will-caruso - Tumblr blog

will-caruso · 5 years

Text

dermct‌:

Dermot was wet, he was cold, and people kept brushing up against him. So going into this whole evacuation place he wasn’t in the best of moods. It was too rainy and too windy to head back to his place, and apparently, there was a fire set at the warehouse, so it looked like he was stuck there to wait for everything to blow over. Which again, this idea wasn’t exactly thrilling. “I don’t care, if you have to pull the liquor out of ye’r damn arse, keep the shots coming,” he was trying to convince the bartender who clearly wasn’t having any of it, to just leave the bottle. Which was when he saw a glass slide his way. Looking down at it and up at the face of the person who tossed it to him, he audibly groaned. “Oh good, you’re here too,” although a toothy grin took over his face as he reached over to gratefully take his offering. “If you’re offering to punch me in the face, by all mean’s go right ahead. I’ve been looking for a fight all night. All these fuckos are too chicken shite to try anything – ” he took himself a long swing, nearly finishing off the entire glass. “What the hell’re doing here, William? Got bored and wanted to come out storm chasing?”

Mahogany pools narrowed into slits— but it was only momentarily, as a soft grin grew over the stormy cloak across his visage. Will was shit at pretending to be angst laden. Sure, he had a tendency to be a bit of a cunt, but hardly had it ever come from a place of malicious intent. "I knew you'd perk right up once I rolled over. I have that affect on people." Will tipped the sticky glass against his lips, allowing it's contents to roll over his tongue as he swallowed it down with ease. "Give me a half hour, I'll whoop your ass just for kicks." With a shaky hand he grabs for the tequila bottle, pouring himself another shot before he waved it through the air in Dermot's direction. "This is what I get for stopping off on the way home. Should have known better, but-" Tepid eyes flickered up to find the face of the man who sat behind him; they were both nonsensical and mischief laden. "I wont lie and say I'm disappointed. Who doesn't love a good storm?"

#& dermot.#dermot: 01.

2 notes · View notes

will-caruso · 5 years

Photo

ALIAS: William Caruso AGE + DOB: Thirty-Four | 01.27.1985 GENDER + PRONOUNS: Male | He/Him AFFILIATION: Unaffiliated OCCUPATION: Private Pilot

THE STORY //

William started off just like any other red-blooded American boy. His family had worked hard for many generations in order to give him a life that he could make some great use out of— and he did. Born in Baltimore, he’d surely become another in a long line of Caruso military men. Though the expectation seemed like more of a burden the older he got, the weight of it felt almost trivial compared to the reward. Within his family he was a son, or a grandchild; niece, or nephew, to be bragged about. Will graduated at the top of his high school class, and with the blessing of his grandfather, was granted admittance to the U.S. Naval Academy. It was a rough adjustment at first. Gone were the days where sitting at the top of the class was as easy as an extra hour on homework, or fluffed up extra-curriculars. This was an entirely different world. These people didn’t care where he’d come from, or who he was before he came to Annapolis— and it was the first time that Will realized that he ultimately preferred it this way. The anonymity of it all was invigorating; the only thing separating him from the cannon fodder was how hard he worked to prove himself every single day. Will thrived in this environment. So well that it was no longer grades or status that fueled his rise to the top, but purpose, and he would not be so easily deterred from his goals. He’d been the first in his family to fly a plane for the Navy. His father had served in the Army, stationed in Kuwait during the Gulf War; and his grandfather (when he’d first started college) was one of the few remaining survivors of World War II- having joined the Air Force right out of high school. This is how Will felt he was carving his own legacy; a Caruso in a new branch of the armed forces, and boy, did he thrive. If he’d never made it to Annapolis, Will never would have discovered just how much he loved flying. The sheer force of the machine, like a beast that he could control with a flick of his wrist and a press of his finger. For years he would eat, sleep, and breathe all for his life in the sky. An accomplishment he would not willingly surrender. The start of his sixth year on active duty was the same year he’d turned thirty. It was supposed to be a landmark. William had made lieutenant at the turn of the calendar, which meant he was well on his way to commander, and eventually captain. He’d never once considered deviating from this career path, and it wasn’t until mid-July of 2015 that his life took a turn for the worse. It was a simple training, or, it was supposed to be. Their miscalculation had put everyone at risk; airspace was limited where they were stationed, and the parameters were off. To this day Will is convinced that someone had to have amended the dossier after the fact. Would never buy into the idea that him and his flight had understood wrong. But the blame would ultimately fall onto him, and the accident was something he’d have a hard time recovering from, if ever. An honorable discharge might have sounded better on paper, but it certainly didn’t help to soothe his sleepless nights, or relieve his conscience of any blame. E. Jay Mendoza was never going to return home to his family. Would never hug his mother again. Wouldn’t get to see his niece graduate from high school. Will lived with this every day. Saw his face every night. Alcohol didn’t help. The company of strangers didn’t help. His only saving grace in all of this was his ability to move away. Will didn’t like to think of it as running, but that’s exactly what he’d done. Canada was like a blank canvas. William had been born to a mother who held a Canadian citizenship. It’d been easy for him to secure a visa, and within a year he’d obtained citizenship of his own. Physical therapy was long and torturous; two years for his crushed leg and the numerous steel pins that kept him together. Every day was a struggle, and they continued to be, even still. A clean bill of health helped to secure a private pilot’s license, because despite everything that had happened, Will knew exactly where he belonged… Even if he’d yet to cement his place within Montreal’s city limits.

WRITTEN BY CEE. SHE/HER. EST.

#& bio.#love my child

1 note · View note

will-caruso · 5 years

Text

@dermct

Sobriety is a thing of the past. Moments gone. Hours, maybe. Don't take Will for the type to sit in a dive and drink to his sorrows. Truly, this had been a rare occasion, and on most nights he'd settle for the quiet company of his cat; catch him flinching at both the taste and the burn of a whisky that's too expensive— but enjoying the buzz a little too much to surrender to such minor details. For whatever reason, tonight had him feeling like the open concept of his living space was a bit too hollow for his liking. Maybe there was something more comforting about a sticky bar top than his stark white walls devoid of any personal touch... Maybe it's all in his head. None of that matters when he plops his ass down on a stool next to some ugly bastard (he'd never admit otherwise out loud, at least), and he's shoving a glass of mystery liquor his way without a second thought. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, fucker." Will side eyes the familiar face, bringing his own glass to his mouth with a bit of pause, "Or do. Maybe I'd like to watch you eat your own teeth."

#& dermot.#dermot: 01.#you alreaDY KNOW

2 notes · View notes

will-caruso · 5 years

Quote

One’s past suffering can be a great source of comfort. A torturous luxury. Velvet upholstery.

Elisa Gabbert, from “About Suffering” (via weltenwellen)

#musings.

60 notes · View notes

will-caruso · 5 years

Text

@sdclore

It's not like it had been Will's intention to get utterly shit faced tonight. It'd started out as a typical evening which- if we're being completely honest- almost always involves liquor to some extent. But. He'd been a bit of a habitual drinker. It took more than a rum and coke or two to get him utterly sloshed, and if anyone had asked, that was now his intention. The wind picked up fast, as did the rain, and getting a cab had become almost impossible. Fuck if he'd call up one of the only two people he'd trusted to drive his ass in this city, and not just because he's unwilling to bother them and (or) refuses to admit that maybe he should get his license renewed... But anyway. He does his best to pretend it took more than twenty minutes to straight-up purchase the entire bottle of some off-brand silver tequila from a center shelf. Will snatches two shot glasses from the edge of the bar, leaning over the bar top with a broad grin meant specifically for the bartender. She laughs at him, shooing him off, because, really? Who'd ever felt threatened by Will Caruso? No one in this life. He'd certainly made sure of that. With his bottle and his shot glasses, Will's moseying his way around. Looking for a stranger. Someone new. Unfamiliar. Very important, less he need to divulge an acquaintance with any bullshit about his life or how he's doing. Utter fuckery. He's not interested. Truly, the man wants nothing more than to get drunk enough to give zero shits about flagging down a cab at 2 o'clock in the morning from some soggy side street. "Before you start to protest, uh, don't." He slides the glasses across the table and makes himself comfy against a padded wooden chair. "Name's Will." Spoken pointedly as he pops the cork from the bottle and starts to pour the liquor into the shot glasses. "I didn’t come over to hit on you, and I couldn't care less about what you do for a living." Glancing up, he'd offer a sly grin before pressing the shot forward. "I trust you can handle tequila?"