#remember the vote is for john not the car

[javelinbk]

[clxja16]

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

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You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying.  It was the Austrian Grand Prix.  You looked around making sure that no one was in sight.  Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps.  You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door. 

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage. 

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.  

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit.  Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further.  You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.”  Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.  

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you.  You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you.  You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other.  “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.  

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS.  It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless.  Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team.  This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father. 

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars.  You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car.  You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships.  However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.  

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.  

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.  

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers.  “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11.  “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.” 

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.” 

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.” 

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now. 

-

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father. 

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom.  “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.” 

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.  

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply.  You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.  

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again. 

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.  

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.  

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you.  The seriousness setting in. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”  

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you. 

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before.  The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room.  Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own.  He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more.  You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer.  You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on.  Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home.  However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home. 

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room.  You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone.  It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events.  All events in which you had to attend.  

-

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather.  George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day.  This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track.  Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office.  You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.  

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie,  “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?” 

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.”  She gave you a perplexed look.  Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college.  He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position. 

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully.  “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive. 

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place.  “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.” 

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.” 

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”  

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch.  “Mamma, can I ask you another question?” 

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.  

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”  

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?”  She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie.  She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school.  She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you.  She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home.  And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.  

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.” 

“Who, sweetheart?” 

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie.  You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real.  “Charles.” 

“Leclerc?”  Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.  

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.  

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.” 

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.  

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are.  “This is serious.” 

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma.  He makes me very happy.”  You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.  

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look.  “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.” 

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?” 

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully.  You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you.  You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father.  Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.  

-

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well.  Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room.  The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV. 

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.  

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?”  You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.”  Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls.  I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.   

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?” 

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.”  You just have to tease him a little bit.  

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.”  And he always knew how to handle your teasing. 

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.” 

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter.  “y/n,” he calls.  It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.”  He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.  

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.”  Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound.  They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.  

-

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home.  Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.  

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack. 

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father” 

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.  

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.” 

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…” 

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all.  He makes me really happy.” 

“Okay,” your Father says.  You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.  

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.  

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife.  “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.” 

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.”  Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room.  “Toto, what is it?” 

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife. 

“What?” 

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships.  They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend.  Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.” 

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth.  She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.  

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.”  Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.” 

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles.  “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.” 

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.” 

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.” 

-

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement.  Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish.  Susie was pleasant throughout the evening.  Jack was just being Jack.  He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver. 

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie.  You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers. 

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments.  She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.  

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.  

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.  

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”  

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.  

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts.  He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.  

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers.  Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.  

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.  

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.  

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.  

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.” 

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up. 

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.”  You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out.  You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events. 

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.” 

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.  

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?” 

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.  

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide.  Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you.  She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles.  It's him or nothing.  

-

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix.  Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news.  You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news. 

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person.  What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious. 

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner.  As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team.  They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant.  Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.  

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered.  Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.  

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.” 

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.  

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation. 

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”  

Toto sighs, “y/n.” 

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.” 

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.” 

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?” 

“What?” Toto sighs, once more. 

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers. 

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.” 

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what?  So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?”  Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.  

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.”  Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.  

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”  

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.” 

-

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more.  Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you.  However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.  

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium.  As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you.  His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss.   He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy.  You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.  

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you.  When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first.  “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.” 

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say.  You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles.  “And you have a press conference.” 

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.  

“After that.” 

-

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row.  That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock.  That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages.  And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo.  Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.  

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family.  Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home.  That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.  

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma. 

“Toto, I don’t think this is right.  It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says.  Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.  

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from? 

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says.  You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.  

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice.  You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.  

There’s a pause.  It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer.  “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.”  There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.  

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.  

“After you pushed back on them.” 

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says.  Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like. 

“After Lewis almost dies!”  Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement.  “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed?  What if it was our daughter in that car?  I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.”  Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side.  You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly.  “Sweetheart…” 

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.  

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?” 

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.  

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?” 

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.”  You feel your break, as you start to cry.  “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked.  We worked to pull you from racing.”  

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing.  You promised that you would let me race.” 

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.” 

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.”  You walked away, racing up the stairs.  Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you.  You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.  

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.  

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.”  When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation.  You stopped packing your clothes.  Slowly you turned to face your parents.  “What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” your father questions. 

“What did you do to Charles?  Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing.  What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.   

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head.  “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing.  Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants.  I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.” 

You scoff at the revelation.  “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me.  This is rich from the both of you.”  

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.  

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again.  You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt.  Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love.  “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”  

When you do make it Charles’ place.  When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking.  Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?” 

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside.  When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly.  He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

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

Part II

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 16: In the Blood

📖I'm amused you guys voted on this one as the one that inspired DTDT. I wouldn't say this one was one of the big three, but it ended up becoming my inspiration for Jake's backstory.

Also, this was me after that last part: 🏃‍♀️<-🔱🔥

I'm so sorry I broke all of your hearts with part 15! They have a happy ending, I swear! We just have to get through the angst first... And Sadie... Oh dear... I cried writing this... so it's safe to say maybe bring tissues?

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child character, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, talk about break ups, talk about therapy, probably inaccurate dogfight descriptions (I tried my best!), Jake is going through it, Emotional & Protective Sadie (She needs her own warning), & Protective Bradley.

#6K words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 17

It had to be the shock.

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!" 

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down. 

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away. 

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win. 

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster. 

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 17 - Come a little bit Closer coming soon.

[worstvideogamesong-poll]

Worst Video Game Song Tournament - Round 3 Match 16

Title Screen - Ballz 3D (SNES)

VERSUS

Imp's Song - DOOM

FIGHT!

I would recommend listening to as much as you can of each song before voting, but how you choose is up to you! Remember to be civil in the tags and replies!

Propaganda under cut:

Ballz 3D Title Screen:

(none included)

Imp's Song:

"'This sounds like a smoke detector going off while a car sits outside with its bass turned up too high.' - Dan Ryckert, Game Informer. Listen from 1:12 for the jackhammer starting."

"john carmack had no idea how to program the genesis sound chip and it shows"

Feel free to add more propaganda in the tags and replies, or send it to me in the ask box and I'll try to share it as soon as I can!

[davekat-sucks]

I voted for Bro in the “who is the worst poll” because I assumed it is who is the worst “person” not who is the worst character or who is the character we hate the most (I can’t stand Cronus or Calliope. If you would have put Ult. calliope I would have jumped on that shit.) I voted Bro because of things Dave said throughout the story. One being Dave seems too into incest.

And there was something Dave said during Act 6 to Dirk directly. One of them being the “he shouldn’t have been around children” line. Then they added to the epilogue that Dave had respect that Dirk choose to end his life because Dave saw it as Dirk not wanting to be the person Dave warned him he could become and John undoing that choice would deny Dirk “his personal autonomy.” Even though I mostly ignore what the epilogue chose to do, I still think it had some relation to the original story. There’s even more things in the story that make me think Dirk is a predator too but I don’t want to draw this out any more. I still think it’s a strong possibility (I’m like 80-90% sure of this) that part of the story is that Bro diddled Dave before he turned 13.

Interesting. People had always thought of Bro to be a pedo. There's even an implication he had used Dave in smut filming with his puppets. Nobody ever thinks Dirk would have much predator traits. Probably because he is the same age as Jake and the others. At best, his actions at best seem more destructive (fitting for the Prince of Heart) than predatory. Some may think Lil HAL fits more in line with the predatory nature since the AI was also there to help execute and orchestrate the plans, even behind Dirk's own back. Would have love to put in Calliope or Ultimate Calliope, but I doubt she would get any decent amount of high votes considering the fanbase still believes she reps the "good fandom". Some even don't mind Ult Calliope taking over Jade's body. That's how much they hate Jade in general too. So then, may I ask this question. Why did Bro slice the meteor in half to save Dave when he needed to enter the game? Was it really just a moment in the flash to make him look cool? To save himself? Would Dave have entered the game after the egg breaks when the meteor struck?

Secondly, how did Davesprite escaped from Jack Noir after Bec got prototyped? Bro got killed by Jack after said prototype. Davesprite got wounded, but managed to escape. How? The likely answer was that Bro was able to protect him, even if Davesprite had sustained injuries. Which follows up on this.... Why? Why did he save Davesprite? What reason did he have to if he's not technically his brother from this timeline? And if one says that Davesprite ran away after getting hurt to leave Bro behind, why isn't cowardice or something like vengeance mentioned from Davesprite in the narrative by the time he joins with John and Dave in the ship? There nothing that hints of this even with Davepetasprite^2. Remember. Everything from Act 1 to Act 5 pre-Cascade, happened all the same. From John not getting the other present in Dad's car, Vriska creating the inevitable Jack Noir, Dad and Mom still dying, Murderstuck... everything still happened the same in both pre and Post Retcon. So Bro doing stuff like slicing the meteor and fighting Jack happened regardless of Retcon. Some also see Dave being a bit unfair towards Dirk when they meet during that speech. Dave is basically telling Dirk that it is likely every version of his Bro would become a bad person no matter what. That even if he and Bro are offshoots from each other, a version of Dirk will become that monster. He does not know what life Dirk had trying to grow up alone and trying to base Alpha Bros' actions and personality through the ironic movies. We barely even know if Alpha Bro himself was a good person too. Alpha Bro knew about The Condesce's plans and actions to take over the world. But all that guy did was make movies with subliminal messages saying how bad Betty Crocker, made money off it, and then when shit really hit the fan, he finally decided to join with Alpha Rose Mom to kill ICP and then dying To Condesce. Doesn't it question on why didn't Alpha Dave Bro kill The Condesce sooner since people on Earth had already adored him for his movies? Was there reasons for him not being able to approach Sea Hitler as she is, even with his own training to be as stealthy and fast like how Bro was? It's not like The Condesce can mind control humans. It has been shown and stated that even something like Vriska's powers, she can't control humans. Was part of him making so much money was to secure Dirk a good living condition since he would be rich? That can't be because the world has gone to shit and Dirk had to defend himself from The Condesce's army. Maybe it's because I am on the side that doesn't think Bro was that much of an abuser and that anything within Act 6, especially by Post Retcon, is shit that I cannot take seriously. But it still makes me wonder about Bro's last appearance in the timeline as well as what Alpha Dave was like past his achievements and demise. And if Dave really need to go on like that to Dirk.

[thefisherqueen]

It's a hanging matter this time.”

“Sir Eustace is dead, then?”

“Yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker.”

Ouch. I guess the murder was not planned, then, considering the choice of weapon.

I researched until when hangings took place in the UK. The last execution by the gallows (and also in general) was in 1964. Which is much later than I would have thought. Prior to reading Sherlock Holmes, if you'd have asked me until when people were hanged I would have said something like the 17th or 18th century.

From this guardian article:

As they were led to the gallows there was little fuss. No public outcry, no headlines indicated that the executions of Gwynne Evans and Peter Allen would be remembered as anything other than run-of-the-mill.

Evans, 24, and Allen, 21, were unlucky with their timing. Two months after they were executed Labour came to power, bringing a Commons vote to suspend capital punishment for five years in the 1965 Murder Act, a move made permanent in 1969.

At the time of their convictions, the 1957 Homicide Act had already removed the automatic death penalty for all murders, though exceptions included any murder committed for theft.

The criminologist Steve Fielding, author of more than 20 books on British hangings, believes the lack of publicity was due to the fact that, by sensationalist standards, the Evans and Allen murder was "quite low key".

The two jobless Preston men travelled to the Cumbria home of John "Jack" West, a 53-year-old laundry van driver known to Evans, in a stolen car with Allen's wife and two children, on 7 April 1964. The two planned to rob the bachelor, but then killed him.

In the Netherlands the last execution by hanging happenened in 1860, in Maastricht, so more that 100 years earlier. (The only executions after that took place in the aftermath of the Second World War and were committed by gun) That is a wild difference.

I also found this interesting article on the Museum of London website:

During the early 19th century, Britain removed the death penalty for a wide range of crimes, including pickpocketing, forgery and rape. By 1861, the number of capital crimes had been reduced to five, including murder, treason, espionage, arson in royal dockyards and piracy with violence. Other reforms included the banning of public executions in 1868, and the abolition of beheading and quartering in 1870. The age at which a person could be executed was also raised first to 16 and then 18 in 1933. Prior to World War II, an attempt was made in Britain to abolish the death penalty, but the outbreak of war, defeat in the Lords and fears about public reaction caused the government to shelve the proposal. In 1957, public doubts about high profile cases such as Timothy Evans and Derek Bentley eventually led to the 1957 Homicide Act that reduced the categories of murder that could be punishable by death. In 1965, the death penalty for murder in Britain was suspended for five years and in 1969 this was made permanent. However, it was not until 1998 that the death penalty in Britain was finally abolished for all crimes.

[drkineildwicks]

A bullet point list of things I have observed thus far about the new writers’ strike, in no particular order:

now is a bad time to be seeking a writing job because corporations respect no one

now is a bad time to have been fired from my existing writing job because no one is hiring or even sending you an f u you didn’t get the job

seeing as how I was fired for sticking to my principles, good on these writers

the fun thing about capitalism is that these strikes work, you don’t get gunned down for your trouble like you would in, say, china

people really out here saying eff capitalism when it’s legit the only system where the bourgeoisies dictate the market instead of the proletariat

meantime socialism is for the corporations to get fat

but I digress

Jay Leno is delivering donuts to the writers on strike, which he did before

also I remember the OG strike, he mentioned then that he was writing his own monologues and kept waking his wife up at odd hours to pitch the jokes to her

TIL that Doctor Horrible’s Singalong Blog was written during the OG writers’ strike, this is amusing to me because Full Sail used it to teach students how to write scripts

corps really do be underestimating people’s backlogs

people be realizing that hard copies are desirable for a reason

laughing because we’re going into summer, when people won’t be watching TV anyway

really happy that people are finally channeling the energy of the captain from Wall-E, i.e., “I don’t want to survive, I want to LIVE”

I have legit watched no new TV since Big Hero 6: the Series went off the air and seeing what disney is doing makes me glad BH6 avoided that bullet

Thanks to the great pause of 2020 people have realized that yeah, we can wait for new if the new is good, no we don’t have the spare funds to pay for garbage

We got DVD copies of shows that are 10+ seasons long and crates of movies to watch, we’re fine

I got milk crates full of books I got from when all the bookstores in my area shut down for various reasons (stupid-high land rent being one of them) and games I haven’t even tried yet, plus I write

Fanfictions will be getting an upswing soon, I’m guessing

also I finally started playing DST with friends, that’s fun

we have a new puppy who is 1000% more entertaining than what’s on the TV

also torrents and downloads exist if the thing doesn’t have a DVD release

on that happy note, if anyone knows a link to the full series of shows like Tangled, Amphibia and the like please hit me up

I got BH6: the series downloaded I need others

Please send your money to the indie companies and the small businesses and individual artists instead of the corporations

yes you can vote with your wallet and it would be wise to do so

Also make sure it’s like an actual indie company instead of, you know, game freak

It’s a multi-billion dollar franchise, they can afford to hire more workers to keep their existing ones from dropping dead in the traces, they just…don’t

say it with me: there are other games in the monster-capture genre, I do not need to pay for a substandard unfinished game that literally kills people

Appealing to the one-percents alienates the majority money, trying to turn around to get the majority money alienates the one-percents, people prefer genuine jerks over two-faced shills

I’ve had the opportunity to work in California and New York before and passed it over because the cost of living versus what I would make would have me living in my car and I don’t want to get murdered

Yes John Lasseter slept under his desk but he was also heading a new company specializing in an art form in its infancy, also I bet his office had a lock

And the fact that people are abandoning Hollywood for Las Vegas, AKA sin city, should tell you everything about Hollywood that needs to be said

Focusing only on checklists to please the DIE, blackrock, vanguard, and the esg means soulless material that has no return on investment

No writers means no material to act for means no one works, considering how everyone is expected to work to the bone I fail to see a problem with them not working

love the fact that no new stuff means people will go to the old stuff and finally realize that no, it’s not the nostalgia filter talking, things were literally made better back in the day

There’s so much genuine indie stuff being put straight online by creators that Hollywood will hopefully die its much-needed death

also disney please die already it’s unpleasant watching the corpse flail about

On that happy note I’m working on new stuff and updating my old stuff, stay tuned and friendly reminder that I have both a ko-fi and Patreon

Also college debt

[deadpresidents]

(T)he car arrived from Bethesda Naval Hospital. The casket was carried into the East Room and deposited on a stand. It was wrapped in a flag. Jackie [Kennedy] followed, accompanied by Bobby [Kennedy]. Jean Smith, Ethel [Kennedy], Kenny [O’Donnell], Larry [O’Brien], Bob McNamara, and Dave Powers also came from the hospital…A priest said a few words. Then Bobby whispered to Jackie. She approached the bier, knelt in front of it and buried her head in the flag. Then she walked away. The rest of us followed.

Jackie went upstairs with Bobby, Ethel and Jean. Bobby came down in a few minutes and disappeared into the East Room with [Defense Secretary] Bob McNamara. After a time, he came out and asked Nancy Tuckerman and me to go in, look at the bier and give our opinion whether the casket should be open or shut. And so I went in, with the candles fitfully burning, three priests on their knees praying in the background, and took a last look at my beloved President, my beloved friend. For a moment, I was shattered. But it was not a good job; probably it could not have been with half his head blasted away. It was too waxen, too made up. It did not really look like him. Nancy and I told this to Bobby and voted to keep the casket closed. When Bill Walton agreed, Bobby gave instructions that it should be closed. He told me that Jackie preferred to have it closed, and I reassured him about the precedent by remembering that [Franklin D.] Roosevelt’s casket had been closed.

After this we quietly dispersed into the mild night. I drove Bob McNamara home. He said that the country had suffered a loss which it would taken ten years to repair, that there is no one on the horizon to compared with the President as a national leader.

-- Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr., historian and aide to John F. Kennedy, writing about President Kennedy’s casket arriving at the White House in the early morning hours following JFK’s assassination, personal journal entry at 5:15 AM, November 23, 1963. 

Published in Schlesinger’s 2007 book, Journals: 1952-2000 (BOOK | KINDLE)

[barakittens517]

PT II: The Finding

Summary: In which Ellis makes some friends! (kinda)

PT 1: The Lost PT III: The Reunion

Words: 3,851

Warnings: mentions of alcohol use, minor (slightly graphic) character death, minor religious themes

Pairing: Morpheus x gender neutral reader

Notes: Gifting a wayyy longer second part because I really want to get to the good shit!!! I'm kidding, but I promise this is going somewhere good (:

Tag List: @ponyboys-sunsets

Now you were awake, at a truck stop far from anywhere you’d been before. Your homicidal companion was preoccupied with one of the driver’s side wheels, and he couldn’t see you. 

Now… Now’s your chance.

You hop over the car door and sling your backpack over your shoulder. You practically sprint  towards the gas station, hoping and praying he won’t look up. 

You make a beeline towards the middle aisle to hide behind the displays. So far, so good. You pretend to be fixated on the snacks, but you keep peeking over the aisle to make sure Rin is still outside. 

“You findin’ everything all right?” a gruff voice asks from behind you. You jump at the sudden noise.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” you stutter. “Can’t decide between a Snickers and a Reese’s cup.” 

The gas station attendant behind you chuckles. “That’s a tough one. My vote would be for the peanut butter.”

You offer a nervous smile and meet the attendant’s eyes. He’s older, likely in his fifties, with graying sideburns and a scuffed baseball hat with St. John’s Outfield Angels stitched on the front. The nametag on his collared shirt reads Ryan.  

“Thank you, Ryan,” you say. 

“Not a problem,” he replies. He tilts his head to the side as your eyes meet, and the strange look that follows makes your stomach flip. In less than a moment his friendly demeanor drops, and he falls to his knees in front of you with tears in his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ!” you exclaim. His hands are clasped in prayer, and he’s rocking back and forth, muttering something under his breath. “Are you okay?” you ask. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a man in a cream-colored jacket heading for the front doors. 

Shit. 

“Um, Ryan?”  you ask. “Should I call an ambulance?” You crouch down as the bell on the front door rings out. Rin is here. You place a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, and he looks up at you. 

“... Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Mea culpa, mea culpa, oh God, get away from me!” he yells. You wrench your hand to your chest and fall backwards to the floor. You can see Rin watching with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

Ryan starts sobbing in earnest now, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I’ve been a terrible man, a sinner and a liar an-and, oh, God forgive me, I am my father’s son!” he wails. You’re terrified, seemingly frozen in place less than a foot from him. 

He looks up at you, eyes rimmed red, and that strange look returns. “Forgive me,” he whispers, so quiet you have to lean forward to hear him. At that moment he rips the ball point pen clipped to his pocket and clicks it open. “You have to forgive me,” he pleads, then plunges the tip into his neck. 

“No!” you shriek, but it’s too late already. He’s hit a major artery, and he’s dead before his head even hits the tile. For the second time in twenty-four hours, you are covered in someone else’s blood. 

Rin applauds from the front counter. “You know, I was wondering about you, Ellis. Thinking you might try and run like this, but now? Now, I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

You wipe the blood from your cheek and try to remember what breathing feels like. “What… the fuck,” you whisper, and now the tears won’t stop streaming. 

Living as long as you have was never this brutal. You avoided most confrontations. The only pain inflicted was on you, never anyone else.

Rin steps over the body in front of you and grabs your hand to pull you up. “I had a feeling about you. Come on, let’s, uh… let’s get you out of here.” You follow him blindly to the front of the store. “Go get in the car. I’m gonna grab a couple of things and I’ll follow you out,” he says, holding the door open. 

You walk silently to the convertible and slink down into one of the seats. You unwrap Rin’s kerchief to wipe the blood off of your hands and find two disembodied eyeballs staring back at you from the cupholder. 

What the fuck.

The alarm bells ringing in your head are muted by the general dissociation you feel. You’re still holding the now-half-melted peanut butter cups in your hand. 

You’re startled by the slam of the car door. Rin is holding out a blue Gatorade. 

“Here,” he says. “It’s gonna be a long drive, and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

You take a sip and choke- it’s definitely blue Gatorade, but it’s also definitely mixed with some kind of liquor. “We do?” 

He grins as he starts the car and pulls onto the highway. “We do.”

You take longer sips of the Gatorade as he drives, grateful for the hydration and the alcohol. The panic you constantly felt is starting to wear off, enough for you to start questioning everything about your seemingly pointless existence.

“You seem to know a lot about what’s going on,” you start. “Who even are you?” 

“You really wanna know?” he asks. You nod. “Well, let’s start with you. Ellis. Something tells me you’ve been passing through a lot of towns in your time.” 

You recall your brief conversation at the bar, if you could even call it that. You sigh. “Um… yeah. I don’t- I guess I don’t remember where I started. It’s just been… a lot of years. Like… I don't know. I don’t really keep track anymore.”

Rin nods. You take another sip of the Gatorade, now half gone. The buzz is making you braver.

“I don’t die,” you say out loud, and the thought startles you. “I never have.” You think back as far as you can, just before the beginning. You were younger, but you looked the same. You always looked the same. 

“Do you dream?” Rin asks. The idea of dreaming catches you off guard. You rarely sleep, and when you do, it’s never more than a couple hours. 

“No,” you answer. 

“What’s the earliest memory you have?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Somewhere… there was a big war. In Europe. The first one,” you clarify. 

“And you’ve always been by yourself?” he asks. 

You think hard but come up blank. “I guess I don’t know. I think so. It’s all… blank.” He nods. You take another sip of Gatorade and grimace at the burn of liquor going down your throat. “What about you? Do you know me, or something?” you ask.

Rin smiles. “Know of you, maybe. I imagine we must’ve left around the same time.”

“Left where?” you ask. 

“The Dreaming, Ellis. I left when the Creator abandoned it. Abandoned us.” The distinct malice in his tone makes you shiver. 

“I’m sorry, the Creator? You mean, like, God?” You hadn’t thought about God in over a century. He didn’t seem to care much for you. 

Rin laughs. “No, worse. Much worse. His name is Morpheus.” 

Your head is spinning trying to follow his story. “So… so, what? What does he create?” 

For the first time, Rin removes his sunglasses. Two mouths with perfectly white rows of teeth smile from his eye sockets. 

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper under your breath. He smiles. 

“He creates dreams,” Rin answers, “And nightmares. I suppose you don’t have to guess what that makes me.” A moment later, he replaces his glasses. You both sit in silence for a moment. “Make sense so far?” he asks.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “I think so.”

“He called me The Corinthian,” he says. 

You nod. “Guess the name you told me wasn’t too far off,” you say. “I would’ve gone with Ian, I think.”

The Corinthian laughs. “I’ll take that into consideration next time.”

All things considered, you feel better. Lighter. The Corinthian isn’t going to kill you. You’ve been reassured about your existence- of course you never felt like you belonged. You don’t. Whatever the Dreaming is, that’s where you’re supposed to be. 

You just don’t remember how you got here. 

Or what that makes you.

You cross the state lines into Georgia quicker than you’d expected. The Corinthian drives like a bat out of hell, but you haven’t seen a single cop in hundreds of miles. You haven’t seen much of anyone, to be honest. And you’re grateful, in a sense. The last person that saw you stuck a Bic in his carotid. 

The thought still makes you ill, a feeling even the liquor won’t help. The Corinthian pulls into a hotel parking lot and parks off to the side. 

“Alright, so here’s the deal,” he starts. “I have a job to do.”

“Rose Walker,” you say. He nods. 

“Now, I have reliable information that places her brother somewhere-” he motions to the highway going east- “around here. I intend to find him.”

“So you’re… dropping me off?” you ask. You didn’t usually stay at hotels, and you definitely weren’t looking forward to interacting with other people any time soon. You’d almost hoped the Corinthian would just take you with him, wherever he was going. 

He nods. “There’s gonna be a convention here, the day after tomorrow. I’ll be back then, and I’ll have her little brother with me.” He holds his hand up to stop you from interrupting him. “Now, I understand there’s a lot you don’t know. That’s fine. You’ve been helpful up till now, so I’m willing to help you out. There’s already been rooms booked for me. You just hang out, and don’t cause too much trouble, and we’ll all be home free by the end of the week.” 

You have so. Many. Questions. “A convention?” 

The Corinthian grins proudly. “I’m their guest of honor. Get to make a speech and everything. Now, that room’s booked under ‘The Corinthian’. They’re, uh... They’re big fans of my work. You just tell ‘em you’re with me.”

“Okay.” You shift in the leather seat, unbuckling the belt to grab your backpack. “So I just… wait? And then what?” 

His expression darkens. “I’ll take care of the rest. Just… stay in the room, okay? We don’t need you making anyone else off themselves with office supplies.” It’s a joke, but it stings. You force a smile anyways. 

“No problem.” You slam the door closed- probably a little too forcefully, and start towards the front doors. The Corinthian leans out the window. 

“Here!” he shouts, tossing a pair of black aviators at you. You hold them up and wave as he burns out onto the highway.

The pit in your stomach is growing, but you try not to think about it. Instead, you put the sunglasses on and try to focus on the convention decorations. 

A red banner reads WELCOME CEREAL CONVENTION in bold red letters. You briefly wonder what in the fuck that actually means. 

Inside, you find a line of people waiting to check in. The ones who already have are wearing name tags like The Choir Boy and The Good Doctor. As much as you want to know more, you remember the Corinthian’s warning. You’re supposed to stay in the room. 

Minutes later, you reach the front desk. A very large man in cat ears is sitting behind it, propping up a clipboard on his stomach. “Name?” he asks. 

“I’m, uh, I’m with the Corinthian,” you say. His name tag says Fun Land. 

He looks down at his clipboard, then back at you, annoyed. “You’re not The Corinthian,” he states plainly. 

“I know, I said I’m with him,” you repeat. Fun Land sighs. 

“Fine, fine, whatever.” He rolls his eyes and crosses off a name on the clipboard. “Guest of honor gets free reign, I guess.” He hands you a lanyard with The Corinthian +1* scratched into the label and a room key with a number.

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Yep,” Fun Land replies, looking over your shoulder towards the man behind you. “Next!” 

You make your way upstairs and find your room. It’s a fancy suite- you assume presidential. Something about the Corinthian tells you he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You hang around for a bit, watching the cable channels on the TV until your stomach starts rumbling. You hadn’t really thought to pack food. You don’t want to risk adding to the Corinthian’s bill (if he was even going to be the one paying), but you do have cash. And there is a bar downstairs.

Without a second thought, you grab a handful of bills and stuff them into your front pocket. You take your name tag and the room key with you. You make your way downstairs to the hotel bar and pick a stool farthest from the door, away from most people. 

They’re all grouped together like schools of fish, name tags proudly displayed. None of them make sense to you, but you’re glad you have yours. 

You order two vodka lemonades and a platter of mozzarella sticks. The drinks are strong and the mozzarella sticks are piping hot. You’re done with the platter and both drinks before you even realize it. 

The alcohol is kicking in, and you feel calmer about the situation you’re in. Normally you’d be panicking, surrounded by strange people, wearing sunglasses indoors in case you accidentally cause a suicide. Now you’re still panicking, but in a manageable sense. The panic is relegated to a small voice echoing in the very back of your mind. You sit up a little straighter as you order another drink.

One of the ladies from the smaller group breaks away and heads towards you, waving. “You’re with the Corinthian, I see,” she smiles. Her name tag reads Dark Angel.

“Yes,” you answer, “I got here a little early.”

“Are you a fellow collector?” she asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Absolutely,” you answer without hesitation. You have no idea what you’ve just agreed with, or what a collector does. You’re assuming it is not, as the sign would have you think, about cereal. 

She grins. “That’s fantastic news. Now, you certainly don’t need to make a speech or anything, but you’re more than welcome to join the conference activities. We’re holding several workshops over the next couple of days, and I’m hosting the panel tonight.” She motions to the bartender. “Anything they order, put it on my tab.” She touches your shoulder and winks before rejoining her group. 

Was she… flirting with you? 

Regardless, you take her up on the offer and order two more vodka lemonades and a basket of chicken wings. It’s basically dinner, right? The bartender hands you a pre-mixed bottle the size of a pint of whiskey. 

Once the basket of chicken wings is gone, you decide it’s time to head to bed. You mentally pat yourself on the back for causing no harm, even though you didn’t listen to the Corinthian entirely. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to find out. 

You take the bottle of vodka lemonade with you, giving the bartender a nod of thanks for the life hack. Why order a bunch of little drinks when you could carry a whole portable bottle of them? You stumble into the carpeted hallway and hear Dark Angel’s voice coming from a conference room off to the left. 

You peek in the doorway. There’s a crowded auditorium. It looks like she’s giving a TEDTalk of some sort. Huh. 

You sneak into the back of the room- only for a moment, you tell yourself. Just to see what the convention’s about. 

“I see a lot of old faces in this crowd, and a lot of new ones,” Dark Angel says. She winks at you from the stage, and you raise your bottle to her. She smiles. “I’m glad we could all make it this year. Aside from The Family Man, of course, but that’s no bother.”

You zone out for a moment to take a look at the people seated around you. Something about them makes you incredibly uncomfortable. They’re hanging on every word she says. Some even have pens and pads of paper to take notes. 

“This… business that we’re in, it’s hard work, isn’t it?” Dark Angel asks. The crowd murmurs in agreement. “We don’t get a lot of acknowledgement for our successes. However, I’m hoping to change that in the near future. Considering our remarkable turnout, I’ve been talking with Nimrod.” She gestures towards a shorter man seated in the front, wearing large glasses. He smiles nervously at her acknowledgement. 

“The organizers of the convention have been talking, and we’d like to introduce a cash prize for one very special collector each year.” You perk up at the mention of money. You wouldn’t mind winning, granted, you’re not even sure what winning looks like. 

Dark Angel smiles. “Now, this would be completely voluntary. Anyone wanting to sign up would need to cough up $30 to be considered in the running. Does that sound fair?” she asks. The crowd nods in unison. 

“Now, I understand we all have our motivations for collecting. Nimrod and I thought this would add a bit of fun into the mix. There will be many opportunities to sign up over the next few days, and the winner will be announced at next year’s convention. Any questions so far?”  

A man in the third row, dressed in a three-piece suit and hat, raises his hand. “How is the winner decided?” he asks. 

Dark Angel nods. “Good question. The organizers of the convention and a few volunteers will need to keep record of those who sign up. They’ll watch for relevant news in the next year. A collection that makes headlines will be worth the most points. And, of course, you’ll want to keep track of your own. Next year, we’ll collaborate with all participants and tally up scores. The first winner will be announced by the guest speaker.”

“What if we don’t make the news?” someone shouts. 

Dark Angel shrugs. “Then you’re not a very good collector, are you?” The crowd ‘oohs’ in response. 

You take another sip of your drink. They’re definitely not talking about fucking Cocoa Puffs, that’s for sure. 

“Before we move on, some final notes. The last day for a body to qualify will be a week before the convention. No last-minute points will be counted, especially near or on convention grounds. We don’t shit where we eat, right?” She pauses for maximum effect. You start to feel sick again, and not because of the vodka. Something is seriously wrong here. 

“With that out of the way, I’d like to invite our panel members on stage. Please welcome Scratch, Highlander, Uncle Charlie, and our youngest member to date, FUBAR!” Four men take their seats behind the table on stage. 

“Uncle Charlie and Scratch are two of our oldest members. FUBAR and Highlander are two of our newest. Now, I’ll be moderating questions and moving the discussion along, but the rest I will leave up to the four of you.  Let’s start with an easy one. What inspired you to begin collecting?” Dark Angel asks. 

FUBAR answers first, proudly motioning to the American flag pin on his jacket. “I joined the military out of high school, and let me just say, they let you do anything once you’re off base. They’re basically giving you step-by-step instructions on how to get away with murder. And I’m good at it! Why would being discharged stop me?”

“A war machine making war machines,” Dark Angel comments wistfully. “What about you, Scratch?” 

Scratch is a middle-aged man wearing a stained tank top and cargo shorts. His steel-toe construction boots stick out like clown shoes under the table. His arms and legs are covered in cuts and scrapes in various stages of healing.

“Well, shit,” he starts, “I never did get professional training. S’mostly just compulsion, I guess. Can’t fuckin’ stand the girlies… Only way to shut ‘em up is tearin’ their throats out, apparently!” Scratch guffaws, and the crowd laughs. 

Okay, now you’re going to throw up. It’s no wonder The Corinthian is the guest speaker- you literally met him in the middle of killing someone. Your blood runs cold. Every person in this room has killed. Even you, come to think of it. 

You stumble blindly out of the auditorium and immediately throw up in a large potted plant beside the door. You need to get back to your room, like now. 

“Rough night?” someone behind you asks. You turn and see a younger guy with long black hair staring at the plant in front of you. His name tag reads Blade Runner. You don’t really want to know why. 

“Yeah,” you reply weakly. He reaches for your hand and pulls you up to stand next to him. “I should probably just go to bed.” 

Blade Runner doesn’t let go of your arm. “You know, I’ve got just the thing to sober you up. In my room, of course.” He smiles, revealing a row of impossibly sharp teeth. He pulls you closer to himself and you both make your way towards the elevator. “Now, don’t go causing trouble for me, please.”

“O-okay,” you whisper. The ride up is silent, save for the stereotypically quiet elevator jazz in the background. You briefly consider pressing the alarm button, but assume Blade should be considered armed and dangerous. 

When the doors open on the fourth floor, he shoves you roughly into the hallway. Your vodka sloshes onto the carpet. 

“I’m in 1419,” he says, and you follow the room numbers down to the last door on the right. Your entire body is screaming to make a run for it, but you’re both intoxicated and unarmed. Like an idiot. 

The walls are covered in old black and white photos, pinned with notes attached to each of them. You recognize some of the convention members. He’s been keeping track of them, stalking them. 

“Impressed?” You hear him behind you, but it’s too late. Excruciating pain radiates from the crown of your skull, and then nothing.

For the first time in over a century, you dream. Well, not really. But for once it’s not just black.

You’re in a landscape of black sand, with mountains lining the horizon. Enormous ivory gates rise up in front of you, carved with details you do not understand. 

You nervously walk forward, placing your hands to push them open. The doors creak ominously, but do not move. 

“Hello?” you shout. “Is somebody there?”

Silence. 

“Where the fuck am I…” you mutter, stepping back to analyze the carvings. 

You’ve returned, a voice echoes around you. 

“I’ve never been here before,” you reply. “I don’t know what this is.” 

The ground begins to rumble beneath you. The gates are shaking now, almost vibrating. You can see a sliver of sky between them as they open. 

A shadowy, black figure is standing on the other side. You get the feeling you should already know who they are, but your brain simply won’t place the name. 

 You will remember.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Defendant Trump has never said the words, "I didn't do it." He's been too busy pointing fingers and deflecting and lying.

LUCIAN K. TRUSCOTT IV

AUG 3, 2023

I’m willing to bet that little detail escaped your attention as easily as it escaped mine:  despite copious opportunities in interviews, speeches at rallies, and rants on his social media platform, Truth Social, Defendant Trump has not come right out and denied the charges he has been accused of.  You’ve heard him say practically everything else – it’s a witch hunt, an illegal prosecution, a coverup of the crimes of the “Biden crime family,” on and on and on.  But you have not heard him say, I did not do it.

Politico today came out with a piece in which they detailed what they called, “the five pillars of his defense.”  They are, “Slow it down,” “Put 2024 politics front and center,” “Accuse Smith of criminalizing speech,” “Question Trump’s intent,” and “Attack D.C..”  Politico claimed to have discerned this strategy from an interview on NPR with Defendant Trump’s latest hire as an attorney, John Lauro.  I read the transcript of the interview, but among his mumblings and equivocations, I didn’t find what I would call any “pillars.”  Lauro, who appears to be positioning himself as the “reasonable one” on the Defendant’s legal team, led with this jewel: “He got advice from counsel — very, very wise and learned counsel — on a variety of constitutional and legal issues. So, it's a very straightforward defense that he had every right to advocate for a position that he believed in and his supporters believed in.” 

The obvious reaction to a description of Defendant Trump’s legal clown car as “wise and learned” is, what planet is this guy speaking from?  But it also rules out the classic position of defendants charged every day with crimes high and low:  SODDI, Some Other Dude Did it, a defense which has been suggested by actual, real learned attorneys all over the place on cable news – that Defendant Trump could claim he was misled by incompetent lawyers, at least one of whom has been sanctioned, and another disbarred for filing cases that wasted the courts’ time.  Then again, maybe it’s a clever move by an eminently reasonable attorney, because it will prevent the prosecution from presenting this photo and asking, “You mean this guy?”

I’m not even going to bother with a photograph of The Kraken.

Another theme of the Lauro defense is, “This is the first time in the history of the United States where a sitting administration is criminalizing speech against a prior administration.”

Silly me; I guess I wasn’t listening in a law class I took at West Point when they explained the whole administration v. administration theory of criminal law. Defendant Trump’s complaint isn’t with the Biden administration or even with Special Counsel Smith, it’s with grand jury, 23 American citizens voting in secret, who found that the evidence presented to them by prosecutors was enough to prove by the standard, “more likely than not,” that the Defendant committed the crimes he is accused of. 

Lauro was also good enough to inform us that Defendant Trump will not go to trial next year for conspiracy to defraud and obstruct the government and a government official and deny Americans their right to vote, but instead for his “cause.”  This is the way Lauro put it to NPR: “Well, political speech covers even information that turns out not to be true. So, it's all protected by free speech. But at the bottom, the government will never be able to prove beyond a reasonable doubt, as I said, that President Trump did not believe in the righteousness of his cause.”

You remember the cause Defendant Trump fought so hard for, don’t you, between November 14, 2020 and January 20, 2021, the dates covered by the indictment?  Having lost the general election by millions of votes and the electoral college by 306 to 232, the same margin Defendant Trump called a “landslide” when he won in 2016, he wanted the results thrown out and to be declared president by fiat.

Boy, was that ever an honorable cause, and boy is that ever a winning strategy. 

Lucian Truscott Newsletter

[adrianna07blog]

Read❗👀 Then decide what to do…

John Lennon (singer):

A few years ago, during an interview with an American magazine, he said: “Christianity will end, it will disappear. I shouldn't argue, I'm sure. God was all right, but his lessons were too easy! And today we are better known than he is" (1966).

Lennon, saying that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ, was shot to death. Tancredo Neves (President of Brazil): During the presidential campaign, he said that if he got 500,000 votes from his party, not even God could remove him from the presidency.

Sure, he got the votes, but he got sick the day before he became president and died.

Delo (composer, singer and Brazilian bisexual poet): During a program in Canechio (Rio de Janeiro), he smoked a cigarette, and, releasing the smoke into the air, he said: "God, this is for you."

He died at the age of 32 from lung cancer in terrible agony.

Producer TITANIC. After the Titanic was built, a reporter asked him, "How sure are you that the Titanic will float?"

In an ironic tone, he replied: "Even God can't sink it!" The result, I think you know. Everyone knows what happened to the Titanic.

Marilyn Monroe (actress) Billy Graham visited the actress during one of her shows. The man of God told her that the Spirit of God had sent him to preach his word. When she heard what the preacher was about to say, she said, "I don't need your Jesus."

A week later, she was found dead in her apartment.

Bon Scott (singer) Former AC/DC singer. In one of his songs from 1979 he sang: "Don't stop, I'll go to the end of the freeway to hell."

On February 19, 1980, Bon Scott was found dead, choking on his own vomit.

Campinas (in 2005). In Campinas (Brazil), a group of drunken young men stopped by for another girl…

The girl's mother, walking her to the car, was so worried about the drunkenness of young people that she said to her daughter, holding her hand: "My daughter, go with God and protect yourself." The girl replied: “Only if God is in the trunk, because there is no room in the car! It's already full…

A few hours later, news came that they had been involved in a fatal accident. Everyone was dead! The car was not identified, but, surprisingly, the trunk was intact.

The police say that the trunk could not remain in such a state! And yet, to their surprise, there was a box of eggs in the luggage compartment, and not a single egg was broken!

Christine Hewitt (Jamaican journalist and artist) said that the Bible (God's Word) is the worst book ever written.

In June 2006, she was found burned to death in her car.

Many people have forgotten that there is no other name that has been given as much authority as the name of God.

Many have died and are dying, but only God died and rose again, and he is still alive.

PS: If this was a joke, you would send it to everyone. Do you have the courage to send it?

I did my thing because Jesus said "If you were ashamed of me, I would be ashamed of you in front of my father." Share this message, don't break the chain, because God has already blessed you.

Is God a priority in your life?

If so, please send this message to as many people as possible.

If you like the devil, close this text!

But, if you love God, share it with your friends. I hope you read this very carefully, because it comes from the heart!

I'll tell you: something very good happened to me.

Today I received a message and when I started sending it I was stunned. Hope it works for you too!

Psalm 100: God saw your struggle. God says the end is near.

God says it will end soon. A blessing comes to you, if you believe in God, send it to at least 20 friends.

If you reject this, remember what GOD said: if you reject me among men, I will reject you before the Father.

This message is a blessing. Share it❗

☝Прочти❗👀 А там решай, что делать…

Джон Леннон (певец):

Несколько лет назад во время интервью американскому журналу он сказал: «Христианство закончится, оно исчезнет.  Я не должен спорить, я уверен.  С Богом всё было в порядке, но его уроки были слишком просты! И сегодня мы более известны, чем он»(1966).

Леннон, сказав, что Битлз более известны, чем Иисус Христос, был застрелен. Танкредо Невес (Президент Бразилии): Во время президентской кампании он сказал, что, если он получит 500 000 голосов от своей партии, даже Бог не сможет отстранить его от президентства.

 Конечно, он получил голоса, но он заболел за день до того, как стал президентом и умер.

 Дело (композитор, певец и бразильский бисексуальный поэт): Во время программы в Канечио (Рио-де-Жанейро), он курил сигарету, и, выпустив дым в воздух, сказал: «Бог, это для тебя».

 Он умер в 32 года от рака лёгких в ужасных мучениях.

Производитель ТИТАНИКА. После того, как Титаник был построен, репортер спросил его: «Насколько ты уверен, что Титаник будет плавать?»

Ироничным тоном он ответил: «Даже Бог не сможет потопить его!» Результат, я думаю, вы знаете. Все знают, что случилось с Титаником.

Мэрилин Монро (актриса). Билли Грэм посетил актрису во время одного из её шоу. Человек Божий сказал ей, что Дух Божий послал его проповедовать своё слово. Когда она услышала, что собирался сказать проповедник, она сказала: «Мне не нужен твой Иисус».

 Через неделю она была найдена мёртвой в своей квартире.

Бон Скотт (певец). Бывший певец AC / DC. В одной из своих песен 1979 года он пел: «Не останавливайся, я пойду до конца по автостраде в ад».

19 февраля 1980 года Бон Скотт был найден мёртвым, задохнувшимся от собственной рвоты.

Кампинас (в 2005 году). В Кампинасе (Бразилия) группа пьяных молодых людей заехала ещё за одной девушкой…

Мать девушки, провожая её до машины, так волновалась из-за пьянства молодых людей, что сказала своей дочери, держа её за руку: «Дочь моя, иди с Богом и защити себя». Девушкаа ответила: «Только, если Бог в багажнике, потому что в автомобиле нет места! Он уже полон»…

Спустя несколько часов пришло известие о том, что они попали в аварию со смертельным исходом. Все были мертвы! Автомобиль не был опознан, но, что удивительно, багажник был цел.

 Полицейские говорят, что в таком состоянии багажник не мог остаться! И ещё, к их удивлению, в багажном отделении лежала коробка с яйцами, и ни одно яйцо не было разбито!

Кристин Хьюитт (ямайская журналистка и художница) сказала, что Библия (Слово Божье) - худшая книга, когда-либо написанная.

 В июне 2006 года она была найдена сгоревшей в своем автомобиле.

Многие люди забыли, что нет другого имени, которому было бы дано столько авторитета, как имени Бога.

Многие умерли и умирают, но только Бог умер и воскрес, и он все еще жив.

PS: Если бы это была шутка, вы бы отправили её всем. Хватит ли у вас смелости отправить это?

Я сделал свое дело, потому что Иисус сказал:  «Если бы тебе было стыдно за меня, мне было бы стыдно за тебя перед моим отцом».  Поделитесь этим посланием, не разрывайте цепь, потому что Бог уже благословил вас.

Является ли Бог приоритетом в вашей жизни?

Если это так, то отправьте это сообщение как можно большему числу людей.

 Если вам нравится дьявол, закройте этот текст!

Но, если вы любите Бога, поделитесь им со своими друзьями. Надеюсь, вы прочитали это очень внимательно, потому что это исходит из сердца!

 Я расска��у тебе: со мной случилось ��то-то очень хорошее.

 Сегодня я получил сообщение, и когда я начал его отправлять, я был ошеломлен. Надеюсь, это работает и для вас!

 Псалом 100: Бог видел твою борьбу. Бог говорит, что близится конец.

Бог говорит, что это скоро кончится. Благословение приходит к вам, если вы верите в Бога, отправьте его как минимум 20 друзьям.

Если вы отвергаете это, помните, что БОГу сказал: если вы откажетесь от меня среди людей, я откажу вам перед Отцом.

Это сообщение является благословением.   Поделитесь им❗

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

TROPED Madness: Chopping Block

NINE fics were written following a Theme of [Disaster], including the Tropes of [Dancing] and [Bakery AU], and with a Character Focus on [John Murphy]!! Voting determined which author will be CHOPPED, and set up our brackets for our head to head competition for the next round! Nine disasterous fics, but only eight authors can move forward into our Bracket Challenge!

We want to say a big thank you so much to all the authors who participated, we are so happy you decided to be a part of TROPED Madness 4.0, and we hope you'll join us again for our next events which dates will be officially announced soon!!

The Author who has been Chopped is:

@dustinswill

recipe for disaster

QR/R1 | Rated M | The 100 | Murphy x Raven | 2.1k

Summary: To be clear: Murphy's not quite sure how he ended up here. But somehow, they're waiting in a hospital to make sure Clarke and Raven are going to be alive and Bellamy looks like he's going to punch something. Well, Murphy's sort of clear: he knows they got here because of the crash. What he doesn't quite remember is why Bellamy is about to pounce. (or: clarke forces everyone to ballroom dance, there are way too many baking metaphors and people get hit by cars.)

Thank you so much for joining us for Madness, and we hope you'll join us again in the future for another event!!

All Madness 4.0 fics can be found here, and we hope you'll keep up with the rest of this event, and join us for Shadow and Bone Round 2, and our upcoming TIMELOOP event!!

xox, B & S

[worstvideogamesong-poll]

Worst Video Game Song Tournament - Round 2 Match 32

Emblem Engage! - Fire Emblem: Engage

VERSUS

Imp's Song - DOOM

FIGHT!

I would recommend listening to as much as you can of each song before voting, but how you choose is up to you! Remember to be civil in the tags and replies!

Propaganda under cut:

Emblem Engage!:

"i literally laughed out loud when i opened the game for the first time and this started blaring on the title screen. its so cheesy."

"#the vocals on this engage song are really. something"

Imp's Song:

"'This sounds like a smoke detector going off while a car sits outside with its bass turned up too high.' - Dan Ryckert, Game Informer. Listen from 1:12 for the jackhammer starting."

"john carmack had no idea how to program the genesis sound chip and it shows"

Feel free to add more propaganda in the tags and replies, or send it to me in the ask box and I'll try to share it as soon as I can!

[the-firebird69]

So the roofer has a check and the contract and Tommy F is going to roof it and it'll be motivation to try and rip the roof off And our son says watch out Stan is going to be a change of order request and stances he knows about it and he has the dent caused by the grill which we think was Trump who did not want the doors put into the shed made a big deal out of it too And what stan says is he save the doors and he possibly save the house and you're out I don't know if you can tell The answer is to stand I don't think he can tell at all. That's what he was implying. And what we're saying is someone has to get him the hell out of there it smells like rotten eggs

Thor Freya

He does stink like rotten eggs and we don't want to hear about your experiences because of Chris even though he did it he's seeing the led Zeppelin song is a sign on the wall and Trump approached and look to the left and is a huge middle finger. It says it's harder to tolerate Trump than this imbecile who is almost hitting with a car and shot at him three times and it was it bounced off. A lot of people say that too you like a huge b**** s*** in the coffee all sorts of dumb stuff poison your timing is off and dumb comments you like this rude old lady that we know Sarah is she's going to be Lord Soren. She gets back at him a little for losing his wedding band and he can't remember what happened to it she remembers it was sitting there on the table and he says okay you lost your mind I'm not putting your mind on the table and she's laughing cuz she knows what he was talking about he's not being mean it's a little bit but she's being cruel so we're off to start things and she's a little happy otherwise she'd start attacking him and it's the roof it's a good sign and also John remillard being out and also Jason playing games that help and he thought he wasn't then he just discovered that the clones are after them and that he's kind of clueless all morning it comes from just aggravating people on purpose and you're not really doing anything and her son and daughter say that he says what am I going to do for president run is a different person so he started laughing and he said wow this is bad and really the race is not on yet but it is with the primaries and you'd have to vote you have to try and get the race reset and you're probably should it's a disaster and an embarrassment and you have to get Trump out first so they're working towards that and everybody wants to have a different race cuz that blue that guy won't go to speeches and he won't speak and he turns into a little kid and people hate him and they hate him because he's not up to snuff and he still wants to force his way in and he's got some sort of power with his people so tons of people looking at it and I send a daughter say it can only be one thing and that's rigging stuff so they're checking them out

Thor Freya

Olympus

[lewisiana]

Sheldon Vanauken on Lewis -

I had never so much as seen a photograph of him, and in reading his books and letters I had vaguely pictured him as slender, perhaps somewhat emaciated, and slightly stooped with a lean, near-sighted face.

What I met, when I turned up at his rooms, was John Bull himself. Portly, jolly, a wonderful grin, a big voice, a quizzical gaze—and no nonsense.

He was as simple and unaffected as a man could be, yet never was there a man who could so swiftly cut through anything that even approached fuzzy thinking. Withal, the most friendly, the most genial of companions.

Knowing that I would be burning with my new-found Christianity, he suggested that it would be best not to talk of Christian matters in hall or common room. That was my first intimation that some of the other Fellows at Magdalen, as well as other dons in the university, were not altogether cheerful about his Christian vocation. They would no doubt have tolerated his being, quietly, a Christian; but his acting like a Christian, writing widely read books about Christianity, was another thing.

Much later, when Lewis was nominated for the Professorship of Poetry, Thad, who was walking along the High Street behind two dons, heard one of them remark: ‘Shall we go and cast our votes against C.S. Lewis?’ Not, that is, for the other chap...

That evening began my friendship with Lewis. It was a very deep friendship on my part... I have never loved a man more. And I must believe, from things he said and wrote to me, that he felt both friendship and affection for me.

Later, he became very fond of Davy—or Jean, as he called her—too. After his death, his brother, Warren, remarked to a friend: ‘Oh, Jack adored Van and Jean.’

...Sometimes I walked with him round Addison’s Walk. The first time he proposed it, I prepared to modify my stride to suit an older man—and he nearly walked me off my legs. He was the Legions on the march.

I was not wholly sorry when we came round again to the entrance. Lewis said, ‘Around again, eh?’ And away we went....

On that last day I met C. S. Lewis at the Eastgate for lunch. We talked, I recall, about death or, rather, awakening after death. Whatever it would be like, we thought, our response to it would be ‘Why, of course! Of course it’s like this. How else could it have possibly been.’ We both chuckled at that.

...Lewis said that he hoped Davy and I would be coming back to England soon, for we mustn’t get out of touch. ‘At all events,’ he said with a cheerful grin, ‘we’ll certainly meet again, here—or there.’ Then it was time to go, and we drained our mugs.

When we emerged on to the busy High with the traffic streaming past, we shook hands, and he said: ‘I shan’t say goodbye. We’ll meet again.’ Then he plunged into the traffic. I stood there watching him.

When he reached the pavement on the other side, he turned round as though he knew somehow that I would still be standing there in front of the Eastgate. Then he raised his voice in a great roar that easily overcame the noise of the cars and buses. Heads turned and at least one car swerved. ‘Besides,’ he bellowed with a great grin, ‘Christians NEVER say goodbye!’ ...

When he died, I remembered his great shout across the Oxford High Street... In eternity there will be ‘time enough’. And as Jack said, ‘We must talk of 1000 things when you come.'

-Sheldon Vanauken

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Hello Soldier! THE WINNIPEG TRIBUNE," Winnipeg Tribune. October 30, 1943. Page 17. --- REMEMBER the Pied Piper of Hamelin? He rid the town of rats and when he came to collect his thousand guilders, the city fathers wouldn't pay up. So he lured away the children of Hamelin with the same piping that drew away the rats to their doom.

This story was recalled here this week. N. Poulin, of St. Boniface, who was hired by the city on a short term basis to clear out the plague of rats at the city's dump, sent in an extra bill of $1,026 - for 810 pounds of poison and the use of his car and trailer. City Hall does not deny that Mr. Poulin is an efficient rat exterminator - the city health officer says that there are very few rats left at the dump - but they say that the expenditures in that $1,026 bill were unauthorized. So the bill is ignored.

Mr. Foulin doesn't threaten to lure away the children of Winnipeg. but he's going to sue.

Three years ago John Ashton "Pat" Barnett and two other men tried to rob the Radio building on Fort st. Constable John McDonald interrupted them and was shot to death. Last Tuesday, Barnett, who had been serving a 20-year term in Stony Mountain penitentiary, tried to make a break. He had a revolver and in shooting it out with a prison guard named Ferguson, Barnett was killed. An inquest, found. that the convict was shot in self-defense. There is no information yet on how he got the revolver.

One of the biggest crowds in Winnipeg's history, if not the biggest. swarmed to Assiniboine park last Saturday to see paratroops from Camp Shilo in action. Estimates ran as high as 100.000, and you could easily believe it if you saw the traffic tie-up after the show. But the crowd circling a huge field southeast of the pavilion certainly got the thrill of its life when two "sticks" of paratroops (30 men) made the Jump at about 800 feet from a Lodestar. All except four made perfect landings, four having their 'chutes caught in trees. Sgt. Cecil Cavanagh, of 102 Scott st., had his leg cut by a tree branch.

This first public demonstration in Canada was staged for the Fifth Victory Loan. At the end of the second week, 84.000 Manitobans have subscribed about $58,000,000 of the objective of $80,000,000. There's another week to go.

It may be that the marvelous fall of sunny, mild weather has come to an end here but it was wonderful while it lasted. And at a time of a threatened fuel shortage, it saved a lot of coal and wood. I don't know how good it is, but one estimate has put the saving at half a million tons of coal for the four western provinces. So far City Hall hasn't had to spend a cent of the $20,000 voted for removing snow from streets from now until the new year.

An open fall has also helped movement of grain to the lakehead. I hear it is planned to move 100,000,000 bushels of grain from Fort William-Port Arthur to points in eastern Canada before freeze-up, to be ready for shipment to the needy in Europe.

Meanwhile here in Canada there is a promise that in a fortnight there will be pork and beans on grocers' shelves again, as well as canned fruit salad. pea soup and syrups. And now at last the authorities have made it legal for Mrs. Jones to borrow rationed tea from Mrs. Smith or trade her some rationed sugar for it.

To take care of the increased livestock shipments. Manitoba packing houses needed some 800 more workers, and now they practically have them all. Many have come from Manitoba and Saskatchewan farms under the plan of working on the farm in the summer and in lumber camp, mines or other essential industry in the winter. The farmers themselves were helped out of a hole this fall by soldiers who got harvest leave.

The best-attended provincial conference of the C.C.F. this week re-elected Harry Chappel as chairman, and picked Mrs. T. W. McClelland, of Letellier, and Berry Richards, M.L.A., The Pas, as vice-chairmen. S. J. Farmer, M.L.A., warned the conference to have nothing to do with Communists, because "they either control or break up everything they get into. We must prevent them from getting into the C.C.F." The conference passed a resolution forbidding collaboration with the Labor Progressive Party, which is the successor to the Communist Party of Canada.

One day this week Col. Danie! S. Mackay, veteran physician and commander in two wars, attended a reunion of the Manitoba company of the 196th Western Universities Battalion of the Great War. It was a last look at the boys of a battalion which he had organized. After proposing the toast to the unit, he left the reunion, took ill at home during the night and died at noon next day in General hospital. The Camerons of Canada were the military mourners at the military funeral at First Presbyterian church today.