#everyone is fucking dying from cancer now

[widevibratobitch]

visiting my mother. idk what i expected lol

[snekdood]

when ppl are like "do u know ppl of x minority that ur still in contact with" as a gotcha ig to say ur not actually as open and progressive as you say you are but bud... i dont talk to anyone from my past, lmao, I dont think thats a fair metric to go by quite frankly

[diegoshargrieves]

listening to my parents talk about me is so fucking funny. "she's dealt with us for so long that at this point she's done. she's mentally checked out from having to give a shit about anyone. can you believe how corruptible she is just because she's almost an adult and she thinks that we're not her problem anymore?"

like man you are literally so close. so fucking close.

[shizucheese]

Hey guys, we need to talk. Because a certain little something in TMAGP 8 is causing what is genuinely the most toxic part of the Magpod fandom at large to once again rear its ugly head. So let's talk about podcast character appearance head canons, shall we?

I'm tagging this with the Magnus Archives, TMA and Magpod tags because I am absolutely calling all of you out, but if you don't want spoilers for The Magnus Protocol episode 8 then stop reading right now.

.

.

. Okay, so, Gerry exists in the TMAGP universe. He's happy (or at least acts cheerful). And some people have headcanoned this to mean that he is no longer goth, or at the very least isn't dying his hair black with bad box color. And other people have decided to get seriously agro over this. I have literally seen with my very own eyeballs someone call "un-gothing" Gerry a "hate crime" and calling the person they were talking to "gothphobic."

Let me make this absolutely clear for all of you: podcasts are a purely audio medium and unless a physical trait of theirs is explicitely stated, everyone's headcanon for how a character appears is valid. Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. But also

Rainbow Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. Pastel Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Not Goth At All TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Bald Gerry who has actually gotten his brain cancer diagnosed in time and is getting treated for it is valid. Somebody's headcanon of a character that has no canonical description to them, or whose headcanon matches the few crumbs of canonical description we have but otherwise doesn't look the way you imagine them to, is not going to take away from your own headcanon of what a character looks like. If someone imagining or drawing a character looking a different way from how you imagine them looking somehow takes away from your enjoyment of the fandom or otherwise makes you feel like you need to barge in and tell them that they're Wrong and need to conform to your headcanon or else, that is a reflection on you, not them.

And this problem way predates TMAGP, let alone TMAGP 8. The only description we have of John is that he is in his early 30's and has prematurely greying hair.

If someone thinks he looks like the pastiest motherfucker to ever dwell in a basement, an extra-in-the-Adam's Family or Tim Burtan protagonist of a man, let them.

What's that? You want to tell them that John is BROWN and if they don't headcanon him looking that way they're WRONG and RACIST? Back away from the keyboard and go outside.

(Ironically, as someone who started getting grey hairs in my hair in my 20's myself, I'm pretty sure everyone's headcanon of John, with tiny little whisps of grey in his hair, is wrong, because if he was so grey that people were surprised to learn he was "a child of the 90's," he was probably full on salt-and-pepper when he was in his 20's.)

The only description we have for Martin is that he (man who canonically has the self esteem of a used doormat) describes himself as "not the smallest guy", Not-Sasha called him "roomy", Melanie is skinner than him, and Jonny said he imagined him as a "bigger guy" who would beat Alex in a physical fight. If someone decides to take this information and conclude that it means he's tall, broad and has muscle, rather than that he's overweight, fucking let them. If your first instinct to this is to run to your keyboard and call them "fatphobic" or otherwise bash them for it, I once again urge you to back away from your keyboard and go outside.

Someone headcanons Basira not wearing a headscarf? We have exactly 0 canonical physical description of her and the people who headcanon her as having one are basing that purely off of her name alone. Fucking let them. Someone headcanons Melanie and/ or Georgie as a skin color you don't agree with or a hairstyle you don't like? Fucking let them. As long as someone's headcanon of a character's description doesn't contradict the few canonical descriptions we have of a character, why do you care? Them having a different headcanon from you doesn't take away your right to imagine the characters looking however you like, anymore than it should take away their right to do the same. Someone headcanoning John as white (or Black, or Asian, or Mixed, or whatever) isn't going to make all of the fanart of John as brown with long hair suddenly disappear, nor the fanfiction describing him as such (although I do often wonder if the opposite is not true; is the fact that John looks the same in so much of the fanart I see on here really because of fandom "consensus", or is it because people are absolutely awful to anyone who draws him Different?). Someone headcanoning Martin as not fat isn't going to make the mountains of fanart of him as a fluffy little marshmallow vanish into the void (although I do remember hearing about someone getting bullied off the internet for daring to draw Martin as not fat). And someone headcanoning Gerry in TMAGP as not being goth isn't going to take away your preciouse goth TMAGP Gerry headcanon. That should be part of the fun of it, shouldn't it? Seeing what different images people have conjured in their heads of these characters we only get to experience with our ears, and celebrating the differences as well as the similarities? Why are we bullying people into conforming to one appearance of a character when no actual canonical appearance of them exists?

[withacapitalp]

@lazylittledragon did more Mombin (check it out here it's great) which I think means I might be contractually obliged to write more fic that is inspired by it. Like wowza I am obsessed with this concept

Tw: vomiting/morning sickness, reddit, discussions of cancer

Robin was dying. 

That was the only explanation. 

Dying. 

And the worst part was, she was dying of something that was both incredibly funny, and incredibly sad, and she had been so desperate for answers that she had gone to a place no mortal should ever dare to go to. 

Reddit. 

Posted by u/familyvideobrokeme

I (24F) think that I might have breast cancer, and I have no idea how to tell my (25M) best friend.

So my best friend “Sam” and I have been attached at the hip for as long as I can remember. He’s not just a friend to me, he’s my person (and before you get any ideas- I’m a lesbian, so no, not happening.) we tell each other everything, even the super gross stuff neither of us wants to hear- like seriously he’s asked me to check his ass to see if he managed to pop the pimple he found there before- so I’ve never been in this position before…

But I think I’m dying of breast cancer, and I have no clue how to start this conversation. 

It just came on really suddenly??? Like last month I was fine, and this month my boobs just hurt in this really weird way I’ve never experienced before? Like I’m sore and tingly and my bras don’t fit?! Boobs are kind of a joke between us though, so I feel like if I just blurt it out then he will start saying ‘boobie cancer’ over and over at me and we will just end up laughing and he’ll think I’m kidding. 

Sam is also my roommate? I don’t know if that matters here? I also haven’t gone to a doctor yet, but there isn’t anything else this can be, right? Nothing else just magically makes your boobs hurt and get big?

Robin had made the post at three am the night before while crying and eating Ben and Jerry’s, and she had forced herself to not look at replies all night, even going as far as to shut her phone off entirely.

But now it was the next day, and she had steadfastly ignored the notifications from Reddit all the way through Saturday Brunch and Bitch. 

She couldn’t ignore them anymore. 

“You’re good if I work a little?” Robin asked, pulling her laptop close to her and carefully angling it so Steve couldn’t see the screen. 

“As you wish,” Steve muttered, completely absorbed with whatever dog video he was watching. 

“Dingus,” She whispered affectionately, an odd mixture of love and guilt crashing in her chest as she opened the website and logged into her account. She had over a thousand notifications now, and the comments were still rolling in as she opened her post and scrolled down. 

Endofthebeginningoftheend

OP are you sure you’re not in love with Sam

Grapenuts Dude she said she’s a lesbian

View 564 more replies

Robin rolled her eyes. She had expected that, but she didn’t expect it to be the top comment. She quickly scrolled past. 

Cheercaptainfromhell

OP I would definitely go to a doctor before anything else! 

SmeddieSmunson Seriously how has she gotten this far without going to a doctor??

The answer was easy. Robin was terrified of doctors. Why go to a doctor when Steve had EMT training? 

Because in this instance she couldn’t ask Steve for help. 

Robin kept scrolling. 

Frenchiefreis

You might be pregnant honestly…I would take a test first

Headphilosopher She’s a lesbian so I doubt it, but pregnancy can also cause those symptoms-

Robin snorted to herself, side eyeing Steve to make sure he didn’t look up when she did. 

Did everyone just ignore the part where she said she was a lesbian? 

…was Robin ignoring the part where being a lesbian didn’t mean fuck all when it came to her chances of getting pregnant?

Yes she was ignoring it because it was once just once and they had barely even gotten to do anything at all and-

Robin scrolled again, growing more and more desperate

Rummingbird

That doesn’t really sound like breast cancer to me My mom had similar things happen when she was pregnant though-

Another scroll. Another flutter of her heart. 

No. It wasn’t that. She was dying. Dying was bad but the idea that she was…that she could be…

HyllyBRd

OP have you considered that you might be pregnant? I know that you’re a lesbian, but if you’ve had penetrative sex in the last month then you might want to consider-

“Are you going to be good for me?” 

Robin gasped as the memory hit her, closing the reddit tab with a slam of her finger on the mouse pad, her entire body starting to softly shake as she panic opened a google tab.

Boobs hurt????

Not exactly the most scientific way of phrasing that question, but Robin needed an answer that didn’t involve nine long months of what the fuck. Luckily there was a read more question that got right to the heart of the issue. 

What kind of breast pain indicates pregnancy? 

It was going to say something completely different to what she had, and Robin was going to laugh, and then she would turn to Steve and let him know she was dying of boobie cancer. 

It wasn’t going to be the same. 

It wasn’t. 

Robin looked at the screen. 

Fuller. Sorer. Tingly pain that felt unlike anything else. Aka exactly what she had. 

Robin’s fingers moved on autopilot, asking another question of Google

How late should my period be before I worry?

Worrying about what? She knew about what, but she couldn’t bring herself to type it, she couldn't even think of that word yet.

Google said after a week of missing your period it was time to see a doctor. Robin’s period was over three weeks late. 

And a month ago-

A month ago…

“Fuck you’re so tight,” The woman above her whispered. Robin whimpered, unable to help herself as the stretch-

“I need to use the bathroom.” She blurted out, slamming her laptop shut and practically throwing it off of her, stomach twisting into knots. 

“I’ll tell you what I tell my students Bobbin,” Steve said, barely looking up and completely unaware of her meltdown, “You don’t need to ask me for permission to go take care of your bodily functions,”

“Oh, shut up,” Robin replied, laughing breathlessly. It was such a stupid joke, such a meaningless stupid joke. But it was safe, and it was familiar, and if the sneaking suspicion creeping down Robin’s spine was true, then nothing would be safe and familiar again for a very long time. 

She stood up, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Steve’s head as she walked by, just because that was familiar too and she needed it. Steve hummed, leaning over to bonk his head against her tummy as she passed him.

A bonk on the tummy that may or may not be-

Nope. It was a no. It was definitely a no. There was no possible way. 

Robin was going to be sick. 

She basically flew the last few steps to the bathroom, managing to lock it tight before she threw up in the sink. It was disgusting, and messy, and she pushed the tap on before kneeling down at the porcelain throne and continuing to hurl. 

I need Steve.

It wasn’t even really a thought. She couldn’t think while throwing her guts up, that was an experience that required every bit of her attention and mind power. 

No, not a thought, just an instinctual message from the universe, a pull from somewhere deep inside her that felt like more than just a truth. 

Because Robin didn’t need Steve because she was throwing up. Or because she thought she might have boob cancer. 

Robin needed Steve because she knew she was pregnant. 

“Fuck me,” She groaned, leaning back from the toilet only to lean forward once more as the rest of brunch came back up. 

[an-angel2u]

hiii i literally love how our taste is the same lmaoooo !!

could i get reader comforting a whiny sub!jesse pinkman after he gets into another fight with walter in the lab and needs to be told how much he's worth to us <333

thank you!! 🫶🫶

beneath the weight

all jesse wanted to do was support you. the both of you. if that meant that he had to make blue meth in a laboratory with his former chemistry teacher who was dying of cancer… then that’s what he was going to do.

the job was tough, not only illegal and tedious, but he had to deal with said former chemistry teacher. he nitpicked everything that jesse did.

when he came home in the wee hours of the night, not only would he be tired, he’d feel like he was unimportant and a burden to everyone in the world.

tonight was different, it was worse than before. you couldn’t even imagine what walter could’ve said to jesse to make him this upset.

he slammed the front door, and you heard him kicking off his shoes and throwing the keys in the bowl.

you had prepared for him to come in like this, today was already an off day for him. the night wasn’t going to be any different.

you sat up in bed, waiting for jesse to come into your shared bedroom. his eyes were red and so was his nose. he had been crying.

“jesse…” you got up out of the bed and walked over to him, lifting his head up by his chin. his body immediately tensed as you touched him. your eyes took in his entire expression. “what happened, baby… talk to me.”

“i don’t know why i keep letting that fucker get to me. every damn time!” jesse raised his voice, he raised his hands, intertwining his fingers and placing them on the back of his ear.

you let him calm down for a second before you pulled at his wrists allowing you more access to wrap your arms around his neck.

“listen to me,” you spoke into his neck. “white doesn’t know shit, okay? he doesn’t see you, the way i do.”

“fuck, you don’t get it.” he pulled away from you, and you noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. “he says shit like ‘i don’t need you’ or ‘you’d be nothing without me.’ he calls me pathetic every god damn day.”

that made you feel a way, walter white of all people, giving jesse shit. “that old fuck doesn’t know anything. you are not pathetic. not to me, not to anyone who truly knows you.”

he wiped his eyes, trying to rid himself of the tears he shed. “come here.” you tilted your head over to the bed before laying down and resting your head on the headboard.

“come on…” you spoke again, this time with a softer tone. he huffed out a sigh before walking to your side of the bed, laying on your chest with his legs between yours.

“you know everybody makes mistakes, even white. you know what i love about you…?”

“what?” his doe eyes looked up, inspecting every bit of you.

“that you never let that shit get in your way. you still get up every morning and go to the lab. do i like the line of work you’ve decided to go for… not necessarily. nonetheless, you take care of both of us. i’m so thankful to have you in my life. regardless of what walter has to say to you.”

you brought your hand up to his face, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. his eyes softly closed immediately after you did that.

“i’m not gonna go anywhere. you know that you’ll always have me. it doesn’t matter what that… thing says… okay?” jesse scoffed at hearing your name for walter.

“okay…”

“now let me get some of that stress away, alright?”

[iamtheredflag]

I think of Yugioh alot

Because

Yugi and Yusei are fine, ok mildly traumatized because fuck magic and future time shenanigans

Then the rest are legit messes

Basically, had an eldritch being for an imagery friend

Committed a genocide because a situationship

Killed legit most of his friends (their better now)

And them fused his soul with his imagery friend who is in love with him

Has to live with a fact he did infact killed people

Legit watched everyone he loved die because aliens

Alot of things happen because aliens

Somehow came out unscaved

Parents went randomly missing one day (I know yusei is an orphan but like Yuma remembers his parents)

Basically learned that someone who he saw as one of his closest friend did not care at all for him (vector did he was just to unstable to realize that)

Yknow that joke of "what did the blind kid get for Christmas" "Cancer" Yeah take that joke and make a whole series

Downward spiral from day one

Was bullied for legit being fatherless

Watched some random guy he did not know technically in his arms and then just kinda took his dragon and soul and just goes along with it

Girlfriend gets stuck in another dimension and so he goes to save save her only for it to lead to

Figuring out he is the devil

Experiments done on him

Berserk mode TM

Girlfriend getting mind controlled and then DYING

getting possed by Basically dragon Satan

Fighting said girlfriend who soul is in the body of a child

Resetting the world

Becomes Sora from kingdom hearts but instead of hearts it's dragons and souls

"Yknow that joke of "what did the blind kid get for Christmas" "Cancer" Yeah take that joke and make a whole series"

Got kidnapped

Starved and Electrocuted if he lost a duel as a young child

Nightmares due to trauma

Had to fight and was betrayed by the first person he probably trusted

AI boyfriend turned evil

Kills AI boyfriend

Goes missing by the end of the series to bring ai bf back

[catghoul31]

would it be so bad if i stayed?

Logan can't pretend he deserves this world anymore.

For Day 1 of @poolverine-week : depowered

Content Warnings: Suicide Attempt, Canon-typical Violence

read it under the cut, or on ao3!

For once, Logan was happy. He’d lived for far too long in a world he’d ruined, fucked so many lives up beyond repair just because he didn’t feel like he needed the X-Men, didn’t think protecting the future of mutantkind was worth protecting…

Really, what he was doing now was saving Wade’s world from the same fate.

Every time Logan heard the name of one of the X-Men counterparts that lived in Wade’s world, every time he saw Laura’s innocent, smiling face that didn’t know she was looking into the eyes of someone with the blood of children like her on his claws… every fucking time he had to look at Wade, the man he owed everything to. Eventually, he’d ruin their lives and he knew it. He had nothing to offer this or any world but pain and misery, it was all he’d known for decades back in his. 

Though it looked like mutants were living in relative peace among humans on the surface here, he knew why the X-Men existed- because there’d always come another existential threat to everyone he’d ever cared about. And when they would eventually need Logan, they’d inevitably find him on one of his days where he couldn’t do anything but rot on Wade’s couch and drink, and he’d be completely useless. Just like in his world, they’d find a way to kill them all off eventually. Even Wade, if the collar around his neck was anything to go by.

He’d shown it to Logan a few months back while explaining how the cancer in his body hurt as much as it healed, and he felt so pathetic every time he’d taken a peek at it in Wade’s closet afterwards. In the darkest recesses of Logan’s mind, he looked at it and saw a way out. It all got too much when Colossus stopped by their apartment one day, and he overheard him talking to Wade about how much the kids at the X-Mansion were dying to see the Wolverine since he’d been taken to this world-

The darkness had taken over his mind that evening. As soon as Wade had left to get food, he’d grabbed the damned thing and ran as fast as he could. Somewhere nobody could find him ever again.

So here he was, having tossed himself over a cliffside without any company besides the many, many bottles of liquor he’d packed with him. Logan didn’t know why he bothered to bring them when the horrible memories would go away on their own once he died… force of habit, maybe. Or maybe it was because he was in tremendous amounts of pain from the adamantium that only his mutation allowed him to contain within his bones- it, along with the many bruises he’d sustained during the fall, left him in horrible agony. His bones still couldn’t break, so unfortunately, he’d have to wait here until the lack of a healing factor, or organ damage, or alcohol poisoning- fucking anything finally claimed him. Bleeding out was too mercifully quick for a stupid, careless murderer like him.

…If this was the world he’d been stolen from, everybody would be overjoyed when they found Logan’s body. There would be no doubt about that, especially since he was the last mutant alive- and the whole reason there’d be none of them left once he was gone. Those who hated them would revel in the end of the “mutant plague,” and those who had still tried their best to protect mutants would find some closure in seeing the person who’d completely fucked up everything they’d work for face some sort of justice.

Here? Honestly, who fucking cared?? Their Wolverine had already died somehow, so they already knew they could live without him, let alone an infinitely worse version of him. Those kids didn’t need to see someone who’d let them all die in his world. Logan thought he’d throw up again just thinking about it- and he was covered in vomit, dirt, and blood anyways, so would it really matter? Maybe Wade might be sad, but he’d already saved his world, didn’t he? There was nothing else he needed to do. It was best he died now, quit while he was ahead. Quit while he was still completely ignorant of his past. Better to leave him with those positive memories-

“Logan? LOGAN??? Where the fuck are you?!”

…Fuck. FUCK!!! Instinctively, he tried to curse, but it only came out as a pained groan- one that echoed off the rocks in the ditch. Logan had that specific voice burned into his mind from the time they’d spent in the Void together, and if that wasn’t good enough, he noticed a faint smell of putrid illness that couldn’t be coming from anyone else. It was getting closer, too- bastard must’ve heard him.

Logan wandered into the exact same park he and Wade took their morning walks in, didn’t he. Figures that he couldn’t even kill himself right.

In a desperate attempt not to have his attempt thwarted, Logan tried to get back on his feet to no avail, yelping in pain with every movement his torn muscles tried to make. Tears of pure frustration ran down his face as he realized how hopeless this was, how much he desperately didn’t want Wade to let him live- when that red fucker faceplanted right in front of him.

Was he… trying to make a joke out of this? Logan would’ve had his claws out by now, if the damn collar would let him, but the sight of Wade cartoonishly flopping onto the ground made his blood boil and his stupid fucking heart cry out in relief at the same time. When he stood up with a completely broken nose, though, Logan could see bags underneath his eyes, like he hadn’t had an ounce of sleep in days. A pang of guilt ran through him, since it was obvious he was the source of Wade’s stress, but it was quickly replaced by aggression when he tried to approach him. Logan uselessly tried shoving him away, but what Wade said next completely took him off guard:

“Oh fuck… Who?? Who did this to you, Wolvie?! God fucking dammit, I’m gonna fucking kill them- where the fuck are my collar cutters?! This was NOT the time for me to forget something- god FUCKING dammit!!”

He had no clue that Logan wanted this at all. Of course, Wade had absolutely no context and was running off what his adrenaline was telling him, but Logan knew that if he didn’t fess up, he’d still be running around trying to find some way to get the collar off of him, but the idea of telling him the truth… it made something sour coil in his gut. There’s no way he’ll still want me here after this- but isn’t that what he wanted in the first place? For the pain of living to finally fucking end?? 

“Wade. I did this. Now leave me the fuck alone.” Logan tried to make the words come out plainly, but there wasn’t any space past the massive lump of emotions in his throat for them to squeeze through. They, like many of the words he’d spoken to Wade, were spoken in the form of a defensive growl- misery conveniently disguised as anger.

He saw Wade’s movements pause completely at his statement. Even through that stupid fucking mask he was wearing, he could see him putting two and two together in his brain. Honestly, what Logan wanted from him was to see him finally walk away. This red fuck had just decided to glue himself to his side when they met, and in spite of him never offering anything of substance to bring into his life, he insisted on keeping him around. And the worst part was that he couldn’t say no to any of it. The care he showed for him was more than he’d seen from anyone in decades, and his heart ached for something he never deserved so badly that he didn’t have the heart to tell him how much of a mistake he’d made. Maybe this would finally convince Wade that he was better off without him. Logan looked away, hoping that he’d hear footsteps walking away from his crumpled, broken body so he could finally let go of the one thing that had his heart stubbornly clinging onto life.

So of fucking course the opposite had to happen.

Within seconds, Wade rushed over to him, picking him up by the collar roughly like he wasn’t 400 pounds of adamantium and pure muscle. He opened up a keypad, hit one number- one fucking number?? Who made this collar??- and Logan was free. He gasped as the sting of his healing factor returning hit him, the bruises and injuries on his body immediately closing up while his claws immediately shot forth from his closed fist. With his energy back, Logan had no fucking clue what to do. Wade wasn’t letting him die- and for some reason, he didn’t completely hate him for that. Whatever was rolling in his stomach painfully at the loss of the pain in his body wasn’t hate, but he wished it would be so badly. All he could bring himself to do was pretend like it was.

Logan rushed forward with a screech, planning on skewering Wade so he’d finally take the hint that he didn’t fucking want this- but Wade was faster. He slammed Logan back-first into the hard soil beneath him, taking out one of his swords and stabbing it through his torso with a shout. He could only growl and writhe as blood gushed out of him, but there was no way for his body to die like this. He was stuck here. With Wade. And there’s no way he wouldn’t make him talk. 

Though he was expecting the first words from Wade’s mouth to be disgust, or some series of derogatory expletives demanding an explanation… that wasn’t what happened. Slowly, Wade took off his mask, looking him dead in the eyes with those beady brown ones he could never quite read correctly. He could only stare into them for a few moments-

-before Wade collapsed to the ground and started to sob. Loudly.

Logan was beyond confused now. What the fuck did Wade have to cry about? He wasn’t that important to him- he had people who loved him, who appreciated him and would never abandon him like this, run off with bottles of liquor while he left his own family to burn behind him… His own family. Wade was… he didn’t want him to leave… Logan’s breath quickened, because he was doing the same fucking thing he was so afraid of doing right now, wasn’t he?? He didn’t want Wade gone, his brain wanted the pain to stop- why wouldn’t it stop even when he was around?? Why couldn’t he be better than this??

“Wade… Wade, fuck- I can’t believe… I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Don’t even start with that, Logan,” Wade said, so much pain from what must’ve been hurt in his voice- because hurting people was all he was ever capable of doing- that it made Logan circle right back to wanting to die again. He heard a sniffle, then Wade spoke once more- “What… what could’ve made you want to do this? What did I do wrong…?” He collapsed into more tears after the question, phrased like Wade was begging for forgiveness. Logan felt tears pooling in his own eyes now. He hadn’t even cried when he’d said the most hurtful things he could’ve thought of to him in the Void. And he knew they hurt, because he told him as much, making sure to clarify that it’s all okay now, peanut, I know you didn’t really mean it! Besides, we had the time of our lives there after, didn’t we? And he was right. Damn him, that bastard was right.

Logan cleared his throat of the blood pooling in it, trying to stop himself from crying because two blubbering idiots wouldn’t make for a productive conversation at all. “Not your fault. I did this because… Wade. Why do you think I’m worth anything? I just… I couldn’t look at this world anymore. Not the X-Men, not all the mutants living happy lives without anyone breathing down their necks, and not you treating me like anything more than the gutter trash I am.” The words were bitter, but to Logan’s dark mind, it was the truth. 

“And here we are. I tried to fix it for you, I tried to get rid of the stain on this world you brought in- and I did it by doing to you… exactly what I fucking did to every single mutant on the face of the earth years and years ago. I’m not fixable, Wade, trust me. Please just put that fucking thing back on me and leave me alone.” 

Unfortunately, a couple tears slipped from his eyes as he spoke, the sorrow too much for his body not to try and express. His healing factor was making him sober up, and the emotions couldn’t hide themselves as easily now… There was nothing that felt worse, though, than seeing how devastated Wade seemed at his decision. Even if it was impossible for him to comprehend why he would, that blubbering idiot really seemed to care about him. Why would he do this to him…? God, he was a selfish idiot, and he was fully prepared for Wade to call him on it now.

“…I don’t want to fix you, Logan.”

Logan’s brows furrowed at that choked-off statement, because what the fuck? He’d never heard anything that honest come from Wade before, it was honestly unnerving. He desperately didn’t want him to say everything was alright, because it wasn’t. Wade could leave him here to die, or he could drag him back to their apartment and they could go back to doing… whatever the hell Wade wanted to do. But dear fucking god, if he said another word-

“I- no, that sounded bad, because I obviously don’t want to see you doing this again, but- Logan. Please, listen to me…” Wade walked over to him, kneeling down to look at him with those eyes- they were still so distraught, it made Logan want to die even more. He did that to him.

He growled, instinctively trying to warn Wade to stay away from him. “Don’t wanna hear it, bub,” he muttered weakly, still trying to battle the emotions running wild in his mind. A part of his heart yearned for Logan to accept this helping hand, and he was trying his damndest to fight it back.

Wade sighed, putting his hand gently on Logan’s shoulder. “I… I know I can’t convince you not to do this again. And I’d rather have a rabid Dogpool chew off my nuts than send you to some psych ward for ‘your own safety-‘ so trust me- not happening. Promise. The least I can say, though, is just…” Wade choked up again, and Logan couldn’t stand this anymore. He’d take everything he’d just done today back, if only to never have to see those bitter tears fall down Wade’s face ever again. Shame he couldn’t take everything else back, either.

“…Do you wanna know why I called out to you that day? Because… it’s not because my universe needed a Wolverine, goddamn it, it’s because I needed you! You’re… probably the best friend I’ve had in a long time.” Logan gave Wade a pointed glare, because that was fucking dogshit, and he knew it- “‘Oh, Deadpool, that’s dogshit-‘ you don’t get to decide that for me, fuzzy tits!!” …Dammit, Wade. His head lolled back onto the ground, and he tried his best not to cry.

“That Laura kid was right about one thing- you were there when it mattered. I don’t know where my life would be right now if I just found some generic Fox-brand Wolverine that just killed some bad guys for me and dipped. You actually gave a shit about me, Logan!! Even when we were fighting to the death, or hurting each other with words, or killing random people for no reason, I knew you cared. That’s because you, peanut…” Wade waggled one of his fingers in the air before pressing it to where Logan’s heart supposedly was. “…are a good person. In here, and everywhere else.”

God, Wade was so fucking dumb- why the hell was he so close to crying? Scratch that, some tears were already falling down Logan’s face already. He was crying. Because Wade was being Wade, despite how badly he’d fucked up- now and in every other timeline. Even in the Void, he was so close to just running away and leaving Wade to deal with his problems with some low-budget mutants, how could he mean any of that?

“The only problem’s in between those kitty ears of yours. Your brain fucking sucks, I get it. It’s being mean to you… saying you don’t deserve to live? Because you made a few mistakes. Motherfucker, if your mind was a person, it would’ve thrown me in the pits of Hell by now, because whatever bad shit you think you’ve done, I’ve probably done worse with a smile on my face…” As corny as Wade’s speech was, the red bastard was also openly crying now. Two blubbering idiots- great, just what Logan was trying to avoid. He couldn’t say he agreed, though. Did Wade ever have to hear the cries of his innocent students as he ruthlessly slashed them to bits because he didn’t care who or what was on the other end of his claws, he just needed the entire world to die…?

Wade cleared his throat, grabbing the handle of his sword. Logan braced himself, because this was gonna hurt- fuck! He was right. Logan let out a sharp grunt when he tugged his katana out of him, sliding it back into its sheath. “I… god fucking dammit, Wolvie. I’m not trying to guilt-trip you into staying… that won’t help. I just… I need you to know that I care. I need you to know that… you’re my best friend because of who you are. Not in spite of anything bad about yourself. What did that one TVA chick say- that whatever happened in your world made you who you are…? God, that’s such a cheesy line, might as well have rounded it off with ‘the real Deadpool and Wolverine was the friends we made along the way!’ but… I need you to know that I care. Cancerous warts and all, Logan, I… care about you. And whatever I need to do to make those words mean something? I’ll do it, Logan. Just… tell me. Please. What can I do right now to make this better…?”

Wade was looking at Logan with the kindest gaze he’d seen on anyone in decades. He felt a strange noise come from his throat- a sob? Logan thought he’d cried all the tears he was capable of shedding out years ago… clearly not. Maybe he’d never cried over someone being kind to him before. Even now, nothing felt right, and he still felt like he’d ruin everything eventually- but for now, the world was intact. And no matter what happened, Wade would always be intact.

For the time being, he’d focus on the one thing he’d never lose.

“…Can you just take me home?” Logan sighed, needing the comfort of Wade and Althea’s glorified crack den more than anything right now. “We can even watch one of those stupid cartoons you always force me to watch with you. I don’t care.” He really, really did. Because Wade would never fucking shut up whenever they’d watch that show with the technicolor horses clearly aimed at young girls- he’d talk about how much he “was” the pink one, sing along to all the stupid songs… he just needed Wade right now. Needed that stupid fucking face in his life more than anything.

A hand was offered to him, and Logan reluctantly grabbed it. Wade instantly took the opportunity to pull him forward into the tightest hug in his life, and he immediately felt tears soaking his shoulder where his face had buried itself. Immediately, Logan returned the embrace, even though he knew how embarrassing this looked- he needed Wade more than he needed his pride right now. There was nobody else in this forest, anyways…

“…Hey, there’s a reason to stay! You haven’t even seen Equestrian Girls yet, have you??”

“Don’t make me stab you again, Wade.”

Logan had a long way to go… but maybe, just maybe, he could let himself be cared about. As long as Wade would have him.

(They would have each other forever, if the universe let them.)

[the-bitterest-breakups-poll]

Poll: Round 1c #2

[Image ID. And image of Eddie and Shannon from 9-1-1 sitting together. Shannon is on the left and Eddie is on the right. And an image of The Locked Tomb books covered edited together. End ID]

*Reminder that Break up is being used loosely here and not all relationships may be romantic in nature

Propaganda under cut"

Eddie and Shannon:

They only got married because she was pregnant and he booked it to Afghanistan to financially support her without having to actually face his relationship fears (breakup 1, while they're not only dating but married), he comes back for their kid's birth and immediately re-ups, now also because of his fears about fatherhood (breakup 2, married with newborn), and leaves his wife with his controlling parents and mom with cancer who lives states away as her only support system. gets shot, comes home, can't handle his controlling parents on top of his PTSD, which, newsflash, neither can she, so when he says they can't move to take care of her now dying mom, she up and leaves in the middle of the night (breakup 3, girl power). his parents are awful about her and try to take custody of his disabled son, so he books it to the state his wife lives in to preserve both their autonomy and what's left of their family unit but does not contact her until a school with stellar supports for his son needs to interview her because they're not actually divorced and then they start fucking in secret (messy!! Messy, messy, MESSY!!!). He lets her back into their son's life for Christmas, they're technically back together, they have a pregnancy scare but it's fine, he proposes again (while comparing their relationship to being drowned) and she asks for a divorce (breakup 4) and then gets hit by a car in an intersection and dies on the scene (breakup 5, actual end of relationship). Her last words are about how she was leaving their son again. THERE IS NO GREATER MESS THIS SHIT IS BAKED ON CAKED ON NO AMOUNT OF PINK GOO CAN GET IT OFF

They got together in high school then got married because she was pregnant. After they were married he joined the military and went to Afghanistan (ostensibly to provide for their family but by his own admission because he wanted to get away), at one point re-enlisting against her wishes. When he did come back (only after being injured), SHE left to take care of her terminally ill mother and didn't come back for over a year, at which point she and Eddie began to sleep together again, but he initially kept her hidden from their son because he didn't trust her. He refused to even discuss this with her until she publicly confronted him at work. He does let her around their son again, but the only time we see Shannon and Eddie together again, they're fighting. They later have a pregnancy scare, which prompts him to "re-propose" to her. She instead FINALLY asks for a divorce. And then she gets hit by a car and dies for some reason. I realize this is more of a messy marriage than a messy breakup but personally I think their whole relationship was just a messy breakup in slow motion.

Mercymorn the First/Augustine the First/Emperor John Gaius:

-M-- and A-- were John's closest companions before the apocalypse, then they were killed by a bunch of cultists who betrayed him, then he STARTED A NUCLEAR WAR AND KILLED ALL LIFE IN THE SOLAR SYSTEM just because he was mad some trillionares manipulated everyone, then he brought them back to life but with new names and their memories erased to be his disciples because he didn't think they would agree with his actions, then eventually he had them kill the other most important people in their lives to gain immortality and also more attention for him, thousands of years later they have a threesome and steal his sperm to give it to a terrorist leader (who's in a different threesome) to make a baby to kill and use as a bomb, then 20 years later the threesome returns as a distraction so a lobotomized teen can kill their coworker, then eventually he finds out they betrayed him, Mercymorn kills him but he comes back immediately and kills her, then he turns around and offers Augustine complete forgiveness despite also trying to kill him, Augustine refuses and throws the whole space station into a metaphysical river to trap John/"god" in Hell, but his apprentice saves John instead of him so he goes to Hell instead, then John is a wreck, leaves basically an evil child in charge of his empire, and sleeps around with his army for presumably a whole book

Okay SO. buckle up. (Also, HUGE TLT SPOILERS AHEAD.) John Gaius is god. Mercy and Augustine are 2/3 of his remaining saints. They have a terrible, millennia-long polycule (that at one point resulted in Mercy and Augustine stealing God’s jizz to try and kill him—that’s off topic tho.) Mercy and Augustine eventually attempt to kill him again after learning he tricked them into killing their best friends ten thousand years ago. And they all try to kill each other : )

John Gaius is God, and Mercymorn and Augustine are the first and second of his Saints. They're intensely close. Like, they've been together for ten thousand years, they've had at least one threesome, and they were best friends in their previous lives before that. The thing is, Mercy and Augustine sort of suspect that John is lying to them, so they hatch a plan to figure out what he's not telling them. Which turns out to be a LOT. They try to kill him, he kills them instead, and then he spends the whole next book in a dramatic depressive spiral, neglecting his Empire and sleeping with pretty much his entire senior staff. Personally I suspect Augustine and Mercy were 80% of his impulse control, and without them John plans to destroy the solar system and start over from square one.

- (this propaganda is only for John Gaius and Mercymorn the First) Messy quite literally because she atomises him, then he puts himself back together and (again, LITERALLY) rips out her heart.

Also emotionally messy on the basis that this breakup has actually been going on for at LEAST twenty years, and involved two separate threesomes which were actually ploys to a) steal John's sperm and b) distract him from the murder of his best friend.

Important information to note for those who have not read TLT: in killing John, Mercymorn fully believes that the sun will explode and the entire solar system will be destroyed. She ain't afraid of collateral damage in HER breakup.

In terms of relationship categorisation? Who's to say. They're friends they're lovers he's literally her God he wiped her memory and he's been lying to her for ten thousand years it's a whole thing.

[shelbystales]

Best Aid - Part Eight

Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Previous parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Summary: you are a young doctor in Birmingham. After a crazy incident, Thomas Shelby shows up at your hospital. You don’t know much about the man everyone seems to fear, but you definitely will.

Warning: swearing, mention of torture and panick attack

A/N:  Comment and interact, tell me what you think! it means a looot.

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On your next shift, the first thing you did when you arrived at the hospital was go straight to John Doe's room to see if he was still there. 

To your surprise, yes, he was still there. 

He had already undergone jaw surgery the day before, and to an even greater surprise, he was awake. He stared at the room's window as if he was hypnotized.

"Hi," you said, entering the room. "Good to see you awake," you smiled.

He shifted his attention from the window to you but didn't say anything. Well, he couldn't speak, as his mouth was paralyzed on the side of the jaw surgery, and it would probably stay that way for a while. 

His face was much less swollen and deformed then you had remembered.

You approached him to get the medical record and check the progress of his exams. "My name is Y/N; I was the doctor on duty the night you arrived. Do you feel any pain?" He subtly shook his head, and when you asked if you could examine him, he gave a small nod.

During the examination, you proceeded with caution, aware of the potential trauma he might have experienced. The signs of infection from his blood test had decreased, and the wound appeared to be healing well. Other than that, he was healing well.

After completing the examination, you left the room and returned to the trauma center, where you met with the shift residents and assigned tasks.

You started to overthink why Thomas hadn't stolen your patient, but as you created a thousand questions in your head, you just decided to accept the situation and move on with your day. After all, he did comply with your request.

Continuing your rounds, you attended to other patients.

During a break in the staff lounge, Jeremy joined you with his usual big smile. "Hey girl, how are you?" he asked, taking a seat beside you.

"Hey," you smiled back. "I'm good, you?"

"Great. Doctor says my fiancé has prostatitis," he said, relieved.

"Good, some antibiotics should solve it. Might take a while, though." you smiled

"Yeah... no sex for a while… well, at least it's not cancer," he joked.

"Dodged a bullet, huh?" you chuckled.

"Yes, yes. I was worried," he sighed. "Are you really okay? I didn't see you leave last shift."

You sighed, debating how much to share with Jeremy. "It's been a wild ride, Jer. There's this whole situation with the patient, and then late at night, Thomas showed up. It's like a never-ending rollercoaster with him."

Jeremy's smile faded, replaced by genuine concern. "What?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

"Yeah. And I fucking had a panic attack after he told me he would discharge John Doe. But then... he was so kind, helping me through the panic. I just... I don't know. I'm so confused about everything," you confessed.

"He just showed up and wanted to discharge the unconscious, almost dying man?" he asked, and you nodded.

"And as I argued he couldn't, I suddenly couldn't breathe," you shrugged. "I need a break. I told him I didn't want to see him. He just doesn't care."

Jeremy's expression turned from concern to disbelief. "That's insane. He is insane.”

“Just figuring that out now?” you frowned and sighed “But… At the same time, he brought the man in, and I don’t think he did all that to him. Also, he didn't steal my patient… and he was so so gentle to me.”

Jeremy furrowed his brows. “Okay, listen up, I love you. But you've got to figure out what you want from him, Y/N. It's not healthy to be caught in this constant state of confusion. You either want him or not."

“I don’t,” you blurted out.

“Shut up, you don’t. If you didn’t, what he did or didn’t do wouldn’t bother you,” he said, cutting through your protest with a knowing look.

You sighed, realizing Jeremy might be onto something. The conflicting emotions and the chaos Thomas brought into your life were undeniable, and deep down, you questioned your own motives.

“I just can't make sense of it, Jer. He's this enigma, this complicated man who seems to defy any logic i create,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair.

“People like that can be dangerous to get involved with, Y/N. I don’t want to see you getting hurt. Yes, he’s hot as fuck, might fuck you senselless, but we need boundaries to keep ourselves safe sometimes” Jeremy said, genuine concern etched across his face.

“Yeah I know. I just need time to figure things out,” you replied, your mind still swirling with uncertainty.

“Maybe just fuck him and ghost him” He smiled 

“That is definitely not the best option” you chuckled

“Yeah… i just. I want you to get laid. Maybe with someone else. You deserve it. Some dick could make your thoughts clearer” he leaned back as his big smile continued crossing his face

“Yeah, right. As if I have a line of people that want to fuck me”

“Oh girl… you are so oblivious. Let's start with all the male residents! And some nurses… Jesus you have no idea” He said surprised

“I’m gonna go. You forget it, i’m not getting involved with anyone in this hospital” you said

“Okay” he shrugged as you stood up and left

As the day progressed, you found yourself once again immersed in the demanding environment of the hospital.

In the quiet moments between duties, you couldn't help but reflect on Jeremy's words. The need for clarity tugged at you, urging you to confront the feelings you failed to understand.

As you left the hospital that day, the internal conflict within you raged on. Thomas Shelby's presence seemed to evoke a myriad of emotions - confusion, frustration, and an undeniable attraction that left you questioning your own judgment.

When you walked into the lobby of the hotel, you caught sight of Thomas engaged in a serious discussion with his aunt, Polly. The lines on Thomas's face spoke of stress and tension, a departure from his usual composed demeanor.

You stood there, observing from a distance, deciding if you should or not talk to him. Set some things straight. Maybe all you wanted to hear was that he didn’t do anything to the man. Or maybe that he cares about others and that’s the reason he left the man in the hospital care. Or maybe… just maybe… you wanted to hear his husky voice…

As Thomas and Polly concluded their conversation, you observed him preparing to leave the lobby, a sense of urgency evident on his face. Your eyes met, and a shy smile from you prompted a momentary pause, marked by a furrowed brow.

"Can we talk?," you mouthed standind a few feets away from him.

He slightly nodded. Stopping in the middle of the lobby and following you after you started to walk in the direction of the elevators.

As you stepped into the elevator, the atmosphere between you and Thomas was heavy. The air charged with unresolved tension.

The doors closed, enveloping both of you in a temporary cocoon of privacy.

"Alright, Y/N, what's on your mind?" Thomas inquired, his voice low and steady. His posture, rigid yet composed.

You took a deep breath, your gaze fixed on the floor, steeling yourself for the words about to spill out. "I need you to be honest,"

"About?" he replied, his piercing gaze fixed on you. 

"The man," you said, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of emotion in his stoic posture—a true master of the poker face.

"What about him?" His response, delivered with an air of nonchalance

"Did you do that to him?" you pressed

"I already told you that, eh?" he countered, glancing around the elevator as it announced the floor—the floor to your room.

"You didn't," you asserted, the tension escalating with each passing moment.

"Yeah, I didn't do it," he admitted, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the elevator doors opened. You exited first, and he followed, the charged atmosphere trailing into the corridor and eventually into your hotel room.

In the room, you moved with purpose, entering the kitchen to fetch two glasses of water. Placing them on the dining table, you invited him to sit. 

"How long will this take?" he inquired, his posture a blend of impatience and reservation.

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" you countered, your eyes locked onto his.

"I do" he answered shortly

"If you want to fix this, take a seat," you added, leaning back and crossing your arms, awaiting his response.

Thomas hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, weighing the options. After a pause that seemed to stretch on, he finally relented, his movements fluid yet hesitant as he took a seat at the dining table.

You observed him closely, noting the subtle nuances in his posture.

"Why did you bring him to the hospital if you weren't responsible for what happened to him?" you questioned, your voice steady. 

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "I never said I wasn't responsible. I said I didn't do it," he responded, the words hanging in the space between you like an unspoken challenge.

“Fuck you” you filled your mouth to say those words, and it felt good “What the fuck is that suppossed to mean?”

"He's a friend," he admitted

"Why didn't you just say that from the beginning?" you retorted, frustration evident in your tone.

Thomas's gaze remained steady, a mixture of regret and resolve in his eyes. "There are things that go beyond simple explanations."

"No, no. Some explanations are pretty simple," you shrugged, your frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"Y/N," he began, his Birmingham accent adding a distinct cadence to his words. "If I started spillin' every detail, you'd be tangled in a mess you're better off avoiding. Because then, you would ask me why my friend was like that. And I would have to tell you, since we're bein' honest, that he was kidnapped and tortured for information about me. Because that's what happens to people around me. And you would ask me why, and I tell you, that's business, and me business is a difficult thing to explain" he continued, his voice carrying the weight of a reality that seemed both distant and uncomfortably close.

The room echoed with a heavy silence, the weight of Thomas's revelations settling around you both. You knew exactly what his business was after a few hours googling him, no. A few hours fucking stalking the man.

"I never asked for any of this, Thomas," you finally spoke, your voice a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "I never signed up for a life entangled in your... business."

Thomas leaned back, his eyes fixed on you, acknowledging the truth in your words. "And I never asked you to. But here we are."

"I don't want to end up like your friend," you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of your fears and the boundaries you needed to set.

Thomas's eyes, now revealed a hint of regret. "You won't," he replied, his voice softer than before. "I promise."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. Taking both hands to your face, you couldn't shake off the stress that had crept into your being.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to an unexpected tenderness.

"Stressed," you answered

"Aren't we all?" he remarked, a rare hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"Is your life always like this?" you inquired, curiosity peeking.

"No, it has never been like this," he admitted, taking a sip of the water in front of him. "Could be a glass of whisky, eh?" he suggested, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I don't remember the last time I drank whisky," you confessed.

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. "I think there's a bottle somewhere."

"There's a drink cart in the bedroom," you informed him.

After a brief search, he found the cart and walking into the living room with the bottle in hand he looked at you for approval. "One glass?"

"Sure, why not?" you agreed, welcoming the distraction 

Thomas poured a modest amount of whisky into two glasses, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the room. As he handed you a glass, his fingers brushed against yours in a fleeting touch, making your heart race wiht excitement. 

As the whisky warmed your insides, Thomas leaned back, the weight of his own burdens evident in the lines of his face. You couldn't help but notice how well he looked, how well dressed he was. If you just saw him crossing the streed, you would never believe that the man in front of you was a fucking gang leader.

The air between you carried a mixture of tension and a strange camaraderie born out of the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

"This is better," Thomas remarked, studying the liquid in his glass after taking a sip.

"You know, this isn't how I imagined our conversation going," you admitted, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Thomas chuckled, the sound rich and resonant. "Nor did I, Y/N."

Ozzy appeared, strolling in from the bedroom and hopping onto the couch, where he promptly settled down for a nap. You couldn't help but smile as you watched him make himself comfortable.

"Do you like cats?" you asked, curious about Thomas's preferences.

"No," he answered bluntly.

"Get out of my room," you joked, eliciting a chuckle from him. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "I just don't."

"Yeah, you look like a dog person."

"I have horses, I don't have a dog."

"Oh, right. Rich people pets," you teased, a playful smile on your face.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at your playful jab. "Horses are not exactly house pets," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Fair point," you conceded, enjoying the banter that seemed to ease the tension. "So, what does Thomas Shelby do for fun? Besides making me insane, of course"

His gaze flickered with a subtle mix of contemplation and amusement. "Fun... hm, let's say I like riding horses, reading, and chess."

"Chess, huh? I bet I can win” you smiled, gaze locked on his

Thomas Shelby leaned back, a mysterious glint in his eyes as he considered your challenge about chess. "You can try," he said, his smirk hinting at a quiet confidence.

The air between you felt lighter. You felt good about it. He could be a good company. 

"What happened?" you asked, meeting his gaze. Thomas frowned slightly, not understanding what you meant. "How did a guy that likes horses and plays chess turn my life upside down? making me feel like I couldn't breathe for days? Made me fear my life. At one point I felt so paranoid that i could swear there was someone was following me down the hospital. Because the Thomas in here now... I like this Thomas."

There was a moment of silence, Thomas's gaze held a mixture of contemplation and a touch of vulnerability you failed to see before.

"I already told you I didn't intend for any of this, Y/N," he began, his voice softer than usual “Believe me if you want, I didn't want you to get caught in it. But then, I woke up and you were already involved”

"I know," you admitted, your voice reflecting a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. "But I don't know how to navigate through this. It's like stepping into a world or a war I never knew existed."

He reached across the table, his hand covering yours in a gesture of reassurance that sent a little jolt through you. "Look, I want you to know that I won't leave you alone in the chaos I've brought. Ok?", You nodded 

His touch, warm and reassuring, sent a subtle thrill through you, awakening a desire you hadn't fully acknowledged since he walked in here tonight. As your eyes locked with his, an unspoken promise hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you found myself teetering on the edge of exploring something deeper with Thomas Shelby.

you cleared your throat, a nervous habit that betrayed the tumultuous thoughts racing through your mind. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" you managed to inquire, hoping to redirect the conversation and temper the rising anticipation. The effects of the whisky were starting to weave their magic, adding a layer of haziness to your judgment.

"I do," he sighed taking his hand from yours and adjusting his suit. "I enjoyed our talk. Are we in a better place?"

"Yeah, just... don't bring me more near-death guys. Please," you chuckled, the sound echoing in the room.

"And who would I take them to?," he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I don't know" you shrugged "Government health system is avaible in birmingham"

He chuckled "yes, i have a hospital so that I can send my friends to the public system" he mocked

"Well... can I just ask you to try and be honest? That's all I really need from you. I don't want to fear you” 

"Are you sure the truth won't make you do exactly that?,"

"So far it hasn't, the other way around actualy" you answered

"Fine. That's a challenging thing to ask me, but sure. I can try," he agreed.

"Good," you smiled.

"Have a good night, Y/N," he said, starting to stand up. As he rose, something compelled him to lean down, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"You too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of surprise and comfort. As he headed toward the door, you couldn't help but blurt out, "Wait, why didn’t you steal my patient?"

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you. "I couldn’t have him die on me, and… I trust you," he explained, his words hanging in the air. It left you with a complex swirl of emotions.

"Can I ask his name?" you inquired.

"Johnny Dogs. He's not registered, by the way. So, keep it as John Doe. If people start asking too many questions, you tell me," he instructed, and you nodded. His gaze holding yours for a moment longer before he walked out.

With a deep sigh, you sank back into your chair, contemplating the unexpected twists of the day.

The Thomas you saw in here now was the same one you welcomed into your home and that version of Thomas was surprisingly good company. That was the Thomas who drew you in, the one you found yourself attracted to. Yet, how could he embody two entirely different personas simultaneously? one you felt like punching and other you felt like kissing...

At least, he trusted you.

The knowledge of his trust provided a welcome boost to your self-esteem. Despite the whirlwind of confusion and complexity, you couldn't deny the comfort in knowing that, in his own enigmatic way, Thomas Shelby trusted in you.

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[euryleli]

I don't think anyone from the byers-hopper family is going to die!

I would love to hear more about your theories regarding this subject if you really think there's an actual chance of characters like Will and El (or even Jonathan) dying in st5 - because from where I stand, I just... can't see it happening!

It doesn't make sense to me for a number of reasons!

First there's Will: a closeted gay teen from the 80s living his WORST life in smalltown, Indiana. Will, a boy who has been bullied his entire life not only by his peers but also by his own fucking father - all in the name of this inherent otherness he carries that's been associated with his queerness since episode 1 from s1!! The boy that's always described as kind, honest and sensitive - the little kid who changed the world of every single one of his loved ones with his absence. William Byers, the boy who went to hell, spent a week there and then came back all wrong, slowly losing his identity because he was fucking possessed by this otherworldly creature - who was burned out of him, mind you AND the after effects of his frolicking in the upside down for seven days straight and late possession by freaky monster #1 led to a connection that haunts him TO THIS DAY!

THEN (because it can't get better) we have stranger things season 3 and 4 where will byers gets beaten time and time again by forced conformity, internalized homophobia and, of course, the usual supernatural Horrors that we're all acquainted with (and that have a canonical narrative connection to all the issues previously mentioned but wtv)!

Ur telling me that this boy who hasn't known A SINGLE DAY OF PEACE in his LIFE (because Will had it bad before the upside down), who's the only confirmed gay character (as of now) AND the one who doesn't believe he can or even deserves love?? Is going to die??? This boy is not gonna have his happy ending? Will Byers, the starting point of this whole story is gonna be used as a pawn to... what? Further develop a straight relationship that actively hinders the arc of the female main character (El)? His death is gonna "complete" his arc and we'll deal with another case of the "Bury Your Gays" trope? Mike's character is gonna be buried alongside Will then because if his ending is one of conformity then all his actions throughout the series make no god-damned sense - basically he's just an asshole and an awful fucking friend? What the actual fuck??

So... Will dies, saves everyone but leaves Joyce and Jonathan completely heartbroken? Even when their love for Will is what kick-started the whole show? The show started with us rooting for them to find Will and they did!

But oh... wait... he died lol

It doesn't make sense, narratively speaking.

"What about El, then?" you ask!

Look, I'm slightly scared for her too but I genuinely think they're not gonna kill her off and the main reason is Hopper. What's the point of having Hopper grieve Sarah, his first daughter who tragically dies at a young age from cancer, just to make him start coping with her loss, bonding with El - actively viewing her as his family - to then take that family from him A SECOND TIME?? WHAT'S THE POINT OF THAT?

Aside from El's arc and her development as a young girl who was robbed of her childhood and sense of self for so long finally coming into her own person (not Hopper, not Mike, just El), killing her off is an efficient way to ruin not one but TWO of the most beloved characters in stranger things.

Having either Will, El or both of them dying in the finale would be a tragedy and yes, stranger things has it's moments where everything goes wrong and people die (and stay dead) but...

It's not supposed to be a tragedy.

That's not the kind of show we're watching.

Hell, you can say that they're going to kill the other family members then! But I don't see them killing Joyce or even Jonathan (although I can admit I'm not fully confident on that last one) because - again - it defeats the whole purpose of the show and Hopper came back from the dead already, the duffer brothers are not gonna kill him AGAIN (El grieving her father a second time is just as bad as Hopper grieving Sarah, then El)

The Byers are the heart of the show and sure... stranger things s3 and s4 kind of lost the plot on that front, but we're definitely getting back with willel and their final arcs in s5 (their family, now with Hopper and El, will be heavily featured in their development)

So, yeah...

Stranger Things is, fortunately, not a tragedy - and considering the love I have for all the characters (especially the Byers-Hopper) I can't say I'm upset about it.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us

A/N: i watched the first episode of Last of Us yesterday and suffice it to say that Joel Miller officially has a chokehold on me and i ain't complaining.

Warnings: dark themes; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2402 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

---

Dying was a way of life in the QZ. Seemed like everyone was dying lately. Fireflies, FDRA, and most of all the people in between. The lost and lonely. 

You met Joel shortly after you died. Your spirit died with your twelve year old son, Gabriel. The docs had told you it was most likely cancer. The fucking irony of that burned you from the inside out until you felt completely hollow. Just a shell of a person, really. Your emotions felt anesthetized, your brain in a perpetual fog. You went about your day from routine and muscle memory. You might as well have been infected. At least then you’d have some sort of purpose. Without Gabriel, you felt utterly useless. He’d brought you a sense of optimism, a reason to at least try and believe in the future. When you’d lost Gabriel’s father Eddie, you’d at least had your son. But without him. Well, without him, there wasn’t any you. You didn’t have a role anymore, didn’t add anything to anyone’s life. You couldn’t think of anything more death-like than waking up day after day to the realization that you didn’t matter to anyone. The night Joel met you, in fact, you had vague plans to drink yourself into oblivion and hopefully not wake up.

But, something changed when Joel ran into you. And he did literally run into you. 

You were walking back from the bus stop after a shift cleaning the killing floor of the poultry planet. A cold, drizzling rain soaked the streets in a fine layer of mist. You crossed your arms over your chest, tucking your head underneath the threadbare hood of Eddie’s old hunting jacket. For a few weeks after Eddie had died in a firefight between the Fireflies and FDRA, the jacket had smelled like him, and you’d taken up wearing it. Damn thing wasn’t too warm, but at least it was decently waterproof. That had been years ago. It was useless now, neither warm nor waterproof, but it was all you had. Everything else you’d sold. 

You were going through the usual calculations in your head, trying to figure out how you were going to scrounge together enough cards to get some hot food in your belly, when something - someone, you realized after he’d hit you - came tearing around the corner of an alley. You weren’t braced for it, and even your reflexes didn’t seem to care enough to break your fall. You hit the damp, cobbled pavement hard on your left shoulder, your head bouncing off the tar and sending stars across your vision. You heard a man’s voice swear as you blacked out…

*****

When you came to, you weren’t in the rain anymore. Your head throbbed and you didn’t dare move in case you vomited. You were resting on something soft, albeit a little lumpy, and there was a blanket wrapped around you. Your head was propped up on a musty smelling pillow and there was a fire crackling nearby. Your shoulder was screaming in pain, and against your better judgment you twisted as gently as you could manage to try and relieve the pressure on your joint. Your gut turned, and you leaned over to wretch as far from yourself as you could. With the first sound of gagging, you felt cold, rough hands grab the hair around your face and pull it away from your mouth as a bucket was shoved in front of your face. 

“Good, you’re awake.” A man’s voice.

You peaked towards the voice through slitted eyelids. The faint, hazy light through a dingy window felt like someone was driving a drill bit into your temple. 

“That’s a shame,” you rasped out, earning a dark chuckle from the man sitting across from you. The laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He had the same thousand-mile stare that most people in the QZ had. You couldn’t guess his age - that was another thing survivors had in common. Nothing ages you like the Apocalypse, Eddie used to say. 

“Pretty sure you’re concussed.” 

You nodded, trying to swallow down the acidic taste of bile-vomit. 

“Pretty sure you concussed me,” you shot back. Another chuckle, this one a bit fuller. 

“Yeah, that’d be me. Sorry about that. I had FDRA on my heels.” You shrugged, trying to push yourself up on the couch. Another wave of nausea tore through your head, but there wasn’t anything to vomit up except saliva. You managed to swallow it down, closing your eyes again to stop the spinning sensation. 

“I’ve got some broth cooking,” the man went on. “I think you should eat a bit. Settle your stomach. You’ve been out for almost 24 hours.” 

You did an idle calculation in your head, automatically tallying up the date. November 29. Not that it mattered, but it was a habit you hadn’t been able to shake ever since the outbreak. 

“Not hungry,” you replied, biting down on your tongue against another spasm in your gut.

“Yeah, but you need to eat. Looks like you don’t do that too often.” You shot the man the darkest look you could muster. You’d learned long ago not to trust men who commented on your appearance. 

“You look sick is all I mean,” your companion added apologetically. He thrust you a bowl with a watery-thin, yellow liquid in it, a curled tongue of steam rising from its surface and an old dented spoon sticking out of the broth. 

“Just try it,” he encouraged you as you eyed him suspiciously. He was big, you realized, tall and strong. One of those QZ guys who lived hard and had the muscles to speak for it. It wasn’t the same kind of physique that people had before the outbreak: lean, toned, all for show. Fitness wasn’t a luxury anymore. It was a necessity for most people in the QZ. Some lines of work required it more than others. And judging by the strong forearm that handed you the bowl, whatever this guy did, it was serious business. 

You accepted the bowl, relishing the warmth of the ceramic between your hands. Your stomach growled as the smell of chicken broth tickled your nostrils. You took a tentative sip, burning your tongue. Your movements were slow and deliberate. 

“Joel.” 

“Huh?” You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at your companion.

“Joel. My name’s Joel,” he clarified. 

You nodded, taking another sip of the broth. Even though moving made you sick to your stomach, your body was reacting hungrily to the taste. 

“Y/N,” you replied after a few moments of silence. Normally, you’d give a fake name. But, what was the point? Even with your real name, Joel didn’t have anything of yours to use against you. There wasn’t anything left to hurt you by. 

“You were Gabriel’s mother, weren’t you?” 

You froze, the spoon halfway to your lips. The sound of Gabriel’s name tore through you like lightning. The heart you’d forgotten you had twisted painfully in your chest.

“What the fuck did you say?” Anger came to the surface first. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Gabriel. Sweet kid. Saw him hanging around the gate a couple times.” If Joel noticed your reaction, he didn’t let on. He was idly poking a burning log in an old, dirty fireplace. 

You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t make yourself speak. Even if you had, you didn’t trust yourself not to dissolve. Joel hadn’t met you before, yet somehow he’d managed to grab onto the only thread of humanity you still had. One tug on that thread and you were unraveling. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to him. Awful shit, cancer. My sister had it, back before… before shit went sideways.” Joel wasn’t looking at you, didn’t even seem to be talking to you. You couldn’t breathe. Gabriel’s name still echoed inside your ears.

“I lost my little girl, too. Sarah. When the outbreak happened. In Texas.”

Joel finally turned to face you. His eyes were empty, and you recognized that emptiness. It mirrored your own. 

“You’ll never get over it, if you’re wondering. Not that you are. Because you already know. I can see it.” Tears dripped off your chin onto the blanket in your lap. You didn’t know how long you’d been crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered out after a few silent, empty moments. 

Across the room from you, Joel nodded.

“Yeah. Me too.” 

You finished the rest of your broth in silence. It was the longest conversation you’d had with anyone in weeks, and somehow you’d never felt more alone.

*****

You spent the next couple of days in a liminal space between healing and falling apart. Joel’s acknowledgment of Gabriel had broken something loose inside you, and as your head began to clear, you felt the grief all the more. It felt different than before, even right after you lost him. Gabriel’s death had cored the soul out of your body. Now, whatever was happening was infinitely more painful. You hated it, but you also hadn’t realized how much you’d missed feeling things. Even though what you felt was agonizing, it was affirming in a fucked up way to know you weren’t incapable of emotion.

Joel maintained his silence on the subject. In fact, he was generally silent. You exchanged a handful of words here and there, usually in response to him asking about your health. 

How’s the head?

Fine.

Good.

After about a week, the questions took a different quality.

When do you think you’ll be ready to go?

Go where?

Anywhere you need to.

I don’t have anywhere I need to go.

OK. 

You didn’t take offense to his questions, and he didn’t take offense to your responses. There was a companionable bluntness to your interactions. He asked after the basics - did you have what you needed, were you sick, hungry, cold - and you answered simply and honestly. No follow ups, no games, no need to converse on anything. In fact, after the first conversation you’d had about Gabriel and Sarah, you and Joel didn’t talk about anything at all. 

It was the eighth day when you finally felt well enough to stand up and cook. Joel was out - where, you didn’t know - but you thought you’d heat something up for him. An hour before curfew, you moved into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets. He’d been good about sharing his food with you, and you knew enough of QZ life to know that sparing food wasn’t something everyone would do. And he hadn’t broached the subject of repayment. You doubted he ever would; despite his gruffness, Joel had a core of generosity. You didn’t know anyone anymore who would let a complete stranger spend a week on their couch, no matter how sick they were. 

You found a can of split pea soup in the back of the pantry and an opened package half-full of saltines. You picked out the crackers that didn’t have mold on them while the soup heated over the single gas burner Joel used for cooking. The light was fading outside; curfew was a few minutes away. Right on time, you heard Joel’s key in the lock on the apartment door. A few seconds later, Joel walked into the kitchen.

“What’s this?”

“Dinner,” you replied, gesturing to the two barstools he had tucked up the kitchen counter. He sat, letting out a bone-weary sigh as he threw off his boots, chucking them towards the hall where the door was. 

“Long day?” you asked idly. For some reason, you felt an urge to make conversation that you hadn’t noticed before around him. Maybe it was vestiges of your old life. Memories of entertaining Eddie while you made dinner flicked in your mind. Or maybe it was because something felt different about Joel today.

“Sure,” he replied flatly. You heard the sound of his flask opening, followed by a thick gulp. He drank a lot. You’d noticed that quickly. It didn’t bother you, and he was as generous with the whiskey as he was with his food.

“When are you leaving?” His question was angry. You turned to look at him, not exactly insulted but faintly stung. 

“I told you, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“That’s not what you said. You said there’s nowhere you need to go, not that there’s nowhere you can go.” You nodded once. Joel was right. The distinction felt accusatory, and you once again had the impression that he was about to speak to a part of you that you didn’t want said out loud. Just like he’d done that first night when he’d talked about Gabriel.

You sucked in a breath before turning to face him, sliding a plate of the edible saltines across the counter. 

“I can leave anytime you need me to,” you said, your voice soft and quiet. “I’m feeling good enough to travel.” 

Joel looked into you for a breath. His eyes looked the same, but you had the distinct impression that they weren’t as empty as the first time you’d seen him. Whatever it was you saw in his gaze, it made you feel ashamed, and you broke eye contact. 

He shifted on the barstool before taking another generous swig from his flask. 

“Good. Tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“It’s almost curfew,” you pointed out, nodding in the direction of the window to the street below.

“Fine. Tomorrow then.” His voice was hard as stone.

You nodded, stirring the soup and turning away from him. You didn’t want him to see the rejection in your eyes. You couldn’t say what you’d wanted, but all you knew was this wasn’t it. 

“Tomorrow,” you agreed quietly. 

Joel sat for another instant. You sensed that he was waiting for something: you couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you or waiting for something in himself. Whatever it was he was waiting on, the moment passed. He sighed, frustrated, before he scooted away from the counter and went to the couch. He didn’t say anything when you brought him the soup, and he didn’t say anything when he went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him to drink himself to sleep. You were awake and gone before he came out the next morning, although somehow you knew that he was wide awake, listening to the sound of your departure through the door.

**part 2 here!! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters

[smaller-comfort]

So how do you imagine snail love darts and necrontyr working/combining? Cause I am interested~

Aksjdhsk ahahaha oh god okay here we go

(Tumblr crashed on me three times while I tried to write this, but I will not let that stop me from rambling at length about snail sex, speculative xenobiology, and various ways that necrontyr get to be fucked up little guys.)

Okay. Some assumptions/general thoughts: necrontyr do not have "dual-use" reproductive/waste elimination systems (inferred from Trazyn's hilarious disgust at the idea, but honestly it would be entirely believable for him to have completely lost any and all memories of necrontyr biology). A lot of higher order animals do (they're efficient!), but you start to see ones that don't when you get down to bugs and marine creatures, so that's what kicked off this train of thought.

I'm assuming also there is relatively little sexual dimorphism among necrontyr (not for any particular reason, although my understanding is that actual female necrons are a relatively new thing in wh40k lore, so that fits). And finally, everyone constantly dying of turbo cancer has led to a 'throw everything but the kitchen sink at it' evolutionary approach to reproductive strategies.

Okay, now snails: they use the darts during courtship to deliver hormones that increase the likelihood of fertilizing their partner's eggs; after the several-hours-long mating dance, they'll exchange spermatophores. (Fun fact, the penis, copulatory canal, and dart sac are all located inside the genital pore, on the snail's head. Mating dances can involve a lot of biting.) Snails have bad aim, but it's not uncommon for both snails to end up getting stabbed during courtship.

"Copulatory canal" is a deeply unsexy phrase, btw. So are most words we use when talking about sex, unfortunately. *sigh*

Anyway. While many necrontyr do only have one set of functional reproductive organs by the time they reach adulthood (either because the other set was always vestigial or because it gets removed to reduce the spread of cancer), both sets are usually present in some fashion. Sterility would be fairly common, but medical technology is able to mitigate some of that; the lower classes, at least, need to be able to breed like rabbits to feed the war machine. Gender is mostly divorced from reproductive role by the time biotransference happens; in addition to male and female, there would have been at least one other normative gender, possibly two (to account for both null and multimodal genders). Gender fluidity would have been common and largely unremarkable for necrontyr. (It's still largely unremarkable for necrons, but it's not particularly common; they're mostly fixed with whatever gender they had at biotransference.)

Okay, so, love darts. Pretty much only ever used by nobles/the military, because in the upper classes of society, sex isn't about reproduction, it's about reinforcing social hierarchies. And necrontyr social hierarchies tend to be inherently about violence in one way or another. Sexual dominance is generally more about who gets stabbed with the dart than it is about which penis is going where. (That's still a factor, but it's secondary, since genital configurations/functionality can be a bit of a wildcard.) Snails take an egalitarian approach to sex; necrontyr categorically do not. Both parties consenting to be darted would be considered weird and perverted.

Kind of going off ancient greek/roman sexual mores here; it would be entirely unthinkable, for example, for Obyron to be the penetrative partner in either sense with Zahndrekh. (Then again, Zahndrekh is a shameless pervert.) Sex between two social equals is generally accompanied by an agreement- sometimes tacit, sometimes explicit- about not using the darts. Doing so would be an overt act of aggression. Often, to prevent any potential misunderstandings, they'll voluntarily empty their dart sacs ahead of time.

Forcing someone to empty their dart sac prior to sex is a pretty common form of sexual humiliation. When done voluntarily, it's a sign of submission or respect. (Darts usually have a refractory period of a few days, depending on the person's overall health. Single-chambered dart sacs are typical, but multiples aren't unheard of. Leads to occasional 'surprise! You thought I was submitting to you but now you're getting fucked instead' situations.)

The dart sac would be located in their mouths, under the tongue; it's meant to be ejected into the soft tissue of the mouth, but it's sharp enough to pierce the skin anywhere. (This does mean kissing can be Complicated, or at least somewhat subversive, depending on everyone's social standing.) Normally it gets broken down and absorbed by the recipient's body; pulling one out tends to be extremely uncomfortable/painful.

The exact cocktail of hormones and neurochemicals it injects the other person with would vary somewhat between individuals, but can potentially vary widely between dynasties or social classes due to genetic/geographic/cultural differences. Some might include a mild paralytic agent; some sort of euphoric effect is also common. (This is all in addition to the original function, which, uh. Is to make the recipient more likely to get pregnant.) The shape of the dart varies in a similar fashion, ranging from a straight, smooth bone spike to something more elaborate with barbs or fluting.

(A bloody mouth can signify a lot of things to necrontyr- in addition to violence or illness, it's also inherently erotic. Necrons who remember this try very, very hard not to think about it when confronted with Flayed Ones.)

(Yenekh: *very sexily smearing his mouth with blood and draping himself all over Oltyx*

Oltyx: *oblivious, can't stop thinking about how pretty Yenekh is*

The rest of the flayed ones: *still not sure why their king and his consort haven't fucked nasty in a pile of carrion yet. Maybe they need a bigger pile of carrion? Yes, that's probably it. They will take care of this for their beloved king.*)

Crypteks have their own social hierarchies within their conclaves, but they're usually not as concerned with sexual politics as nobles and the military tend to be. Most people believe that crypteks all lace their love darts with poison, and the crypteks don't try to discourage that assumption. Some of them probably do, tbh.

Necrons, of course, don't have genitalia, but they can still stab each other with love dart analogues- this ranges from things like executive buffer override packages sent via interstitial channel, to actually physically jamming a spike of necrodermis into a neural input node. (From a purely aesthetic/romantic standpoint I also like the idea of love darts constructed out of crystallized core flux. The first time Zahndrekh does that to Obyron he goes into complete cascade failure and takes several hours to reboot.)

If Orikan and Trazyn did have sex pre-biotransference, one of them would have darted the other without permission (probably accidentally, being that they are both intensely nerdy losers and thus Bad At Sex by necrontyr standards), setting off a sixty-five million year hate-sex feud that neither of them can even remember the origin of. Orikan would've gone after Trazyn's mouth with a pair of pliers at some point; joke's on him, Trazyn's into that.

(Trazyn does have a collection of necrontyr love darts in the archives- all of them ones he collected personally when he was alive. He has no absolutely no memory of slutting it up back in the day, though, and probably doesn't even realize what they are. Sannet, unfortunately, does remember, and wishes he didn't. He has had to put up with so, so much over the years.)

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: team craig reacting to yn being in the hospital✧.*

✧.* tags: superhero au, college au ✧.* Characters: tolkien blacl, craig tucker, tweek tweek, clyde donavan, jimmy valmer a/n: I got around to sharing team craig! i'm so happy everyone liked the previous one and I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

masterlist

Craig

He’d act very apathetic about the whole situation when you told him

“I’m going to be in the hospital for the next week, I got into an accident during a villain attack and hit my head pretty bad.”

“Oh wow. That’s a bummer.”

“Yeah, can you grab my homework for me?”

“Eh… I’ve got some things going on tomorrow.”

He doesn’t want to see you hurt 

So he just avoids going

As long as he doesn’t physically SEE you, you can’t really be hurt, right?

Clyde drags him to the hospital to visit you 

After that he’s visiting everyday until you’re discharged 

Then sits with you to pass the time since you can’t look at screens until you’re healed

Definitely shows you his astronomy books

(lowkey very happy to have someone who listens to his interests instead of dealing with south park’s bullshit of the day but he’ll never say it)

Tweek 

Let’s be honest we ALL know what he’d do

And it’s not sit down, have a cup of tea and wait to for you to be discharged

He’s running into the automatic door before he can open

Probably ends up in the hospital WITH you by the time he makes it to your room

“WHAT HAPPENED”

“I literally texted you”

“I tried to read it but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking so I decided to get here as fast as possible but then my bike hit a curb so I had to run all the way over.”

“Jesus fuck dude, you need this bed more than me.”

“NO DONT GET UP YOUR BLOOD WILL GO EVERYWHERE”

“Im literally being discharged rn”

You being hurt means that HE can get hurt

Starts showing up to EVERYTHING covered in bubble wrap

He looks like that kid from home alone except with bubble wrap 

Craig blames you

“Bro my car was literally crushed by the fucking coon how is that my fault”

“You didn’t coon-proof your car and now Tweek’s going to be freaking out for the next month”

Tolkien

Probably the only one with a NORMAL reaction

You send him a text that you were in the hospital and he says he’ll be over once he’s out of class

Real normal stuff

Normal until he gets to the hospital

You can’t tell it’s him through the balloons and flowers and stuffed animals

“Why does the bear have a card that says ‘We’ll beat Cancer together’?”

“I didn’t know what was wrong so I grabbed one of everything.”

You were knocked out when a piece of debris hit your head during a villain attack

You need to go back to work to make money for rent?

Nah he covered your rent for the month. And utilities. And filled your fridge.

What’s the point of being rich if you can’t help your friends when they’re hurt? 

He’d do it for anyone!

(anyone meaning you and butters. Maybe kyle if he’s in a good mood. Only redeemable souls in the whole town)

Clyde

Acting like you’re DYING the moment you tell him

You could literally have a sprained ankle and he’s sobbing like you’ve got a day to live

“I know i wasn’t always the best friend in the world but I care about you so much!”

“That’s great clyde, can we talk about this tomorrow though?”

“You’re so strong. Acting like everything’s okay.”

Watching the area around you like a HAWK for the next month incase there are any dangers

What if you get hurt again??

Wants you to stay home for a month after you get out of the hospital 

Stands in front of your door, holding the doorknob so you can’t open it inward

But the door opens outward

So you send him falling onto his ass and start walking to class with a sobbing clyde crawling across the floor behind you

He means well though

Jimmy

Finally, the perfect audience to try his new hospital set with

He doesn’t really like hospitals since his comedy isn’t usually appreciated 

He’ll call you everyday though! And tell you everything that’s happening with your friends

It’s like having your own personal sitcom that calls you everyday

“And then craig threw his ice cream at cartman’s face and made him the true mint chocolate chip.”

“PFFFT! God i love your commentary”

“What can i say, you’re a great audience!”

“Can you just call me everyday and recap the day?”

“Wow, my mom always told me i’d be famous but this is getting a little wild”

Even if he’s worried, he’s not going to say anything.

He wants to boost your mood since he knows hospitals have rancid vibes

He’s the first one to visit you once you’re back at home and he’s got PAGES of recaps to share with you

[beautifulmadnesss]

"Gravity Happens" The Summer I Turned Pretty Imagine Fisher!Reader

Summary: Suzannah's cancer from the perspective of her youngest child and only daughter.

warning: death and loss

I figured it out first, being the pessimist, I immediately noticed when my mom's energy started fading again. One night after picking me up from a party when I was drunk, I confessed my fears to Conrad. He's the realist, so he didn't immediately believe it, but after paying closer attention, he saw the same things I did. Neither of us talked about it after that. We both just drank a lot and shared cigarettes in the quiet of the night. Jere was the last to figure it out. I think it's because he was always the optimist, just like our mom. Immediately, he wanted to confront her about it, just yelling it out at dinner one night.

"How could you not tell us the cancer is back?" He accused.

"What?" Belly and Steven asked at the same time.

"Kids, let's go into the living room okay?" My mom responded gently. The four of us got up and moved into the living room, while the Conklin's made their way upstairs.

I was already very tipsy, something I had learned to cover well, but tonight there was no hiding it as I snapped. "You can't leave. It's not fair. I hate you. We are all falling apart because we are just kids and we can't carry everyones fucking secrets. It's suffocating. You were so mad at dad for making us lie about his girlfriend and you're doing the exact same thing. Except you just want to lie to us and then just disappear one day. You are so selfish. Did you ever stop to think how we would feel? How it would feel for us?"

"Stop." Jeremiah warned, stepping towards me while Conrad wrapped an arm around our mom.

"No, I'm so tired of all this bullshit. Did you ever think how we would feel when one morning you just didn't wake up? When we went in to check on you and found you dead?" She flinched, but it felt so good to finally just explode that I couldn't stop as the tears burned my cheeks. "Then we would be all alone with a deadbeat dad and no one else. No one to take perfect little Jeremiah to his practices, no one to to sit up worrying about Conrad when he stays out all night with some girl and no one to-" My throat closed up, but I tried again, "No one to-" It was like my entire body gave up at once. My voice broke, my knees buckled, and I fell to the floor sobbing. 

My mom was holding me within seconds and soon after both of my brothers joined in. We were all just holding each other and crying together. She knew I hadn’t meant any of the things I had said in the same way she never held onto anything I said to her when we were fighting when I was younger. I always got so angry when I was hurt or scared. Now, I was all of the above. My mom was dying of cancer. Thirty seconds ago I was overflowing with emotion and now I just felt numb. I don’t even really know what I was going to say. There were so many things I had looked forward to doing with my mom. Things I would never get to do. 

“We need you.” I cried. 

“I’m right here, sunshine. I’m right here.” She said, squeezing us tighter.

We stayed like that for a while, none of us saying anything else, just quietly crying and holding each other tightly. My mom was the first to break the silence, kissing each of us on the tops of our heads and then declaring "that's enough, crying for now. We are going to do our best to enjoy the time we have left together." She stood and moved toward the kitchen before turning back to us. "Who wants to make some waffles?" She smiled, one that none of us returned, but we did follow her into the kitchen.

She started pulling out the ingredients while softly humming a cheery tune. I took the middle stool while each of my brothers sat on either side of me.

"Jere, will you get the eggs, milk, and butter from the fridge?" She asked, setting the dry ingredients onto the counter.

"Sure, mom." He gave her a small smile in return

"As for you two, you can choose to sit there and sulk or you can help us make some delicious waffles." Conrad and I shared a look before getting up and helping get the rest of the materials together.

The motions felt empty. Our Saturday mornings as kids were always filled with tantalizing smells, warmth, and laughter. Now, it felt like all I could think about was every moment with her could be our last. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed with a drink and make everything else go away.

I felt the powdery substance coat my face and spun around to see my mom and Jeremiah laughing, each with a hand covered in flour.

"Seriously?" Conrad spoke up, voicing my thoughts.

"What's the matter? Scared of a little competition?" My mom teased with a mischievous smile.

Conrad reacted first, diving for the eggs and handing one to me, but not before Jeremiah hit me in the face with even more flour. I quickly retaliated by launching an egg that landed with a satisfying crack, spilling goopy yellow onto his mop of hair. Conrad threw an egg at my mom that connected with her shoulder as she attempted to put the island between the two of them. I think Jeremiah found the sink first, coating all of us with streams of cold water, which only made the flour that my mom dumped on all three of us stick like glue. In just a few minutes we had created a disaster in the kitchen, but it was once again full of laughter and warmth.

That was how we spent our last week at the summer home and the following two months after that. Conrad and I both drank less, but we still spent most nights smoking on the porch together. Eventually, the quiet days spent in her bed outweighed the days of laughter. She was so small and weak that we were scared to touch her, but she never lost her joy. One night, she got a burst of energy so we made popcorn and brought the mattresses into the living room to make a giant bed where we cuddled together watching her favorite movie. She slept on the couch while the three of us shared the giant bed. My mom fell asleep first and the three of us stayed up a little longer, just watching her sleep, no evidence of pain on her face for the first time in weeks.

I woke up first the next morning and I just knew.

"Mommy?" I whispered, my voice cracking and the tears already dripping onto her face as I tried to gently shake her. "Mommy please. I'm not ready yet." I begged, my movements becoming more forceful. "I'm really sorry. I'll be better I promise, just please please wake up" My voice rose to a scream at the end. The sobs shook my entire body as I desperately called out to my favorite person in the entire world even though I knew she was already gone.

I wasn't sure which of my brothers was holding me, but he led us both out of the living room and onto the porch. He held me against his chest and gently ran his fingers through my hair. I could feel him sobbing with me. Eventually I heard the door close and we both looked up to see Conrad with puffy eyes and tears on his face.

"I called the funeral home, dad, and Laurel." He said, his voice sounding as if the phone calls had take all the energy he had. "We're going to be okay." He said as he sat down on the other side of me and wrapped an arm around both of us. Despite knowing this was coming for months, it didn't feel like she was really gone. The only thing that made it feel real was the tangible darkness without the joy of Suzanna Fisher, the light of our world.

[pigeonmilk-216]

House MD makes me absolutely FERAL.

For instance, I finished rewatching S3 E15, "Half-Wit", the one when House fakes cancer so he can get high (typical). And

AHHH

Everyone's response to House potentially dying is EVERYTHING. And displays both the characters and their character growth SO WELL.

Wilson, ofc, is offended that his best friend *cough* *lover* *cough* didn't say anything, and hid it. And something I think (and forgive me if this is not actually how it went down to everyone else, it's 1am and I have brainrot) is really interesting, is that beyond Wilson giving House shit for not saying anything, Wilson doesn't give any of the platitudes that everyone else gives. We don't see Wilson trying to "fix" anything or say, "House your dying, can we have an actual human connection for once?". No no, Wilson just lets him be.

Now, either Wilson is pissed and reeling from this news , and is just distancing himself (which tbh feels ooc, like House has crossed worse lines before, and Wilson deals with cancer everyday, idk).

OR you can look at the option of Wilson knows House well enough (and cancer, let's be real) that trying to fix it, won't change anything, that coming up to House and trying to "console" him won't do anything. House is House, and Wilson KNOWS THAT. Wilson knows that if House really and truly wants a conversation about it, or any comfort, House will just be like, " Yo, can we go get wasted?" and that's that.

AND THEN HIS FUCKING ANALYSIS AT THE END AND HIM FUCKING LAUGHING AT THE IRONY.

And Cuddy, I feel like, is the middle ground between how Wilson and the kids react. She doesn't go out of her way to say something, but in an almost hand-on-the- doorknob-as-I'm-leaving type way does she say something. AND THEN THEIR BANTER IN THE HALL IS FUCKING EVERYTHINGG. And her FUCKING smile as House grabs her ass (istg I can only say this in real action to this fucking show) but still dismissing him coming to the bedroom with her

Like both her and Wilson and obviously hurt, right, but they don't outright change their behavior toward House or anything, but they accept it (kind of) and don't go out of their way to change anything,

AND THEN THE KIDS' RESPONSES. ANHHH

I love Chase's moment. He's just like, "Dad, shut up and let me hug you" AND FUCKING STARTS CRYING

CHASE IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE WHO CRIES

He's like, "Goddammit, I'm going to lose two of my parentals to this cancerous bullshit. Tf."

AND HUGH LARUIE'S ACTING I CANT

YOU CAN SEE HOUSE REALIZING THAT, "oh shit, they really care and this is really going to hurt them" LIKE WHAT THE HELL. MY HEART, FUCK THIS SHOW WTH

And I love how Cameron is shown in this episode, over the first three seasons, we can see her kinda of coming to her own, and learning from House, so instead of like, backing down from helping House she just fucking kisses him so she can steal his blood. Like. YES CAMERON. GET IT.

AND AGAIN

HUGH LAURIE. YOU CAN SEE HOUSE'S HESITATION, WEIGHING THE PROS AND CONS BEFORE KSSING BACK.

And tbh I feel like House is low key proud of Cameron for a moment in a "she is taking after me" type way.

And Foreman trying not to care, but caring the whole time, and HIS FACE WHEN HES TELLING HOUSE HE DOESNT HAVE CANCER. LIKE. JXNKSCVJVXFBJKBFVSKJ

And I just love everyone's reaction five seconds later when they realize

"House is an addict. Right. Fucking this was a sham, fuck"

AND THEIR FACES ARE EVEYTHING

Cameron is crestfallen, outraged. Foreman is slightly pissed but completely nonplussed almost? Like a I should have expected this/this is such a House thing, which is why I dislike the man. And his sarcastic response is EVERYTHING And, Chase, oh Chase. He's so disbelieving and hurt. Like my baby I'm so sorry.

And House like really understanding how much this hurt them, and kinda of being a fucking TOTAL IDIOT and like slightly scared I feel but arrogant enough to just fucking like. Trying to blame so he doesn't feel guilty (he does) pushing them away so he doesn't have to face consequences (he's spiraling) and and after Wilson (finally) talks to him, having to stop and THINK about how fucking miserable is he really (he's such and idiot) and just AHHH

AND THEN HIM FUCKING GOING INTO THE RESTAURANT AT THE END?????? ITS A FUCKING CRIME THAT WE DON'T SEE THAT CONVERSATION BETWEEN HIM AND THEM. LIKE SIR, I WANT TO THIS POTENTIALLY EMOTIONALLY CHARGED MOMENT. LIKE

And honestly, Ilove how House interacts with the patient in the episode, it's on par with the boy who had autism earlier this season. Like the piano part is what really intrigues him, but still goes forth to give him his life back. Idk, just felt special.

Okay, um so thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Idk what happened.