#my son went to the er last night

[peachypede]

It’s come to my attention that the Poppy Playtime fandom has a huge art stealing problem. There are writing blogs that are stealing people’s art and posting their headcanons/writing under them.

I’m here to tell you that you need to always, ALWAYS ask permission from an artist to use their work.

It’s very rude to use art that isn’t yours without permission. It doesn’t matter if you have a disclaimer that the art isn’t yours or if you have a post telling artists to politely ask for their art not to be on your post. It’s YOUR responsibility to ask for permission first and to respect their answer. It’s not the artist’s job to hunt you down and ask you nicely to stop.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

[drabblesandimagines]

Motorcycle Rides

Pairings: Sebastian x you

Wordcount: 1623

You limped out of the mine, your pack heavy with materials. That last bunch of slimes had really taken it out of you and as you’d realized your strength was depleting, you’d turned on your heels and ran, only to twist your ankle on a rock.

You leant heavily against the wall, trying to catch your breath in the cool night air. Truth be told, you’d lost all track of time in the mines and it was now just before midnight on a Tuesday for goodness’ sake. You’d hoped to get to bed at a decent time for once, despite your endless to-do list. You’d only meant to be in the mines an hour or two tops!

After your heart had stopped pounding, you reached down and tentatively prodded at your ankle before wincing at the pain. It was already swelling and that probably wasn’t a great sign. This was a situation you hadn’t considered before embarking on your new life in Pelican Town – what exactly do you do in an emergency? There was Harvey’s clinic, but that would involve limping down there and waking him up over your own stupidity.

If you were going to be limping anywhere, you might as well limp home. Heck, the town was gossiping about you enough, you didn’t want your midnight trip to the clinic to be their next topic. You took a deep breath and took a step – there was a sharp ache that immediately dulled, but it was tolerable? It had to be tolerable, you concluded, as you took another shuffling step. It might take you all night, but you were determined to get home.

It was slow, painful progress as you found yourself walking past the carpenter’s house.

“Farmer?”

You jumped from the voice, your ankle immediately twisting on its side and you fell flat to the ground on your back, groaning.

“Sorry…” a figure appeared above you, looking down with an apologetic smile. It was the carpenter’s son… Sebastian? “I didn’t think you’d be so jumpy with being out so late and all.”

“I… I guess I just thought everyone in this town was a bed by 10pm on a week night crowd.”

“Well, the majority are. Er…” He hesitated, almost as if he was debating something in his head before he offered his hand. “Can I help you up?”

“Thanks.” Truth be told, you weren’t sure how graceful you would be at getting up without his assistance, so you happily accepted. In a combination of not expecting him to be as strong as he was and your weakened ankle, you were ill-prepared for getting back to your own two feet. You nearly went falling back down when Sebastian caught you in his arms and you threw yours around his neck. From your glow ring, you could clearly see the black-haired man’s face had flushed red.

“Sorry, that’s us city folk”, you tried to make light of the situation. “We swoon at any country man.”

That didn’t seem to help as – you didn’t think it was possible – his face had gone even more red.

“Er… here,” he tilted you upright, trying to get you to stand on your own two feet. You tried to comply, but your ankle collapsed underneath you, the sharp jolt of pain bringing tears to your eyes. You grabbed hold of his upper arm in a fierce grip. “You all right there?”

“No… I-I’ve hurt my ankle,” you swallowed, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I was in the mines and I twisted it. I thought I could limp home on it but that seems like a really dumb idea.”

“Ah…” Sebastian mumbled. “Erm, should I wake Maru? She works at the clinic part-time, she’ll probably know what to do.”

“No, please don’t. People are talking about me enough without adding this to the mix. I’ll be okay. I’ll just… I’ll take five and then it’ll be okay. You should go home.”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how things go down in Zuzu City, but I can’t exactly go to bed and leave you out here.”

“That’s exactly how things would go down in Zuzu City. You’re a natural.” You grimaced.

“Er…” Sebastian paused. “Wait, I think I’ve got an idea. Do you wanna sit?”

You blushed, before mumbling, “I don’t think I could with any sense of grace.”

“I got you,” an arm wrapped around your waist and helped you down towards the ground.

“Right, I’ll be back in a moment.” He turned and went to head back up to his house.

“Wait, Sebastian…” He spun on his heels and looked at you quizzically. “Thank you.”

He smiled shyly, before walking out of sight, swallowed by the darkness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Sebastian eventually returned. There was a brief moment when you thought he wasn’t coming back. Maybe it was some sort of Pelican Town hazing… The black-haired man eventually reappeared, wheeling along a motorcycle in tow towards you before stopping.

“So, it’s not working reliably at the moment – I’ve been working on fixing it up. But I thought you could sit on it and I can wheel it along back to the farm? Means you can take the weight off your ankle and get home and ice it, I guess? Or heat. One of those.”

“Honestly, you don’t have to do this. It’s so late.” You protested, embarrassed that your antics had led to this.

“I’ll be up for hours yet anyway. Plus, I’m curious to see what you’ve done with the land and it’ll get you home – win-win.” He put the bike’s kick stand out to balance the machine, before crouching down and offering his hand again.

You hesitated. “Only if you’re really sure.”

“I’m positive. Come on.”

You took it, allowing him to pull you up fully this time and you made sure to let your uninjured leg take all the weight. “Hop on.” He kept a tight grip on your hand as you swung your injured leg over the seat and boosted yourself up onto it.

“Cool. Right, er, probably best if you hold onto the handles too.” You followed his instructions, and he leant over, positioning his hands next to yours before kicking the stand back in place. There was a momentary wobble before you found your balance and Sebastian moved forward, pushing it along up towards the path you knew would lead back to your farm.

“What were you doing out so late? Not that I’m complaining,” you quickly rectified.

“I got wrapped up in work and forgot to get out today. I thought I’d have the night to myself,” he teased. “Was that your first trip down the mines?”

“Oh, gosh, no. The Adventure’s Guild and Marlon gave me some tips and I think that was my fifth trip. I probably went down a bit too far for the equipment I have, but to get better equipment I need money and the mine’s good for making a quick buck. Crops take their sweet time…”

“Ah, makes sense.” He nodded.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a freelance programmer. It’s okay, it means I can choose my own work hours. I’m more productive later in the day, so…”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool.”

You fell into a companionable silence. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long walk back to the farm and Sebastian let out a whistle as he admired your work so far.

“Wow, this looks different.”

“A good different?” You frowned.

“Of course. You’ve been busy – this was all weeds and rocks the last time I was out here. What are you growing?”

“Just potatoes and turnips – they’ll be out of season soon but I should get another load out… if I can keep the crows at bay.”

He wheeled the motorcycle up to the bottom of your porch, eyeing the steps. “Er, do you want a hand up the stairs?”

“If you don’t mind…” You mumbled – you weren’t convinced hopping up them would be a winning formula. Sebastian put the kick stand back down, then assisted you off his motorcycle. He hooked an arm around your back, just under your armpits to steady you as you hopped towards the stairs, and then took a big leap up the first one as he kept your balance. You were extremely grateful there were only three stairs and you exhaled in relief now safely at your front door.

“Thank you so much, Sebastian. I wish there was something I could give you in return…” You trailed off as he began to protest, but then you remembered – there was that cool-looking mineral you’d found earlier… You dug around in your satchel, leaning heavily on your front door, until your fingers found the smooth surface.

You withdrew it and Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “A frozen tear?”

“Is that what it is? Some weird creature dropped it – I think it came from deeper down in the mines. I thought it must be special. I was going to take it to Gunther tomorrow to identify, but it seems you’re a fan, so, please…”, you pushed it into his hands, “Take it.”

“No, I couldn’t…”

“I insist.” You unlocked the door behind you before he could really protest. “Goodnight, Sebastian. And, hey, every time you look at it, you can remember the time you helped the idiot farmer home.”

“Goodnight…” He continued to stare at the mineral in his hands as he heard your door open and close, “But I’m totally going to remember the time I helped the cute farmer home.” He said that a little louder than he intended and blushed, glancing up to see your door firmly closed at least.

Fortunately, your window was open and you’d definitely heard.

[daisyblog]

Caught

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry’s relationship is exposed after a photo of them kissing is leaked. Written in Louis' POV. Warning: swearing

Louis POV:

EXCLUSIVE: One Direction’s Harry Styles caught kissing bandmate’s sister

One Direction charmer Harry Styles has been pictured kissing his bandmate’s sister, YN Tomlinson, at Harry’s childhood friend's University party that the pair attended together last night. Students who were at Jonny's party said “They really seemed to have a connection and only had eyes for each other”. Another student said “They were enjoying themselves, laughing and joking together..were even dancing together”. Harry and YN were then seen getting into Harry’s car where he drove her back to her hometown. Whilst we think the pair are sweet and clearly enjoying themselves, what we want to know is…What does Louis think about his bandmate and sister locking lips?

“I’M GONNA FOOKIN’ KILL HIM” I shouted as I slammed my phone down in front of me on the table.

“Louis..what’s wrong?” my mother questioned as she stood behind the kitchen counter prepping mugs of tea for my grandparents who were sitting opposite me at the dining table. “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?” showing my Mum the article I just read and the photo attached. She only glanced at the photo quickly and continued making tea. “Oh no..no..please don’t tell me you already knew” I could see it on her face, she knew because she was not shocked, it was like she had already seen it.   “Louis..” my Mum began to speak. “No…this can’t be happening” I said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Where is she?”

“Look..I’ve been trying to sort this out all morning…do you think I wanted to be up half the night with my daughter sobbing in my arms ‘cause she thinks her brothers gonna hate her” my Mum spoke “Just please…calm down for a moment..and let's talk about this without the screaming and shouting..yeah?” “Louis…come and sit with your Nan and me a second son” Grandad interrupted. I went back to my original position and slumped in the chair and crossed my arms. My Grandad’s voice interrupted my thoughts “Okay..so you’re going to sit there a moment..without interrupting me..okay?” “Yeah” “Okay..I understand you’re angry” I interrupted him with a huff “..but answer me this..do you ‘onestly think Harry would risk the band and your friendship if he didn’t like her?” I thought about it and he was right, Harry wasn’t a nasty lad, in fact, he’s the one who tries to look out for everyone and always makes sure they're okay “No” “Does he talk about other girls..does he bring them back to the flat..is he disrespectful?” again, the answer was no. Even when the other boys were talking about their girlfriends or girls they liked Harry would always just sit there and listen. My Grandad’s voice spoke again “I’ll take your silence as a no…have you even considered that maybe they’re meant for each other…ey?” at these words, I looked up and saw my Mum and Nan give me a slight smile. “Okay I get your point…doesn’t mean I’m ‘appy ‘bout it though” I spoke. “Just promise me this” Grandad spoke again “when YN walks through that door…don’t scream, don’t shout, don’t assume anything…please just listen to her…Harry too” I thought about it and took a deep breath “Yeah..fine I promise” Feet are heard coming down the stairs and a couple of seconds later YN appears, walking very sheepishly. I’m given a warning look by my Mum and before I say anything YN’s voice is heard. “Lou..I’m so sorry..I really am” she said with tears threatening to spill from her eyes. I rub a hand over my face because I hate seeing my sisters upset. “I-I…w-we…we never meant t-to hurt you” she sobbed. I got up from my seat and walked over to her, opening my arms as my feet took me to her “Come ‘ere” and she wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into my chest “shh..c’mon it’s alright…I-I’m just shocked that’s all” After YN had calmed down a little and stopped crying, she joined me and our grandparents at the table. “Look..I can’t say I’m ‘appy ‘cause I’m not..but I just need some time to think okay” “I am sorry Lou” YN apologised again. “I know you are…where’s Harry now?” I asked. “He went back to London after the party last night” she explained. “So…is it serious then..you know..you like him?” YN nodded “Yeah..he’s really nice Lou…you should know that” she said with a slight grin. “Yeah…he is…I am gonna talk wiv him though..you know that” “Just listen to him Lou...’cause he’s actually terrified he’s messed up…not just wiv you but with me too”

---

I walked up to mine and Harry’s shared flat, having just driven almost three hours back from Doncaster. I put the key in the lock and opened the black door. I close the door behind me and kick off my shoes. I take a deep breath before I walk slowly towards the lounge door, as I was in Harry lifts his head from his hand where it was leaning on the arm of the sofa. “Louis” he began “L-l-look I’m…I don’t know what to say..but I’m sorry” I sat down on the sofa opposite him and leaned my elbows on my knees “I’d be fookin’ lying if I said I was ‘appy…but I’ve had time to think on me way ‘ome…and I’m tryin’ to do what’s best for me sister” “Is she okay?” Harry asked with worry written all over his face. “Uhh..yeah she’s okay…just a bit upset by the whole thing” “I’ve fucked up man” He said and buried his face in his hands. “Do you like her..like is it serious..or is just a phase?” I needed to know for sure. “Lou..I-I would never have risked this if I didn’t like her…I don’t how to describe it but..I can promise you it’s not just a phase…I’d never want to hurt her or you…you’re my best mate and I just wish I’d have told you and you didn’t find out like this” he rambled. “Harry” I spoke “If you hurt her..I will hunt you fookin’ down...now come ‘ere” I spoke as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “I’ll look after her Lou..I promise” he squeezed me tighter “thanks for not punching me too..I’ve been waiting for it all morning” he said with a grin. “The band needs your handsome face…otherwise I would ‘ave” I joked. --- As I was walking back from Zayn’s flat where I’d been for the evening, watching football and filling him in on the situation, my phone buzzed in my jean pocket. YN Thank you for listening to Harry. I really am sorry Lou! I’ll phone you tomorrow, love you lots xxx I began tapping my fingers against the screen, adding the nickname I used to call her when we were younger. LouisI love you Tiny xx

[searchingforserendipity25]

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful. LoTR. on ao3.

There was for many years an hourglass upon Elrond’s desk, a tall ivory-and-glass thing from sunken Númenor. 

As a little child Estel liked to turn it and turn it, and would sit for hours upon his foster father’s lap following the mother-of-pearl etchings on the handle with his fingertips and watching the sand shift softly. 

For a time it was too heavy for his small wrists to turn; but Elrond with his keen hearing would know when the last grains came with an end, and knew when to turn it without lifting his eyes from his papers.

 Elrond had given it for him to hold, when he told him the truth of his name: Aragon, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur’s line and Isildur’s grim failure. 

“Yet also to the courage of his people, and their skill,” Elrond told him. “Your forefather it was who made this time piece as a gift to me. From the glass-rooms of Armenelos it came, the last of Isildur’s works of beauty. It has been of good use to me, and good memory; I give it to you, that you should remember him with gratitude, as well as bitterness.”

“Yet bitter is it what you say to me,” said Estel, who was Aragorn. He was startled still, and yet not surprised entirely; for the blood of kings ran in him, and had at times left an uneasy premonition upon him. 

Still he would have remained been Estel, and no lost kingdom’s wayward heir; least of all in this century, this Age of the world, with an evil reckoning brewing in the distance. 

He turned the hourglass in his hands; a Mannish means of counting time, not to be found in other elvish kingdoms, but common enough in the house of Elrond Peredhel. “Keep it, Master Elrond. I cannot have it as my own, ere I am Isildur’s heir truly. These hurrying moments that are my lifetime shall be a heavy load to carry, I judge, and my course too rough for such a delicate thing.”

“Then keep it I shall, until you wish to reclaim it, or your score of years are run to their course,” said Elrond; and laid upon Estel’s shoulder the heavy comfort of his healer’s hands, which he felt for a time like a yoke as well as a kindness. 

It rested between a tall orchid Celebrían had found once in her expeditions in the wilds of Ennor, a narrow and tall and very orange creature, the last of its kind on these shore - and on the other side was his pile of used quills, which he tended to keep until they were worn through into stumps, too blunt to be sharpened.

He used it little, after that day; but at times Arwen his daughter came, and stood by the chair where Aragorn had sat with bent shoulders to her his name. 

Her fingers, long broideress fingers, touched the waves and leviathans Isildur had carved, with careful deliberation, in the last days of his youth, the dying of his empire. Her eyes grew clouded, then; not with the memory of the past, but her own designs, a future seen with the force of her want. Her own lord of man, his dear face not like any other’s; her own cities crowded with the smell of stone dust and salt.

She left it there, warmed by her skin, and went away from it but for rare and secret visits; but Elrond at times looked heavily upon it, as once he had not. 

That was another Age of the world. There is now an hourglass amidst Tar-Elessar’s instruments - behind the inkwell of Gondorin silver, besides the whittling of an eagle in flight his eldest daughter has wrought him. 

Many gifts have been to him, the king well-returned; but none quite as ancient. Elessar turns it in his hands, when a heavy ruling keeps him at work long into the night; Isildur’s hourglass, grown light with the strength of his manhood, feels always a little terrible to hold.

[ragingbookdragon]

Soap was definitely a jeans and t-shirt type of man. Hated penguin suits for the life of him. But when the team saw him come in with a clean pair of dark denim jeans, a forest-green plaid dress shirt, and a dark brown buttoned vest with tan leather straps, they knew something was up; he’d even gotten a new pair of dark dress shoes. He was running a hand through his gelled hair, a little longer than usual, but clean-shaven head and face, the scent of wintergreen aftershave wafting around him, mixing with the smoky, tobacco and cedarwood cologne he was wearing.

Price looked up from his deck of cards, looked down, then back up in shock. “Soap?”

The sergeant blinked, fixing the button of his vest, before fumbling with the gold chain that connected from his button to the watch in his pocket. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Uh…where you goin’, son?” he asked and Soap flushed a little, clearing his throat as he shifted on his feet.

“Got a date.”

Ghost snorted. “With the lass he’s been head over heels about for the last six months.”

Gaz shook his head. “You’ve been dating someone?”

“Won’t shut up about her,” Ghost answered, and Soap crossed his arms over his chest.

“I just wanted to make sure she was legit first. We’re not that serious.”

“Uh huh,” Ghost shot back. “Show us your phone background then.”

Soap blushed and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Fuck off,” he griped and looked at the captain. “I’ll be back by eleven. Call me if anything happens.”

Price waved him off. “Go have fun.” As soon as Soap disappeared, he turned on Ghost. “You didn’t tell me he was seeing someone.”

“It’s not my business,” he retorted.

“Of course, it is. Look at ‘im. He can’t be left alone to his own devices.”

***

The night had gone amazing. The food was wonderful, the atmosphere was even better, and Soap was on cloud nine as he walked with her hand in his down by the water. He felt like a teenager again, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest and as they came to a bench, she pulled him towards it.

“Can we sit?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Of course, love,” he said and sat down with her. She seemed nervous, fiddling with her hands. “Love? You alright? Look like you’re sweatin’ bullets.”

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I just need to tell you something. It’s…really important and I think it might define the rest of this night.”

Now, he was nervous, and he took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Love, whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

“I appreciate that,” she answered and took a deep breath, looking into his eyes as she said, “John, I’m not a biological woman.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She gestured below her. “I’m not a biological woman. I was born a biological male. Y’know…male parts. Boy. Man.”

Soap nodded slowly. “So…you’re transgender? A male to a female?”

“Mhm.” She pulled her hand away, resting it in her lap. “I had my top and bottom surgeries a few years ago, and I’ve been on medication since I was a teenager.” Her eyes seemed sad. “I just…wanted to tell you this before things went farther. I know I waited a little longer than usual but I…I didn’t want to ruin things between us.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I really like you, John. I mean, I really like you. And I want to keep seeing you, but if you aren’t comfortable with this, I understand a-and I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop seeing me. Some people are okay with dating people like me, and some aren’t. I just…needed you to know.”

Soap was quiet for a moment then he reached over a put his hand on her cheek, turning her face to his, thumb brushing away the tears on her skin, then he took his other hand and did the same before tilting her face up and down, side to side until a startled laugh escaped her.

“What are you doing, John?” she questioned.

He smiled at her. “Looking for all those wrinkles you must’ve gotten from frowning so much thinkin’ o’er how you were gonna tell me this.”

She laughed pitifully, a grimace coming over her lips after. “I once ended up in the ER for not telling a man I was seeing. Not that I think you would do something like that to me, I just, y’know…needed to be sure.”

Soap’s face turned uncharacteristically serious, and he promised, “Love, I will never lay my hands on you. For any reason.” He wiped her tears away. “And whether you are a biological woman or not doesn’t matter to me. I love you exactly for who and how you are. You’re perfect. In every way. I love you.”

She blinked, gaping at him. “You…you love me?”

Soap swallowed thickly, cheeks crimson as he pulled away and scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly stretching like he did when he was flustered. “I mean, I care about you greatly. A great deal. A large extent. Quite a lot.”

“You love me,” she repeated as she nuzzled into his side. “It’s okay, John, I love you too.”

He melted, wrapping his arm tight around her, squeezing her against him. “You make me really happy, love. And thank you for trusting me with this I know it was something important and I’m even sorrier if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”

“John, you make me happy,” she answered, looking up at him. “And I told you this because I trust you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She smiled. “Do you maybe want to spend the night at my place tonight?”

“I’d love to,” he said. “But do you want me to come over? I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.” She smiled. “Besides, I want nothing more than to sleep next to you.”

“You won’t be next to me, love,” he said, standing from the bench, and pulling her with him. “You’ll be in my arms where you belong.”

Her smile rivaled the moon above and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “John MacTavish, you are a real catch, you know that?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “You are.” He pecked her lips. “I love you, lass.”

“I love you.”

[darth-mortem]

Here is Valentine's Day GhostSoap fanfic 😌

Someone sends Soap anonymous valentines, and it would've been fine if not the text inside which disturbs him greatly. 1999 words.

Yeah, it's my knives on the photo :)

Johnny brought the mail into the house and began to lazily sorting the envelopes, newspapers, and flyers. Today, February 14, was the last day of his leave, and he had to go back to the base in a few hours, but for now he was at home and enjoying it.

“Maw!” Johnny shouted towards the kitchen. “Ye hae a letter from Aunt Agnes!”

He put the envelope aside, took the next one, and was surprised to see his name on it. Soap had no idea who could have sent him a paper letter, even to his parent’s house address, not to the base’s.

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“Maw!” Johnny shouted again. “Did ye tell anyone I was ‘ere?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. MacTavish said, looking out of the kitchen, “as ye asked. And what’s th’ matter?”

“Someone sent me a letter wi’ no name ‘n’ no return address." Soap rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

“Well, mibbie someone wanted tae confess his feelin’s tae ye on Valentine’s Day.” The woman gently stroked her son’s head. “Let’s go tae eat, dear.”

Johnny opened the enigmatic envelope in his room after breakfast. There was a postcard in the shape of a heart with standard greetings on one side. MacTavish grunted, turned it over, and everything inside him went cold. There were inscriptions made from letters cut out of magazines or newspapers, stickers with skulls, and an uneven heart made from photos of various knives. Feeling an unpleasant pressure in his chest, Johnny started to read crooked lines of words.

The first were lines from a song he knew very well:

‘Valentine is done

Here, but now they're gone

Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity

We can be like they are’

After them, there were a few more words. ‘See you later,’ Soap read, ‘bye.’

It looked like a treat. It was a treat, and Johnny involuntarily looked around and then peeked out of the window, as if he expected to see the person who had sent this eerie postcard there. Of course, there was nothing suspicious on the street. Soap stood there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, then stuffed the postcard into his already packed bag and went downstairs. Whoever this madman is, he won’t spoil MacTavish’s last hours of his leave at his parent’s house.

Anxiety began to grip Soap again, as he was already flying back to the base. He wasn’t alone in the helicopter; there were other soldiers whose leave was over. Johnny stared at them involuntarily, wondering if the sender of the menacing valentine was among them.

“Hey, MacTavish!” One of them called, and Soap shuddered. “How did you spend your leave?”

“Ah was at home,” he answered. “Ate maw’s food, slept a lot, went fishing wi’ my da. And what about ye?”

The rest of the flight was spent in cheerful conversation, and Johnny relaxed a little. Gaz met him at the airstrip, eager to tell him all the latest news from the base as they made their way to the residential block.

“Well, I have to train rookies.” Kyle said when they got to the building. “See you later, mate!”

He left with a waving farewell, and Johnny’s insides went cold again because he immediately remembered the text of the creepy postcard. He walked down the corridor nervously, looking around, and almost ran into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Turning around, he breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a second, and then...

There was a postcard in the shape of a heart on the floor. It wasn’t far from the entrance, so it could be assumed that someone had pushed it under the door. Johnny carefully picked it up, turned it over, and read the text made from letters cut out of a magazine. ‘Be wary, my dear, as you walk alone,’ it said, ‘for on this night, you're never truly on your own.’

Johnny panicked again. Everything indicated that someone was watching him; someone knew where he was and what he was doing. Perhaps it was someone from the base, or he had connections here, a friend who, at his command, slipped the postcard into MacTavish’s room.

Soap was not given much time to think about all this. Price knocked on his door and ordered him to go help Gaz. Johnny wanted to say hello to Ghost first, but the captain told him that the man was busy with paperwork and, given the amount of it, wouldn’t be free until the evening.

Johnny walked to the training ground, looking around and tensing if anyone got too close. Gas noticed his strange behavior and, finding a free moment, took him aside.

“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Kyle asked. “You’re twitchy since returning from leave.”

“I’m fine,” Soap tried to smile. “I just need tae get used to it all again.”

Gaz didn’t believe him but didn’t ask any more questions, and they went back to training. The rookies needed a lot of attention, especially after one of them fell on the obstacle course and injured his arm. Kyle took him to the medical center, leaving Johnny to continue the training. He didn’t return until dinner because he had to write a report on the incident.

Objectively, nothing at the base had changed, but now MacTavish felt that someone was constantly watching him. He caught glances at himself and wondered if this person was the mysterious sender of the creepy valentines. That’s how the whole day passed, and, realizing that it couldn’t go on like this, Soap took the postcards and went to Price’s office.

“I need tae tell ye something, sir,” he said, approaching the captain’s desk.

Price looked at him intently and pointed on a visitor’s chair. He also noticed that something was wrong with the usually cheerful and friendly sergeant and worried about him.

“What happened, son?” He asked gently, looking at nervous Johnny.

“I think someone is stalking me,” MacTavish answered, sighing heavily. “I received a postcard tae my parents’ home address. And then I found another one in my room ‘ere at th’ base.”

With that, Soap placed both valentines in front of the captain. He took them, examined the inscriptions attentively, and looked up at the nervous sergeant.

“Son,” Price spoke cautiously, “what made you think they were sent by a stalker?”

“And how else?!” MacTavish exclaimed with resentment. “He knows where a'm, knows mah home address! And thae inscriptions? Thae ur true threats!”

“Well, the inscriptions are really weird,” the captain admitted. “And about the other... Tell me, son, who knows where you were on leave, who loves skulls and knives, and who gets a themed magazine every month?”

“Ghost,” Soap answered without thinking and froze with his mouth open. “Fucking hell… I’m an idiot, yeah?”

“That’s your words, not mine." Price got up and went to the exit. “Close the door when you leave.”

The captain left his office, and the sergeant grabbed a document from his desk, turned it over to a blank side, and started to write something concentrated.

The door of Ghost’s room was locked as usual, and Soap knocked until it was opened to him. He burst in, turned to the lieutenant, and saw that he looked very sad. It was visible despite the balaclava on his head.

“What do you want, Johnny?” Ghost asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Simon,” the sergeant exhaled, catching his breath, “it’s for ye!”

Ghost silently took from his hands a crookedly cut paper heart, on which was written: ‘I like ye too.’ Johnny watched his gaze change, and then the lieutenant looked up at him in confusion.

“Sorry for bein’ sae late,” Soap sighed and made puppy eyes. “I’m just an idiot, ‘n’ only now guessed that those postcards were from you.”

Johnny didn’t say that they scared him to not sound even more like a fool. Instead, he took the first valentine out of his pocket, turned it over, and, smiling, pointed to one of the knives that formed the heart.

“I like this one,” he said.

“You have a good taste." Ghost finally calmed down and smiled under his balaclava. “It’s the best one, and I hoped that you’ll choose it.”

He went to the closet and came back holding the knife from the picture.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Johnny.” The lieutenant said.

“Och, Simon…” Soap blushed like a boy, accepting the gift. “Thank ye! It’s sae cool! Och, hauld yer horses a second…”

The sergeant started rummaging through his pockets until he found a quid coin in one of them. He handed it to Ghost, and he took a symbolic payment so that the gift of the knife wouldn’t cut the relationship between him and Johnny.

“I have something for ye too,” Soap said. “I’ll bring it now!”

He ran to his room and soon returned with a neat box of chocolate chip cookies that his mother had baked for him. Handling the gift to Simon, Johnny rushed into the break room of TF 141 to make them tea. When he finally got back and sat down, the lieutenant looked at him and asked:

“Johnny, why did you make your valentine on the page from the annual budget of our unit?”

“What?..” Soap froze, blinking his eyes. “I… dinnae know, I just..."

The sergeant remembered that he took the first paper he saw and didn’t look at what exactly it was.

“Price will kill me,” he said finally. "So, mibbie, I deserve one kiss before death?”

“Maybe you want more than one kiss?” Ghost answered the question with a question and rose up the edge of his balaclava to the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

“Och, I want to!” Johnny smiled cheerfully and a little stupidly. “Will ye take off yer mask ‘n’ show yer face?”

“Negative,” the lieutenant answered composed, and took the cookie from the box.

On the morning of February 15, Johnny woke up in Simon’s arms. He really didn’t take off his balaclava; actually, it was the only thing he didn’t take off. His clothes were mixed with Soap’s on the floor by the bed. It was still dark outside, but the wake-up call had already ringed, so the lieutenant and the sergeant stirred and reluctantly started to get up and get dressed. They went to breakfast together and sat down at the table opposite Gaz, who came to the mess hall first.

“You’re kind of weird today, mates,” Kyle said, looking at the sergeant and the lieutenant.

“We just didn’t get enough sleep,” Johnny answered lazily, and then understood what he said. “I mean, separately, each in their room, you know.”

Soap coughed, and Gaz slowly looked from him to Ghost and back.

“And where is Price?” The lieutenant asked, changing the topic of their conversation.

“He took sandwiches and went to his office,” Kyle answered. “He said that he had to check and hand over some papers to the general.”

Johnny paled, but he didn’t have time to do anything. Price was already entering the dining room, and, seeing MacTavish at the table, he shouted angrily:

“Soap, you, son of a bitch!!”

“Better run,” Kyle advised, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded and then looked at Ghost. “See ye later, Simon.”

Johnny jumped over the table, rushed to the window, and threw it open. Blowing Ghost an air kiss, he jumped out and sped away, followed by surprised looks from the soldiers and rookies.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Gaz asked Ghost.

“Negative,” the lieutenant lied.

“Oh, really?” Kyle absolutely didn’t trust him. “And since when does MacTavish call you by your name?”

“I don’t remember,” Ghost said, annoyed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So I can call you ‘Simon’ too?" Gas didn’t stop asking questions.

“Try it, and I’ll shoot you.” Ghost barked, took his tray, and went away quickly.

“Yeah, each in their room,” Gaz grunted, then smiled and finished his coffee.

[thebiggerbear]

WIP Wednesday - 5/29/24 - Beau Arlen x Reader

A/N: Oh wow, I haven't done one of these in a while, but I've still been a busy bee behind the scenes. This is from another short series for Beau x Female Reader that I've been working on since, sheesh, July 29th of last year (don't judge me lol). It's another project I really love with my whole heart because it's allowing me to go to places with Beau and this world that I haven't gone to before and explore some...things about his character that we got a glimpse of in the show. Without giving too much away, this is going to be a bit darker than my average Beau story. I will start posting this very soon. I took out any specific spoilers. This takes place a bit after season 3. All unbeta'd.

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence; injury/blood; a split second of violence

Please do not do any of the above. Thank you for your understanding.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Beau Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @illicithallways; @muhahaha303

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You and Poppernak had responded to a domestic disturbance call and the husband was obviously at least twice past the legal limit for blood alcohol. Seeing his wife’s rapidly blackening eye, you talked her into pressing charges to at least get him out of the house for the night, if not for longer. When you went to arrest him, he pulled a knife on you and you saw it just in time. As you moved away, dodging his blows, thankfully Poppernak snuck up behind him and knocked him to the ground. You both then tackled him and forced him to drop the knife. Once he was in handcuffs, Poppernak radioed for backup and a bus. 

“You okay?”

You glanced at your bloodied shirt sleeve. “Yeah, I think so. Just a scratch.”

Poppernak shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re getting that checked out.” He pulled a bandana from his pocket and placed it against your arm, urging you to keep it there and steadily apply pressure.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Usually, you would have but the wife was watching you and you knew what you had to do. Without realizing it, the stupid son of a bitch had just given the justice system the perfect reason to keep him from going back home right away, even if his wife changed her mind regarding the charges. Now, he had assaulted an officer, so you had even more reason not to resist the full process of reporting and medical follow up.    

So here you were, in the ER, waiting on the nurse to finish up so you could get out of here.

“There. All set.” She snapped her gloves off and threw them in the trash.

“Thanks.” You carefully slipped your injured arm into the sleeve of your jacket. 

The woman held up a sheet of paper. “Now, here are the care instructions. You’ll need to—”

You took the form from her and gave her a reassuring smile. “I appreciate it but I already know the drill. Not my first rodeo.” You slipped the other arm into your jacket and shrugged into it, wincing at the slight jab of pain.

“Okay,” she replied in a singsong voice, obviously assuming you were that type of patient. “You go home and get some rest now, you hear?” 

She was gone before you could roll your eyes at her fake cheeriness. You pulled out your phone, about to text Poppernak that you were ready for pickup, when a young male nurse strolled in. “Oh, good. I’m glad I caught you.”

“I was discharged so…” You held up the paper in your hand as proof. No way were they keeping you any longer. You had a job to get back to, though you had a feeling you would be arguing with Beau not that long from now about you being able to complete your shift.

“Oh, I know. Dr. Strickland wants to see you quickly before you leave.”

Dammit, just when you were about to get out of here. “Do I have to?”

He gave you a look. “If Dr. Strickland is asking to see you, it’s probably best if you hear what she has to say.”

“Fine,” you groaned. “Where is her office?”

“Down the hall, make two lefts, then a right, first door on the left,” he directed as he began to clean up where you had just been sitting.

“That’s not confusing at all,” you muttered under your breath as you left the room. Much to your surprise a few minutes later, his directions had been spot on.

The door was open and you rapped on it, sticking your head in. Dr. Strickland glanced up from her desk and gave you a smile. “Deputy Y/L/N. I’m so glad Ryan caught you before you left. Please, close the door and have a seat.”

“Okay…” You did as she asked, plopping down into the open chair facing her. “Everything okay? My insurance should cover all of this, I’m pretty sure.”

Dr. Strickland waved a hand in dismissal. “This isn’t about that. If it were, you’d be sitting in the Billing Office instead.” She chuckled at her own joke.

Right. You had already had a rough few days; you weren’t really in the mood for jokes or being polite for politeness' sake, so you cut right to the chase. “What’s up, doc? Why did you need to see me?”

The older woman typed something up on her computer. “When you were brought in, even though it wasn’t a deep cut, I ran your blood work just as a precaution. In case a tetanus booster was needed.”

“I remember.” You weren’t afraid of needles but you weren’t exactly a fan so anytime one came near you, you made sure to look away until they were done doing whatever it was they were going to do with it. 

“Well,” Dr. Strickland glanced over her glasses at you. “We found something.” She swung her gaze back to her computer, continuing to type. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You should have fucking known. Ever since you’d come up here to Helena at Beau’s insistence, everything had been wrong. Why wouldn’t they find something in your blood work on top of everything else? “What did you find?” You nearly whispered.

The doctor’s eyes snapped to you and she gave you a reassuring smile. “Oh, nothing like that. Don’t worry.” She hit a button and the printer started up. She then folded her hands on her desk, patiently waiting for the paper to finish printing. “You’re pregnant.”

There was a ringing in your ears and you began to feel light-headed. There was no way you heard her right. “I’m sorry…what?”

“You’re pregnant,” she repeated, picking up the paper as it spit out from the printer. “Here is a copy of your test results.” She offered it to you and for a moment, you considered not taking it. There was no way; she must have made a mistake. Perhaps your results got mixed up with someone else’s.

“That’s impossible.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually, it’s quite possible. A blood test is ninety-nine percent more accurate than urine tests. It’s hard to know exactly how far along you are without a proper examination but the results don’t lie. You’re pregnant.”

The ringing and light-headedness got worse, so much so that you barely heard her telling you that you needed to make an appointment with your OB-GYN to start prenatal care and get your first ultrasound to determine how far along you were in your pregnancy. Pregnancy? What the hell was she talking about? There was no way you could be pregnant...no fucking way. Not the moment that you had finally put your foot down with Beau — oh God. Fucking…Beau!

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 👉👈

[tiredthingbehindyou]

hey same silly anon as the leo valdez ask... could I get a Reyna bc... women :P

A Bowl of Elysian Fields

During/After SoN War Games

Headcanons/One-shot

Reyna because women

Mentions of injury and falling unconscious

Imagine coming back from the War Games after being slammed against the wall by a water canon exploding

You were (wo)manning one of them when you and your partner spotted a trio staring up at you

You didn't know how they manged to get so close to the walls, but there were there nonetheless

You didn't want to shoot them, what could three kids from the Fifth do to you all?

But your partner ignored you and turned the water canon to face them

The newbie held up his hand, and the next thing you know, you're sent flying off the walls and are caught by one of the eagles

All you can focus on is your armor digging into your skin and the loud ringing in your ears

You close your eyes when dark spots appear in your vision

You didn't know how long you were out for, but it must've be a while considering it was bright as Apollo outside when you opened your eyes again

You sit up and are quickly reminded of last night when you feel a sharp pain in your leg and in your head

Reyna immediately hurries over to you. "Eres una idiota absoluta, querida," she chides as she pulls the covers down to inspect the bandages around your thigh.

You could tell you were in trouble. She rarely spoke in Spanish unless she was feeling emotional and instinctively went to her native tongue.

"Reyna, I'm fine," you say, trying to calm her down. "It's just a a cut and a headache. We've both gotten worse injuries."

"I know we have," she responded as she carefully unwrapped the bandages around your thigh. She grimaced at the angry red welts and scabs on the skin.

You stayed silent as she grabbed more bandages for your thigh. All you did was watch her face focus on helping you. You smiled at the way her hands moved with the skill of a woman who's been doing this since she could walk.

Considering you both were demigods, it was a given you both had to be. You couldn't always count on others to be there for you, even if that is how everyone was trained at the Wolf House.

Help yourself, then help others. Either come back with your comrade walking beside you, or with their body in your arms. You don't leave them behind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt lips against your own. Before you could kiss back, Renya pulled away, making you pout like a child denied candy for dinner.

When she turned away, you couldn't help think it was punishment for not being as careful as you could've been. You huffed and collapsed back down on the bed, wondering when your thighs would heal.

Reyna returned with a bowl of ice-cream and a book in her hand. She sat next to you and handed the bowl to you.

"A treat, for my favorite idiot," she said with a subtle smile. She flipped the book open as you climbed into her lap.

You laid your head on her chest as her calming voice started to read to you.

This was practically The Elysian Fields for you. It was perfect.

[lost-onpurpose]

The last month has felt like a badly scripted soap opera.

1/22: Sister passed out at the store. ER found no cause.

1/23: Sister called from school bathroom floor because too dizzy to stand. She went to different ER and they determined migraine/dehydration. IV fluids helped.

1/24-1/26: Residual migraine. Missed school.

2/4: Mom got diagnosed with pneumonia. Started meds.

2/7: J called and said Mammaw's oxygen had dropped into the 70s/80s and they were starting her on supplemental oxygen. She wasn't very coherent but she was alert. The only coherent thing she said was making me and sister promise to take care of Mom. My Aunt S came down to sit with her that night. Alerted her son and the close relatives who live out of state.

2/8: Mammaw fell asleep. Could not wake up. Still breathing. Still had pulse and blood pressure. Called local family and updated our of state family. Stayed with her until 6 pm. Aunt S called at 6:30 pm and told us that Mammaw's breathing had gotten raspy. We went back. She had the death rattle. Called family again. Held Mammaw's hands and talked to her. Told her we'd be okay and it was okay.

2/9: 12:22 am. Hospice nurse called time of death. Called Mammaw's son Uncle J, cousin J, brother, dad, and other Uncle J (didn't realize we had so many J names in the family). 4:00 pm met with the funeral director to start planning. Called Y at the florist and got the casket spray and standing sprays ordered.

2/10-2/13: Helped family find hotels and plane tickets to attend funeral on 2/16.

2/14: Sister did Mammaw's makeup for the services.

2/15: We had private family viewing before services on 2/16. Had dinner with family that we hadn't seen in a while.

2/16: Visitation. Funeral (I spoke some). Graveside service. After service meal.

2/17: Had therapy at 9 am. Cried on my therapist's couch. Went to Barnes and Noble, Five Below, Bath & Body Works, and the mall as an attempt at distraction. Didn't help. Saw family before they left.

2/18: Last of family left to go home. Cried again.

2/20: Mom goes to ER with chest pain (started during funeral planning week but thought it was anxiety). Admitted to hospital with fluid on right lung (lower lobe collapsed, middle lobe collapsing).

2/22: Going to drain lung but she had too much eliquis in her system

2/23: Drained lung. Lidocaine didn't help. She felt it all. 1.4 liters of fluid pulled off. Chest X-ray showed it was almost all of the fluid and lung was reinflating.

2/24: Mom discharged from hospital.

[loraliewritesthings]

Nameless danny au: Aftermath

(What you've all been waiting for, sorry I was gone so long. I get burn out easy.)

Talias pov. Ras pov will be next chapter.

Talia did her best to keep her expression blank. As her son was shoved into a portal to what looked like crime alley, and her beloved was strong armed into taking leave. All for the better. She didn't need them winning him over.

"My son," She started. Then the room turned cold(er)

He turned to her with a fridged eye. An eye that for a second were cruelr then any look her father had thrown anyone. He bit his tongue, ring glinting on his finger.

"I suggest not starting," it wasn't him who spoke first but the red head beside him looking to her threw the folds of a black lace fan, headband of jasmine flowers barely not falling over her eyes.

"And I suggest weaklings stay out of conversations not concerning them." Just as she said it Talia understood what she said was a mistake. She could feel the ghosts around her turn steely. Still she continued

"Unless you would rather face my blade."

"I think it's time to leave" king Danny (apparently) spoke. She noted he had regained an air of nonchalance.

"Are you not greatful." She questioned trying to look as offended as she could.

"Great...full?" He looked fully at her for the first time that night.

"Yes greatful to not have been held back? Surely if you stay-"

He cut her off.

"Talia al ghul you did not make me a king. If anything you made me a street child. And if you ever face me again. Ever threaten the queen mother again I swear I-"

It was her turn to cut him off.

" Queen mother ? You gave that pushover a court position?" Talia responded half coolly half mocking.

"She couldn't even keep her tears to herself during your coronation. Surely if I was beside you i wouldn't have wept like a child."

Her response went unnoticed

King Danny turned to the massive knight that was now beside him. And muttered something half under his breath in the strange syrupy language from earlier.

Then he turned to her and half whispered

"I would never make ghost queen mother a woman who has cheated death as many times as you... even if I wanted to, even if I loved you.. the ghosts wouldn't want you."

He continued louder

"Cruel and unloving is all you'll ever be."

"I've loved"

"You've held attraction. There's a difference."

"I'm not here to debate I'm here to take my proper place."

"Alright" king Danny smirked and snapped his fingers.

The portal opened underneath her swallowing her whole. The last thing she heard before she was fell threw the ceiling of her bedroom was her own child saying she'd never be ghost queen mother.

...

She laid on her bed staring at the ceiling for a couple moments unsure what to think

In the end she had to admit as much as she despised it...

At least he held his ground.

Tags: @bluerosefox @fisticuffsatapplebees @skulld3mort-1fan @samgirl98 @thegatorsgoose @ladythugs @thatrandomsarahchick @mlpizza @iamheretoconsumeandsharethatisit @betinaplayingwriter @busterkeel @tinybrie @alixanterm @icedbluesoul @lesling123

[deva-arts]

CRINGE NAMES. NOW. 👹

FINE! FINE!!! So everyone had some name tryouts at first, and everyone has different themes behind their name! I think about this an embarrassing amount.

Sera is pretty on the nose with hers. Vincent had a lot of ancient Roman name themes. Nathaniel? tons of Latin. Sonia has a more American name, and Amon has both ancient and modern Egyptian names to his- er... name.

The name 'Seraphina' was my first choice. You can give her several nicknames! But I felt like it was super cringy- I still cringe here and there when I say that my MC has such a mouthful of a name! However, she quickly grew into it; it was the only name that fit her.

Other runners up were: Daya, Jena, Lark, Pheobe, Raven, Tori, Diane, Robyn, Vanessa, Karla, and Corrine. You can tell I wanted a specific vibe here. Her last name used to be Guerrero!

Herrera is a Hispanic surname. It literally means iron forge, but sounds so cute. And her middle name, Nephele, means cloud in Greek. You can tell she is my oldest oc goddamn four years now

Vincent has always been Vincent AFAIK, but his lab name had changed quite a bit, to the point that I decided to leave him nameless in the lab. A name implies an identity after all. I still sometimes wonder if I'll stick to the name, since the way he canonically gets it is kind of weak narrative-wise.

His beta lab names included: Livius, Lucius, Odysseus, Aetius, Nero, and Dante. Kind of teetering on cringe, even though I liked Dante... Oh well. It's for the best. My subconscious would've played the nastiest trick had I not found out:

Now, Vincentius remains with his first and only name, its latin root, Vincere, means to conquer and prevail. He's the winner! He won! why is no one clapping...?

We move on! Nathaniel!! Ahaha I liked brainstorming Nate a lot...But his name was pretty straightforward. I just picked something off the top of my head and it stuck! kind of how it happens in Canon, lol. As Nathaniel grew his personality and character profile past "Hi! I exist to be your boyfriend!" Things quickly took form for our dear Wilson. I chose Wilson as a surname because of our og here:

...I just think he's neat. The tattoo on his shoulder was going to be Inter Umbra, but I soon found that Noctis Umbra fit far better. Darkness in a night filled world. Toxie Noxie. Plus these names make a poem!

Nathaniel Wilson: God has given a son of will,

Noctis Umbra: A shadow in the night.

Sonia’s names were pretty straightforward. I wanted something playful and energetic! but also quite American. She's a carefree ginger with her heart on her shoulder... Even though it's doubtful this is her real name past just being a stage name. It might be something stupid. Like Marjorie.

Oof. Let's stick with Sonia. I wasn't thinking about any name meanings here, but it is kind of funnily ironic that her name means wisdom! ahah!

Amon wasn't going to be Arab at first; I was leaning more towards Egyptian mythology rather than modern, Islamic Egypt. I found it a lot funner to meld Momo more in that direction. even though he is raised a lot more multiculturally and areligious past his teen years in canon. (He was working in the mafia since he was fourteen. He has become the definition of Haram.)

So, instead of making a character based off of Amon Ra, or Ammit, the crocodilian deity in ancient Egyptian mythology, Momo kind of evolved past just his character abilities! In canon, Amon uses this name as a nickname/street alias. Adra finds it cool! so she call him that too.. His real, birth name is Arham Hassan Ahmed. Not that he will use it much in the story.

Some literal Google search translations to his name- Arham, coming from the arabic word "rahma", which means merciful or compassionate. Hassan, meaning handsome. And Ahmed, from "al-hamd" meaning praiseworthy. Or so I have read!

Lastly, Eric. My mom came up with it, and my brother immediately went "gasp- RICKY." and it stuck. My brother also came up with Schraf as a surname. It doesn't mean anything, but it's cool innit?

[dollsonmain]

I know folks are probably getting tired of this by now so you get a tag AND a cut.

But I feel like discussing this sort of thing might help people sometimes? since it's a first person account instead of listicles online.

What they did and didn't tell me about having stents.

They told me why: Facilitates drainage which takes strain (pressure) off of the kidneys and helps the antibiotics work by helping prevent pockets of infected urine reforming (that's what was making me sick, stuck urine that had built up lots of bacteria).

They told me how-ish: They go up with various catheters and things and install the stents, the stents stay in place until they are removed. Some stents have lines that exit the body to facilitate removal. Mine do not. The doc didn't want me accidentally pulling them out since the area they're in is heavily infected. They'll be removed at my first stone removal surgery in about two weeks from installation which was a couple days ago.

They did not tell me how-completely: The stents are hooked into my body meat like little fish hooks. They also didn't tell me they'd be taking urine for testing from my bladder and each kidney or that they would also be draining both kidneys during the procedure, so I did get a fluid-pressure reset.

They did not tell me basically anything about what the next two weeks will be like.

I'm on flowmax to soften my bladder so it's easier to empty. I don't think I needed that, I was peeing fine, but stents do change things.

I was worried that I might push them out while pooping but that's not likely to the point of nearly impossible. Not 100%, but nearly.

These things feel like a bad UTI and I have two of them. I got the ows, the zaps, the GOTTA GOs every few minutes. At least now I know that ALL of those pains are UTI pains, you know? I'd get some random pain sometimes and be like "what was that......" and now I know. It was UTI and pressure in my kidneys and the pain signals were traveling around the whole renal system. Because they do that.

I'm in a lot more pain now than I was with just the kidney stones. It is very, VERY atypical but my kidney stones and the pressure behind them don't hurt. Those nerves may have died off.

There's varying amounts of blood in my urine, sometimes very little, sometimes a lot. Sometimes there are clots. That's all normal but I had to ask as things were happening.

I get up every couple hours in the night and some times I don't make it to the toilet (I did all last night, so that is improving).

They also didn't warn me that just having the surgery itself might make me wet myself because the muscles hadn't all regained strength/how long it would take for the anesthesia to fully wear off.

I called the doctor's office and asked about that, too.

I'm glad I thought to have That Guy bring Depends but that's also something you'd think someone would like, mention. You know?

So that's what having stents has been like so far.

Feels like a bad UTI, though for some people they feel nothing. Need adult diapers for accidents. Need to be near a toilet at all times, and not going to get a hell of a lot of continuous sleep for a while.

-

I also think it's worth noting that I've had two male doctors blow me off about this and I think the only thing that went differently at the ER was that it was a female doctor.

The first male doctor said it was an anxiety attack.

The second male doctor said it was a viral stomach bug.

The female doctor listened to my symptoms and ordered a bunch of tests.

So, more personal blather about the whole situation.

While I was in the first ER I heard a man yelling and starting trouble in the waiting room. That Guy and Son got up and left as soon as the man was distracted by a security guy. I'd had told them to go home as soon as they dropped me off and I would text if I needed picked up. I knew I wasn't going home, though.

-

My neighbor was an elderly lady and they kept trying to figure out when she'd last pooped but she couldn't remember. Finally she called them in and was like I need to poop so they wrestled her up on a bed pan (she cried, she was in a lot of pain) and then left her alone with her curtain closed to poop. Right then the floor doctor walked in and was like HI MISS GERALDINE and whipped her curtain open to start talking to her.

...

I chewed him out. That's very atypical of me. Like, I laid into him for not asking if she was wanting to talk in that exact moment. And then I felt really bad until I realized he's probably had people a lot more angry at him than me considering a lot of the patients I could hear were elderly and some were confused, and I didn't feel bad anymore.

-

Since it's a university-run hospital there were sometimes pairs of nurses, and at one point a trainee came in to give me a dose of antibiotics through the IV but she hooked it into the wrong plug which depressurized the system and blood starting backing up the tube. As soon as she saw that she ran to get her trainer and they spent some time doing a full reset of the IV set up.

I wasn't worried or anything. It was my own blood and it could only go so far/only so much could be lost. At the most a cup since the saline bag was fresh and mostly full, still. So I was totally calm the whole time, which I'm sure helped.

I think the nurse in training was surprised when her trainer stepped out and I encouraged her instead of yelling at her. I praised her for not being too proud to get help when she noticed an issue, and for observing how to rectify the situation.

-

That Guy was like "Yesterday's nurses did NOT like me..." and I was like yeah I kind of told on you, but not out loud. He got put on the shit list FAST by staff. So for that I have a note in my account that I'm experiencing financial abuse and he exhibits controlling behavior. If there ever is a point where Son and I have to leave, I have the name of where to call. There's a facility in Next Town Over where the hospital is that will come and get us, and that would be the last time we see him.

I feel guilty for saying anything because he has paid for my existence for decades but he has also been abusive, just not physically.

They asked me if Son is safe at home alone with That Guy and I said "Safe, yes. Happy, no."

They also asked like how is Son and I said he seems to understand that his father's behavior isn't his fault but he still has had to endure it.

I also in the process learned how much money he makes (I didn't know before) and wow we should all certainly have insurance (he and Son might through his work but I have nothing and don't qualify for assistance while he claims me on his taxes as a dependent) and have had medical care all this time and there's no reason at all to be doing the whole -pointedly look at the food receipt every grocery trip, look up at the sky angrily, shake his head, shove it in his pocked, huff, and walk away- thing. Also explains why his work friends keep suggesting burger joints that end up costing like $80 for the whole family....

[millerflintstone]

Yesterday I went to lunch with Grammy C and one of the other ladies that Grammy C met and befriended when she ran the ceramics studio with her DIL. I'll call this lady Zany K. She's very extroverted and silly and just really likeable. She's very open about things and doesn't mind openly expressing when she is completely clueless about what's going on, which is really refreshing. She's got 3 adult daughters, two of which are twins. One of her twins had a baby yesterday. The other one had her first baby 6 months ago.

Lunch was good. We were all catching up on things. We oohed over Zany K's new grandbaby. We also found out the reason why Grammy C was a bit late to lunch was that her youngest son ended up needing to go to the hospital. He called her at around 8 in the morning letting her know that the arm rash he went to the urgent care for yesterday had gotten worse. It's basically covering the top of his left forearm and it looked swollen, red and awful. They had given him antibiotics but told him if it got worse, to go directly to the ER. She took him to the hospital because his wife was en route to a doctor's appointment for their toddler son who needs a kidney specialist.

After lunch, Grammy C was going to go back to the hospital. They had admitted him to a room by the time she left to meet us. She parked 2 cars down from me and I heard her say, "Oh no!" I walked over and saw it at the same time she said it, "I have a flat tire!"

The driver's side front tire was completely flat. Zany K called her hubby to ask if he could drive over to help. They live about an hour north of us. He told her to just use their AAA membership and say the car was hers, which she did. I ended up helping her with the service call. They send a text message to the number that calls that has a link for submitting the request online, so I helped her with that piece. We all waited for the tow truck service to come by and change the tire to the spare.

Grammy C made it to the dealer afterwards. Her car is fairly new - a 2022 Toyota Corolla. The tire change was still covered but the damaged tire pressure sensor was not (?), so she's driving around with an annoying warning.

She went back to the hospital to see her son and he has MRSA. No idea how. He didn't have a scratch or anything that he knew of. No animal interaction.

I read up and didn't realize how contagious it could be. I had hugged Grammy C. I let Grammy C know that she should disinfect her car where her son's arm might have had contact and sent her some links about MRSA. I also saw some videos that just freaked me out. I am fine. I actually have a minor scratch on my right elbow that I bandaged with one of those hydrocolloid bandages because they do help speed up my poor healing and help me prevent scarring. I scar so freaking easily. But I'm glad I had it covered because with my luck, I'd get MRSA.

I am fine today but I have to admit that I was worried. Whenever I've gotten sick as of late it's stemmed from Grammy C and her exposure to her toddler grandchild. She's had strep maybe 4 times since the winter and apparently had it again last week. I haven't heard about how her son is doing today. They kept him last night and she mentioned he'd hopefully be released today.

[nena-96]

Como hablas español quiero decirte que tu escritura es horrible. Además, ¿por qué eres tan estúpido? Te envié preguntas y no has respondido a ninguna. Nadien le importa que fuistes abusado sexualmente de ti, probablemente tú lo pediste!

Vete a la mierda! No sirves para nada. Eres la persona más irritante. Sinceramente, la gente sólo finge ser amable porque siente lástima por ti. Los mundos son mejores sin ti 😂😂

imbécil No dejes que la puerta te golpee al salir.

Wow Anon, I’m not going to dignify you with a response in Spanish 😒

Just to be clear, I haven’t responded to your “asks” because I was busy with life 🫢 I know right that’s so shocking, I don’t just live on tumblr. I have a few other asks and I have yet to reply, but luckily those mutuals are respectful, unlike yourself. [TW: Suicide attempt]

Also, who in their right mind would say, “you asked for it” to a person who went through trauma?

If you didn’t know, two years ago on my birthday Nov20… I was this close 🤏🏾 in consuming an entire bottle of Ibuprofen 500mg that I always kept hidden in a drawer in my bedroom. My palm held 30pills, as I stared at a wall. Hell, there was a time when I had grinded up a few pills and put them into a cup of water, but guess what… I didn’t drink it I threw it away 🫢

There was only two things that stopped me. 1) i recieved an email, (I forgot to turn my phone off that day) and a author replied to a comment that I wrote for their Romione fic, which made me smile and realize, “wait, if I do this now I won’t get to read the rest of their story, they won’t know how much I care about the way they write Ron and Hermione”

[ just in case you want to know what fic I read, and maybe this will make you less of a foul human being the story is called: Not Yet by Rennervator on A03. But please don’t think of leaving foul reviews because that’s truly pathetic 😊]

and reason 2) I didn’t want to traumatize anyone when they would walk into my room and see the aftermath of what I was about to do. Even in my darkest moments I think of others, crazy right!

Given, I still have days (too much to count) in which I think why bother? I feel alone, sometimes before going to bed I listen to music and just lay there as tears stream down my face. And think to myself that maybe just maybe I’ll get better someday.

Even last night, my day started off great and ended up with my mom yelling at me because I tripped over knocked down a basket of flowers, crazy how she called me fucking worthless/why I always have to fuck things up and then 30mins later acted like nothing happened 🤔 that definitely doesn’t mess with my mental/emotional state at all *I’m being sarcastic if you don’t understand, my love*

I hope the door doesn’t hit YOU on your way out, and if it does I feel incredibly sorry that the door was touched by someone like yourself.

Please get some help.

[rebelliousstories]

Kentucky Rain

Relationship: Elvis Presley x Kentuckan OC

Fandom: Elvis Presley, Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Warnings: Some strong language, allusions to abuse

Word Count: 2,709

Main Masterlist: Here

Elvis/Austin Butler Masterlist: Here

Part 2: Searching For You

Summary: Elvis wakes up in the middle of the night to a cold, empty bed and no note.

Rain drizzled down outside the room, right against the window. But that’s not what woke the man up. Elvis reached over to the side of their bed, where she should’ve been, but there was nothing there. The bed was still a little warm, but no body there to warm it. He groggily sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Baby?” He called out. No response.

“Baby?” He called a little louder.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and grabbed his robe before making his way out of their bedroom. The lights were off everywhere except in the closet that joined their room. He walked in and saw some of her clothing gone. Confusion bathed in and overtook some of the sleepiness that still had a hold of him. He rushed down the stairs, barely registering that the keys are gone. Elvis realized that her car was gone.

She was gone.

He threw on some clothes as fast as he could, and packed a quick bag. Gladys came down the stairs to her son about to leave the front door when she called out for him.

“Elvis! Where you goin’? It’s three in the damn morning baby.” She came closer as her son was caught with a deer in headlights look. He set his bag down and came over to her. Son embraced mother and he took a moment to calm down. He let out a big sigh and relaxed in his mother’s embrace. Elvis put his head on her shoulder before he explained.

“She’s gone mama. I need t’ go find 'er. If I leave now, I may be able to catch ‘er before she gets too far.” Elvis pulled back from his mother. He looked her dead in the eye and gave her a promise he’d be beck soon. With a kiss to her head, he left trying to find her. The only place he could think of her leaving was her home town in Kentucky. So off to Kentucky he went.

Is she safe? Why the hell had she come all the way out here? That was all that was running through Elvis’ mind as he strolled down the deserted Kentuckian street. His old truck had gotten stuck in some mud a few miles back and he was hoping that anyone near her small town could tow it for him. It had been seven days. Seven days on the road. 168 hours since her presence was felt in Memphis. 10,080 seconds since he last held her. And it didn’t help that this marked the twelfth town on his road to find her. But he was in the last little town before he got to hers. If she really wasn’t here, then she was definitely in her home town. Elvis couldn’t bring himself to call that place her home. There was a reason she lived in Memphis with his and his folks. There was a reason she asked Elvis to take her away from the house she lived in with the people she was related to. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she would go back.

In the distance, the boy saw a general store. The sun was starting to set so he wouldn’t be able to talk to no one except the motel owner for much longer. He picked up his pace and made his way into town. One of the first few buildings was a general store. It was an unassuming building with some men with long, grey beards sitting on the front porch in some rockers. Elvis walked over to them and offered them a kind smile.

“Afternoon gentlemen,” he said, turning on his charm to hopefully get some answers.

“Ah how do you do young man? Store is almost closed for the night but I’m sure my wife will help ya out if you go on in real quick. Tell her Kenny says it’s okay now.” One of the men spoke up. He assumed his name was Kenny, but the rest of the men just looked at the younger one with smiles on their faces.

“Actually sirs, I was wonderin’ if ya might help me out a touch.” He fumbled for his wallet before he pulled her photo from it and let the men pass it around.

“Ya see, I’m lookin’ for ma girl. Now I haven’t seen her in ‘bouta week and I really need t’ take her home. She used to live near these parts. I was jus’ wonderin’ if any y’all seen her?” They paused and looked the young man up and down. Elvis got a little self conscious with their staring but didn’t let it show. He was hoping for some good news that they knew where she went but he quickly learned in the last few days to to get his hopes up. The old men were sizing him up, trying to determine if he really did know this girl as well as he claimed to. Kenny turned from Elvis to the picture. It was a glamour shot, like a movie girl would get. The hair cascading down the smooth skin, complemented her features even in the black and white. Kenny stared at the photo for a minute more before he turned back to Elvis. The boy appeared hopeful for any news it seemed. Kenny turned to his friends.

“Now, Bobby, when was the last time we done saw Snowy round here?” His question made Elvis perk up.

“Snowy? No her name is-”

“Ah yeah. Ya see boy, that girl used to come to town all the time to escape her folks but they done kept her on a short leash they did. Now her daddy was a saint, God rest his soul. But her momma was a mean straight razored woman. She done make them turkey birds look like baby chicks compared to her. And we could never find out her name cause her momma wouldn’t let her speak nothing to nobody when they came in. So we took to callin’ the little lady Snowy cause she looked paler than fresh snow when she was her with her momma. But I think we saw Snowy last week didn’t we before she went home?” Kenny continued talking like Elvis wasn’t trying to say something. But the news that the group of old men had seen her recently sent sparks of hope down him. Bobby contemplated for a second before he spoke up.

“Nah. We saw her just yesterday Kenny. She didn’t look to happy. Looked like how she was when her momma kept her under lock and key.” Bobby added. But Elvis wasn’t shocked at everything he heard about her family. He was shocked that they had seen her recently. He broke out into a smile before thanking the gentlemen and walking to the nearest motel to get a room for the night. He asked the nice lady at the counter for a tow truck for his car and a phone to call back home.

Elvis strolled along some lonely, back country road keeping an eye out for any car that might be coming his way. But no such car came. At least not right now. So he kept walking. But not everything can go to plan. The sky opened up and started to rain on Elvis. He wasn’t near any civilization, nor any shelters that he could seek relief from the rain. So he kept walking. Rain was in his shoes by this point but he was so close, he couldn’t give up now. He heard it in the distance. A truck was coming down the road towards him. He quickly stuck his thumb out as he saw it come up the hill. The truck slowed down and the door was opened before Elvis could ask for a ride.

He sat in the lobby and talked with his folks back home. He told them he’d be coming home soon with her in tow. That it shouldn’t be but a couple more days now. Elvis feel energized and ready for the day to come the next morning. Despite not getting a full nights rest, he was determined to bring her home. Home in Memphis. But the car wouldn’t start. No matter what he did, the truck wouldn’t come to life. He left it with the mechanic to see if he could get her working by the time he came back through before he packed his bags again and left in the direction his her hometown.

“Get in son! You’re gonna catch a cold that way.” The kind man said. His hair grey and receding but the white collar he wore made him feel a lot better.

“Apologizes. Thanks for stoppin’.” The young boy said. His hair clung to his face, his clothes sticking to his skin. But the car provided much needed relief for his aching legs and feet.

“Now, why in all of God’s beautiful creations, are you out here on an afternoon like this huh? It’s cold and dark boy.” The preacher man spoke. He had a gentle way of speaking that brought Elvis some peace. Elvis was silent before he started to explain his situation. As the car kept driving, the young man explained, and the older man listened. It must have been about 20 minutes later when he finished his tale. And all the while the preacher was silent.

“Well, where are you tryin t’ go? I may not be able to take you into town, but I can get you close and in the right direction.” Elvis pulled his map out before he showed the preacher the town he was trying to reach. The preacher looked at it briefly before he continued down the road. He was so close to having her back in his arms, he could feel it. The trees breezed past him. The rain starting to get lighter till it was just a drizzle. The radio in the truck was on a local country station. Sweet dulcet sounds of the blues, slow jazz, and bluegrass filled the air. It reminded Elvis of Memphis. It reminded him how much he needed her back home with him.

Soon, the pair of men pulled of to the side of the road. Elvis couldn’t see anything human like around, no buildings, or signs. The clouds still hung around but the rain was gone.

“Well this is as far as I can take you tonight son. I’ve gotta be home in time for supper. But if you just keep followin’ this road down about another few minutes you’ll see a little church. Walk about 5 minutes and then you’ll see the main town. I hope you find this lovely lady of yours son. I’ll pray that you find her.” And with a thank you thrown by Elvis, he grabbed his bag and set off for town.

The preacher was right. After just a few minutes of walking again he saw a little church. It was a small and modest building but he knew it was just a few more minutes to town. The ache from his feet and legs crept up to his body. His arms and shoulders slumped with the weight of his bag. His head felt heavy as exhaustion crept into him. But his heart felt light. He felt exciting at the thought of seeing her again. It had been eight days now that he hadn’t seen her, held her. One of the shirts she left had begun to lose her perfume. But he saw the lights of the town up ahead and picked up his pace.

~

“Come on darlin’. We’re gettin’ you out a this mess.” Elvis said, grabbing her gently by the waist and ushered her to the car. It was the dead of night and he knew they needed to get out of there before anyone inside the house woke up.

“Do you really think it’ll work? They’ll find us baby. I know they will. And then they’ll take me away and I can’t do that to you! Not now, not ever!” She said, tears streaming down her face. The Cadillac was packed with everything she couldn’t live without including some clothing, books, and pictures from their relationship. Elvis took her shaking hands in one of his and cupped her cheek with the other. He forced her to look him in the eyes while he spoke.

“Darlin’ I swear t’ ya. I will protect you with everythin’ in me. I swear on my momma that I will keep you safe from anyone and anythin’ that wants to cause you harm.” She looked in his eyes and saw how serious he was. These weren’t some silly promises she had been given by the people meant to protect her. This was an oath. An oath he didn’t intend to break. As she nodded, he pulled her into his embrace and caressed the back of her head. He saw a light flicker on inside the house and made his way to the passenger side of the car. She got in and panicked when she saw all the lights that were now on in the house.

Elvis burned rubber as he tore out her driveway. The dirt road kicking up dust in the winter drought the town had been experiencing. But he didn’t pay the house another glance as he got out of there. He took a left at the big oak tree, kept going past the blue church with the white door, hung a right at the small general store that had a lovely dog to greet him anytime he stopped there. The lake that was frozen over was on his left and he just kept going. Once he made it to the highway back to Tennessee, he reached over and placed a hand on her thigh. She placed her hand right on top of his and she slowly relaxed as he drove both of them home.

~

He must have come in a different way then before because he didn’t see the lake, but he did see the general store. He walked past it, and took a left. He found the blue church with the white door and just kept walking. He was so close. So close to her. He took a right at the big oak tree and saw that house in the distance. That retched house. There was nothing about that place that made it a home. Not for her, not for anybody. But there were no lights on. His watch told him it was 10:00 at night. He set his bag down in the yard of the next house over and stalked over to the house. He hoped she was in the same room as last time, but it had been over a year since she had last been here so it’s entirely possible she wasn’t. He found the old ladder he used to climb when he snuck into her window. As he climbed, he noticed the planks of wood that now almost completely covered her window. There was a small sliver exposed, just enough that she could tell what time of day it was but not enough to actually be affected by the rays of the sun or moon.

But he was determined. Elvis was determined to bring her home. So as he reached the top of her window, he saw the small candle light flicker through the crack in the wood. She was writing something but he couldn’t tell what it was. She looked paler than usual, her hair was lifeless and her skin dull. She looked a lot skinnier than when he saw her last. He braced off the small ledge the wooden planks provided and finally felt relief that he found her again. Through all the many miles he traveled, the rain that threatened him and the people he met along the way. He finally found her.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, “Darlin’!” He said a little louder, trying not to wake the other occupants of the house. Her hand stopped its writing and her head snapped up. He saw the relief flood her at the thought that Elvis was here, that he was actually here.

“Elvis!”