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fangirl-life · 1 year ago

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Sorry this is long! I liked your thoughts and I didn’t even want to get into it bc there’s sooo much to hash out with this last season and show overall.

I haven't even thought about the Cain and Abel angle since the first couple of seasons with the whole golden boy thing. I'm glad EZ knew that Angel had to do it for his son.

That scene when Santi called him dad was soooooooooo cute; I melted. I was wondering where their daughter was tho

They definitely should have patched Nestor in sooner but I hated that his "initiation" or first act as a full patch was to shank EZ. And then for Bottle's initiation to kill Sofia that was sad. And it was sad when his amigo died too. Her death was so unnecessary tbh and I think it was more so bc she was a reminder/connection to EZ rather than a liability, but that too.

It was sooo satisfying to see someone get an upper hand on Issac and I'm glad that bald dude ratted on him bc he knew the Mayans was the lesser of the two evils and it showed that a MC outlaw is not just a mindless killer; they have some sort of morals or internal conflict. I wished that Hope would have ran away with Letty bc Letty for sure would have agreed the second time. They could have made it work. Issac is petty and clever, so I wouldn't put it past him to keep looking for her if they even went across the country, but he has bigger fish to fry at the same time. Idk how far SOA chapters stretch, bc I just assume all these MCs stick to the west coast, but I woulda just went to Chucky like Letty said then prepared to go to Canada. They had each other and I loved that! But I'm glad Letty is still not alone and that they seemingly accepted her back into the Broken Saints.

I love the Broken Saints btw. I feel like it was well overdue to introduce a black and female run MC into the show, especially as partners despite the Mayans doing them dirty. It was always just Mayans and SOA with a sprinkle of the Swole Bros and idr if the Samoans were an MC or just a gang from S1.

Ughhh, you know I'm always so torn on Taza. I fully agree that he was the reason for EVERYTHING and the only reason he didn't die is because he'd been through thick and thin with Bish and he didn't have the heart to go through with killing him. Had the rest of the club known, he woulda been Et Tu Brute'd like EZ a long time ago. Going nomad was their compromise I guess, but the nerve and honestly stupidity of him to want to come back? At all? With EZ as pres? Him not having that communitas/”brotherhood” that he missed and craved from the club was his punishment, so Idk why he thought it'd be ok to just casually ask to come back, especially so soon. In the middle of a war no less! He was the oldest member! Like consider yourself lucky that you aren't out there limping like Hank was when he was trying to complete some hits...smh...I hate that his character turned into lowkey the worst one.

YOOOOOO fucking Potter dude. I've been wanting to see that smug mf be taken down for so long. Like how does he do it! Honestly, I couldn't take Miguel and Emily's smugness more, so I was down for them getting taken down by the gov bc I also thought that would help the Mayans too instead of dry up the pipeline. But the angle they played with Dana Delany's character was so intriguing, though I was skeptical since it was yet another new plot line that I was afraid would take screen time away from tying up other established plot lines. The most I ever liked Emily was in this season because I rooted for her to get out. Miguel was toxic for her since day 1 and I wish that guy's mom didn't stop her from leaving so Miguel could have stayed alive to rat out Potter. I wish there was something else he could have done to ensure that such as a written statement with his lawyers as a witness just in case. On the other hand though, I'm glad Emily got revenge bc he literally tried to kill her and then just brush it under the rug and had her sister killed. But that was Dana Delany's best chance at getting Potter. Attitude wise, she was his match; she wasn't scared of him or thrown off by his weird demeanor. I agree with your point # 5.

Also Cielo having been on this show since like S2 I think and always being a background character that we’d just see and hardly hear and Elgin didn’t forget about her and turned her into a major player by killing a Mayan and helping rat out the club to Potter and Kody. She was like their longest lasting bartender I think.

Also speaking of bartenders, what’s with that lady that Bish ruined his relationship with Izzy’s friend for? A couple of seasons ago when they were doing the one true king plot and it was Mayan against Mayan, wasn’t she the old lady to one of the Mayans from another chapter? Like they killed her man in front of her but left her alive. I thought she began to pop up in the clubhouse to stay loyal to the “winning” chapter to stay alive or, more likely, to plot and enact revenge on the chapter that killed her man. I thought Elgin was gonna try and turn that into a plot by her encouraging Bish to get super drunk/destructive to get secrets out of him or kill him and rat the whole club out or something. I must be thinking of someone different, bc all she did was genuinely seduce the man who indirectly killed her man and then break things off by saying that he was too much for her. I didn’t trust her the entire time she was on screen and didn’t like that Angel left his baby with her honestly, but outside of Sofia, she was the only woman left at the clubhouse.

Angel being left with just his son is wild! I really wish him and Luisa coulda had a happily ever after, especially since we didn't get that with EZ and Gabi. And I honestly thought that Elgin forgot about Mini, so I was happy to initially see that she was back on the screen after a few seasons because, while her son was her first priority, Mini was like her daughter and the fact that she still went out to look for her was amazing and very much something Adelita would do. Ik Mini was hurt, but I really wish she gave her a chance to explain herself. I never would have thought that she would be the one to kill her, tho from Mini's POV, I could see why she felt betrayed.

I also almost forgot about the ambush at the end! idk how. Because of that, I'm glad Angel got out when he did in the nick of time. Imagine, after losing Luisa, had to lose his dad then right when he was gonna leave for good, have to help murder his brother all while his son is in the clubhouse and then if they didn't let him leave, the ATF woulda got him and Maverick woulda been back in Potter's hands and he prob woulda took him in as his own sort of weird trophy over Luisa/Angel/the whole MC. Despite having to raise his son completely alone now, he is a great dad which I am pleasantly surprised about bc I always thought he was gonna be all talk, then learn the hard way and not take fatherhood well.

Why couldn't the storyline with Hank end better, that sweetheart. Ending it with putting his mom in a home that she hates. He could have used her declining health as an out to take care of her. He prob wouldn't have bumped into Nails, but still. Now, his mom won’t know why he stopped showing up to see her unless Nails sees what happened on the news and tells her. Nestor left the toxicity of Miguel for the different toxicity of the MC (even though he joined with/when El Padrino was still in charge, so it wasn't as toxic) and he's gone. And Bish! He'll never get to see his little cousin like he said he would. And Ironically, Taza is the only technical Mayan that survived it all. I'm also glad that when Letty pulled up with that little ass gun, she had enough where-with-all to pull tf back out the scrapyard and realize it wasn't worth it especially before the ATF showed up.

Its crazy that the entire Santo Padre Chapter is obliterated and doesn’t exist anymore. I wonder what that means for other chapters of the club.

My thoughts on the series finale of Mayans…

I think we all agree this last season was rushed af. Most of the storylines were a discombobulated mess. Was it there greatest series ending? No. Was it the worst? Also no. There are some things I liked and A LOT I didn’t. Here’s my list of what I liked and how I wish some storylines went.

I agreed…

1.) With the way EZ died. Since he took over he was very much given dictator vibes. I enjoyed the way the club going all Julius Caesar to kill him. I also think we all knew that Angel was going to have a hand in EZ’s death since day one. (At least I did). There was always a Cain and Abel factor in there, even if Angel was reluctant to do so.

2.) Speaking of Angel, I did appreciate the fact he lived and got away with Maverick. The beach scene was honestly the best thing in the whole finale.

3.) Marcus/El Padrino getting out of the life and living the rest of his days with his family. He came a long way.

4.) Bottles and Nestor getting patched in. Though Nestor should’ve been patched awhile ago. I would have loved to see him as a full fledged member.

5.) Isaac dying. He was a great fucking villain, but he had to go. I wish Hope was the one who did it though, but I was okay with EZ being the one to do it.

… yeah that’s about it.

I disagreed…

1.) As much as I love Taza, he should’ve died and not be able to live his life as a nomad. Killing Riz was the start of all of this! Literally lead to the civil war between the Mayans, the war with the Sons, and the cartel. It should’ve been done back when the Mayans showed up in Santo Padre. I don’t understand how he got off scot free.

2.) Miguel, Ez, and Angel not knowing that they’re brothers! What was the point of all that if they were never going to find out? It should’ve been addressed a lot time ago in Season 3 or 4.

3.) Killing Sofia. I’m sorry, but this was bullshit to me. She didn’t know EZ worked with the Feds. If they’re going with the whole “she’s a liability” route, the same applies to Angel. I would have loved to see Angel take her and Sally. They could’ve both gone out, start a new life, and raise their kids together.

4.) NOT KILLING POTTER!! Omg this man is like a cockroach! Potter should’ve definitely been a goner and Miguel be the one to take him down with Devlin. Katie/Kody could have taken his place or Devlin a la Agent Stahl and haven them focus on the Mayans.

5.) Speaking of Devlin, if they were going to get Miguel out of the way, I would have loved to see Emily work out some sort of deal with her to ensure Miguel spends the rest of his life in prison and pull a double cross rather than kill him.

6.) Angel not knowing Luisa/Adelita is dead. I would’ve have loved a scene with Mini showing up somewhere and telling Angel everything. Well maybe minus the part where she was the one who killed her.

7.) If Isaac was going to die this whole time, why did Hope have to? We should’ve seen Hope and Letty halfway to Ohio or the Broken Saints take them in.

8.) ATF busting in and killing the whole charter!!! This would’ve been a great ending if it was just a season finale, not a series finale! We should’ve at least seen a few members (Gilly, Hank, Bottles, Nestor, and Guero being cuffed) .

#Mayans MC #mayans mc spoilers

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mellowsaturns · 2 years ago

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you call it love but all i’m left with is this pain

LLOYD HANSEN X READER

warnings: dark themes, angst, fem!reader, unhealthy relationship, age gap, manipulation, gaslighting, lloyd being an asshole, slight mentions of six & reader, mentions of kidnapping and murder and death of parents, interrogation, codependency

word count: 1.4k

summary: after running away from lloyd hansen, he finds you and reminds you that where you belong was with him, always.

masterlist

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The first thing you took note of when you started gaining consciousness was the loud ringing in your ear, aggravating your growing headache. You groaned, eyes slowly opening and closing at the blinding fluorescent lights.

“Morning, sunshine,” a voice called out. A voice that had you alert and awake in seconds. A voice belonging to no one other than Lloyd Hansen. He stood in front of you with a sickening smile on his face, and everything from last night came rushing back. He had somehow found you and took you—your efforts at fighting him off useless.

You tried to protest but your words only came out as muffled cries as you realized you were duct taped and bound.

He smirked before ripping the tape off, earning a painful cry from you. “What do you know about Sierra Six?” he demanded, tone changing in a matter of seconds.

“What the fuck? Are you insane? Let me go!” you screamed as you squirmed in your seat, the tightness of the rope digging painfully into your wrists and ankles.

“Let me ask you again sweetheart,” he said, patience running thin. “Sierra Six. What do you know about him?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” you deadpanned.

“Really?” he hummed. “Intel says otherwise,” he said, grabbing the file from the table and throwing it towards you.

“I have to give it to you. You managed to fool everyone into thinking you got kidnapped when in reality, you ran away. Who woulda thought?”

You glared at him.

“You can change your hair all you want, but I will always know it’s you,” he mocked, shoving a blurry picture of you and Six taken by security cameras in your face. “So tell me, what were you doing with him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “You know, the last time I saw you, you were more obedient. Always listening to me like the good girl you are,” he cooed, brushing a finger down your cheek and sending shivers down your spine.

Last time. It’s been a month since you ran away from Lloyd. A month since Six found you scared and shivering like a stray cat on the streets while he was on a mission and took you in and helped you, where an unexpected friendship developed between two broken people.

“Now,” he whispered, “now you’re a brat.”

“It was all your fault,” you spat.

“My fault?”

“Have you ever asked yourself why I did it?”

His jaw ticked.

“You’re insane. When they find me—” you paused.

He smirked. “Pumpkin, no ones finding you. Not even the son of a bitch you’re trying so hard to protect.”

And sadly, you know that's the truth. You could be anywhere right now, could be in any one of Lloyd’s untraceable bunkers.

You pulled at your restraints. “Why are you doing this?” Why didn’t you just let me go?

“I’m doing this to protect you.”

You scoffed, “Protect me? Go fuck yourself, Lloyd. You have never cared about me.”

“You know that’s not true. I care about you. You know I love you.”

I love you.

“Is this what you think love looks like?”

Maybe once upon a time, when you were young and naive—when you got too easily swayed by his sweet talk and promises—you would have believed that what you had with Lloyd was love.

And because you were a lovesick fool, you only saw what you wanted to see. Because the Lloyd you loved was also the Lloyd who had constantly hurt you.

Then you found out what he really did—who he really was—and that was the final straw.

All those nights when you voiced out your insecurities at your inability to form relationships with other people and his reassurances of: Don’t worry about them. I’m here. I’m always going to be here—when he was the reason your own friends disappeared, never talking to you again and why everyone you befriend suddenly goes missing.

All those nights when you cried about your parents and his reassurances of: They weren’t good people anyways, always neglected you. I’ll take care of you from now on. You have me—when he was the reason they’re gone, an unfortunate car accident the police told you. You never noticed the smug smile on his face as he held you tight to his chest.

Everything was a lie.

And that’s when you realized Lloyd never really loved you, not in a way you thought. What he really loved was your innocence, how easy you were. He was obsessed with you, obsessed with molding you into whatever he wanted—his sweet little pumpkin he would always say—where the bruises on your neck and fingerprints on your hips were the only reminders of his love.

“If this is not love, what is it?”

“It’s obsession you fucking psycho!”

“Watch your fuckin’ tone,” he snarled, nostrils flaring as he grips your jaw. “I spent a month killing everyone who played a role in your supposed abduction. Do you know how much blood was spilled because of you? How many nights I stayed up trying to find you? Everything I do is for you. Without me you would be dead. Is this not love?”

You flinched at his familiar tone, tears already pooling along your waterline and threatening to spill. You hated the control he still has over you.

He sighed. “The world’s a dangerous place, pumpkin,” he said, voice softening. “I only took care of everyone who wanted to hurt you. Remember what I told you? They weren’t any good. Don’t want the best for you like I do. And that includes the man you’re trying to protect. So tell me,” he coddled, holding your face in the palm of his hands, “what do you know?”

“What are you going to do to him?” you whispered, voice quivering.

“That doesn’t concern you,” he said, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, “you just need to know that no ones gonna love you like I do.”

Even after everything, you hated how you still clung onto his words. That somehow, even away from him, he was all you ever saw when you closed your eyes; heart aching in pain, heart mending in comfort all because of him—because he was all you’ve ever known. Love was pain.

“You have to promise me you’ll untie me if I tell you. And… and please don’t punish me for running away,” you begged.

Lloyd was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “’Course,” he stated, knowing he had bigger things to worry about right now, “you have my word.”

“He… he’s going to Prague right now. That’s all I know. I promise,” you said, defeated. You hoped he really was uncatchable like he claimed he was.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, patting your head.

After sending a quick message on his phone, he made his way over to you and untied the ropes, looming over you. Taking your wrists in his hands, he rubbed gently, trying to soothe the pain. “You know I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he sighed, “but you know the rules,” hinting to the scratch on his face, the only harm you were able to inflict on him when he came for you.

“Bad girls get punished,” you finished like you always do. But really, this was just his way of reminding you of the power he has. To never leave him again. That today was a mercy. That he will always find you.

He nodded in approval, happy that remanents of him still remained. “That’s right. It’s also for your own good, you understand?”

You nodded slowly, earning a proud smile from Lloyd.

His smile was more sinister than you remembered.

He led you outside to the bare, empty and dead silent surrounding. “Take her back home,” he demanded to the figure leaning against the car, whom you recognized was Nick Fowler—the only person Lloyd trusted with you—you think you’d be seeing him plenty now.

“Got some business to take care of. I’ll be back for you, my sweet little pumpkin,” he promised while grabbing your hand, rubbing your pinky where your matching signet ring used to be.

He kissed your forehead before you got into the car. And as you faded from view, he smiled, knowing he won once again like he always does.

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a/n: for all my nick fowler apologists out there, i hope you liked the cameo ;)

#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #chris evans x reader #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen one shot #lloyd hansen angst

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erictmason · 2 years ago

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“BOUND FOR FREEDOM, YEAR FOUR, DAY FOUR: “Steel”

“Steel Souls”

((TW: SUICIDAL IDEATION, MENTION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS))

“I wanted to kill myself. Do you remember that?”

It takes Sally a moment to respond. Her glowing eyes remain distant at first. But eventually, slowly, her glassy gaze shifts to Sonic, who sits right across from her. “When I was Roboticized,” the hedgehog continued. “After I’d gotten my free will back.”

He stretches his hand out a bit, fingers flexing forward...re-enacting an old memory. “I could remember all the terrible things I’d done, all the friends I’d hurt. Didn’t matter if I’d been in control of myself or not...it was still me. It still felt like my fault.”

Sonic pauses to look at Sally. Her robotic form sits limply on the ground, like a puppet without strings. But those eyes...they remain focused to him. The hedgehog knows now, he has her attention. Because he knows what he’s saying sounds all too familiar to her. “For a minute there, I really thought about givin’ up,” the hedgehog continues, his hand still outstretched. “I’d been pretty roughed up, so I thought maybe I could just...turn it all off at that point, y’know? Didn’t feel like it woulda been that hard.”

For a moment, Sonic closes his eyes to really let the memory rise to the surface. Computerized vision, filled with waves of static and cracked glass...electricity crackling out of control up and down a metallic frame...joints and bolts all bent and broken. It was just about as near death as the Freedom Fighter could ever recall being...as near to the edge as he had ever gotten. One last step really would have been all it would have taken.

But.

“Only I didn’t. Even though I felt like I should...like I had to...I didn’t.”

He opens his eyes and looks right at her, leaning over and letting that open hand wrap around those steely claws. “’Cuz you were there,” he tells her. “Holding onto me. Cryin’. Beggin’ me t’stay. So I stayed.”

There is motion in Sally’s robotic body then. Brief, slight, just a little flicker of her hand. But Sonic sees it, and it drives him. “And I’m so glad I did,” the hedgehog tells her, pressing their heads together gently. “’Cuz once I did...once I stepped back from that edge...suddenly it was like I couldn’t even remember wantin’ t’go over it in the first place anymore. And from there, it was easy t’keep steppin’ back more ‘n’ more...t’find my balance again.”

Again, a flicker of motion. Her head, angling up just a little to better meet his. “Right now...I know you’re in a bad place, Sal,” he says. “Real bad. Maybe even worse than I’d been. But...”

He wraps his other arm around her. Gives her a moment to react. Gently pulls her closer. “Please. Please hold on. Give me...give yourself...that chance.”

And then...the princess speaks.

“...I don’t...I don’t know if I can....”

Her voice echoes with that metallic tint, but the words are a whisper. They are her first words in several days. “Part of me wants to believe you...” she says. “But another part of me...all it can feel is the Hurt. All it can hear is the crying.”

A shudder passes over Sally then. Sonic’s instinct is to tighten his grip, but instead he lets it pass, even as he does not let go. “You said...for you, that feeling passed...” the princess says. “But...right now...I look back. I look forward. And this...” There is a strange break in her voice then, a distortion that warps its sound for a moment. “This anguish is all I can see...all around me...all inside me....”

“Do you see me?” Sonic asks, his hands moving to cup her cheeks.

It takes the robotic squirrel a moment, her head again moving just slightly so her eyes can best see his. And as she sees the tears brimming in his eyes, dotting his cheeks, she answers, “...yes....”

“Then hold onto that,” he tells her. “Hold on to knowing that I want you to stay.” He keeps going, voice strong and shaky at the same time. “I don’t want a life without you in it, Sal. Without even the chance of gettin’ you back. So I am begging you. Please. Don’t give up. Stay with us. Stay with me.”

They stay like that, together, still. Until, finally, her arms lift up and find their way around him.

“...I’ll try.”

#sonic the hedgehog #archie sonic #sally acorn #sonally #Mecha Sonic #mecha sally #fan art #boundforfreedom #tw: suicidal ideation

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sortasirius · 4 years ago

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“Unity” and the Broken Boys

BOY Y’ALL BETTER SIT DOWN BECAUSE THIS IS AS LONG AS CAN BE AND I TOOK OFF WORK TOMORROW SO I’VE GOT TIME

This is....one of the best episodes in the show. Yeah, in all 325 of them, this is hands down one of the best.

First of all, stan Amara for clear skin.

That silent treatment babey, right out the gate with the Angst. Tbh Dean deserves it.

“Like I said, killing Amara, Jack dying...that’s the only way.”

“The only way. Our one shot. Our Last chance. You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

“We don’t have to like it, alright? But you and me, we gotta get it done.”

Amara is such a welcome energy in this whole episode. She’s warm and understanding, whip-smart and probably more powerful than Chuck. I love her.

Sam is a wonderful, understanding, loving dad. I love him eternally. He loves Jack so much, he’s trying so desperately to do what’s right for Jack but also what’s right for the world. Jack made this choice, but he can’t live with it. How do you support your child when their life is at stake?

“Come on man. Blindly following orders, lying to Amara, sending her to her death. Does any of this feel right to you??”

“It doesn’t matter how we feel! You know what? Stay. Stay. Someone has to be the grown up here.”

“Yeah well someone has to keep fighting for Jack!”

“He knows what he signed up for!”

“Last I checked, we don’t give up on family.”

“Jack’s not family.”

Y’all should have heard the noise I made. What a fucking line.

“I know how you feel about the kid, I care for him too, I do, but he’s not like you. He’s not like Cas. He’s just not.”

“I’m- I’m ready.”

You can see the regret, the heartbreak in Dean’s eyes. You can see how he wants to take those words back the moment he said them, and for Jack to hear them? It’s unthinkable.

Sam and Cas I’m just so fucking emo dude.

“Sam, you stayed behind to find another way huh? I woulda done the same.”

AMARA

First of all, LOVE this structure.

Amara and Chuck have such a fascinating dynamic. Rob and Emily do a great job (as they have all along) by clearly being siblings but...heightened. You can just tell they both exude power, and the other is the only one they consider an equal.

“You and Dean had that whole weird...thing.”

“That wasn’t you writing?”

“Ugh, not that part. Gross.”

What I took away from this is what I’ve suspected all along. They HAVE free will, just not total free will. Dean and Amara’s connection wasn’t Chuck, there are parts of the story he didn’t write. Obviously, this comes into play later.

I also have a hunch that Chuck doesn’t write romance. I also think that in particular will come into play.

“Balance. Something we’ve never tried before. Creation and destruction, light and dark, brother and sister united again, but on behalf of one world, this world. True balance. The way it was always meant to be. But you can’t. You only care about your pleasure, your story. Well, I guess that makes you the villain.”

“Villains get all the best lines.”

We see again and again this season, Chuck is irredeemable. He doesn’t care about the angels, he doesn’t care about the world, he doesn’t care about anything. He is a petulant toddler who has broken his toys. And when he realizes he’s trapped, he gets angry, he shouts and screams, completely at odds with Amara’s peace.

“You can’t hold me here forever.”

“I can hold you long enough.”

DEAN

Pain is the name of the game in this section homies. Because not only are we dealing with Dean’s pain, we’re also dealing with Jack’s. Jack says he understands why Cas and Sam mean more to Dean, but Dean clearly doesn’t, he, once again, wants to say more, but is stopped, still stopped by his fear: his fear of not beating Chuck.

Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals. Let’s talk about Adam and Seraphina.

Adam. The first man. And Seraphina. The angel.

“My old lady. She’s the only one who could put up with me all these years.”

Yeah okay. Volume at 100 I get it lmao.

But also: Adam wants God dead not because he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but because he went after their sons. The theme of protecting the children strikes again.

“Killing God is your plan?”

“Yeah, Billie’s been giving us a hand but Sera and me, this is our baby.”

This juxtaposed directly with Dean’s own pain at what he has to do to kill Chuck, to gain his free will: the cost of his child.

Adam’s rib.

And who else might get his ribs hurt, only to be likely healed by an angel?

It’s fine, that’s fine. I’m fine with that.

“Jack, I don’t know how to explain it but, when I found out about Chuck, it’s like I wasn’t alive. Not really. You know like my whole life I’ve never been free, but like really free. But now? Now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life, without all this crap on our backs. And that’s, that’s because of you. So, I want to say, I need to say...thank you, Jack. Thank you.”

I’m gonna have to do a separate post about just Dean in this episode, because there is so fucking much to talk about, but there are a couple of things that I think are important: Dean realizes how wrong he was, to say what he said. He knows that it’s not true, this is the way he’s always coped with loss, by pushing the person to be lost away, but for Jack to hear it? He can’t stand for that.

And:

Dean has finally pushed through the barrier. He won’t be quiet in the face of his doubts anymore. This is a breakthrough for him, and, of course, there are more to come.

SAM

Sam and Cas, my chaos duo.

The box, the inscription, the door.

Death’s library, filled with dead reapers.

And there it is. The Empty.

It tells Sam the plan, the plan for Billie to take God’s place. For everything to go back to the way it’s “supposed to be.”

This has always been the game, since season 13. This is the longest of long games.

Sam fuckin Winchester, lying his way out of a confrontation with the Empty like the legend that he is.

He comes back with a new purpose: to stop Billie’s plan, and here’s where we get to the heart of the episode and maybe the heart of the season.

“You hear that? Dean, brought to the edge of doubt. His sense of duty, his rage winning out in the end. And poor Sam, always gotta know everything. Can’t leave well enough alone. This is my ending, my real ending.”

The gun comes out, pointed at Sam.

Hmm...what did I say during 15x05? Oh yeah, this.

And:

Dean would never survive killing Sam, but he’s willing to do anything, anything to earn his freedom. His ending, where one brother kills the other and then kill himself.

Why, you might ask, did Sam not mention that the angels would be sent back to Heaven, why does he not mention Cas? I’ll tell you why, or rather, Becky will.

Plus, Dean looks back at Cas IMMEDIATELY when Sam says that, when he mentions Eileen, and THAT’S the first time he hesitates. He can’t lose Cas. But at the same time, he’s willing to do anything to have his freedom.

“Sam we don’t have a choice, Jack’s about to blow!”

“We always have a choice!”

You know me, just sitting here thinking about choice, the ability to choose, and how that translates to their free will.

And Sam...I don’t think there will ever be characters I love as much as these.

“I don’t care if Billie gets what she wants! I don’t man, I’d trade it all, I’d trade em all for Chuck. In a heartbeat!”

“What about me?”

“You’d trade me?”

“Chuck has to die. He has to! Otherwise he’ll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can’t live like that man, I can’t live like that, I won’t!”

“I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do, but you gotta trust me. My entire life, you’ve protected me. From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn’t always like it, you know? But it’s the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that was true. So please, put the gun away. Just put it away. We’ll figure it out, Dean, we’ll find another way, you and me. We always do.”

Okay I feel like this is going to be one of those scenes that I cry watching for years to come. Because fuck. After fifteen years they finally admit that not only did Dean protect Sam from Lucifer, but he protected him from John. John. On a par with Lucifer.

Dean and Sam have, for so many years, sacrificed themselves for the other. Dean’s demon deal, Sam and the trials, every season they have fought to see who can die the quickest for the other. But this? This is them fighting to stop the violence, to stop from killing the big bad. This is them growing, in our eyes, in real time. Sam has always been able to get through to Dean when no one else had a prayer, but for Dean to listen, for Dean to take his words to heart, to stop the hunt for Sam, for their family, that’s how you know they do have free will.

(Btw Chuck’s eye effect when he dusted Amara was sick as fuck but I’m emo for my boys so.)

Chuck knows it’s a loss, he knows that his story has, once again, been thwarted by the boys making their own choices. And he’s pissed, but in his anger, we get a bomb dropped on us.

“Spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from perdition”? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Also, just worth bringing up this one as well:

Every Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell. Every one told him the same thing. And yet, immediately, with this Cas and this Dean, something was different. Because what has everyone seen about Cas, from the moment he met Dean?

And there’s our endgame people. Laid out on the line.

But we ain’t done yet, fam.

We’ve talked about the handprint, but you know:

So there you have it, our prep into the “monumental” 15x18. I have spec on that, of course, but I think a novel is long enough for this.

What to take away: Dean’s rage was always Chuck’s plan, they do have free will, their love for each other, for their family, is what will stop Chuck’s control, Death is about to come back with a vengeance, Cas’ deal is at play, and, most importantly, Castiel and Dean Winchester are a blind spot for Chuck, something he has never, not once, controlled.

#welcome to my essay lmao #supernatural #spn #spoilers #my meta #spn 15x17 #destiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #castiel #amara #chuck shurley #lilly liveblogs supernatural

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nn1895 · 2 years ago

Text

AU August Fic 27

Adoptive Family

I tried to do something a little different here and I’m not sure if it worked how I wanted it to.

Warning: Discussions, but no depictions of terminating pregnancy, torture, trauma

Prowl was woken by the cry of a sparkling. He pushed himself up and squinted at the door and the crack of light underneath. Either he was waking up very late or someone had broken in and left a sparkling.

Again.

Prowl rolled off the cot with a thud. Ow. It wasn’t great for doorwings - too hard and too narrow. He wasn’t going to waste credits on trying to fix it - it was supposed to be a temporary situation.

He wasn’t high on the list for housing with the New Cybertronian Restoration Act. He technically could recharge in the backroom of his office - on the awful cot - and he had no dependents. Prowl understood. Still, it made it difficult at times to separate work and home when your home was your office.

Prowl opened the door ready for almost anything.

He was not ready for a mech, dinged and scratched to the pit, covered in uneven welds, with obvious spy mods running, holding one of the smallest sparklings Prowl had ever seen.

Prowl paused and pulled up his battle computer - something he hadn’t used since his days as an enforcer before the war. He was going to need more than just his social service degrees to walk this path.

“Hello,” he said softly, servos soft and open, arms loose by his sides in plain view.

The mech turned and looked him up and down, keeping the bitlet close to his chest and out of sight.

“‘M not that bad, mech,” he said with a tired grin. “Ain’t gonna shoot ya.”

Prowl nodded, but didn’t change his posture. Bots often thought they were in control, whether or not it was true. He took two slow steps and sat down in his office chair so he wasn’t towering.

“I am Prowl, what help do you need?”

The mech laughed, harsh and loud. His visor flashed and shorted out briefly. Prowl caught sight of the mech’s optics - and pinged Rung to see if he was available today.

“Ya don’t pull any punches, do ya? I’m here ta - ta - I read about ya in the papers on the shuttle here. It says ya straight. Helm of Protective Services, right? I need - I read about ya instituting the new laws for fosters and the new support laws for families. Sounded good mech, real good. I thought, if I could trust anyone ta -”

As he spoke the mech’s optics darted around the room in a pattern - door, vents, backdoor, vents - over and over again.

As he spoke he stroked over the tiny helm resting against his torso. There was a miniature yawn and the tiny open mouth revealed equally tiny fangs.

“I’m here ta - I’m - frag.” There was no heat in the curse, just exhaustion. Prowl decided it was safe to nudge him a bit.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and work your way up to it?” He knew why the mech was here.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘M Jazz, well, I was Commander Jazz during the war. Spec Ops Helm for most of it. Tried to keep ourselves to ourselves and there weren’t much of us ta begin with.” He shifted on the couch and tucked one leg under himself. Good, he was prioritizing comfort over the ability to make a quick escape. Prowl started writing his initial report for Rung.

“We were running a last mission, just me an’ a couple of the others. Everyone who hadn’t already been called back. It was a really weird mood, ya know? We were so close ta the end, an’ so scared we wouldn’t make it - well. Had a bit too much high grade and a bit too much thinkin’ and one thing led to another. Nothing woulda come of it - wasn’t like that.” His voice trailed off. Had he wanted it to be like that?

Jazz shook himself slightly.

“They were my friends and my bots and the people I was supposed ta take care of. Mission went wrong and they got killed and I got caught.” He looked up an waved a servo at Prowl. “Wasn’t my first time gettin’ caught or hurt or anythin’ like that. I got the training and the mods ta withstand a lot. More ‘n any of them would have so…probably better they didn’t get caught.”

War logic, Optimus and Rung had called it. Impossible situations that required a twisted logic to get through.

“So they go through all the regular stuff - guess it wouldn’t be regular to ya,” Jazz said and flashed a true smile at Prowl. Prowl returned it. Jazz’s voice was turning even and his frame was relaxing. Going into ‘report mode’ most likely. His servos never lost their gentle attention.

“Didn’t realize I was carrying until one a’ them wanted ta see my spark. They liked that sort of thing - thought it ‘demoralized me’ and slag. I tried to slam it open - show ‘em it didn’t matter ta me. But I couldn’t. Wouldn’t let me override it. I got them…distracted, with something else and when I was alone I ran a diagnostic.

“Our high-grade night had been productive!” He laughed and flashed a smile down at the sparkling. “I tried ta reabsob the sparklet, but I was too weak. My spark was startin’ ta destablize and without a medic, I couldn’t do anything.”

Jazz fell silent and Prowl could see his processor running - trying to pull him back into the memory, trying to re-solve all the problems he’d gone through -

“That must have been frightening for you,” Prowl said. Jazz jumped and looking around the room, his scan - door, vents, door, vents - starting up again.

“Yeah. Knew none of my mechs had survived an’ no bot knew where I was. Had ta get out before they found it, before it emerged and they could -” He was venting faster now and Prowl scooted his chair slowly out from behind the desk, watching his reactions.

“Jazz, do you know where you are?” he asked, stopping just a klik away.

“Yeah,” he panted, “yeah, mech. I’m here. Jus’ rememberin’ it all. So, ah” Jazz finally took one servo off his sparkling and rubbed it hard over the shoddy welds on his thigh. “‘M here. I got out - wasn’t easy, had ta weld myself back together after I got outta the chains -” that explained the welds on his joints, “- and got myself onto the plains ta hide while I waited for a shuttle. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time or a lot of fuel ta spare. I sped up the bitlet’s development as much as I could - probably why he’s so small - stealing fuel where I could. Shuttle came to restock the Decepticons and it got me ta a neutral port. Kept hopping shuttles until I made it back ta Autobot space. He emerged in the cargo bay of the shuttle I was stowed away on just outside of Rings.”

Jazz swiped at his optics under his visor as he neared the end of his story and Prowl inched closer.

“I heard about ya and how ya keep things on the straight and narrow and knew I had ta bring ‘im ta ya. Find him a good home, yeah? He deserves it.”

Jazz’s voice broke and he curled around the sparkling.

A complicated situation like this needed a complicated solution.

Prowl loved complicated.

“Commander Jazz, may I ask you some questions? I will respect whatever decision you make, but I would like more information.” He was in front of the mech now, close enough to see the flicker in his visor and the grief in the optics behind it.

“I can’ have him, mech. Not safe ta be around. Barely - haven’t - recharged in weeks gettin’ him here. I’m running a stabilizing program ta keep me from reactin’ too fast and hurtin’ him. I can’t.”

“Would you want to keep and raise the sparkling if you could?”

There was a long silence. Prowl focused on keeping his field calm and wide open. No judgment, no rush.

Jazz nodded.

“I wanted ta…after the war, but - Mech, I can’t.”

“Not right now, no. I agree with your assessment. You have just come out of a milinia long war, you were recently tortured, you are showing very obvious signs of PTSD and trauma responses. At the moment you are not able to care for an infant and I - please don’t take this as an insult - am not sure you are fully capable of caring for yourself.

“However, these types of situations are what the foster care system is designed for. If you do want to retain custody of the sparkling, we can place him in a foster home in the morning and you can stay in contact while you focus on getting yourself back to stable place. Once everyone is in agreement that you are well and capable of caring for a sparkling, we will look at setting you up with resources and a new habsuite.”

Jazz was shaking his helm.

“Nah, mech. This isn’t - I ain’t some civilian. I knew what I was doin’ and it was stupid, gettin’ sparked up so close ta the end of the war.” He was turning his face away now.

Powl rolled forwards until their knees bumped.

“Do you believe that emerging a sparkling was a punishment?” he asked, making Jazz’s helm jerk back up.

“Wha - no! He’s - he’s a good bitlet. It’s not his fault I was stupid -”

“Are you punishing yourself by giving him to us for adoption?”

“I - no?” He seemed to shrink more, pressing into the softness of the couch. “Maybe?”

Jazz hunched over. Then he leaned down and kissed the sparkling’s tiny helm.

“I don’t know.”

“May I hug you?” Prowl asked. His battle computer suggested that Jazz found comfort in physical contact.

“Yeah,” Jazz croaked, looking up, his visor flickering off to reveal his optics.

Prowl shifted so his legs bracketed Jazz’s and pulled him forwards. The mech trembled and Prowl squeezed him harder.

He used the sparkling words - it was amazing how well they still fit, even grown bots.

“You are not alone. You don’t have to figure everything out. Let me help.”

“Okay.”

The floodgates opened and Jazz collapsed into his arms.

0-0-0

With Jazz recharging in Prowl’s backroom cot, Prowl pulled a well-used sling from his subspace and settled the tiny - so tiny! - sparkling inside. The bitlet yawned and curled against him.

Then Prowl sat down at his desk and started making calls.

He set up a wellness check with First Aid in the morning.

He found two fosters that could take the bitlet long term - and right here in the city. He would decide which one with Jazz in the morning.

He made Jazz a set of appointments with Rung and set him up with some of the groups that met to talk about the war. Ironhide led what he called a “hit ‘n talk” training which was very popular.

Commander Jazz had lost so much to this war. He’d been alone. It was about time he got pulled back into a family.

And wouldn’t you know it, Prowl’s theoretical new apartment building still had a few vacancies according to their datanet site.

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #transformers fanfiction #jazz x prowl

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yourheartonfire · 4 years ago

Note

Oh here's a fun prompt! A person who has a super power to move super quick (mentally and physically though if surprised could zoom half a mile before blinking wondering what that was about) and the cook (waiter or fast food employee) at a local restaurant who starts to like them but also wonders 'how the heck do they eat so much??' (Could be a super hero, a stop motion animator or some person just really cramming for college finals at top speed but the dynamic seems fun!)

Thank you for the prompt- it was fun!

"So are you an athlete or what?" asked the waitress as she slid a fifth plate onto the counter in front of the hero.

The hero froze, fork halfway to her mouth. Typically there were more people in here, even at 2 in the morning. There weren't that many all-night diners in the city and this place was walking distance to the nightclubs. But it was Tuesday night and all the club kids must've gone somewhere else for their bottomless pancake specials. Other than the TV crackling late night reruns in the corner, the hero had the waitress's undivided attention.

"Uh..." the hero said, glancing down at the sweats pulled on over her costume. "...yes?"

"I knew it!" The waitress banged down her coffee pot in triumph, leaned back towards the kitchen window. "YOU HEAR THAT, EDGAR? I TOLD YOU THAT GIRL IS CARB LOADING!" The waitress leaned in with a knowing smile. "We figured it was that or something glandular."

"GEEZ, MARIE, YOU DON'T JUST ACTUALLY SAY THAT TO PEOPLE!" came a muffled yell from the kitchen.

"DON'T BE SO PRIM, SHE'S FINE," Marie hollered back, before glancing over the hero and narrowing her eyes. "Something wrong with the pancakes?"

The hero hastily shoved the forgotten bite into her mouth. Marie beamed. "So whadaya do, hon? Swimming, right?" the waitress went on without pause. "You're always all bundled up, and you got those wide shoulders and long arms like that weird fish guy with all the gold medals. Not that you look like a fish, hon. It looks gorgeous on you."

"MARIE WHAT IN THE BABY JESUS'S NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"WELL EXCUSE ME FOR TRYIN' TO BOND," Marie screamed back. "SHE'S BEEN COMING IN HERE FOR WEEKS AFTER HER SWIMMING PRACTICES, ALL ALONE LIKE SHE HASN'T GOT A FRIEND IN THE WORLD, AND I'M SUPPOSED TO IGNORE A LOYAL CUSTOMER?"

"Distance running, actually," the hero said softly, and immediately wondered why the hell she'd felt compelled to share that.

"HA!" yelled Edgar. Marie stuck out her tongue towards the kitchen window and grabbed the orange juice from the counter fridge.

"That woulda been my second guess," she said breezily, topping off the hero's glass. "I knew it had to be some kinda endurance thing, keeping you up late, getting you so hungry. You're my only lady regular who goes for the Bottomless Pancakes - and don't tell them, but you could eat those boys under the table!"

She cackled and the hero smiled woozily. This was way more social interaction than she was used to. Stupid overblown metabolism. She would finish this last plate and get out of here, before Marie started guessing at her name, age, astrological sign, who knew.

"So, we're gonna need a picture for our celebrity wall!" Marie asked with a grin. The hero almost choked on her drink. Yep, this was getting worse. "Come on! We're practically sponsoring you in calories-"

A blare of frantic music out of the TV blessedly derailed the conversation. Marie and the hero both glanced up as a hastily dressed news anchor flashed onto the screen in front of the reddish glow of live footage. "We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news. A high rise apartment fire has broken out downtown. Our chopper is on the scene..."

"Yikes," said Marie with a head shake. "EDGAR, ARE YOU SEEING THIS? That's not too far from here -"

Marie turned and the hero was gone, a few crumpled bills beside her plate. She stared at the empty stool a moment, looked back thoughtfully to the TV.

---

It was weeks before the hero slunk back to the diner counter, muttered an order for eggs and hashbrowns to the distracted waitress. The place was jammed, but it was only a minute before a plate of pancakes piled with strawberries and whipped cream slid onto the counter in front of her.

"I didn't order-" the hero started to say. The waitress waved her off.

"On the house, hon," Marie said with a wink and bustled off. From the kitchen, the order bell dinged dinged merrily.

Behind the counter, right over the coffee maker, hung a new neatly framed newspaper clipping: "Speedster Stops Fire, Saves Tenants."

The hero considered the frame for a long minute as the waitress rushed plates back and forth. And then she shrugged and took a bite with a tiny smile.

#my fiction #heroes and villains #hero and civilian #when central casting attacks #speedster #this is incredibly silly #no YOU want to be adopted by a brassy but concerned waitress who hooks you up with free 2am pancakes #100 #300 #500 #1000 (!)

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amor-immortalem · 3 years ago

Text

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever Ch.2

Warning: abuse apologizing, mention of past physical abuse, implied manipulation, abuse minimizing

Taglist: @mediocredetective

“Here you go Solomon,” Asmo says as they pass the phone to the sorcerer. “Arella says she wants to ask you something. I’ll be back.” And with that the Avatar of Lust took his leave, leaving their older brother with a look of confusion as Solomon moved away from where he literally had the second-born tied down so he couldn’t move. He turned his lapis gaze over to his younger brother who merely shrugged as he went back to chowing down on a bag of crisps he had raided from Purgatory Hall’s pantry.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know anything,” Beel said with a mouthful of crisps. “I’m going to head home too though. Dinner’s starting soon. Do you want me to try to save you some? It’s Lucifer’s night to cook.”

“Nah... it’ll just go to waste. Lucifer’s still probably mad at me so I doubt he’ll let me inta the house for the rest of the night.” The Avatar of Greed chuckles sadly. “So don’t worry. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

The Avatar of Gluttony nodded as he left and Mammon impatiently waited for Solomon to come back.

“I’d offer you something to eat or drink but it looks like you’re... a little tied up at the moment.” Simeon tried to break the tension in the room with the unhappy demon.

“Why did ya have ta go ‘n call Arella like that, huh, Simeon?” Mammon asks, eyebrows knit together in frustration. “I told y’all I was fine, my arm was just a bit busted was all. I woulda survived without her knowin’ ‘n now she’s gonna go off the deep end thinkin’ I need ta be saved or some shit like that when I can take care of myself.”

“She loves you, Mammon. All she wants is for you to be happy and safe. You know that.”

“All of ya are makin’ it sound like Lucifer just straight up broke my elbow for shits ‘n giggles when it was an accident. I’m the one who didn’t wait for him ta let go a me before I started pullin’ ta get away, so really it’s my own fault that it’s broken.”

“Yeah, but things like this seem to happen between you and Lucifer a lot- and I mean a lot a lot.”

“Yeah but... he loves me though. He only does things like this because he loves me. I’m his favorite and he just wants me to learn my lesson is all. If I wouldn’t screw up all the time this wouldn’t happen as often- o-or at all even. ‘Sides it ain’t like I’m the only one who ever gets punished. The rest of my brothers all get their punishments too when they screw up. It’s all fair.”

Simeon gave the demon a doubtful look. “You seem to be the only one who gets any physical punishment though...”

“Yeah, but that’s only cuz I’m a blockhead who just doesn’t learn his lesson. I mean the physical stuff only started within the last century- that's when my dear ol’ brother got fed up with wastin’ his breath. You’d think I’d learn by now huh?”

The angel tries to find the words to say what he’s thinking but he can’t, so he just goes about it in a different approach. No wonder Arella worries about him like this. His brother has him completely manipulated into thinking this is acceptable.

“You... you can’t seriously think that, right?” Simeon asks incredulously. “Mammon, this isn’t okay. Regardless of whether your brother actually loves you or not,

“He does,” Mammon interjects.

“He shouldn’t constantly be putting his hands on you for even the slightest of transgressions- especially if it’s due to something you can’t help, like your sin.”

“Of course, it is. C’mon, Simeon, who’re ya kidding? We’re demons! Our morals are different from those of the Celestial Realm or the Human Realm.... That’s just the way things are down here. Do ya gotta like it? No, but y’all gotta accept it.”

“Don’t you think you sound a little... how do I put this... brainwashed?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well... I just think maybe you’re so blinded by your love for your brothers that-”

“Hi! I’m back!” Asmo called as they lugged a heavy suitcase behind them. They plopped down on the couch. “Miss me?”

The pair just sort of regarded the strawberry blonde-haired demon as they sat next to their older brother.

“Goin’ somewhere, Asmo?” Mammon asks as he eyes the suitcase, “Wait a minute is that my suitcase?”

“Hm? Oh no, I’m not going anywhere. You are.”

“Huh? I’m not going anywh-”

“Well it was nice talking to you, Arella. I’ll untie him now so you can summon him. We’ll talk in a few weeks, yes?” Solomon promptly reentered the space, “Perfect- oh look Asmo’s back too. I’ll let you go then.” The call ended as Solomon undid the spell binding Mammon to the couch with a wave of his hand.

As Mammon stood, a portal opened up in front of him. “I’m not goin’ through that.”

“And why not?” the angel asks. “I thought you’d be delighted to have the opportunity to go stay with your human for two weeks.”

“Alone. Might I add.” Asmo smirks with a waggle of their brows.

“Shut up, Asmo!” The Avatar of Greed turned a shade of bright red, “Of course, I know we’d be alone! Who else would be there? But....”

“Are you scared Lucifer will be upset that you’re up there without his permission, Mammon?” Simeon asks.

“No! I ain’t scared of Lucifer! What gave you that idea, huh?!”

“You do realize you’re being summoned right? You don’t get much of a choice in that matter. Now, get going before you end up getting pulled through and hurt your arm again.” The sorcerer takes Mammon’s suitcase and tosses it through the portal, leaving the demon to squawk indignantly as he chased after it.

“You suck, Solomon!” Is all that could be heard from the other side of the portal as it started to close and the silver-haired human only rolled his eyes, chuckling amusedly.

“Have fun in the mortal realm, Mammon!”

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The one thing Mammon hates about being summoned is how nearly every time he goes through a portal, he nearly slams into whoever it is that summoned him if they’re standing in his way which is exactly the situation he finds himself in with Arella right now- not a good look for his image, it's very ‘uncool’.

“Hey,” Arella smiles as she wraps her arms around him once they come to a stop.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. I’m mad at ya.” The demon says with a deep scowl on his face.

“I’m sure you are. How’s your arm feeling? Does it still hurt?”

“I’m fine, Arella. Stop treating me like a kid.”

“Huh?” Arella asks, confused as she removes her arm from around him. “I’m... sorry?”

“Ya should be,” Mammon hums as he turns his back to her. “I told ya everything was fine. Ya didn’t hafta go ‘n do all this. I can take care of myself when it comes to my brothers so I don’t get why you think ya gotta get involved every time I get in a situation with one of ‘em.”

“I just thought... well I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re right.” She walked away headed to where the kitchen was to clean up the mess that had been left from the cup of tea she’d had before all of this.

“Huh? Whaddya mean by that?” The demon followed after her looking to continue their small spat.

“Exactly what it sounds like. You’re right. You can take care of yourself when it comes to your brothers and there really is no need for me to insert myself into the situation but I love you and I hate seeing it happen and not doing anything to defend you so... I’m sorry. If it offends you that much, I won’t do it again.” She says as she washes her cup and the other dishes she had left. “Do you want me to send you home after dinner?”

“I.... no- but not because I don’t want to go back and deal with Lucifer...” The white-haired demon takes a seat at the kitchen island resting his chin on his arms. “I only wanna stay cuz I missed ya...”

“I missed you too...” She rubbed his back as she leaned down to place a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m sorry you feel like I’m treating you like a kid... if you want to stay the whole time you can treat it... like a holiday of sorts.”

“Where are we anyway? I know ya said ya were sellin’ yer old house...but the air smells different. How far away did ya move? Are we still in England?”

“About that...” She looked away sheepishly, “I kind of told you a little white lie... I sold that house about a month or two ago. What I’ve been doing since then is house-hunting and all the things that go with buying a house in another country... We’re in Germany- Berlin, exactly.”

“You lied? Oh, you’re horrible.” The demon feigns a look of hurt as the human laughs. “But seriously, baby, why would ya move so far away?”

She shrugged. “Wanted a change. I can speak German so why not- it's not like I have any family to miss back in England, anyway.”

He nods at that. “So no one knows where we are?”

“Nope,”

“Not even my brothers?”

“Not even your brothers.” She smiled. “I told you: if we wanted to, we could disappear up here and no one would ever know.” She cupped his face in between her hands. “You don’t have to go back home if you don’t want to...”

“I don’t have to decide right now, do I? You won’t leave if I want to go home, right?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t ask you to choose between me or the Devildom- there's a lot to give up down there. You can think about it while we’re up here for the next two or three weeks and if you want to go home after then, then I will still be with you, okay? I just want to give you options.”

He nodded as he moved to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. “Thanks, Doll.”

“Anytime, Baby.” She hummed.

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Find more on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst #mammon angst #obey me mammon #obey me simeon #obey me asmodeus #obey me solomon #obey me oc #arella

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

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emotionalsupportshelby · 3 years ago

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Hi, I'm depressed it's almost 1am and I'm gonna blog my Peaky episode watch:

Episode: Series 4 episode 3

Let's go

My dad said Paul walks like a ape, and it's, all I see now... Like with both arms at the same time

Michael gives me so many mixed feelings but it's cute that his, adoptive mum showed up in the hospital

Village Michael was the best Michael

Does the adoptive mum know it was Michael's decision not to go back? She's out here, blaming Tommy, like babe... Tommy wanted Michael to go, he refused

ADA MY BABY

Polly counting the days she's gone without a fuck 😭 legendary behaviour only, you go be with someone unsuitable ma'am, we rooting for you

Hi Ada saying "behave yourself" is lowkey fucking hot

You never behave yourself Pol you go down with legends

Only Cillian could rock Harry Potter glasses with that Haircut and I am here for it

I'll make a post on this, later but Tommy needs a, woman like Linda, a women who gets him away for the Buisness

Im not a fan of Linda but Kate is gorgeous 😍

Why is everyone in this cast so hot though

No but I had to watch the Arthur and Linda, sex scene with my dad 😭😭 there's others but this is by far the worst 😭 I hate every time we get there 😭

"keep his balls empty and his belly full" Linda's mum >>>>

I hate myself for thinking this but I wonder if Helens hair drastically changed to this shorter one because she was going through treatment..it looks similar to my aunts, who went through breast cancer so I'm like 👀

Probably not cuz it's years before but.... Who knows

The paint fight scene must have been so fun to film... I love watching it each time

"I'm here as a lover of theatre" Me introducing my theatre nerd ass

I alwaud forget how good Adrien is in Peaky... Season 4 is one of my least favourite seasons but Adrien kills it as Luca even though I dislike his character in general

Arthur he had a fucking vote because it was planned to have the vote Just because you were getting fucked doesn't mean that stops

Arthur... John shoulda killed his teacher... Its not on you it's on his dumb ass

Kates smile is GORGEOUS

Arthur and Linda are a toxic relationship on each end and I hate that neither of them are getting happiness

She's trying to help you get out of the life which is damaging you Arthur, don't go Bat shit at her

100% found out that I've developed a new crush on Kate just now...can't wait to rewatch with this knowledge

"you have a lot of enemies" no shit mate... No fucking shit

JESSIE BABY HOW I HAVE MISSED YOU

and your muppet dress

You cannot say that that dress don't look like it's got muppet on

Ti's the Muppet dress..

Okay I made a post on this before but Cillians subtle yet heartbreaking acting when Greta gets brought up is a hyper fixation every damn time I watch this episode... Here's, my gif from last time

He looks so broken and I can't explain how much I love his acting choice there... Whether he even knew he was doing it or not

I'm so angry Jessie isn't coming back next series 😭

Her and Cillian had so much on screen (for lack of better word) chemistry and I'm sad we won't get any more of it 😭

Greta is still Tommys truest love and possibly his ownly love and I will go to my grave thinking that

Jessie/Charlie deserves SO much more love than she got and I'm forever bitter about how dirty she was done

Cillians acting in this scene is heartbreakingly subtle yet beautiful and I'm in awe

Arthur firing the bullet, I'm not a HUGE Arthur fan but he needs to go and get therapy and find happiness

Lizzie is under appreciated as the woman who isn't with Tommy... She is so much more than Tommy's wife

"Tommy said yes, Arthur said yes"

"but did God say yes" - I love Polly 😭

Finn trying to be in charge, bby no

As someone who has been to Blackpool... That is the happiest look you will ever see... I stayed at a hotel there for a con and it didn't even have a fucking window... We were in a box... I feel Tommy had the same experience

Lizzie, Polly and Linda arranging a girl for Finn gives more proof that he's fruity 🍓

"nice women don't do that sort of thing"

"yes they do, look at you" - we love sweet Tommy one liners 🥺

Hi if tommy wants to take me to the docks Id love that because it's, precious as fuck 🥺

He is fully in his head fucking Greta here but its still a fucking sweet moment and I love it

HE PROMISED GRETA HE WAS GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD GUYS I CANT 😭

The way he goes back to talking business straight after having sex 😭 boy, rest dammit

"I don't want it like that ever again Tom" cuz you are interested in the other gender?

This scene woulda been a great one for Finn to come out to Tommy and I'm bitter it didn't happen, Steven recognise he ain't straight dammit

I remember watching the scene where Polly 'betrays" Tommy the first time and being so fucking pissed 😂 Still lowkey stresses me the fuck out

I always think I dislike S4 until I watch it and then I'm like damn... What a masterpiece ✨

Top 3 thinks I've thought:

1. Wow Kate is gorgeous and I hate that I've ignored it this long

2. Tommys romantic side who has his guard down needs to be shown more

3. It's not gonna be the same without Helen, I just pray they do it respectfully 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Ahhh that was fun... Hope you enjoyed my commentary 😂

(it's now 2am...oops 🙈)

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scathecraw · 3 years ago

Text

BBRae Week 2021 - Day 2: Poolside

All in all, it was not the worst stake out they could have been on. Sure, it was abysmally hot and she felt strangely more exposed in the one piece swimsuit than she normally felt in her leotard, but she wasn’t trekking through a sewer or pushing through the unwashed masses in a convention center, so the annoyances were comparatively minor. Quite frankly, most stake outs didn’t have iced tea, large, shady umbrellas, or loungers to lay back on.

Even Robin had started to relax after the fourth day of forced downtime while each of them took solo or paired turns watching the lone entrance to the resort. It was day six, now, and she could feel him try to muster up annoyance at the wasted time. Each attempt didn’t last long. It was interrupted by calm – Jump was being watched over by a rotation of heroes, pride – Batman had specifically asked for his help watching the site, and, of course, the roaring, distracting buzz of attraction towards Starfire’s bikini-clad form. Years into dating and he still couldn’t overcome the inertia of his awkwardness to just tell her how much he wanted her. It was almost funny, if there weren’t so much secondhand embarrassment.

Speaking of fumbling, she felt a whiplash sensation of joy from the shallow end of the pool where two men threw a pool football back and forth in increasingly challenging tosses for seemingly no reason at all. This particular spike came from the tanned, lean-muscled form of a disguised Garfield Logan leaping to catch a throw from across the pool and laughing as he fell back into the water. She tried to go back to her book – a popular sword and sorcery series that let her fit in with the crowd of what seemed to be honeymooning newlyweds and overwintering retirees. It wasn’t exactly her type of novel, but it had its own so-shallow-it’s-hypnotic sort of appeal. It almost worked, except for the satisfied hum of relaxed happiness blaring out of the carelessly splashing changeling. Typical of him. She glanced up at him again, and froze. He levered himself out of the pool with just his arms, back and shoulder muscles tightening and lifting him out of the water, rivulets dripping down and catching the baking sunlight. She stared, and a little voice in her head told her it was okay to stare. She wore dark sunglasses, was sitting back, away from everyone, and even if she was seen, no one would believe that Raven, staid, sober Raven, would stoop to ogling a teammate – more, her best friend.

She watched his arms flex and his torso twist as he hurled the ball back towards the unfamiliar form of Cyborg in his disguised, organic appearance. He threw his head back in loud laughter when Victor did something presumably juvenile and apparently hilarious, but she didn’t see or care what. Suddenly self-conscious, she looked back at her book and read a paragraph without absorbing a word. This was a problem. She didn’t stare. She never stared. At anyone. Perhaps the heat was getting to her.

She reached out and grasped her glass of iced tea in hopes of cooling her obviously heat stroke afflicted mind, brought the straw to her lips, and nearly dropped both the cup and her book when she felt a wash of something like Robin’s attraction to Starfire, but more raw, more honest and with absolutely zero shame or self-consciousness. Her head jerked up, and she barely caught a glimpse of blond hair turning away from her, lightning-fast. ‘Well, now,’ she thought. ‘That’s… different.’ Not exactly new, per se. She knew there had been attraction, in the past. She had just thought it had been left behind, like the rest of his impossible crushes. This was certainly not left behind though; it was fresh, strong, and almost immediately pushed into the background behind of all the other emotions that blared out like a lighthouse beacon from him.

It was possible, of course, that it could have been for someone else around the pool. She furrowed her brow. It was, wasn’t it? She wasn’t in anything particularly revealing, and there were plenty of other attractive women around. Maybe it was another vacuous crush on a passing blonde. Maybe it meant nothing, and she only noticed it because of how focused on him she was. Anyway, he was back to focusing on other things. She supposed, well, she supposed she could put it to the test. It wouldn’t be cruel just to test her hypothesis, and if he did have an attraction, it was important to know about it. For purely pragmatic reasons, of course. It wouldn’t do to have him get… distracted in a crisis. She smirked, then forced her face back into placid relaxation.

She set down her book, stood up, carefully positioned herself to place him almost entirely outside her line of sight, and stretched, arching her back and sighing. She expected him to look, and to feel the surge of lust washing out from him, but did not expect the Victor’s next Nerf ball throw to slip through Garfield’s frozen hands and smack him in the face with an abrupt *plap* and a pained grunt. The tide of emotion stopped and she whirled about while Gar clasped his hands to his rapidly bruising nose and waved off Victor’s concerned approach as he moved quickly enough through the water to make waves.

He attempted to wave her off, as well. “*Hrnk* ‘m fine, Rae,” he said, nasally. “Pruney hands just missed the ball.”

“Well come on anyway. You’re going to get blood in the pool,” she responded, waiting for him to rise and accompany her. “It can’t hurt to make sure it’s not broken.”

He looked a little defeated, but stood up in an acrobatic little maneuver of the feet that left both his hands stopping blood from getting everywhere. “Lead on, then, Ms. Doctor.”

She bade him sit on her isolated lounger and retrieved the pool’s first aid kit, then sat down accidentally just too close to him for either of their comfort. “Keep your head straight. I need to know if you managed to break it. No, not like that.” She reached out and with firm, but gentle hands steered his head into position. As she did, her forearms touched his shoulders, and the warmth of his sun-kissed skin surprised her.

She refocused, looked carefully at the slope of his nose from multiple angles and whispered “Shh”, then touched the bridge with an energy encased hand and drew the pain of the injury out, into her, and breathed it away.

Garfield seemed surprised, but in no way unhappy. He whispered back, “Thanks, Rae. Rob woulda been on us if he knew you were using your powers though.”

Raven smirked, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Any I’m not going to tell, are you?”

A sudden laugh burst out of Gar. “Not a chance. Thanks again, Rae.” With those words, there was a clarity of emotion through the normal chaotic, vibrant depths in her friend. It was simple, and direct, and honest in a way that neither of them was particularly experienced at. And his smile felt as warm as his shoulders did. He slipped his hand into hers and helped her up, and ‘God she had to have been blind’ was all that went through her head as he held on for just a heartbeat too long and an eternity too short, leading her up the path. “Now come on, Cy’s probably got a new surfer girl to chase, and I think you’ll like one of the more private pools.”

When his hand left hers, her step faltered for an instant before she caught up with him, walking side by side, basking in the warmth.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #fic

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

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62. you set off the fire alarm and I have a test tomorrow, and I might strangle you

Sternclay, sfw, please!

Why do fire alarms only go off in March? The one time Stern set one off (he fell asleep studying and the dinner he was reheating started smoking) it was in that endless stretch of time where the snow is no longer festive but will keep falling for at least two more months.

More importantly, who is responsible for interrupting his carefully planned out six hours of sleep before his midterm at eight this morning?

He stands in the freezing cold with the building’s other three occupants; the single man who looks like he stars in lumberjack porn and the girlfriends who live on the ground floor.

“Sorry” The other man mumbles, “I was making doughnuts and the oil I was using got too hot without me noticing.”

Stern runs a hand through his hair and keeps his voice low, “Why were you cooking with hot oil at three in the morning?”

“When I can’t sleep, I bake.”

“Can I suggest a less flammable hobby in the future?”

“Hey man, it was an accident. And it’s not my fault they stuck the fire alarm too high up for me to get to it before it called the fire department.”

“Too high? You’re taller than I am and I can reach mine.”

“My ceilings are higher and it was tucked between the cabinets and the roof.”

“Oh yeah, ours is in a super-weird place too.” Aubrey, one of the ground-floor neighbors, pats the offenders arm, “it’s okay Barclay, it’s just a little smoke.”

“That may be the case for you three, but I have an exam that’s worth thirty percent of my grade in six hours and I need my goddamn sleep.”

“Yeesh, man, chill out. They’re already waving us back in.” Aubrey points to the door of the three story house.

“I timed everything to optimize my sleep schedule so it actually is a big deal.”

Barclay glowers at him, “Look, I said sorry. But maybe get used to the fact the world doesn’t run on your schedule, mr. control freak, and fucking get over it.”

Stern keeps a smile flat as he bites out, “go to hell” and heads upstairs to salvage what’s left of his schedule.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The crash from downstairs comes at nine p.m; he has a huge day at his internship tomorrow, but Stern doesn’t hear any sounds after it, and he is not about to let a neighbor die on his watch.

“Barclay? Are you okay?” He puts his ear to the door, the heater drowning out all ambient noise.

“Nope, not really, agh, fuck, the doors locked, lemme try to stand-”

“Stay put.” He runs upstairs, grabs his wallet, and uses his debit card to trick the lock, “Shit, what happened?”

Barclay is clutching his forehead, blood between his fingers, and his ankle is swelling. “I got really dizzy, caught my foot on the couch and then my forehead on the table on the way down. Ow, fuck, it better not be broken” he growls as Stern kneels to look at his foot, “I’ve got a shift in six hours.”

“I can’t tell. You should get to a hospital; if it’s injured and you try to work on it, you might have an even worse fall.”

“Fuck, I’m not even sure I can afford the ambulance, let alone the fucking E.R.”

He knows Dani and Aubrey are out, “Any family in town, or a boyfriend?”

“No, if there I woulda called them.” He snaps, then tries for a slow inhale, “sorry, it just, it hurts-”

“I can take you in my car, that’ll be one less worry.” Stern helps Barclay up, gets him to his sedan, then tells him to hold tight while he gets something for his head. He ends up grabbing the first clean fabris he finds, which is how Barclay ends up in the E.R while holding a “Roswell, NM” tank-top to his forehead.

“Sorry to ruin your, uh, souvenir?” He mumbles as they wait for the doctor.

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, I know how to get bloodstains out of fabric.”

“That...that makes you sound like a serial killer.”

“If I were a serial killer I would wear things that could stain.” Stern winces, “sorry, I read too many true crime books.”

“I just don’t have the stomach for them. I like fictional mysteries but real ones?” he shivers, “makes me think an axe murderer is gonna break into my place. I mean, you did it with a credit card.”

“If you’d had the chain thrown it might have been another story. “

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Barclay shifts in the plastic seat, “you, uh, you don’t have to hang around. Know you got a rigid schedule.”

Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry for being so annoyed last week when you set off the alarm. I’m not always great at handling changes.”

“To be fair, doughnuts probably weren’t the best stress baking choice.”

“Did they turn out?”

“Nah. I’ll have to try ‘em another time. Did, uh, did your test go okay?”

“Yes. I, um, I got a perfect score.”

Barclay laughs, the sound like warm honey, and Stern blushes at looking so deeply nerdy in front of someone with a smile like that.

“Mr. Cobb? We’re ready to see you.”

The bearded man gives an slightly awkward wave as he follows the nurse through the double doors. Stern returns the gesture, pulls up the chess app on his phone, and settles in to wait until his neighbor is done.

-------------------------------------

Barclay comes out his nap the scrchh of a brush on tile. His first thought is that he’s so late for work he’s unavoidably fucked. His second one is who the fuck is in his bathroom?

His ankle twinges, jogging his memory; he got back from the hospital at 11:30, no stitches needed on his head but bedrest required for his ankle. He’d been contemplating how to convince his manager to let him shift from the warehouse to somewhere he could sit. Joseph raised an eyebrow and asked for his phone while telling him to go get into bed. All Barclay overheard was a polite, steely voice mentioning the labor laws in Dane County and how it’d be a shame if someone were to arrange an OSHA spot check. The last thing he recalls before falling asleep was Joseph telling him he had the next day off.

That doesn’t explain the cleaning sounds, though.

“Oh, you’re up.” Joseph pokes his head in from the hall. His hair is coming loose from his usual slicked-down style and he’s in a V-neck and sweatpants instead of the suit Barclay sees him in most days, “I hope I didn’t wake you; since you gave me the spare key I thought I’d check on you when I got back from my internship and leave you some take-out from the Thai place around the corner--you said the green curry was your favorite--but then I thought I should wait until you got up to see if you needed anything, so I, um, I cleaned your tub while I waited for you to wake up.”

Barclay isn’t sure what part of that is the most baffling. Or the most touching.

“Why the tub?” He eases his legs over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s satisfying. And I, um, I clean when I’m stressed.” He wipes his hands on the rag in his front pocket, “I was worried about you, and my internship was murder today. They’re mounting a case against one of the biggest employers in the state and everyone’s on edge.”

“Heh, kinda makes me glad I work at WalMart.” Barclay takes the crutch Joseph offers him and hobbles into the kitchen, “oh, uh, if you want to try some cake, there’s leftover cinnamon spice cake in the fridge.”

“I think I will, thank you.” He bends into the fridge and wow has his ass always been that nice, “can I grab you a drink from in here?”

“One of those pre-bottled Kahlua things in the door; have ‘em for a friend but one sounds good right now.” He watches Joseph open it for him, setting it down before he pulls out Barclay’s chair for him. Normally, the kind of fussing and light ordering around Joseph has directed at him makes him bristle. This last day, it just made him feel safe and cared about.

He could get used to this.

----------------------

“Good lord, we’ve even got a flood warning.” Joseph sets down his phone as rain attempts to pummel the house to dust, “Some days I wish we lived closer to one of the lakes but this is not one of them. Should we check to see if Dani and Aubrey need any emergency supplies for if we have to shelter here? I always keep more than I need.”

“Nah, Dani’s got a strong self-sufficiency streak; got her a bucket emergency kit for Christmas last year.” Barclay pops the cork on the Pinot Grigio they got for dinner, “and I don’t think they forgot your semi-drunk promise that if they ever had to run from a flood they had full permission to break open your front door to be safe on the third floor.”

“I meant it, drunk or no.” Joseph takes down the plates and portions out the carbonara; he’s been trying to cook when he has time, both because he likes it and because it gives him and Barclay something to talk about. Not that they need the help.

Things changed after the trip to the E.R; Barclay would bring Joseph fresh cookies or pie. Joseph would offer Barclay rides when their schedules overlapped. Barclay introduced him to his favorite trivia night spot. Joseph took some of his cookies to a worker-owned bakery where a former co-student worked, which led to Barclay getting a new job.

Now they see each other almost every day, whether that’s watching movies on Barclay’s cramped couch or joining Dani and Aubrey for board game night.

He’s pleased with how the pasta turned out, even more so with the fact that when their legs bump together beneath the table, Barclay doesn’t pull away.

They’re on the couch, chatting about the recurring themes in ghost movies, when the storm starts in earnest. The sky is so dark it may as well be nine at night, the lighting and thunder performing a cacophonous two-man show across it. The closer the thunder gets, the more Barclay tenses.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah” a thunderclap makes him jump, “I know it’s silly but I fucking hate thunderstorms, I have since I was a kid.” He chuckles, “my mom would always end up making a pillow fort for me to hide in.”

“We could do that now.” He offers, tapping his foot against Barclay’s own.

“Know this might be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always six-two.” The other man teases.

“Don’t count me out just yet. Wait here.”

It takes some precarity and most of his thumb-tacks, but soon he’s waving Barclay to come join him.

“Holy shit” Barclay laughs as he sees the bed and part of the floor in Joseph’s tiny bedroom are curtained in blankets, “do you ever half-ass stuff?”

“No one can ever prove I haven’t.”

“Uh huh.” Barclay climbs into the fort, “that’s Joseph speak for ‘no.’”

Joseph plugs in his UFO lights and follows him in, “I’ve failed plenty of times.”

“Not on this. Man, this is gr-” A thunderclap makes him jump, nearly knocking one blanket down, “uh, maybe if I…” He lays on the bed, Joseph deciding it’s the least awkward option to join him in that position.

“You really didn’t have to do this.” The green of the lights add a charming tint to Barclay’s eyes.

“I wanted to.”

His friend looks away, keeps his gaze on his feet as he murmurs, “How come you’re always so nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“It’s, uh, it’s not because you want something from me?”

“Of course not. Barclay,” he touches the cooks arm, “anything you’re thinking is a favor with an ulterior motive....well, it isn’t. It’s something I did to look out for you.”

“What if I, uh, I didn’t think it was favor hunting and was, uh, a different word that started with “F’?”

This time, when the thunder sounds, Barclay nestles closer to him.

“Oh, Barclay” he drapes a protective arm over his waists, “I didn’t mean it to be. At least, most of the time. There were, um, sometimes when I was more flirtatious than I’d have been if it were anybody else.”

“Do you...want to flirt more?” Barclay mumbles into his shoulder.

Joseph tips Barclay’s chin with his hand, brings their lips together as lightning flashes through the window. When he pulls back, Barclay’s eyes are wide. He kisses him once more just to see if he can make them entirely pupil, then whispers, “I hope we can do more than just flirt.”

“Joseph” strong arms slip below and across him, “fuck, babe, if it’s not flooded tomorrow, promise you’ll let me take you out tomorrow?”

“I’d like nothing better, big guy. In the meantime..” he rolls so Barclay is atop him, “I have some thoughts on how to keep your mind off the storm.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugly #taz amnesty

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spooky-luvur · 4 years ago

Note

May I request a Dutch saving male reader after a really bad argument from the Pinkertons and/or Colm and getting really hurt and barley just survives?

tw: violence, language

“Whoo wee, look at him, boys!”

“We got ‘em good!”

“Look at all that blood!”

Their yells make the pounding in your ears louder.

It was a simple run.

Why wasn’t it just a simple run?

You had a single gun when you ran into a few O’Driscoll’s a couple miles from town. You were only passing by on your horse when they started to belittle you and mock Dutch from the side of the road. They said a few things that didn’t quite settle with you, and so you jumped from your horse, smacked his rear to make him run off back to camp, and the next thing you remember is pain.

You weren’t even tied up as they kick you on the ground in front of some cabin in the woods. Your eyes are nearly swollen completely shut, and the entire left side of your body is numb. Were you shot? Stabbed? You honest to god couldn’t tell. There was too much blood.

Someone kicks you in the side and you groan. You couldn’t even curl up to cover yourself.

“Maybe you shoulda held your tongue, boy!”

“Maybe...” you choke out, the word sounding odd on your broken lips. “Maybe I woulda...if you weren’t so...damn ugly...”

There’s more yelling, and an even harder kick to your jaw that nearly makes you pass out.

“Why I outta-“

“Come on! He ain’t bloody enough just yet!”

One of the stinky men kneel down next to your head, using a knife to rip away the front of your shirt. It stings, because he manages to hit your skin as well with every rip. Like paper cuts that hurt like hell, only bigger and all over your chest.

More tears are forced out of your leaking eyes because damn it, you’re on the ground nearly dying, and it makes you so damn angry because you can’t do a damn thing about it. If only you’d taken Hosea’s advice and learn how to control your anger. He always did say it would be what killed you.

“Hell, if you had a cunt, we’d take you right here!”

You mentally throw up and probably actually do a little in your mouth as there’s a boot holding your shoulder down harshly, a knife drawing across your ribs, and a hand pressing and digging it’s nails into the several wounds across your abdomen.

“Go to hell,” is all you manage.

“You first-“

There’s suddenly more blood on you than there was a split second ago, and you feel as if your arm was detached from your body. You can’t even scream, it gets stuck in your throat. Barely managing to turn your head as the other men jump away from you with yelps of surprise, you see you’d been shot in the shoulder the man was standing on. Your eyes trail further up, meeting with the ugly grey ones of Colm. Oh how you wanted to rip his greasy hair from his head-

“Now boys, just what the hell are you doin?”

“Colm! We found one of Dutch’s boys mouthin’ off to us!”

“Well I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Mr. (L/n). Heh. What are you doin’ so far away from your king?”

“Oh, fuck you...”

Colm laughs and kicks you in your wounded shoulder, spurs cutting deep. You cry out, but can’t even lift your head. Cant use your mouth to spit on his boot.

“Save that for Dutch.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Colm.”

The O’Driscoll boys stumble back, immediately going for their guns on their belts. In just a split second, everyone has a gun pointed at one another. Oh, Dutch. My savior.

“I don’t quite like how you’ve been treating our friend, friend.” The controlled anger on Dutch’s face could make the Devil high-tail outta Georgia.

“Well I don’t quite enjoy your boys killin mine, Dutch.” Colm retorts.

There’s a moment of silence, of sharp end grey between the two men, before Colm’s eyes leave Dutch’s and see just how outnumbered he really is. Arthur is at one side of him, John on the other. Bill and Javier had circled around and taken a spot behind Colm and his men, Charles and Micah to the side. He was surrounded.

He realizes this, takes a deep breath, and slowly holsters his guns, quietly chuckling. Dutch does the same.

“Oh, what would you be without your boys, Dutch.”

“A lot more than you’d be, Colm.”

After they had taken off on their horses, you don’t think you’d ever been more grateful of the pain of behind lifted up and standing. You’d really thought you’d die on that spot of Gods green earth.

“Goddamn O’Driscolls,” John scowls from your left, grip tightening on your arm that had been slung around his shoulders. “I’ll kill ‘em. Every last one.”

“Same some for me,” you mutter.

It’s a long, hard trip back to Horseshoe. You can’t even open your eyes and see who gets you up off the back of Johns horse. You can only tell it’s one of the bigger men as you have to be lifted and carried over to your tent. You can hear Grimshaw fussing over you, shooing the others away.

But for Dutch, you can crack your heavy eyes open and look at him the best you can. The man lays a hand on your own, patting it.

“You’ll be just fine, son. Back to your best shape in no time. I’m glad we got there when we did.”

“Me too.”

He laughs a little, and pats your hand again before stepping away and letting Grimshaw work. Your eyes don’t leave his back until he’s out of sight. Dutch has saved your life yet again. You’d honestly do anything for the man.

Anything.

#rdr2 #dutch van der linde #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #Dutch x male reader #rdr x reader #Dutch Van der Linde x reader #Dutch Van der Linde x male reader

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

hc or ficlet of teddy proposing you amy again but this time jake decides enough is enough

(Read it on AO3)

“You’re probably wondering why I called you here.” Charles says in a deep, low voice.

“Are we not just having drinks?” Jake asks as he hands Rosa her beer and Charles his fruity rosé-tinted cocktail with a berry garnish.

“No! There are far more pressing matters at hand!”

Jake and Rosa clink their bottles together before the first sip, waiting for Charles to continue on his dramatic tangent, as he needs to do sometimes.

“Amy is going to a seminar in Staten Island next week.” He gives them both a deep stare.

“You might be surprised, bud, but I do know that.”

“Teddy is also going to that seminar.”

Jake stops mid-drink.

“I did not know that.”

“Neither does Amy.” Rosa cuts in. “Or she definitely woulda mentioned it.”

“He’s actually attended this seminar twice before, so I deduced that he’s not going for the learning material this time.” Charles leans back almost triumphantly.

“Yeah, it really doesn’t take a detective to figure that out.” Jake is trying to keep busy peeling the label off of his bottle, but Rosa can tell he’s clearly failing. There’s a furrow in his brow she’s rarely ever seen before.

“We have to stop him! He’s going to propose again, or do something romantic, or make a call-back to the seminar where they met, and Amy’s gonna get all confused-”

“My wife of four years and mother of my son is going to get confused by an unstable ex?” Jake’s voice is - bitter, Rosa thinks, is the best way to describe it, and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard that tone from him. Neither has Charles, it seems, because he backpedals immediately.

“Well, no, but- I mean- Amy is going to be upset- she’s been looking forward to that seminar and Teddy is going to ruin it!” He sputters, and Rosa can’t help but nod.

“And what do you suggest we do about that? We can’t keep Teddy from attending a work-thing, and I’m not going to stop Amy from going.”

“We can- we could kidnap Teddy just for the week, and then-”

“Kidnap a police officer.” Rosa interrupts again. “Because that’s gonna go over so well with the authorities.”

“Well then Jake can go to the seminar as well, and punch him out if he tries anything-”

“Yeah, because Holt’s totally not gonna be suspicious when Jake asks to go to a seminar that doesn’t involve some action training.” Rosa quips.

“I’m also not that big a fan of the idea of punching a man for, like, talking to my wife.” Jake grumbles, the label of his beer now completely gone, and only half-sounds convincing.

“It would be for love!” “It would be fucking creepy, is what it would be. Like I’m laying claim to some property or something in the most machismo-asshole way possible.”

“Yeah.” Rosa nods. “Amy’s a grown woman, she can tell him to fuck off herself, and she’s done it before. She doesn’t need us to bring chaos to her ‘fun’ little seminar.” She does sarcastic finger quotes around ‘fun’, but she also does know how much Amy is looking forward to this boring thing again - it’s her first time away from Mac on her own, and she’s planned her own trip just as meticulously as she’s planned for Jake’s stay with the kid, as if he has never taken care of his own child before, and kept her up to date on all of it in case she needs to jump in and help in any situation (which she won’t, but she might go over for a playdate anyway, just to see her godson).

Charles grumbles a bit more, something about ‘true love’ and ‘knights in shining armour’, but he drops the subject before their first round is finished and they can actually spend a nice evening together.

-*-

Rosa hands Jake a beer in return, once Charles has called it quits for the night because he has to go say goodnight to Nikolaj (Jake facetimed Amy and Mac instead and promised he’d be home soon, to which Amy rolled her eyes and said ‘Sure, babe. Tell Rosa to keep you out longer for some fun, please.’ the same way he had when Rosa had picked her up for a girls night two weeks ago).

“You okay?” She asks as she watches him peel the edge of the label almost immediately.

“Charles has really gotten into my head. I hate it when that happens.” He sighs as he lets go of the paper and drinks instead.

“Again: Amy’s a grown woman.”

“I know.” He’s fiddling with the label again after just one sip. “It’s just that all this Teddy-shit really does upset her. I mean, not in the ‘confused’ way like Charles said, which is bullshit.” The furrow is back for a second, Rosa notes. “But like… she just mulls it over in her head so much and it makes her feel like shit even if she won’t say it. I think the stunts he pulled at our wedding bothered her more than the whole thing actually being cancelled.”

Rosa nods as she takes her own first sip. She remembers Amy’s face when she realised Teddy was also at that stroller-contest thing she dragged her to. She remembers her face when they finally drove back to the precinct together too. She knows her friend, and if there’s anyone who knows her even better, it’s obviously Jake.

“So we gotta prevent that somehow.” She tries to continue the conversation without delving into Charles-level shenanigan-planning.

“”I just don’t want Amy’s first time off from Mac to suck because of some inconsiderate asshole. But I can’t exactly go along with her like Charles suggested, I have a kid to take care of, and also that idea is kinda insane.”

“Guess I gotta make sure it doesn’t suck, then.” Rosa finishes her beer and tries to ignore Jake’s gobsmacked stare at her. She doesn’t know when it happened, but at some point, apparently, she’s become willing to attend a boring seminar for Santiago.

-*-

Howzit goin

learn to write like an adult Peralta

also your wife will not stop talking about your kid

you love him

I do

but I don’t need updates on his bathing habits

no Teddy sightings yet but we’re also way too early because Amy. Keep you posted

Jake smiles at the text chain on his phone and makes a mental note to send her a picture of Mac in the tub later tonight, just to annoy her a bit more. Amy had handed the baby over to him at the precinct like she was going on a year-long world-cruise instead of just a five day overnight stay in another part of their own city, and Rosa had been standing behind her with her travel bag, rolling her eyes.

It had taken surprisingly little to convince both Amy and Holt that Rosa was actually interested enough in the seminar to join it at the last minute, and Amy had immediately included her in her itinerary, as well as offered to drive with her so she didn’t have to carry all her luggage on her motorcycle. Jake was going to owe her so, so many favours after all this.

The Mac-inna-tub picture only gets a grumbling emoji response, but she texts him again at around 9, when Mac is already fast asleep and he’s finally turned on Die Hard at the lowest possible volume to not wake him up again.

Teddy showed up

tried to say Hi (or worse) to Amy but I stared him away

going out for first day drinks with the group. I’ll keep him away. Maybe slip something into his drink.

why do I not question you having something to slip into drinks?

I can do more than just knives

don’t stay up all night watching all Die Hards. You gotta take Mac to daycare early tomorrow

Amy told me to tell you that

sure

and it’s only Die Hard 1 tonight

gonna spread them out over all the evenings

got one night left if you skip 4

The Holiday is on Netflix

you’re a good one Peralta

There’s no more updates until 11am the next morning, long after Mac has gone to daycare right on time, as he’s informed Amy via text to calm her down, and he was at the precinct only 15 minutes late this time.

Teddy pulled out the big guns

he had an actual ring this time. Looked expensive

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, and he wonders what he should answer before his phone pings again.

I broke the ring

and the box

also his hand (‘accident’ - have to say that for liability)

anyway he’s out of the seminar now I guess because he can’t write anymore

so no need to worry

Jake tries to suppress his grin by biting his lip as he texts her back, Charles already getting a bit suspicious over him smiling at his phone constantly two desks over. He can probably explain it away by claiming he’s been messaging Amy, instead.

You’re my goddamn queen, Diaz

Amy is

but I definitely own your ass now too since I have to spend 4 more days in this shit place for you

There’s very few updates the rest of the week (apart from several pics of Amy either working, drinking, or lying hungover in bed in their shared hotel room - Rosa has resolved to make the whole boring thing a whole lot less boring, it seems) even as he keeps texting both ladies with Mac-updates and Mac-pictures.

Amy is all smiles and definitely not upset when they get back to the precinct and he’s already there to pick her up and hand the baby to his excited mama, and even Rosa spares a smile for the two Peralta-boys after the week she’s had.

He sidles up to her as Amy coos over her little boy giving her a hug and hello kisses.

“I really do owe you one, Rosa. Thanks.” “Dude, you owe me several.” She growls. “At least I won’t have to do that ever again. I’d say Teddy’s out of the picture now.”

“Because of one broken hand?”

“Yeah, I visited him in the hospital when he was getting his cast on. To ‘apologise’ for the injury.” Rosa grins, and even her sarcastic finger quotes seem intimidating. “Not even he’s that stupid to try and come back.”

Jake raises his fist, and Rosa reluctantly bumps it before both turn their attention back to Amy, who’s already chatting about weekend plans and offering Rosa a ride home. She takes the offer, if only to play peek-a-bo with Mac in the backseat.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #peraltiago #jake peralta #amy santiago #rosa diaz #ficlet #my writing #academy dholes

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years ago

Text

Bragger - Dean x fem!reader part 2

Suggested by @rileynicole1967 based on the song Bragger by Kelsea Ballerini.

(Y/N) stared the vampires down, wishing that she had at least some sort of weapon on her.

“Stay behind me.” She told her parents, trying to keep an eye on all three of them.

“Listen here, you buncha hooligans” Her dad, pulled her behind him as she protested, “I don’t know who you vampire wannabes think you are but you need to get out of my house.” Dad’s big head was going to get them all killed.

“Don’t be the hero, old man.” The one in the middle looked around him to (Y/N).

“So, where is Dean Winchester?” He asked, “We got a couple questions for him.” Dad looked back at her, hands on his hips.

“They’re here because of him? He just keeps getting better and better.” He complained.

“(Y/D/N)!” Her mother glared.

“What? Are you trying to defend him?” He asked. The lead Vampire and (Y/N) made eye contact. He raised his eyebrows are her as if he were asking if they were really like this. She nodded, shrugging her shoulder. The vampire let out a deep breath. He reached forward, grabbing her father by the neck and lifting him in the air. (Y/N) and her mother reached out but were stopped by the henchmen.

“Old man, I think it’s about time you stopped talking. Man alive, if my daddy was anything like you I woulda killed him faster.” Her father’s eyes widened, swinging his feet back and forth.

“Put him down, it’s me you want, I can get Dean here.” She pleaded.

“Oh I know you can, sweet thing. I’m just wanting a quick bite.” His sharp teeth came down from his gums. Dad’s eyes widened even more.

“Then wait until you get Dean.” (Y/N) reasoned, “You capture Dean and eat them as a reward.” The vampire thought a moment then nodded, setting Dad back down on his feet.

“You make a good point. Why don’t you give him a call?” He tossed me my parents landline.

Dean his just been mindlessly driving around the small town, watching the locals go in and out of shops and restaurants. This didn’t seem like a bad place to grow up. Didn’t seem like a bad place to live. He wondered if (Y/N) ever wanted to come back here.

His thoughts were broken from his phone ringing, from a number he didn’t recognize. But this was the phone designated for hunters so it was someone he knew.

He hit answer, pressing the phone to his ear, “You got Dean Winchester.”

“Dean, it’s me.” (Y/N)’s voice crackled over the phone.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry-”

“Oh it’s fine. Don’t worry about the vase. Accidents happen.” He quickly glanced at the phone.

“What?”

“I know that you accidently knocked over my grandparents urn, but all has been forgiven.” Grandparents urn had been their code for vampires.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, starting to turn his car around.

“Oh and before I forget mom and I are gonna start making your favorite - red velvet cake.” She said gleefully. That was bad. Red velvet cake was code for hostage situation, need back up now.

“I’m on my way.” He gripped onto the steering wheel, hanging up the phone.

(Y/N) set the phone down and sighed, “He’s on his way.”

“Excellent.” The vampire reached out, holding onto her chin. His hands were ice cold, cold as death.

“I may just turn you. You seem to understand when you’ve been beat.”

“You get your dirty hands offa her!” Her mother shouted, struggling against the restraints they had been put in. While on the phone, her parents had been strapped to chairs from the dining room table.

“Lady,” The vampire pulled his hands away, “I really don’t like hearing lip from a lush.” Her mother gasped.

“You can’t talk to her like that-” Before her dad could continue, they were both gagged by the henchmen.

“Now...” The leader turned back to (Y/N), “Why don’t you let us have a taste, huh?” The vampire grinned, stalking forward. (Y/N) stepped back. He laughed.

“Aww sweetheart, don’t play coy.” He nodded for his other henchmen to move forward. The lacky came forward, grinning. As she backed away, her hand brushed the side of her bag. She stopped, subtly grabbing the syringe of dead man’s blood she kept there. When he got close enough, she popped the top and slammed the needle into his neck. He cried out and back away, stumbling back into the wall, holding his neck. He slide down the wall. The other lacky came around.

“Hey!” The henchman kneeled down and looked over his partner, “Deadman’s blood.” He stood up, stomping towards (Y/N), “YOU BITCH!” He stopped mid step, eyes wide. In front of the eyes of her parents and the lead vampire, the henchman’s head slid off and landed on the floor with a sickening thud. His body followed. In his place stood Dean with a machete.

“I told you those syringes work.” He grinned.

“Is now the right time for you to tell me ‘I told you so’?” She said in an exasperated voice.

Dean looked from her to the two vampires still alive, and the lead vampire looked pissed, “Right.”

The lead vampire growled, rushing Dean. Dean swung.

Dad and Dean drove the pickup truck to the dump with a trap covering the back end. Mom and (Y/N) followed in the Impala. Mom was fiddling with her fingers, very clearly having things on her mind.

“He’s not a fireman, is he?” She asked.

“(Y/N) shook her head, “Nope.”

“And he isn’t volunteering at a youth shelter?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re not a lawyer are you? You do what he does, kill monsters.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, “Yeah.”

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us-”

“Would you have approved?” She cut off her mom, “What was I supposed to tell you? That I dropped out of school and started hunting monsters? You would have had me committed.” When they made it to the dump, Dean and Dad had parked and opened the back of the truck. They were grapping the garbage bags of bodies and started a pile. Mom went to open the door of the impala.

“I wouldn’t, the smell is the worst.” At her words, mom took her hand off the handle.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Mom asked.

Dean and (Y/N) father loaded the last of the vampires bodies off the truck and into the pile. Out from his jacket pocket, Dean brought out a flask of lighter fluid and a book of matches.

“So, what if the cops find this?” (Y/F/N) asked.

Dean shook his head, “These bastards burn to dust. All they’re gonna find is burnt plastic.” He dumped the lighter fluid on the pile, then lit the matches, tossing the book on the pile that went up in flames. They both stared in the flames in silence.

“You married my daughter?” Her father asked. She must have told him when he left.

“I did.”

“Where’s her ring?”

Dean ran his thumb over his ring ring finger where his mother’s ring had been, “I proposed to her my mother’s. She wore it around her neck today so you didn’t see it and get upset that you weren’t invited.”

“Well, I am upset.”

“Sir, with all due respect and believe me I’m trying to even give you the respect that (Y/N) would want me to, I wanted to invite you, my brother did as well. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to continue to bring you into this lie, bring you closer to her so that you would be in danger.”

“She’s in danger being around you.” He sneered.

Dean glared, “Don’t you think I told her that?” That seemed to surprise him, “I told her that I wasn’t safe, that what I do wasn’t safe for her. I love your daughter, it killed me to push her away.” Dean looked back at the flames, “But she’s stubborn. Must get that from you.”

(Y/F/N) smiled a little, “Yeah, she’s a rock, ain’t she?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, “Alright, I’ll allow this... But, you guys gotta visit once a year. At least.”

“You gonna keep giving me crap?” Dean asked, looking at her father’s out of the corner of his eye. Her father thought a moment, sticking out his bottom lip.

“I’ll keep it to myself.”

Dean hummed, “Deal.” They shook hands.

“Bye, sweetie.” Mom grinned, hugging her. She was dressed head to toe in cleaning gear to start cleaning up the blood.

“Mom, I said I would help.” (Y/N) started.

“No, no, you need to get on the road. That’s a long drive back to Kansas.” (Y/N) hugged her dad. He pulled away, holding her cheeks in his hands.

“Now there’s my happy little girl.” He smiled. (Y/N) tightened her lips, tears in her eyes.

“Dad, come on.”

“Hey, hey, no tears, Mrs. Winchester.” Dean, who managed to get out of her mother’s arms and came over, shaking her father’s hand.

“I’ll call when we get home.” (Y/N) said as Dean walked her to the car.

After a few hours on the road, (Y/N) started feeding Dean cookies to help him stay awake on the road.

“These are so good.” He hummed around a bite. She giggled and fed him another cookie, he nipped at her fingers. She laughed, taking the cookie and biting it. With one hand on the wheel, the other hand taking hers, looking over her her left hand where her wedding ring was.

“I hated that you didn’t have this on all day.” He said softly.

“I know, Dean-Bean, but I was just afraid of what they would say.”

Dean chuckled, “I understand why. Your dad is so intense.”

“I know I’m sorry. But at least we don’t have to lie anymore.” She sighed, resting her head on the window.

Dean looked over, then back at the road, “Well, we die lie about one thing.” He poked her stomach.

----------------

Thank you everyone for reading, I’m sorry part two took so long. I just got caught up in another fic.

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Comment or message me below to be added to the general tag or a SPN tag.

@happy-little-winchester

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fic #maxineswritingcenter

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