where are the boys?” Kenzie asked her sister, roughing up Skylars hair as she passed. “Hey Kenz, erm Quinn said they were going out golfing.” Skylar replied not looking up from her bowl. “Oh ok, did they say when they’d be back?” Kenzie looked over her shoulder as she reached for a bowl. “No? Maybe lunch time?” Skylar replied nonchalantly. Mackenzie turned around to face her, “ok what’s up?” She asked quirking her eyebrow up at her sister. Skylar sighed before putting her spoon down, “You ever think about dad?”. Mackenzie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, their dad was a tough subject for the two and whilst Skylar was fairly open with people about the fact their dad left them and their mom back when they were little, Mackenzie never liked talking about it, you’d rarely hear Mackenzie even mention her dad.

“What about him?” Mackenzie asked. “I don’t know, like have you ever thought of what life would have been like had he given a shit about us? If he wasn’t an abusive asshole?” Skylar asked playing with her fingers. “Yeah I guess? I mean I’m glad he isn’t in my life, we’re better off without him. The only thing he ever gave me besides my life was my seizures. We have an amazing father figure in Kaylee’s dad.” Mackenzie replied walking around to hug Skylar from behind. “Yeah I guess, I just wish he would have actually gave a fuck about us. I mean we’re his damn daughters do we really mean that little to him? Why didn’t he want us?” Skylar asked with tears in her eyes, Mackenzie hugged her tighter “no no don’t say that sky, he’s a piece of shit. I can’t speak for him and tell you why. But I can tell you that he’s missed out on seeing the amazing woman you’re becoming, the amazing hockey player you’re becoming. I’m so lucky to call myself your big sister, I wouldn’t change you for the whole world. Fraser has been an amazing replacement dad to us and do you know what he would say if he was here instead of home in Nashville?” “What?” Skylar turned and replied. “He’d say “girllll why you crying? Why are you sat here crying instead of going out there and showing him you don’t need him. Show him how amazing you are without him.” Kenzie replied in a deep voice attempting to imitate Fraser. Skylar started laughing and soon Kenzie joined, “you’re so right, god I’m sorry kenz I know that it’s hard to talk about but thank you I needed that.” Kenzie turned Skylar so she was facing her, serious expression on her face before saying “yeah it sucks, but there’s no one I’d rather talk to about this than you. Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves of the things we have and not the things we don’t.” Kenzie walked back into the kitchen to make herself some cereal before joining Skylar again.

Lunchtime rolled around quicker than either girl expected, having spent the morning practicing their hockey a little in the backyard and changing to tan on the sun loungers in the midday sun. The boys arrived home just after one, dropping their bags in their rooms and venturing outside to find the girls. Jack came up behind Mackenzie leaning down to give her a kiss, smiling Mackenzie lifted her sunglasses to look at him. “Well hello there stranger? You kiss all your guests like that?” Mackenzie asked cheekily. Jack smirked “only the pretty ones” Mackenzie scoffed before putting her sunglasses back on. Jack walked around and sat on the spare lounger beside her, “how was golfing?” Kenzie asked staring out at the water. “Good, I beat Quinn this time. How was your morning beautiful?” Jack asked looking at the water as well. “It was good, spent some time with sky practicing.” Mackenzie replied choosing to leave the conversation about their dad. After catching up some more and tanning a little, Mackenzie looked up at the sky noticing how it was starting to cloud over. Thick black clouds were approaching them and the wind was starting to pick up which meant one thing, a thunder storm was approaching and quickly. Grabbing all their belongings and calling for the others to come in, they made it inside just as it started to rain. A bad omen is what Mackenzie thought.

As it was raining the group decided to play some card games before more people arrived, Kaylee and Trevor were due to fly in tomorrow night. Connecting his phone to the speaker Jack played his and Kenzie’s summer playlist, singing along as they set up cards against humanity. After a couple rounds they switched to Uno, which Jack wasn’t very good at causing Kenzie having to lean over and help him until he finally won a game. The evening was full of laughter and light teasing until Jack and Mackenzie decided to call it a night.

Jack and Mackenzie were laying on their bed, Kenzie’s head on his chest scrolling through Instagram she decided to make a post, asking jack to send over a picture of him golfing.

Liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes, Frey.Lodge and 178,446 others

Kenzie.Havener Summer Loving ☀️💛

Kay.Johnson dammmnn look at my hot bestie

Kenzie.Havener omg stopppp you’re gonna make me blush ☺️🫶🏼

jackhughes I love you ❤️

Kenzie.Havener 🥺 I love you ❤️

Trevorzegras I love you too @jackhughes

jackhughes I love you too buddy

_quinnhughes you look so happy to be golfing 😂😭

jackhughes bully me all you want I still won 😎

l_hughes06 I still don’t know how 🧐

Edwards.73 beats me

jackhughes what is this bully jack day? 🧐

Kenzie.Havener Isn’t that everyday? 😝

trevorzegras yeah basically 😂

Frey.Lodge YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL 😩🫶🏼

Kenzie.Havener THANK YOU GORGEOUS 🫶🏼

User1784 Jack deserves better than her

User1237 omg right? This is what I’ve been saying like who tf does she think she is?

User1790 the way she acts around other boys as well 🤢, like pick a boy and stick with them

User1784 right? No wonder her dad left her 😂 if that was my daughter I’d have disowned her as well

Kenzie sat up reading the comments shocked. This had never happened before, so why was it happening now. How did they know about her dad? What did they mean about her with other boys? Kenzie looked over to Jack who was still laying down scrolling through his phone before shutting it off looking at Kenzie and asking “why have I never met your dad?” Mackenzie was stunned, partly in shock from the comments and partly because this was the first time Jack had ever asked about her dad. Jack however sat looking at her expectantly, he was aware that there was issues considering Mackenzie had never mentioned her dad and when he visited Nashville it was just Kenzie, Skylar and their mom, but he assumed that he was busy or something. “What?” Mackenzie asked finally coming to her senses. “How come I’ve never met him? Are you ashamed of me? Embarrassed by me?” Jack was trying to find any form of excuse as to why Mackenzie wouldn’t want her boyfriend to meet her dad. Mackenzie was lost, she didn’t know what to say and yet she knew exactly what to say at the same time, “erm- I-I-I what?” Jack was getting frustrated “come on, there must be some reason. You’ve met all of my family why can’t I meet yours? Did your ex- boyfriends meet him?” “I-I I don’t — I can’t—“ Mackenzie was panicking there was so much to say but she couldn’t get it out. “WILL YOU JUST SAY SOMETHING” Jack yelled reaching up to run his hand through his hair, as he did so Mackenzie flinched away from him before whimpering “please don’t hit me.” Before Jack could get anything out Mackenzie was running out of the room down the stairs sobbing passing Quinn and Skylar before grabbing her keys and running outside in the rain. Just as she was pulling out of the drive way Jack came running down the porch steps, watching her speed off down the road.

With shaky hands Mackenzie called Kaylee from her cars hands free, “Heyyy Kenny-bear, How’s Michigan?” Kaylee asked before hearing her best friend crying “hey hey what’s wrong?” “J-jack.” Was all Kenzie said, “Kenz what about Jack? Is he ok?!” “He-he a-asked a-a-about d-d-dad, he-he g-got m-ad a-and ye-yelled at me” Mackenzie sobbed out, her hands were starting to tingle and her left leg was jolting sporadically, a sign she was going to have a seizure soon. “Oh kenz Im sorry, it’s ok. It’ll be ok, where are you?” Kaylee asked worriedly, “d-driving, my hands -a-are tingly” Kenzie replied trying to concentrate. “Kenzie I want you to pull over for me ok? You need to pull over, it’s not safe to drive close to a seizure” Kaylee replied, turning Kenzie on speaker phone and desperately trying to get a hold of Jack or Skylar, using life 360 to see where Kenzie was. “I’m sleepy Kay, my heads fuzzy.” “Kenzie pull over NOW!!” “I-I’ll pull over n-now” was the last thing Mackenzie said before all Kaylee could hear was crashing, tyres screeching, glass smashing and a car horn continuously beeping. “K-Kenzie can you hear me?” “Mackenzie?” “MACKENZIE” Kaylee screamed, alerting Freya and Maddy who were sitting in Mackenzie and Kaylee’s apartment in New Jersey. Running in they saw Kaylee sat on her bed, crying. “What happened?… KAYLEE WHAT HAPPENED?” Maddy shouted. “Kenzie, I was on the phone to her and I think she had a seizure whilst driving I heard crashing and she’s not answering me” Kaylee sobbed. “Omg ok, ok someone needs to call 911 and someone needs to call Jack or Skylar or LITERALLY ANYONE” Freya shouted. Maddy grabbing her phone called 911, looking at Kenzie’s location on Life360, Kaylee was sobbing trying to get a response out of Mackenzie. Whilst Freya went into the living room calling Jack.

Back in Michigan, Jack was sat in the living room explaining to Quinn and Skylar what had happened. “You’re an ass, you know that Jack Hughes. The reason you haven’t met our dad is because he’s not around, we last saw him when I was 2 and Kenzie was 4. He was an abusive asshole, he doesn’t give a shit about us and never has, the only real father figure we have is Kaylee’s. It’s not because she doesn’t want you to meet him, it’s because you can’t, we don’t know where he is and even if we did HE DOESNT WANT US.” Skylar screamed before leaving the room sobbing. Jack sighed looking over at Quinn, “I’ve truly fucked this up haven’t I? She’s never gonna forgive me. God I’m such a dick, why did I yell at her, I wasn’t gonna hit her I-I-I’d never hit her!!.” Jack cried. Quinn got up and put his arm around his younger brother, “Just give her some time to clear her head, don’t force her to tell you everything. Clearly it’s a sore subject for both of them, just be supportive, be there for her. Not every person in America has their dad in their lives Jack.” Before Jack could reply his phone started ringing, looking down he say Freya was calling him. Confused he answers “hello?” “Jack… Jack thank god” Freya spoke sounding breathless “Freya? What’s going on? Is everything ok?” Jack was growing more and more concerned. “No-no Jack it’s Mackenzie!! There’s been an accident” Freya answered crying, Jack shot to stand up, looking at Quinn with wide eyes. Quinn titled his head, his own concern growing at his brothers reaction. “What-what do you mean an accident?” “She was driving on the phone to Kaylee, Kaylee thinks she had a seizure and crashed. She’s not responding, we’ve called 911 and I’ve sent you her location. Please-please go go look after our girl” “FUCK NOOO ITS ALL MY FAULT” Jack was tearing up, running to put his shoes on as Quinn followed Skylar running down and following close behind as well, grabbing his keys he guided Jack and Skylar to his car, driving as quick and as safely as he could to the address Freya had sent. They got there in 15 minutes the longest 15 minutes of their lives. What they saw. None of them could have prepared for a two car crash. A bad crash. Mackenzie’s car was front ended in a tree, and another flipped on its roof near by. Ambulances, police and fire engines everywhere. Quinn turned Skylar’s shaking form into his chest, hand shielding her face away from the scene. Jacks heart sunk when he saw a stretcher with a body bag being wheeled into an ambulance, he wasn’t sure who it was but he was suddenly over come with nausea , whispering “Mackenzie please no, not her, please not her” out for the wind to carry wherever it wished as tears rolled down his cheeks.

[detachedfacade]

cw: panic attacks

Steve hadn't been coping well. He hadn't been for a few years, really. But he thought he had got over all of that, gotten past the nightmares and the insomnia. Since his very first run in with the upside down, Steve knew there had been underlying issues he was ignoring. His hearing loss, eyesight issues, nerve pain that seems to come and go with the wind. And the worst, frequent but unpredictable major panic attacks. He had never gone to the doctors for any of it. At first it was more about being an arrogant boy rejecting the need for help. More recently it was a matter of money.

After pulling Munson's body out of the upside down, Steve had blacked out. Hit his head on the counter in the trailer and, according to Robin, had a seizure. He didn't remember that. What he did remember was waking up in the hospital and immediately panicking about the bill, about the fact his parents had taken him off the insurance.

The nurse tried to calm him down, put her hands on his shoulders. But his body was tense and he couldn't breathe, and every noise that passed through his head felt fuzzy and painful and he pushed her back, hard. She returned with a doctor not long later but long enough that Steve had started picking at his stitches trying to pull them out. "I can't afford it." He said, knowing in the back of his mind his actions weren't rational, yet still unable to stop.

It was this panic attack that kept him in the hospital longer. Not just to clean up the wounds he had made a mess of but to deal with what was obvious to the doctors, his anxiety disorder. Steve refused to speak to any counsellors or therapists, what could he say to them that they'd believe? Ultimately they ended up putting him on a high dosage of diazepam and sent him on his way, told him his parents had taken care of the bill.

"My parents?" He asked. And the receptionist nodded over to the waiting room where they sat, his father pouring over the sports section of a day old newspaper, his mother chatting to a stranger sat beside her.

It was uncomfortable, but Steve had been uncomfortable for years. "Thanks for paying." Steve said. "I wouldn't have been able to…"

"It isn't a problem." His mother interjected. "It's…you're our son. I regret how things -" She sighed, looked up to the ceiling, blinked. "We thought we lost you, Steven. After the earthquake we rushed to your place, that awful little apartment and it was completely…It was just rubble. And the firemen couldn't tell us if you were in there…"

His father gripped her shoulder, rubbed his thumb in circles over her cashmere cardigan.

"Son." He said. "You're coming home with us, okay? You can hate us. We can have our differing opinions. I care more to know you are safe."

If he could, Steve would have cried then. But he hadn't cried in front of his father since he was five years old. He wasn't sure he was capable of it.

"Thank you." He said. "I don't really have any stuff."

"Everything you left is still in your bedroom." His mother said. "They may not be your favourite but I'm sure you'll still fit into all of your old clothes."

Steve wasn't necessarily excited about the idea of moving back home, losing the freedom he had found in that little apartment of his. But he was tired, he had nowhere else to go - not if he didn't want to be a burden to the Buckley's or the Henderson's. And frankly, he could use some parental love, even if it was conditional, even if it wouldn't last. So he followed them through the parking lot into the car. Took the seat on the left in the back, the one he had always sat in as a child, where the leather is more worn down and the window doesn't wind down all the way. And he felt like a child again, tucked into the back of his parents' lives.

After surviving the upside down, Eddie is concerned to find out Steve has moved back in with his homophobic parents. alternate title: Eddie Munson is Not Okay (I Promise).

Read more on ao3.

[sick-and-a-psycho]

This post is legit just me complaining about shit

Recent events that have taken up pretty much my entire December, ruined the holidays for my partner and I, and worst of all have made me so sick and horrible feeling.

It's time for me to back to the real world again. Coming back is just so much. You have to look at bills, email people back, maybe go back to working again. This time it's happening during my worst season. It's so cold and wet I am tired.

So basically, it all started in November. I had a bunch of seizures at my job... That I had basically just started and was failing so bad. I could do a whole story on that in itself. So, I had to stop working again because I can't seem to get my seizures under control or myself for that matter. Giant flare up began to ruin my life. I have gotten lucky though because I got both of my big appointments moved WAY up and they are out of the way to start the next step. It's been two years of struggling nonstop, so I am hoping that this goes better. This new neurologist seems very good, and people have a lot of good things to say about him and his partner. We now know where the seizures are happening, and they might be able to get rid of them is what they said. If that's what I get out of this, I will be so happy. My brain doesn't work the same as it used to.

We are at the end of December, and I have accidentally let everything go once again. My basic functions are just being able to keep the house clean and try to stay sane by freaking out about making a bunch of gifts. The chronic illness life made us so broke so fast in this economy. One day we were just fine and then within a week the bills came and the paycheck I thought I was getting never actually happened because I was sick. I'm sure almost everyone knows that feeling chronic illness or not. I haven't worked a day sense November 22nd and I'm not sure if I should go get another job because on January 8th, we have the follow up. So, like if I'm just going to have to have brain surgery what the fuck do I do? Just quit again. Not like I'll work there long enough for some kind of paid leave anyways. So, here's to the new year's and maybe even starting it off right by getting my brain worked on a little.

;) Cheers

[bearsinpotatosacks]

A Heart Can Belong to More Than One - Multi-ship fic

The Bradshaws are very loving people. They're with Maverick, and recently Ron. Maybe they can help Iceman with his dilemma.

~~~

For a prompt list, prompt was "A kisses B in the rain"

Words: 1858

Goose held the cigarette between his lips as he fumbled about trying to find his lighter. Once the cold metal landed in his hand, it was always the other pocket, he flicked it on. Orange flames lit up against the overcast sky. A sizzle came as the cigarette lit, that first inhale always managed to ease any tension. He turned to Ice, leaning on a post as they hid from the rain. 

"Don't tell Carole about this, okay?" He said, taking a drag. "She's not a big fan of smoking."

"Why do you do it then? You seen to do everything for her,"

"Stress relief," he said. "And the past few weeks have been a little stressful, so, I'm smoking."

He then added with a chuckle, "But if you ask her what I do for stress relief she'd probably say 'her'."

He heard Ice laugh. It was a rare occurrence really, even when he knew him in the Academy he was never one to laugh too much. 

"How long are Mav and Slider going to be?" He asked.

Ice shrugged, "They said they had some questions for the doctor, so they could be ages, Ron used to doctors so is usually quite thorough," 

Nick thought back to those days before the Navy. There was one night, in the rain, when Ron came to him in tears and told him everything about his family. His sister used crutches and had seizures, something they told him he could have.

"He really cares about you, and Carole," Ice said. 

"Good, I think I do too," he tapped his forehead. "Had a lot of time to think about it, you know, coma and all."

Ice just gulped and shuddered. He'd been told about how guilty he felt. The Iceman who made no mistakes, responsible for almost killing one of his team? He'd tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, apparently everyone had, it had been ruled an unfortunate accident. Not that he listened, of course.

"Mav cares a lot, too, more than people give him credit for," 

They both knew he meant himself. Nick gave him a reassuring smile that didn't seem to do much.

"Most of what he does is because he cares, just doesn't show it like others do, that's all," he said, taking another drag and tapping the ash off the end onto the floor.

"Yeah, cares-"

There was something strange about the look on his face. A glimmer at the thought of Mav, he knew plenty about those, but another, more uneasy flash told him there was something else.

"What is it?" He asked.

Ice rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, when you, Carole and Ron hooked up, she might've taken that to mean you two were open to go with anyone, because-" he closed his eyes then blurted out. "-because I saw her kissing Mav when visiting you and thought you should know."

He laughed around the cigarette and watched the smoke puff out of his lips like a dragon. Ice was fairly confused. He guessed he should give him an answer.

"I'd hope so, I mean, they do love each other separate from me,"

He knew it was a tad unfair to say he enjoyed the confused look. Maybe it was because Tom hardly ever showed any sign that he was invulnerable and he wanted to take advantage of that, just a little bit.

After a moment, though, he put him out of his misery, "I've been with Carole and Mav since 1979, Tom, she's not cheating on me," he said. "Although, I appreciate you telling me, not everyone would."

Ice took a second. He moved his hands around and mouthed things to himself. God, it was really entertaining, but open relationships were confusing, so better explain.

"I started dating Carole in early 1979, then we started dating Mav, now we've got a thing with Ron," 

"Right, that kind of makes sense, yeah," he said then looked down.

That glimmer was back. Nick had a feeling there was another reason for this conversation. He could guess as to what it was, he’d seen the looks between him and Mav. Him, Carole and Slider actually put bets on how long it would take for them to get together. Nick was thinking he may win.

"All of your relationship stuff makes my dilemma seem easy," he said, 

Nick nodded at him while taking a drag. Ice sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He met his gaze as if pleading not to talk but Goose wouldn't take no for an answer, not about matters of the heart.

"Fine, I've been hooking up with Ron as long as he's been my RIO, but since Top Gun, and more since your accident, I think I've been falling for Mav," he carried on. "And I've been fighting myself over having to choose when I didn't even realise I could choose both."

Nick shrugged, letting smoke curl up his face, "I mean, they're both up for being with multiple people, so it's not like that'll be much of a problem."

Then, he thought of the nights he'd spent listening to Pete complain endlessly about Tom. Nick was invested in this rivalry, kind of, but not this much. He wasn’t talking non stop to Carole about Ron, well, not in a negative way anyway. 

"I had an inkling, anyway, so I think you may have a shot."

Tom's eyebrows darted up. Hope flashed on his face. For a moment, he was just Tom, not the unbreakable Iceman.

"An inkling?"

"Yeah, it's called Carole Bradshaw." They laughed. "She knows people more than me."

And as if they summoned her, a car pulled into the hospital and stopped outside the doors. Nick tried to put out the cigarette in time but she must've been too eager, as she was already running out of the car. Her look of glee fell as she realised what he was doing.

"Nicholas Bradshaw, what are you doing?"

He didn't say anything as the cigarette hung from his lips. Ice was trying not to laugh behind him.

"Smoking."

"Why?"

"I was gonna say stress relief but that feels silly, now."

"Cancer and COPD and lung disease are not silly, Mister." She plucked it from his lips. "I don't want to see you doing this again, it's a dirty habit."

He nodded, "Uh hu, very dirty."

She gave him a smirk and kissed his nose. 

"Gimme the rest,"

He pouted as he handed over the packet of cigarettes and cheap disposable lighter.

"What were you two talking about anyway?"

Ice stopped laughing all of a sudden. Nick stopped pouting and gave him a grin. He started to shake his head but it was too late.

"Tom was that telling me he's been holding a flame for our dear Peter, oh and his own dear Ronald,"

Her smirk held as she circled his middle with her arms.

"Really?" She said, then looked up at him again. "Means you might win the bet."

"Bet? What bet? You were betting on me?" Ice exclaimed.

"Perhaps."

She nuzzled her nose with Nick, "We may have put a bet on who would make the first move, and Nicky may have said you'd make the first move."

Nick went in for a kiss but Carole pushed him away, muttering something about him tasting horrible from the cigarette. 

"Yeah," he said to Tom, giving up on getting a kiss. "So if you could just go for it I'd really appreciate the 80 dollars, okay?"

Ice chuckled but Nick made sure not to. His smile dropped as Mav and Slider finally exited the hospital. Slider took his place by Nick’s side, slipping his arm behind his back. Mav settled against the post Ice was lent against. 

"I'm serious," Nick said.

Ice tried to get him to shut up but it was too late. Mav didn’t like to be out of the loop, that was one of the reasons behind his imposter syndrome, so turned to him with a wistful gaze.

"What's he serious about?"

It was fun to watch Ice splutter. Red filled his cheeks as he fought about whether he should go for it like Nick said. They met eyes, Goose nodded with a smile.

"What's this about?" Slider whispered.

"I told him about all mine and Carole's relationships and it gave him the nudge to tell Mav how he feels," he said, leaving out the bit where Ice talked about wanting to be with him.

"Right, nothing to do with the bet, then?"

"Nope," he said and kissed his cheek with a wink.

By the time they'd finished talking, and Ron's face had cleared of being flushed, Ice had made his decision. 

"Maverick, Pete-" he gulped, then stood upright as if he'd been called to attention. "I like you, when are you free for a date?"

Ron spat out in uncharacteristic laughter. Nick joined in with his goose honk and soon Carole's giggle was part of the chorus.

"What?" Ice asked.

"Oh my god, you're awful at asking people out," Ron said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Tom snarled, "Oh yeah? Well when are you free, dumbass? I wanna take you out too."

"What with a sniper or something?"

"No, for dinner," Ice went sheepish again. "With Mav, too, if that's cool?"

Ron's mouth snapped shut. Nick knew that look well, he and Carole made him look like that often in the bedroom. 

"Yeah, yeah, I-I'm free Saturday."

"Me too," Maverick said, much more put together, although Nick knew he'd fall apart later.

"Good, we'll sort it out later, yeah?"

They all nodded. Tom avoided all eye contact, Ron was still fumbling whereas Pete seemed strangely pleased with himself. He lent on the post like Frank Sinatra and gazed at Ice for a moment.

Carole smacked her hands together, "Come on, kiddos, in the car, I've got a cake at home and a four year old trying not to eat it, so the clock's ticking as to whether it'll still be there when we get back."

Pete pushed himself off the post as Ron helped Nick to the car. He just saw Pete approach Tom and kiss his cheek. His words, "Looking forward to the date," floated as he was packed into the car.

They waited a minute or two for them to come inside. Rain hammered the ceiling, why did it have to rain when they were in California, as they left them to have a moment. Until Ron got impatient and opened the window to shout at them.

"Get inside, dickheads, I'm going on that date too!"

"Not for long with that attitude," Ice called back as he climbed into the car.

"Yeah, idiot," Mav reiterated while sticking his tongue out.

"Don't start that, pipsqueak, or I'll steal Goose and Carole off you."

Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head at Carole. She pulled away from the hospital, from those horrible memories, and listened to them all argue. 

"Are you done? Are you all done now? Because I'd rather be back at that hospital if you're not."

That shut them up.

Welcome to the Top Gun polycule, all Goose, Mav, Slider and Ice will all end up together. Goose, Mav, Slider and Carole end up together, and Carole gets Penny too. Everyone loves everyone and Bradley gets too many parents.

Also Goose smoking is inspired by Mark Greene smoking in s4 of ER and @emo-machine42 's art.

Thanks for reading!

[iwishiwasadarling]

Transition Journey:

Gender: Nonbinary (Intersex)

Pronouns: They/Them

HRT December 9th, 2016

Hysterectomy May 2019

Oophorectomy May 2020

Top surgery April 7th, 2021

Found out I was nonbinary October 2022

Legal Transition I forgot when exactly

Extra Information:

Naturally I produced equal amounts of testosterone and estrogen due to a mix of PCOS and intersex issues.

I originally had a partial hysterectomy where my uterus and cervix was removed due to PCOS and issues with being intersex. A year later it turned out my ovaries and tubes fused together and then fused to the lining of my pelvis so everything got removed. I was allowed to have everything else removed around 21/22 years old. Whether the fusing was due to endometriosis, the surgery, or the cysts is unknown. Luckily, you can take estrogen or testosterone to prevent early menopause so I chose testosterone.

Top surgery wasn't too difficult, it was mostly dealing with my other doctors to get them to work together which was hard. I had to be taken temporarily off my Methotrexate which is a rheumatoid arthritis medication that causes you to be immunocompromised and can also slow your healing. I also had to be cleared by my psychiatrist and neurologist because I have seizures and there was a concern I would have a seizure during surgery. Everything went perfectly, shockingly, my healing time was pretty good. A huge thing they don't tell you, is that if you get a nipple graph that your areolas may lose color, turning pink, and you'll slowly get your pigment back over a long period of time. Yeah, you'll look like a dalmatian.

My surgeon didn't need to do the drainage packs, which is a huge deal to me because I have OCD about bodily fluids.

I also was able to get my name and gender marker changed in Texas before Abbott pulled an Abbott. In case that gets reversed here is how I did it. In Texas family court law due to the wording being vague you are allowed to change your gender marker and name in a county you don't reside in, such as Travis which was really the only place that let you change both at once. I wish I could get the x gender marker but Texas would never allow that. So I changed it to M just to make things easier.

[axgmented]

a little bit of an explanation as to whats happened in my life, to keep yall up to date if you wish.

idk really how to start this off, so if it seems a little jumbled & out there I'm sorry!

it's been three years since i left my ex "husband". So by legal standards, no we weren't married. I had a place holder ring. Stayed with him for 9 years. He was emotionally abusive, narcissistic, and isolated me from my friends. Honestly, I can't even put plural for that-- I was "allowed" one friend, and that was the girl who is practically my sister from HIGH SCHOOL. And even then? it was a big to-do if I wanted to spend time with her. I never got to see my mother, who I have a strained relationship with already.

In those three years, I have bought a house (i dont recommend doing what I did. Just.. explore your options.) My situation was that my mother didn't want me living with her anymore and thats fine-- she is entitled to her own space and what not. I'm grown, 30 years old this year, and she has raised me so I get it. I bought this house hastily and to its credit it's a great little starter house for two people. Only issue is, it's small but like I said I just wish I had waited a little bit and shopped around, but I felt the quicker I could get out the faster I could get my cats back! And did.

I've also gotten a new car, a better position at my job (but fuck that place tbqh. grateful for the paycheck but man... 6pm-6am is ROUGH when you are chronically ill.) and....maybe....just maybe... a new partner. I've went from 21lbs to 150 (and that was honestly all in the first year-- I've maintained that weight just about constantly for 2 years running now).

But with new changes, there isn't always a silver lining.

My depression got bad, my anxiety worse, I've developed new health issues such as POTS (thats really fun to have in a warehouse work setting in the middle of summer), seizures (these are non-epileptic), and as of today, chronic hives (and I thought eczema was hard to deal with) on top of my insomnia just absolutely taking the piss out of me. Then one of my moms got into an accident on 4th of july weekend, my co-worker just had to be taken off of a vent because he was denied a lung transplant (guy was only in his 60s if best) & I've fallen out of friendship with what used to be a good coworker (who is now my boss...it's going exactly how you'd imagine lol). Something happened with my partners family, but that's for them to share if they wish.

So all in all 2024 has been absolutely KICKING my ass but I'm still here. I'm sorry for having to disappear for so long, but I do not have the spoons to be here constantly. I am trying to get back into the swing of things, since they're adjusting my medicines and trying to get me on the correct dosages and what not (i've had Serotonin Syndrome & thats' drastically cut what medicines I can have with my mental health, in half.

In short, thank you for sticking with me this long & I hope to come back in full swing eventually, but I'm just slowly trying to chip away at everything and your patience means a great deal! Small little note, my handle used to be Loh on here-- ive changed it to Runnii! (or Rune) and I hope you guys like it!