#[ answered ] throw away your books and rally in the streets.

[discocactusblogs]

Heather- Jason Todd x Chubby Reader Pt.1

{Author's Note: _____ is a blank to put your name}

"Girl, just tell him!" Barbara whispered and nudged me towards my best friend, Jason Todd aka Robin, the boy wonder.

I had found out about him being Batman's sidekick when we were 13, shortly after he became Robin.

"Easy for you to say! Look at you! You're gorgeous! You're fit and thin and redheaded! Just look at me… I'm...not so fit... I'm chubby. I'm a plain bagel. I'm not ugly but I'm not exactly pretty either." I sighed and gestured to my chubby body.

" ______, I know what I'm telling you. Just tell him." She sighed. "Besides, you're gorgeous too! And very intelligent and mature for a fifteen-year-old!" Barbara smiled, holding up a banana like a wand.

"As if. What guy my age sees a girl and goes, 'What a lovely personality?' Get real Babs, no one wants a plain bagel." I shrugged.

"Welp, I gotta get going or I'll be late for work. But trust me, he won't turn you away." She turned away, obviously knowing something I didn't.

"Hey _____!" Jason spoke as he walked up to me from the curb of the grocery store, I had gone to buy some fruit my mom had told me to get.

"Hey Jay." I sighed with a slight blush on my cheeks.

"Are you okay? It's kinda cold today… Where's your jacket?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"My jacket!" I gasped. "I forgot it at school!"

"School's closed now. They just locked the gate." He replied with a shrug.

"My mom's going to kill me. That's the only jacket I have!" My eyes watered, knowing my mother was going to be furious with me when I got home.

"Take mine then. I have others at home." He unzipped his hoodie.

"N-no. It's fine. I can get it Monday from school." I spoke softly while staring at the ground.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders. "I said, take it. Besides, it looks better on you than me. It goes well with your hair color. Here, let me hold your stuff so you can get it on." He smirked, knowing I wouldn't refuse if he spoke sternly with me. He took the bag from my hands and I looked at him. "Zip. It. Up." He frowned.

"Yes sir." I put my arms in the jacket and zipped it up. He was bigger and bulkier than I was, so the jacket fit me rather loosely and was down to my mid thighs but it was comfortable and warm. Much warmer than the jackets and sweaters I had before.

"Hm… keep it. I know your dad hasn't been working a lot lately. It gets pretty cold so you can keep that one. Bruce got me some others at home. Just don't tell anyone, got it? I only share with you because I've known you since we were kids. You took care of me so I'm taking care of you." He looked at me, handing back the bag of fruit. "Now, don't think I'm getting soft or being a gentleman. You're still carrying your stuff." He smirked.

I smiled and chuckled. "Thanks." I took the bag and walked down the street with him.

"Hi Jason!" An annoying voice called out from the ice cream shop.

"Hm? Oh, hey Heather." Jason turned around and seemed slightly irritated.

"Are you going to the pep rally tonight?" Heather asked with fluttering eyelashes. She was Jason's girlfriend.

Dark hair, slim figure, bright eyes, how could I compete with that?

"Uh, no." He replied flatly.

"Why not, I'm going to be performing!" She countered.

"I'm just not feeling it. I don't like pep rallies." He shrugged. "Not my thing."

"Okay then. Wanna get some ice cream?" She asked.

"Go ahead and go home ______, I'll catch up later." He looked apologetically at me and walked across the street.

I nodded and kept walking.

I watched as Heather smiled and hugged him.

It hurt.

He was dating her and she was so sweet. Everyone loved her so, I can see why he did too. She always had a smile on her face.

I kept walking, tears stinging my eyes. There's no way I could ever be like her. He liked her more and would run to her at the drop of a hat.

Arriving at home, I stepped inside. "Hey mom! I'm back!" I set the bag on the counter.

"Oh good! Make sure you do your homework!"

"Yes ma'am!" I sigh and go up to my room, closing the door.

Out of instinct, I called my friend, Valerie.

"A simple solution to your problem is to play spin the bottle or something." She teased.

"Why would he ever kiss me? I'm nowhere near as pretty as Heather!" I clutch the sleeves of the hoodie before taking it off and throwing it onto my bed.

"He gave her his sweater." My eyes watered as I told her what had happened at school that day.

"The black one or the fake polyester one?" Valerie asked.

"The black one."

"Oh dear. I'll be right over." She hung up.

"Is it wrong to wish she were dead?" I chuckled softly when Valerie came through my bedroom door.

"Yes. It's your jealousy and I'm gonna chop off your legs if you continue on this path, Anakin." Valerie smirked.

"Dude, I was kidding." I turn in my swivel chair.

"Yeah, it was a failed attempt at a joke. I'm sorry about Jason. If it makes you feel better, Bradley dumped me." She looked at the ground.

"Here's the plan, I drive the car and Jason shoves him into the road and we make it look like an accident." I spoke whilst drawing out the plan.

"Don't worry about it."

"Worry about what?" Jason walked in.

"Oh, you came!" Valerie smiled.

I looked at her, what a traitor.

"So, I heard you gave Heather your sweater!"

"This one?" He held up said object. "Eh, we broke up. She liked someone else and so did I." He sat on a beanbag chair.

"Wait what? But you really liked her and she's so nice!" I exclaim in shock.

"Relax ______, it was mutual." He chuckled. "There's actually something I came to talk to you about." He seemed nervous, his cheeks tinting red and so were the tips of his ears.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll go get water." Valerie got up, stretched and went downstairs.

"I don't know how to say this. This is difficult for me but… I'm sorry. I don't want to be your friend anymore." He sighed.

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Yeah. I'm...tired of it." He stood up.

"But Jason, you're my best friend!"

"I know. Hey, do you know what material this shirt is?" He checked his shirt.

"Jason, now's not the time-"

"Answer!"

"I don't know! Cotton, maybe?!" I was growing panicked and my eyes were stinging with tears.

"Wrong, it's boyfriend material. And so is that hoodie." He smirked.

I stood in silence.

"What?" He asked.

"Jason Peter Todd, are you...asking me to be your girlfriend????" I stood, mouth agape in shock.

He smirked and nodded. "Sure thing buttercup! I... love you." His face turned beet red.

"Why? I'm not pretty. I'm not slim or fit or anything-"

"Because you're smart, and cute, you're kind and brave. You're so cool too and geek out with me. We both nerd out over science stuff and books. What's not to love???" The look on his face was one of pure confusion, as if the answer was as clear as day.

"Jason, I love you too." I spoke in a hushed whispers as a few years fell from my eyes.

"Don't cry! Why are you crying???"

"I'm just happy! I've liked you for so long!"

"So have I but I'm not crying!"

"I didn't think you'd like me because I'm chubby!"

"What?! You think I'm that shallow? I'm offended!"

"Jay and ______ sitting in a tree~" Valerie teased from the doorway.

"Val!" We exclaimed in unison, Jay pulling me into a side hug.

"Fine! I'mma head out!" She grabbed her backpack and left.

A few days later, Jason was going to leave for a mission that I didn't want him to go on. I knew how dangerous it was for him to go alone.

"I'm leaving...for Bosnia. Bats needs my help." He looked at me sadly.

"Jay, please. Don't go. What if something happens?" I pleaded, clutching onto him tightly.

It was only a few days ago that he confessed to me and we were trying to figure out where to go with our relationship, which led to this argument.

"I'll come back. I promise." He kissed the top of my head. "Love ya." He smirked. His forest green eyes shone in the sunlight like an emerald.

He seemed so confident that he would be okay.

"Jason, no! I have a bad feeling you're not coming back!" I pleaded harshly, grabbing his wrist and asking him to stay.

"I'm just going to meet my birth mom, I'll be fine!" He assured me. "Here, hold onto my jacket for me." He took off his leather jacket and handed it to me.

I nodded with tears escaping the corners of my eyes. "I love you Jason…" I said as I watched him hop into the car and leave. Little did I know that would be the last time I ever saw him.

I kept that jacket with me at all times after that.

A few weeks went by without a word from Jason and the pit on my stomach only grew, the only thing keeping me sane was the scent of his cologne on his jacket that lingered still.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to go to Wayne Manor and ask if anyone's heard from Jason. It was then my heart shattered into pieces.

"Miss ______, I am so terribly sorry. I thought someone had already told you… Master Jason died last week." Alfred sat me down at the kitchen counter for tea.

My eyes widened and the porcelain teacup fell from my hand, shattering onto the tile floor. Tears flowed from my eyes like a cerulean waterfall. "No one told me!" I shouted, falling to my knees to clean up the mess with blurry eyes.

"Miss ______, I can get it." Alfred stopped me, only to realize I was bleeding from a deep cut from a glass shard on the top of my hand, a cut that would leave a scar for years to come.

"He can't be dead… he promised he would come back." I whispered, not even flinching from the cut.

"Here, allow me to tend to that." Alfred took out the first aid kit and cleaned the wound, giving it a few stitches.

"How…?" I asked, flinching from pain.

"... The Joker. Master Bruce didn't make it in time." He replied, the sorrow evident in his tone.

I nodded and thanked him for the help and the tea.

"Send a car to take her home." I heard Bruce from the doorway.

"Right away, Master Bruce." Alfred excused himself.

"His funeral is this Saturday if you'd like to come." Bruce turned away from me.

"I'll be there. Time?"

"Noon."

"See you then."

When the funeral finally took place, the reality of Jason's death set in. He wasn't coming back like he promised. I left a rose on his casket and bawled as I watched them lower the casket with my best friend and love of my life, into the dark, cold ground and with it, my heart.

"You promised." I whispered to myself, looking away from the scene. It was then I decided I wanted to be a nurse to help heal people.

Five years later, my dream of being a nurse was nearly achieved. I was two years away from graduating and I went to visit Jason every day on the way home from work. I still lived with my parents since I was a student at the local university, thanks to Bruce.

When I approached the door, that's when I saw it. A single rose on the bench outside the door along with a cryptic letter. 'Hang in there.' it said with a happy face at the end.

I was stumped but the notes and roses kept happening at least once a week and they soon came every day. At least, until the night that would change my life forever.

(Part Two)

(Masterlist)

#jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #batfam #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #batfam fanfic

[kyle-valenti]

burnout only feels like burning

2.7k / Summary: kyle valenti doesn't have the same quarantine as his friends; an exploration of kyle's trauma during covid as a doctor. (tw depression & other triggers you’d imagine with this subject)

read & comment/ ao3

A little like the virus itself, Kyle’s relationship with his mask begins with worry, annoyance, and then pain. He’s more than happy to have the proper N-95 mask as they begin to get their first case at Roswell General but then a couple more patients trickle in and within a few days his skin is irritated and itching. Maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s the texts from his friends that he’s increasingly missing, but when the Regiment starts spouting off about how COVID is a joke he thinks it might be affecting his nerves too. By week three his former red mark left by the mask has become a permanent feature to his face and by week five it’s not a mark but a bruise instead. Blisters and cracks in his skin litter his hands from over-washing. His feet become so overused the pads of his feet feel numb and bruised and he wears through an entire pair of shoes.

Positivity has fled from his life by week seven and now he’s inside of a survival mode he’s never experienced. He thought after last year he’d be used to anything the world (or universe, rather, given all these aliens) could throw at him. Now what feels foolish, he had believed that there was nothing that could be worse than the previous pain of losing a patient or finding out his father had experimented on people’s lives. 

When he’s out of ventilators and CPAP machines because Albuquerque needs them more and he has to choose whether or not to save the life of an eighty five year old or a thirty two year old he remembers from high school, he breaks.

 Guilt is one thing, grief is another, but the pure rage he feels knowing that Max Evans is out on the town patrolling as some fucking cop and not someone who could heal most of this hospital makes him want to commit actual murder. Maybe trading the blood of an alien on his hands would feel less heart-wrenching. But no. Max had brought back Rosa and had paid the price. Quelling his anger, he went back to work.

 He slept at the hospital most nights in the height of it. Sure the couch was rough, but it was better than the other on-call doctor beds down the hall. Three twelve hour ER shifts of a usual work week doubled to five days of thirteen hour shifts. Soon there’s a week where he pulls double shifts for an entire week when one of his nurses is urgently hospitalized herself. Hospital directors had left them with no PPE except contaminated masks to reuse. Maria, Isobel, and Rosa are in the forefront of a drive to make and donate masks to his hospital after some social media posts that he doesn’t even see until the cloth masks arrive and his medical assistants give him their handwritten note. It makes him smile, but smiling feels so foreign that he almost wants to break from that.

 Visitors are no longer allowed which means Kyle isn’t allowed to use his bedside manner to comfort the family of patients. He has to facetime mothers, spouses, and children and hold the phone over a patient who can’t breathe without machine assistance and pretend that everything is fine and that there’s still hope despite the hypoxia and lack of rising vitals. Ignore that if the patient goes into cardiac arrest more than once, the kindest thing to do given prognosis is to let the patient pass. Resuscitation and DNR (a patient’s begging request to not be resuscitated) becomes a word he uses in his daily work and not simply for intense surgeries.

 Exhaustion isn’t a deep enough adjective to describe the fugue state he goes into. File to file, room to room, ventilator to next… he isn’t surprised when his body starts to wear down. When he no longer feels hunger and instead feels all too hot and dizzy. Telling himself it’s just because of how much he’s exerting his body while covered in layers and layers of protective clothing doesn’t help the fact that he’s starting to have more trouble breathing as he walks the hallways at a fast pace. When he begins to cough, he does what he promised himself he wouldn’t do and drives out post-shift to the desert cabin of Max Evans.

 Part of him is too desperately tired to knock, but when he arrives on the property with the cop car idle and the house dark and at peace for the night, his fury greets him with the embrace of a long-lost friend. Knuckles pound at the wood and Max answers the door with surprise and a general look of defense, and Kyle tries not to immediately punch him in the face at the fact he looks like he had woken up from a comfortable sleep.

 “Heal me.” Kyle manages to spit out.

 “I—what’s wrong?”

 “Beginning stages of respiratory distress, fever, nausea—what do you fucking think?”

 “Kyle—,” Max starts to say, the hesitation deepening, and that does it.

 “No. I have not asked you for anything in all of this, Evans. Anything!” He shouts, voice hoarse. “Not when people got sick, not when they started dying, not even when we started having to let people die on purpose. And you know what? I wasn’t going to even come and ask you now, but I can’t get sick when I’m the one here fucking saving lives out of the two of us and you’re just cruising the streets handing out goddamn traffic tickets.”

 Max’s face isn’t stony like it usually is when Kyle’s yelling at him; this time it’s crushed and guilty but not nearly enough. “What kind of hours you work this week, Evans? A nice 8 to 4? Did you get facetime with Isobel or your mom, maybe binge through a few books and movies after you’re home? Did you sit down and eat a nice dinner and or go over to drink a few beers with Guerin since you can’t get sick? Even get a nice eight hours of sleep in your own bed in your nice quiet home?”

 No response.

 “I am not asking to sequence your DNA like Liz. All I am asking is for you to let me heal people since you don’t want to.”

 A night breeze is all that makes noise for a moment as Kyle catches his breath and glares at Max, who stands quietly but is staring down at his boots before he finally looks up and nods. Max steps forward then, and Kyle sees that his eyes are actually filled with tears. Temper deflating, but still not subsiding entirely, given that not much else is able to be done; Kyle lets Max place a hand on his shoulder and feels the extremely weird feeling spread throughout his body. Something more electric than anything else, which God knew made a lot more sense concerning his powers and how the body operated with electrical nerve impulses, but that is a train of thought better left for another day. He wants to just walk away, and he almost does, but he still mutters a “thank you” before he does so.

When his nurse dies a few days later and he watches as the staff double bag her body to take to the morgue, he escapes to his office and crashes on his couch with sobs. There’s no one here to support him. He can’t go to his mother’s home and collapse into one of her comforting embraces without risking infecting her. He can’t get wasted at the Wild Pony with Maria when it’s closed. He can’t visit Rosa or Arturo at the Crashdown. Keeping his friends and family safe meant keeping them away from him. Keeping them safe meant he needed to stop pushing his head into his hands to try and control the sound of his crying and get back to work at saving the lives around them.

He gets put on leave by the hospital administrator when he’s almost arrested for decking Wyatt Long in the hospital parking lot as the idiot stood outside with a sign rallying Regiment members to make sure the hospital was told it was killing people on purpose for the election. If Jenna hadn’t been the officer on duty he would have been cuffed and put on record, jeopardizing his license, but there was some self-preserving part of him that desperately wished for his practice to be over anyway. He’s not even sure how Jenna handles it, honestly, all he remembers is her dropping him off at his house from her patrol car like she had been nothing but an uber. No matter how angry and adamant he gets, his boss refuses to bend, saying it’s for his own good given the connections the Long’s have in the town and how Kyle has worked almost 74 of the past 76 days.

Alex is the first to visit him, unannounced. When the doorbell rings Kyle is mindlessly pretending to watch some tv show in his living room that’ll distract him from his consuming thoughts about patients, so he doesn’t get up to answer. He checks his silent phone to see if he was forewarned of a visitor but sees nothing. Unsure if it’s his boss or a patient’s family, he forces himself up onto his sore feet and opens the door after grabbing a regular mask off the coffee table. Black face mask on and standing further out from the door on the porch is Alex, the usual gruff hello turned into something soft. “Hey.”

Kyle heaves a sigh. He had wondered when the pity visits would begin. “Hey. You really shouldn’t be around me, you know.”

“I’m clearly a minimum of eight feet away in an open space while masked.” Alex smarts back. “Either way, I’m worried about you.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about getting sick, because if I have to see another person I care about die, I--,”

“Kyle.” the other says too kindly, the sort of pacifying voice Alex reserved for only the most dire situations. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with in specifics, but my experiences do overlap with yours in some places.”

“And?”

Maybe it came out a little too rude, because Alex raises a brow, but then sighs instead. “And I’m just checking in to make sure you know people care about you.”

“Thanks, Manes.” Kyle huffs in return, managing not to roll his eyes because focusing on being blunt and abrasive was so much easier.

“Just be careful.” Alex interjects before Kyle could close the door and turn back to his show. “Dealing with the trauma of what you’re dealing with gets dark very quickly.”

“Because I punched Wyatt Long?” he spits back sarcastically.

“No, because the suicide rates for healthcare professionals are drastically increasing along with the rates of PTSD diagnoses.” Alex says flatly, ever one to be unfazed by sarcasm. “And I’ve lost more active duty members to suicide than I have combat.”

Kyle pauses, caught. Maybe Alex had known he would be, because there isn’t some way he can give a smile and reassuring wave with him like he could his mother or Liz. While Kyle hadn’t actively thought of a plan, he couldn’t pretend he had noticed signs of depression the second he was alone in his house. 

“The quiet is the worst part, right?” Alex says, all but reading his mind. “Not always because of the flashbacks, although those are horrible, but because if things are quiet then--,”

“--people are dying.” Kyle finishes, his voice raspier by the end of the three words. “Yeah, well, mine still are.”

“They’re going to.” Is what felt like a cold response, but somehow gave Kyle the understanding he’s been craving. “They’re going to die and because of your profession you’re going to be able to save some of them. Which will make you think you’re responsible to save all of them and because you’re a good person you’re going to feel guilty in ways that no one will understand for being human and failing to.”

“Failing is all I do lately.” Kyle replies. “Usually the wins feel higher than the losses as a doctor, but with this-- and no one outside of it cares. They go outside and yell about how this is about a fucking election and when it’s not the patients, it’s the hospital pretending they don’t have enough money to buy us proper protection. Or the government saying this will all go away and that it’s just a light cold.”

Alex gives a small nod. “I know. I also know telling you the same advice that you’d give another doctor of trying not to burn out and instead taking a small rest is useless. So I’m just going to drop off these dvd’s and make you report back to me the difference when you’re done.”

Star Trek and Star Wars. Kyle finds a smile tug on his lips. Alex leaves with one on his as well.

When he gives a response to Alex a few days later on how Star Wars is better not more than a few minutes later Deluca is texting him with recommendations on joining her Buffy the Vampire Slayer rewatch. There’s something sweet about the fact that people have been clearly talking about him, even if definitely borderline creepy with how nosy his circle of friends can be, but he sighs and lets Maria add him to the group chat she has with Rosa and Liz where they review each episode after the fact and even chimes in every now and then. Isobel gets added not long after due to an Instagram story Maria shares and then the group has moved onto Friends after everyone shoots down Liz for suggesting Grey’s Anatomy on behalf of Kyle. Alex is also in there, even if it’s rare he chimes in with an opinion, but once they start Friends his commentary about how much he hates Ross that gets the entire group riled up does tend to make him laugh. Even Kyle agrees with Forest-- whose opinion had been shared by Alex-- that Chandler had all too many queer-coded scenes with Joey.

His mother facetimes him daily, which given how they both don’t exactly go out much starts to become monotonous, until she begins to give in and talk about memories she has of their father. Tidbits she never would have shared with him about their adult life when he was a child or teenager. He in turn facetimes Rosa and shares some of the memories of their father as well, which as much as she tries to pretend she doesn’t want for Arturo’s sake she clearly does with the million questions she asks every single time and the small smile she gives him at the end of their calls.

Liz updates him on her work which is a nice reprieve from everyone’s normalcy and lack of medical jargon sometimes, especially when she gives him inside info on covid vaccine studies not yet published to the general public yet. Everything in him wants this more than anything else in the world right now and he texts her almost every day asking if she’s heard more news even when he knows things take time. She’s a good sport about everything, even when he shares in a very angry rant about Max Evans and how they could have helped so many more people so much more quickly with his DNA-- however selfish that might have been.

When he goes back to work, he feels refreshed, even when it makes things hit like a freight train once more. Lost in a sea of inadequacy, his feelings extend past the pandemic. Even when things return to a level of normalcy and the cases subside he gets alien medical drama thrown in his face once more, and he starts to wonder if he’ll ever recover. If he was wrong to choose this calling. If the fact he can’t help Max or Maria is a sign from above or his father that it’s time to make some career move or change location like his mother and Liz. But, like he tells Michael Guerin. He can’t think he can face his future children and say he walked away from this. Or let people die by quitting, just like Rosa warns. And so he stays and tries to heal both other people and himself.

#so yeah this was the lighter version #i had to stop before things got to dark for my own mind #also genuinely feel like the mentions he gives to rosa about feeling lost #should stem from this if the writers aren't cowards #kyle valenti #rnm fic #kyle valenti fic #roswell new mexico #tw covid #tw depression #my fic #my post

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 22: Deader is Better (Loki x OFC Pairing)

It was exactly one day before the greatest holiday of all time, and not just because I was the most powerful I'd ever be that year. The streets were packed with people, every parking lot was booked solid, every parking space even, residents were even renting out some of their spaces for pocket money. Loki and I helped out Zari with her little store in exchange for letting us crash at her place, Loki was both surprised and delighted by how accepting people were of him even after asking if he was who he was. I explained to him that while the country as a whole has a longass way before it can be completely progressive and welcoming, Salem, being one of the first historical places here that destroyed itself in fear and intolerance, was probably the first to turn that around. It went from burning, hanging, crushing, and torturing people that were considered different and therefore dangerous to welcoming the different and weird as one of their own. No one even cared he took over New York, what they saw was an alien army attacking the city and a god that brought a bunch of heroes together to stop them.

"If Asgard were still around, I wish it had a city like this, celebrating magic and welcoming the weird as you'd say," mused Loki.

"Isn't there a realm entirely like that? Where the Light Elves live?"

"Look at you, trying to learn my culture," he teased. "It was where my mother learned magic and passed it onto me, yes. But we didn't go there often enough for me to call it another home. Most of the time, if we went anywhere it was to beat the natives into submission thanks entirely to Thor."

"For all the advancements your people had on us, the technology, the magic, the fuckton more years in a lifespan, you're not that far off in some idealogies from us. Rarely does peaceful methods end a dispute between peoples. Oh sure, there's been tons of times we tried that, it rarely works in our favor though. Peaceful rallies or marches are usually ended with police brutality they claim is the right way even when they're throwing tear gas grenades at unarmed civilians, tazing random protesters they later claim as dangerous, or just blasting them with high pressured firemen hoses. It always ends badly, with injuries, false claims, and injustice. I'd seriously love to meet Odin just to tell him he ain't special."

Loki smiled at this and kissing the top of my head. "I shouldn't be proud of you despising him like I did, but I am anyway. I am glad you met my mother in some form though, I had a feeling she'd like you."

"She told me to trust you and that in doing so, you'd stay with me as no one else besides Thor if even that, has trusted you since you came here indefinitely. A lonely existence that is, everyone keeping you at arms length. I can understand that, outside of Salem, skin color alone is an excuse not to trust someone, people see someone that looks like they're past their expiration date like me and they go running. Hell, even hair color or skin ink can keep you from getting jobs here, we're still an extremely regressive country. Not worth saving anytime soon."

"Then why bother?"

"Because unfortunately I'm one of the idiots inhabiting it with no way to some place better."

"I asked Thor why he fought so hard to protect this speck of a planet once, don't recall him giving me a good answer but yours shall suffice, if nothing else, because you're part of it."

"Whoa, hold your eight legged horses, you really don't need to do that...at all. Just find a way out of here if we can't at least save this city, the Avengers can handle this planet and if they can't...well at least they tried right? We don't need to get involved when neither of us signed any kind of hero contract like they did."

"You sure?"

"I'm not just sure...I'm HIV positive."

"You'd have to be alive to contract that disease and I'm not quite sure it would transmit to something already dead."

I opened my mouth to retaliate but something else stayed my tongue for a moment, something felt wrong, unnatural even. "Listen...do you smell that?" I asked curiously. Loki didn't get a chance to answer as a great surge of necro-power struck me full force and I was sent flying back several feet away, breaking several trees of the park we were enjoying till then along the way before my back slammed against a particularly thick one and I stopped flying. A dull pain exploded from my chest mere inches from where the stone was protecting my important bits and cool black blood lightly dripped from my lips. I looked down at where the pain came from and blinked in surprise.

"Oh look I've been impaled," I mused before breaking off the branch sticking out of my body and stepped away from the tree behind me. I looked for the source of the power surge and glared as I spotted the culprit walking toward us.

"Are you hurt?" asked Loki warily.

"Just a flesh wound," I assured him, gathering power from behind into my arms and fists. "You might wanna sit this one out though."

"No no, let him try," the attacker taunted as he got closer to us.

"I knew I smelled something rotten in the wind," I muttered. "What is it this time? First the heart, now the brain rotting away, would make sense if it was you that sold us all out."

The man before us glowered at me then flashed rotting, blackened teeth, while for the most part he looked alive, he was essentially rotting from the inside out. "You aren't the only one with a stone organ, my head will remain just as much as your heart does till I rip that out of you."

I arched an eyebrow. "Lemme guess, one of your Hydra buddies was a brain surgeon or so he claims. They all think themselves doctors of something that organization, not one medical degree posted when I was with them though, kinda makes you wonder."

"They don't need doctors for corpses," he snapped.

"You sure you're not braindead? Cuz I'm sure coroners and morticians both require a medical degree to be licensed with the job."

"Have a few run-ins with those folks have you?" he sneered. "You know the best part about you was at the very least being a warm body at the end of the day, now you don't even have that."

I snorted at his attempt to insult me. "Oh hun, the best part of you ran down your mother's legs. You gonna bark all day, you little bitch, or are you gonna bite?"

He held his hands to his head and another ball of smoke and lightning came hurtling at us but this time it was aiming for Loki at breathtaking speed, he was essentially pulling an Azula on me thinking I'd either let Loki get hit or take it myself but I saw his Azula and raised him a Dumbledore, telling my guiding spirits to yank him away from the path of the ball as I wouldn't be fast enough to help myself. I waved my hand toward Loki and he was suddenly swept aside and away from the direct battle ahead. Loki scrambled to his feet, a dagger in each hand and returning to his battle armor swiftly, glancing at me in shock. I mouthed a sorry to him before focusing all my attention to the rotten necromancer in front of me.

"Targeting what's mine isn't your best move when you really don't need to give me more motives to decapitate you than you already have," I warned.

"I know he's your weakness though. I want to see just how weak he really makes you," he sneered. "If what doesn't kill you makes you strong, what about when you're already dead."

"You're well on your way to finding that out yourself, hun. I can help answer that for you though." I thrust out a hand and black lightning flew from my fingertips. My rival managed to shield some of it with his own magic but as he wasn't a demi god the impact of that much power still sent him flying back. I didn't wait for him to get up though as I charged at him with a ball of power around each fist.

He rolled away right before I could punch in his head and destroy the stone inside it and got to his feet as I stood up, charging at me as I straightened up so we were suddenly toe to toe trying to kill each other. For a solid few minutes it was just dodging and exchanging blows and balls of energy before he decided to get sneaky and tried to slash me with his ceremonial dagger hidden in his boot. I dodged it just enough to not actually cut me but it did do some damage to my hoodie which had me glaring at him as I loved my hoodies. From there, it was throwing either each other, balls of power, or punches at each other with him occasionally trying to throw power at Loki who quickly learned to keep an eye on his attacks as much as I was without interfering, this wasn't his fight anymore. The ground around us was starting to look barren and dead from the effects of our powers used against one another, the grass brittle and brown. We both paused for a moment, both battered and frustrated neither of us were getting the upper hand with what we were doing.

"Why won't you stay down?!" he demanded.

I scoffed. "What is dead can never die. What's your dilemma here? What did Hydra even offer you to make you switch sides?"

"A chance to be something greater than this, the other necromancer, to be a demigod."

"And how's that working out for you?" I asked in bemusement. "They aren't higher powers, they're hired powers, there's a difference. There's no cutting corners on that one, ask nicely or die trying. How did you know where to find me? On the plane?"

"I had a spook tail you, not all the spirits are on your side you know."

"The good ones are, the rest are usually locked or exorcised so kudos on finding one of the select few willing to help a brother out."

He narrowed his eyes at me, collecting powers as he did. "If I'm not given what I want, then I'll have to take it myself just like I did with the other necromancers that went against me."

"And that's why no matter where that stone is surgically implanted in you, you will never be one of us, going against your own kind for something you'll never get." I lowered one hand to the ground and reached into the earth with just death magic alone, calling for something very specific as I waited for him to make the first move this time. "Especially not from me."

"And what makes you so special?" he demanded.

"Come here and find out." He lunged forward, taking the bait and I dropped to one knee at the last second, dodging his power-fist at the same time a rotted hand burst from the ground with my own dagger I snatched up and sliced into my enemy's rotted guts. He stumbled back, his free hand going to his stomach as he was weakened but not done for, the stone keeping him barely alive inside him. "Almost seems pointless since you're already decaying inside."

He looked at the wound I gave him from my dagger and glared at me as it was already speeding up the process. "You little cunt."

"Let me guess, you're gonna kill me, right? Join the line of people with empty threats they never finish."

Black lightning danced around his head and down to his body, staving off the spreading death from reaching his neck but not healing the blade wound either. "Should I rip out your soul first or your stone?"

"You say that like you've actually gotten the upper hand in this fight but who here has the unhealed wound and who here has survived worse?" I retorted.

He sneered at me with his rotten teeth and lunged forward once more but being the slimy little bastard he was, pulled his dagger apart so there were actually two identical ones and threw one at my leg while making a bee line around me with the other dagger at Loki. I gritted my teeth as the dagger hit its mark in my thigh and not wasting time even to take it out of me, threw a power ball at him from behind so he couldn't dodge it and sent him off his course to my lover. I then took out the dagger in my leg and limped over to the bastard despite the agony burning through the entire limb. I didn't wait for him to get up and kicked him hard in the head right where I guessed the stone was before aiming for the wound I gave him with my blade. "Silly asshat, kicks are for ribs." His snapped under my leather boots. He tried to throw the other knife he still had at Loki but I caught it this time and dissolved the twin dagger like I did the one in my leg. I grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up, and slamming into another park tree while holding him in place.

"You really wanna know why you can't kill me after all this time?" I challenged.

"You don't scare me, Nell," he choked out.

I recalled what the Wiccan seer had told me and let go of everything holding me back. "I can fix that. You can't kill a Horsemen." A different kind of power rippled throughout my body, not necromancy, but something stronger, eternal and deadly and incomparable. The entire arm and hand holding him up was skeletal as was half my face and that's when fear started to leak into his. He fought and wiggled in my grasp, trying to pry my bones off his neck but my finger bones just dug in deeper while he kicked at me. I raised my free hand, also all bones, and went for his head, aiming for the stone still managing to keep him alive when his throat was slowly being punctured and torn. And then the world seemed to pause, everything went silent and still, everything was frozen even including most of me as I couldn't seem to reach the stone in his head but was poised to grab it out of his forehead. And then something else happened, something that only happened to me when something very specific was coming. I got what Peter Parker would call the "the Peter tingle" and chills ran up and down my body despite the whole lack of nerves and feelings thing I had being a skeleton.

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki romance #avengers #zombies #necromancy #necromancer #nell the necromancer #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki x nell

[whentommymetalfie]

The Right Track 

A/N: Well here’s my first installment of an omegaverse AU, which at the moment is mainly focused on ‘what to expect when you’re expecting’. If you’d like a tiny bit of background for the AU before reading, check out this HC 

Summary: Tommy has some news for Alfie, but struggles to tell him. And it doesn't help that Alfie is terribly distracted and doesn't seem to have time for him right now. But Tommy tries, still. 

Pairing: Alfie x Tommy 

Notes/warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mpreg, brief discussion about abortion 

Wordcount: 4700

The Garrison is empty. And even though Tommy quite enjoys the bustle of a Friday evening when it’s full to the brim, this is a welcome respite. Especially considering the circumstances. One of the perks with working at the pub (besides the obvious fact that it’s the only real job related to the family business anyone will let him come within a ten mile radius of) is that there’s at least one place in the world that he’s got some kind of control over.

Today he’s exerted that control by flipping the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the door.

”You have to tell him at some point, you know.” Ada looks up from her whiskey. The second one she’s poured herself since he told her the news.

Tommy stirs his tea with a straw that he’s fished out from a box behind the bar, just to have something to occupy his hands with.

“I know. I’m just… trying to find the right moment.”

“He’ll notice on his own sooner or later, otherwise,” Ada points out. “He’s not the clueless kind of alpha.”

“I know.”

“And how are you going to explain it when you spend every morning hunched over the toilet when the morning sickness hits? There’s only so many times he’ll buy a hangover excuse-“

“Ada.”

She throws her hands up in defeat, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows remain as she gives him a thoughtful look.

“Are you thinking of getting rid of it?”

“No!” Tommy exclaims and his hand shoots up to cover his belly before he can even understand what is happening. He quickly drops it back onto his lap and tries to will down the heat rising to his cheeks.

“It’s your body, Tommy, and if you feel that you’re not ready, no one can tell you what to do with it,”  Ada says, sounding like a politician who’s about to give a well- practiced speech “There’s nothing wrong-“

“Ada, please, not now,” Tommy says and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Save it for those fucking rallies.”

Ada harrumphs loudly.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to participate in those fucking rallies, it’s about your rights.

Tommy snorts. “Well then it’s also my right not to go and watch you ramble about shit you have no actual experience with. Stick to riling up the other alphas down in the factories.”

“Gender and class is linked. And me being an alpha doesn’t mean that I can’t-“

Tommy waves his hand dismissively, humming around the edge of his teacup in an attempt to stop this before it becomes a lecture. Any other day Ada would’ve been hurt, but he seems to get a free pass today due to the circumstances, so she just pushes herself off the bar disk to pace in front of it while Tommy buys himself some time and finishes his tea.

Once the cup is empty, he stares down at the tealeaves.

“I do want the baby,” he says after a long silence. “And I’m going to tell Alfie. It’s just that I-“

He cuts himself off because he can’t bring himself to say that last part –‘I want it to be special’. Because it sounds so stupid. Like he’s some wide eyed little thing who’s at home hanging fucking lacy curtains in the kitchen window, baking and waiting for their spouse to come home. But truth is he wants it to be special. He wanted to tell Alfie the second he suspected he might be pregnant. But then he waited, just to make sure. And once he was utterly sure -after a long conversation with Grace on the matter that he’d rather forget- it felt strange to simply… go home and tell Alfie. And the longer he’s waited, the more doubts have begun appearing, sinking their claws into his head and refusing to let go. What if Alfie doesn’t want a baby, when it really comes down to it? It’s so easy to just talk: Paint a pretty picture of what it’d be like, having a baby, start a family all of their own. ‘Maybe they’d have your eyes love? Imagine that!’

It's easy to talk. Now it’s suddenly reality.

Then he feels guilty.

This is Alfie. His Alfie. Tommy should have more faith in him. And Alfie was the one who brought up the idea of children in the first place, so why on earth wouldn’t he be thrilled about it? Logically, Tommy knows all this. He only needs to get all the anxious thoughts to listen.

“I’ll tell him,” he says to Ada, realising he’s been quiet for far too long. He fidgets with the edge of the straw. “Tonight.”  

Ada’s scent, sage and leather-bound books, surrounds him. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you, Tom. For both of you.”

She’s smiling. He can tell, even though he’s staring down at the bark disk. And he feels right then, that he’s happy too. A bubbling, sparkling kind of happiness that manages to drown out all the worry.

….

Turns out that once he’s made up his mind, he can’t possibly wait until tonight. So he goes to the brewery down by the docks to search out Alfie in his office, with renewed courage and a new lightness in his chest. Alfie will be happy. Thrilled, even.

“Afternoon, Thomas,” Eli greets him by the entrance with a smile and a polite nod. “The boss is in his office. Can you find the way yourself or do you want someone to accompany you?”

Tommy only rewards the question with a raised eyebrow, so Eli shrugs, continuing to smile politely and gestures for him to enter.

He ignores the curious stares from the various alphas milling about in the brewery, and quickly makes is way on towards the center of the building. He opens the door without knocking.

Alfie is sitting by his desk, hunched over a pile of papers and his heart, as always, skips a beat. He glances up when Tommy enters.

“You know I don’t like it when you wander around here on your own,” he grunts. “We’ve been over that. Not safe enough, these parts. Not yet, at least.”

Any other day, Tommy would simply roll his eyes at this. But now his stomach just clenches with worry. Alfie flips through a pile of papers. And Tommy finds himself just standing there, full of a strange new uncertainty. But then Alfie glances up and smiles a little.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s no way to greet the love of one’s life now, is it?” He gets up from his chair with some difficulty and beckons Tommy closer with a wave. “As well as husband and cherished mate. Go on, come here and give us a kiss.”

Tommy walks up to him, calmed by his mate’s scent the second it envelops him and allows Alfie to pull him in for a chaste kiss. Tea, pine needles and freshly baked bread. Home. Alfie lets go quicker than he would’ve liked and seats himself behind the desk again.

“So, any particular reason I’m blessed with your fair visage, or did you just miss me?” he asks, turning his attention back to the documents.  

Tommy tries to gather back his resolve. But something just feels… wrong now.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, feeling stupid the second he utters the words. Alfie only hums in acknowledgement, forehead creased and eyes fastened on the numbers in front of him. Tommy decides that it’s better to just have it over and done with, to hell with the consequences, takes a deep breath and-

And that’s when Alfie’s phone rings.

He answers and gestures for Tommy to sit in the leather armchair by the bookshelf, his usual spot when spending time in Alfie’s office. Tommy doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the window and looks out at the docks, trying to focus all his attention on what is happening outside. One of the barges have just docked, and large crates are being hauled from the deck, up onto land. A woman on a black horse rides past, and the horse shies away when a crate lands heavily on the cobbled street. Tommy watches the animal with undivided interest and tires to focus on that instead of his thundering heart.

Behind him, Alfie is speaking rapidly to someone in Yiddish. The horse and the woman disappears around a corner.

“Sorry, love, but I have some work to get to,” Alfie says and it takes a moment for Tommy to realise he’s speaking to him. He turns to watch Alfie rise from the desk and walk over to the hangers by the door, shrugging into his coat. He perches his hat on top of his head and grips his cane. “Shit that can’t wait, apparently. And the quicker I get to it, the quicker I can pay undivided attention to you.”

“Alright,” Tommy says, and hates how small his voice sounds. And he fucking hates the way his throat feels all tight.

Gently ushering him out the door, Alfie starts barking orders to someone at the opposite side of the brewery as he leads Tommy towards the exit.

“So, where should we drop you off, love?” He asks as they step out onto the street and waves for the driver to pull up.

Tommy shakes his head. “I’ll walk.”

Alfie furrows his brow, looking less than pleased. He scans the docks. Squints up at the sun, still quite a bit above the horizon. “Fine. But don’t let your aunt know. She thinks I’m being sloppy with your safety already. Fuckin’ell as if you’re not a grown, fully capable adult. And on top of that, I think that I’m in fact very thorough with everything where your well-being is concerned. Offensive, is what it is-“  

The car rolls up beside them. Alfie’s two employees wait for him to get in and he gives Tommy a final, questioning look. Tommy shakes his head again.  

“Fine. I’ll see you tonight, pet,” Alfie says and kisses his cheek, but his eyes are drifting. “I should be home in time for dinner. I’ll make you something nice, alright? To make up for this.”

Then he climbs into the front seat of the car, the two men get in the back, and soon, Tommy is alone on the street outside the brewery. All the bubbling happiness from before has died down to a small pitiful lump at the pit of his stomach.

He doesn’t go to the stables. Or the Garrison. Being around other people feels like an unbearable thought, and Grace is already covering for him. So instead he just goes home. The walk helps a little to clear his head. Alfie is just busy: things are always hectic right before a shipment, and Tommy’s got no fucking right to sulk about it. Still, it’s hard to completely rid himself of the unease. And he decides that he still needs to tell Alfie today, because the longer he’s alone with this, the louder all the anxious thoughts become.

Once he gets home, he decides that he’ll take care of the cooking, for once.

Tommy fucking hates to cook. It’s the principle of the thing: the utter unfairness that he was the only one of his siblings expected to spend time in the kitchen. Because it’s not an alphas job to cook, so why would any of them have to learn it? But that doesn’t mean that he can’t cook. And since Alfie never expects him to, and gladly takes care of both that and the dishes as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Tommy doesn’t mind it so much anymore. So he cooks.

He picks carefully among Alfie’s recipes and chooses one of his favorites.

The unease does simmer down as he stands there carefully slicing carrots into even pieces. Alfie is more appreciative of the rare instances when he cooks than Tommy deserves, and the thought of making him happy loosens the knot in his stomach.

He sets the table, takes care of the dishes and wipes down all the surfaces in the kitchen until it’s spotless. Glances at the clock. Alfie should be home soon. A bit of the earlier excitement is back; He can imagine what he’ll look like when he tells him, how happy he’ll be, how his eyes will light up. Maybe he’ll give Tommy one of those adoring looks, as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. When Alfie looks at him like that, Tommy can almost believe him.

He has time to wash up before dinner, so he does that too. Wants to smell nice for Alfie, wants to look good for him- While he does he practices quietly to say those words, to make sure he’s prepared. I’m pregnant. It feels strange and frightening but somehow wonderful all at the same time in an overwhelming cocktail. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Runs a hand over his stomach, which is still completely flat. Tries to imagine how it’ll look, how it’ll feel once the baby is a bit bigger, but it’s difficult because it’s so utterly surreal. Still, there’s an ounce of excitement at the idea. Not that he cares looking into where the excitement comes from, but it’s definitely there.

Back in the kitchen, he tastes the soup and decides that it’s alright. Good, even. He’ll never be quite as good as Alfie at cooking, simply because he doesn’t care enough, but it’s easy, following a recipe. And he wants it to be good. To make Alfie happy. He glances at the clock on the wall.

Alfie is a little late.

Tommy wipes down the counter again, even though it’s already clean. After some thought he lights a candle on the table.

He stirs the soup and lowers the heat on the stove a little.

Then he sits down by the table and waits. Tries to not imagine all the things that could be keeping Alfie from coming home…

It’s dark outside when the worry becomes too much to handle and he calls the office. Ollie picks up. But no, nothing has happened. He’d be the first to know if the meeting had gone wrong.

“Fucking Italians, always drag these things out. But that’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be home any minute now.”

Tommy hangs up and returns to the table.

He fidgets with a napkin, pulling at the threads. Tries to avoid looking at the clock.

When the darkness outside has turned from dusky gray to pitch black  and Alfie still hasn’t come home, he quietly blows out what is left of the candle, puts the dishes back in their cupboards and goes upstairs.

He undresses, carefully putting all the garments on the appropriate hangers. Puts on his nightshirt, one of Alfie’s old flannel shirts. Then he crawls into bed and curls up on his side, staring at the opposite wall, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

This is what it’ll be like. This is what you signed up for. You’ll be here, all alone with the baby, pacing back and forth and waiting for Alfie to come home. Is this the life you wanted?

For a long moment that seems to stretch into an eternity he thinks about how it’s not too late yet -he hasn’t told Alfie. He could still-

Keys rattle in the multiple locks on the front door.

Then, Alfie’s steps come up the stairs, and the bedroom door creaks open. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. The mattress dips behind him.

“Tommy?” Alfie’s voice is soft and his scent makes Tommy’s throat close up.

He swallows. It’s a lost battle, pretending to be asleep. Alfie always knows.

So he makes a noise, a quiet sort of hum.

“You’d made dinner.”

The tears are burning behind his closed eyelids now, and he tries to force down that lump in his throat before making another hum. Tries to sound at ease.

“I’m so sorry I was late, the meeting dragged on. I should’ve called you.”

“It’s fine.” Tommy whispers. He bites his tongue and wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Fuck this is pathetic. There’s something so deeply humiliating about the whole thing; about putting fucking effort in, about falling into some old stereotype he swore he’d never become-

“No, no it’s not fine. Fucking unacceptable is what it is.” Alfie’s fingers scratch gently in the nape of his neck. “You’d made everything so nice. And I know you hate cooking-“ Tommy can hear the little smile in his voice. He wants to say that he doesn’t hate cooking, he’ll do it for Alfie, he’ll do anything as long as he promises not to leave. And he fucking hates that instinct.

The distress is rolling off him in waves now, seeping out of his pores and wilting the floral scent that he’s loathed all his life. Up until the very moment he met Alfie.  

Tommy curls further into his protective ball when Alfie lies down behind him and pulls him close.

“I’m sorry,” Alfie repeats and presses a kiss in the nape of his neck.

But he can’t answer, because if he focuses on anything other than gritting his teeth together, he’ll begin to cry. As if this whole thing hasn’t been humiliating enough already.

Alfie is patient. He’s always been, when it comes to this. So he’s quiet for a long while.

“Well, the meeting couldn’t have gone worse,” he sighs, suddenly. Tommy keeps biting his tongue. “Fucking… Sabini. Absolutely impossible to have anything to do with. I’ll have a fucking Italian uproar on the rise back in London after this.”

It piques Tommy’s interest. Always does. It’s just the way his brain works -give it a few pieces and it’ll instantly begin laying a puzzle with them, whether he likes it or not. It distracts him enough for the lump to sink down a little.

“Thought Sabini refused to go to Birmingham for meetings?” he asks and manages to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“He does. Arrogant piece of shit. Sent some of his goons. The slightly less idiotic ones. Mostly to let me know that with his man in New York wanting a bigger cut, he’ll only pay me fuckin half of his usual prize for the product. Un-fucking-believable. That's what I get for delivering him high quality rum...”

“You could start exporting it yourself. Cut the middle man.” He pauses, waits for an interruption that never comes, and then adds: “Vincent Changretta’s got a son in New York who imports liquor.”

“He does?”

Tommy hums. “Luca Changretta. His father likes me. I could probably get you in contact with him.”

He pictures Vicente Changretta, seated by the café table down by Highbury Park, cigar in hand and a glass of wine in the other, beckoning him over with a wave. Sweetheart, why don’t you come and sit here for a bit? Keep an old man company? Tommy does sometimes, because having a good relationship with the Italians could be useful, even though aunt Pol would definitely disapprove if she knew he was meddling in the business. And Vicente is nice enough for an aging alpha; always offers him a drink in the most polite way, and when Tommy listens to his many stories of ‘the old country’, he occasionally pats his hand gently in a grandfatherly manner that Tommy finds strangely endearing and only mildly annoying for some reason.

“And then I tell Sabini that unless he decides to pay up, he’ll be out of the whole operation?”

“Mhm.”

Alfie is quiet. Then he leans over Tommy’s shoulder and kisses him square on the mouth, resting all his weight on his elbow as he grins at him.

“You’re fucking brilliant. You and your mind. Always working a hundred miles an hour, innit?”  

A jolt of happiness flips at the pit of his stomach. It’s not like this is a particularly brilliant plan or even a hard situation to solve, but still, he’s not used to this kind of approval of his ideas.

“Not very hard to figure out,” he says and allows himself a faint smile. Alfie raises both eyebrows.

“You calling me stupid, love?”

“Maybe a little.”

Snorting with indignation, Alfie settles back onto the mattress and pulls him closer to his chest. He is quiet for a little bit, running a hand up and down his side, fingers featherlight over the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Sabini’s gonna be fuckin pissed,” he says. “Could end in with all sorts of violence if we’re not careful, that.”

“Depends on how you put it. Set up the meeting in London. Be polite about it, and bring a gift. Sabini likes that. Gestures and so on. ”

Alfie hums and says with genuine confusion, “Fuck, why didn’t I think of… any of this?”

“Because your solution is often to just tell people to go fuck themselves in the most obnoxious way possible.”

Alfie sits up and rolls him over onto his back, pinning him down with what is probably supposed to be a stern look but which most of all comes off as very fond. “Oh, you take that back right now.”

Tommy feels a smirk tug at his lips. “It’s true.”

Alfie huffs. Then, he runs a finger thoughtfully down the side of his face, adding: “Well, to be fair I’ve never claimed to be the more intelligent out of the two of us. So your help is very much appreciated. Maybe you can talk me through what to say beforehand?

“Sure,” Tommy promises. “I’ll write you a list of things to say.”

Alfie smiles down at him. “What have I done to deserve you, eh? All my sins must’ve been overlooked, right, for me to end up with an omega who is not only so beautiful that my fucking lifespan increases with ten years every time I look at him, but who is also the most intelligent-

“Stop-” Heat rises to Tommy’s cheeks and he tries to look away but Alfie grabs his chin.

“The most intelligent, witty,not to mention most beautifulomega in England.” His’s smile seems to widen with every shade of red Tommy’s cheeks darkens. “Sometimes I just think to myself, alright, I sit, and I think and ponder over how lucky I am-“ He needs to tell him. Tommy feels it in his gut right then. If he doesn’t tell him now, he’ll never muster up the courage- “And it’s a true blessing, innit, that your aunt decided to drag you along to my bakery.” Just open your mouth and say it. It’s not that fucking hard.He tries to phrase it: there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.

No, not like that-

“Alfie-“

“And I really should thank her more often,” Alfie goes on. “Because what would my life even be without you in it-“

“Alfie-“ No matter how he tries he can’t seem to find the right words, and Alfie just keeps talking.

“It would be miserable, I tell you, miserable. And I really need to be more appreciative of you-“

Just tell him-

“I’m pregnant.” The words come out too quickly, not wrapped up all neatly like they were supposed to and the silence that hits the room feels like a fucking punch to the gut. Alfie stares down at him, mouth still half open, caught in the middle of a word.

“What?”

Tommy sits up. Tries to breathe and swallow down the panic.

“I’m pregnant,” he repeats. And suddenly the lump in his throat is back, because Alfie just stares at him. “I-I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn’t know how to and- and then you were busy-“

Alfie grabs him by the shoulders. Hard. “Are you sure? Completely, absolutely fucking sure?”

Tommy only manages to nod, overwhelmed by a sudden and unfamiliar urge to cry. Curl up into a ball and hide because Alfie doesn’t want the baby. Maybe it’s him? Maybe Alfie just doesn’t want a baby with Tommy of all people-

Alfie only stares at him for another excruciatingly long moment. But then his eyes well with tears and he blinks. And he smiles, a wide, toothy grin that just lights up his entire face.

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

Happy. Alfie is happy. Finally the realization sinks in, and the relief is so overwhelming that all strength seems to drain from his limbs.

He nods. And suddenly he finds himself being dragged into a tight hug. Alfie pulls him into his lap and crushes him against his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His breathing comes in erratic little bursts, and he holds Tommy so tightly that breathing soon will become an issue. Tommy doesn’t mind in the least. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s neck.

“You’re happy?”  

Alfie pulls away a little and cradles his face between his hands. “Course I’m fucking happy! Fuckin’ell I couldn’t be happier, silly boy.”

“Don’t cry,” Tommy mumbles and wipes at the tears trickling down his cheeks. He lets out a shaky laugh: “You’re gonna make me cry too.”

But it’s a lost cause because he’s already fucking crying. It’s the hormones. He blames this whole thing on those.

“No I’m going to fucking cry, alright, it’s my God given right to cry when I find out that the man I love is carrying my child,” Alfie exclaims and beams at him. He moves back a little, creating space between them so that he can place a hand on Tommy’s belly. “Right here, love. Isn’t that just fucking amazing?”

Tommy leans forward and kisses his nose.

Alfie just keeps smiling down at his belly with this dreamy, almost goofy smile and Tommy savors the moment. Then he suddenly looks up at Tommy with wide eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything!”

Tommy is tempted to ask how he knows that, but Alfie has probably put two and two together so there’s no use denying it.

“Now, you just stay right there, don’t move a fucking inch.” Alfie is already gathering up all the pillows, settling Tommy with his back against them. “I’ll be right up with something to eat. And maybe some… blankets? Yeah we definitely need more of those. Blankets and-”

Still listing things to himself under his breath, Alfie disappears out the door.  

Tommy is tempted to call after him that he’s barely two months along, and if Alfie’s going to be like this for the rest of the pregnancy it’s going to become unbearable. But he doesn’t. Instead he just sits there and waits. And occupies himself with arranging and then rearranging the pillows. Tries different options before settling for having them behind his back and by his sides in a comfortable little half circle that somehow just feels… right.

Alfie soon returns with two bowls of the soup he cooked earlier precariously balanced on a tray and with several blankets under his arms. When Tommy moves to take the tray before an accident occurs Alfie protests so loudly that he’s got no choice but to stay put for fear of actually causing the soup to end up spilled all over the bed. Once the tray has been safely set down on the nightstand, Alfie takes the blankets and spreads them out over him, and Tommy lets him fuss with them until they’re all in acceptable positions, because Alfie looks so incredibly pleased once he’s tucked him in.  

“Remember that you’re eating for two,” he says when he hands him the bowl.

“Can’t wait to hear that for the next seven months,” Tommy mutters but begins to eat, still, as Alfie settles next to him on the bed.

“Oh you’ll hear a whole lot more than that, love. Like… don’t lift that heavy box. Maybe you should sit down for a while? Do you want me to rub your ankles?“ Alfie grins. “I can’t wait to dote on you.”

Tommy huffs.

“You already do.”

“But it’ll be on a whole other level now,” Alfie says. Runs his thumb down Tommy’s cheek. “Gonna treat you and this baby like royalty. Anything you want, you’ll have.”

“I already have everything I want.” The words come to mind easily. And it’s not until he sees the look on Alfie’s face that he realises he said them out loud. But he doesn’t mind so much. It’s true. Especially when Alfie leans in and kisses him.

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #omegaverse AU #mpreg #omega!tommy #alpha!alfie

[theyearoftheking]

Book Six: The Dead Zone

“We all do what we can, and it has to be good enough... and if it isn’t good enough, it has to be. Nothing is ever lost. Nothing that can’t be found.”

When I announced my next book was The Dead Zone, my brother-in-law admitted to never reading it, or seeing the movie, because it felt dated. He’s not wrong. The 1983 movie felt dated when I’d watch it in the 1990′s. But that didn’t stop me from imagining Christopher Walken during the entire book. So, here’s some cowbell for your Tuesday! Sorry, I’m home with a sick kid, doing training for my job, I need to find joy where I can. 

But The Dead Zone is still eerily important. I need to stop reading Steve’s books... it’s too much... first I picked up The Stand during the Coronavirus outbreak, and now I’m reading about shitty politicians during a particularly shitty election season. 

Who hasn’t asked themselves the question... “If you could go back in time and kill Hitler- would you do it?”

Being a disciple of Ray Bradbury, I’d have to answer probably not. I read The Sound of Thunder during my formative years, and it hit hard. I’m also a disciple of Steve, and 11/22/63 taught me what a world where Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated looks like. And that fictional world is bleak, my friends. 

Let’s get into it, shall we?

When Johnny Smith was a little boy, he was ice skating, and had a nasty fall. This fall gave him mild psychic abilities. A teeny bit of The Shine, if you will. Fast forward to grown-up John, he’s a teacher and living in the quaint town of Cleaves Mills. To keep the quaint theme going, he’s about to take Sarah, a fellow teacher, to the county fair on a date. Presh, I know.

Now... this is when the book just becomes one big homage to Ray Bradbury. The county fair is straight out of Something Wicked This Way Comes; which Steve actually references at one point. The manic laughter, the spinning rides,, the smell of carnival food, and the feeling of something evil lurking just under the surface is all there. It’s a masterful tribute. 

On their way out of the fair, John stops and decides to try his luck at a Wheel of Fortune carny game. You know... the type of game you never actually win at. But his Shine comes into play, and he ends up walking away from the game $500 richer (three weeks salary according to Sarah!). But Sarah suddenly feels sick. She blames it on a bad carny hot dog, but I’m pretty sure The Shine is wafting off John like a noxious fume, and she inhaled too much of it. John gets Sarah safely home, and takes a taxi back to his apartment. Well, tries to take a taxi back... the taxi ends up crushed by some hoods out drag racing, and John ends up in a coma for four and a half years. 

Yes. 

Four and a half years. 

I’m not smart enough to do the math and adjust for inflation; but can you imagine what hospital bills for four and a half years worth of treatment must look like? I mean, I’d almost rather they pull the plug on me. It would be less painful than waking up and finding I’m going to be broke for the rest of my life. 

John’s parents Herb and Vera are thrilled he’s awake. Vera is cut from the same kind of crazy culty-religious cloth as Margaret White (Carrie’s mom); and believes there’s a holy reason why John is still alive. John needs to have some painful surgeries to have his leg muscles stretched (because, atrophy is a bitch after four and a half years in a hospital bed); and then some spooky shit starts happening. John has discovered he can touch someone’s hand, and learn all kinds of interesting things about them. For example, he touches the hand of Dr. Weizak, and informs him that his mother didn’t actually die in a concentration camp, she’s alive and well in California. Then, he freaks a physical therapist out by telling her she needs to call the fire department, her apartment is on fire. The news media gets wind of John’s new powers, and they start relentlessly hounding him. 

While still in the hospital, he gets a call from Herb, letting him know Vera has had a stroke, and is in Cumberland General Hospital (you know, just above Jerusalem’s Lot). So, Dr. Weizak rushes him to the hospital, and Vera tells him a voice will tell him what to do, and she believes in his higher purpose. Then she dies. 

Oh, Vera. She’s had a fun life. At one point, she was a member of The American Society for Last Times. “They were led by Mr. and Mrs. Harry L Stonkers from Racine, Wisconsin. Mr. and Mrs. Stonkers claimed to have been picked up by a flying saucer while they were on a camping trip. They had been taken away to heaven, which was not out in the constellation Orion, but on an earth-type planet that circled Arcturus. There they had communed with the society of angels and had seen Paradise. The Stonkers had been informed that the Last Times were at hand...”

I laughed so hard, because of course the crazy cult leaders were from Racine. I worked for a company based in Racine for several years, and one of my co-workers was of this same kind of crazy religious bend. He told me “my lifestyle” flew in the face of what God intended. For the record, my lifestyle was being one of those crazy, new-aged career gals, with a stay-at-home husband raising our two year old. It’s easy to understand what’s so offensive about that.

But the worst part was when this co-worker decided to “treat” his teenage daughters to a home-schooled prom. He rented a limo, ordered flowers, made dinner reservations... and was their date. But no dancing of course, because... religion. When I relayed this story back to my husband later on, he asked me which daughter was going to end up getting lucky on prom night with dad. Ick. 

So yes, cult leaders in Racine- 100% believable. 

After Vera’s death, John continues his life, living with his dad, healing from his horrible leg muscle surgery, and he even keeps in touch with Sarah, even an ill-advised hook-up for final closure. People keep sending him letters and trinkets, hoping he can help them find lost objects, or solve mysteries. He’s not having it. He just wants to go back to teaching, and lead a “normal” life. But alas, there is this nagging voice (it belongs to Vera) telling him he was awakened from his coma for a reason. He needs to serve a higher purpose. So, he ends up going to Castle Rock, Maine; and helps the sheriff solve a series of murders. Castle Rock is a fun place, FYI. They have a Flagg street there. 

After his face is splashed across the tabloids for helping solve the murders, his school district doesn’t want him teaching anymore, and his life has little purpose. After a few years of moping around on his dad’s land, he ends up tutoring young, charismatic, Chuck Chatsworth; and uses his Shine to help Chuck get around the dead zone he has with reading and comprehending text. 

A note about “the dead zone”... it’s a term John uses quite a bit to describe the gray area he can’t quite see through/around when he’s holding someone’s hand and telling them something important. 

John gets on super well with Chuck’s dad, Roger. One night they’re watching tv, and Roger can’t stop talking about this political wildcard, Gregory Stillson, who is running for a House seat. “The man is a clown. He goes charging around the speaking platform like that at every rally. Throws his helmet into the crowd- I’d guess he’s gone through a hundred of them by now- and gives out hot dogs. He’s a clown, so what? Maybe people need a little comic relief from time to time. We’re running out of oil, the inflation is slowly but surely getting out of control, the average guy’s tax load has never been heavier... So people want a giggle or two. Even more, they want to thumb their noses at the political establishment that doesn’t seem able to solve anything...” 

John keeps working for the Chatsworth family, and helps get Chuck into Stovington Prep... yes, the same Stovington Prep as in The Shining. At one point, Chuck is talking about his English teacher, “I like him a lot. Our teacher told us he still lives over in N.H. but has given up writing. That blows my mind. Why would someone just give up when they are going great guns?” I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but I’m 87% sure his teacher was one Jack Torrance. 

In the meantime, Stillson wins his election. And John endears himself further to the Chatsworth family the night of Chuck’s graduation, when he has a vision of a fire at Cathy’s restaurant; where a lot of families planned on going to celebrate. John pleads with people not to go to Cathy’s. Some listen, others don’t, but he does end up saving some lives. And then he becomes a recluse, fixated on Gregory Stillson. 

Stillson is a bad dude. He’s done a lot of shady shit, and he’s had a lot of people killed. He also worked in real estate development for a while. Smirk. 

He knows he needs to take Stillson out before he becomes President, and gets the country pulled into another war. “I have to do something about Stillson. I have to. I was right about Cathy’s, and I’m going to be right about this. There is absolutely no question in my mind. He is going to become president and he is going to start a war- or cause one through simple mismanagement of the office, which amounts to the same thing.” 

 Oh, how quaint... when the biggest fear is the President starting another war... not the President getting us all killed by nuclear weapons. But, this book was set post-Vietnam, so the feeling is honest. 

John goes to a rally, and hides on the upper balcony, hoping to shoot Stillson. He gets a couple shots off, before Stillson grabs a baby to use as a shield (yeah... really...), to prevent John from shooting him again. John ends up shot by Stillson’s goons and he dies, but so does Stillson’s political career, because of a photo showing him using the baby as a body shield. So, his mission was mostly carried out. We also find out John had a brain tumor, which may or may not have caused his abilities. 

So, yeah. That’s The Dead Zone. This was a long review for a really short (by Steve standards) book. But it was fun because there were so many references to his previous five books. And yes, the book was published in 1979, but I feel it still holds up. And it has me wondering how/if Trump supporters would explain away Trump using a baby as a shield. I mean... the man has done far worse than that and has still been elected, so.... 

God damn, I really did not intend for this blog to become political, but here we are! Welcome to the new climate around election season! 

There was one lone Dark Tower reference, “He opened the paperback with the picture of the gunslinger shouldering his way through a set of saloon batwings...” 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 9

Dark Tower References: 5

Book Grade B+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Shining

The Stand

The Dead Zone

‘Salem’s Lot

Carrie 

Night Shift 

Next up is Firestarter. Yes, cute little Drew Barrymore. I can’t wait. 

Until next time readers, Long Days and Pleasant Nights!

Rebecca

[achtung-attitude]

It is 1998, in East Los Angeles. A young boy calls a name. “Moya, Moya!!”

A 10 year old Moya stands in an alley, watching as three older boys run away from her with bloody lips and black eyes. Before the boy calling her name reaches, she quickly rubs the tears out of her eyes, before turning to face him. “What is it, Manuel?”

“Your mama is looking for you, Moya. She wants you home right away!”

“... Mierda. Ok.” she sniffs. She begins to walk home. Manuel trails along next to her.

“Did… did you really take those big kids on all by yourself?”

 She answers his question by raising her bruised and bloody knuckles.

“Qué genial! You’re so tough, Moya!”

The girl smiles warmly. “Tough as I need to be. Are you ok?”

Manuel casts his eyes down. “Yeah… I’m sorry. If I was tough like you, I coulda fought those big kids myself… And now you’re gonna get in trouble for fighting…”

Moya throws her arm around his shoulder and smiles, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll always defend you, no matter what! I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll defend the whole barrio!”

Manuel gazes at her, and declares, “... Nobody will ever beat you, Moya! Nobody!”

                                                    ---

The year is now 2005, and 17 year old Moya Pezzente is getting beaten to hell. She had been working in the same supermarket for over a year, in order to support her family. 

She lived in the harsh streets of East Los Angeles, wherein the highest concentration of Latin Americans resided. The gangs were mean, the police even meaner, and all around her was bitterness and despair. She did what she could. For her friends, her younger brothers and everyone else, she tried to bring hope. In spite of all the chaos and pain, she tried to be like a saint to them. Brave, strong, protective. No-one would harm them under her watch. 

This night seemed no different, at first. Ten men in ski-masks came storming into the supermarket, wielding lead pipes and tire irons. One of them, armed with a golf club, knocked the greeter’s teeth out before Moya had vaulted over the cashier counter and kicked him in the head, knocking him out instantly.

 She put up a good fight, but the sight of an iron cross tattoo on the neck of one of the assailants gave her pause. Skinheads. This was not a robbery. It was an attack. 

One of the men slammed a pipe into the back of her head and all the strength left her legs. She collapsed, and the skinheads wasted no time in kicking her while she was down. This is where we catch up with her, as the heaviest of the skinheads, picks her up off the ground and holds her against the front window. Obviously the leader, he calls to one of his minions. “Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that word the spic chicks hate? The Spanish one?”

“Oh,” says Bob, “Perra. Means bitch.”

“Purra, hmm. I like that. It’s a nice-sounding language, you know that? You probably thinkin’ I hate all you wetbacks, but I don’t. I just don’t like it when you come to our country and take all the jobs from hard-workin’ fellas like us. All you have to do is head back south, and then we’ll be all good. That sounds fair, don’t you think?”

“Fuck… you…!! I was born here… this is my town…!” 

The lead skinhead grins softly beneath his mask, then delivers another hit to her gut. He releases her, and she falls to the ground again, coughing blood. “I don’t know why I thought we could come to an understanding,” he says, “You brought this on yourself, you hear me? You shoulda stayed where you belong…!” He raises his foot to bring it down on her head, but suddenly he stops. 

The roar of an engine sounds from outside, and the skinheads look up. Too late, they see the headlights closing in on them and they scatter, just as a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro bursts through the front of the supermarket, ramming into Bob the skinhead and knocking over five aisles. Moya gazes at the scene. To her, peering through bloodshot, swollen eyes, it is like something from a comic book. A hero appearing in the nick of time to the rescue. Sure enough, a hero steps out of the car. She wears a turquoise suit, and covers her face with a blue luchador mask. 

“Do you sell lightbulbs?” Phantasma asks of the battered Moya. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” roars the lead skinhead, his voice tinged with panic, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!!!” 

Phantasma says nothing, but simply turns to face the rallying skinheads. They charge at her blindly, and in the next instant, they are on the ground. Moya can barely believe what she just saw, it happened so quickly. Most of them, the masked woman brought down with her own fists, but a few she never even touched. They simply flew backwards as if an invisible fist had driven into them. Once she’s done, she walks over to Moya and offers her hand. “I saw you fight. You’re tough,” she smiles. “I like you, mija.”

From that moment on, Moya was utterly devoted to her. As soon as her injuries were healed, she practically pleaded to join Phantasma’s gang, and in time, she was accepted, quickly becoming her closest lieutenant. Together, they managed to take all of East Los Angeles. They were not like other gangs, but a force for justice that even the police left alone.

It didn't matter that Phantasma was the head of a gang herself, Moya felt that she was doing the right thing. In following her, she found hope, something she never imagined she would feel again. Hope, she now knew, came from strength. Only by being the strongest there was, could she have hope, and bring hope to others. 

This was the high time in Moya's life. It did not last.

                                                       ---

Three years pass. Moya is now twenty, and all alone. One by one, through raids and shoot-ups and occasional confrontations with the police, the friends she had made died. So devoted to their leader, they did not even take their own lives into consideration. Phantasma would order on whatever dangerous mission she desired, and so they did. At the cost of their lives, they did. Until Moya was the last from her barrio to have survived.

One day, Moya is called out to an old, long abandoned boxing gym to meet with Phantasma. As soon as she arrives, Phantasma is there, waiting for her, standing in the centre of the ring. 

“Come on up here, Moya,” she calls, gesturing towards herself.

“Are we sparring?” Moya asks, climbing between the ropes.

“No, I have something more important I need to talk to you about.” 

Moya stands before her. Her face is downtrodden. “...You missed Manuel’s funeral.”

“I know. I had things I needed to attend to. Things that could not wait. Moya… it’s time for you to come with me. You are the one.”

“The one?” she asks, “What are you saying?”

“Until now, you’ve only been my lieutenant. Loyal, brave and smart. But now, I offer you the chance to become so much more. I offer you the chance for us to become… sisters. More than anything, mija, you have shown your ability to survive. Every challenge you’ve faced, you’ve faced it tremendously. That is why you’re still alive.”

“You… You’re building this up a lot, Boss…! I can’t understand what you’re saying… All I did was do what you needed me to do… I don’t need a special title--!”

“It’s not about the title! It’s about power!” Phantasma breathes deeply. “True power only comes to those who are willing to sacrifice everything. Only they have the will necessary to achieve greatness!”

“Power…” Moya mutters. She thinks back, to the supermarket and the skinheads.

“Look, it’s not complicated,” a voice says. Moya looks over, and sees Tito, who had been Phantasma’s lieutenant even longer than her. He reclines against the edge of the ring, laying his chin on the mat. “Just say yes, and then we can really get this thing going.”

“Silence, Tito! The choice is hers to make,” Phantasma says, then turns back to Moya “But I trust you. I trust that you will say yes” She raises her hand, palm facing up, an offertory gesture.

Moya stares at the hand, and into the face of her hero. This woman saved her life, in more ways than one. To her, she was like a goddess, an idol to be worshipped. But now something is different. The look in Phantasma’s eyes has… changed. These aren’t an idol’s eyes, but those of a human being. She is pleading with her. Pleading. A knot enters her stomach and she thinks of her friends, whom she promised to protect. All of whom are now dead. Something is wrong. Something is horribly, horribly wrong. 

“... No.”

“What?” Phantasma says, shocked. “What did you say?”

“I don’t want it… I don’t want that kind of power… where I have to lose everything I wanted to protect…!”

Phantasma raises her arms, her mouth open. She cannot seem to find the words. Eventually, she begins, going to lay her hands on Moya’s shoulders “...Moya… I chose you because I was sure you had the ability within you! You cannot squander that potential, you must--” 

“NO!!” Moya yells, batting Phantasma’s hands away. She steps back, putting distance between her. Her mouth hangs open. She is as shocked by her actions as Phantasma is. They stare at each other in silence, before Moya finally turns and slips out from under the ropes, walking quickly to the exit. 

“... Go… Go on then!” Phantasma shouts at her back as she flees, “Go back to your miserable little life…! You have nothing without me! Nothing!!”

Tito, watching her leave, steps next to his boss. “She’s lucky she ain’t met All Kill yet,” he says, “He wouldn’t take that quite so lightly.” Phantasma ignores what her lieutenant says, just standing there in the ring, alone, despondent.

Moya did not turn back. For the first time in her life, she had turned her back on violence. Now, she had no purpose. No path in life. Nowhere to go. For days, she wandered the streets of LA, in a daze, until finally, she happened to be picked up by a lone squad car. 

“You alright, ma’am?” said the young woman in the car. “You been on the sauce, recently? You need a ride somewhere?”

Moya stares at her, and at her uniform, crisp and clean, all blue and silver…

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #moya pezzente #phantasma juarez #ch22

[misssophiachase]

Love Bites

For Klaroween Bingo - “Bite me, wait no, i was being sarcastic.”

Wednesday, 31st October 2018...

“I’m going to kill him,” Caroline growled, peeking through the blinds into her neighbour’s house. It was 11:57pm and her mind was racing with how she could exact her revenge on his arrogant, English ass.

“Are you still pissed about the chicken invasion?” Katherine drawled, placing a piece of candy on her outstretched tongue and sending her a curious glance mid bite. 

Caroline would have rolled her eyes if the accompanying shudder hadn’t coursed through her body thinking about him filling her backyard with unwanted poultry.  How he found out her biggest fear she didn’t know but she made sure he was going to pay.

“Well, you did put hot pink, jello crystals in his pool,” Bonnie added, helping herself to some candy. 

“Only because he left those frogs in my locker,” she hissed. Thankfully amphibians were much lower on her fear register than birds. 

“Do you think maybe it’s time you stop playing childish pranks and just get down and dirty?” Katherine asked, her expression surprisingly stoic given the conversation content. “The sexual tension between you is palpable and i don’t like that kind of bad karma.”  

“You don’t like sexual tension?” Bonnie teased. “Well, now that’s a first, Kitty Kat.”

“That’s not what I meant, Bon,” she scoffed, throwing some caramel popcorn in her friend’s direction. “I don’t want their inability to seal the deal to rub off on my chances of getting some.”

“I’m so glad I invited you over tonight. You know sugar isn’t good for you, right?” Caroline huffed, pulling the sweets away from their greedy grasps. “I hate the idiot and any way to make his life miserable is welcome.”

“Well, given the abundance of noise coming from their Halloween Party a little call to to the cops would most definitely be unwelcome.” Caroline rallied, thinking Bonnie might have a point and finally returned the candy to their outstretched arms.

“You do realise we could be at said party having fun and not trying to hatch revenge plans all on our pathetic lonesome and chowing down unnecessary candy?” Kat pouted. “I think my costume this year is my best yet, it seems a waste.” She did look extremely cute in a naughty nurse get-up Bonnie too, looking hot as Wonder Woman.

“I’m sorry but when I said we were going to boycott I meant it, Kat.” Maybe it was selfish but Caroline had grown increasingly frustrated at Klaus Mikaelson and his unrelenting mission to terrorise her life.  There was no way she was going to show up at his party and stroke that over-inflated ego.

Everyone at school had been talking about the big Mikaelson, Halloween bash for the past month. Even though they’d been neighbours since she was eight, Caroline really didn’t know much about Klaus or his siblings just that given the number of impromptu parties they threw, their parents were absent a lot. 

Given their interesting and somewhat complex personalities, Caroline figured their lack of parenting had a lot to answer for. Rebekah repeatedly shouted at her across the fence for taking her light when she was trying to sunbathe because apparently Caroline was Mother Nature. Kol thought it was funny to throw rocks at her window, especially in the middle of the night, and Klaus decided she was the perfect target for his unwanted pranks. Maybe fighting back hadn’t helped her cause but Caroline hated to lose.

Unfortunately, Klaus Mikaelson knew that too. Bastard.

It was only when multiple pieces of candy hit her that Caroline knew her best friends were close to a full on revolt. 

“Wait here,” she replied. “I’ve got a phone call to make.” 

Yes, it was wrong and completely against her moral code but shutting down this party was going to be the saving grace of her otherwise dismal, Halloween evening.

xxxxx

Given the loud noise inside the house, Klaus was surprised he could make out the repetitive, hard knock on their front door as he passed by. He peered through the peep hole, it had become a common practice given the fact his parents had barely been present the past five years. 

He’d accepted their inability to parent but it still hurt, not that he’d admit that aloud.

What greeted him was completely unexpected. He opened the door inspecting his visitors curiously.

“We’ve heard reports about a blaze at this address,” the fire captain explained, taking a moment to look at his costume gravely before continuing. “Could you direct us to the source?” 

He was dumbfounded at first. There was no fire, well, last time he checked. Before he could respond, his younger and slightly inebriated brother gestured for them to follow. Usually he’d laugh but for some reason he was actually worried his irresponsible sibling had been playing with matches. 

He let his eyes wander across the front yard and past the fire truck parked at the curb with its lights flashing, he couldn’t miss the intense, and familiar, gaze meeting his before her curtains closed hurriedly. He grinned knowing exactly who’d done this and he couldn’t be happier for the interruption. He only threw this party hoping she’d actually attend and so far the night had been a bust without her.

Klaus Mikaelson was the kind of guy who could have anyone but there was only one person he wanted and she hated him, or so he thought. He’d fallen in love with her the day they moved in next door all those years ago but had no idea how to make her like or notice him.

It was only when he knew just how competitive she was that Klaus acted. Yes, at last count she apparently still hated him, but no one would go to that much trouble if they didn’t care.

He looked at his surroundings deciding he’d rather go interrogate the girl next door than stay at this lacklustre party. Making his way to her front door he swallowed, confused by just how nervous he felt before knocking. The silence was overwhelming. Klaus didn’t even know he was holding his breath until she appeared.

He knew Caroline Forbes was feisty, intelligent and beautiful but standing in the doorway he couldn’t release the breath he was still holding if he tried. Dressed in head to toe black he was a goner, now to find his voice. 

“Yes?” She asked, her voice taking on a judgmental tone as her eyes flickered over his outfit, he couldn’t miss the surprise. “Do I know you?”

“Just your friendly neighbour who had to deal with the jello sabotage and now staged fire emergencies,” he murmured breaking through her obvious deflection and attempting to provoke a reaction.

“Bite me,” she hissed. Klaus couldn’t help himself and arched his left eyebrow curiously. “Wait no, I was being sarcastic.”

“Are you sure?” He drawled, secretly hoping she wasn’t. 

“Are you sure Kol hasn’t started a real fire?” She recovered, albeit shakily from his stand point. Her question was valid and Klaus knew it. “He seems like the type who needs supervision.”

“Sounds like you do know me, love,” he smirked, placing his hand on the doorway. “And what about you?” He asked, purposely avoiding her question about his brother’s pyromaniac past. “Do you need supervision?”

“She definitely needs supervision,” a lone voice called out followed by two giggles. 

“They’ve had too much candy and need to be cut-off,” she explained, although he couldn’t miss just how cute she looked blushing. 

“I don’t know, Forbes, maybe you can’t be trusted. So, why exactly did you call the fire department, Caroline?”

“I lost my kitty in a tree, obviously they mixed up the street address,” she purred, he couldn’t miss the slight, playful tug at the end of her tempting, pink lips.

He stilled, trying not to react even if everything inside him was aroused. “I’m your neighbour and this is the first time i’ve heard of a pet cat.” Klaus was trying to ignore just how stunning she looked in that particular ensemble. A full-length, black catsuit which accentuated every delicious curve. “Unless, it’s you they’re searching for.”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a gorgeous firemen.” Klaus smirked knowingly, looking down at his chosen costume curiously.

“Well, fancy that, I just happen to be dressed as a fireman and you as a cat. Suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a coincidence, Forbes.”

“Oh, so you’ve run into a burning building and saved a cat from a tree before?”

“Well, no,” he stumbled, obviously hoping his costume and bare chest would suffice. 

“Well, then I’m not sure we can be friends.” Her aloofness was beginning to wear on his nerves.

“You’re still pissed about the birds I take it?” 

“What birds?” She didn’t wait for him to reply, just closed the door in his face. Klaus Mikaelson had girls falling all over him but the one he wanted seemed too disinterested for his liking. 

He may have been slightly drunk but if she wanted him to run into a burning building then that’s what he’d do. He was starting to think she was actually a witch with evil intentions.

xxx

“Pretty sure you’ve just sealed his death warrant,” Kat offered, approaching the front door. 

“Way to be morbid, I was only joking,” Caroline broke off defensively, suddenly worried.  

“Given that determined look on his face before you slammed the door I’m thinking he’s going to sign up for national service or run into the nearest burning building on a whim, the boy obviously loves a challenge.”

“He doesn’t,” she faltered weakly. 

“Funnily enough just like you, Care,” Kat added. “You hate to break a promise and your parents have let you down more times than I can remember.”

Suddenly she felt sick, like if he decided to run into a burning building she’d actually care if he made it out alive. Caroline wanted to blame it on excess candy but given her best friends had scarfed down her entire stash she was now an open book.

They were more alike than she’d ever expected. “I need to go over there,” she hissed.

“And the boycott?” She was outside before Bonnie could mutter the words ‘I told you so.’ And Kat could relish in the fact she’d been set free to party naughty nurse style. 

“Hey!” She yelled, trying to grab his attention, even if those yellow overalls were hugging his toned ass in all the right places. 

He turned, albeit slowly, his raised eyebrows enough to tell Caroline she’d gone too far with that whole door slamming episode. “I hate birds.”

“I’ve never met anyone who hates poultry,” he offered, apologetically. “But I’ll know better next time. In case you’re interested I hate hot pink jello too.”

“Why? What did it do to you?” 

“It was so bright my eyes had to do extra work to take it all in,” he smiled mischievously. “Okay, I’m sorry but I thought after the frogs it would be okay.”

“And how did you figure that exactly?” Caroline wanted to hate him but her curiosity got the better of her on this occasion. 

“Down at Millson’s Pond all those years ago, you really loved the tadpoles,” he explained, albeit sheepishly. “I figured you wouldn’t have anything against their future transition.”

“You were there?” She inhaled sharply. It was a memory that revisited her frequently but Klaus Mikaelson was never really part of it. 

“You parents didn’t like our type much back then and no doubt told you to stay away,” he smiled wryly. “I have no idea why.” 

“Maybe it was your penchant for wildlife?”

“Yeah, that was definitely it,” he drawled. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just trying to make you notice me.”

“Well, you definitely succeeded in that,” she smiled knowingly. “In fact, I heard there was this killer party tonight. If you don’t have a date I might be interested.”

“Oh really?” He teased, holding out his arm and pulling it through hers gently, his left dimple flashing in her direction. “I can’t promise that Kol really hasn’t really burned down the place though.”

#klaroween bingo #klaroween #klaroline drabbles #klaroline #misssophiachase

[unwrathful]

Title: A True Prince Author: booksindalibrary Rating: T Pairing: Enma/Tsuna Prompt: Sun Day - secret relationship for @khrrarepairweek Tags/Warnings: none :3c

Summary:

Tsuna's happy with Enma by his side. Infactuation (n): an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something.

AO3 link.

Tsuna was well-known in the streets of his country. Where he walked, the crowds parted. Whether they knew who he was or not wasn't the point; it was his presence that caused it, one that radiated a gentle heat.

At one point he was the loyal youngest son to Nono. How he'd serve the family head with all the honour and power–few mentioned his resemblance to Primo, that subject having been banned.

His three cousins had all died–killed in a mafia war. Tsuna had grieved, along with the rage that built up in Xanxus.

Then Xanxus lead a coup, and was subsequently imprisoned. Tsuna didn't know where he was kept, but he doubted any prison would keep Xanxus away for long. In Xanxus's absence, Tsuna was made the heir to Vongola.

A true prince, they called him. He smiled at everyone unabashedly, even when surrounded by his guardians, each brought from all over the world to swear fealty and lay down their lives. Some of them won't, of course, or at least Tsuna doubts it. Even when Xanxus broke out, and rallied forces around his banner, Tsuna kept smiling. People noted how his features became more strained, how tired his eyes looked, but he remained strong.

Xanxus was imprisoned again, but this time he swore he wouldn't rebel, for so long as Tsuna stuck by his conditions. Those conditions are a secret-

“He's in this movie,” Gokudera said to Tsuna, and Tsuna peered at the screen.

“A major role this time,” he said with satisfaction. “Even I've heard of the book it's based on.”

“Juudaime.” Gokudera met his gaze seriously. “You won't be able to meet him for a while. He's touring and promoting.”

Tsuna looked out the window of the car, watching the houses go by. “I know.”

At the sad look, Gokudera flinched. “Sorry, Juudaime.”

“Don't be,” Tsuna said, surprised. “I can meet him when he comes to Vongola for promotional work.”

Gokudera hesitated, then nodded. “I'll get Chrome to set up a meeting between you two.”

“Thanks,” Tsuna said gratefully.

“Tsuna,” Enma said, and Tsuna beamed at him.

Enma smiled back, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “It's been a while.”

“Mm.” Tsuna was staring at Enma, an awed look on his face.

Chrome looked away, embarrassed to be seeing such an open expression on Tsuna's face, and Gokudera coughed. “We'll be outside,” he said, jerking his head at the door. The couple seemingly didn't hear them as they left, still staring at each other.

“How was filming?” Tsuna asked, sitting. Enma joined him and took his hand, fiddling with one of the rings.

“It was great,” he said. “I met a lot of good people.” Enma tested his head on Tsuna's shoulder.

“None better than me, I hope,” Tsuna joked. “I saw the trailers. Your role looks like it's the highlight.”

Enma huffed. “You say that every time.”

“It's the truth.”

“I know you think that,” Enma said, trying to sound stern. Instead he said it with a smile and a warm tone. “I don't agree.”

“Too bad. I outrank you,” Tsuna said haughtily, then the facade dissolved when he looked at Enma again. “Sorry I can't stay longer,” he said apologetically, shifting to get up.

“Don't worry,” Enma said reassuringly. “I know you're a busy man, and we have to keep this a secret, right? For the sake of our sanity.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again anyway, smoothing down his tuxedo. “And I'm just worried about your career, is all. If people found out, you'd be a target.”

Enma was quiet for a moment. “I'd risk that for you.”

“I love you,” Tsuna said.

“Love you too,” Enma replied.

“I'm off,” Tsuna said.

“See you later,” Enma replied, a little too sweetly.

Tsuna didn't notice.

The announcement of Tsuna's marriage came as a shock. But it took the country into a fervour, and the world loved the idea that a Japanese boy, an ordinary boy with an ordinary background, and an ordinary career, could be loved by the prince of one of the most powerful countries in the world.

“Why did you tell everyone?” Tsuna asked Gokudera, a little petulantly.

“Juudaime, I'm sorry, it was a publicity thing.”

“Publicity?” Tsuna frowned. “Who did you have to win over?”

“There's some people claiming the monarchy's cold to the common classes,” Gokudera explained. “This was to settle them, even for just a little bit.”

“So to do that, you decide to throw open my secret relationship for the world to see?” Tsuna sighed. “I get my life isn't my own, but this sucks.”

“Juudaime...”

“Don't apologise,” Tsuna waved it down. “In a way, this is great. I get to be with Enma all the time.”

Gokudera smiled at the sheer delight that was beaming from Tsuna's face.

The wedding was perfect.

Tsuna was practically bursting. Enma smiled once at Tsuna, and everyone thought Tsuna was going to pass out.

When Enma stepped up to the altar, Tsuna whispered that Enma looked amazing. Enma flushed, then looked a little surprised when Tsuna continued with, I'm so nervous.

Enma took Tsuna's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Tsuna knew he'd be strongest with Enma by his side.

“What do you mean?” Tsuna asked, as he was getting ready to leave. They had a function to attend, Tsuna thought distractedly. Names to remember and faces to recognise.

“I'm sorry,” Enma said. “But I mean it.” The seriousness of his tone was enough to make Tsuna pause.

“You don't mean it,” Tsuna said, stepping forward. He was wearing his suit, and Enma was wearing a hoodie and jeans. Why, Tsuna wanted to ask, why wasn't he dressed to see the town?

“I can't handle this,” Enma said, trying to make Tsuna understand. “I can't – deal with the people staring and watching my every move, I can't handle the pressure of the monarchy. I just – can't.”

“Enma-” Tsuna had to pause to recollect his thoughts. “You don't have to do this any more, but please, divorcing me can't be the answer.”

“It can be,” Enma said flatly.

“Okay, it can be,” he conceded. “But that doesn't mean – it hasn't been that long.”

“Three years,” Enma said quietly. “Three years of this shit.”

Tsuna had to blink at the word. Enma swore? This isn't right. “Look, my love-”

“Three years of pretending to love a coward like you,” Enma continued. “Three years pretending to give two fucks about some prissy prince who needs help wiping his own arse, three years smiling and saying I love you every fuckin' morning.”

Why wasn't Enma yelling? Instead the words were like a hiss of gas, to suffocate Tsuna. One spark, Tsuna thought dazedly, and he would explode.

Please let him explode.

“Are you saying you were pretending to love me?” Tsuna asked.

“This whole time.”

“Why? Why would you even think of pretending?”

“Thanks to you, my fame's high enough that I can get any acting job I want,” Enma said, and Tsuna hated the look of scorn of Enma's face.

No. No no no no nonono-

“The world loves me, and they'll understand I couldn't deal with this,” he continued.

Please. Make him stop. Please, God, let this be a dream.

“That's why I see no point in staying with you,” Enma finished. Tsuna found out what it was like to stabbed, as he fell to his knees, gaping at the love of his life. Enma only met his gaze with the coldest eyes Tsuna's ever seen, and Enma left.

“I should get an award for that,” Enma commented.

Reborn smiled. “Associating with the fallen royals would be detrimental to Vongola. I'm glad you saw it my way.”

“I am too,” Enma agreed.

“And this way, Varia'll stop trying to go after Tsuna. Especially since your relationship was a direct breach of the contract.”

“So? The Varia turn out to be shit.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Of course I am. Because of their incompetence, I had to pretend for three years.”

“Three years,” Reborn echoed. He shot a look at Enma. “The tears on your face beg to differ.”

Enma looked back at Reborn. “I mean it. I was acting. It was all an act. To test him. You set us up. That's it.”

“Of course,” Reborn lied, putting a hand on Enma's shoulder. “This was all my fault.”

“Juudaime,” Gokudera said in surprise, when he found Tsuna sitting at the window.

“Gokudera,” Tsuna said distractedly.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Tsuna turned slightly, to look at Gokudera from the corner of his eye. “I had a nightmare.” He hesitated. “I heard Reborn.”

Gokudera tensed. “Your former tutor?”

“He was saying it was all his scheme, to test my heart. I guess I failed.”

“Test? What kind of fucked up test would that be?”

Tsuna didn't reply.

Each day hurt, but Tsuna got used to it.

Each day was agony, but Enma got used to it.

Each day was a lie, and Reborn never got used to it, no matter how much he claimed it didn't hurt to think he drove his pupil into the bowels of depression.

He's still alive, and that's all that matters. Right?

It was just a passing infactuation, right?

(Are you happy yet?)

#khr #khrrarepairweek2018 #khrrarepairweek #0027 #hazel.writing #yeets this here really late #as in #nearly midnight so i'm technically on time (???) #eh

[saythename-kpopaus]

Seventeen High School!AU

check out the series inspired by this au here!

S.Coups ~ The Jock 

He’s pretty much your stereotypical jock 

Sports are love, sports are life 

Throw any sport at him and he’ll play it like a god 

Captain of the baseball, football and basketball team 

And to be honest getting good grades really aren’t his top priority 

Can get pretty obnoxious and loud at times

He just has too much energy to spare 

Overall a very good and caring leader and friend 

Jeonghan ~ The Diva 

So at first he seems like an angel 

I mean he’s gorgeous 

Long silky hair that every girl would kill for 

Beautiful smile 

Amazing voice 

But underneath that he’s pretty sadistic 

And sassy 

If you even dream about pissing him off he’ll run his damn mouth off on you 

Gives the best fashion advice

And if you’re wearing something ugly he’ll be sure to point it out in the most offensive manner possible 

The kind of guy to say “GeT In LOSer we’RE GOIng shOPpING.” 

Joshua ~ The Class President 

Honestly every girl has a crush on this precious boy some guys too 

He’s such a sweetheart 

So kind and gentle towards everybody 

Every teacher’s dream student

Organizes special school days every week 

Pajama day 

Disney Day 

Twin Day 

He’ll even try to organize special pizza lunches with the cafeteria 

If you want to talk about something, he’s your guy 

School? Homework? Stress? Some amazing food you had the other day? He’ll listen to anything and give helpful advice if needed

Jun ~ The Fuck Boy 

Don’t even think about fighting me on this 

This boy has the looks, the cocky attitude, the self-confidence, everything

Everyone in the school knows about his dirty game but he’s too damn hard to resist 

He’s dated every girl in the school at least once 

Some guys as well 

Usually gets into fights with the boyfriends of girls he ‘flirts’ with 

He’s a wushu master, so don’t even think about fighting him he’ll kick your ass 

He will do anything to get his way 

Hoshi ~ The Prankster 

He lives to prank 

The kind of person to draw penises and other weird stuff on your forehead whenever you pass out a party 

Gives out soy in Coca Cola bottles

Leaves Silly String in the hallway

Puts pictures of the weirdest memes on people’s lockers

Even takes the time to paint the occasional rainbow dick in the boy’s washroom 

His best prank was during his sophomore year where he released harmless pet-store snakes into the school hello two weeks of suspension and four weeks of detention

Jisoos please save this kid 

Wonwoo ~ The Bookworm

Books, books, books 

Never seen without a book 

In class? Book in his binder. At lunch? Book in his lunch box. Taking out the garbage? Book in his back pocket. 

Literally lives at the library 

Ask him any question and he will give you an hour long answer 

This boy knows his stuff 

Woozi ~ The Band Nerd

The ultimate band nerd 

Is in jazz band, concert band, and marching band 

He even joined a chamber ensemble in his freshman year 

He has to wake up at 6 literally every day of the week to make it to morning practices 

But goes to bed at midnight because he’s writing songs 

So yeah no wonder he’s always grumpy 

Can learn any instrument you throw his way just give him a week

Although he mostly prefers instruments like the guitar, piano, and clarinet 

DK ~ The Ray of Sunshine 

Two words

ENERGETIC. PUPPY.

He never calms down. Ever.

Life is like a sugar high to him

He’s the kid that always talks or laughs way too loud

You can literally hear him coming from ten miles away so rest in peace whoever has a locker next to him

He’s always so happy 

Nobody ever knows why and it gets annoying sometimes 

But if you’re having a bad day he’s there to cheer you up <3 

Mingyu ~ The Heartthrob 

So long story short, everyone either wants to date him or be him 

He’s tall 

Muscular 

Handsome like a god bless him 

Super smart 

Always finishes the top of his class 

He’s even the captain of the swim team 

He’s the whole package 

The8 ~ The Bad Boy 

I love my badass China line 

Where to start with this kid? 

Black. 

He loves black

Everything he wears is black it’s gotta be black 

Dyes his hair a new color every week 

Strangely enough it’s every color but black 

Everyone’s scared of him even though they’ve never heard him talk 

He’s a pretty quiet guy 

Always keeps to himself 

Unless someone tries to start a fight with him 

Then things get real ugly 

Rumors sometimes go around saying that he’s in a gang 

Seungkwan ~ The Gossiper

Keeping secrets? What is that? 

He’s the king of gossip 

He knows everyone’s secrets before they know themselves 

And before they figure it out half the school already knows 

If anyone tries to mess with him it’s all over for them 

He’ll use blackmail or hang up incriminating and embarrassing pictures of them all over the school

So he basically owns the school 

You want dirt on someone? Revenge? He’s your guy 

Vernon ~ The Meme Lord 

Listen, memes are this kid’s life 

If you even think about trash talking memes he’ll kick your ass 

Actually got suspended once after slapping the shit out of someone that said kermit memes were dumb

His entire camera roll 9471 pictures to be precise is made up of the highest quality memes you will ever see 

Shrek memes? 300 of them.

Salt Bae? He is the Salt Bae.

The Forbidden Fruit? You fucking betcha. 

Not those overdone minion memes though “those minion memes are the reason why harambe died in the first place” 

Has a meme reaction photo for every scenario and response you can ever think of

He shares his memes with his friends, peers, and even strangers on the street and yes he’ll share his memes with you righT IN FRONT OF YOUR SALAD 

Dino ~ The Over Excited Freshman 

He has N O  C H I L L 

He wants to be friends with E V E R Y O N E 

Tries to get invited to all the parties 

Wants to join all the clubs, classes, teams, everything 

He’s not really an overachiever, just the kind of guy that lives on ‘YOLO’

Gets so pumped when there’s a pep rally he’s always the loudest one cheering 

Is so immersed with the special school days that Joshua plans 

Like you can fucking bet that he’ll dress up as Ariel for Disney Day 

Or come to school in a dragon onesie for Pajama Day 

He’s so bubbly and pure and soft and everyone loves this child 

~ Admin Calypso {｡^◕‿◕^｡}

#Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #Svt #high school au #seventeen high school au #scoups #jeonghan #joshua #jun svt #Jun #wen junhui #hoshi #seventeen hoshi #wonwoo #woozi #dk #mingyu #kim mingyu #the8 #thughao #seungkwan #divaboo #vernon #dino #seventeen dino

[iamchrissi]

Walks Like Thunder

So I just binge watched the first seven episodes of this amazing series. And I kind of had to write this. Because I really love Anissa Pierce, like, so much, and I adore the Pierce family. I hope I did them justice.

Anissa Pierce has never once been afraid of thunder.

Jennifer was. When she was a little girl, Jennifer would cry when the sky growled, and as soon as she could walk she would run for Anissa's bed or that of their parents. Anissa would hold her, but she never understood.

Thunder is just God's way of making himself heard, after all.

“Why did you hit him?” Mrs. Thomas asks. She's a nice teacher, usually. Right now she's glaring though. Anissa's glaring too.

“He was pulling Janice's hair. And saying mean things.” She crosses her arms, and refuses to let herself be intimidated by the fact hat Mrs. Thomas is almost twice as tall as she is. She'll grow, she knows, but she kind of wishes she was taller already.

“That's a noble reason for acting, but Anissa, violence is never the answer.” Mrs. Thomas sounds exasperated. Anissa is proud for knowing that word, but she's not happy herself.

“Nobody else was doing anything. You didn't do anything.” She mutters. Not loud enough for Mrs. Thomas to hear, but she needs to say it. That would feel wrong. Dad would say it's just her being stubborn, but Anissa can't stay silent anymore than she could have let Jim bully Janice.

The first time Anissa went to a rally, she was in fifth grade, and it was about educational rights. Some older student had mentioned it, and the idea hadn't let Anissa go, to have the ability to change things, to exist as more than just herself.

It took a week of badgering to get her parents to accompany her, and the whole time, she'd had to pretend not to notice the tension between them, snappy remarks and charged glares. But Anissa looked away, and she read up on rights and facts and what to do if they got arrested.

The protest was peaceful, and Anissa was probably a bit insufferable for a week, what with spouting all her newly gained knowledge to anyone who more or less cared, but it felt... like a start.

Dad teaches them how to defend themselves when they are still tiny. Anissa knows Mom's not that happy about it, because it means that Anissa now actually knows how to punch bullies in a way that really hurts them, but Dad insists it's important.

“God will protect you,” he says. “But God always favors those who help themselves, and those who try to protect others.”

Anissa soaks it up like a sponge, and then she goes and tries to teach her friends. They should not be unprotected, either.

Mom makes a point to tell her that she doesn't have to study medicine.

“I'm proud of you if that's your choice.” She says, “but you don't have to follow my path if you don't want that. The world is big, and you can choose whatever makes you happy.”

The thing is, medicine is not about Mom. At least not mainly. Of course she wants to do something like her Mom, wants to be able to understand Mom on this level, wants Mom to be proud of her, wants to share this with Mom. But Mom would be proud of her anyway.

The thing is, medicine is just as much about Dad as it is about Mom, because Dad always wants to save the world, and Anissa can't do it as a teacher, she doesn't think she'd ever have Dad's sort of patience with teenagers, but medicine, medicine can save people too.

The thing is, medicine is about herself. About what she can see herself doing for life, about what she believes in, about what feels right. And Mom and Dad's proud smiles? Just the icing on the cake.

Chenoa is … comfortable. Like an old sweater, warm and soft and nice. Beautiful, and kind, but not the kind of person she'd tell her worries to. She never was, Anissa thinks when it's over.

She loved her, she's sure of that. At some point, Chenoa was the light of the sun to Anissa. But it faded, somehow, and then Chenoa was just... nice.

And that's not fair to Chenoa, to stay with her when it's just... nice. Convenient. Anissa knows it's not fair. She knows that Chenoa loves her, more than Anissa loves her, and that's not fair, either. Chenoa deserves a girl who loves her fiercely, who'd carry her to heaven if necessary.

She deserves more than Anissa, who cares, of course she cares, but who hasn't loved her in a while. She deserves more than a girl who knows it's not working but who's too comfortable to say it like ti is.

Grace, though. Grace, that's butterflies in her stomach, warmth all over her, the inability to look away. Grace is a new beginning, and Anissa isn't happy how it ended with Chenoa, but god, Grace... Grace makes her feel like she's in love for the first time again, and it's amazing.

Anissa doesn't go to church every Sunday. Mom and Dad aren't, either, and anyway, she has other things to do. Rallies, books, friends... there's always something.

But at least once a month, Mom and Dad will make sure that they have no plans for Sunday morning, and they'll get out the good church clothes, and Anissa and Jennifer will go with them. They don't have to, Mom and Dad made that clear once they hit fourteen. Mom and Dad like it when they come, but it's not a requirement. They want them to make their own choices.

Anissa keeps going to church. Maybe that's strange, for a lesbian to actually like church, but Reverend Holt has personally told her that God loves her as a lesbian just as much as he'd love her as a straight girl, and well, that God that Reverent Holt teaches about? She likes him. She likes him a lot.

In hindsight, she should probably have seen the whole Dad-is-Black-Lightning reveal coming, but she really, really didn't.

Which is kind of interesting, because once she had time to think it through, to really examine her childhood through the lens of this new knowledge, it all just fits so well that she can't believe she missed it before.

How did she rationalize the many times her dad was hurt when she was a little girl? She remembers blood, remembers Dad sitting in the bathroom, apparently unable to get up. She remembers it all so clearly, remembers Dad's quiet moans, Mom's carefully controlled voice, clearly hiding panic just behind her beautiful dark eyes.

What did she thing those late night phone calls were about, before she knew? Because she remembers those, too. Remembers Mom whisper-yelling into the phone, berating Uncle Gambi, remembers how worried Mom was.

She even remembers distracting Jennifer from it, tugging her little sister into her room to read her a story or play with dolls or do anything but look at Dad unable to get up and Mom fussing around him.

And yet...

She never once connected the dots.

The first girl she has a crush on is a brilliant nerd named Carolyn. She's funny and sweet and sometimes really snarky, or as snarky as a kind fourteen year old can be.

She's not sure what to do with these feelings she has at first. A warm feeling in her stomach, being distracted even in her favorite classes... she'd be annoyed, if it didn't feel so good every time Carolyn smiles at her.

It takes her a while to connect those feelings to the descriptions of falling in love that she found in the romance novels her friend Sara gave her. But in those novels, these descriptions are only ever about boys, not girls.

Anissa spends a day in the library, because that's where she goes when she needs to learn something, then she gathers all her courage and goes home to talk to her parents.

(She's not sure why she worried, because these are her parents. They love her, love her more than anything else in the world, and of course being a lesbian won't change that. But, well... she's heard things. Of parents changing when they heard their child was queer. And she's read things, there in the library, of people turning nasty. But she should have known her parents are better than that.)

The next day, she goes and asks Carolyn if she wants to go to the movies with her.

Black Lightning was her hero. He's always been. Black Lightning was the hero of every black child in Freeland, and probably quite a few white kids as well, but he always felt personal to Anissa.

Probably because he is so powerful. He can just go and help people, can actually protect them, from anyone and anything, at least that's what it always seemed like when she was a child. There never seemed to be anything that would be able to stop him.

She doesn't keep count of how many teachers she fights on this matter, of how many times she tries to get people to see that doing something, even if maybe it isn't the perfect solution, is always better than doing nothing.

So when it turns out that she can throw guys across parking lots... well, it was never a question what she'd do with that.

Training with Dad is... like everything makes sense suddenly. Like a piece falling into place. She dodges and jumps and pushes, and she laughs, sweat running down her back, and Dad is laughing too, as though a huge weight has been lifted of him, as though he can breathe again.

And she knows that Mom is worried, and she knows that Dad and Uncle Gambi have been fighting, and that this new drug is bad, and that the streets are almost boiling with tension and things are only going to get more dangerous, but, still...

Anissa jumps, and then she laughs, because this is what freedom feels like, this is what power feels like. And when she looks at Dad, she knows he feels it too.

Sometimes, in her nightmares, Jennifer and her are back in that room. There are men, and though she knows their names by now, they don't seem to have faces in her nightmares. They're anonymous, just waving guns, pointing them at her little sister.

She wants to protect her, but her powers don't turn on. She breathes and tries to stay calm and does everything Dad taught her, but nothing happens. She's just a little girl in way over her head.

Nobody comes. She knows, she knows, that Dad came, that Dad will always come to save them, because that's what Dad does, he saves people, especially family. But in her nightmares, he doesn't, and she's frozen in place, and she can't do anything.

“Are you ready for this, Thunder?” Dad asks, voice serious, already dressed up in his suit. He looks dangerous like this, ready to take on the world, but she sees the taut lines of worry in his body, too.

Anissa closes her eyes. Takes in the sensation of the new suit around her body, still a bit stiff, a bit strange, of the power she knows sits right under her skin. She opens her eyes and looks at her father, loving and dangerous and worried and prepared, and she smiles. Hell is going to break loose in this city, and soon. She will be right in the middle of it, will inevitably be caught in this storm, in this war.

Anissa Pierce has never been afraid of thunder.

“Yes.”

#black lightning #anissa pierce #jennifer pierce #jefferson pierce #lynn stewart #dc

[dfroza]

(Anew, genesis)

is what the pure hope of Love is. to erase the past (tense) and all the mistakes of mankind who were created as free beings, to choose between right and wrong behavior.

but our Creator knew this. that we would fail. and yet, we still were made free to choose to be in Love (in Light), or not.

to be, or not to be: (?)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures reveals a heavenly vision given to John to write down nearly 2,000 years ago that later became known as the 21st chapter of the book of Revelation in the Holy Bible that reveals (A new covenant of grace) in the True illumination of the Son:

I looked again and could hardly believe my eyes. Everything above me was new. Everything below me was new. Everything around me was new because the heaven and earth that had been passed away, and the sea was gone, completely. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, prepared like a bride on her wedding day, adorned for her husband and for His eyes only. And I heard a great voice, coming from the throne.

A Voice: See, the home of God is with His people.

He will live among them;

They will be His people,

And God Himself will be with them.

The prophecies are fulfilled:

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

Mourning no more, crying no more, pain no more,

For the first things have gone away.

And the One who sat on the throne announced to His creation,

The One: See, I am making all things new. (turning to me) Write what you hear and see, for these words are faithful and true. It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will see to it that the thirsty drink freely from the fountain of the water of life. To the victors will go this inheritance: I will be their God, and they will be My children. It will not be so for the cowards, the faithless, the sacrilegious, the murderers, the sexually immoral, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all those who deal in deception. They will inherit an eternity in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.

And then one of the seven messengers in charge of the seven bowls filled with the seven last plagues came over to me.

Heavenly Messenger: Come with me, and I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.

He took me away in the Spirit and set me on top of a great, high mountain. As I waited for what I thought was a bride, he showed me the holy city, Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God. It gleamed and shined with the glory of God; its radiance was like the most precious of jewels, like jasper, and it was as clear as crystal. It was surrounded with a wall, great and high. There were twelve gates. Assigned to each gate was a messenger, twelve in all. And on the gates were inscribed the names of the twelve tribes of Israel’s sons. On the east wall were three gates. On the north wall were three gates. On the south wall were three gates. On the west wall were three gates. And the city wall sat perfectly on twelve foundation stones, and on them were inscribed the names of the twelve emissaries of the Lamb.

My guide held a golden measuring rod. With it he measured the city and the gates and the walls. And the city is laid out with four corners in a perfect square, the length the same as its width. He measured the city with his measuring rod, and the result was that its length and width and height are equal: 1,444 miles, a perfect cube. And my guide measured the wall; it was nearly 72 yards high, in human measurements, which was the instrument the guide was using. The wall was made of jasper, while the city itself was made of pure gold, yet it was as clear as glass. The foundation stones of the wall of the city were decorated with every kind of jewel: the first was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth carnelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, the twelfth amethyst. The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate expertly crafted from a single beautiful pearl. And the city street was pure gold, yet it was as transparent as glass.

And in the city, I found no temple because the Lord God, the All Powerful, and the Lamb are the temple. And in the city, there is no need for the sun to light the day or moon the night because the resplendent glory of the Lord provides the city with warm, beautiful light and the Lamb illumines every corner of the new Jerusalem. And all peoples of all the nations will walk by its unfailing light, and the rulers of the earth will stream into the city bringing with them the symbols of their grandeur and power. During the day, its gates will not be closed; the darkness of night will never settle in. The glory and grandeur of the nations will be on display there, carried to the holy city by people from every corner of the world. Nothing that defiles or is defiled can enter into its glorious gates. Those who practice sacrilege or deception will never walk its streets. Only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life can enter.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 21 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 32nd chapter of 2nd Chronicles that documents the rest of King Hezekiah’s life along with God’s victory over the prideful threats of the king of Assyria:

And then, after this exemplary track record, this: Sennacherib king of Assyria came and attacked Judah. He put the fortified cities under siege, determined to take them.

When Hezekiah realized that Sennacherib’s strategy was to take Jerusalem, he talked to his advisors and military leaders about eliminating all the water supplies outside the city; they thought it was a good idea. There was a great turnout of people to plug the springs and tear down the aqueduct. They said, “Why should the kings of Assyria march in and be furnished with running water?”

Hezekiah also went to work repairing every part of the city wall that was damaged, built defensive towers on it, built another wall of defense further out, and reinforced the defensive rampart (the Millo) of the old City of David. He also built up a large store of armaments—spears and shields. He then appointed military officers to be responsible for the people and got them all together at the public square in front of the city gate.

Hezekiah rallied the people, saying, “Be strong! Take courage! Don’t be intimidated by the king of Assyria and his troops—there are more on our side than on their side. He only has a bunch of mere men; we have our God to help us and fight for us!”

Morale surged. Hezekiah’s words put steel in their spines.

Later on, Sennacherib, who had set up camp a few miles away at Lachish, sent messengers to Jerusalem, addressing Judah through Hezekiah: “A proclamation of Sennacherib king of Assyria: You poor people—do you think you’re safe in that so-called fortress of Jerusalem? You’re sitting ducks. Do you think Hezekiah will save you? Don’t be stupid—Hezekiah has fed you a pack of lies. When he says, ‘God will save us from the power of the king of Assyria,’ he’s lying—you’re all going to end up dead. Wasn’t it Hezekiah who cleared out all the neighborhood worship shrines and told you, ‘There is only one legitimate place to worship’? Do you have any idea what I and my ancestors have done to all the countries around here? Has there been a single god anywhere strong enough to stand up against me? Can you name one god among all the nations that either I or my ancestors have ravaged that so much as lifted a finger against me? So what makes you think you’ll make out any better with your god? Don’t let Hezekiah fool you; don’t let him get by with his barefaced lies; don’t trust him. No god of any country or kingdom ever has been one bit of help against me or my ancestors—what kind of odds does that give your god?”

The messengers felt free to throw in their personal comments, putting down both God and God’s servant Hezekiah.

Sennacherib continued to send letters insulting the God of Israel: “The gods of the nations were powerless to help their people; the god of Hezekiah is no better, probably worse.”

The messengers would come up to the wall of Jerusalem and shout up to the people standing on the wall, shouting their propaganda in Hebrew, trying to scare them into demoralized submission. They contemptuously lumped the God of Jerusalem in with the handmade gods of other peoples.

King Hezekiah, joined by the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz, responded by praying, calling up to heaven. God answered by sending an angel who wiped out everyone in the Assyrian camp, both warriors and officers. Sennacherib was forced to return home in disgrace, tail between his legs. When he went into the temple of his god, his own sons killed him.

God saved Hezekiah and the citizens of Jerusalem from Sennacherib king of Assyria and everyone else. And he continued to take good care of them. People streamed into Jerusalem bringing offerings for the worship of God and expensive presents to Hezekiah king of Judah. All the surrounding nations were impressed—Hezekiah’s stock soared.

* * *

Some time later Hezekiah became deathly sick. He prayed to God and was given a reassuring sign.

But the sign, instead of making Hezekiah grateful, made him arrogant. This made God angry, and his anger spilled over on Judah and Jerusalem. But then Hezekiah, and Jerusalem with him, repented of his arrogance, and God withdrew his anger while Hezekiah lived.

Hezekiah ended up very wealthy and much honored. He built treasuries for all his silver, gold, precious stones, spices, shields, and valuables, barns for the grain, new wine, and olive oil, stalls for his various breeds of cattle, and pens for his flocks. He founded royal cities for himself and built up huge stocks of sheep and cattle. God saw to it that he was extravagantly rich. Hezekiah was also responsible for diverting the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and rerouting the water to the west side of the City of David. Hezekiah succeeded in everything he did. But when the rulers of Babylon sent emissaries to find out about the sign from God that had taken place earlier, God left him on his own to see what he would do; he wanted to test his heart.

* * *

The rest of the history of Hezekiah and his life of loyal service, you can read for yourself—it’s written in the vision of the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz in the Royal Annals of the Kings of Judah and Israel. When Hezekiah died, they buried him in the upper part of the King David cemetery. Everyone in Judah and Jerusalem came to the funeral. He was buried in great honor.

Manasseh his son was the next king.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 32 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, march 1 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons that takes a look at the significance of the Red Heifer sacrificial law as it relates to the Son:

The Sabbath that immediately follows Purim is called Shabbat Parah - the "Sabbath of the [red] Cow." In traditional synagogue services, two Torah scrolls will be removed from the ark, and from the first scroll will be read the Torah portion for the week (e.g., Ki Tisa), and from the second will be read the chapter regarding the laws of the sacrifice of the “Red Heifer” (Num. 19:1-22). The early sages decided to recite the laws of the Red Heifer at this time to recall the remedy of the sin of the Golden Calf, and to remind the people to purify themselves before coming to Jerusalem for the pilgrimage festival of Passover. It is thought that since the sprinkling of the “waters of separation” cleanses from the uncleanness of death, reading this portion will help prepare our hearts for the time of Passover when we celebrate deliverance from death.

The Red Heifer offering is considered a paradox to most Jewish thinkers, though it can be seen as a revelation of the Yeshua our Messiah. The paradox is that the one who offers this sacrifice becomes ritually impure, while the sprinkling of the ashes is used to make people clean... The ritual is considered chok within the Jewish tradition, meaning that it makes no rational sense. The Talmud states that of all the 613 commandments given in the Torah, even King Solomon with all his wisdom could not fathom this decee. However, the sacrifice of Yeshua the Messiah can be understood as the fulfillment of the symbolism of the parah adumah. Both were entirely rare and without defect (sin); both were sacrificed “outside the camp”; both made the one who offered the sacrifice unclean but made the one who was sprinkled by it clean; and finally, both sacrifices cleanse people for priestly service.

The parah adumah had to be a perfect specimen that was completely red, “without blemish, in which there is no defect (mum).” The rabbis interpreted “without blemish” as referring to the color, that is, without having so much as a single white or black hair. This is the only sacrifice in the Torah where the color of the animal is explicitly required. Moreover, the parah adumah was never to have had a yoke upon it, meaning that it must never have been used for any profane purposes.

Unlike all other sacrifices offered at the altar, the parah adumah was taken outside the camp and there slaughtered before the priest, who then took some of its blood and sprinkled it seven times before the Mishkan (thereby designating it as a purification offering). [During the Second Temple period, the High Priest performed this ceremony facing the Temple while atop the Mount of Olives.] Then the red heifer would be burned in its entirety: its hide, flesh, blood, and even dung were to be burned (unlike other Levitical korbanot). Unlike other offerings, all the blood of the sacrifice was to be burned in the fire.

Hyssop, scarlet yarn, and a cedar stick would then be thrown upon the burning parah adumah (these same items were used to cleanse from tzara’at, skin disease). In other words, the blood was assimilated into the ashes of the sacrifice, which were then gathered and mixed with water to create the “water of separation” (mei niddah) for the Israelite community. Note that the word “separation” (niddah) refers to menstrual impurity and harkens to Zech. 13:1: “On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and from niddah.”

Anyone (or anything) that came into contact with a corpse (the embodiment of sin and death) was required to be purified using the mei niddah. The purification procedure took seven days, using stalks of hyssop dipped into the water and shaken over the ritually defiled person on the third day and then again on the seventh day. After the second sprinkling, the person undergoing the purification process would be immersed in a mikvah and then be unclean until the following evening.

According to Jewish tradition, the Red Heifer sacrifice was to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf, though the Torah itself does not make this association. The LORD Yeshua, our High Priest of the New Covenant, is the perfect fulfillment of the Parah Adumah, since he was completely without sin or defect (2 Cor 5:21; John 8:46); he was sacrificed outside the camp (Heb 13:13); he made himself sin for us (2 Cor 5:21); his sprinkling makes us clean (1 Pet 1:2; Heb 12:24; Rev 1:5); and the “water of separation” that his sacrifice created is the means by which we are made clean from the impurity of sin (Eph 5:25-6; Heb 10:22). [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

2.28.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

March 1, 2021

The Daily Cross

“And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23)

This same conversation and challenge is also recorded in Matthew 16:24 and Mark 8:34, except that only Luke included the term “daily.” Except for one brief reference in Matthew 10:38, this conversation marks the first explicit reference in the Bible to the practice of crucifixion, and it apparently assumes that the disciples were already well aware of this typically Roman method of execution.

“Taking up the cross” referred to the usual requirement that each condemned man haul his own cross to the place of execution. Jesus knew that He would soon have to be doing this Himself (John 19:16-17).

Christians sometimes use this phrase without appreciation of its true meaning, thinking of some burden (such as sickness or poverty) as “the cross” they must bear. Such things can be serious problems, but they are not instruments of execution, such as a cross. In effect, the Lord was telling His disciples that following Him must mean nothing less than a daily willingness to die for Him if need be. As Paul would say: “I am crucified with Christ” (Galatians 2:20); “I die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:31).

Many disciples have indeed suffered martyrdom for Christ’s sake, but all should at least be willing to deny themselves daily. “Taking up the cross” does not necessarily mean dying as Christ did, but it does mean consciously dying each day to the world and living unto Him. For “they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts” (Galatians 5:24) and gladly affirm this testimony: “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world” (Galatians 6:14). HMM