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jayjuno · 2 years

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This is concept art for a poster design for boycotting the 4th of July this year. 4th of July is cancelled this year.

I sketched this in response to Roe vs. Wade being overturned by the Supreme Court on June 24, 2022.

If you like this design, please feel free to take it and make it your own. You can make a digital version and/or any changes you'd like- I'm offering this poster design to everyone. You don't need to give me credit or ask for my permission first.

If you want to help spread the word about the 4th of July strike/boycott, please use this design if you think it can help. Also use hashtags like #4thofjulyboycott, #boycott4thofjuly, #4thofjulystrike, or #4thofjulycancelled.

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cormancatacombs · 2 years

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[Image ID: A screencap of text on a pink background. It reads: “SPENDING FREEZE for women’s rights. July 3rd-5th. Women direct 83% of all consumption in the United States, in buying power and influence. To protest the recent overturn of Roe v. Wade, boycott all spendatures July 3rd-5th. This means spending ZERO dollars. Women are also encouraged to stay home from work July 5th. A day without women. NO BUY JULY.” End of description.]

A friend spotted this on Reddit.

Regardless of your gender, if you’re pro-choice I hope you can participate to an extent and/or spread the word 🇺🇸

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septembersghost · 10 months

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take my hand, take my whole life too

Elvis photographed in Memphis, TN, 1956 and Dallas, TX, 1976

these photos struck me being taken twenty years apart and yet the soul of them being so similar - outstretched hands reaching towards him in the light, him leaning forward in their direction in a reciprocal exchange, the touching power of that energy and shared love and expression.

it reminds me again of what Larry Geller wrote: "He was bursting with love and on stage he had a safe way of expressing it, through his music...he was reaching out, and they saw it; in their reaching back, he met them halfway. It was a love affair from the beginning, and his voice, his magic, never left him."

#the photo from russwood was in my feed today since it's july 4th and it just made me think so much #of the photo from dallas and the focus on those hands reaching up #there's something so striking to me about the physicality of that #you can't even see the people in '76 just their hands reaching out #but in both photos bending towards him bathes the audience in light #my heart #elvis presley #so i keep singing a song #i was a dreamer #*

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quicksiluers · 2 years

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The Vicksburg Campaign, (1862–63), in the American Civil War, was a campaign by Union forces to take the Confederate stronghold of Vicksburg, Mississippi, which lay on the east bank of the Mississippi River, halfway between Memphis (north) and New Orleans (south). The capture of Vicksburg divided the Confederacy and proved the military genius of Union Gen. Ulysses S. Grant.

After the spring of 1862, when the Confederates lost Fort Henry, Fort Donelson, and Memphis in Tennessee and New Orleans in Louisiana, Vicksburg became the key remaining point of their defense of the Mississippi River. The capture of Vicksburg would yield the North control of the entire course of the river and thus enable it to isolate those Confederate states that lay west of the river from those in the east. Vicksburg was ideally suited for defensive purposes, however: it was situated on high bluffs along the river and was protected on the north by a maze of swampy bayous. The Confederates’ batteries on the bluffs could outgun any Union ships on the river.

A Union naval expedition using ironclads (May–June 1862) to subdue the Confederate batteries failed, as did an attempt to take the city by land from the north by Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman (December 1862) and an attempt by Grant to cut a canal around Vicksburg that would divert the river (February–March 1863). After this string of frustrating failures, Grant conceived a bold move that would enable him to take the city using the high-ground approaches from the east, well behind Confederate lines. Moving his army of 40,000 troops to the west bank of the Mississippi, he marched south along it for a considerable distance until he could recross the river at Bruinsburg, which lay about 30 miles (48 km) south of Vicksburg. His army recrossed to the east bank of the river by means of a Union fleet, which, under the command of Adm. David D. Porter, had run south past the batteries at Vicksburg. Once across the river, Grant quickly began moving northeast, though this meant abandoning his already tenuous supply lines and feeding his troops off the surrounding enemy countryside. His forces took Port Gibson on May 2, reached Grand Gulf on May 3, and prevented the small Confederate army of Gen. Joseph E. Johnston near Jackson from linking up with the Vicksburg forces.

Vicksburg’s commander, Gen. John C. Pemberton, led his forces out in an effort to link up with Johnston but met Grant moving westward and was forced to return to the city. On May 18 Grant arrived in the rear of Vicksburg, within which Pemberton’s 30,000 troops were isolated. After two assaults in mid-May failed, Grant settled down to methodical siege tactics while augmenting his forces. He controlled all the approaches to the city, and by early June the Confederate garrison was desperately short of ammunition and on the brink of starvation. Pemberton surrendered the city on July 4.

The surrender of Vicksburg, with the victory at the Battle of Gettysburg the previous day (July 3), greatly heartened the North and in fact marked the turning point of the war.

#ulysses s grant #vicksburg #american civil war #history #us civil war #the glorious 4th!!#always gotta make a vicksburg post for 4th of july #the twin victories! vicksburg and gettysburg!#the burgs strike again!#if you're looking for a great series of books about the wholeee vicksburg campaign...timothy b smith is the man to look at #his books?? *chefs kiss*#i'm getting a new one this week and i'm too excited to read it...

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iriel3000 · 2 years

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Friday Recs - The Captive Edition

Happy Friday! Some reading recommendations for your enjoyment. No particular order and more to come.

How would you like your Whump this time?

Kidnapped, enslaved, and treated like a possession? Yes, please and Thank You!

Until I Can No Longer See the Sun by @shadesfalcon/@shadesfalcon

Clint is captured and given to Natasha to torture however, Natasha finds her own loyalties are more fragile than she'd anticipated

You Belong To Me Now; You Are My Slave by@Kinky3000

Natasha never left the KGB and left Clint to die in Budapest. Now she’s captured by S.H.I.E.L.D and forced to become Clint’s slave.

you give me a reason I can't ignore by @vibranium

Natasha rescues her partner from captivity, but did she save him?

Backpedal by@superalkaline

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: The "I Know You're in There" Fight

here comes the boom by @hanorganaas

Clint gets Kidnapped Natasha Rescues him.

Next week's category: Multiverse 2

If you are one of the authors or know them on tumblr and they are not properly tagged, please let me know in comments and I'll add them. Please feel free to click the Iriel3000fridayrecs link below to browse more categories

#iriel3000fridayrecs #hawkeye #clint barton #clintasha #black widow #natasha romanov #strike team delta #clint x natasha #clintasha fanfiction #captive #whump #captive edition on 4th of July weekend?#irony?#what irony?

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amaxantys · 11 months

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love love love giving my family the detailed run-down of the latest grocery store union activity completely unprompted and unwanted

#if anyone cares workers at mn grocery store chain lunds & byerlys announced a tentative agreement 4 healthcare plan improvements and raises #there was talks of striking over the 4th of july but this new deal seems promising #amax antics #labor tag

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don-lichterman · 2 years

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Four Atlantic City casinos avoid worker strike, reach deal

View On WordPress

#4th of July #Atlantic City #casino #union #Unite Here Local 54 #worker strike

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starblaster · 2 years

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October 9th is Psychiatric Survivor Pride Day

“The problems of the ex-patient are more subtle but no less pressing. Many ex-patients try to cope with what has happened to them by pretending that the experience never occurred. However, because the experience of having once been a mental patient teaches you to think of yourself as less than human, this is not a satisfactory solution. People feel emotions. They are justifiably happy or sad, angry, calm, elated, and so forth. As patients, however, we were taught to think of ourselves as permanently crippled, and we tend to react to the normal ups and downs of life as affirmations of our secret deformity. In addition, society imposes penalties upon ex-patients which affect you whether or not you acknowledge your identity. For the rest of your life, you will lie on applications for jobs, schools, and driver's licenses, and worry about being found out. Your friends and acquaintances will be divided into two groups, those who know and those who don't, and it will always be necessary to watch what you say to the latter. Ex-patients are full of anger at what has been done to them, but alone and unorganized this anger is not expressed and is often turned inward against oneself. Our anger is the fuel of our movement, and when we come together, acknowledging our identity to ourselves and to each other, we will have made the first and largest step in striking back at our oppressors.”

— "Mental Patients' Liberation: Why? How?", originally distributed in the early 1970s by Mental Patients' Resistance of Brooklyn, New York

[image ID] Seven photographs from antipsychiatry demonstrations. They are described below, in order of appearance: 1. a picture taken at the National Association for Rights Protection & Advocacy (NARPA) Conference on November 10, 2000 in Sacramento, California. Fifty to sixty people stand around a red sign with white text that reads: NO FORCED TREATMENT EVER. 2. a picture taken on October 9th, 1999 in Toronto, Ontario during a march for Psychiatric Survivor Pride Day. Several people march in a line, including one man at the start of the march playing bagpipes. Behind him is a hand-painted sign being held up that reads: Psychiatric Survivor Pride Day. 3. pictures taken at a demonstration outside the California State Capitol building in Sacramento on February 28th, 2000. The signs in each of these pictures say: Psychiatric drugs can kill! 4. a picture taken at a demonstration outside the American Psychiatric Association's 156th annual meeting in San Fransisco, California. The activist's sign says: PSYCHIATRY IS NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSION: IT IS A TOOL OF OPPRESSION. 5. a picture taken at a demonstration outside the Jacob Javits Center, hosting the American Psychiatric Association's 167th annual meeting in New York City on May 4th, 2014. The picture features an activist wearing a printed t-shirt and is cropped so as not to feature the face of the wearer. The t-shirt says: TO HELL WITH THEIR PROFITS, STOP FORCED DRUGGING OF PSYCHIATRIC INMATES! 6 and 7. pictures taken at a demonstration outside the California State Capitol building in Sacramento on February 28th, 2000. The signs in each of these pictures say: Psychiatric drugs can kill!, STOP expansion of forced treatment, Mental illness is NOT a CRIME, and FORCED MENTAL HEALTH TREATMENT IS INHUMANE. 8. a picture taken at an antipsychiatry demonstration on May 2nd, 1998 in Freedom Plaza, Washington D.C. Two people hold a hand-painted banner-sign that says: BET YOUR ASS WE'RE PARANOID. 9. taken at an antipsychiatry demonstration hosted by the Mental Patients Liberation Alliance during Mad Pride Week in 2000, between July 13th and 16th on the lawn in front of the New York State Capitol Building in Albany. [end of ID]

#antipsychiatry #psychiatric abuse #psychiatric survival #psychiatric survivor pride day #psych abolition

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ghouljams · 10 months

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So glad I’m finally getting notifications!! I go through your blog like it’s the morning paper 💕

Happy belated 4th of July!!🦅 It’s the only day out of the year I’m patriotic lol. May I ask how crazy our cowboys got for the holiday??

It is a recent but honored Price family tradition that Soap and Goose almost burn down the barn every fourth. This is Ghost's first year seeing it actually happen.

"I assume you're both tired of having 10 fingers," Simon tells you nice and even, watching you and Soap tie cakes and mortars together.

"Haven't lost one yet," Soap responds at the same time you remind Simon,

"We've got a bucket of water nearby."

"Look we're at least a hundred extra feet from the barn this year, I've got a nice long fuse, nobody is losing any fingers." Soap nods, you nod.

"If you set the barn on fire again you're going on probation." Price gripes sitting back in his lawn chair. You give an affronted gasp and he nods solemnly, "both of you, shit mucking for the next month."

"I am your pride and joy!" You tell him.

"You're a fire hazard," you dad tells you, smoking a cigar on the edge of your safety perimeter. You don't think he fails to see the irony in that statement, but you do think he chooses to ignore it.

"I think it's a deserved punishment," Simon nods, Soap at least has the decency to glare at him for agreeing.

"We're not gonna catch the bard on fire, we've got plennae of room." Soap twists the last of the fuses together and inspects his work. "Somebody get Gaz out of the house, he's going to miss the show."

"Think that's the point," Simon mumbles as you go to drag your last guest off the porch.

"You're both insane," Gaz gripes, putting up more of a fight than you'd thought.

"Quit being a baby, nobody's ever been exploded before." You tell him, enjoying the noise Gaz makes at your joke.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Gaz drags his feet as you tug him closer to the lawn chairs, "people die Goose, people die every year because of shit like that," he points at your explosive pyre.

"And yet you always have fun when we do this," you roll your eyes, pushing him down into the seat you'd put out for him.

"I really do," he settles into the lawn chair and takes the offered beer from your dad. You're pretty sure Gaz only puts up a fight to pretend so he can pretend he wasn't a cheering party when something unintended catches on fire.

"Alright everyone back up, I'm lighting this beauty." Soap announces, you grab Simon's hand and drag him back to the lawn chairs, sitting him down next to Gaz. His hands grab for your hips to pull you into his lap.

"Watch those hands Lieutenant," your dad barks. Simon's hands fly away from you, raised by his head like Daddy might point a gun at him to enforce the rule.

"I gotta be on stand by with the water anyway," you whisper to Simon, "but maybe I'll knock later?" He smiles behind his mask, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you what you already knew as he takes your hand in his.

"Doors always open." There's unspoken "for you" that settles between you two. Simon presses your knuckles against his mask, gentle and affectionate. He doesn't let anyone else into his private space as readily as he does you. Even Soap still knocks.

Speaking of Soap. The man of the hour strikes a hot match and lights the first fuse, jogging over to safety with the rest of you. He gives you a thumbs up.

The first mortar ignights and shoots a stream of blue into the sky. The loud bang-pop of the explosion echoing in your ribs. The flower of sparks fizzles and another shoots up behind it. Then a cake goes off and sparks fly like feathers shoot a high train that almost instantly ignights the next mortar to send more pops into the sky. Another jet of purple sparks from the cake sets off a Roman candle. The 'tump' of it shooting flares up is offset by the crackling of another fuse burning and-

"That's not supposed to happen," Soap mumbles, watching two more mortars and another Roman candle light.

The five of you watch solemnly as a flare from the Roman candle soars over your heads and onto the roof of the barn. Simon drops your hand as you watch the sparks try to catch on the tar, short bursts of flame lighting up the roof. Your dad sighs and dials the fire department as Gaz runs for the hose.

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pedge-stuff · 8 months

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strawberry margs (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked,“ per usual, yada yada.

happy belated labor day, y'all! tip your servers and thank your union reps.

(my union is on strike rn and, while it is ass, I'm very grateful for the people who are working hard to secure a better future for all of us. wga strong!)

summary: a totally normal labor day cookout with no big announcements whatsoever.

—————————————————————————

"Hey!" Pedro is slightly out of breath, flushed from the cocktail and the dry heat. Sometime in the fifteen minutes he's been gone inside the house, a tiny sombrero-on-a-headband has made its way onto his head.

He plants a kiss on your temple, slinging an arm over your shoulder; the man gets a little possessive, after a couple drinks, but not in an unpleasant way. There's a pitcher of pre-mixed margaritas on the picnic table, and only a thin finger of the same drink left in his plastic cup. You squeeze the hand that now rests on your right shoulder.

"Are you having fun?"

Truthfully, yes. Parties usually aren't your vibe, and you'd been nervous about this one, for some reason. Had expressed as much to him, beforehand.

Oscar and Elvira usually host in the summer, the little patio attached to their apartment far surpassing anyone else’s outdoor space in the city. No reason at all to be nervous— you were just here, for the 4th of July, alone, kindly invited while Pedro was still filming in Morocco. (And oh, how the summer had changed.) Had been here almost every weekend since then, while things were shut down.

But, this was the first party since… well. Since you’d put a ring on it, so-to-speak.

The social etiquette of the whole thing has you flummoxed. Are you supposed to tell people? Is that annoying? Do you just not say anything? Wait for them to notice? Take the rings off and break up so you don’t have to do this at all?

Ultimately, these are Pedro’s friends, so it’s been Pedro’s call. Not that you communicated that to him. Which might have been a mistake. Regardless, you’re deferring to him, despite the pit of stupid anxiety it left in your stomach leading up to the party.

Not that you’re not proud of the ring, either. You couldn’t be fucking happier. Social anxiety is a tricky thing, apparently. (You might have way, way overthought all of this.)

“Yeah,” you smile at Pedro, shaking cobwebs of shitty thoughts from your brain. “Yeah, this is lovely.”

Another kiss, this one soft on your lips. He tastes a little fruity, some kinda flavored syrup in the margaritas. You’d accidentally opted for an IPA that tastes like ass, so you’re just carrying around the can as a prop. His fingers are sticky from something, you discover, as he licks them clean.

The arm around your shoulder steers you towards the long picnic table, around which most of the party is gathered: the hosts, and a few extended family members you’ve definitely been introduced to, before. Sarah is here, with Holland, which is a nice surprise. The kids are deep into a game of corn hole, in the small grassy area.

You settle at the table, folding chair pulled flush against Pedro’s. A large hand palms above your knee, exposed below the inseam of your shorts. The sun is warm on your skin, fingers wet from the condensation of the can you’re pretending to nurse.

“— the AMPTP doesn’t know what they’re talking about,” Holland is saying, from where you’ve entered the conversation.

Oscar’s brother, whose name you should know by now, laughs. “Been four months now, though,” he shrugs. “You think someone would’ve budged by now, but—“

"Woah, woah." From his perch on his wife's lap, Oscar points, looking scandalized. “What the fuck is that!"

Pointing, unexpectedly, at the ring on your finger.

"Uh." Pedro's looks sheepish.

"You're joking!" A hand dramatically clutches his heart, while Oscar swoons against Elvira. "I'm wounded. Sarah, did you know about this?"

Across the table, she raises a glass, mockingly. "I picked out the ring."

"That's not true—" Pedro begins to protest.

"—Sorry, I forced him to make a fucking decision because he'd been agonizing over three options for like a month."

Pedro shrugs. "I wanted it to be perfect," he says sheepishly, "sue me!"

"No, no, backup," Oscar says. "I don't care about the rings. I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"I can," Elvira offers, "you've got a big mouth."

He groans. "It's not like it was a secret!"

Loud interruptions from across the table. "It was absolutely a secret, that's the whole point!"

Oscar throws a hand up. "You already act like you're married, is anyone surprised about this?"

"You were surprised."

"I was surprised you didn't tell me! Wounded, frankly. Irredeemably. To the core."

"Are you done?" Sarah rolls her eyes, squeezing Pedro's shoulder affectionately. "About damn time, but we're happy for you."

She gestures at Oscar. “Yeah, yeah, we’re happy for you.”

“With feeling this time.”

“Guys,” Pedro interjects, “I wasn’t keeping anything from you. It happened two days ago!”

He launches into the tale, eggplants and double-rings and all. The hand stays planted on your knee, and you take advantage, laying yours on top to thumb over the band on his ring finger. Someone tops Pedro off, and you reach for a sip— strawberry, you determine, is the marg syrup. You’re not really listening, but you lean back, content to watch him retell the story.

The next time he kisses you, as the sun sets into the Brooklyn skyline, you taste like strawberries, too.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller #din djarin #javier pena #narcos #the mandalorian #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #javier pena x reader

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officerrrfriendly · 4 months

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The Taken, First Strike.

stranger things conjuring!AU, priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

With an abundance of reluctance, your feet found themselves taking brave steps one after another as they eventually met a birch-wood doorway. But it wasn't any ordinary doorway, inside sat her. The frail and misfortunate Maxine Mayfield, who you still referred to as such- out of a habit of profession- much despite her insistence on "just calling her max, she doesn't go by Maxine anymore."

And in that moment, all of your previous doubts from earlier flooded back into your brain, before you could give into them and turn back, she spoke out. She called your name, a glint of hope present in her tone with some desperation, too.

You sigh heavily to try and alleviate all the weight you suddenly feel pressing against your chest before you eventually reply.

"Hi, Maxine," you mutter, smiling softly before slowly approaching the vacant armchair beside her, full of funky patterns and colours. She sat timidly, her hands held onto one another whilst fingers from each hand wandered over freckles on the backs of her hands she had forgotten she had. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed and fell just below her ears but she was still so beautiful. You tried your hardest to avoid looking into the milky white orb of her left eye and the thick bandage that covered the gaping wound on her right.

If you thought about that night for any longer, you thought you would just about lose your mind- so you shook your head of protruding thoughts and focussed on the topic of importance here, which was the girl beside you.

She laughs, and this time it wasn't humourless or dry but it was real, amusing. "How many times have I told you to just call me Max, hm?" she pokes, she sits further up in her seat as you laugh along with her.

"If I had to guess...I'd say only about 100 million times," you say, with a sigh. Your answer makes her smile for a moment but then she sighs, something is clearly bothering her.

Unexpectedly, without needing encouragement to open up, she speaks. "No one's visited in a while, Lucas...he finds it hard coming here, seeing me like this. He's never said it- but..." she huffs, lowering her head down to the floor. "I know that every time he's here with me he's just stuck in that night, what happened to Billy...me. Even though I can't see him, I can sense it, he's terrified to be around me and I hate it. I hate it because I love him so much...do you have somebody like that?" As the forbidden question leaves her tongue it triggers thoughts you had wished to never think about again, you think of him- and how neither of you haven't seen or spoken to each other since that very night.

Your head shakes, wishing to be done with the thought of Father Steve, and how you've treated him since after the night of July 4th 1983...at the exorcism of Billy Hargrove.

"I'd rather not answer that question... Honey, tell me more about what's been going on with Lucas!"

.•.•.•

You wipe desperately at your tears as they fall on your way to your ocean-blue Austin Maestro car. Your fingers struggle to keep up with the vast amount that began to flood out of your tear ducts.

You harboured a considerably brave face - despite Max not being able to notice it- throughout the entire hour after Max had asked you that god-forsaken question to which you had no answer.

She had talked about Billy, her nightmares, PTSD, her love life and even her mom running off to the other side of the world with her new young boyfriend and a bottle of Jack...she lived a sad life, one you had hoped to someday be able to save her from. You wanted her to come and live in your miniature, yet cosy townhouse you had inherited from your late father Richie, god bless his soul.

Seeing her so frail and lonely, woke a sadness inside you that hadn't long gone away, however that sadness also carried a fuckton of guilt. The guilt of knowing that if you had actually, fully prepared for what you were getting into, perhaps you could have saved Billy Hargrove, Max's eyesight (and her sanity), along with her family.

CLONK, you pull on the door handle to the driver's side door and hop inside before taking one last pitiful glance at the hospice. "I'll be back for you...Max," you mutter.

You turn the rusty key into the ignition. The engine fires to life.

.•.•.•

Days had passed and now you were sitting, pondering in your office inside your humble abode. Max hadn't left your mind since your previous visit and you were thinking through the idea that has floated into your noggin and is actively refusing to leave.

A THUD snaps you out of your daydreams and you quickly glance up from your oak-stained desk to see the culprit who dropped four thick textbooks in front of you, stacked on top of one another. You groan when you realise that it's just Robin, the nosy librarian-now-assistant with a child-like grin on her face. 'Oh, she's up to something' you thought, rolling your eyes before asking- "What is it now, Roberto?" you ask, intrigued as you sit up in your seat.

"I think I may have a case for you, Psychic Sally." she grins smugly, pulling a picture of a young boy out of her pocket.

Now that caught your attention.

"Tell me everything."

And she does, she tells you about how a 'Joyce Byers' had called several times today whilst you were out buying groceries begging to speak with you, for your help and assistance as she believes something is gravely wrong with her 11-year-old boy Will and has been ever since they moved into their house two weeks ago with her fiance, Bob.

She claimed a fever, a change in behaviour, sickness and bruising randomly appearing all over his body seemingly coming from nowhere. OH! And not to mention whatever 'entity' is wreaking havoc among them is causing a putrid, rotten smell to linger throughout the entire house...and her dog suddenly died the first night living there after it refused to enter the home.

You were going to visit the Byers' residence...but not alone.

You had somebody to visit.

"Call Father Steve and tell him I need to speak with him immediately, please Robin," you demand, sighing nervously. as your right foot begins to shake uncontrollably under the table.

"Are you sure that's a...I...uhhh-yes! yes, I will go and do that for you right now, if that's...are you sure that's what you want to do because you know I can totally-" she rambles, her voice high-pitched and unsure.

You can't find words so you nod repeatedly, sporting a polite smile and motion at the door. She nervously laughs, gulping "Ha ha ha ha, well! I am just gonna - yep! Haha! Going," she begins to back out of the room pointing to the door, "going..." she reaches the handle before forcibly chuckling, "and gone!" she shuts the door and you can hear her scold "What the hell is wrong with you?...freak!! god...how do I still have this job?"

.•.•.•

"God...how do I still have this job?" Robin questions, huffing embarrassedly. She treks down the terracotta-painted hallway, full of plants and pictures of who Robin had learned to have been your late father. She had found that out accidentally on the first day of moving in with you when she asked, "Is that your husband?" which sparked a very awkward, tense conversation that you both had very quickly laughed off.

She had reached the coffee-coloured door with the cream handle and twisted it, opening the door to her room- filled with posters of Molly Ringwald, Phoebe Cates, Lisa Bonet, Madonna you name it and she had it!!

Full of purpose she sits on her side of the bed, cross-legged and grabs the telephone from her bedside table and dials Father Steve's number carefully before knawing on her lip and impending an answer.

The phone rings a good three times before there's an answer.

"Hello?"

A/N - Hi babies!! how was that?! I know it wasn't the longest but its just to give the story a good push before we really dive into the plot and have some fun. Poor Max :(( SHE DESERVES BETTER!! and poor Chester, such a sweet dog.

LMK how you found this chapter!!

current taglist: @stveharringtn

comment to be added loves :))

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sunny-mercya · 9 months

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Memento Mori

Clark Kent x Male Reader | Hinted former Ex!Husband!Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

Masterlist

Long afloat on the shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

The 4th of July wasn't a day to celebrate—hadn't and shouldn't been one anyway—it was a reminder of death and who you have lost.

Rain was something calming, the pitter patter of it—how it taps with a force against the windows and the roof, leaving tactful rhythm behind—and yet at the same time, the rain itself was a cry from the sky above. Crying out and mourning their loss.

Jon jerked awake from his nap, a nap which shouldn't he have done, when the first chorus of thunder strikes through the sky. Rubbing his eyes he took a glance at the greenish numbers of the DVD-Player; 01:30 AM, past midnight already.

Getting up from the couch, Jon strutted into the kitchen, thanking his dads for always leaving small lights on everywhere in the house—darkness wasn't his favourite, even with his superpowers he hated the dark and what was lurking inside the shadows. There was a time, when he was still in Kindergarten, were he has giving his parents—his papa especially—a hard time during both day and night.

A cup of either Chocolate milk or Tea sounded nice, maybe a few cookies with it. Filling the cup with milk, Jon was about to put 3 spoons of the choco-powder in it, but stopped and dropped the spoon—spilling the powder everywhere.

Jon had gotten spooked by his own papa, who sat there outside on the grass in the rain. Jon had to take a double look on the digital watch above the kitchen table, before running towards his dad office. It wasn't the time, it was the current date.

~~~

Jon wrung his hands into his pyjama shirt, getting nervous within the passing seconds and the downpour of the rain, which echoed through the walls off the house, wasn't helping with it.

Jon felt always incredible nerve wracking nervous, whenever he stood in front of his dad office or even had to go inside. It wasn't because of his dad, never. It just was the office itself and Jon never liked it to bother his dad when he was working. Though now he had to and so, without knocking—dad wouldn't hear it anyways, not when he is listening to music—and taking a deep breath, he open the door and stepped inside.

Jon pulled at his dad headphones, giving Clark a scare in the process.

«Papa is sitting outside in the rain and we already have the 5th of July today and you totally missed dinner last night and you didn't do the laundry and also, I think we forgot to bake cake and visit grave yesterday and flowers we didn't buy either and papa is sad, like really sad and and—»

Flabbergasted, Clark needs a moment to process his sons rambling. A bad habit Jon has gotten from him. Though he only needed to hear 5th of July to know whats going on.

Ruffling his sons hair, bringing a stop to the rambling, Clark smiled down at Jon.

«How about you sleep with us tonight? And I'll go and get Papa» said Clark, taking Jons hand and guiding him out of the office and towards their bedroom, before making his way towards the garden.

~~~

Clark ventured through the house and outside into the garden. Ignoring the howling wind and face slapping rain, which soaks him instantly. Only focusing on his husband, only having his focus on you.

Wordless he picks you up, for him—with his super strength—you were are lightweight. Carrying you back inside, debating for a second if Clark should put you onto the couch, but deciding against it and walking up the stairs into the bathroom. Sitting you down onto bench.

The wave of silence, a tense one, still lingers in the room as Clark drys you off—taking off all your clothes, getting a new set of comfortable nightwear from the bedroom—and redressing you and himself.

«You shouldn't sit in the rain so late, love,» said Clark, airy chuckling leaving his lips. Wanting to try and lift the mood just a bit. So Clark, just like his Son before, starts to ramble about his newest report he is writing.

«You forgot.»

Clarks stopped with his talking, upon hearing your voice—which sounded drily hoarse—and how you said it, with such harshly monotony and in a matter of fact tone. He didn't replied right away.

«You forgot.» you repeated, face turning into a frown. Anger showing through your narrowing glare.

«I didn't.» Clark licked over his lips, feeling a dryness over them as he answers you firmly without hesitation in his words.

But that was a lie and the both of you knew this. Clark did forget, he did. Too immersed with his work to take notice of everything else around him.

«Yes, yes you fucking did. Yesterday, 4th of July, was our son death-day and you forgot about! We didn't even visit the graves, because you forgot about it!» your voice rose an octave higher within the last sentences. Anger now clearly prominent in your feature.

You didn't want to have an argument, even when they are sometimes unavoidable, to erupt into a shouting with Clark—had enough of those with Bruce back then, when the both of you were once married. Hateful and nasty they were—but Clark knew how important this was.

Guilt gnawed at Clarks soft felt heart, weighting it down with heaviness. He knew how important the 4th of July was for you, what that day means to you, knew the past and present connected to it.

Not only have you lost Conner—his death still recent, even when one year has passed already—on this day, but Jason as well—who you had lost years ago, when you were still married with Bruce—and who was also your son, part of a family, your family.

A once fondest happiness in your life and now a memory you held dear.

You still grieved hard over Jason death and with Conners death now, you had pressure on you which would lead to collapse soon.

Clark sighed, taking your hands and pulls you up. Engulfing you into his strong arms, which emits a instant suction of protectiveness, into a loving hug.

«I know that I forgot about it and I'm sorry love.» he mumbles into your ear, leaving gentle kisses all over your face. Picking you up, he carries you into the bedroom.

~~~

When Clark enters the bedroom with you in his arms, he saw that Jon was still wide awake, giving them a worried glance.

Clark gave his youngest a tiny weariness smile. Laying you down into the middle of the bed, Jon goes straight into your arms as Clarks lays himself down behind you. Hugging both, you and Jon to him.

«Do you want to visit the graveyard tomorrow, I mean today?» asked Clark and when you weakly nodded, he kissed the top of your head. Humming some song, while Jon sleepily rambles about some cartoons till he falls into dreamland

Say, if I only could, I'd make a deal with God.

And I'd get him to swap our places

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc universe #dc comcis #clark kent x male reader #jon kent #conner kent #jason todd #batfamily #Ex! Bruce Wayne #Ex! Husband Bruce Wayne

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carneirinha · 10 months

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the day literally everyone survived july 4th, 2007 on mystery flesh pit national park

on july 4th 2023, roblox players were introduced to an update on the mystery flesh pit national park exploration game: a 4th of july celebration, with fireworks, american paraphernalia and a fetch quest that required doing manual labour for the part, gave out an unique badge, and referred to 'unusual tremors', setting the day of the update to july 4th 2007!

excitedly, a server of 50 players all gathered in the lower visitor center, waiting for the power to go out for mere 45 seconds (and the mayhem that would happen afterwards) at 9:51pm gmt-5. player morale was at an all time high (with some having admitted to waiting 6 hours in game just so they could experience the incident):

when the clock reached the destined hour, everybody cheered, fireworks ablazing, waiting for disaster to strike... but as the time soon changed to 9:52pm, all soon realized that they had been waiting >30 minutes for absolutely nothing: the fetch quest they'd so excitedly gone on, one that set the players out to fix faulty water drainage pipes... retconned the biggest event in the park's lore. and they contributed to it

a mass exodus of players soon transpired, most posting their discontent on the group wall. some, disappointed with the lack of mass deaths, headed to ape's escape and jumped in unexplored areas in order to be killed by abyssal copepods: regardless, all survived july 4th, 2007. but at what cost????

#i survived july 4th 2007!#literally it was such an honour 2 b able 2 witness all that in real time. everyone was so hyped n then SO pissed off #i stalled my bedtime routine for that. and all i got was a fetch quest #recovered floppy disk #mystery flesh pit national park #mystery flesh pit #roblox

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trickphotography2 · 9 months

Text

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 10

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 9 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 10

I’m late.

The thought jolted you awake. It was still dark as you reached for your phone to check the time, knocking over the bottle of Tylenol in the process. After confirming that you still had ten minutes until your alarm went off, you collapsed onto the pillows. The room spun behind your closed eyes as you removed the now-dry washcloth from your forehead and pressed a palm against your temple.

A low-grade headache had been plaguing you for the last few days, stubbornly not moving toward a migraine, so you couldn’t justify using your meds. As it was, you still had some nausea and had gotten sick at work the last two days. Thankfully, Jake was on mids - working from 4:00 PM until midnight since he was helping the Strike Fighter Weapons School Pacific with dog fight training - and hadn’t been on base to make you go home. Your team was reviewing contract bids for a new plane towing machine and needed all hands on deck. You just had to make it through today and tomorrow, and then you’d have a long weekend to relax. Jake could go to the 4th of July party that Phoenix was hosting - you would sleep.

When the world righted itself, you slowly sat up and breathed through a wave of nausea. The pills rattled as you shook out two tablets from the bottle and swallowed them with a sip of water, glancing at Jake sleeping beside you. For the first few nights he’d been on mids, you’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home. With his schedule, you passed one another in the house without having actual time together. A few hours of uncomfortable dozing was worth the minutes you talked until he sent you to bed and watched TV to wind down for a couple of hours before passing out. Since your headache started, you’d gone to bed right after work. Other than exchanging texts, you hadn’t had a chance to really talk to him all week.

Slipping out of bed, you took your phone and headed towards the bathroom, turning off your alarm. You waited until the door was closed to flick on the light, not wanting to wake Jake up. Bracing your elbows on your knees while peeing, you hung your head and breathed through your nose and out your mouth, wishing that you’d taken the time to run back to your apartment to get your nausea meds after work yesterday, but you’d been so exhausted.

The shower warmed as you brushed your teeth and tried not to gag. Deciding that you couldn’t handle the noisy blow dryer this morning, you tied back your hair and stepped under the hot water. Tilting your head back, you exhaled deeply as your muscles relaxed, keeping one hand on the wall when the heat made you lightheaded.

The bed was empty when you crept out of the bathroom dressed for work, and you heard the gurgling of the coffee pot. Following the noise, you found Jake leaning against the counter, ankles crossed while scrolling on his phone, boxers slung low on his hips. His eyes were red with exhaustion when they lifted to meet yours, a sleepy smile crossing his lips as he set the phone down. “Mornin’,” he rasped.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” he lied, opening his arms as you drew close. You pressed your cheek to his sleep-warm chest, sinking into his comforting embrace. “You feelin’ any better?” His accent always came out more when he was tired.

“Not really,” you shrugged. His hand swept the length of your back as he kissed the top of your head.

“You know, I learned something pretty interestin’ last night.” When you hummed, he chuckled. “Apparently, orgasms help with headaches.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he asked, pulling away to meet your gaze. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not exactly the first thing I think of when my head hurts. Besides, I have two perfectly good hands.”

“Your boyfriend also has two perfectly good hands. And a mouth. And a dick.”

“And a work schedule that isn’t exactly conducive to a sex life.”

“Darlin’, I’d happily give up an hour of sleep to help you feel better.”

“How generous of you,” you chuckled. He pressed his lips to your forehead before kissing you.

“You’re going to the doctor if you don’t feel better tomorrow.”

“It’s just a headache.”

“They shouldn’t last a week.”

“Whatever, Dad,” you huffed. Jake lightly swatted your ass, a teasing smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Careful, baby - I might just start likin’ you calling me Daddy.” He kissed you again, lips a soft counterpoint to his rough stubble, before guiding your head back onto his shoulder. “Take the day off.”

“I can’t. We’re almost done with the first run through the bids.” When a wave of nausea hit, you turned to press your forehead to his collarbone, fingers digging into his back as you breathed through it.

“Darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you said once it passed. Smiling weakly, you pulled away. “You should go back to bed.”

“Any chance you can join me? For medical reasons,” he added, brushing the hair from your face.

“I’m gonna be late.”

“Fine. But I’m serious - you’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Groaning, his head fell back against the cabinets as you stepped out of his arms and got your coffee ready.

The morning passed in a blur of documents as the team sat in the conference room. Cruz had picked up a box of donuts, and you’d nibble on a plain one while sipping your coffee. During a bathroom break, you’d grabbed another sports drink from the hanger break room, tossed two dollars into the jar, and added the ninth tally mark by your name. But as it got closer to lunchtime, half of the donut sat heavily in your stomach, and most of the coffee sat in front of you.

“I’m heading to the food court if you want to join,” Cruz offered, pushing away from the conference table.

“I’m in,” Woolsey agreed, as did Armitage and Gale.

“I’m good,” you said. Lunch didn’t sound appealing, but a power nap in the car did. Once you’d tossed the donut and grabbed your thermos, you headed to your office to grab your keys. When you bent to retrieve your purse from the desk drawer, another wave of nausea hit. Groaning, you sat in your chair, dropping your head into your hands. Sweat dotted your brow as your ears started to ring.

You stared, trying to figure out where you were and why you were looking at the ceiling tiles. Turning your head, you saw the bottom of a desk and realized you were on the office floor. Your ears rang louder, and you widened your eyes as the room spun. Your hand shook when you held it in front of your face. From the corner of your eye, you saw feet approaching and looked up to see Armitage’s shocked face. Her mouth moved, and you frowned. She crouched and pushed against your shoulder when you tried to sit up. “What happened?” you asked, sinking back onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ, are you alright?”

“I…I think I fainted.”

“Shit.” She turned to look out the office door but whipped around when you gagged. Pushing onto your elbow, you reached for the trashcan and vomited. “Damn it. Are you okay?” Draping your arm over the rim of the trashcan and resting your head on your forearm, you breathed through your mouth, trying to keep from fainting again. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” She was right. Your left foot had a deep scratch, and blood was dripping into your shoe - you’d caught it on your desk drawer. “Fuck.”

“You need to go to the hospital. I can drive you.”

“No, I’m fine. I… I can go myself.”

“You can’t drive.” You groaned, knowing that she was right. But the idea of having your coworker take you to a hospital - and it would have to be off base - was too humiliating. You knew what you had to do. Armitage helped you into your chair, which had rolled across your office and hit the wall, before grabbing your phone.

“Hey, darlin’. You on lunch?”

“Can you come to get me?”

The Navy spent a lot of money training their pilots to be calm under pressure, which was the only way Hangman was able to drive to the Bounty Hunter hanger, and then across town to a civilian hospital. After escorting you into the ER and getting you settled into a chair with the paperwork, he parked the truck and hurried back inside.

Other than when you stepped into the restroom, Jake never left you, keeping his arm draped over your shoulders. Tucked against his side, you kept your eyes closed as you told him what happened, his lips grazing your temple. Thankfully, your foot stopped bleeding as you waited the hour to go back to an exam room. You could tell he wasn’t happy they sent a medical student to take your history. Jake stood to the side, arms crossed and eyes following every movement.

“Your paperwork says you’ve had a headache for a few days. Is that common?”

“No. I have migraines, but they’re usually gone in a day or two.”

“Any stressors?”

“Other than work, not really.” He nodded again.

“Do you know what usually triggers your migraines?”

“Stress or my period.”

“Is your menstrual cycle normal?”

“Pretty much,” you shrugged.

“And you said your last period was about a month ago?” You nodded. “The paperwork says that you were sitting before you fell. Were you sitting for a long time?”

“Kind of. But I’d walked to my office.”

“When you fainted, did you hit your head?” You nodded. “Did you vomit afterward?” Nod. “Do you know how long you were unconscious?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He left after cleaning and bandaging your foot, and a few minutes later, you had your blood drawn and was hooked up for an EKG. Jake stepped out to call his CO and tell him he wouldn’t be at work that night, then slid his hand into yours as you closed your eyes and tried to stay calm. When the tests were done, you curled up on the bed and dozed with your head on his shoulder.

Around 3:00 PM, the doctor finally came into the room with the med student and shook both of your hands before settling on the stool and tapping on her tablet. “So your labs look good. You’re a little dehydrated, but I’m not seeing any issues with your heart. I did want to ask a couple of follow-up questions. Have you had any sharp pain recently in your stomach, pelvis, or shoulder?”

“No,” you frowned.

“The lightheadedness - has it been consistent or just the one time?”

“I’ve felt a little light-headed off and on, but it goes away in a minute or so.”

“Any irregular bleeding?” You shook your head. “Great. So it looks as though you experienced vasovagal syncope, which is when your blood pressure has a sudden drop. You mentioned that your periods trigger your headaches, and hormone fluctuations can trigger one.”

“So she’s okay?” Jake asked, squeezing your hand. The doctor smiled at him.

“Yes, she’s okay. I wanted to discuss some of the symptoms you were experiencing before the syncope. You mentioned being nauseous - was that just before the syncope?”

“No, it’s been a couple of days.”

“Have you vomited?” Nod. “Have you been keeping food down?”

“Not really. I’ve mostly been eating crackers the last couple of days.” You pointedly ignored the look Jake gave you.

“Have you been more fatigued recently?” Brow furrowed, you nodded again. “How about any other physical symptoms?”

“Like?”

“Any tenderness in your breasts?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jake answered, clearly thinking about how he’d brushed your nipples in the shower over the weekend and you’d threatened to punch him in the throat. You blushed. The med student snorted. The doctor met your gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“The labs show that your HCG levels are elevated, which probably triggered the vasovagal syncope.” Her eyes darted between you and Jake before she added, “HCG is what we look for to confirm a pregnancy.”

The word echoed through the exam room. You froze, feeling Jake’s hand flex around yours. “P-pregnancy?” you stuttered.

“Yes,” the doctor looked between your stunned faces. “I would recommend setting up an appointment with your OB in the next couple of days to see how far along you are and to monitor your morning sickness. Right now, it’s unclear if your nausea is because of your headache or hyperemesis gravidarum, which is severe morning sickness. I’m a bit concerned about you being dehydrated, so make sure you’re taking in as much fluid as possible - water, sports drinks, soup, popsicles, whatever you can keep down. For food, go with the BRAT diet - bread, rice, applesauce, and toast. And I want you to try and eat a couple of small meals throughout the day. You want high carbs and protein with low fat.”

“I’m going to write you a prescription for something to help with the nausea. For the headache, again, hydrate and eat. You can take acetaminophen as needed. I want you to return to the ED or urgent care if you still can’t keep anything down, if you faint again, or if you feel any pain in your abdomen or shoulder. And make sure that you take your time when standing up - your blood volume increases during pregnancy, and your pressure can drop. Compression socks can help. Do you have any questions?”

“I’m pregnant?”

Her smile was soft when she nodded, “You’re pregnant.”

“Darlin’, you awake?” Jake asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. Your seat was tilted back, eyes closed behind sunglasses against the setting sun. It would be so easy to pretend you were sleeping, but you held out your hand and felt his palm slide against yours before the soft brush of his lips against your knuckles. “You feeling okay?”

“My head still hurts, I’m nauseous and exhausted, but other than that, I’m okay.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

“It hasn’t been - this isn’t the first time I’ve had a headache last this long. I’ve only been dizzy a couple of times.”

“That’s a couple of times too many.” When you tried to pull your hand away, he tightened his grip. “I’m gonna get you settled at home, then go to the store and pick up some stuff. You need to eat.” The thought of food turned your stomach, and you rolled your lips together, focusing on your breathing. He momentarily let go of your hand, and the air conditioner blasted, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. “Tell me if I need to pull over.”

Thankfully, you made it back to the house. When Jake stopped to let the garage open, you threw open the door and rushed inside as he parked, barely making it to the guest bathroom to vomit bile. A minute later, he set a glass on the counter, pulled your hair away from your face, and rubbed soothing circles on your back. “I thought morning sickness was only in the morning,” you groaned.

“Well, you’re an overachiever.” You let out a watery chuckle, sitting back on your heels and blowing your nose. He handed you the glass of water before leaning against the doorframe. Your hand shook when he pulled you to your feet, and his lips pressed into a thin line. As soon as you rinsed your mouth and washed the tears from your face, he lifted you off your feet and carried you into the bedroom. He left after setting you on the bed and telling you to get comfortable.

Sighing, you stripped off your shirt and slacks and pulled one of his t-shirts from the dresser before retreating to the bathroom to brush your teeth and remove your makeup. He returned as you slipped under the covers, handing you an ice pack and setting one of his sports drinks on your bedside table. Carefully, he sat beside you, planting a hand on the bed by your hip as you placed the ice pack on the back of your neck. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not right now,” you sighed, blinking back tears. “I think I’m still in shock.”

“You and me both, darlin’. So much for it just being a headache.” Jake’s smile was soft, contradicting the tension in his shoulders, as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the store. You want anything in particular?” When you shook your head, he left.

Once you heard the rumble of the garage close, you turned onto your side and hugged your pillow. You and Jake had talked about kids before but hadn’t had strong feelings either way. When picturing your future, you thought about vacations and career advancement. You could see a kid or two, but that wasn’t the first thing you thought of. It wasn’t like your friends who always identified being a parent as something they had to have in their future.

You’d decided to wait until after getting married to make the final decision. But it seemed like the universe was going to make you choose early.

The first tears fell as you slid your hand under Jake’s shirt and cradled your stomach.

Jake walked around the grocery store in a daze, tossing items into the cart.

Pregnant. You were pregnant. With his kid.

He'd been scared when you called him to say you needed to go to the hospital. Not only because you were hurt but because he couldn’t take you to the nearest hospital - the one on base - but had to go to a civilian one. He’d already been mentally crafting his argument to push up getting married when the doctor dropped the bombshell.

Pregnant.

That word terrified him. He’d never pictured himself as a dad, even when his ex tried to convince him to have a kid. Jake knew he wouldn’t be a good one, especially if they had a boy, not with how he’d been raised. He didn’t want a kid to grow up hating him for doing a shitty job.

But he couldn’t deny that his heart leapt when the doctor said you were having his child.

Something soft crushed under his shoe. Jake stopped and stepped back, lifting his foot to see a small elephant stuffed animal with a pacifier attached to its trunk. Slowly, he scooped it off the floor while looking around the aisle to see if someone had dropped it. He spotted a guy in NWU camo pushing a cart with a car seat, turning left in front of him. After grabbing a jar of applesauce, he followed, speeding along the aisles to catch sight of him again.

Of course, he caught up with him on the aisle with all the baby stuff. “Hey, excuse me. Is this yours?” The man tossed a package of diapers in the cart before looking at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh shit. Yeah, thanks, man,” he replied, closing the few steps to take it. “My wife would kill me if I came home without Wubbie - bedtime’s hard enough without his paci.” Jake fought the urge to raise an eyebrow but nodded.

“No problem.” He glanced at the car seat and saw that the baby was wearing the man’s service hat and felt his lips twitch into a smile. With a nod, he pushed the cart away, unable to stop looking at the shelves as he walked. There were so many different types of diapers and wipes. And it was all expensive. His steps faltered, and he grimaced when he saw a straw-looking thing for literally sucking boogers out of a baby’s nose.

“That thing is disgusting but a lifesaver,” the guy said, coming up behind Jake and seeing what he was looking at. He grabbed a bottle of baby lotion and tossed it into the cart. “You having your first kid?”

“Uh,” Jake said, “yeah, I guess I am. How’d you know?”

“You’ve got that freaked-out new dad look,” he chuckled, then glanced at Jake’s cart. “Plus, you’ve got a shit ton of stuff for morning sickness. My wife swore by these ginger candies they’ve got over in the pharmacy area.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab some.”

“Congrats, man. You’re in for a fun time. And thanks again for the pacifier.” Jake stood there for a long moment before heading to the pharmacy.

What he needed more than anything right now was to talk to someone and get his head on straight before going into the conversation with you. Having kids was supposed to be something you discussed in a couple of years, but not now. Not when he didn’t have time to really think about what it would mean to be a dad. His whole adult life had been focused on becoming the best naval aviator. Now that he’d accomplished that, he had time to breathe, enjoy being in a relationship, and get promoted to Lieutenant Commander. A baby would complicate that.

Not that he didn’t like kids. Some other officers had them, and he liked them in theory. They were cute, and he knew any child the two of you made would be adorable. But they were a lot of work. And he didn't know how to be a father. His example growing up was everything that he didn’t want. Jake knew he could focus too much on his career and what he wanted to do, which was, unfortunately, similar to his dad. He could be mean and lose his temper when annoyed.

As much as he wanted to call Coyote and talk about how much he was freaking out, he couldn’t. His best friend would tell him what he wanted to hear, but Jake wasn’t sure what that was. He needed someone who would give him an honest opinion without considering his feelings.

And, thankfully, he had just the person for that.

The phone rang as he stopped in his driveway. Rather than reach for the remote to open the garage, he waited.

“Hangman.”

“Am I going to be a shitty father?” The words were out before he could stop them.

There was silence for a long moment before Rooster groaned. “Jesus, Hangman. At least tell me that you knocked up your girlfriend and not - ”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jake snapped. “This was a dumb fuckin’ idea. Don’t tell anyone - ”

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry,” Rooster said quickly. “Don’t know why you didn’t call Coyote for this.”

“Because he’s gonna tell me what I wanna hear. I need to know what the truth is.”

“And I’m the guy to do that? The one in the squad who grew up without their dad and has Mav as a pseudo-parent?”

“The only thing you’ve never hesitated on is calling me on shit, Rooster.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Exactly. So am I gonna be a shitty dad?” Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as the silence dragged on.

“You’re dangerous in the air, but when your team needs you, you’re there. You get the job done.”

He cleared his throat, “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.” Rooster sighed, “The fact that you’re worried about this means you’re not gonna be a shitty dad, Jake.” Hot tears sprang to his eyes as he let his head fall back, and he quickly brushed away the few that fell. After a long moment, Rooster cleared his throat. “So when’s she due?”

“No idea. Just found out a couple of hours ago.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” The silence stretched again. “Thanks for… that. And could you not tell anyone about this? We’re…”

“Yeah, no, of course. And…uh… congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” When the call disconnected, Jake folded his arms over the steering wheel and rested his head on his forearms. There was a tiny flicker of hope in his chest that he wouldn't be the worst father if one of his strongest critics believed in him. Hell, he was pretty sure all he needed to do was do the opposite of everything his own did. Sighing, he hit the garage opener and pulled the truck in before grabbing the bags from the backseat.

When he opened the door, he saw you standing in the kitchen, sipping a glass of water. You looked pale as the corners of your lips lifted in a tired smile. “Hi.”

“Hey, darlin’. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I was, for a little while.”

“Were you sick again?”

“Almost. How about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m not the one who ended up in the hospital today,” he replied, setting the bags on the counter and starting to unpack them, his back to you. Sighing, you set the glass down and crossed the kitchen to wrap your arms around him, head resting between his shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” `

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Are you as freaked out as I am?” When he huffed, you moved to lean your back against the counter beside him. His eyes met yours. “I know we said we’d have the kid conversation in a couple of years, but what’s your gut telling you?”

Jake’s gaze drifted down your body to land on your stomach. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before answering. “I think we can do this.”

“I think we can, too,” you said. “But do we want to?”

“Do you?”

Your heart beat fast as you studied him, trying to figure out what his response would be. With a deep breath and tears stinging your eyes, you said, “I’m terrified but…kind of. You?”

Knowing that this moment would change everything, Jake swallowed hard and nodded.

Your gasp echoed in the kitchen as you clapped your hands to your mouth. A slow grin spread across his lips as he turned to face you, gently tugging your hands away to wipe the tears on your cheeks. “Darlin’, are we having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby,” you whispered.

Jake’s kiss was soft, interrupted by his laugh as he tugged you close. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the quick thumping of his heart against your palm. “You know,” he said, “this means we’re gonna have to renegotiate the contract.”

“Let’s focus on one life-changing thing at a time, please,” you groaned.

“‘M gonna put a pretty little somethin’ right here a hell of a lot sooner,” he grinned, lifting your left hand and tapping your ring finger.

“I hope you’ve been saving up, then.”

“I can probably scrape something together.”

Little did you know that Jake had an engagement ring tucked into the back of his closet.

He’d called your parents to ask for their blessing to marry you on the ship coming home from the uranium mission.

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Author's Note: The way I STRUGGLED with this chapter. Given the story synopsis, you know the ultimate decision, but a surprise pregnancy when you're in your 30s is a moment to pause and reflect on what you want. And with Jake's daddy issues, I think he would struggle with the idea of being a good parent. Hopefully Rooster was able to set him straight!

Read Chapter 11

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lovebillyhargrove · 5 months

Text

1989, four years after the 4th of July Starcourt fireworks.

***

It's Hawkins High class of 1985 Reunion, held at Tina's house and happening around Halloween. Tina has this cool idea of making it a fancy-dress party, but it has to be medieval, spooky and everyone should wear masks. It's a must. This way, there will be a special thrill, a secret, because people haven't actually seen a lot of their ex-classmates since prom 1985.

So why not combine two events with a little twist? It'll be even more exciting.

There are kings and queens, hangmen, princes and princesses, jesters, plague doctors, queens' lovers and kings' mistresses, all the court nobles, ladies-in-waiting and knights, royal kitchen cooks, you name it.

The house is lit, the costumes are gorgeous, there is laughter and music, everyone's drinking champagne dancing and having fun.

A knight, dressed in black armour, whose face is covered by a beautifully made black mask, and hair hidden, comes to the reunion last. He takes a glass of champagne and stands on the staircase looking at the crowd.

A strange guest, indeed. Tina can't remember who that might be, no matter how hard she tries. No-one can recall his name.

Steve Harrington is dressed as a king, of course, a golden crown on his amazing hair and a golden mask on his pretty face. He is laughing and having a great time.

Suddenly there is a lighting bolt striking outside and thunder roars over Hawkins. All the lights go out, people are scared, music stops and there are faint cries and murmurs.

Tina goes to find some candles. When she and a couple of her friends return carrying candlesticks

Faint cries turn into loud terrified yells.

There are four words written on the white wall.

Is it red paint ? .. Or is it crimson blood? ..

You hurt my baby

Steve Harrington is nowhere to be seen, as well as the strange black knight.

***

*The baby is the camaro. Billy never forgot.

Whose blood is on the wall? Is Steve dead? Was the black Knight Billy Hargrove? Is he a ghost or is he alive? Where did Billy take Steve? What is going to happen? Whatever happened to the camaro four years ago?