#from dying. how could he not even want to shut down the country for at least 2 weeks

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Don't expect a call | Xavier Thorpe x Addams!Reader

Summary: Your and Xavier's relationship unexpectedly turn into something else over the summer

Word count: 1.9k

Request: 6, 9, 22 with xavier please!! I'm dying to see what you will write with them, knowing how awesome your works in general are! Have a good day 💜 ‘‘Would you just shut up and kiss me already.’‘ + “I wasn’t done kissing you.” + ‘’How can you be so blind?’’

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Following the death of Principal Weems, the rest of the semester was canceled and everyone went home. Students and parents crowded the hall with their suitcases, making it difficult to navigate. Lurch would be picking you and Wednesday up, but you needed to find your sister first.

Your shoulder was still tender from the arrow you took during the battle against Crackstone, but it was healing well. There will undoubtedly be a scar, but nothing too noticeable.

Your eyes searched for a pink blob, figuring Wednesday would be with Enid. Since the battle, the two have been attached to the hip.

During your search, your eyes fell on Xavier at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing. He waved and you lifted your eyebrows. What could he want?

The heels of your shoes clicked as you walked up the stairs and made your way to Xavier. You and him had started on the wrong foot at your arrival at Nevermore, but you were good now.

A smile grew on his face when you appeared in his sightline, happy to see you were on your two feet and well. He tried to visit you at the infirmary, but you were already gone when he showed up.

''I heard you're a free man now,'' you said flatly.

Xavier nodded once. ''Yep. All charges dismissed.''

Although you weren't the one who wrongly framed him, you felt a little responsible for the time he spent behind bars. Wednesday needed to apologize for what she put him through. Those days and nights he spent in the small cell must've been long, sad and lonely — even for a solitaire like Xavier.

''I got you something. It's a thank you for taking that arrow for me. You didn't have to do that.'' He handed you a black box with a matching ribbon, trying to conceal how smitten he was for you. ''Welcome to the 21st century, Addams.''

You opened the top, impressed by the fancy wrapping, and revealed the small object inside the box: a brand new and shiny cell phone. Your eyes shifted to the gift giver.

''My number's in there already.''

''It's bold of you to assume I would need it.'' You closed the box. ''I hope you don't expect me to call you.''

Xavier shook his head. He would be waiting forever. ''No. Never. But I'd settle for a text, though.''

''Goodbye, Xavier.''

*

For the first weeks of being home, you ignored every one of his texts. You made it look like you didn't care, but deep down you were very happy to get a message from him. Thing kept telling you it was rude to not answer and that you should text him back, but Xavier knew to expect nothing from you. You doubted he was offended by your silence.

After a full month of silence, you started giving him short answers once in a while. He was surprised the first time you replied. He even sent you a shocked emoji of his face. But you had to tell him that the quote he was reciting was wrong.

And, you were starting to miss him. Just a little.

One late evening, you found yourself looking him up on social media. There were mostly artsy pictures of tubes of paint and dirty brushes, paintings, a garden you assumed to be in his backyard, and the most recent, a selfie of him and Ajax. According to the posting date, it had been taken a few days ago. You noticed Xavier's hair had gotten longer. He was now able to do a full ponytail without having shorter pieces falling out at the front.

He looked handsome.

*

Summer came, and so did Enid. After begging her parents to let her take a flight across the country to visit you and Wednesday — mostly Wednesday —, they finally agreed. Her mom said it was her reward for finally wolfing out, which sounded wrong to your ears.

Your parents were surprised when they saw her coming out of the Addams' black Cadillac, looking the exact opposite of their daughters, but they grew fond of her very quickly. After two days, she was already part of the family.

While Wednesday was slowly and secretly falling for the sweet werewolf who favored the color pink, you caught yourself developing feelings for Xavier. He had taught you how to make video calls and it was so much better than texting.

''What is this called again?'' you asked, seeing Xavier's face through the small screen.

''Facetime.''

''Oh. Yes.'' You always forgot the name. ''I like this.'' I like seeing you.

Xavier smiled, his dimples poking through his cheeks.

You began talking about the black dahlias you grew in your mother's greenhouse and although Xavier didn't know shit about plants and flowers, he listened to everything you had to say. He loved listening to your voice.

As summer went on, it was getting more and more difficult for him to hide his feelings. Even through a screen. He was falling hard for you. But you didn't like him that way and, although he deeply wished you would feel the same, he respected that. He liked you so much that he just wanted to be around you — or in your life —, including being okay with being placed in the friendzone, even if that was obviously the last place he wanted to be.

*

The leaves began changing colors and Lurch drove the Addams clan to the academy. A single black dahlia rested on your lap, which earned a confused look from your sister. If you wanted to bring flowers to your dorm, wouldn't it have been more practical to bring a pot?

You ignored her question and went back to looking out the window until the gates of Nevermore Academy came in sight. A strange feeling bubbled in your stomach and your mother didn't fail to notice the slight twitch of your lips.

After saying goodbye to your parents and Pugsley, Wednesday left to find Enid and your eyes searched the quad for Xavier. You spotted his best friend, and found the green eyed artist by his side.

A small smile curled on your lips, but you quickly composed yourself. To make up, you gave a death stare to the first year boy on your right. He quickly hung his head down. It wasn't nice, but you had a reputation to maintain.

Raising your eyes back to Xavier, you watched as he laughed at something Ajax must have said. It was nice to see him in person and not trapped in a tiny phone screen.

You smoothed your dress and went to him. ''Hi.''

Xavier's attention snapped the second you opened your mouth, a melody to his ears. ''Hi,'' he greeted back, trying to fight the smile on his face but failing.

Beside him, Ajax bit back a snicker, then excused himself.

''This is for you,'' you said, handing him the black dahlia you were holding. ''Grown in my personal greenhouse.''

A soft flush coloring his cheeks. Xavier acted standoffish with everyone, but you had him wrapped around your little finger.

A misogynist would be offended, saying men offer flowers to women. Not Xavier.

He accepted the single flower and twirled it between his fingers. ‘’It’s beautiful. Looks more a deep burgundy and a deep mahogany than black, though.’’

You scoffed lightly. ‘’Trying to impress me with your artist vocabulary?’’

‘’Is it working?’’

‘’No.’’

The corner of his mouth curled.

He would never admit it out loud, but Xavier loved when you’re mean to him. Your blunt honesty and one-liners that knocked people off their pedestals was part of your personality and he found it endearing.

Xavier's phone alarm went off and his smile fell. He fished the device out of his pocket, then read the reminder with a disappointed face. ‘’I gotta go. I have a video appointment with my therapist in ten minutes.’’

You didn't want him to leave, but you couldn't hold him back.

‘’Okay. I'll see you later.’’

‘’Do you...want to walk with me to the dormitory?’’ Xavier asked, holding his breath as he waited for your answer.

You gave him a single nod and headed toward the right aisle of the Academy.

As you were walking, Xavier’s arm could brush yours from time to time. Each time it did, you felt spiders in your stomach. You could smell his cologne too. A mix of pine and something else you couldn't decipher.

‘’After Dr. Kinbott's death and everything that followed, my father was quick to find me a new therapist. An expensive one that would fix all of his son’s crazies in the most secrecy.’’ Xavier scoffed, shaking his head at his father's terrible parenting. ’’She’s been helping me deal with the aftermath of my arrest and put order into my thoughts. I thought my life would go back to how it was before I got arrested, but it didn’t. Although I was proven innocent, some still believe I murdered those people.’’

‘’Tyler was the monster—’’ you quickly said.

‘’I know.’’ He dropped his head, his next words quieter. ‘’But I guess it’s easier to believe an outcast did it than the sheriff’s ‘normie’ son...’’

This made your heart ache for Xavier. He may be obstinate and irrational at times, but he would never murder somebody. Especially not Rowan, who he used to call his roommate and friend. They had a fallout a little before his death, but nothing that would have pushed Xavier to kill him.

If you heard anyone say something bad about him, they better run or they'll know what you're capable of. The Addams were known to be crazy, but you preferred to say wildly devoted to the ones you love — whether it be a friend, a family member or a lover. There's nothing you wouldn't do to defend or protect the ones you cared about.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you reached the boys' dormitory.

That walk was over way too soon.

‘’Xavier?’’ He shifted his green eyes down at you, your height difference more apparent when you were standing close. ‘’Before we part, there's something I need to tell you.’’

He drew his eyebrows, a wash of concern over his face. ‘’I’m listening.’’

‘’This summer has been revealing for me. I found in you a friend I didn't know I needed. I've always been a lonely person and I'm comfortable that way, but it's nice to have a friend. But as the days and weeks went by, I found myself looking forward to your every text and call and sometimes, I never wanted them to end,’’ you admitted transparently. ‘’It took me a while to figure out why I was feeling that way and why I always had spiders in my stomach every time someone mentioned your name. Xavier, I…I think I want us to be more than friends. I don’t know if that’s how I’m supposed to say it, but—’’

Just like in those horrifying normies rom-coms, Xavier crashed his lips on yours, interrupting you with a kiss.

You took a few seconds to react, not expecting him to do this, but then responded to his kiss, standing on your tiptoes and curling a hand behind his neck to pull him closer. Xavier’s lips moved over yours with extreme softness, kissing you the way he always wanted to.

You pulled back for air, finding yourself smiling when seeing a smudge of your lipstick on his face. It wasn’t that noticeable, but you liked that it was there. ‘’I've never been in love before, so I cannot promise you I'll be a perfect lover—’’

Xavier shook his head. ‘’I don't care. Perfect is boring anyway.’’ He held back a grin, pressing his forehead against yours. ''I prefer spooky and kooky.''

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo—uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r

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All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday #wednesday imagine

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Grief - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

A half remembered promise broken...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

It was only afterward, when dawn's light slanted through the shutters, that the tears came.

"Fuck." Sevika's breath jittered. "Not again."

Silco said nothing. Just held her, awkwardly, as the sobs began. By now, he understood. She wasn't crying for him. Wasn't even crying for herself. It was an ache so far down, words couldn't give it shape. The best he could do was listen.

He'd learned how, with Nandi.

"I'm sorry," Sevika breathed. "This was a shit idea."

"You think so?"

"Fuck, no."

She fitted herself against the sinewy curvature of his body. Watery sunrays slid across the bedspread, nearly touching their twined legs. His fingertips traced the smooth dip above her hipbone. She had none of her sister's softness. But she had her strength. Silco liked strong bodies: the muscles, the scars. Proof of a lifetime's work, and the toll it takes.

Sevika's was young in those days. But the marks were already indelible. There’d be many more before the end. 

And he'd be the cause of most.

"I miss her," she said. "I miss her, and she'd hate it."

"Hate what?"

"Seeing me like this." She wiped her webbed lashes. "Seeing me with you."

"She's past seeing." He felt a tremor, and circled her close. "What? It’s true."

"It’s not, Sil. The dead, they're always with us." Her head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. "Sometimes, I hear her footsteps in the kitchen. I'll be in bed, just waking up. Still rubbing the grit from my eyes. And she'll come floating in, with that glide of hers, holding a cup of tea." Her throat worked. "That's what she’d make me every morning: a cup of tea. She'd put it on the bedside table, nudge me awake, and then go off to the Temple. And I'd lay there, listening to her footsteps in the hall. Waiting for the door to shut, so I could sneak a smoke with the window cracked."

"She knew you smoked in here?"

"She was deaf, not blind. But she let me do it. Said it kept the bugs out." She exhaled a too-wet laugh. "Now the whole place is crawling with roaches. There's stacks of dishes in the sink. Dust on everything. Nothing in the pantry. It's a shithole, and I can't stand to sleep here alone. But… I don’t want to move anywhere else, either. I always thought we'd grow old here. We'd die together. In this flat. On this bed."

"Like invalids?"

"Like sisters." She lay a palm against his chest, learning the cadence of his heart. "You’ve never had any, have you?"

"No." Silco was quiet a moment. "Just brothers."

"Vander."

"Before. Long ago."  His fingertips stroked, lightly, up the vertebra of her spine. "I barely remember anymore.  Except for the dirt. The hunger. The cold. I never gave a damn about dying in a bed. All I wanted was not to die at all."

"You haven't changed much."

His palm found the nape of her neck, and rested there. "I’ve no plans to."

"Hope so." She smiled, crescent-shaped, against the damp crook of his neck. "Hope you’ll always stay the same hard-driving bastard from the mines. With a bergamot in his pocket and a big speech for everything." Her eyes met his, darkly sheened. "Don't change, Sil."

"If death's the alternative, I'll do my best." He cupped her chin. "What about you?"

"Same." She bit the hollow of his palm. "Just a good-time girl from Oldtown. No money, but a mean right hook."

"Meanest in the Lanes."

"It's all my old man left me." Her eyes slid to the window. Daylight was cutting through the slats: the night was slipping away. "He was a piece of shit. Not always, mind. When Amma was alive, he was decent.  Couldn't help himself. She was like Nandi, you see. Soft. Shining. Brought out the best in everybody."

"He loved her?"

"More than life. That was his endearment for her. Jaan. It's from the old country. Means life. He'd sit there at the fighting pits, the big brute, with bloody knuckles and a split lip. But the minute she floated into the stands, he'd be all mush. Like a little kid. You should've seen him." Her laugh vibrated against Silco's skin. "She spoke the language of the mystics. Same as Nandi. When she'd go to the Temple, he'd wait outside on the steps. All respectful, like a foot soldier. When she came out, he'd have little gifts for her from the market. Offerings, almost. Jasmine buds to braid into her hair. Cheap stone rings. Little sachets of perfumed incense. Sometimes, a book, so she could read to him. Her folk were lettered. She had a calligrapher's hand, and a scholar's fluency. Evenings, she'd teach us all: me, Rohan, Nandi. My old man, too. He couldn't pen more than his name, but he'd hang on her every word. Like the rest of us did. It's what she deserved." Sevika shut her eyes. "Then she died birthing Raakesh. And everything decent in my old man died too."

Silco thought of Mother, and her slow unspooling into madness after Daddy's drowning.

"Grief does that," he murmured. "It finds the cracks—and splits them wide." His palm smoothed a soothing path: her shoulderblades, her spine, the small of her back. "You were young when your father turned."

"Old enough to remember the difference." She nestled closer, her knees curling. "You couldn't unsee it. Nobody could. It was like an open wound. It bled all over. He bled all over too. With his brawls, and his bottles, and his fists. In the streets, he'd take it out on whoever crossed his path. At home, he'd take it out on us. Me and Nandi. Rohan. Sometimes even Raakesh, and he wasn't more than a tot." Her jaw gritted. "That was the worst. Seeing the fear in his eyes when our old man shambled home. The same eyes Amma had. She passed 'em down to all her children—and he couldn't look at them without losing his mind. Every day, we were a reminder of who was missing. A slap in the face. So he'd dish one out in kind."

"Nandi protected you."

"In more ways than I can count."

"And now, you're trying to do the same."

"Huh?"

Silco's thumb found the notch of her chin, and tipped her head up. Her eyes were a bloodshot well.  "You think I'm on a self-destructive tear. Same as your father."

Her lips parted, quivering. Then: a sigh. "I know what grief does, too. Especially when it's not just grief."

"Meaning?"

"I told you. There's too much rage in you, and no place to put it." She lay her palm over his heart. "Nandi knew. She could tell right off.  She tried to keep the worst of it at bay. She'd soothe you, and talk to you, and hold you. That was her gift, seeing into the hearts of people. Knowing what they needed. But her gift couldn't fix this. Couldn't fix you. She could only stanch the bleeding." Her fingers curled, as if capturing his heartbeat. "Now she's gone. And you've got nothing to hold you back. No one."

Silco said nothing. He only took her hand, and held it.

"I know," Sevika goes on, "what everyone says. How she was better than me, and all the rest. The good one. The pretty one. The patient one. But that didn't get her anywhere, did it? I'm the one still here."

"So you are."

"You are too." She blinked hard. But a tear slipped loose against her will. "You're all that's left. Of her. Of any of it."

His thumb traced the teardrop's path. "You've got it backwards, love."

"No. It's true. You're more like her than I'll ever be. You both had that specialness, that—I don't know. That grace. Like you were from a different world. Like you could change ours, with just a whisper. Vander's got it too. Only his burns bright as the sun. Yours… it's something else. Something down deep." Her lips were dry. They caught against his, like the words. "Don't lose it, Sil."

He gave her nape a firm squeeze. "I won't if you won't."

"I'm serious. When we take the fight Uppside, you've got to keep it wired. Don't go off the rails." She gripped him fiercely. "I'm no good with words, but I've got two fists. They're yours, as long as you don’t lose your head." Her voice cracked. "Don’t lose it. Promise me."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #silco #arcane silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #nandi #arcane zaun #arcane piltover #sevilco #silco x sevika

[lcahwriter]

Here Comes the Sun (Part One)

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem! Reader (non descriptive/ no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Cancer, talk of dying, anxiety

Angst + Comfort 

Summary:  

When the doctors tell you the cancer is back, your first instinct is to shut everyone out.

You reject Jake to protect him from the pain to come.

What happens when Jake finds out you have cancer? Will he stick by your side or will he let you go?

**

Part 1 of  4

Authors note: This story WILL NOT be romanticizing cancer- but it will showcase a resilient love between two people. Despite the odds. My mom was recently diagnosed with cancer. This story has been in a way therapeutic to write. Thanks for reading.

************

************

“I’m sorry. The cancer is back”

The words repeated in your head over and over again.

“We’ll start treatment as soon as possible.”

“Is there anyone that can support you during this time?”

The phone call from the doctor had been familiar. You’d had the same exact conversation four years ago.

Having cancer was supposed to be a one-time thing. It was supposed to be a happy ending- a fight where good wins over evil.

You thought you had beat cancer forever.

But you were wrong.

Because the MRI showed cancer, and a lot of it.

Having cancer scarred you, and not just physically. It had found ways to rip you open and make you feel completely alone. The sickness had forced you to look death in the face.

You were supposed to be a normal 28-year-old moving on with your life.

You thought of your sister.

She had flown across the country to stay with you during the first 6 months of chemo. It was a huge sacrifice on her part- she had kids and a husband at home. You couldn’t take her away from them again.

You were going to go through this alone by choice. There was no reason to bring anyone else down with you. Having cancer again made you feel like a fucking failure.

You felt perfectly healthy at the moment– and maybe that’s what made the news so hard. You were happier than you’d ever been. Yet somehow there was an invisible illness consuming your body.

The doctors wanted to start chemo in two weeks. The treatments would be every other week for 6 months. The memory of being so sick you couldn’t eat flooded your thoughts. Dread consumed you.

Why did it have to be you of all people? Why were you given such a bad hand?

“How are you tonight?”

You blinked harshly. The sounds of the busy bar filled your ears.

You were at work. You needed to focus.

“Hey Penny, I’m good.” You lied through your teeth. You didn’t raise your eyes to meet hers, because she would certainly figure out something was up.

You would tell her eventually. Maybe.

You were somewhat glad to be working tonight, because the alternative would be curling up in a ball on your bathroom floor. On the other hand, you didn’t know if you could keep yourself together much longer.

Penny smiled at you and waltzed off to hand out drinks around the bar. It was a Thursday night, and you closed in three hours. The idea of going home and facing reality didn’t sound great to you.

“You should smile more; you look prettier that way.”

You jerked your head up from the bar. You normally were bubbly and flirty to all customers. Even the creeps, because the tips were too good to pass up.

But tonight? That was off the table.

The guy who spoke didn’t look familiar. He was brunette, and his cheap-smelling cologne was the only thing you could focus on. Before you could tell him to shove a stick up his ass a familiar blonde leaned up against the counter next to him.

Jake Seresin.

Well, fuck.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you women hate being told that?” Jake’s eyes were mischievous as he looked between you and the stranger.

You mustered up a soft laugh from the pool of sadness you’d been swimming in. Jake had always been able to do that.

The stranger scoffed at Jake.

“Worked for me plenty of times.” He retorted. You knew he had to be lying. Because no girl on the fucking planet wanted to be told to smile more.

“Doubt it.” You grumbled under your breath, going to grab Jake’s empty beer glass that you assumed he brought for a refill.

A hand caught your wrist. It wasn’t hard, but you flinched and ripped your hand out of his grasp.

“What the fuck?” You questioned angrily, holding both your hands to your chest in surprise.

“Alright, time to go.” Jake stood immediately, his posture changing from relaxed to pissed. His voice was laced with his usual humor- but his eyes weren’t playful anymore.

“I’m not done with my beer.” The guy said defensively. Jake smiled at him and picked up the glass of beer on the counter. 

He continued smiling as he slowly poured the beer down the drain. The light gold liquid spun down the grate out of sight.

“All done.”  Jake crossed his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened.

“Seriously dude?” The man still didn’t make a move from his chair.

“Yup. Now go on.”

Jake took his large hand and patted the back of the stranger’s chair. The man glared at Jake, and you watched as he sized Jake up.

Before you could tell them both to cut it out, the stranger hopped off his chair, making sure to shoot another glare at Jake before walking off.

As soon as he was out of your sight the tension fell. You watched Jake slowly relax. His broad shoulders fell, and his forehead softened.

“A little overkill don’t you think?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at Jake. You reached out to grab his glass again, and this time no one rudely interrupted you.

Jake shrugged and rested his elbows on the bar.

“Someone had to tell him his best line wasn’t working.” He smirked at you and brought his freshly poured beer to his face.

His green eyes were shining, and his tanned skin was glowing. He looked good. Really good.

“And you are the ultimate expert in women?” You questioned, a small smile on your lips.

“You could say that.” He winked at you, and your heart skipped.

You wanted to say, “How about women that are dying of cancer? Got any expertise on loving that?”

You swallowed as reality set in.

The cancer was back.

You had to do chemo again.

You were going to get horribly sick - again.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Was good to see you.” You said, your voice sounding much more distant than before. You turned before Jake could say anything to you. Seeing him of all people was not helping.

You walked to the back room, letting Penny know you were taking a break. The empty crates in the room squeaked as you sat down on them. You took three deep breaths in and out. When you shut your eyes all you could see was Jake’s green ones.

Memories of the month before flooded in your mind. He’d kissed you under the moonlight and promised when he was back from his mission, he’d take you out on a real date.

You never admitted your feelings for each other – and fuck- you didn’t even know if he wanted you in that way. Your best guess was that he wanted a hook-up and nothing else.

He didn’t try to ask you out tonight, so maybe your suspicions were right. Afterall, if he wanted to date you, he could have asked you out at some point over the last 8 months you’d been working at the bar.

None of that mattered now though. Because cancer was going to be your life now. And Jake would take no part of that.

You shook your head and rubbed your hands over your cheeks.

Your emotions were raw, eating at you.

You had to go back to work. You had to fake smile, fake flirt. You couldn’t think about the cancer. Not if you wanted to get through the night.

Before you could drown your feelings longer, you stood and walked right back behind the bar. Going home wasn’t an option. You needed the money. You were already drowning in bills from having cancer the first time.

You swallowed down the pain and smiled.

*******

You breathed in deeply and sighed as your keys jingled to lock the Hard Deck door. It was 1am, and the only thing you wanted to do was sleep.

“Hey.”

You screeched at the sudden voice, but calmed as soon as you realized who it was.

“Jesus Christ Seresin you scared me. What are you still doing here?” You huffed out, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was leaning against the building just a few feet away from you. His black shirt and blue jeans looked dangerously good on him. You adverted your eyes from his gaze and tried your best to ignore the nervousness in your stomach.

“I wanted to see if you’d take a walk on the beach with me.” He smiled softly and looked down at the ground. He was fucking beautiful- and when he was out of that damn pilots uniform away from his friends. He was soft, so soft.

“It’s 1am.” You retorted, raising your brow. The night sky was pitch black, and the moonlight was barely there.

“Live a little.” He teased.

It was a totally normal thing to say, but it made your heart drop.

Who knew how much longer you’d have to live? Cancer wasn’t a death sentence, but it sure felt like one. What if you never saw him again?

“You’re not getting lucky if that’s what you want.” Your voice wavered. That wasn’t entirely true. Because truthfully, you were such a heap of emotions that pleasure sounded pretty fucking good.

“That was not the plan.” He laughed softly and pushed himself off the wall. “I just want to talk.” He stood tall in front of you, peering down at you with those damn eyes.

You wanted to say no- because surely, he was looking for a hookup. But he was right, you should “live a little”. You didn’t know how much longer you could do that.

“Okay, for a bit.”

Jake grinned.

“Okay, lets go.” He beckoned you with his arm, so you walked beside him, staring up at the stars.

The beach was only steps away, you could hear the crashing waves and smell the salt water. You smiled when you both stepped over the edge of the parking lot and into the sand. The ocean was calming - and at night it was even more so.

You and Jake both took your shoes off, leaving them at the curb. A sigh of relief filled you as your feet hit the cool sand.

“I forgot how beautiful it is at night.” You marveled at the stars above you and the open water in front of you. You looked to Jake who was also gazing at the sky.

“It’s one of my favorite places.” His eyes met yours and you watched as they flickered to your lips. As if he was trying to control himself, he looked away and started walking towards the water.

“Come on, let’s put our toes in.”

You giggled when Jake groaned at the coldness of the water on his feet. You tried to not let it show, but the water was really fucking cold.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

You jerked your eyes up to his in confusion.

He had missed you? What was that supposed to mean?

“You did?” is all you could think to say back.

Your heart was beating fast and your cheeks were starting to grow warm. You weren’t sure if you believed him.

“Yeah- I did.” He smiled and ran his hand through his short blonde hair. You must have looked like a deer in headlights, because that’s exactly how you felt.

“The last time we were here together I promised I’d ask you out.” He licked his lips quickly. “I have a wedding to go to two weeks from now. I wanted to see if you’d go with me.”

You widened your eyes and went to open your mouth to say yes, of course, I’d fucking love to.

But then you remembered.

You had cancer again.

You were probably starting chemo that same week.

You’d feel sick and exhausted.

And even if you didn’t feel sick – what the fuck would you talk about on the date? It was hard to focus on anything but cancer.

You gulped and took a small step back. You watched the smile fade from his face.

“Jake… I would love that but I….I can’t.” Your voice wavered as you watched Jakes jaw tighten.

“What do you mean you can’t?” His eyes looked so sad and your heart ached in response. You wanted him so badly, but you couldn’t.

“I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea for me. Right now.”

You knew it was a bullshit response, but you hoped he would just accept the rejection. You wouldn’t tell him about the cancer.

You weren’t going to bring him down with you.

“Is.. is there someone else then?” His voice was strained. You shook your head.

“No… I just have a lot of personal stuff going on right now.”

“Personal stuff?“ he questioned. He let out a bitter laugh. “If you don’t feel the same way about me then just fucking say it.” His words were angry but his tone was soft. 

He took a step back from you, his jaw shut tightly. You instantly wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling colder.

You wanted to tell him that you liked him and that you had always wanted more with him.

But god damn was the timing bad. Because the cancer was back.

And Jake didn’t deserve to fall for someone he was bound to lose.

“I think I should go.” Your eyes were glazed over with tears but the night sky hid them.

Jake nodded curtly.

“Yeah. Okay.” He avoided eye contact with you. His posture made him look devoid, small even.

“Jake.” You tried, reaching out your hand to his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He gritted out, flinching back from your touch.

You stiffened

You almost doubted your choice to reject him - to hide from him.

But then you remembered the treatments. The worry in your sister’s face. The will and funeral arrangements.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned and walked towards the parking lot. You wondered if he would follow you - but when you reached the lot you turned around to look back at him.

He was sitting in the sand, looking up at the sky.

You wanted to be sitting there with him. Stealing kisses. Marveling over how beautiful he was.

But you’d been given a bad hand.

And Jake Seresin would find someone with a much better one

********************

As always I would love to know what you think :’) Thanks everyone for the love and support.

Taglist : @cherrycola27​ @stormy0070

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #hangman fic #jake seresin fic #cancer #hangman angst #top gun maverick #fanfiction

[kyistell]

May I humbly request hc’s for the gay traumatized cowboy with daddy issues (texas)?👁️👁️

Oooooo yess, Texas was a fun one to think about because I had to think like a southerner slightly, and I live in Jersey lol (granted Jersey gets pretty southern if you go too far but I don't live there)

Texas-

Used to hunt a lot, however with the Table becoming slightly more important in the 2020s he had to slow it down significantly

Has a massive ranch, horses, cattle, chickens, you name it, Texas probably has it

Would actually kill someone (but specifically Cali) if they took his hat, there is no way he is letting Austin be in control for that long

His wires are slightly crossed, hence Austin or literally any of his cities (though honestly the cities being personified depends on the state, Texas has researched this before and it’s not worth asking why, you won’t get an answer)

Guns lol

Will occasionally just cough up oil, it’s not common but it is annoying

He’s not gay, at all, what so ever, he’s just a very straight cowboy livin his life (guess the lie here, hint: he is for sure livin his life and is a cowboy)

He doesn’t hate Oklahomo, he just wishes the absolute best for him and the absolute best is dying

Loves cooking as much as he does hunting, which is a lot, he’ll do it whenever he wants, for basically no reason, it’s a fun hobby for him

Has dinner every other Sunday with Mexico and other Spanish speaking countries, Cali, Arizona, and NM will also join from time to time

He likes history a lot more than people realize, he has to be good at it to say that it’s all fake duh

Hates snow, never wants it ever again, the one time he got snow he doesn’t remember BECAUSE HE BASICALLY DIED MAINE (he’s only slightly dramatic, he didn’t die but it sure did feel like it)

Made Jersey teach him how to make “proper pizza” since he taught him how to make a brisket

He’s tall, like 6’3 tall, he could technically go taller but 6’3 doesn’t make him feel like he’s stretching his skin

If he’s exhausted then he won’t understand a lick of English, he doesn’t get that tired often but when he does it’s turned into a game to see who can get him to bed first (It’s normally Alabama or Oklahomo- I mean homa, Oklahoma)

Went back to high school in the 2000s, an experience he doesn’t know if he regrets or wants to study under a microscope

Has three dogs, they are his babies along with his horses, he fought long and hard to convince Gov to let him have them at the StateHouse even with the no pets rule that like 3 people didn’t follow at the time

Loves Football, obviously, Sunday Football is spent outside with barbeque and the entire south, even if their team isn’t playing

Doesn’t actually hate Cali, he thinks that he’s an idiot and never knows when to shut up but he can admire how smart he actually is even if Texas would never say it out loud, and Austin, Austin was a big reason

#welcome to the table #wttt #wttt texas #wttsh texas #so i didnt think this was that long #its slightly longer than i thought #oops? #hehe oklahomo #kyi requests #wttt austin #does this warrant the wttt austin tag? #i think it does but eh who knows #i sure dont

[xmfxne]

Running Away...

Closed starter with @legalbrats

It’d been a long flight. Not nearly as long as his flights to America from Khura’in, but it sure felt longer... The changes in pressure caused discomfort in the attorney’s broken fingers, which certainly didn’t help. He couldn’t really open his mouth without having so much private information spill out either, so he was pretty much silent the entire time, clinging to the one person he could trust, the one person who whisked him away from everything. It felt so strange to flee from not one, but two different countries... but he couldn’t keep up any sort of façade right now. 

In Khura’in there was a sense of guilt silencing him, he felt ‘entitled’ opening up about it, considering Nahyuta had gone through the opposite issue. He knew where his mother was, and where she was, was just out of reach, having to put up this persona in order to keep her and his baby sister safe. Then, in L.A. there was everyone he was mad at. Not Trucy, of course, she was as much of a victim here as he was, and he couldn’t blame her at all, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to her right now. He was just too upset. 

He was too lost...

Too confused to know what to do. 

He could feel the difference in climate as soon as they landed, the wintry cold air sparking a soft irritation in his nose and a chill through his arms. Despite the thick hoodie he’d packed, it obviously was manufactured with a much hotter climate in mind, it wasn’t enough. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to get to the hotel, he was silent there too, letting Klavier do the talking. Perks of having a bilingual boyfriend... he didn’t have to follow the conversation, he couldn’t possibly be expected to. After all, as it stood, Apollo couldn’t even understand the hundreds of pet names Klavier called him, how could he be expected to follow a completely German conversation?

Normally, he’d be excited, after all, he hadn’t been to a foreign country since he was nine, and that foreign country was his home for the next 15 years... but there was no room for it. This wasn’t a ‘vacation.’ He was running away to get a fucking break. A break from everything. His loved ones dying, betraying him, hurting him, a break from the pain of abandonment. He hated this feeling of being unwanted, forgotten, dumped onto someone else, chosen second. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it, HE HATED IT,

HE HATED IT!!

Apollo shut the door behind him. He looked around at their hotel, the cozy-looking bed, the sparkling snow outside their window, their luggage, unpacked and left vaguely in front of the dressers, waiting to be unpacked and put away properly. His body trembled when he looked towards Klavier, not fully able to meet his eyes. Tears fell down his cheeks, unable to hold it back for even a second longer. He moved and wrapped his arms around him, crying into what was either his back or his chest. He hadn’t been paying attention, so he wasn’t sure which it was. 

#Event: Lunar Eclipse #Running Away... #legalbrats #Apollo Justice #The Coolest Fop {Klavier Gavin} #A Love Song {Klapollo} #Post! SoJ #RP

[floptopus]

Semifinal 1 thoughts:

- Norway really butchered the vocals. I'm sorry, but that was a hideous performance

- Loreen's timing was also off. Not sure what was up with that, hopefully just a technical issue

- Malta killed it and deserved to get through

- So glad Moldova and Portugal are through. I really enjoyed them and I wasn't sure they'd make it

- Ireland were serving cunt but not in a good way

- That key change for the Netherlands ruined their song rip

- I was scared for Serbia for a second, so glad they made it as they deserve

- Let 3 kings 👑

- Czechia are... Fine. They need better breath control

- Speaking of performances that really dropped the ball vocally, Israel. Also, what's with all the wide shots during the dance? It's the good part of the song, let us see her

- I have nothing to say about Finland that hasn't already been said. CHA CHA CHA BABY

- I hope France performs better in the final because that clip was shaky

- I don't understand Italy's trampolines. What do they add. The song and the performance are solid without them. Why are they there

- Germany good

- Switzerland is tone deaf. I'm sorry, real people are dying in Ukraine right now, people who didn't get a choice in the matter, and some whiny manbaby from the most notoriously "not getting involved" country whinges about how he doesn't want to be a soldier. Guess what, bitch? You won't! Shut up and sit down and let the adults (Let 3) talk. The song and performance weren't even that good. Who voted for this I just wanna talk. I will be booing him in the hall on Saturday and I hope he trips and falls mid performance :)

- Latvia you were the second best performance of the night and you were robbed I'm so sorry. I would have voted for you if I could. Why didn't you get through

#eurovision #esc 2023 #eurovision 2023

[jumblejen]

We Were Always Going to End Up Together - Ch 10

Suptober 22, Day 10: Enchanted

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/107429703

(Or read from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106051008)

Their second date left Dean feeling just as twitterpated as the first, and then the third and the fourth were wonderful, as well as the coffee squeezed in on a Sunday before the maze opened. And then the maze was shutting down for the season and Dean went to Sam’s to help hand out candy (and push Sam’s raisins to the side). He always loved seeing how adorable the kids were and what creative things they came up with. His apartment complex didn’t have a lot of kids and wasn’t really the kind of place you’d want your kids going door to door at. Someday he’d have a better place, something not quite so suburban as Sam’s place, but not so far out in the country that he didn’t have neighbors.

Someday. For now his apartment was sufficient for what he needed and he had years ago decided that being able to put away a little each month was worth the rundown building he lived in. It was only a matter of time before the nice woman who owned it finally sold out to one of the groups dying to build some steel and glass monstrosity that began to price out all the folks that lived in this area. Dean hoped that day never came, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that this would be prime real estate and the neighborhood ripe for gentrification if any of the larger buildings sold. At least Sam approved of the money he saved.

For the first hour of Halloween, it wasn’t even dark yet and the candy requests were a little sparse. Just after sundown it went from a steady stream to a nonstop deluge of children of all ages. Dean gave up on closing the big door, instead dragging a kitchen chair into the foyer so he could just watch out the glass storm door, and even then he only sat down a couple of times in almost 2 hours. Sam and Eileen would join him for awhile and then drift off and do other things. Dean was pretty sure that they’d keep the light off altogether if he didn’t come over to help out. Well, once he had his own place, it would be interesting to see if any of the local kids decided to egg the house if they didn’t keep giving out the good candy.

The hordes of children thinned out again when Sam rejoined Dean in the foyer.

“Trick or treating is officially over.”

“I’m going to stay a little longer just in case there’s stragglers.”

“I meant to ask you, how are things going with the guy you’re dating?”

“Cas? Things are great with him. We’ve been seeing each other quite a bit.”

“Is he still working the corn maze?”

“Last day was yesterday for the maze. He said he was going to spend today breaking all the decorations down, but then that’s it.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, mean’s it’ll be easier to see him, since his weekends won’t be completely booked.”

“So, uh, when do we get to meet him?”

Dean looked at his brother. “I dunno. It’s only been a month. Less than a month.”

“Well, we would love to have him over for dinner sometime if you change your mind.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They didn’t say much more and after another ten minutes, Dean was ready to call it quits. After all, it was a Monday night and everyone had work in the morning. Dean drove home carefully, thinking about what Sam said, about meeting Cas. There was something uncomfortable that clenched in Dean’s chest at the idea of Sam meeting Cas. Probably because Sam thought it was his brotherly duty to interrogate anyone he dated and give Dean a full report on any of his detected deficiencies. Not that any of that nonsense had stopped all the trouble he’d had with any of his exes. Sam wasn’t super good at reading people, and especially not at reading men Dean dated.

His ringing phone interrupted those thoughts and Dean was delighted to hear Cas on the other end. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello Dean. Are you still at your brother’s?”

“On my way home now.”

“Mind if I stop by?”

“I guess not. Everything okay?”

“…Yes. I just… Nevermind.”

“No, Cas, not nevermind. What’s up?”

“Just a hard day. It’s nothing.”

“Hey man, it’s gotta be something for you to call at 8:30 at night and say you need to come over. You got a ride?”

“Yes. I’m actually at the coffee shop down the street from your place.”

“They’re still open?”

“Yes. I mean, no. They’re letting me stay while they clean up.”

“I’ll be there to pick you up in five minutes.”

“Dean, you don’t have to …”

“No arguing, five minutes.”

“Okay.”

Dean hung up the phone, looking around the area with a new focus. He didn’t like the uncertainty in Cas’ voice. This was no booty call, not that he minded being a booty call. This was something else and Dean was going to do his damnedest to help.

Four minutes later, Dean pulled up to the curb in front of the coffee shop, reaching over to pop the lock on the passenger seat door. Cas slid in with a wave through the lit window of the store at two waiting employees.

Dean patted Cas’ shoulder. “You okay man?”

Cas’ eyes were wider than usual, fear tinging the edges with a hunted look Dean hated. “I don’t know,” was all he said.

Dean drove the block and a half to his apartment building, sliding into his reserved slot at the end of the row. They left the car and walked up to his place without saying anything, Dean’s worry growing a bit with each step.

Once inside, Dean hung up their coats and poured a glass of water for each of them and carried them into the living room. He sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him. Obediently Cas sat, clearly not sure of how to start.

When Cas was seated, Dean scooched over to his side and threw an arm around Cas, tugging his solid weight into him. “Hey, man. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did good, okay. You can always call me.”

“Gabe left town.”

“That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s why I didn’t call him.”

“Okay. You called me, I got that. And it was the right thing to do. So now you’re here and I’m here.”

“I had a panic attack.”

Dean hugged Cas a little tighter to his side. “What can I do?”

“This is helping.”

Cas sat forward a little, forearms on his knees, head cradled in his hands. Dean began rubbing his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He hummed a little too, ‘Hey Jude’ like his mom used to sing to him before she died. That song still made Dean feel better, so he figured it couldn’t hurt.

“I’m sorry Dean.”

“Still not seeing anything you need to be sorry for.”

“Things have been so good with us…”

“Yeah?”

“And I didn’t want to screw anything up, but now here I am barging in on you…”

“Cas…”

“I didn’t want you to ever see me like this.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of fun with you Cas, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the rougher parts too. Hell, my life isn’t always so rosy either. I’m enjoying getting to know you. Even the messy bits.”

“What if I told you that what I really needed was to curl up on your couch with you and watch a Disney movie?”

“Well, then that is what we’ll do. Lucky for you I snagged Sam’s login for his account, so we have access to whatever one you wanna watch.”

“Really?”

“Sure, man. I mean, I’d prefer not to watch Bambi ever again, but if that’s your comfort flick, I’ll manage.”

“Is Bambi anyone’s comfort movie?”

“I dunno. I saw it when I was a kid and bawled my eyes out. And that was before my mom died. On second thought, yeah, no, not watching Bambi even if it is what you want.”

“I didn’t know your mother died.”

“Yeah, she uh, died in a house fire when I was little. It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. So how about we change into some sweats and you can pick out which movie you want to watch.”

Cas nodded and Dean led Cas gently to his bedroom where they changed into clothes more suitable for relaxing. It didn’t take long until they were both laying on the couch while Cas manned the remote, clearly searching for something specific.

“Enchanted?” asked Dean. “Haven’t heard of that one.”

“It’s both live-action and animated.”

“It looks like a princess movie.”

“It is.”

“Cool.”

“And there’s a dragon.”

“Awesome.”

“But it’s a musical.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I thought you might object?”

“Why?”

“Because of the car, and the flannel and the everything.”

“Well, it’s not a core part of my personality or anything. But yeah, I like musicals.”

“Even if it’s a Disney princess musical?”

“Hey, I want you to feel better. And there are very few things that I’m not willing to try, movie-wise. Besides, it’s your turn to pick anyway.”

Cas pressed play and relaxed back into Dean’s chest. Dean wrapped his arm even tighter around Cas. He may not understand exactly what’s going on with Cas, but he knew how to help. This was easy, even if the movie wasn’t one he would have picked in a million years. He just wanted this man to be alright.

#destiel #suptober22 #fanfic #enchanted #panic attack #comfort

[cheapnicotine]

3 pm beer on a tuesday night (or, an elegy on the rolling stones and mortality)

home early. precious seconds of solitude arise and i steal one of my fathers coors lights from the fridge in the basement—its rusty with stickers from his favorite hunting brands peeling across the surface. i pour it into a solo cup and crush the can. up the stairs into the house then up the stairs again into my room. flick the tie-dye curtain shut and light the incense—im no hippie but you could guess otherwise. battered copy of the stones let it bleed on the turntable. its been my weekday drinking record for as long as ive been weekday drinking because i like to think about keith richards while im trying to reach a state of something bordering on contentment. happiness is far too ambitious at this point and maybe it will be forever but i like to think that one day i will have 3 pm beer on a tuesday night and i will be happy. i didnt bring this cup all the way up here for the record to skip during the solo on gimme shelter. gimme gimme shelter…i close my eyes and imagine mick singing it at altamount in the face of that terrible tragedy and i think that my whole life is a tragedy and i need some goddamn shelter right about now. i finish the beer. love in vain fades into country honk. i kick the cup under the bed and lay on the dirty carpet on my back and i pinch the bridge of my nose because ive had a headache for three weeks now and i think i might be dying. country honk fades into live with me and i wish i didnt have to live with myself so often. its times like these i think i can push myself away but it turns out 3 pm beer on a tuesday night and the rolling stones shine a blue light on my soul that throws it into sharper relief than i ever wanted to see it in. i dont like what i see and at the same time i think my soul is a lot like brian jones soul was. most people dont know but brian played on let it bleed even though he isnt listed in the credits and i wish more people remembered brian jones because i dont want to be forgotten and if my soul ends up face down in chlorine then they might forget me like they forgot him. live with me fades into let it bleed and god knows ive let it bleed. im bleeding from everywhere from my fingers and my nose and my eyes and i cough it up and spit to out and it drips down my guitar strings and gets in my hair and stains the carpet. we all need someone to bleed on and if you wanna you can bleed on me but i aint got no one to bleed on. blood pours out in my words and in how i wont meet your eyes and i fish the solo cup out from under the bed and spit into it. red. red on red. its all red and let it bleed ends and i stand up unsteadily because someones gotta flip the record and i guess its gotta be me. the needle drops into midnight rambler and i never liked midnight rambler much but i always listen to it anyways for some reason. i lay on the floor and wonder how i got here like this because i never thought i would make it this far anyways and i sure as hell didnt think i would be listening to the stones and drinking 3 pm beer on a tuesday night. dont you do that. dont you do that. dont you do that. i flip over on my stomach and rub my eyes because midnight rambler fades into you got the silver and that one always makes me cry because of keiths voice. one time a friend told me i was like a cross between johnny thunders and keith richards and i never forgot that because maybe i will die on a motel room floor and maybe ill live to be seventy-eight and counting. who knows. i cough again and whimper because it feels like im not going out with a bang. t.s. eliot wrote about the end of the world and i think i might be dying. i have a little silver and a little gold but it doesnt matter. you got the silver fades into monkey man and i wish i had the energy to get up and skip it even though i like it. man is a monkey anyways. what is man? god only knows. hes probably a monkey too. or keith richards is god which is something ive always thought in my mind but never said out loud because it was like something special to me. i dont know who anyone elses god is but keith richards is one of mine. monkey man fades into you cant always get what you want and i trip out during the opening chorus like i always do. my mother used to play you cant always get what you want every time something went wrong for me as a lesson because she had the hot rocks cd and she thought it was funny. i loathed it for years and then i didnt any more because who the fuck was she to take the final track off let it bleed from me? all seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds of it and then hissing and the record is over and my 3 pm beer on a tuesday night is long gone and i lay on the floor listening to the hiss and wonder if im dying. seventeen going on twenty-seven, brian jones, let it bleed and gimme some fucking shelter.

#poetry #words #writing #james writes #the rolling stones

[elpickett]

Blood Runs Red

a tommy miller fic where he's the more broken miller brother

Tomás Alejandro Casillas Miller had grown up well acquainted with blood: his own, Joel's, his mother's. The apocalypse hadn't changed much in that regard.

***********************************************

Rating: T

Warnings: references to Joel's suicide attempt and child loss

Relationships: Tommy / Maria, Tommy & Joel, Tommy & Sarah, Tommy & Ellie

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51550372

**********************************************

Full fic under the cut if you'd rather read things here

Tomás Alejandro Casillas Miller had grown up well acquainted with blood.

His grandfather's blood soaking the living room floor, making his parents flee their home to the USA when he was a toddler, moving to a different continent, to a country where they didn't speak the language, all to try and protect him and Joel. Tommy had never told his mother the way the blood seeping into their couch back in Chile had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember, that it was his only memory of the home they'd left behind.

His mother's blood, loosened from her body by his father's fist when he'd had too much to drink, which had turned into his and Joel's blood by the time he was eight. He still had the scar on his arm from when the bone had gone clear through his skin when he was ten. He'd told Maria he'd been skateboarding when she'd first run her fingers over the raised mark, reminding her that 'scars are sexy, darlin',' not wanting to think too hard about how it had actually come about.

And then his father's blood, ripped from his body by a car a few short months after the broken arm (he'd often thought of the irony of his father killed by a drunk driver whilst almost definitely drink driving at the same time in a particularly nihilistic period he'd had as a teenager).

All of Joel's blood spilt trying to protect Tommy from bullies who made fun of his accent, his hair, the way he dressed. He'd switched to using Tommy then, deciding it wasn't worth Joel's blood to continue insisting that others called him Tomás. Deciding it wasn't worth more blood, even if it made him feel like a part of him was quietly dying, shedding the skin he'd grown up in.

Julia's blood, dripping down her face when she'd shown up at the Miller house when Tommy was 13, barely able to mutter the words 'I'm pregnant' to Joel before collapsing in a heap on their porch. It'd be another week until his mother had asked when Julia was going home before Julia managed to explain that she wasn't welcome at her parents' house anymore, to which his mother had pulled her into a tight hug and said she'd always wanted a daughter anyway. He'd thought it was odd then, seeing the tears drip down Joel's face as he realised he'd be a father before his nineteenth birthday, that his girlfriend (and that was a generous description of their relationship) would be living with them for the foreseeable future, that the liquid dripping down Joel's cheeks was clear and not the scarlet he had come to know so well.

The blood in the hospital room the first time he met his niece, fourteen and awkward with too long limbs, suddenly realising just how different it was going to be going forward. He'd cried then, too, realising his whole world had just realigned itself to orbit this little girl's life, and swore into her hair (already darker than his and Joel's, the curl pattern tighter) that the colour she would grow most used to wouldn't be the red he saw whenever he shut his eyes. It was a surprise to Tommy when Julia left without blood two years later, leaving behind only already signed divorce papers, an orange post note with the words 'I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry' scribbled in purple pen. It had been easier to help Joel with his bloodied knuckles than it had been to hold Sarah, sobbing her eyes out because her mother hadn't come to tuck her in at bedtime.

His own blood, then, was all he saw for the next three and a half years, getting into dumb fights at school, Joel's sighs ringing loud in his ears as he sat in the Principal's office and assured him that yes, he was Tommy's guardian (despite not being old enough to buy a beer, but it was better Joel went in to school to get him than their mother, who'd never quite managed to wrap her tongue around English), and yes, he would make sure that it didn't happen again. (It happened again). (And again). (And again).

And then the desert, the yellow sand turning a dirty rust colour from all the blood soaking into it. Tommy Miller was well accustomed to blood, yes, but he was used to it belonging to those he knew. Now everyone's blood mixed together, impossible to tell who it came from. Not that it mattered, he came to realise. The other American soldiers, those they were fighting, they all bled the same. And bleed they did. By the time Tommy came back to the US, nineteen, a veteran of Desert Storm and having seen the world in a way he had begun to think may have not been the best manner in which to do so, his hands were stained blood red whenever he looked at them. It took Sarah (four, almost almost five, so tiny and perfect and sweet, nothing like him or her grandfather or Julia, all Joel) twenty minutes to talk him down from scrubbing his hands raw when he babysat her while Joel was working late one evening, before he admitted to himself that he couldn't go on the way he was. He went back home to his tiny apartment, poured himself two fingers of the shitty whiskey he'd stolen from Joel's cupboard as payment for babysitting, and then called the therapist an army friend had given him.

The therapist never quite understood that the flashbacks and the nightmares and the dread sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach weren't from the blood, but from the fact he couldn't tell who's blood it was.

And then, again, his mother's blood. Cancer was never pretty, but Dios, was it awful. Isabella Casillas (she'd never taken her husband's name, her one act of rebellion against a husband who'd taken everything else from her) got the news from the doctor on a Tuesday, two weeks after Tommy had seen the blood she coughed into a handkerchief and she had told him it'd been happening for a while already. 'No quieres que os preocupéis' and 'necesitáis enfocar en mi nieta, estoy bien' were her repeated refrains as he and Joel hovered around the hospital bed, a six year old Sarah not fully understanding why all her free time was suddenly being spent in the hospital, but understanding the look on her father and uncle's faces. She didn't go quietly in the end, choking on the red until she slipped away. The red roses a neighbour brought over for him and Joel with a quiet 'I'm sorry for your loss' only reminded him of everything he'd lost, the colour matching the blood seeping from his palm after he'd dropped a glass and cut himself trying to pick up the pieces.

Tommy's next few years were spent working too long hours and helping Joel raise his daughter, and god, it terrified him, realising how much he could fuck her up. For all Joel's panic about not knowing what he was doing, Tommy knew he'd be fine. Joel had practically raised him, after all. He knew how to look after a child. Tommy, on the other hand, had no idea what he was doing. So he settled down (mostly), spending his free time with his niece, cleaning grazed knees from astroburn, a cut on her hand from when she tried to cook and the knife slipped. He always handled Sarah getting hurt better than Joel, too used to the way blood stained carpet and clung on under fingernails. Joel just panicked whenever his daughter was in a less than perfect state.

By the time Sarah was fourteen, Tommy had got his life mostly sorted. He still drank slightly too much, still had a tendency to go for women who he shouldn't (in his defence, she'd taken the wedding ring off before going to the bar), still tended to solve problems with his fists rather than his words. But he also had a stable job, the contracting firm he and Joel ran finally up and running mostly functionally, his own flat (not that he spent much time there), friends, and his niece. He and Sarah had always blurred the lines between being uncle and niece and siblings, Joel having raised them both in all the ways that mattered.

And then, the end of the world.

The blood flooding the jail cell as one of the other people in lockup suddenly went crazy, snarling and biting, before one of the cops finally stepped in with a bullet to the head.

The blood painting the road red as he and Joel tried desperately to get back home to Sarah, to make sure she wasn't the next person to spill their blood that night.

Sarah's blood, gushing over Joel, who was still clutching his daughter to his chest, as Tommy lifted the rifle a fraction of a second too slow to save his niece.

And Tommy saw, then, the moment Joel shattered, holding his daughter, suddenly unable to do anything. Tommy realised, in that moment, that while he'd always known the sight and smell of blood, Joel hadn't. Joel had somehow not become used to it, and had avoided the subtle comfort it gave Tommy. So Tommy watched his brother shatter in pieces, and could only stand there and think how he was a moment too slow in getting the soldiers blood to spill. A moment too slow to save his niece, the girl he'd helped Joel raise since he was still a kid himself. A moment too slow in stopping his brother becoming like him.

And then, two days later, after he'd finally persuaded Joel to bury Sarah under an old oak tree, Joel's blood, leaking from the head wound as Tommy found his brother, pistol still clutched in his hand, begging Joel to stay with him. Tommy realised, looking at Joel in that moment, that Joel had got used to blood, and decided to add his own to the river. And god, if that didn't hurt Tommy, who had watched blood spilt and never wanted more, but who had never purposely added his own to any serious degree.

In the years that followed, Tommy watched his brother become well acquainted with blood. Watched as his brother went from being kind, being patient to someone else, to someone who lived for the violence that the end of the world had brought. Tommy watched as he failed to stop Joel from turning into what he'd been since a child, since the first time he watched someone's life fade from their eyes as their life seeped out with their blood.

Soon, though, the blood stopped coming from Joel, from Tommy, became everyone else's. The Miller brothers gained a reputation as people who would do what was necessary to survive, to spill blood even when there was probably another way. It wasn't until later, much later, that Tommy looked back and realised Joel had done what he did to try and protect Tommy as best he could, to stop Tommy shattering the way he had the night he lost Sarah. What he'd missed was that Tommy had broken a long time before the end of the world.

It wasn't a surprise, really, that Tess entered their life in a flurry of red. Tommy and Joel had joined up with a larger group a year into the end of the world. They'd been heading vaguely north, following rumours that the infected were less active where it was colder, that the slowly appearing QZs were easier to slip in and out of then the QZs further south. Tommy and Joel had discovered that smuggling was an easy way to make ends meet, enough things still in houses that they didn't need to use threats of or actual violence too often. They met Tess by selling to her group - mainly ammo, some spices, some medication. She was the one to suggest they join up with their group, make use of the strength that came in numbers. Tommy had tripped over himself saying yes, dragging Joel along with him, seeing in Tess' eyes the same look that his won often had: not the haunted, emptiness of Joel's, but the resignation of someone who knew the world may have ended, but it wasn't that much worse than the world before. It was a disappointment but not a surprise to him when Tess called things off a few weeks into whatever was blossoming between them, the mirror they held up to each other showing something that neither of them wanted to look too close at. He knew he'd have called it off soon enough if she hadn't. It was even less of a surprise when he saw her slipping out of Joel's bed a few weeks later, because while Joel might make her his new purpose, his new reason for living (and Tommy tried not to be hurt by that, that he wasn't reason enough), at least Joel was the kind of broken that would hold Tess up rather than pulling her down to the ground with him as Tommy knew he would've done. And if Tommy had to clean blood off his knuckles several times over the next few weeks, if he was a little more willing to take the jobs that would inevitably end up in a hand to hand fight, well that wasn't anybody's business but his own.

By the time they got to Boston, four years later, the plans for Tess to get a flat and Tommy and Joel to share a second had morphed, quietly, into a 1 bed for Joel and Tess and a room in a shared flat for Tommy with a few of the other people they'd arrived with. They'd offered for him to share a flat with them, but he'd turned down the offer claiming he wanted independence (well, Joel had asked him to share, to which Tess had rolled her eyes and told him that if he wanted his brother involved in their sex life, then Joel should just invite Tommy into the bedroom and get on with it. Joel had frozen, not knowing how to respond, Tommy had mimed throwing up, and Tess had rolled her eyes as though her and Joel hadn't been fucking where Tommy could hear, and sometimes see, them for the last four years).

It became clear to Tommy in Boston that he and Joel had dealt with shattering very differently. Tommy was used to blood, it had always taken up a large portion of his life, but he had learnt to survive and to live despite it. He might be broken into a million shards of himself, each reflecting back a different facet of his life, but he could still function. He could pick up enough shards at once to deal with life in the apocalypse. He could smuggle with Joel and Tess and deal with the blood and also try to help people. He smuggled a lot of medicine at low prices to those who needed it in Boston, and made sure information got to the right people. He roughed up or quietly took care of FEDRA soldiers who'd gotten a little too fond of power. If there was going to be blood, he'd at least make sure it belonged to people who deserved it.

Joel however, had no idea how to handle all his shattered parts, had no idea how to function. Since losing Sarah he'd been completely adrift, smuggling only because it was a significantly easier (for some sense of the word) existence than staying in a QZ, or at least an existence with easy access to the drugs and alcohol Joel seemingly needed to function. He worked with Tess and Tommy by being the muscle, by letting Tess direct him with what to do, who's blood to spill, when and where. Joel had long since given up on the world, on trying to hold it together. It had taken his daughter from him, and for Joel, Sarah had always been his entire world. Tommy wandered sometimes if Joel even noticed the end of the world, so caught up with his grief.

Six months into Boston, Tommy met Marlene when she hired the Miller brothers and Tess to smuggle in ammunition for her fireflies. Marlene, with her whip smart mouth and her plans to try to make something good out of the end of the world. Marlene who'd definitely known Tess before (in the biblical sense of known), though neither of them had ever said anything aloud. Tommy knew what looking at an ex looked like though, he could read between the lines. Marlene with her belief that they could start fixing what FEDRA had ruined. Boston was a relatively good QZ, as they went, but FEDRA had started public executions shortly after Tommy had arrived in Boston, and it was always going to be downhill from there. Marlene had looked in Tommy's eyes, seen something just as broken as the world, and offered him a way to try and make it better. And sure, maybe Tommy didn't agree with all her methods, but when had anything ever been achieved without the loss of blood.

Six months after that, two days after a screaming match with Joel that still left him reeling, Tommy left Boston for the final time. He made sure to leave a note for Tess with details of how to get a message to him, hoping he hadn't wrecked whatever was between her and his brother by bringing up Sarah in front of Tess for the first time. Joel may have lost a daughter, but Tommy had lost the centre of his world too, and then had to watch as his brother slipped away too. Joel had never been the same after Tommy found him with blood running down his temple, had stopped being the brother Tommy had grown up with, who'd take hits so Tommy didn't. Stopped being the brother Tommy had watched pull double shifts to make sure he could cover the rent who'd go home to Sarah and help with homework even when what Joel really wanted was a whiskey and to fall straight into bed.

And so, six years after the world ended, Tommy left his brother, the only reminder of Joel the blood drying on his knuckles.

The next five years were a blur for Tommy when he looked back, a string of memories of camping in shitty, burnt out buildings, skirmishes with FEDRA, getting back into being a sniper. He'd always been good with a rifle, had some experience before Desert Storm and had come back even more comfortable with one, but over his years with the fireflies he became one of their best snipers, and saw a lot of the US he hadn't managed before. By the end of it, however, he was actively seeking a way out, somewhere to go that wasn't another QZ. Somewhere that he could do something other than cause more blood to be spilled, whether it was infected or FEDRAs or civilians who got caught in the way.

Tommy wandered, and in time, he wandered back to Austin. Back to the grave he'd somehow managed to find again, where he'd buried his niece and his brother. Back to Joel's house, mostly picked through by raiders, but who'd left the photo albums mostly intact. He took his favourites, and a leather jacket he'd spent too much money on in his twenties, and he kept wandering, heading vaguely north.

And then, Maria.

Maria, with her bright eyes and wary smile, cautious as to what he wanted (peace, to be able to sit down at a table to eat, to be able to breathe), but nevertheless willing to let him enter Jackson on probation.

Maria, with her hair piled atop her head as she laughed in the Tipsy Bison, hand curled loosely around a beer, who Tommy knew had lost a child of her own, but who still knelt down to talk to the children of Jackson when they wanted to ask questions about chickens and school lunches and what it was like before the world ended, while he flinched when one of the children walked too close to him on their way to school.

Maria, with her gentle questions as they sat on her porch swing in the evenings throughout the year, even when it was definitely too cold to be doing so, who never looked at him differently even when he confessed to everything he'd done, who simply asked him if he wanted to be taken off the patrol rota so he could focus on building things, who understood his choked ‘no’, who accepted that he needed to fight to feel like he was still breathing, still alive.

Maria, radiant in a pale yellow dress borrowed from one of the other women in Jackson, a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands, wearing a gold ring on her left hand that he'd placed there with shaking hands. Maria, his wife, who he couldn't imagine life without, who he'd never thought would consider him anything more than someone to warm her bed. Maria, laughing and smiling as he taught her to line dance how he used to do in Texas, shuddering as he whispered what he wanted to do to her in her ear in quiet, whispered Spanish until she dragged him out of their own wedding party and back to their house.

Maria, lying languid and naked in their bed, running her fingers over each and every one of his scars, kissing them each in turn as Tommy explained where he'd gotten them, before turning paler than he'd ever seen her and running into their bathroom to throw up her dinner, Tommy following close behind to pull her hair out of her face and rub her back. By three weeks later of her throwing up without anyone else getting sick, and her period not making its regularly scheduled appearance, she quietly whispered ‘I'm pregnant’ into his neck one night, and Tommy just held her tightly as she sobbed herself to sleep, tears dripping down his face as thought of the little girl he'd help raise when he was just a kid himself. It's not that they'd been trying to avoid this outcome, they just also weren't trying specifically for it, not sure how feasible it was given Maria was already in her late forties. It just turned out there was a huge difference between ‘I like the idea of having a child with you’ and ‘I’m having another child and that feels like a betrayal to their older siblings they'd never know’.

The following day, he found a large piece of slate and carefully wrote out Sarah and Kevin's names, the day they had entered their families’ lives, and the day they left them. When Maria saw it on the mantelpiece, arriving home from a council meeting, exhausted and dizzy from a complete inability to hold any food down, she had let one lone tear track down her cheek before looking her husband in the eye, stepping into his waiting arms, and saying, quiet and hesitant, less confident than Tommy had ever seen her, ‘I can't wait to be a mother again with you’.

Tommy kissed her forehead, and then her lips, and then down her neck, before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her through to the bedroom. When they were done, panting and sated, he'd kissed her stomach, traced each stretch mark with his fingers, and confessed he couldn't wait to be a parent either. Thankfully the nausea passed soon enough (long enough to freak Tommy out, Julia having only thrown up a few times in her whole pregnancy, but not long enough to slow Maria down, having spent her first pregnancy throwing up at all hours of the day and night until she was seven months pregnant), and she could go back to work, back to what made her happy.

Four months later, Joel and Ellie arrived in Jackson.

Maria had always known that Tommy was contacting Joel, and had actively found ways for him to get messages back to Boston. Had handled the situation with more delicacy and diplomacy than Tommy thought he ever could have, torn as he was between desperately missing his brother, and not thinking he could handle one more minute in this new Joel's presence. She'd encouraged Tommy to keep in contact, quietly changing his patrol shifts to go past the radio tower if he hadn't managed to get there recently enough. Since the wedding though, she'd stopped checking that Tommy was still talking to Joel. And Tommy had used that to leave longer and longer periods between his messages, terrified that one day their would be a response, a message saying ‘I need you here. Come back to Boston’, that he might have to leave the sanctuary he'd found. He'd never revealed anything about Jackson, had followed the town’s rules carefully (if you want family or friends to join you here, they agree to leave where they are before they get told anything at all, and even then, riders from Jackson would meet them at the Colorado border before they got full details of Jackson's existence), but he'd also never told Joel he was somewhere good, somewhere safe, somewhere that the broken prices of him seemed to fit back together in a way they never had before.

As it turned out, however, Maria was under the impression that Joel wasn't already with them in Jackson because he or Tess didn't want to leave Boston, not because he didn't know about Jackson. Not because Joel didn't know about her, his sister in law, the family they could've had. Tommy watched Maria as she and Tommy walked to the dining hall to get some food for Joel and Ellie, confused at her coldness when Ellie revealed herself as a QZ kid through and through, so different from the children that had grown up in the safety of Jackson. It wasn't until Tommy got back from the bar with Joel and saw Maria standing on the porch waiting for him that he understood the gravity of what was happening: he had accidentally made his wife and brother hate each other.

Tommy hadn't understood Maria's distrust of Joel, not until she explained that she had trusted his decision on Joel, and while she was irritated he hadn't told her he was barely calling back to Boston, she could handle that. What she couldn't handle, though, was that Tommy brought someone dangerous into their home. If Tommy had cut his own brother off, when family was all Tommy lived and breathed for, then she had assumed there was a good reason. A reason that it wasn't safe for her, for Jackson, to meet Joel; that Tommy had made a call based on what was best for everyone. Tommy had frozen, a lump thick in his throat, before he pulled his wife into his arms and explained that Joel wasn’t a threat any more than he was. Capable of violence, yes, but not without reason.

It wasn't until he spoke to Joel later, in the cobblers, that he realised why Joel thought Maria hated him, why he disliked the woman who made Tommy feel closer to a whole person than he ever remembered being before. Namely, Joel thought that Maria hated him for what he made Tommy do all those years, as though violence hadn't been a language Tommy had known for far longer than Joel had. Tommy’s problem with Joel had never been his methods, or the ease with which he used his body to hurt others, or the unflinching loyalty to him and Tess that had made Joel put them above everyone else left in the world. Tommy had done all the same things, made the decision to keep on like that even when they could've avoided it. Hell, Tommy had joined the fireflies, and they weren't exactly bastions of peace and limiting civilian casualties. Tommy had left Joel because he couldn't watch it all be for nothing, couldn't watch his brother die a little more each day, only Tess propping him up.

It was watching Joel have a panic attack over not being able to protect Ellie that made Tommy realise his brother was back again, the brother he'd buried with Sarah. The brother who'd cleaned his knuckles with a wet rag, called him Tomás, helped him sneak back into their home drunk and high so their mother didn't panic, waiting until she was out to yell at him. The brother he thought he'd lost, back thanks to Ellie.

Ellie, who swore and palmed her switchblade in her pocket and demanded her gun back, who was all broken pieces too, desperate to make something of her life, desperate for all the death and pain and loss not to be for nothing.

Ellie, who might be the cure to everything.

Ellie, who, if Tommy knew one thing about the Fireflies, would be dead within a month at best if they got hold of her.

Ellie, who was well on her way to becoming his niece.

Ellie, who Joel wanted him to take to the base in Colorado (not that they were still there, a small voice in the back of his head said, reminding him the scientists were moving out to Salt Lake City).

Ellie, who he was absolutely not taking to Colorado, or Salt Lake, or anywhere other than to the house across the road from his and to a warm bed and clothes that fit properly and the best damn childhood anyone could have given they were living through the end of the world.

Ellie, who had helped Joel pick up his broken pieces, and maybe, finally learn to live with them, to hold enough at once to live life despite them.

The reality was, Tommy thought, that blood was full of everyone's lives now. He'd just had a head start on seeing the crimson every time he shut his eyes, a preview of what the world would be. What that meant, though, was that he'd also had a head start on learning how to pick himself up again, to learn to live again.

And in Jackson, with his wife, and child, and brother, and niece, maybe everyone else could try catching up to him for once. Maybe he could teach them. Maybe, he could make it all worth it. (Maybe, one day, he could make Ellie see it could be worth living for too).

***********************************************

End author notes!

and now Tommy gets to be an uncle again and make Joel go insane about the shit he and Ellie pull. Also Ellie definitely doesn't end up with the fireflies because genuinely why the fuck would you take the one immune person in the world and immediately try and kill them I may not be a biologist but that I am a scientist and that feels like bad practice to me. Fuck Jerry Anderson. In this universe he magically gets shot by someone and the firefly hospital mysteriously gets burnt to the ground (miller family road trip to Utah for some light recon (stealing everything the fireflies know about immunity) and a little bit of arson for a treat (burning the hospital to the ground)).

Other random things that didn't make it into the fic:

- Tommy and Marlene definitely fucked like twice and then mutually agreed to just never mention it again

- Tess did propose a threesome at one point to Tommy who laughed and told her he was down if Joel was, knowing full well that Joel was completely gone on Tess and wouldn't share her for the world

- bi Tess because I say so and I'm bi so I sensed the vibe (Anna torvs is hot)

- they tell Ellie about what they did to the fireflies, and then tell her that if they find anyone who actually has a hope in hell of making a vaccine they'll take her themselves

- Ellie still gives herself a chemical burn, but she goes to Tommy for help with the tattoo because Joel told her he had tattoos, failing to mention that Tommy's tattoo was a drink mistake that he never shows to anyone. He finds someone good who can tattoo safely and sterilely and helps pick the design and sits with Ellie the whole time

#tlou #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou #the last of us #tommy miller #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fic

[tsuraiwrites]

Fic: Until the Morning Comes (2/?)

Chapter 1

The Asgardians’ entry to Earth is a shitshow from start to finish. 

When reports come in of an energy signature matching the Tesseract's appearing in a remote field in Norway, the Avengers set out immediately to investigate. The urge to panic is only barely suppressed as the team assembles; no one wants another alien invasion. 

They contact their preliminary Council and Norway’s own Council to secure the mission parameters and permission to enter the country. With the accompaniment of the team of enhanced Scandinavia authorities collectively manage to scramble, they descend onto a field filled with the wreckage of a ship obviously not from Earth. 

“We come with both a warning and a plea for sanctuary,” Thor announces, his face and armor crusted with blood, a patch over his empty eye. The supposed god is obviously limping, Mjolnir missing from his belt. “Asgard has fallen, our people slaughtered, and a great enemy haunts our steps. We only managed to escape the Mad Titan’s grasp with the Tesseract, but it extracted a great price.” He pauses, sweeping his eye over the entire contingent sent to confront the people disembarking the remnants of a space cruiser behind him. His gaze, of course, lands on the shiny red and gold exterior of a familiar suit of armor first, and Thor swallows before he directs his next words at Iron Man especially. 

“My brother is dying. Will you help me save him?”

-

“You sure this is a good idea, Tones?” 

It’s eight a.m. and Tony hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep in at least a day. Jim can read it in the dark smudges under the man's eyes and he has to bite back an expression of concern that will do no good, not with the mood Tony’s in.

“Nope, not sure at all!” Tony chirps, smile a little too wide. “Come on, platypus, the guy needed help.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to be the one to help him. You could let the Council take it from here-” Jim starts, but Tony shakes his head before he’s halfway through. 

“You know I can’t do that. With the way the Council’s getting antsy, they might just shove him back on Carol’s team to shut Steve up and maintain ‘team harmony’.” 

With the warning from the Asgardians and the weight of Thanos coming closer every day hanging over them, everyone is feeling the pressure to present a united front, if only to keep the American public from panicking. Other parts of the world are both more and less interested in the Avengers these days as numerous countries scramble to assemble and train their own teams of enhanced to fight the Titan’s army, as well as coordinate planetary defenses. None of that means the United States can afford to show weakness right now. 

Jim sighs, sinking down onto the penthouse couch, his newest set of leg bracers silent as they adjust to his shifting posture.

“Point. But you don’t have to take it all on yourself—at least let me handle the call to the Council and get the paperwork started,” he cajoles. Jim shouldn’t have to convince him—as co-leader of the Avengers Jim should be the first one called in cases like this, even if Tony submitted the official complaint. “Your board meeting will probably run long, anyway.”

“Don’t get me started, I’m already getting raked over the coals for not coming up with new defense systems that aren’t just lasers and more missiles. Never going to complain about less paperwork,” Tony mutters into his coffee mug. 

It’s nearly empty, and based on prior experience he’ll soon use it as an excuse to get up and flee this conversation for a bit, if only to refill it in the kitchen.

When Tony glances up, Jim just raises his eyebrows, ignoring the familiar distraction Tony’s set up like a shining target. If they start in again on the difference between weapons, defenses, and how far Tony’s oath to stop weapons manufacturing actually goes, they’ll both miss their meetings. 

“I noticed you gave him the floor under yours,” Jim says leadingly. 

The floor that was supposed to be Steve’s, though none of the Avengers besides Tony had ever resided in the Tower. Jim can let himself be bitter about that—if only because he hadn’t seen the full impact that rejection had had on Tony at the time. He has the excuse of the Force keeping him busy, often overseas, but in truth it was like the damn palladium poisoning again; something breaking Tony down from the inside while Jim remained oblivious until it was too late.

“It was empty,” Tony shrugs, breaking off Jim’s train of thought.

“Happy says you went and picked him up yourself,” Jim replies, mild.

“You going somewhere with this?” Tony finally snaps, straightening. “Yeah, I went and got him. I wasn’t going to send a driver alone to pick up the damn Winter Soldier, give me a little more credit.” Jim doesn’t so much as blink, taking a sip from his own half-full mug. A long moment of savoring Tony’s very expensive coffee ensues before he concludes: “You really have forgiven him.” 

Tony deflates, all tension from his previous defensive posture gone. 

“...Yeah, I have.” The words sound wrenched out of him; Jim knows that’s all the honesty he’s going to get from his friend today. 

Jim wonders when the forgiveness happened. Was it before or after Barnes apologized? He hopes it was after, maybe as Tony getting some form of closure, but knowing his best friend it’s just as likely that Barnes had been forgiven before the rogues even returned. Not like he can bust Tony down for being forgiving—their own arguments stand testament to that—but Tony doesn't seem to know healthy limits, despite his and Pepper’s best efforts. 

“Okay then. I’m willing to take him on the team, assuming he doesn’t have any… entitlement issues.” 

It’s a nice way to put the general unwillingness to bend the rogues display behind closed doors, away from paying lip service to the press about a “united front”. Unlike the rest of the rogue Avengers, Barnes has never been the subject of Carol’s late night calls to vent. Myriad issues can crop up with accepting back a team of rebellious people that still believe their reasons for fighting trump the decree of over a hundred countries’ governments—and they do crop up.

Like fucking dandelions.

“There’s also the matter of the Winter Soldier,” Jim points out.

Tony sighs, fiddling with his cup.

“His therapy team will need to clear him after the incident.”

That makes sense, and would also give them a buffer of time to introduce him to the team and gauge where everyone stood with the super soldier. Jim knows Peter will look to Tony for cues, but the others might take a little more convincing—he’ll have to call a team meeting soon to brief them on the new situation. 

Tony clicks his tongue, snapping Jim’s focus back to him. He wiggles his empty mug demonstratively. 

“Top up?”

“I’m good,” Jim answers, gaze following Tony as he practically books it to the kitchen. If he’s honest, he’s surprised he could pin Tony down for as long as he did. The rogue Avengers come up in conversation—they can hardly be avoided—but Tony’s been particularly squirrelly about anything to do with Barnes. Until this morning, Jim had been sure that Barnes was still on his list of people to avoid. 

The misconception is understandable. Jim couldn’t imagine ever being able to look someone who killed his mother in the eye without flying off the handle. The fact that Tony had been able to accept an apology was a miracle in itself. To offer Barnes a floor in the Tower instead of one of his other New York properties, let alone the floor below Tony’s, was something Jim wouldn’t have considered a possibility up to the moment it actually happened. 

Part of him worries that this is Tony falling into those old patterns where he’d give time and money to SHIELD and his teammates, only to receive dust and broken promises in return. 

If it looks like Barnes thinks he’s going to be the next in that parade, he better have another thought coming. Jim certainly isn’t going to put up with it, either as a team leader or as Tony’s friend.   

He sighs, takes another long pull of coffee, and nearly spills it on his lap when the phone in his pocket starts blasting “Barbie Girl” and vibrating violently.

“Damn it! Tones, did you mess with my ringtone again?”

Only laughter meets his shout. He huffs, glancing at the smiling face and head of bright blonde hair on the caller ID. 

"Morning, Carol," he says as he picks up, hoping this is about what he thinks it is, instead of some fresh hell.

“Jim,” she says, sounding unhappy, and though he already has some idea of the situation he feels his spine straightening anyway. “Bucky is gone. FRIDAY can’t give me a clear answer on what happened and Steve won’t, and now there’s an emergency Council meeting? What the hell is going on?” She sounds stressed, and Jim grimaces in sympathy. 

“Rogers didn’t own up?” he asks, but of course not, why would he? God forbid the man be held accountable- he cuts off the thought—unproductive as it is—and continues before she can reply: “Barnes just found out Maximoff was HYDRA.”

A hiss from the other end of the line.

“Shit, that’s–”

“A huge fucking oversight,” Jim agrees—an oversight he’s probably already got paperwork on his desk to correct. He has no doubt the whole roster is going to be cross examined to avoid another disaster like this.

“And you know this when I don’t, because?” Carol demands. And that’s an oversight too—Jim should have been informed and called her the instant Barnes asked to be picked up, but instead Tony waited until the last minute to inform Jim and the Council both.

They’d already had words about that.

“He’s here.” 

He hears her pause, then a gusty sigh of relief. 

“Glad to know I won’t have to report him AWOL. Is he okay?”

Despite himself, Jim smiles, glad the stress of leading the rogues hasn’t worn her compassion to shreds the way it no doubt would Jim’s.

“I haven’t seen him yet, but Tony gave him a suite to crash in. Barnes was lucid enough to call him.”

Carol doesn’t miss a beat. 

“He called Tony after a Soldier episode? That’s…” she trails off, both of them taking in the implications—that Barnes had fled the compound was understandable, considering Maximoff’s presence there, but fact that the man’s first call hadn’t been directed to Carol showed a gap in protocol and team dynamics that becomes more obvious the longer he thinks about it. 

Never mind that the meltdown happened at all, when there had only been one other incident early upon the rogues returned from Wakanda—and none since.

Damn, but Jim is realizing how lucky they are that this didn’t come out during a mission. Adding a Soldier episode to an already high-stress situation is not anyone’s idea of a good time, and the last thing the world needs is to see one Avenger losing it against another in front of inevitable cameras. They’re exceptionally lucky the situation resolved the way it did, and Jim isn’t sure they can actually afford another slip-up of this magnitude if something does get out. 

He may have to ground Barnes for a few months, at this rate. Just to be safe, just to get all the wrinkles this is sure to cause ironed out. Speaking of which…

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. “Depending on psych’s eval, it may be a while before he can go back on the field, but Barnes doesn’t want to work with Maximoff anymore.” “Fuck, Steve is going to throw an unholy fit. I already had to talk him down from taking off after him. If he finds out Bucky is leaving the Avengers-”

“Not the Avengers, just the team with Maximoff on it.”

She pauses, then:

“Please tell me he wants to transfer to the San Francisco base.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“That’s worse. You realize that’ll be worse.” 

Jim grunts, the depth of his displeasure obvious when Carol sighs in response and mutters:

“I’ll do damage control as best I can for now, but Natasha is going to catch wind of the meeting sooner or later.” And she’ll tell Steve, no matter what Carol has to say about it or how secure those meetings are supposed to be. 

“We’ll deal with it when it becomes an issue.” Jim has no doubt that it will become one and, as head of the eastern Avengers branch, he’ll be on the front line to deal with it.

Movement out of the corner of his eye makes Jim look up at where Tony leans in the doorway. When they make eye contact Tony wiggles his eyebrows suggestively even as he takes a long pull from his fresh coffee. 

Jim sighs. 

“How’s the rest of the team?” he asks because he has to, and watches Tony’s playful expression drop—quick as a dead suit. It’s a testament to how far he’s come that Jim doesn’t even wince at the thought.

“Agitated. I’ll have to let them know something soon or Sam will stop helping me pin Steve down long enough to think rationally.” Jim grimaces.  

“Let’s hope this meeting starts the wheels turning. Remind them, if you need to, that their keycards only give them access to the Tower in case of emergencies.” 

“I’m sure that’ll go over great,” Carol replies, sarcasm obvious. “Anyway-” she starts to say, but pauses. “Someone’s knocking on my door, so I’ll have to sign off. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

Jim says his goodbyes and takes another sip of his coffee. He grimaces down at it in betrayal a second later, the liquid now too cool to be appetizing.

When he looks up again, Tony is already gone.

#fic #mcu #james barnes/tony stark #team iron man #not steve rogers friendly #winteriron #looking for a beta/sounding board for this fic #I really do want to write more of it #utmc

[linawritesfanficandmore]

Young Soul Struggling To Be Loved

Summary:

"Hey, old geezer?" "Hmm..?" “Was it good that I was born?” “Well, you…you will understand that one day as long as you live.”

Ace searched for the answer. He didn't realize it... Left so many broken hearts... So many uncompleted stories... A chance for love...

Notes:

I have no idea if this will be one long one-shot or have chapters. Also when will ı update who knows but let's just introduce this. I won't include childhood moments because it will be another side story. hope you enjoy

Trailer

"What if Roger had a son?"

*** “I've had enough of Ace already! I think it would be better if he went somewhere and died. Then we could tell Garp that it was an accident. This is what they mean when they say that the devil's child has a devil's hair. He is the devil's child. Imagine what would have happened if the government had found out! What do you think would happen to us?"

*** "Hey, old geezer?" "Hmm..?" “Was it good that I was born?” “Well, you…you will understand that one day as long as you live.”

*** "Thank you…"

Ace looked at Luffy, who was barely holding back his tears. This boy hadn't told them where his and Sabo's treasure was, no matter what they did to him. Maybe he is stro...

“For saving me…”

He started crying again. How frustrating.

"You!" “Hey, hey calm down. He's just thanking us.” “Anyway, why didn't you tell them in the first place anyway?! They kill everyone without separate women and children!” “If I had told… you would never have been my friend.” “This is better than dying though, isn't it? And why do you want to be my friend so persistently?! "Because…" "Why did you follow me here, after everything I've put you through?" “Because… BECAUSE THERE IS NO ONE OTHER! I CAN NOT GO BACK TO WINDMILL VILLAGE BECAUSE I HATE THESE MOUNTAIN BANDITS! IF I DID NOT FOLLOW YOU, I WOULD BE COMPLETELY ALONE! BEING ALONE HURTS ME MUCH MORE THAN INJURY!” "Your parents?" “Just my grandfather, no one else.” "It's not bad when I'm here, is it?" "Yes." "Is it bad that I am not here?" "Yes."

At that moment, Ace remembered wandering all over town searching for answers.

"What if Roger had a son?" “It would be so bad if it did, hahaha! He would be a demon that doesn't deserve to be born or live!”

Luffy… Sabo… I am alive.

"I understand."

*** “And from today on we are… we are brothers!”

They toasted three.

*** “Ace! Luffy! One day the three of us will sail to the sea. We will leave this country and be free!”

Sabo was dead. The world took Sabo from Ace and Luffy. They had lost their brothers and could not even take revenge. They were still too weak.

"Hey! How long do you intend to whine?!”

Ace sighed as Luffy hugged his hat even tighter.

“All the treasure we hid in the forest is gone. Maybe it was stolen by pirates, maybe the army found it. I do not know. But it doesn't matter anymore. It was the resource for me and Sabo's pirate ship. Sabo didn't use it. I won't be using either. There's no point in collecting treasure if we can't own it." “A-ace… I… I want to be a lot stronger. I want to be stronger, more, more, more, and much more! So I can protect everyone I care about! And I will never lose anyone again! So… Please… Ace… Please don’t die…” “Don't be stupid! You should be more worried about yourself than me! You are much weaker than me! Shut up and listen to me Luffy! Do not forget! I will never die!” "Yeah…" “Sabo wanted that too… That's why I promised! I will never die! There's no way I'm going to die and leave my weakling brother like you behind!” "Yeah..." “I am not very smart. So I don't know what killed Sabo. But whatever it was, it was an obstacle to his freedom. Sabo died before he could win his freedom. We both had a toast with Sabo and we're alive! So listen carefully Luffy. We will live our lives without regrets!”

*** “I'm sorry to get you in trouble, but my ship has sunk. Can you help me?" “You are in the same situation as me!”

*** “Probably not a bad person. I bet! You're just exaggerating the situation! Nobody even remembers minor criminals. Actually, I don't think anyone will blame you for your father's crimes. If your father had been the king of pirates, it would have been different. You understand. After all, that man was the worst. I mean, I would even consider killing myself if that was the case. But your situation can't be that bad, can it? eh? Stop acting like the protagonist of a tragedy-"

Everyone was saying so. Except for those two...

“So… Wait… What is that face? You… you're kidding, right?! Roger? ROGER?! THE KING OF THE PIRATES?!”

Ace confirmed it.

*** “Don't die out there, Ace. Thank you."

He and Isuka were getting further and further away. Farther… Farther… The ship was not stopping. It couldn't stop.

“Should I have grabbed her hand?”

Ace muttered to himself. It swirled over and over in his head. He couldn't. He couldn't hold her hand. Not when he was a pirate who could turn into fire.

*** “This is your vivre card.” “Is that it?”

Ace took the paper from Yamato's hand. It looked like a normal piece of paper.

"So what? It's just a piece of paper.” "RIGHT! This piece of paper will one day bring us together again!” “Bring us together?”

Yamato tore off a piece of paper. He took it.

"Look."

The paper started coming towards Ace from Yamato's hand. As it was about to fall, Yamato caught it.

“Hey!” “Tawae a piece of it for someone you don't want to separate or want to see again someday.” "Okay. I will do so.”

So Ace started his boot with his fire. He looked at him as he walked away.

“Don't lose it!”

Then it started going again. He had to go back to his crew now. After a while:

“Ace!”

Hearing this, Ace turned his boot.

“Oh! Yamato!”

Yamato was running down the mountain. He finally stopped on a hill. He almost fell.

“Let's meet again one day! Ace!” “Hahahaha!!”

He then turned around and showed him the paper.

"Absolutely!"

*** He placed a bowl of food next to Ace.

"You! Why do you guys call that man father?"

Marco smiled at the young man who was pouting in front of him.

“Because that man calls us my sons. To everyone else but him, we're outcasts. This makes us happy. It's just a word but it makes us happy!”

Marco could see him struggling, eating away at his thoughts. He approached and collapsed next to him.

“How much longer do you plan to risk your life? Make your mind now! There's no way you can kill pops the way you are. Are you going to get off this ship and start all over again? Or will you agree to stay here and bear the mark of Whitebeard?

*** “Do you want me to be commander of the second division?” “We didn't have a commander for a long time. If it's you, no one will disagree." “Hmm…”

Ace then turned to Teach.

“You've been here a long time. Are you sure it's okay?" “Hahahaha! No problem, don't worry. I have no such ambitions. Go for it, Commander Ace!”

*** "Really? What a surprise! You don't act much like Roger." “He was your enemy. Don't you want to kick me off?" “It doesn't matter who the family is. Everyone is a child of the sea.”

*** “Hey, Ace! I found a strange-looking fruit!” “Oh! Isn't it a devil fruit?"

*** Thatch…

"If we let this get away with it, Thatch's soul won't rest in peace!" “Ace! No problem. Just this once. I have a weird feeling.

Ace still couldn't ignore it. He went after him…

***

One article in the newspaper stood out more than the others:

“Fire-fist Ace got caught!”

*** Why… Why… Why are you fighting for me? Why are you dying for me? Wait… Please… I beg you… It's all my fault. I didn't listen. Please… Stop now!

***

“I have no sympathy for criminals but… My family is different… So, now… What should I do? Damn it, Ace! Why couldn't you live as I said?"

*** “Come on Luffy!!!! You and I are pirates! You have to roam the sea however you want! I have my own adventure! I have my own friends! You have no right to get in my way! Do you think I would let a weakling person like you come to my rescue?! It would be so humiliating! Come back Luffy! Why did you even come?!”

Please Luffy… I don't want to take you with me. My fault.

"I! I AM YOUR BROTHER!” *** “I wouldn't have the will to live if I didn't have a troublesome little brother like you and Sabo… Ah, right… If you see Dadan one day, say hi to me. I miss even a woman like her because I can see death at my bedside.” "AS I SAID! YOU WILL NOT DIE!-" “I want to stay for one reason only. It is wanting to see your dream come true… But… I am sure you can! Because you are my brother! As we promised that day… I have no regrets… in my life…” "Lie! DO NOT LIE!" “I'm not saying. I have a feeling it's not always fame that I want. Did I deserve to be born? What I wanted was the answer to this question. Now… I don't even have the energy to raise my voice for everyone to hear. What I'm about to say next… Can you pass it on to them? Pops! Everybody! And you Luffy! Thank you... A useless person like me… with disgusting blood running through my veins… for loving me…

Related Fic

Part 1

#ace x yamato #aceyama #ace #portgas d. ace #ace x marco #marace #marco x ace #ace x deuce #ace x ısuka #charachter study #character death #omegaverse #luffy #sabo #omega luffy #garp #whitebeard one piece #whitebeard pirates #teach #One Piece Fanfiction #one piece fanfic #alpha sabo #beta ace #beta masked deuce #beta ısuka #beta yamato #beta marco #alpha beta omega

[ameirysavar]

She never wanted him. He had been wanting her for too long. She was forced to marry him. He waited for her. She despises him. He desired her. How long can she stop her feelings if she was slowly falling in love with the man who causes her pain? Would a man who had dark desires, can really fall in love… gently?

Billionaire’s Dark Desire © 2022 by Ameiry Savar

Chapter 1

“This is your fault!” My stepmother, Veronica, screamed at me. “If my husband dies, I will kill you too!” she added, her eyes already soaked in tears.

I couldn’t say anything but cry as well. I didn’t want this to happen. I never wanted to hurt my father!

I remained standing and accepted her slaps and cursing. If I tried to answer her, she would just hit me more.

“Stop it, Mom. I don’t want you to be hurt too!” My stepsister, Clementine, stopped her. She held her hands and guided her to sit on the waiting chair.

“I can’t lose your daddy, Clementine! I can’t!”

“Ssh… Dad will be okay, Mom. Just be strong, okay? I don’t want you to be hospitalized too. So, please calm yourself.”

“How? How can I calm down when my husband is dying? Because of this bitch, my husband is dying!”

She pointed her finger at me again, as if I were the most disgusting person on earth. I bit my lips and looked down again. I never wanted to hurt anyone. If only I knew that this would happen, I wouldn’t have run away. But my stepmother wanted me to marry some old man, and I just can’t! I’m still studying in college and have dreams I want to achieve. I can’t let my life be tied to a person I don’t even know.

But because of my harsh decision, my father ended up on the surgery bed, fighting for his life.

“It should’ve been you instead of my husband!”

I felt my heart break into pieces again. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I would pray for it to be like that. My father was my only real family after my mother died in childbirth. I didn’t even get to meet her. It was my stepmother who always became my mother figure. But I don’t really feel she treated me as her daughter. Would a mother want her daughter to marry a complete stranger?

“I-I didn’t mean it, Mother,” I said in my trembling voice.

“Will you just shut up, Beatrice?! Do you want Mother to be in surgery too?” Clementine said.

I sniffed and didn’t say anything. If only I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have let Dad pick me up. Or I wouldn’t have run away. I would have agreed to marry that man just to make sure that my father would be safe. He didn’t agree with the marriage, but because our business was already in a bad situation, he didn’t have any choice. I understand him. I just can’t accept the fact that I had to marry someone just to save everything. Why me? Why not Clementine?

After a few hours, a doctor came out of the surgery room. My stepmother immediately went to the doctor and faced him.

“Doctor! How’s my husband? Is he okay now? Can I see him now?” she asked worriedly.

“He’s stable for now.”

“For now? What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“We managed to stop some bleeding inside him, but he still needs brain surgery. Sadly, we cannot provide the best surgery for him.”

My stepmother cried again in despair. “What?! But I thought he was okay now!”

The doctor shook his head. “For now, Mrs. Litcher. But if Mr. Litcher doesn’t receive surgery until tomorrow, it could kill him. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, God! What should I do?!”

“The Bruce Medical Center in the city. I know they can help your husband.”

I touched my mouth when he mentioned the hospital. Bruce Medical Center was the most prominent hospital in the country. They had the best medical center in the world, from the doctors to the machines they used. BMC was like a miracle hospital for everyone. But it was also the most expensive hospital.

“If you are ready, we will prepare Mr. Litcher for his transport.”

“H-How… How can we afford the BMC now? We can’t afford it!” Veronica exclaimed. Then she slowly looked at me. “You! This is your fault! Now how can we get surgery for your father?! He will die because of you!” She went in front of me and slapped me again.

I felt the hard pinch on my face, and my vision slightly blurred. I couldn’t think anymore. Would marrying that stranger really save us? If I said yes, would my father be saved?

“If you don’t have any help to give us now, Beatrice, just go home or go away! Don’t you ever let us see your face!” Clementine said.

“I-I want to see my father, M-Mom—”

“Did you really think I will let you see him? He is dying because of you! Unless you do what we want you to do, don’t ever show your face here again!” Veronica said. She looked at the doctor again and talked with him.

Tears fell down my cheeks once again. I turned around and slowly walked away. There was nothing I could do there. Now my father would die because of me. If only I knew that this would happen, I wouldn’t have entered the car with him. I would have begged him to stay in my friend’s apartment to talk about how we could save our business. Now, everything I love would be gone.

My family owned the biggest resort in the city. We owned an island that only prominent personalities or families could enter. My father said that he started it with Mom. Our resort became known because of her. But because of my stepmother and sister’s luxurious life, everything went downhill. And now they wanted me to pay for what they did. I didn’t even know the man my stepmother was talking about. I just knew him by his surname, Bruce. Everyone knew that the Bruce family was the wealthiest family in our country.

“What should we do now, Mom?” Clementine asked.

“I-I don’t know, Clementine. I might need to sell the resort now.”

I stopped walking and looked back at them. “Y-You can’t sell the resort, Mother!”

Veronica looked at me with her sharp eyes. “And then what? Let your father die?!”

“But Dad wouldn’t like it either! The resort is the only memory left of my mother!”

“Oh, shut it, Beatrice!” Clementine stood up and slapped me. “I said you go now!”

“If you had only agreed to Mr. Bruce’s proposal, then this wouldn’t have happened, Beatrice! It’s your fault that the resort will be gone too!” Mom added.

I clenched my fists. I can’t let her sell our resort! My dad was already dying, and losing the only memory of my parents would kill me. I sucked in a deep breath and stared at my stepmother.

“F-Fine… I will accept it. Just don’t sell the resort and save my father!”

Continue reading this here: https://reamstories.com/page/lk6cpds93v/story/ll7efn1kqx

#writeblr #writers #fiction #readers #poetry #bookblr #books #reading #dark romance #romance novels #billionaire #love story #Ameiry Savar #long reads #read free ebooks #bookstagram #books and reading #currently reading #steamy #steamy stories #inkitt #wattpad #wattpad writer #author #ream stories

[hopefullyababe]

ive always been like 'lucifer is what supernatural SHOULD have been' bc theyre both shows about navigating life after suffering through a childhood with an absent-presumed-dead mom and a mostly-absent-when-not-abusive father in a world where the supernatural exists. the difference lies in the last element there. the supernatural. specifically, how well its integrated.

(click readmore for an Essay)

in lucifer the supernatual is thematically relevant. in this world, angels are self actualizing creatures; they have this nifty power where their angel form changes depending on how they feel about themself. for a show about self forgiveness, and personal growth, this is a perfect storytelling device. seeing the physical changes to our angel characters communicates things about their current sense of self that they might not even know yet. even for the non angelic characters, this theme of self forgiveness is still carried through the supernatural. when a human dies in lucifer, they either go to heaven or to hell. its revealed later in the show that which one they end up in is dependent on how guilty their conscience is. ascension to heaven from hell is possible, but only through self forgiveness. a human must feel that they no longer deserve to be punished. the supernatural elements are intertwined with the themes of the show. the story is strengthened by its supernatural elements, never held back by it.

supernatural(tv), however, struggles to integrate its supernatural world into the themes of the show. this is not for lack of trying, especially in the early seasons. sam and deans lives are enriched with the supernatural. their mother was killed by a demon, which their father devoted his life to hunting down and killing. sam and dean were raised in this unstable environment, being uprooted and carted around the country by their vengeful father. the brothers were raised as hunters. they were taught the ins and outs of monster killing before they could read. but the most prominent example of their involvement in the supernatural underbelly is actually sam winchester. and his demon blood.

supernatural(tv) veterans may be forgiven for forgetting this early plotpoint-as it was forgotten about by the writers in later seasons- but sam winchester IS a monster. throughout the first few seasons there is. what i suppose could be described as a mystery throughline of 'what the fuck is up with sam'. he has visions, prophetic dreams, and can move things with his mind occasionally. this, as is revealed, is because he has demon blood in him. when his mother was killed, the demon who killed her bled into baby sams mouth, causing him to develop demon powers as he grew. he is also part of about a dozen other babies who were given demon blood and have all developed wildly different powers. oddly, this is not central to his character at all. during season two, which focused on this plot, sam could be found empathizing with other demon children such as himself, or being called to the dark side by full demons- but his identity as a monster is never addressed the series in a meaningful way again. his powers also have very little relation to his character, or his development. he confides in dean at one point that he had dreamed of his girlfriend jess dying for months before she died. what does this element add? a sense of greater tragedy about an already tragic death? does it play into a character flaw, or perhaps a motif of being powerless despite having the tools to save someone? does it tell us anything about who sam is, and his deeper psyche? it really gives us nothing, girl.

it could potentially be stretched to say that sam was trying to ignore his visions, because he was trying to shut out the supernatural world entirely. he may have been trying to repress his supernatural qualities along with cutting out his family, because he wanted more than anything to be normal. this claim is not substantiated by his in show characterization though. sam shows very little hesitance when it comes to diving back into the supernatural world. in fact, after the first episode, he embraces it. his powers really give us nothing in terms of his current struggles, or where his mind is at.

this sort of detachment is present in the entire world of supernatural(tv). sam and dean fight monsters, yes. they are friends with angels, descended from two different lines of renowned monster hunters, friends with the king of hell, have met god- but they exist in their own little bubble, apart from their profession. they really could be doing anything. their involvement in the supernatural is surface level. it is never interwoven into their characters on a deeper level. or, at least on the same level as lucifer.

in terms of the integration of supernatural elements, lucifer comes out on top. its a show that is inseparable from its concept, and inseparable from its supernatural elements. it is a story that could not be told any other way. supernatural(tv) could be about the mafia, and not change hardly at all. actually that would fuck so hard. can someone make supernatural but have it be about the mafia. anyway. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#daphnes talking again #thinking of titles for this essay. i might like. make it an actual essay. #spn lucifer and the 'monsters are real' trope #spn lucifer and the integration of supernatural elements #see no thats ones like. boring #spn lucifer and how NOT to do a monster story #ehhhhhhhh #makes it sound like theyre BOTH bad examples #lucifer supernatural and the secret world of monsters #OOOH that ones not bad #hmmmm #ill figue it out

[mariacallous]

There are lies, there are damned lies, and then there is George Santos’s CV. In the short time that he has been in the public eye, the 34-year-old Republican congressman from New York has been accused of fabricating almost every facet of his life. During his election campaign, Santos claimed to be a “proud American Jew” whose grandparents “survived the Holocaust”. After being challenged on this, however, Santos clarified that he was raised Catholic and argued that he had always said he was “Jew-ish”. Emphasis on the ish.

What else has he lied about? Well, how long have you got? His education and work history appear to be fabrications. He has said his mother was working in the World Trade Center on 9/11, yet records show she was in Brazil. He has said that he “lost four employees” in the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting in Florida, but the New York Times has not been able to verify these claims. He has also claimed to have been a college volleyball star (unlikely) and a producer on Spider-Man (untrue). No one is even sure what Santos’s real name is.

I could go on and on with the lies, but I need to get to the scandals. There is the scandal about his former life as a drag queen in Brazil, which he originally denied, then appeared to admit. (To be clear: the only outrageous thing about his alleged drag-queen past is that he is now active in a party that demonises and wants to criminalise drag queens as part of a broader anti-LGBTQ+ agenda.) There is the $365,000 in campaign funds he can’t account for. And then there are the multiple dog-related scandals.

Last week, Politico reported allegations that Santos spent 2017 cruising around Pennsylvania’s Amish Country buying puppies from dog breeders with cheques that bounced. (I know that cheques haven’t been widely used in the UK since about 1492, so this story sounds suspicious to British ears, but Americans still use them.)

A few days after allegedly writing $15,125 in bad cheques to breeders, Santos held an adoption event at a pet store in New York. It’s not clear if he made money from this, but adoption fees can range from $300 to $400. Santos was charged with theft by deception, but those charges were dropped when he claimed his chequebook had been stolen.

The other dog-related scandal? The congressman is accused of promising to raise funds for a homeless man’s dying dog in 2016, then taking off with the money.

I am not sure how Santos still has a job as a lawmaker, but, as he becomes more and more of an embarrassment, his party colleagues are gradually turning against him. Fellow New York congressman Nick LaLota last week called Santos a “sociopath”. The Utah senator Mitt Romney, meanwhile, described Santos as a “sick puppy” and said he “shouldn’t be in Congress … if he had any shame at all, he wouldn’t be there”.

It turns out Santos doesn’t have any shame. On Wednesday, he told reporters that he is the real victim. “It’s not the first time in history that I’ve been told to shut up and go to the back of the room, especially by people who come from a privileged background,” Santos said of Romney’s remarks. “I think it’s reprehensible the senator would say such a thing to me … it wasn’t very Mormon of him.”

If Santos were a one-off, his antics might be amusing. But there is nothing remotely funny about a political system that has allowed someone such as Santos to get as far as he has. Indeed, Santos may not be the only fabulist in the Republican party: the Washington Post reported last week that Representative Anna Paulina Luna, who was recently elected as a Republican congresswoman in Florida, also appears to have fabricated a lot of her biography.

She, too, has claimed Jewish roots, but, according to her own family, her grandfather reportedly “served in the armed forces of Nazi Germany”. If true, these allegations would suggest that the only qualifications for a successful career in the Republican party are an active imagination and no moral compass whatsoever.

[redemptioninterlude]

🍔 for anyone < 3

let's go on a date meme ( accepting ) + @wndrbcy 🍔 go to a fast food restaurant

                This was but a mess of blood, gore, and human viscera.

A violence that came as a SHOCK TO THE SENSES, enough to send a person to wretches, to feel themselves unspooling at the idea that someone would be able to commit themselves so thoroughly to the end of a person’s life. No smiles on her lips, left, to celebrate the victory claimed in her actions tonight, left to stand, knees stained from where she’d paused to make a personal verification of the job that she’d done, the surgical mask on her face pulled down, slightly, almost as if she weren’t really sick at all. But of course she was, to make a living as such, the twisted lengths that she’d go through to make the job as neat as possible, despite the fact that killing was rarely ever quite done without a mess left behind, trailing. Somewhere, a child was losing her father... but was the world really made to suffer without another criminal within it?

There was no further disrespect to the corpse, no kick, no heel ground against his face, simply standing, her dark hair pulled free of the hat that she’d worn for the act, offering up a watery grin. There’s better places to be, especially now since her SOMETIMES SOMEONE now had begun to wrap themselves around the truth of her job, and all that came along with it. Why she had always been on the move, even when he’d been playing in that band, touring the world and meeting her in the strangest of locations. It seemed not to occur to him to ever ask her what it was she did, and it suited her just find to play pretend with him, but it was the moment that he’d gone and tangled himself within the complications that she tried ever so hard to shield him from...

                          Well. It gets HARDER to keep him protected, doesn’t it?

A text message, she tells him where to meet, and what to wear. Can you tell me a secret? It’s a sweet thing given HOW MANY SHE KEEPS from him, but she shuts it from there, gloves peeled as she texts a confirmation, and collects the cash that they’ll use to burn Jade’s identity to the ground to help him build himself a new one of his own choosing, though she has a feeling, perhaps, that what he wanted was that old thing back, but that, unfortunately, she can’t quite gift to him now that his hands were as stained as her own.

How she’ll swing through the doors that jingle with artificial cheeriness, already armed with a cherry coke that she orders when she spots him there at the window waiting. His hair dyed into new colours, new style and clothes that do their best to leave him newly transformed beneath her palms into someone new. Someone who could MORE EASILY DISAPPEAR as she does, when dropping into the seat next to his, a kiss pressed to his mouth, some small relief found when she does, because it’s the moment she could admit that things always took to a brighter shade when he was there. “There you are. I had to wrap up some stuff. Did you find your way here okay from the new place?” another temporary flop pad before they can get out of the country. But that part’s on the way, the wheels turning, plans, unfurling. 

#wndrbcy #❝ s. min ❞ ┆ meme reply ┆ it's stupid without proof or contract ! #❝ s. min ❞ ┆ canon verse ┆ how could you come knock on my door !

[likewclves]

Leans against him heavily.

And so, the war was over.

Meals were no longer rations choked down without even a smile's pretension. There was fine dining- no paucity of a half-starved rabbit's worth of stew pluming with a lush velvet aroma from the canteens. There was never any want now.

Yet the mountains still splintered his memories in grades of something that was almost... sentimental. Nostalgic. He couldn't just tell himself that it had been a waking nightmare, that it should be shrugged off.

They had seen things that could never be said to anyone who'd never tasted the subjectivity in it. It wasn't to excuse, it wasn't even to rationalize- it was to explicate. To understand the meaning in those moments when you were younger, when you were terrified, when you were just you, there. Another walking target shivering in the wet torrential rain that drenched down to the very bone and seeped into the already aching joints.

Venal men and women feasted on caviar like they'd been the ones trudging through all the shit and mud, hacking away at the jungle's primordial growth, dying and bleeding all in the name of modernization. They sneered at decent men and women who hadn't known fresh bread and meat for weeks, or even months. For not ending the war sooner, for failing to appreciate the difference between fresh and frozen orange juice. Many hadn't even tasted anything that wasn't from a can since they'd returned home.

If they returned home, at all.

Countless families' petitions went unanswered, or were answered en masse with the names stamped in fresher ink- Very logical sounding reasons as to why the bodies of their children could not be sent back home. So efficient had the propaganda against Wutai been ingrained into the older generations, that even an offhand mention of 'infection' was enough to shut them up. They would rather their flesh and blood rot away buried beneath foreign soil than bring all manner of filthy diseases back from the humid, hellish place.

But what did they understand? The elite threw banquets in the honor of the President's sagacious wisdom and guidance, how noble his choices were to drag the people of Wutai and their strange, superstitious country kicking and screaming out of the dark ages.

So he and his Turks sat alone in an old bar and drank to the fallen while Verdot smoked his cigars, savoring the heavy and almost treacle-like aroma. An ineffable essence of something in the gunpowder.

There was little love for traitors in their ranks, but as far as he was concerned- Tseng was one of them. He'd had to put up with enough suspicious glares and vicious gossip for a thousand lifetimes and his track record was flawless, so there was nothing to even mildly criticize there. Let the others mutter and avert their eyes in their ignorance, but they filled their glasses and drank anyway because Veld reminded them how many kills the younger man had under his belt, barely needed to espouse the skillsets that they lacked.

There was never need for any words- everyone knew that you didn't fuck with Verdot, nor did you fuck with the people under his command. So there was no need for any reassurance or melodramatic displays, it was an innate knowledge that each one of the men and women under his jurisdiction was looked after- Down to the credits funneled into their personal accounts to the bespoke tailored suits that laid flat and crisp over bodies carefully honed into weapons.

He continued to smoke and nurse his glass of calvados, his own presence a solid anchor point for his subordinate's slumping form as the exhaustion and the alcohol began to set in.

#ceaselxss #† rp thread #yes he's totally just drunk Veld that's all #how the fuck does Cas always manage to drag out like a billion words from my fucking fingers