#I swing like a god damn pendulum | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

realityparty · 2 years ago

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fell on black days | last hope

part iii. last hope

summary - sometimes good things do happen. The End AU

pairing: dean x jo

warning: sex, death

[masterlist] [prt i.] [prt. ii]

It wasn’t long before his things began accumulating in Jo’s cabin. It wasn’t as if he had much in his own cabin outside of his weapons and alcohol. He kept the bare minimum. He didn’t get attached to material belongings. Not in this world. It wasn’t like he was used to having many belongings. He had his few treasured items, but life on the road didn’t afford any type of hoarding. But his boots were by the door next to hers and Krissy’s. He had a couple of jackets hanging up beside theirs.

Krissy had even gotten him his own personal coffee mug for his birthday. It was a sunflower yellow 22-ounce mug that proclaimed in a black text he was a ray of fucking sunshine.

If Krissy had a problem with him being at their place. She wasn’t saying anything, which surprised him. The teen always had something to say. She liked to always challenge him, especially in their one on ones for training.

But he knew there was some respect there. It was unsaid that if he hurt Jo that Krissy would make his life a living hell.

Yet, it was strange to think that Dean was happy. Of all the time to find happiness, it was in the middle of the damn apocalypse, which he played a hand in. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows though. He may be happy, but Dean was very much aware of the history of his family. There were days that he was downright moody. He questioned Jo why she was here with him knowing his bloodline was cursed.

There were still arguments. Jo had no problem calling him out for being a chauvinistic jerk and he proudly boasted that she was a pain in his ass. But Jo deserved better. She and Krissy deserved more than the pain that followed him.

But their arguments weren’t anything that they couldn’t resolve by the end of the day. It was like he was on one of the silly sitcoms he used to watch where couples made the vow to never sleep angry.

It wasn’t as if he and Jo ever talked about that unsaid agreement. He thought maybe it had to do with the life. Their tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. It surprised him with how much they did talk. He wasn’t used to that. Jo seemed to know when to push and went to let things settle. She didn’t poke and prod for what she thought she wanted to hear.

And that was another part of his mood. As much as he knew he was taking the plunge and finally listening to his heart and allowing himself this one pleasure, he couldn’t seem to shake his guilty conscious.

His mind swings like a pendulum in dissecting after everything he has done why does he deserve this slice of paradise or something is going to happen and Jo is going to get hurt? Jo and Krissy were going to get hurt. The shoe was going to drop eventually. Somedays that fear paralyzed him. He had to get away from the cabin. Instead of holding Jo in his arms, he shied away. He was scared. He wanted to push her away.

Dean knew that he wouldn’t be able to push through the pain of losing Jo. That would be his limit to this world. Even if he tried everything in his power to carry that pain, as much as there was his mother in him, he was still John’s son.

But the kicker of it all was having these moments with her and being with her, god forbid if something would happen, he would rather have these memories than not have them at all.

Despite the fear and the eventual pain, he clung to Jo. Clung to some form of domesticity he could never seem to get. So when those thoughts invaded his mind and had him stomping around camp, it didn’t stop him from crawling into bed behind Jo. He gave his apology against her shoulders, crown of her head, forehead, eyelids, nose, and lips.

She accepted them with far more patience than he deserved, but that was Jo. She knew and understood him to the point it frustrated him.

It was nice that he didn’t need to expose everything to a fine nerve for her to understand him, or better yet he didn’t mind sharing things with her. There was never any judgment. There was always comfort. If he asked, she would provide solutions as well.

But more than anything, Jo gave him hope.

Hope that maybe God didn’t abandon his children and as penance, he gave him Jo back in his life.

Dean was being selfish with his hope.

Dean had some small hope that humans and monsters would have some unspoken agreement during the apocalypse. Considering the Croatoan virus wiping out most of the population, there would be no need for one to be hunting the other. Of course, there were the feral hunters, but most creatures didn’t cause too much grief at the camp.

But he knew that it was only in his area considering the circumstances he found Jo, Krissy, and other survivors. When they left the radius of his encampment, it was open season. Sure, the Croats were the top threat, but demons came in second. While most monsters retreated, demons swirled for hosts.

It probably helped that they didn’t need consent to take over hosts. Yet, the damage Croats did to a human body didn’t leave them with much to take over. He was surprised that demons even bowed to Lucifer considering he was an angel. They were just minions. Dean was convinced that at a certain point, Lucifer would just eviscerate demons. After all, the angel was just a toddler throwing a tantrum to get his father’s attention.

But it wasn’t hard to nab demons for information. Most demons were fucking idiots, but every demon had a boss. He learned to ignore most of the taunting from them. In fact, the one good thing about all the taunting only eased some of his worries that no one knew about Jo and Krissy. It comforted him that there wasn’t a target on their backs.

Besides, his latest mission was trying to get any type of crumb for the Colt. He didn’t know if the Colt would be of any use, but it was the only thing that could kill any creature. He didn’t know how in the hell he was going to trap something as powerful as Lucifer. So he took any crumb that could lead them somewhere to ending this apocalypse. Somehow be able to get Sam back.

That was wishful thinking. He didn’t go directly to Jo’s cabin after days like this. He didn’t want to bring this to her doorstep. The shower was cold as he washed away the blood from the demon. He may have gotten a little more carried away with this demon. Rupert was his name. Dean knew him from Hell.

Rupert was a student of Alastair as he was. Rupert had tortured him down in the pit. Rupert liked dissecting things as students did in science class. Dean could still feel his skin being peeled in layers and clipped back. Rupert also liked the sound of his own voice.

The rancid demon couldn’t help but gloat about the horrors he inflicted on everyone in his past. However, in his bragging, he did get some new information. Not every demon was in League with Lucifer. Some seemed to be self-aware that this apocalypse was bad for business.

Dean turned off the water. The water was finally clear and not pink. He wrapped his towel around his waist to head back into his bedroom. He knew at a certain point he would need to completely abandon this cabin. Jo had mentioned it could use for a city hall-type thing. If there were newcomers it could be the welcoming cabin before finding a bed for them.

He walked gingerly to avoid getting a splinter. His shower shoes were at Jo’s. He paused as he caught the blonde lounging on his former bed. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t plan to either. Her face said everything she was thinking.

She didn’t like the torturing. He had tried to keep it from her. He tried his very damn best, but Jo had sniffed it out rather quickly. He thought he respected she didn’t try to get it out through Cas but faced him head-on.

It had been a nasty argument as she continually pushed. And man, he knew Jo could be mouthy, but with that argument, he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or kiss her.

However, he knew he had to tell her. After all, the reason all his relationships, romantic or not, frayed was because of his lack of communication. He had no choice, but to tell her the truth. Not about the torturing, but everything. He gave her everything about what he has been through since he got Sam from Stanford.

Sure some of it was a repeat as she knew some of it, but she didn’t know everything. So, he knew that the torturing probably hurt her more than it did him.

Dean dried himself off and grabbed his boxers and slid them on with no quip from her. In fact, she wasn’t staring at him. She was looking ahead at the wall before her.

He licked his lips and braced for the argument about to head his way. “Say what you need to say.”

The bed creaked from his weight as he slid on his socks.

“Cas said you learned about a new demon.”

Dean nodded his head. However, he knew where this was going. “No way in hell, Jo.”

Jo bristled. “I’m not looking for an argument, Dean.”

Dean raised his eyebrow. As much as he loved Jo, she still was a pain in his ass especially when it came to how the camp was run and the jobs she was capable of handling without him being her shadow.

“You’re not going.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “If you would let me talk, you could take that stick out of your ass, and know I wasn’t going to ask.”

Dean blinked. He blinked again and then frowned. He was skeptical. “You’re not.”

“Dean, I know your limits and I respect them.” She got up from the bed and stood in front of him. “It’s a pretty big lead.”

Dean nodded his head. Finding this demon meant working with them. But the enemy of an enemy was a friend and all that jazz.

But beneath her words, he could hear the excitement laced with fear. He had it too. It would be one step closer to defeating Lucifer. Defeating Lucifer also meant seeing Sam. Dean knew that it was not guaranteed he would be getting his brother back.

“Promise you’ll be careful.”

The corner of Dean’s lips tugged up. His arm wrapped around Jo bringing her into his chest. His lips found the top of her hair. “Always.”

Crowley, the King of the Crossroads, turned out to just be a power-hungry businessman. Dean had tracked the man down to Bobby’s house of all places. Dean knew it was a calculated move on the demon's part. He didn’t really know what to expect meeting the demon riding the unfortunate host, who was a literary agent.

Crowley had been all too eager to offer his assistance in trying to take down the devil. The man had the Colt with plenty of bullets. He also had managed to give him a pertinent detail. Lucifer would be in Detriot.

It was unsaid it was a trap.

They don’t speak on the obvious. They avoid it. They throw out plans that they know will result in the death of friends. As much as Dean avoided that commitment, he couldn’t deny the people that have followed him and kept the camp safe were their friends.

He also knew better than to fight Jo on coming. He had only made it known that he was not happy with her going and he left it at that.

It was a suicide run despite the meticulous planning.

Yet, the reason he didn’t want her to come was obvious. Either he died or Sam was going to die. It didn’t matter she and Cas would remind him that it was Lucifer. It was Sam he would be looking at. Sam was still in there somewhere. Lucifer couldn’t take over an unoccupied vessel.

So he held Jo closer. The affection he tried to keep in the privacy of their cabin leaked outside the walls. He didn’t mind holding hands or keeping a hand on her lower back as they walked. As much as they needed sleep, he needed to feel close to her.

His fingers traced her naked flesh and pressed kisses to her skin that words couldn’t convey. He knew his frantic actions some days scared her. He knew Jo was trying to stay strong for him. Her efforts weren’t in vain.

A part of him was preparing for the worst. A part of him was going to die no matter the outcome. He at least wanted Jo to have a piece of him untainted by the world.

Jo knew he was scared.

She was scared. She knew whatever did happen in Detroit a part of Dean wouldn't return. Dean wouldn't be able to bounce back. The loss would be too great.

And maybe a part of her thought he wouldn't come back. She felt guilt for believing and praying Dean would make it back. If he came back, it meant Sam was gone.

And she didn't know how to comfort Dean with that loss. It was one thing for Lucifer to be wearing Sam because at least Sam was still there locked away, but if Dean killed the devil there was no way to save Sam.

After all, Cas and Dean had said that being a vessel for such a powerful being there wouldn't be much left of Sam.

Jo didn't know how to help him. Winchesters weren't known for dealing with grief.

She watched as Dean showed Krissy how to change the oil on a car. She hoped that if Dean couldn't find the strength to come back to her, he would for Krissy.

He would come back for his family.

Dean was gentle the night before. Jo had been glad that Dean insisted they have dinner in their cabin. It was the Last Supper with just him, her, Cas, and Krissy. She had been surprised she could even keep down any food as it was steadily getting close to their departure.

After dinner, they gave the okay that Krissy could stay with Aiden. Who were they to deny her comfort? After all, it could be their last night on Earth.

Cas had gone back to his cabin. Surprisingly with no comfort from his harem.

Dean had tugged her out into her porch with a beer in hand. He pulled her into his lap. She was glad her cabin was far out. It afforded them privacy as they looked up into the sky.

Jo melted into him. Her thoughts were everywhere. The most prominent being disbelief she was here on Dean Winchester’s lap. It made her think of her schoolgirl crush which made her cringe. Dean noticed.

"What's that face for?"

"I was just thinking," she replied.

His chest rumbled against her back. "Sounds dangerous."

Jo rolled her eyes. "I was just thinking about when we first met."

"Who knew Cupid threw punches, huh?"

Jo didn’t miss how Dean’s fingers ghosted over his nose. "Crazy to think that was what like 7...8…years ago?"

She was young and impressionable. Dean was a grieving son.

"I wouldn't change a thing, Jo."

"Not even give into the awesome sex with me sooner."

Dean snorted, but he wrapped his arms around her tighter. He pressed a kiss on her shoulder. Jo could say that she was surprised at how affectionate Dean was. She knew he was enthusiastic about sex, but she hadn't been expecting how much he craved physical touch. She didn’t even think he noticed how much his hands - body - constantly sought her out.

But she agreed with Dean’s words. Things happened for a reason. As much as she liked Dean when they first met, it wouldn’t have worked. She was too eager to immerse herself in the hunter world. She was itching for a lifestyle Dean was doubting. Not that she blamed him. A year on her own had opened her eyes to the harsh realities Dean had been trying to warn her of.

Even then hunting wasn’t just hunting for Dean. She saw that he genuinely loved helping people. He wasn’t really in it for the revenge that fuelled most hunters. Sure, their family got into the business because of Mary’s death. The need for revenge for Mary and then Jessica gave John and Sam their purpose for hunting. Yes, Dean wanted to get what killed Mary and Jessica, but she knew he genuinely did love saving people.

She believed the loss of Mary drove Dean to want to help others to not know the loss of the loved one. He sacrificed so much so others wouldn’t have to know the pain he felt. The pain that consumed all the living members of the Winchester family.

She hoped now that she was a little balm for that pain. Maybe she was glad that he allowed her to carry some of the weight he had been since before they even met.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

Jo pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “I love you.”

She watched his eyes widen a bit. The fingers that were rubbing her back stilled as he eyed her. She didn’t expect him to verbally say it. Maybe for other women, it would sting, but she knew Dean. His actions showed his love.

She was taken by surprise as he stood up with her. Jo instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried them back inside. Their beer was forgotten on the porch. It was all a blur as they made it to their bedroom.

His kisses were sweet and languid. Somewhere during the short trip, she lost her boots and her jacket. Dean’s jeans were open and loose around his waist. His jacket and flannel were on the floor. It’s almost like magic with how fast their clothes disappeared.

But she could taste the desperation on Dean’s tongue. His fingers weren’t the only thing going to leave an imprint on her skin. Dean pulled back as he finally kicked off his jeans and boxer. She couldn’t help the blush that overtook her skin as he appraised her.

She knew that her body type wasn’t all that remarkable especially now in the apocalypse. It was surprising they could even find things like lotion or any type of hair care products.

“Come here,” she whispered, to which Dean easily complied. He found a home between her legs as they breathed each other’s air. He grabbed a hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. It’s tender and her breath hitched.

“Jo…I…” He trailed off. His eyes were glossy. He seemed ashamed that the words couldn’t come out of his mouth. She knew the fear Dean held even for thinking it.

“I know, Dean.”

He loved her. She knew it. He loved her and he was scared. Scared if something happen he would turn into his dad.

That night everything was soft and languid. The way he pressed kisses to her eyelids, cheeks, and face. The gentle way he held her face and thighs open. The lines of his body settled into hers. She pressed a kiss to his neck as slid out of her.

It was hot and wet.

The candlelight flickered over them creating erotic shadows.

Jo felt boneless as his pubic bone rubbed over her clit.

It wasn’t long before her legs began to tighten and shake. Dean’s face was tucked into her neck. Fresh bruises decorated her fair skin. His hips rolled softly against her causing her body to bow beneath him as her arms tightened around his neck.

Dean groaned against her neck. It was feral against the golden soft cast of the room. She kept him close to her. She felt their sweat mixing together as he panted in her neck. She could feel the stickiness between her thighs that no doubt was staining their sheets.

She was too tired to move and it seemed Dean was too as he lay on top of her content. He shifted his weight so he wasn’t suffocating her.

She turned her head to find his eyes already on her. His fingers traced her swollen lips before he replaced them with his lips.

“I love you, Jo.”

Jo left with Krissy, Aiden, and Josephine two days before his team would be leaving. He had been grateful he had enough hindsight to have Cas give her and Ellen the sigils on their ribs after River Pass.

He tried not to let his panic show. It would be radio silent until he arrived in Detriot. They couldn’t risk any demons knowing about Jo’s team. They knew Dean would be walking into a trap. He had been sure to let everyone know that there was no guarantee any of them would make it back alive. The circumstances were grim. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

Chuck sent his team off with a smile. A part of Dean wanted to ask Chuck what he knew. He didn’t know if the prophet wrote anymore. Even then, knowing wouldn’t help Dean at all.

He was tired of knowing his fate anyways.

It was too simple. Too easy. There wasn’t a long drawn-out battle. Jo had been right that they would have to rely on Lucifer’s arrogance.

He had been there in Sam’s body wearing a white suit. They were in a garden full of red roses.

They trapped him in holy oil, which Jo and her team laid as well as strategic traps for Croats and demons. He begged for Sam. He just wanted one last moment with his brother. He wanted to say sorry and that he wasn’t mad. Not anymore.

He did use the Colt to kill Lucifer. Right in the heart where a red rose rested like a corsage. Yet, the bullets were made of Cas’ former angel blade. Jo had brought it up that the regular bullets wouldn’t work. Samuel Colt would have no reason to make a weapon to kill angels.

Lucifer wasn’t expecting that. The shock was evident in his features. But in the end, a smile graced his face. Not a Lucifier smile, but a smile he knew could only be Sam’s.

When Lucifer’s grace was expunged. The world didn’t shake. There was no earthquake. It was just an echo and the thud of a body dropping on dirt.

He couldn’t even be mad that Jo didn’t leave as she was supposed to. He knew she wasn’t going to listen to him anyways.

She helped him with Sam’s body.

He didn’t know where Cas went.

They drove to Kansas in silence. He didn’t realize that was where he was going until he was halfway there. His face burned from the tears and it left streaks down his cheeks.

He buried Sam next to his mom.

He couldn’t burn him.

They abandoned the camp. Some people stayed, but it became apparent that the world was righting itself. Dean briefly wondered if it was the angels helping with that. It would be the least they could do for creating the mess in the first place.

He and Jo settle at Bobby’s. He didn’t know how they came to that decision. They could’ve gone anywhere, but Bobby’s house was there. He couldn’t imagine someone taking over and renovating it. Krissy lived in Sioux Falls but with Aiden and Josephine. They had their own little apartment about 20 minutes away. There were talks of going to college. A life that didn’t revolve around hunting, which surprised Dean.

Dean and Jo don’t really talk about it. His tongue went numb every time he tried to bring up the subject, but it was glaringly obvious as Jo could no longer wear her low-rise jeans. Well, she could, but her shirts weren’t fitting.

The renovating of Bobby’s house was taking up most of their time. It amused him how anal Jo was about interior design. Gone were dusty shelves and books lying haphazardly. Things were cataloged and in neat order. Floors were swept and vacuumed. The house reeked of lavender. Clearly, candles weren’t just an apocalypse thing.

Even though they don’t talk about it didn’t mean they didn’t ignore it. His hands loved tracing Jo’s growing stomach.

Dean cleared his throat. “Have you thought about names?”

They were sitting on the couch. Jo was flicking through some magazines while he was laying down. His face was close to her belly as he watched their child move inside. He never thought much about pregnancy. He knew the woman’s body changed, obviously. But as much as he wanted his own family. He never thought of the possibility of it.

So he watched with fascination as Jo’s body changed. With pregnancy, it seemed the pregnancy concentrated heavily just on her belly and boobs. Her boobs had grown massive with pregnancy. He could never stop looking, especially if she wore a shirt cut to emphasize cleavage.

Jo had always been a soft woman compared to other female hunters he encountered. Jo never had any problem having her hair and nails down. She valued self-care, but there was something different about pregnancy that maybe made her more tender.

“A little bit.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What did you settle on?”

“William after my dad if it’s a boy. Mary Ellen if it’s a girl.”

Dean nodded his head. He couldn’t object to that and a part of him felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t want to verbalize that he didn’t want to name their child after his dad or Sam.

He didn’t want that legacy following them.

He also tried to convince himself that it didn’t mean anything that the baby would be born in May.

Krissy came by every Wednesday and Sunday. Wednesday mainly just for dinner. Sundays she would come early. She and Jo would go shopping or gossip in the living room. Dean was busy trying to get Bobby’s business up and running. They couldn’t live a semblance of normal civilian life running scams.

He was working on some cars when Krissy kicked up dirt in their driveway. He had merely given her a wave before bending down onto a car. He didn’t do too much fixing that was what the auto shops were for but considering all the cars lined on the lot, Dean had been making a name for himself in the restoration business of old classic cars.

However, he was unprepared for the sound of rushing feet and a yelp attacking his ankles. He may not be actively hunting, but his reflexes were still the same.

“Wait, don’t shoot it!” Krissy’s deadpan voice echoed across the lot.

Dean didn’t realize the barrel of his gun was aiming at a small puppy. Stupid ghost sickness. “What the hell is that!”

“A dog.”

Dean threw Krissy an annoyed look. He didn’t move from his perch on the vehicle until Krissy had picked up the small yapping critter.

“What the hell is it doing here!”

Krissy picked up the small puppy and he deduced it was a Beagle. Great.

“I found it.”

“Still doesn’t explain what it is doing here.”

“Apartment doesn’t allow animals.”

Dean’s brows furrowed and his nose scrunched. “No. Hell no!”

“Oh come on, Dean. You guys have all this yard space!” Krissy argued.

“No. We’re focusing on the baby. Don’t need to be worrying about a dog.”

“Beagles are family friendly and good hunters.”

“So,” Dean countered as he went back to tinkering with the car in front of him.

He missed the calculating look that came over Krissy’s features. “Not like it matters. Jo gets the final say so anyways.”

Dean snorted. “She ain’t gonna say yes.”

“Jo, really?”

The dog was in his spot on the couch lapping up Jo’s affection. Jo thought it would be nice for the baby to have a dog. It would complete the picture-perfect apple pie family. Dean thought it was horseshit. Besides, Krissy would gloat about this forever.

“He’s a cutie pie, Dean,” Jo answered as she scratched his belly. Dean eyed the thing in disgust. “Besides, he needs a family.”

Jo looked up at him with puppy eyes and he groaned as the dog did the same. It reminded him of Sam. And Dean was weak for that look.

He was only kidding that they should name the dog Sammy. But the name stuck.

Mary Ellen Winchester was born May 1st bright and early at 6 o’clock in the morning.

Fatherhood brought out the best in Dean, but at the same time, a familiar paranoia came creeping back into his life. He knew Azazel was gone. He knew that the apocalypse was over. That his family had played their part. Yet, one could never be too sure.

It kept him up at night thinking of the horrors out there that could hurt Mary.

Dean looked down at his baby girl, she was so small, fragile and soft in his arms.

He heard the flaps before the voice.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean looked up at Cas back in his trench coat.

"You're an angel again."

"Seems that way."

"Seems there is redemption for us all." Dean muttered. He didn't really know what to say. There was hurt there that Cas disappeared after everything. But Dean couldn't hold on to that hurt, not when he had Jo and now the baby.

"You want to hold her?" Dean offered.

Cas stepped forward but didn't open his arms. He just peered down at Mary.

"I won't be seeing you for a while will I?"

He knew now that the apocalypse was over, there was no need for the angels to be down on Earth.

"I'll be here if you need me."

Dean accepted Cas' answer.

Cas' hand cradled Mary’s head. "Good things do happen, Dean."

Then he was gone.

Jo sighed as she stepped out onto the porch. Sammy was at her heel. It was August and the sun was beaming down across the salvage yard. Cars shined like diamonds from the rays. Jo followed the sounds of baby giggles and a doting father.

Her heart melted at the sight of Dean with Mary in his arms. He had just finished restoring the Impala. She had honestly been amazed that he had been able to do that considering the skeleton she remembered it being.

Mary was clutching Dean as they admired the restored beauty. She had her blonde hair, but Dean’s bright distinctive green eyes.

Mary was a happy baby. Always laughed and smiled at everything she interacted with. Mary looked back at her Dad with her baby gums exposed. Mary’s smile matched Dean’s. The smile caused crinkles around his eyes.

Jo thought she hadn’t seen Dean smile like that in a while.

#spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #dean x jo #jo x dean #jo harvelle #dean winchester #chestervelle #jo harvelle fanfiction #untilmynextstory

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hummingbee-lievable · 2 months ago

Text

I have lost track of my nerves and they have decided that

dancing in wild fractures is

the only way.

I remember the texture of your lips

but I don't remember the colour of your eyes

or the way your breath smelled in the morning

(even though I know it was a scent I enjoyed, to my surprise).

I remember that when the sun went down you would

pause everything to sip your tea (two sugars, no milk)

and stand on the balcony (and I wasn't to say one. single. word.)

and that you hated how meticulous I was with washing dishes

(just put them in the dishwasher, for goodness' sake!)

(you would never say 'god', you didn't want to lean into a concept you refused to entertain, even peripherally)

but I've forgotten the way your shirts lined the closet and which direction you put your shoes at the door.

I've forgotten the way your arms felt around me when I was at my most tired

when I was nothing but weary feet and a queasy stomach and you let me sink into you.

I've forgotten how that feels and only know that it is a betrayal that I have.

Sometimes when it's dark enough and quiet enough, I think I hear the clink of a bottle being surreptitiously put back under the washroom cabinet

as though I would not know.

My favourite memory of you, the one run I run over my tongue when every other taste is curdled milk and shadows

is of you waiting.

It never mattered what you were waiting for, or how long you had to sit in a hard-backed bench in the dreary cold or at what godless (I think 'god' has long stopped meaning the way it was once held, I think now it is just a scream) time of day you had to wake up in order to make the train (always fifteen minutes to spare, at least)

you were so good at waiting. You would simply sit, and settle in, and for that time, the world was your home. I have never seen that peaceful anywhere else, not even in your casket

but I suppose you were done waiting, by then.

I won't pretend I was good for you.

But I think we destroyed each other nicely.

After the police left, I didn't move for 3 days. (You would think I might have been found. You would be wrong.)

The only thing that roused me was that the sun coming in through the god-damned blinds (you always did forget to pull them closed at night- you said the room was better with starlight and even as I tossed and turned, I had to agree).

It was 3 months later, standing in the grocery store with a handful of radishes and a candy bar that I heard the Mountain Goats' 'Woke Up New':

'The first time I made coffee for just myself I made too much of it But I drank it all just 'cause you hate it when I let things go to waste'

and I realised I was still living with you.

Even now, I keep thinking that you're in every flick of my needle (mocking a stray stitch)

at every corner (waiting to surprise me with another awful dinner)

behind every door (and had you remembered to turn on the lights this time)

(and every other cliché we can foist into this cavalcade)

and I think I've decided:

I'm okay with you.

When my cousin's ex-girlfriend died

(I still think about how once she promised to kiss me goodnight and I laid awake, excited, because I really thought she might; I wonder if my knack for naïve hope in ridiculous situations serves me now, but I can't imagine it matters either way; I think you would still be here regardless)

I asked him how he wanted it to feel, when he looked back on this pain.

He said: 'I want it to always feel profound'.

It shocked me then; it seemed almost weak to want to cling to what could only hurt.

But that was then.

And I like the stories that don't end well, the ones that leave you with this bittersweet tang-

(because aren't we just pendulums swinging back around to where we started? And wasn't our beginning nothing?)

and I like knowing that when I go to sleep, you will once have slept next to me

and that if someday that spot ever morphs to someone else's impression, you will still have been there.

And I like that I didn't win (that I use the dishwasher now- they say it uses less water, after all)

that you didn't triumph over every affront (that the blinds are drawn now)

that the story didn't resolve into sugar-sweet (lips on lips on lips on lips)

and that we broke against each other (glass or bones, you choose).

I like that we were real.

'It didn't change anything. It didn't save anyone...

but it still matters that the love was there.'

@starpeace, thank you for your words.

words by @starpeace

#poetry #poem #riffing #mountain goats

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nietr · 5 months ago

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ah yes, the corporate cash grab rainbow designed consumer product logos... thank god i know my kitchen condiments stance on cis orientation.

wew!

and its funny, even the most naïve hard leaning leftists know its a transparent attempt at selling u something because "wow look looky, give us your money because we support whatever the flavor of the week is now. just look, a rainbow design on ur product!" and w're totally woke. Not like the other million companies selling products with rainbows because they want to tap into PR graces with too much sometimes and if companies/businesses' annoy the hell out of people with this and they share it, pointing out how its contrived there's free word of mouth advertisement right there so it works out either way... less to spend on marketing.

like who the hell gives a fuck what the hell corporations think about sex, gay or not. A lot just celebrate it with discounts, not because theyre shakers n movers when it comes to political clout lol. Its all a bottom line + profit thing.

like, come on, its just a damn gimmick and if u cant see thru that... well, ur a goofy tbh.

At least the pendulum always swings. and most of this obnoxious clown world shit will end at some point,.. hopefully. hopefully like 10 years or not much longer kids will be like... ha... im good. i dont hate LGBTQ but I don't like shoehorned content for political clout. its pretty weak,

Another thing, making ur sexual oritentation your entire identity makes u an NPC IRL. Like, u really got no other traits? hobbies? family u actually enjoy? A decent paying job that you actually enjoy?

Its ok to be gay, but some people have NO identity besides for being gay/queer/whatever. Maybe try life or sonething idk I just find that weird. People complain about white males being boring or whatever but the over the top gay coomers are the real boring ones. Be something other than just gay, literally.... lol. not saying dont be gay, im saying be a person other than just.. a gay person, and thats it.

and dont tell me these people dont exist ive met plenty and theyre just straight cumbrained goofy creatures...

#idk #decent size post ut not too bad

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kendylouwhoo · 1 year ago

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I feel so much pain, starving, drowning, suffocating. Needing air, can't breath, where are you? Feeling so alone, the desperation, is like gasping for breath... and I feel it too. It's not all just you. I'm not the only one in this pain. It's not just my pain but the whole insane society. Some people hide it well. Some people don't even know how sad they are and will die never allowing it to show. And do you see why it's feels so fucking bad, for those who don't hide from these feelings, that feel like you mat go mad? You're carrying the weight for the whole damn human race. It hurts so bad because you're in first place. The one whose carrying the most at this one time in space. An entire society, so sick and they can barly see, how God damn lonely they really must be. Phones and tv, always things to do. Replace connection with work and busyness, then come home and eat a bunch of food. Oh, and if you admit somethings wrong then it's you that's the problem, don't look at us to feel like you belong. Just keep distracting keep looking down. Don't feel that pain inside you, or we'll give you some chemically synthetic pill, and by the way we don't actually know what it will do to you. We don't know how it works, and we'll probably have to try a bunch of different ones too. Look, I'm not saying there isn't a time and a place, but this mess were in won't be fixed by drugging everyone who is so fucking tired of trying to fit into a sick society. Something needs to change, and if your feeling the weight, it's because a part of you wants to be one of the ones who may be ready to scrape this chemically frankenfood off this plate. The thing is you can't keep carrying other people's weight. No one can do that for you and you can't do that for them too. You're not in this alone, because I'll stand by your side, I'm here for you on this wild ride. Let's cry together, get braver than ever, I know that you can do it! We can't do it for eachother, but we can hold hands through. You're not alone. You don't need to believe that story. Feel the feelings and let go of the mind that tells you it will always be this way. It won't my dear, these feelings won't always stay. Let's learn how to not hold on, trust me my dear, these feelings will be gone. The ironic truth is you don't want to try and make them go away. Sit and allow them to stay. The pendulum can swing from trying to push them away, to holding on so tight you won't let it get away. There's a middle ground you know, where you can find gratitude for letting it all just flow. No holding no pushing, just letting the waves crash down, while you stay calm. It takes practice to get that way. And your so fucking brave jumping in to play. It takes care for your self, emotional, physical, and spiritual body, to learn how to stay. Stay calm, stay with love, stay true to you, when the waves come crashing in, you will be rooted through and through.

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butter-tartz · 1 year ago

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FUCK MAN!!!!! The latest chapter hit me like a fucking TRUCK I know there were warning but I IGNORED THEM and CRIED!!!! This shit was emotionally taxing in the best way possible and I am so glad you’ve already written most of ch4 because I think I’d simply wither away after that ending. God damn!!

ehhehehehe,,,,, emotions evoked !!!!! writers wrath !!!!! pain and pleasure !!!!!! i genuinely could not drop such an edgy cliffhanger without any reassurance of recovery to follow shortly. that would be so cruel

the urge to spoil everything that happens is so so SO strong but i am holding it back with an iron chain and telling it to heel and wait its turn. the tone in this fic is an absolute rollercoaster of a 4-dimensional pendulum swinging into horny, sad, comedy, and [?????] throughout everything, but chapter 4/5 in particular is definitely when that pendulum stops being a pendulum and starts being an actual rollercoaster of whiplash and confusion. but i assure dirk will get his fair share of love and care eventually and that is a promise 💪 i simply cant handle my favourite guys being sad

anyways.... i am VERY grateful that i have readers on this crazy ride with me. thank u for tuning in to this episode of madness and hanging in there for the next part ^_^ ill see u all then

#talkz #askz #anon #ijkhm #one day ill get these tags established and figured out i swear

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sassasafreeaction · 1 year ago

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So uh... I wrote you a thing.

The apocalypse had been averted... again. It would have been generous to say that Crowley and Aziraphale had played any true major role in it this time, but they had, nevertheless, been there. They had a hand in both helping put the end of times in motion and putting a stop to it. Hopefully once and for all this time.

God, Crowley hopes that this was the last time. He doesn’t have the strength left in him to see it through again. He barely has the strength left to drive the two of them back to the bookshop. No, if the world decides to implode on itself, it will just have to count both of them out.

The Bentley, for perhaps the first time ever, eases to a halt outside of the bookshop. Its engine putters softly while the two beings inside gather themselves up. Crowley hears Aziraphale reach for the handle, beginning to tug it open to let himself out only to pause. He turns to look back at him then, the fond smile on his face enough to make Crowley’s heart ache. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the stormy blue of them twinkling now that they’ve finally returned to their true coloring. There’s a bagginess to them though and a grey that clouds them, reflecting Crowley’s own exhaustion back at him.

The air between them bears enough weight that it makes his tongue heavy. He’s glad when Aziraphale is the one to finally break the silence that has lingered since they first climbed into the car. “Would you like to come in?” he asks softly, more than likely assuming that Crowley’s presence isn’t guaranteed despite everything.

It is though. At least in this exact moment, when the only thing Crowley wants is the comforts of home - the smell of leather bound tomes and old parchment, the gentle clicking of the many grandfather clocks, their pendulums swinging back and forth, a reminder that time continues on, and the warmth of the only being he’s ever given a damn about. He nods, but then realizes that it’s probably better if he uses words in this case so there’s no doubt. “Yeah,” he breathes.

They both climb out then. Neither of them bother with keys. There’s hardly a point when the bookshop door practically swings open to welcome them both. Aziraphale still holds it though, gestures for Crowley to enter before he slides in behind him. The demon watches intently as the angel takes care to secure the lock. With that in place to deter any human threats and the wards in place to deter any supernatural ones, Crowley relaxes a fraction.

Another long silence stretches between the two of them. Azirpahale opens and closes his mouth multiple times, looking like a proper fish as he seems to try and decide what it is they’re meant to do next. Crowley helpfully shoves his hands in his pockets, continuing to eye the space as though it’s somehow radioactive in the aftermath of what had taken place here.

“I’m going to sleep,” the angel says finally.

Crowley sputters, shaking his head back and staring at Aziraphale wide-eyed as though he’s suddenly grown a second head. His brows pinch together. “You don’t sleep,” he accuses.

And then the angel yawns - yawns - and Crowley can’t believe his eyes. He watches his mouth open wide before he politely covers it with a hand. It's almost jarringly loud on account of how foreign it is. He watches tears bead in the corners of his eyes, and it’s then that Crowley sees it. His usual ramrod straight posture has collapsed. His eyes are half-lidded and his gaze distant. There’s a sway to him as he stands as though a breeze could make him buckle to the ground, and something in Crowley knows that Aziraphale would embrace it if it did.

“I believe tonight - I do,” Aziraphale argues.

With that settled, the angel heads to the spiral staircase. Flabbergasted still, Crowley stands and watches him reach the top before he scrambles after him. Aziraphale seems single-minded in his task, not dallying as he goes down the hall and into his bedroom, second door on the right. Crowley watches him disappear into the room, but does not hear the door close behind him, a welcome invitation to come in.

The moment he crosses the threshold, Crowley’s head is on a swivel, trying desperately to take in all of the little details. He’s never been in the room prior to this moment, and he’s always been curious.

Aziraphale’s bedroom is no less crowded than the rest of the bookshop. Stacks of books inhabit every surface, including the bed. There’s a hard set to the line of Aziraphale’s lips as he cleans it off as though he’s angry at himself for never having considered the possibility that he would actually want to use this piece of furniture as intended. Crowley recognizes a few of the various knicknacks sitting around, hidden in the piles and piles of books, a majority of them mementos of their time spent together. He wants to call him a bloody sap, but the words stick in his throat.

Aziraphale flops down onto the mattress with a deep sigh. It hangs in the air like something ancient, dusty, and long forgotten until this moment. He practically melts into his pillows. He doesn’t bother with pajamas or even the blankets. He simply rolls over with a long inhale and exhale.

All the while, Crowley watches him, the slow rise and fall of his chest. His fingers extend and close into fists before he flexes them once again, trying to grasp at what exactly he isn’t sure. A part of him wants to pace because as much as he needs to lay down and rest, he’s absolutely wired now. His mind races but his body remains still. He doesn’t want to disturb Aziraphale though, not if he really intends to sleep.

Well, that’s not exactly true either. He does want to bother Aziraphale, but only because he would give anything to curl up in the space between him and the edge of the bed. There isn’t much room there, but he could manage. He could weasel his way in in much the same way he had weaseled into his heart. He wants the reassurance of his arms around him, the gentle thud of his almost human heartbeat as he lays with his back to his chest, the little tickle of his breath against the back of his neck. All of them a reminder that Aziraphale is truly and genuinely here to stay now.

Crowley finds himself startled out of his thoughts when he hears Aziraphale chuckle quietly. The angel peeks at him through a single open eye. He pats the space in front of him gently before scooting back to give him the proper amount of space to lay down. Crowley’s heart practically leaps from his chest. He stumbles over himself to close the distance before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Like Aziraphale, he doesn’t bother to change his clothes at all, but he does take time to remove his sunglasses and set them on the nightstand if only because he knows they’ll be uncomfortable if they dig into his face all night.

He slithers down next to Aziraphale then. The angel lets out a soft hum before scooping him up in his arms, pressing him tight against his chest. Crowley feels the sharp pin prick of tears in his eyes, but he fights them back. He burrows himself back into Aziraphale as if it were at all possible that he could press himself any closer to him. Perhaps if he were to try hard enough, they might simply fuse into a single being. In response, the angel tightens his grip on him. It’s almost too tight honestly, but Crowley loves it, finds that bit of pressure to be so impossibly soothing. The softness of Aziraphale’s body gives way so comfortably to the sharp edges of his own, and he didn’t think he would ever be this at ease. He’s so warm too, practically a furnace, and it's enough to make the serpent in him coil with delight. It’s perfect.

Aziraphale shifts one last time to press a kiss to his temple, and that’s the last thing he remembers before sleep yanks him into that sweet abyss and then the sun calls him to rise in the morning.

look i know we're all here for reunion marathon sex once they don't prevent the apocalypse because they're incompetent and someone else does it, but realistically? they will both be EXHAUSTED.

aziraphale from constantly having to be on guard in heaven and crowley because he went through emotional turmoil bigger than the entirety of london. so what i really wanna see more of is them just. curling up in bed together and sleeping for a year.

and THEN they have sex for two weeks straight.

#I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were picturing #But I shook my noggin like a Magic Eightball and this fell out #Please enjoy v.v

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

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Just Business:

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Some Fluff, Slight smut?, Swearing, Drinking, Neglect, Fighting, Blood/Gore, etc.

Word Count: 3,195

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Requested by: Anon

Request: “Could you make one with Tommy where he married the reader for business purposes and she wants to make things work but he’s cold towards her so she spends most of her time with Charlie, and when the whole family have to go back to Small Heath they become close but he gets jealous. Angst/Fluff and Smut if you think it fits.”

Summary: A marriage done for business seemed fitting at first, but as tensions rise among the family, Tommy eventually finds it in him to love again, but it falls on deaf ears as Y/N struggles to cope with his antics.

The clock struck midnight as you lied awake, the door ajar where Tommy had left to go to his study. He’d often leave you in the middle of the night when his thoughts became too much and when his emotions would threaten to take over. He had only cried around you once before, and it was when his wife Grace, had passed. Other days his mood would swing like a fragile ball on a pendulum, and you being one of his assistants at the company, you got to see almost every face of Thomas Shelby first hand, except one of genuine love. His love seemed to only be reserved for ghosts.

The next morning you would awake and hear Charlie crying, and scuffling down the hall looking for his father. He was a toddler, hell-bent on trying to run through the house any chance he got, so mornings were often spent chasing him around the vast expanse of rooms. Unfortunately, Tommy was already gone for the day, leaving you and the nanny to care for him until it was time for you to come in during the afternoon.

At some points while at home, you swore you could feel the portrait above the stairwell giving you daggers as you carried Charlie up to his room, Grace’s glistening, painted eyes boring a hole into your soul. Tommy hadn’t been the only one affected by her sudden death though, as the whole family was facing his wrath lately.

Your marriage had been a quick business arrangement ordered by Polly. She grew tired of Tommy’s antics, thinking him finding someone else would help him move on despite Grace’s death being only 6 months prior. And so here you were: a diamond ring and signed paper here, a nice dress and a family portrait of fake smiles there, and nothing but tense conversations and awkward attempts at affection getting you by until now.

Tommy was never one for love, at least not with you. You knew that deep down the only time that he seemed to love you was when he fucked you on the nights that the business became too much for him. When he’d come home needing some sort of release that wasn’t opium or whiskey, something to keep the memories of Grace and the shovels at bay, if only for a little while.

As the clock down the hall drew nearer to noon, you finally got Charlie down for a nap and got ready for work, a tear threatening to flow down your cheek as you put on your makeup, thinking about how much you had loved him secretly, even before Grace died. You’d always steal glances at him and would stay after to help him with paperwork, and it didn’t take long for Polly to know. She hated Grace, seeing as she betrayed them years before, almost destroying the family. But she’d always see the way you interacted with him and the rest of the boys and Ada, and how you immediately helped with Charlie when things got too much for Tommy. She loved you and the rest of the family did too, seeing as you were one of his most loyal assistants, and so it only made sense at the time that maybe you would be the perfect fit for Tommy. You never wanted his wife dead, and you could’ve gone your whole life just admiring from afar like all the other women would do on the streets, but you didn’t think you’d end up how you were now. Taking the place of his dead wife, being a step-mom to Charlie, and trapped in a loveless marriage to the man you felt so strongly towards.

As you blotted your tears away, you quickly finished up your makeup. Attempting to look somewhat alive despite your loneliness inside. If it wasn’t for this union being for “the sake of the business” as Tommy harshly put it when you’d overheard him talking to Polly, you’d be out finding someone who actually loved you, but in your twisted turn of events this was what had to be done.

The nanny came by the room, giving you a sympathetic glance as you tightened the belt around your waist that was accentuating your dress, you mentally kicking yourself for wearing such a revealing dress without thinking about the cold weather outside.

“I’ll have Charlie for the rest of the day as usual Mrs. Shelby, and I’ll let the maid know to straighten up and the cooks to start prepping for dinner later.” She said softly.

“Alright, thank you...truly. I...I mean we don’t know what we’d do without you all. I know Tommy doesn’t say much...but thank you for all your work.” You say, giving her a small hug. She was your only friend in the house it seemed. She’d help you when you’d drink yourself into a crying fit when Tommy was off on business, and she’d listen to you when you needed reassurance on if it was the right choice by marrying him.

“If he didn’t love you, you’d be sleeping elsewhere my dear. He’ll wise up, just give him time.” She would say, helping you back to the bedroom on those cold, dreary nights.

As you left the insanely large house you drove out onto the gravel roads, nearing Small Heath gradually. Your heart raced as you parked the car along the black dirt roads, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as the sounds of pounded metal filled your ears from the warehouses in the distance.

Other women and children would move out of your way as you swiftly walked down the narrow sidewalks and through the doors of the shop. The sound of papers flipping and typewriters clicking as you made your way silently over to your desk that was next to Tommy’s office.

“Good afternoon Y/N how was the drive?” Polly asked sitting near you. You sighed and looked at the stack of papers on the desk as you answered.

“It was fine. Quiet as usual up until arriving here of course.” You said with a small smile. You hoped she wouldn’t see the silent pain behind your eyes but you knew she did because she lingered there for a bit longer.

“Trouble at home?” She asked, her eyes flicking to Thomas as he sat in his office smoking a cigarette and looking at his own stack of papers.

“Always.” You said shortly, getting out your own cigarette and lighting it.

“Am I doing something wrong Pol? I’ve tried my best to be there for him. To be there for Charlie. To try to love him even though he couldn’t give a damn about me...” You said looking out at the lobby of the shop, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“You’re doing the best you can my dear. I’ll have a talk with him.” She said, an annoyance in her voice as she said the last part.

“Thank you.” You said as she walked off, knocking hard on Tommy’s door. You could see in through one of the windows, but you willed yourself not to look at him as your anger bubbled up inside you.

The stack of papers in front of you seemed like a mountain at the time, business proposals, unsigned license agreements, betting numbers, bank statements, anything and everything under the sun needing to be signed by the end of the day, and so while you heard Tommy shouting at Polly, you poured yourself into your work.

After awhile you saw Polly leave in a hurry and so you got up, following her out the door with your coat draped over you.

“Where are you going Polly?” You asked, the chilled air almost taking your breath away.

“To the Garrison. I need a drink. Do you care to join?” She asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You said sighing in relief as you both hurried into the bar. The familiar scent of smoke and whiskey filling your nose as a few people sat inside drinking their woes away.

“What will it be?” The bartender said.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, what about you Y/N?” Polly said.

“Whiskey.” You said eyeing the bottle you’d grown to love only because of your bastard of a husband.

“He’s already rubbed off on you. Whiskey was never your drink till now.” Polly said sipping her gin.

“Well, now it is. Needed something strong enough to deal with his bullshit.” You said, knocking back a shot.

“What did he say when you talked to him?” You asked, bracing yourself for the worst.

“He told me that he’s wanting to move you and Charlie back here to Small Heath due to the recent gang problems.” She said.

“Is he mad? He can’t up and move right now! Why would he do that? He doesn’t care about us! I practically see his son more than he does.” You said, grabbing the bottle from behind the counter.

“Hey that’ll cost ya!” The bartender said. You and Polly shot him a look and he glanced at the huge rock on your finger.

“Oh...I apologize Mrs. Gray...and...Mrs. Shelby. It’s on the house.” He said before turning to serve the other patrons.

“Why would he fucking move us down here...if he doesn’t love me why would he want to protect me? I was just a fucking business deal after all...right?” You said, a tear slipping down your face as you knocked another shot back.

Polly glanced at her drink as she let you continue.

“He told me he wants to keep you safe because he loves you, I know my nephew well enough to see that he does love you, he’s just god-awful at showing it recently.” Polly said.

“Well when he wants to actually care about me more than his dead fucking wife then let me know.” You said before taking the shot glass and whiskey bottle and walking to one of the booths in the back of the bar.

Polly sighed and finished her drink, watching as a blonde haired man came over to your table and sat next to you, draping an arm around your shoulder.

The shots slowly made their way into your system as you poured yourself another one, barely acknowledging his presence at first.

“Why are you alone and wearing a dress like that with a ring around ya finger aye? Old husband getting ya down?” He asked, whiskey tainting his breath as he spoke in your ear.

“How about we go somewhere more quiet. I can love you like he couldn’t.” He said. You knocked back a couple more shots and smirked as you awkwardly ignored his advances and made flirty conversation to pass the time. Polly stiffly turned back to her drink, striking up a conversation with the bartender as you soon let your hand wander down the mans chest as he got closer.

You felt wrong for making moves on him as he wasn’t your husband, but at this point you had no love to really lose, or so you thought.

Just as you and the blonde haired man started making out, you heard the doors to the Garrison fly open, revealing your emotionless shell of a husband. His stoic face looking towards the bar to see Polly nursing another gin and tonic and chatting up the bartender.

“Thought you were working, Polly.” He said annoyed.

“I am. I’m trying to work on your love life because you won’t. I love you but you don’t know a good thing until it’s gone.” She said, her words stinging him a bit as he thought of Grace.

In the distance he heard a familiar giggle and his head shot up, his eyes glaring at the woman he desperately came to love, wearing a revealing evening dress, kissing and giggling with some blonde haired worker from god knows where.

“Is that what you call working on my love life Polly?” He said pointing to you in the distance, your face burning as the now half-drunk bottle of whiskey coursed through you, helping you not to have a care in the world as you giggled at the mans joke as he reached for your waist.

“If that’s what gets you to see reason, then yes.” Polly said sipping her drink as she watched you two making out.

“As much as I want to I can’t. I’m sorry...I’m married...” You said breathlessly, stopping his hands from traveling further.

“He doesn’t have to know.” He said.

You looked up through your slightly blurred vision to see the familiar peaked cap of your husband getting closer to your table.

“He already does.” You said, a nervous edge to your voice as you watched everything unfold before you.

Tommy yanked the man off you by the back of shirt and spun him around to where he was facing him.

“What are you doing here messing around with my fucking wife aye!?” He said pushing him roughly into the wall before landing a fist to his jaw.

The man smirked, spitting out blood right onto Tommy’s shirt before speaking.

“I was just about to do what you couldn’t.” He said.

You cringed and took another shot as you heard the sound of the mans jaw break as Tommy’s fist landed on his face once again, rendering him unconscious.

As you watched in silence, he grabbed his cap and cut a gash in his face that was deep enough to need stitches.

“Tommy stop!” You yelled, struggling to get up and stumbling towards him, nearly knocking him over. His breathing was ragged as you clutched onto him, his arms gripping your waist and steadying you.

“I-I can explain...” You said wiping a stray tear from your eye as you felt your mascara streaking down your face.

“Explain fucking what Y/N!? That you wanted to fuck him? Am I not enough for you? You had to go find some random man just because I’m busy?!” He said shouting loudly.

You shakily stepped forward looking him in his eyes which were burning like blue flames from jealousy.

“If I did why would you care? Just say it Thomas...you don’t fucking love me! You love Grace, and no woman will ever amount to her even though she’s six feet under. You’ve never loved me...and you just expect me to act like everything’s fucking fine, but it’s not!.....Hell! I even see your fucking son more than you do, now how is that love Thomas? If you don’t love me just say it. Because I’ve loved you as best I could...and I’ve loved you long before that. If you did love me, and I mean actually loved me...then this wouldn’t have been a “business deal” it would’ve been a proper fucking marriage!” You yelled, throwing your shot glass on the ground, watching as the glass shattered into a million sparkling pieces on the wooden floor.

He stood there silently as you stumbled off towards the restroom, shooing Polly away as you closed the door behind you and locked it. You practically collapsed on the floor sobbing as the cold tile soothed your burning skin, the room spinning the longer you laid there.

“What are you going to do Tommy?” Polly asked as she eyed him from her seat at the bar.

“I’m going to try to get my wife back. It’s not a fucking business deal anymore Pol. Never was. You think I didn’t notice the whispers from you and the lads when she’d leave the room? About how she liked me and how we’d be good together? You think I didn’t notice her eyes watching me as I worked despite being married to Grace? Of course I loved Grace but she’s not been the easiest fucking thing to get over. I know I’ve been a terrible husband, I can see it in Y/N’s eyes every day...I can see her withering away from me as well as Charlie and it kills me inside...I’m just not the best at loving people and you know that...ever since Grace died it’s like a part of me has too, but I’m going to get that back. I have to.” He said, his eyes glistening a bit as he headed for the restrooms.

He knocked lightly and waited before calling your name, panic coursing through him as you didn’t answer.

Without a second thought he shoved his shoulder into the door, busting the lock and stumbling in to find you on the floor barely conscious.

You mumbled something unintelligible as he crouched down and picked you up, bringing you out to his car as Polly followed quickly behind.

“My god where are you taking her?” She yelled over the start of the engine.

“Home. Tell the lads I’m taking the day off.” He said before speeding off towards the house.

Once there, he carried you to the lavish bathroom that connected to your all’s bedroom and sat you down in a chair. He quickly got a cold rag and wiped it on your forehead and around the rest of your face trying to keep you conscious. You perked up slightly at the cold sensation but were quickly overcome by the all too familiar feeling of nausea, your body cursing you as you stumbled towards the toilet almost blindly. Tommy held your hair back as best he could, waiting for what felt like ages for you to stop getting sick. With a weak hand you flushed and stumbled up, shakily brushing your teeth and staring at your tragic reflection in the mirror as Tommy kept an eye on you from the door frame. He held a pair of your sleepwear and one of his t-shirts in his beat up hands.

You looked at him as you grudgingly took the clothes from him, changing into them carefully as your balance was still shit.

After wrestling them on, you went straight for the bed, barely acknowledging Tommy’s presence as he watched you carefully.

“I’m going to bed Thomas. You can leave for all I care.” You said wrapping yourself in the plush covers and closing your eyes.

“I’m not leaving Y/N.” He said as you heard his footsteps softly move towards the bed. The mattress shifting a bit as he climbed in next to you, letting you snuggle up against him.

“You should be at work.” You mumbled.

He stroked your arm lightly as he laid there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not while my wife’s a mess.” He said.

“Why should you care?” You asked, sleep threatening to take over.

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’ve just been terrible at showing it. To both you and Charlie. I love you and I’m not going to lose you. I can’t lose you.” He said quickly, knowing you’d fall asleep at any moment.

“Tell me you love me when I wake up then, because I won’t remember this.” You said, listening to his heartbeat as you let the darkness overtake you.

“I will, I promise.” He said, gently kissing the top of your head as he laid there with you, hoping sleep would take him too.

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 22: National Lampoon Christmas Vacation Drysdale Style

Warnings: Bad Language Words.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is my last entry for the Ransom Advent Calendar. It has been so much fucking fun to do and read everyone's reactions at his attempts to be a good husband. Much love sent to @jennmurawski13 and @what-is-your-backupplan-today for the joint writing and antics. Happy Holidays everyone, Happy Reading and Much Love always

Series Masterlist

Christmas it turned out was a big deal for you. Huge actually, you had been decorating for a week since thanksgiving last Thursday and Ransom had never seen anything like it. There were lights and ornaments all over the place, he had never seen a nutcracker before but when you demonstrated how to use one, he said that was barbaric, and there was the constant smell of some kind of strong smelling candle constantly burning through the house now.

He could just imagine how much Linda would hate all of this, the santas, reindeer and snowmen scattered around, the big giant wreath hanging on the door, or the platter of cookies always laid out for whoever wanted some. She would loathe it and consider it tacky. Ransom loved it all just for that reason.

As well as how happy it seemed to make you, he would catch you now talking to your belly all the time, singing Christmas songs and telling stories while you would be setting something new up. Today you were busy making a miniature village the length of the living room to put in the picture window. Little houses scattered across the white sheet covered board, and you were fluffing bits of white cotton to look like snow, a container of people and animals were nearby to start setting up like it was an actual little village.

“Where did you even have all this packed away?” Ransom asked while he leaned over the table to get a better look at some of the buildings.

“In the attic, where you store stuff.” You retort sarcastically, as you try to prop some fencing up, and you straighten, rubbing the small of your back. “And I'm almost finished.” This time a hint of pride in your voice didn't escape Ransom, and he moved up behind you, taking over to rub at the small of your back, able to dig slightly into the tense muscle and make you moan in appreciation.

“Well it all looks good Princess.” he said softly and you nodded in agreement, happy at how well it had come together. “I have never had a Christmas like this before.”

You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his waist while looking up at him. “I know, and I plan on changing that. This is the kind of Christmas’s I want our Bean to have, fun and exciting, full of love. There is one thing I need you to do though.”

“Oh? What's that? Taste test cookies? Because I'm all for that. Cookies and whiskey.” Ransom grinned and you shook your head.

“No, cookies and milk Ransom.” You chuckled while his face screwed up in disgust.

“Now that's just wrong. Ruin a perfectly good cookie. And what did you need?”

“Fine! When the time comes Bean will leave out Cookies and Whiskey for Santa… we will have a drunk Santa, everyone needs some kind of messed up tradition.” You played your fingers in his soft knit sweater for a second. “I need you to hang the lights outside.”

“Why the fuck we doing the outside to? It already looks like that elf you made me watch the other night wreaked havoc through our house.”

“Because Ransom, it looks nice. I already left it all out in the garage. All you gotta do is line the edge of the roof with the blue and white icicle lights I left you.” You patted his chest and turned back towards your village. “And admit it, what makes me happy usually fares well for you.”

“Just the lights? You're not gonna make me drag anything up on the roof like that movie the other night?”

You paused a moment, thinking about what Ransom was talking about. “What movie?”

“You know, the Tim the Toolman one, with that Halloween chick.” Ransom stated while grabbing a jacket from the closet and pulling it on to get ready to go out and start on the project you assigned him to.

“Oh Christmas With The Kranks… no no, there is no Frosty for our roof.” You turn back to your village, ending with a “Yet. I ordered one though. But he wont get here till after the new year because the one I wanted was on back order. Next year Ransom, you gotta get a Frosty up there.”

“Fucking hell, Of course I do.” He muttered to himself while leaving the house to get into the garage, feeling suddenly like maybe he wasn't entirely loving this whole Christmas explosion as much as he thought he did.

In the garage were a few boxes of the lights you had described, as well as a brand new nail gun and staples. He set about pulling out the lights, effectively tangling them in the process and spending another 45 minutes cursing them with every name he could think of while untangling them. “You fucking cunts, l’m gonna murder you if you don’t stay untangled.” He whipped the lights till they fell in place, and he dragged them all outside to toss in the snow near one edge of the house. Going back, he got an aluminum ladder and dragged that out as well to prop against the edge of the house. “Fuck this is going to take forever.” He grumbled while loping the lights over his arm and grabbing the nail gun to climb to the top.

Ransom, he was typically fearless, heights didn't bother him, so that made him less self aware then most people. He just started to stretch the lights along the edge, stapling half haphazardly along the roof while letting them dangle down his shoulder and eventually the strand tangled around his feet. It wasn't so bad he thought when he managed to get a quarter of the way up and was about to climb down the ladder to move it over. Ready to start hanging more lights when the strand tightened around his ankle from where they got tangled and the sudden pressure made him lose balance.

Now he felt actual fear of falling, watching as the bushes under the living room window where you were setting up the village started to rush towards him when a snap stopped him, making him sway and twist around like a pendulum. You happened to look up when he screamed and saw him hanging just above the ground. “RANSOM!” you yelled while awkwardly rushing away from the table to get outside, your hand braced against the side of your very pregnant belly to support it. “Hang on! Oh fuck fuck fuck...” You chanted in a panic while you made your way carefully down the steps of the house.

While you're trudging through the snow in your house slippers, Ransom is screaming. “Y/N, Call 911! Call 911!” he's all red faced from being upside down, his hands trying to grab at the bushes below to make himself stop swinging, and your using your phone to call the local emergency services because you are imagining all kinds of scenarios, mainly that your boyfriend has busted a ankle hanging like that or he was going to break his neck falling and you were going to have to raise the baby yourself.

“Don’t you dare break your neck Ransom, if you die and I have to raise our spawn child myself.” Your voice is panicked as your pressing the phone to your ear.

Ransom hollers hearing you, having grabbed a hold of the bush now to support himself. “PAY ATTENTION TO THE PHONE Y/N!”

There was a pop above the two of you and all the staples shoot out, the lights slacking as they pull away from the roof, and Ransom fell the last few feet into the bush below with a grunt from impact.

You give a surprised yelp when he disappeared from sight, the voice on the other end finally got your attention and your words just about run together. “Myhusband- he was hanging off the roof. I don't know what happened, he was hanging lights.”

Ransom rolled out of the bush, still tangled in lights. “Tell them i’m fucking fine Y/N.” He growled while trying to tug the lights off his legs. And you paused a second.

“You sure? You don't want to be checked out?” Your voice waivers with uncertainty, and Ransom is sitting in the snow, working once more to get them untangled, this time from around his ankles.

“Yea, I'm not hurt.” He yanks on them while shoving them off with a “Fucking whore bitch, I hate you.” his temper making him curse at the lights, and you step away so the 911 operator cant hear him.

“We’re fine, I’m sorry to bother you.” Hanging up, you return to Ransom who's standing now, checking himself over.

“I am not going back up there again Y/N, and that fucking Frosty can go in the yard.” he sputtered as he kicked at the lights before swooping down to gather them. “I will hire someone, that's the only way it will be done.”

You can hear the genuine shocked fear in his tone, and you have to agree this time with him that it would be better to let someone else do it. He half expects you to argue with him about it, wanting to be independent on hiring help, but this time you surprise him.

“You are right Ransom.”

Pausing, he looked at you with shock. “I’m… right?”

You nodded and rested your hand on your protruding belly. “Better mark the calendar.” Everything that happened in the last five minutes sink in, making you gasp a bit as the heaviness settled in your chest. The tears they just bust out of nowhere and Ransom drops the offensive lights to pull you into his arms. Of course you were going to cry, it seemed to be all you did over this. He was kind of used to it by now.

“Hey Princess, its okay.” He says soothing as you sob into his chest, making him wince. “It takes more then some god damn lights to end me.”

You sniffle a bit and lift your head to look at him. “Its not that Ransom.”

“Well then, what the hell brought on the waterworks?” He arched a brow and you look at the front of your house.

“I didn’t get a picture of you hanging off the house to show our kid.”

Ransom looked at you incredulously in disbelief. “You are serious...”

Shrugging a bit now that the shock was over you grinned a bit. “Come on... I’m just teasing. Now that its over an your safe, it was a little funny seeing you have a Clark Griswold moment...” Ransom pulled away and started stomping towards the house, you following after him. “Ransom! Don’t be mad! Its Christmas!”

“Fuck Off Y/N, I’m not in the mood.” He grumbled while shrugging off his jacket and you knew you had to make it up to him.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #happy holidays!#ransom drysdale

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