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rivers-rambles21 · 4 years ago

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The one with the flipping

Part 10 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

We’re starting to see more from The Falcon and The Winter Soldier - there are some bits taken from the show to help shape the story.

We’ll also be seeing Y/N & Bucky texting whilst he’s away

It didn’t feel right with Bucky away. Although he’d only been gone for just over a day you felt the void he left. Over the past few months you’d become inseparable, seeing each other every day - whether it be hitting the gym together, cooking or just hanging out.

After coming home from yet another terrible day at work, you wanted nothing more than to open a bottle of wine and binge watch TV with Bucky who was undoubtedly now your best friend.

You were two glasses in when you heard a banging outside your apartment door.

Stepping out into the hallway you were greeted with two cops hammering away on Bucky’s door, nearly breaking it clean off. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Both officers quickly spun on the spot and reached for their guns, stopping when they saw you were on your own. “Do you know the man who lives here?”

“Yes, do you?”

“Ma’am do you know where he is?”

“No I don’t” You lied, not trusting the two men infront of you.

One of their radios suddenly turned on “-he’s is now in custody in Baltimore”

Both cops nodded to one another before turning back to you. “Nevermind ma’am”

You watched as they left as quickly as they arrived before running back into your apartment, grabbing your phone and frantically calling Bucky. You tried a few more times before stuffing your wallet into your purse and heading for the door.

Fortunately you managed to catch a last minute flight to Baltimore after confirming with the police precinct they were holding him in . You hadn’t thought twice about going to him, your heart ached at the thought of him being confined to a cell, trapping him like an animal.

After paying the cab driver your fare, you sprinted into the precinct heading straight for the desk.

“Hi, you’re holding my friend Bucky - I mean James Barnes.” You panted, tired from the sprint to the officer behind the desk.

“Who the hell are you?”

Turning around, you came face to face with someone you instantly recognised. “Falcon” You grinned, a little bit star struck at meeting an actual Avenger.

Sure Bucky was one too but to you he wasn’t some superhero on the evening news who fought aliens and terrorists, he was just Bucky - your friend who stole your food and listened to your never ending rants.

Realising you hadn’t answered his question, you continued. “I’m Y/N, a friend of Bucky’s.” You extended your hand out to him which he shook.

“Sam” He replied, releasing your hand from his.

“The one who believes wizards are real” You joked, trying to remove the tension.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cyborg, a wizard is a sorcerer without a hat!”

“Uhuh” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Have they said when they’ll let him out yet?”

Sam gestured you to the seating area and sat down. “Once his therapist arrives they’ll let him out.” You sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as the busy precinct bustled around you, cops and civilians passing through constantly.

Sam was the first to break the silence.

“Do you want to watch a funny video?”

The first time you watched the video of Bucky jumping out of the plane you were worried sick he’d hurt himself with his terrible landing. But by the fifth time watching it you’d found it hysterical as you laughed along with Sam as you watched the video over and over again from different angles to kill the time.

Reluctantly, you left the waiting area and headed to the restroom to relieve yourself. When you came back you were stumped to find Sam wasn’t where you’d left him.

“Excuse me, do you know where the man that was sat there went?” You asked the officer behind the desk.

“Therapy session” She replied, pointing towards the double doors before returning back to furiously typing on her computer.

“Thanks” You muttered before returning back to your seat, patiently waiting.

You didn’t have to wait for long before Sam came back with an annoyed look etched across his face. “He’ll be out in a minute” he said as he passed by you, heading for the exit.

With a sigh of relief you stood from your seat and adjusted your clothing as you watched the door with eager eyes.

The moment you saw him through the small windows you felt all the stress and anxiety of the day seep out of you as you saw he was relatively okay.

Bucky must have been distracted as he didn’t notice you standing in front of him until his eyes landed on you, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Hey Buck”

“Doll what are you doing here?” He asked as he strode over to you, pulling you into him in a tight hug, your face pressed against his warm chest. Your arms wound around his back, pulling him in closer, his scent overwhelming your senses. He left a kiss upon your head before pulling back slightly to look down at you, searching for answers.

“Cops came to your apartment looking for you, and then I heard they’d got you and I just panicked. Are you okay?” Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hand, your thumb stroking his soft cheek.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he opened them again, suddenly aware of where you were.

“C’mon lets get out of here.” Taking your hand in his, he led you out of the station and into the fresh evening air.

A shiver ran down your spine as the cold air hit your bare arms. In your rush to go after Bucky you’d foolishly foregone a jacket.

Instantly noticing your discomfort, Bucky dropped your hand and shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders, the leather swamping your form.

“Thanks” You said shyly, Bucky merely smiled back at you in response.

“Well I feel better” Sam’s voice broke you out of the moment as he walked up to you both. Bucky opened his mouth to respond before being interrupted by the sound of a siren and flashing lights.

“Gentlemen!” You recognised the voice from the news - the Captain America knock off. “Good to see you again.”

You felt Bucky's hand slide down your arm to grasp your hand once again as he walked towards the imposter, angling you behind him.

“Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

“So what do you got?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

“Well the leaders name’s Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.”

“They geotagged a location then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.”

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip so I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” If it wasn’t for present company you’d have rolled your eyes at Bucky’s sarcasm.

“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?”

“No we don’t know Bucky. It’s only a matter of time before we find out”

“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they Walker” Your lips twitched as you fought off a smirk.

“Take it easy. Look Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kinds of authorisations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

You all turned to walk away, Bucky squeezing your hand as you did before fake Captain America stopped you in your tracks. “A word of advice then… stay the hell out of my way.” The two men turned and began to walk before Walker stopped again. “Nice to finally meet you Y/N”

You felt Bucky tense as he turned back to the two men, his eyes glaring at them. Gently, you squeezed his hand and tugged his arm, pulling him back towards Sam, not bothering to respond to dumb and dumber. Looking down at you, he sighed before complying.

With one last glance behind, you raised your hand as though to wave before smirking and flipping them both off instead - earning a chuckle from Sam.

A few blocks later, Sam hung back to give you and Bucky a moment alone.

“I can’t believe you came for me doll” Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you, he kept switching from rubbing your arms to keep you warm and tucking pieces of hair behind your ears. After the day he’d had you was a welcome sight, reminding him that not everything in his life was terrible.

“Of course I did” You replied, confused as to why he would even doubt it. “I’d do anything for you.” Your confession came as a shock to both of you. You weren’t quite sure as to why you voiced your feelings, maybe it was the day of stress finally getting to you, or the realisation what Bucky and Sam was up to was dangerous and you feared losing him. But regardless of your reasoning, you didn’t regret saying it.

Bucky's breath hitched as his blue eyes searched yours, looking for the moment where you’d crack a smile and make a joke out of it. But that didn’t happen.

Gently, Bucky leant forward and pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “I don’t want you getting caught up in this doll.” His right hand cradled the back of your head as his eyes sought yours, trying to memorise every part of your face, committing it to memory.

“I’ll stay out of it, I promise. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you caged up again-” Your voice had become erratic as you processed the days events. Bucky pulled you into another hug, silencing you as he did, his metal hand rubbing up and down your back.

“I’ll be fine y’know that right? But I have to stop these people Y/N, the serum can’t end up in the wrong hands. I need you to trust me, to trust I know what I’m doing.”

You merely nodded in response, too caught up in the feeling of being in his arms.

Bucky pulled away from the hug and stroked your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised had fallen. “Cmon, where’s that smile?”

You couldn’t resist his boyish charm and smiled back at him, although weakly.

“Attagirl”

__________________

If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know!

@xpurpleglitter

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #tfatws

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writingkeepsmewhole · 5 years ago

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Explanations.

This is part 5 of Kitten. Sorry it ends weird this is harder to write then what I thought it would be haha. Let me know what you think please!

Fic Summery: Sophia has never known love, her always picking the “good guy” him always turning out to be like a snake in the weeds. What will happen when shes took home one night by a “bad guy” him showing her things she never knew about herself.

Part Summery:Dean give Sophia a bit of an explanation.

Warnings: Talk of BDSM

Let me know if you want to be tagged would love to add you: @vicmc624 @deanwanddamons @that-one-gay-girl @akshi8278 @loelizabeth100 @nihilismworld

Part 1 Part 4

The rest of dinner was relatively silent after that. Surprisingly, it wasn't awkward. Sam and Dean talked amongst themselves that I was thankful for. I wasn’t ready to start talking despite trying a few times since I was here.

The months of being smacked or hit every time I opened my mouth made me scared to even whimper.

I knew Dan wasn’t like that and I don’t think his brother was either but that didn’t convince my body.

Despite that both Dean and Sam would ask me questions always yes or no and would include me in their conversation as best they could.

I appreciated it but after the tenth shrug and twelve head nod I was wanting to go back to my room.

“Are you done?” Dean asks looking down at me picking at half of my first taco.

I nod at him, making him frown.

“Are you full or just scared to eat more?”

I shrug not really have an answer. My stomach was rolling. I couldn't tell if that was from being hungry or not wanting anything else inside me.

“One more bite and you can stop.” He says sweaty, reminding me of what my mom used to say to me when I was a kid.

‘One more bite Sophia and you can go play.’ I think in my mother's voice as I pick up the taco and take one more bite.

Dean smiles at me, making me blush. Him looking at me as if I really made him happy by eating.

‘Maybe he just likes watching people eat?’ I think smiling back at him.

‘But then again he wasn’t watching Sam eat so that’s not it.’

That thought goes out the window when the large door at the top of the steps opens. I never really thought about it until now. My brain always thinks you got in from the car garage. But there was clearly another exit.

The door slowly pushes open as a dark haired man wearing a trench coat walks in. He looks around, closes the door and starts walking down the steps.

“Well well well look what the cat dragged in.” Sam says, smiling at him getting up to greet the man with a hug.

“It’s nice to see you as well Sam.” The man says return the hug.

“What brought you here Cas?” Dean asks leaning back in his car sipping at his pop from the taco place.

“You know why.” This Cas guy says his blue eyes going from Dean to me.

“New pet?” He asks, cocking his head at me like a puppy.

“No.” Dean says calmly but it was clear he didn’t want that brought up again.

I dropped my head knowing exactly why Dean didn’t want anyone to think I was with him. Despite the weird names everyone kept calling me. Who called their partner a pet?

I wonder why he called me that but not long enough to get the answer or care too much about it. Cas saying something that got my attention.

“I need information.”

“Case got you stumped?”Sam says gesturing towards the seat next to him.

“You could say that.” Cas says, sitting down, a badge flashing on his hip as he does.

‘This guy is a cop?’ I think looking at him.

‘No, not a cop. Dressed too nice to be one.’ I think looking at the suit he was wearing.

His shoes were dress shoes and his hair was styed in that messy I woke up like this look. ‘Detective maybe?’ I think, settling that that was the best answer.

Dean glances at me, his brows wrinkling together. A wave of fear goes through me. Feeling like I did something wrong I drop my head and close my eyes waiting for him to hit me or start yelling.

“Sophia why don’t you head back to your room. I’ll come check on you in a bit.” He says softly.

Lifting my head up slowly I look at him to see him relaxed. Sam handed Cas the extra tacos he got. They are all relaxed.

No one was mad at me.

Taking a breath I nod and stand up.

I push my chair back in and head back towards my room. Once inside it I feel a weight lift off me.

No more talking, or eating, or people. Walking to sit on the bed I start to clean the stuff off the notebook still sitting there with my questions.

Picking it up I write down a couple that popped into my head at dinner then lay down.

I felt exhausted for some reason and all I wanted was a nap. Knowing Dean was going to come see me soon I settled for just sitting down and leaning against the wall. That was the last thing I remember.

I jump hearing the door opening, my heart pounding as the frightening images slip from my mind. I look at the door to see Dean standing there, his hand on the knob.

“Sorry just checking on you you.” He says smiling softly.

Smiling back I move to sit up. Laying over in my sleep state.

“Do you want me to leave?”

I shook my head that being the last thing I wanted him to do. I ignored being around Dean. He made me feel safe.

“Alright I’ll stay for a bit.” He says walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Walking to sit on the end of the bed like he did earlier today his green eyes fall to the notebook on the bedside table.

“You wrote down more questions.” He states picking it up.

I nod my cheeks flushing.

Instead of reading the questions out loud this time he reads over them and then sits down.

“To answer your questions from earlier. You don’t have to pay me back for staying here. You can stay as long as you want and I’m thirty. How old are you?” He asks looking at me.

I hold up two fingers then three telling him I’m twenty three.

“That’s not as bad as I thought I was guessing you were barely twenty.” He says chuckling.

I smile at his laugh, making my stomach flutter. It was nice to see someone happy.

“As for your other questions, the guy from before, that’s Cas. He’s a private investigator. He stops by from time to time when he needs help with a case. Now before you ask how we help him we give him insider knowledge on some things.” He says making me wonder what those things were.

“I won’t lie, some of those things are exactly legal but it pays the bills.” He says smirking.

He once again chuckles making my face wrinkle in confusion.

“You're cute when you're confused.” He says making me blush and look down.

It’s been a long time since someone called me cute. I think I was still in middle school. But it sounded different coming out of Dean’s mouth. I felt flattered being called cute.

“On to the last question. Why did he call you my pet? Well that’s what I call the girls I get into a relationship with. That is of course if they are one.” He says casually.

“There is that confused look again.” He says smiling.

I let out a huff hating that I was confused but he was talking in riddles again.

“Do you remember when we talked the day I took you back?” He asks, making memories fill my head. I nod telling him yes, I remembered.

Of course I remember it was the day I wish I could go back to and change my answer. The day I went back home to the devil himself.

“We talked about Crowely’s club Hell? The BDSM place.” He says slowly as if he is walking on thin ice.

I nod my head again wondering why he is talking about this.

“Well I’m a member of that club. It’s an interest of mine. Well more than that I live the lifestyle.” He says his ears turning red as if he was embarrassed.

“Gosh why is this so hard to explain? I guess because I know you know nothing about it.” He says his gaze jumping from me to the bed then back to me.

“I would tell you to look it up but it would probably scare you.” He says swallowing.

“I’m not like...normal people. When I’m with someone I’m not just dating them. We don’t just have sex or have a relationship. There are rules, punishments, rewards. Everything is talked about and written in a contact before we do anything with each other.” He says making my head spin.

I had no idea what he was talking about and as if he could read my thoughts he didn’t go on instead he backtracked.

“The night we met I was looking for a new submissive. I’m what they call a dominant. I’m also a caregiver, master and owner but we will get into those later if ever you want to talk about them but I’ll just explain the basics. That is of course if you want me to. I can shut up and we pretend this never happened.”

I shake my head, the curious side of me getting the better of me.

“You want me to go on?”

I nod and smile wanting to know what he was talking about.

“Alright.” He says smiling widely as if I just made his day.

“I’ll try to answer the questions I’m sure you’ll think of. Also tell me if you want to stop talking about this. Just hold your hand up. Alright?” He asks softly. As if he is scared of frightening me.

I nod, telling him I understand.

“Okay so where was I? Oh dominates and submissives.” He says with his eyes meeting mine.

“Like I said I am a domante, or dom for short. As a dom I would have control over you. I know that sounds scary but it’s not what you’re thinking. As I said we would make an agreement before we ever did anything. Also I’m saying this hypothetically I’m not asking or expecting you to do anything. Just explaining.”

I smile knowing that’s what he meant by we. Of course he wouldn’t want that with me. I was broken and used he wouldn’t want me.

“As the dom, I would give you a set of rules to follow. Once again that we would talk about beforehand. They could be simple like telling you to go to bed at a certain time. Or something more complex as me giving you a meal plan right down to counting out your peas for dinner. It all depends on what the submissive or sub needs or wants. Some want complete control, others just want fun play time.” He says smiling as if he was thinking of a fond memory.

“You asked a question about the kennel so I’ll really answer it. The previous sub hated it so I used it as a punishment. Hence why it’s still here. That room is what I call my play room. There is nothing else in it because new sub means new toys.” He says using his hands as he talks.

“As the sub you would follow my rules or get punished. If followed you get rewards. I know this isn’t for everyone. Most people just use it in the bedroom but I found that I enjoyed it in all parts of my life. Each dynamic is different. No two relationships are the same. That’s why I make all my subs sign a contract before anything happens between us.” He says smiling softly.

“You look confused again.”

I nod telling him I am. I knew what he was saying but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I reach for the notebook still on the nightstand and scribble out a question. He reads it then hands it back to me.

“A sub isnt your girlfriend but a girlfriend can be a sub. Like I said, me and Sam don’t have girlfriends. Our lives are dangerous so I would never agree to that with anyone. My subs would come here for the weekend, give me check ins through the week and that was it. We never went on dates unless that was a reward. Relationships are tricky.” He says making me frown.

Mostly because it made me more confused but also because I was picturing us together despite him saying hypothetically.

I nod my head, wanting him to know I was listening, a soft sigh leaving my mouth.

“Did I upset you?” He asks him looking worried.

I shake my head and shrug not knowing how to answer.

“Okay. Do you want me to continue?”

I shake my head, having enough to think about for the night.

“Alright.” He says this time he’s the one that sounds disappointed.

“I’ll let you go to bed.” He says standing up.

I watched him walk over to the door, my mind racing but despite that I knew I didn’t want him to go. But I didn’t say anything. I never say anything. I watch him open the door, looking back at me for just a moment.

“Goodnight Sophia.” He says softly then leaves me alone.

I sit there in the silence trying to understand what Dean had to say. My mind is full of questions. Laying down to try and fall asleep I quickly realized that was going to be impossible. I hated that feeling.

I stair at the wall as what Dean said replays in my mind. I wanted to know more but knew I shouldn’t ask. Even if I could. I thought about writing them down but got embasred by the thought.

Knowing that I wasn’t going to sleep any time soon I settled for coloring instead. When that started to become more aggravating than relaxing I topped and just looked at the ceiling. After what felt like hours my mouth got dry and my stomach let out a rubble.

I looked at the clock seeing that it was almost three AM. Chewing on my lip I wondered if anyone was up.

‘Would they get mad if I got up for a snack?’ I think fear fills my mind.

‘Dean said I could go to the kitchen whenever I wanted.’ I remind myself.

After arguing in my own mind for a few minutes another rumble settles the argument.

I get out of bed and step out into the dark hallway. Along the top of the walls every six or so feet were dim red lights guiding you through the large bunker.

‘Why do they live in a bunker?’ I wonder as I slowly walk towards the kitchen.

‘Dean said his life was dangerous, how?’

Thought similar to that play through my mind as I find my way to the kitchen. A light over the stove and table light the room enough that I can walk to the fridge.

I open it expecting to find leftovers and take out everywhere instead I find it's organized quite well.

Seeing pudding cups I grab one feeling like a little kid as I begin to sneak back to my room with it.

I stop when I pass one of the many book shelves. The topic of mine and Dean’s conversation coming back to mind as I see the four capital letters on the spine of the book.

My face grows hot as I pick up the book and I quickly rush back to my room.

Climbing into bed with my snack and book I flip it open shocked at what I see. Pictures of women tied up with rope and other things fill the pages.

Notes on the different knots or tools are written under each one. Some of the women are naked some of them are not.

This wasn’t at all what Dean talked about. This seemed scary and strange and I didn’t want anything to do with it.

Despite my fear I found myself reading more and more.

I practically jumped out of my skin when my bedroom door opened Dean standing there.

“Oh you're up.” He says smiling at me.

Blushing I nod and foolishly quickly hide the book I’m reading or at least try to.

“A little light reading?” He asks a smirk on his face as he walks into the room.

I open my mouth to speak but of course nothing comes out. My face is bright red I’m sure as he takes the book gently from me.

“Didn’t peg you for a rope bunny.” He says flipping through the pages.

I quickly shook my head not knowing what that meant but I knew I wasn’t one.

“You don’t want to be tied up like this?” He asks, holding up the book.

I shake my head again.

“Noted.” He says smiling and placing the book down on the nightstand.

“A rope bunny is someone who enjoys that by the way.” He says sweetly.

“It’s not really my thing either I rather have my submissive touch me if I’m honest. But enough about that I have a meeting and Sam went on a run. Just came to tell you I’m leaving.” He says standing up.

“Feel free to read anything else you want and of course use the kitchen.” He says walking towards the door.

“Oh I almost forgot.” He says, pulling a phone from his jacket.

It made me notice he was dressed in a nice suit.

He walks over to me and hands me a standard smartphone.

“I got this for you yesterday incase you need anything. Mine and Sam’s number are already saved. Feel free to call me if something happens.” He says smiling kindly.

I smile back at him and nod.

“Alright see you later Sophia.” He says leaving and closing the door behind him.

I take a deep breath and look over at the clock seeing that it’s 9 AM. I let out a yawn and rub my eyes wondering what I’m going to do with the rest of my day.

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trensu · 5 years ago

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Episode 4: or the One with that Many Minutes of Wangxian Screen Time

Not too many long wangxian scenes, my friends, but let’s hit the highlights

MOMENT 1: wwx catches lwj’s eye during class and gives him a cute little grin paired with an equally cute little wave and duck of the head.

But LWJ IS NOT CHARMED! Not our precious ice prince. No, this guy gives him a cold, immediate shutdown because LWJ is a Disaster Gay™ at this point in his life. Also bc the only reason he noticed wwx here was because wwx was whispering with nhs

He’s very annoyed. Because wwx is being rude in class. Not for any other reason.

Boring lecture happens, boring plot stuff happens, blah blah, wen chao exists suddenly and we all hate him blah blah

Okay, one non-wangxian note here because i just noticed this: LWJ WAS READY TO THROW DOWN WITH WEN CHAO. LIKE, HOW DARE YOU INSULT OUR LECTURES??

THAT'S WHAT GETS YOU RILED UP, LWJ?? REALLY?? INSULTING YOUR STUDY MATERIAL???

LWJ IS SUCH A NERD LOLOLOL

Okay, Moment 2: outside of class, wwx says hi to lwj loudly and with biggest most sunshiney grin to have ever existed, waving his arm all big and exaggerated to catch lwj’s attention because lwj is walking purposefully to somewhere, who knows/cares where

HE’S SO ENTHUSIASTICALLY SAYING HI TO LWJ?? LIKE SO EXCITED!! LIKE SOMETHING THAT’S NOT A PUPPY BC DOGS, AS WE KNOW, ARE HORRIBLE (according to wwx; i have no strong opinions on dogs. I’m a cat person)

I cannot emphasize enough how adorable wwx is here.

LWJ just Nopes right out of that greeting, tho

He was hit full force, point blank with that sunshine smile and storms off at a different direction than what he was originally walking towards (which happens to be opposite of where wwx is)

And he’s so angry about it too? Like, his expression doesn’t change but it definitely radiates annoyance

“I HATE THIS STUPID AWFUL PRETTY BOY WHO STOOD UP TO WEN CHAO, THE GUY I WAS GONNA SUCKER PUNCH FOR INSULTING MY FAMILY’S ANCIENT FANTASY CHINA SUMMER SCHOOL.”

“GOD WHAT A NUISANCE HE IS. IT’S DEFINITELY HATE THAT I’M FEELING. LOATHING, EVEN.” *insert Wicked the Musical reference here*

This all happens in like, the span of a minute, btw. That’s the entire length of the wangxian moment here. We’re getting table scraps and it hurts

Lol, WWX immediately decides that LWJ must have bad hearing bc who on earth would ignore him, the ever so charming and handsome wwx?

Also, can i just say that the blue sash wwx has to wear for their school uniform IS UNSeEMLy?

YOU CAN’T JUST DRAW MY ATTENTION TO WWX’S ITTY BITTY WAIST LIKE THAT

MY NERVES CAN'T TAKE IT.

I’M NOT AS REPRESSED AS LWJ. I CAN’T JUST IGNORE IT.

mOVIng ON

Moment 3: TURTLE TIME. WWX, that rapscallion, pins a hand-drawn cartoon turtle on lqr’s back. Which ofc mortally offends LWJ, who shoots him a glare that can level armies as he snatches the drawing and disintegrates it with the weight of his Disapproval

Almost immediately after this, we get...

Moment 4: OUR FIRST PAPERMAN (okay that's a lie bc we saw a type of a paperman in ep2 but this one is the first one in his chronological life time and DEFINITELY the first wangxian paperman)

Cute little red paperman that wwx sends to CLIMB ALL OVER LWJ

Like, NOTICE ME LWJ LOOK AT ME LWJ LWJ LWJ LOOK I’M HERE

Little Red Paperman makes it to LWJ’s shoulder before LWJ heartlessly grabs it and crumples it into a little ball of Repressed Gay Rage

Okay, so Moment 5 is actually a series of stolen glances .

Lqr calls on WWX to answer some questions in that way teachers do when they think you’re slacking off and not paying attention.

LWJ starts sneaking looks at the first correct answer WWX gives, like “oh, he’s clever??”

WWX ofc is preening at each question he gets right

LWJ sneaks another glance, Grudgingly Impressed.

LQR then calls on LWJ to answer a question that stumps WWX so ofc LWJ shows off his brain for a bit too. He’s all smug about it, like so what if wwx is clever, i’m smarter and therefore superior to him

BUT THEN WWX challenges LQR with a question of his own (it’s foreshadowing, but whatever we don’t care about that rn)

And SHOCKINGLY LWJ cuts off his uncle to righteously answer WWX’s question (I’ll SHOW HIM TO ASK WEIRD QUESTIONS THAT MIGHT MAKE ME QUESTION THE WAY THE WORLD WORKS)

LWJ then sneaks ANOTHER look at WWX because HE CAN’T KEEP HIS EYES OFF HIM FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS UNKNOWN REASON

The only reason he stops sneaking glances is bc his uncle kicks wwx out of class, thus ending Moment 5

But then lqr immediately gets the ball rolling for Moment 6 by sending LWJ after WWX to make sure WWX doesn’t skip out on his punishment (writing lines, no kinky sex stuff)

Moment 6, our last wangxian moment of the episode: Sword Fight by the Waterfall.

Okay, maybe fight is too strong of a word. It’s more like LWJ startles WWX, who is in deep thought for plot-related reasons, so WWX whips out his sword to attack before he really thinks about it

LWJ blocks it (gracefully) and pulls out his sword as well. There’s a couple of sword clashes (against A GORGEOUS BACKDROP IN THE FORM OF A WATERFALL, LIKE SERIOUSLY EPIC ROMANCE LEVELS OF BEAUTY)

And the episode is over.

Like, okay, there’s Six Moments of Wangxian content but they’re all, like, barely a minute long?? Except maybe for Moment 5, but that’s because i squished together several tiny moments of stolen glances

SHOW, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHY ARE YOU NEGLECTING MY EMOTIONAL NEEDS. THIS IS A HATE CRIME, I’M CALLING THE COPS

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #the untamed #wangxian

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harringrovetrashrat · 5 years ago

Note

I have an idea if you're interested in hearing about it!❤ Some pre relationship angst, I think. Basically Steve is driving home late one night in the pouring rain and hits a disassociating Billy with his car and finds himself trying to help because he's a nice guy. Just an idea, though!

This one stumped me a bit! Whoever is monitoring my google searches is gonna see a lot of ‘what’s it like to get hit by a car?’, ‘hit by car’, ‘pedestrian hit by car’ and maybe think I did a hit and run, but hey whatever.

I edited the prompt a smidge cuz like,, I didn’t want Billy to get like hit hit with the car, but still like, enough that shit happened?? I def messed around a bit, and this ended up more Steve centric than I thought it would, but hey it is what it is.

Anywhoooo, hope you enjoy! (Fic under the cut)

Steve was driving aimlessly, unable to sleep. Again. Ever since Star Court, almost a year ago now, and honestly since the tunnels, he’d been fucking haunted any time he closed his eyes. The sounds of the demodogs, the sound of the Flayer, the fucking smell. He couldn’t escape it.

So now he drove. Through Hawkins, around Hawkins, outside of Hawkins, as far as he could go. Steve just drove. Tonight, he was driving around town, just watching the shadows. The windows were down, letting the warm, humid summer air in. He could turn on his A/C, but it was nice feeling the heat. Especially after--

Something moved in front of his car and he slammed on the breaks. He jerked to a stop with a gasped what the fuck, but there was an undeniable, though small, thump. Then there was a louder thump when the shadow slammed something on the hood of the beamer.

Steve felt like he might throw up.

He got out of the car on shaky legs, his stomach rolling, and made his way to the front. When he saw what the shadow was, Steve was sure he was hallucinating.

Billy Hargrove stood there, unmoving, unblinking, just staring at where he had his hands placed on the hood of Steve’s car.

“Oh my god what?” Steve breathed, rubbing at his eyes. Billy didn’t respond, just turned his head and looked at Steve, eyes blank.

The last time he had seen Billy was when he helped bring him home from the hospital. His father hadn’t offered and, apparently, hadn’t told Max and Susan that Billy was going to be released. So the hospital had called, Max had picked up, and had then called Steve, all anger and tears. And, well, Billy had saved them. Had apparently been really quiet and withdrawn and Max was adamant that he was way less of an asshole. And he had been, but it was because he wasn’t talking. He’d grumbled a thanks to Steve, had responded to Max with short and abrupt sentences, but other than that, spent his time looking out the window. It was weird and had made Steve’s stomach twist.

Billy’s hair was longer now than it had been. Still short, but it was starting to curl around his ears, all soft and cherubic. He was still thin and hunched over, taking up as little space as he could. But his eyes--

His eyes looked empty, almost. Like he was lost inside himself.

“Billy?” Steve tried, nervous to move closer. Because the Flayer was gone, they knew that, but Billy was being weird. Once again, he didn’t respond, just kind of stared at Steve. They stared at each other for a moment before Steve moved slightly closer. Billy didn’t react. “Hey are you okay?” He reached out, touching the back of his palm to Billy’s forehead instinctively.

“Sorry,” Billy said, voice shaky and rough, like he didn’t use it a lot. Or like he had been yelling. Steve wasn’t sure if there was a better option between the two.

“What?” Steve shook his head. “I’m the one who hit you with my car-- Shit are you okay?!” He gave Billy a once over, grabbing at him to feel for soft spots. Billy let him, body slightly limp. “Does this hurt?” Steve asked, pressing by Billy’s hip. Billy shook his head. “This?” Steve tried again, this time by his ribs. There were no tears in Billy’s clothes, so he wasn’t even sure where he had been hit.

“Can’t feel it,” Billy murmured, voice flat. Steve looked up, hands wrapped around Billy’s rib cage.

“Like it’s gone numb or…?”

“Can’t feel anything,” was the response. Steve pulled away, furrowing his brow. He wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” Billy shook his head. “Home?” Billy made a strange choking sound and shook his head more aggressively. It was the most he’d responded to Steve the whole time. Steve bit his lip, not sure what to do. “The police?” Billy crumpled a little, using the car to keep himself upright. Instinctively, Steve reached out to help. “Whoa! Okay,” he said, voice tight, “No police. You can’t stay out here, dude.”

“Nowhere else,” Billy replied. Something uncomfortable tightened in Steve’s chest.

“We’ll go to my place.” The only response he got was a shrug, which was better than nothing, so Steve helped haul Billy, who was still staring blankly ahead and moving limply, into the car.

As he drove, Steve wondered why Billy was out at this time of night. It was almost 2 now, and Billy was dressed in flannel pajama pants and a ratty old UC Berkeley sweater. A look for a night in, not wandering the streets. Steve’s fingers tapped on his thigh as he drove, wanting to ask questions, but not sure that Billy would answer. He hadn’t stopped staring out the front window, eyes and face blank, like he was there, physically, but far away mentally. It was so far away from the Billy Steve had known, he was almost like a different person. A shell of who he was.

When they arrived at his house, Steve helped Billy out of the car. Billy seemed to have retreated more into himself, which was kind of the opposite of what Steve was going for, so he did what he did best. He rambled.

“I should have been paying more attention to the road, but I mean, it’s past midnight in Hawkins. I didn’t think anyone would be out there.” Billy didn’t respond, just followed Steve inside his house. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? I hit you with my car, man. I guess it wasn’t hard since you were still upright but, fuck.” Steve gasped a little for air, the weight of the situation starting to crash on him. “I’m so sorry,” he wheezed, looking into Billy’s eyes. Something flickered in Billy’s gaze and his eyes narrowed a little in thought. “I’m sorry I hit you with my car. Like, twice now, oh my god.”

“It’s,” Billy paused, looking uncertain, “Okay.” Steve gave him an incredulous look.

“It’s not okay. It’s not.” Billy didn’t respond to that, looking uncomfortable. Neither of them spoke, just stood awkwardly in the main hall.

“Am I--” Billy said, voice cutting through the silence, “Am I dreaming?” Steve raised a brow.

“Huh? No?” Billy’s face crumpled a little and he leaned heavily against Steve’s wall, sliding down to the floor. “Billy?”

“I know I’m dreaming. None of this is real.” His voice was stronger now, but still shaky. Panic formed in Steve’s gut. He wasn’t a doctor, but this didn’t seem normal. Didn’t seem right.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, voice soft and gentle. “This is real. I’m right here in front of you.” Billy shook his head and clenched his eyes shut. “I am,” Steve insisted.

“That’s why it’s not real,” Billy said, voice cracking. “You’re never around anywhere else.” Steve suddenly felt guilty and confused. It wasn’t like they had been friends before, but it wasn’t like Steve didn’t also owe his life to Billy. He could have said thank you, at least. But it was confusing, the way Billy said it. Like Steve was often around in his dreams.

He tucked that away for later; the night had been exciting enough.

“I never said it, but thank you, Billy.” Blue eyes locked onto his. “Those kids wouldn’t be alive without you and you,” he let out a sad laugh, “You didn’t get anything for it.” He slid down next to Billy, not looking at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I expected after you recovered. We didn’t exactly part on good terms. But I should have come to thank you, regardless.” When he looked at Billy, he was squinting at him, confused. “What?”

“That’s not what you usually say,” he replied. He blinked once, twice, then rapidly for a moment, almost like waking up. For what felt like the first time tonight, he focused on Steve. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?” Steve furrowed his brow.

“My house.”

“Why?”

“What-- Why?” Steve spluttered. Billy watched him carefully before flushing and looking away.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Billy?” Steve said, tilting his head.

“I sometimes,” he licked his lips, “The doctors call it, dissociating.” He picked at the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. “I kind of disconnect from reality for a bit,” he said, stating it like he was reading it off a sheet of paper, memorized in word only. “Usually when I, well, come back, I don’t remember it.” He shifted and winced, hissing in pain. “Fuck, why does my leg fucking hurt?” Steve flushed and reached for his pants. “Harrington?” Billy asked, voice creeping up in pitch. Steve checked his calf and saw the beginnings of a bruise at the bottom of Billy’s knee.

“I hit you with my car. You didn’t even feel it?” It made sense, but fuck.

“I don’t always feel things when I’m out of it,” Billy replied, voice tight. Steve gently touched the bruise around his knee and heard Billy exhale sharply through his nose.

“Does that hurt?” Steve looked up, face drawn together with concern, but Billy didn’t look like he was in pain. Maybe like he was freaking out a bit.

“You hit me with your car?” Billy asked, his voice still tight and stressed. He was staring at where Steve still had his hand cupped around his knee. Steve pulled back with a blush.

“Yeah, uh, you kinda came outta the shadows and I didn’t break quite it time.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Did, uh, did you want me to call the cops now? You didn’t earlier when I asked, but I mean obviously--”

“No,” Billy replied sadly with a shake of his head. “I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine. I mean,” he chuckled humorlessly, “What are they gonna do?” Steve furrowed his brow, unable to answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Harrington,” Billy said, voice laced with exhaustion. “No one is gonna care. I’m still alive,” and wow did he sound unhappy about that, “So what is there to do?”

“I don’t-- I mean--”

“Lemme get outta your hair.” Billy began to stand, wincing when his movements were stiffer than expected. Steve helped him up, grabbing his elbow, but didn’t move away and didn’t let go.

“You said you had nowhere else to go,” Steve whispered. Billy paled and licked his lips. “Stay.” Unsure ice blue eyes locked onto his and it made Steve’s breath hitch. Neither of them spoke, just staring into each other’s eyes.

It wasn’t the first time Steve had noticed how beautiful Billy was, how handsome, but it was the first time he’d been almost overwhelmed by it. Taken in by his eyes, the cut of his jaw, the very small smattering of freckles. Steve realized he missed seeing them fan across Billy’s nose, skin kissed by the sun.

“Okay,” Billy replied, voice hoarse. “Okay.”

#harringrove #pre-harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #car accident tw #kinda???#disassociation #mentions of child neglect #steve is unsure of when his feelings for billy morphed but BOY HOWDY #billy hargrove has a crush on steve harrington always and forever #ficlet

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non-binary-bi-fanperson · 5 years ago

Text

Save Fall Out Boy

Summary: Gender neutral reader’s POV, you are a cop at the police station in which Fall Out Boy is taken in YBC after Joe is killed and you get involved.

Warnings: Character death, violance

Wordcount: 3265

A/N: This is my first fanfiction I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with the criticism. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors. Enjoy! 🖤🖤 (GIF’s not mine)

‘James and Frank are at the scene with the murderer and two witnesses, all three of them have several injuries, ambulance will take care of it, please, make everything ready for the interrogation,’ my boss told me hurriedly not long after we got a phone call from a desperate man from an abandoned hospital near the police station where I work.

Not long after that, James and Frank arrived with the three guys and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I know them. Well, as much as anybody else who likes their music. It was Patrick, Pete, and Andy from Fall Out Boy. They’re missing a band member. Is it possible that…?

While Pete and Andy were carried away I had to stay with Patrick and my colleague, Frank and we tried to force that hook down which was attached to his left arm, right where his hand should had been. We can’t let him in to the cell with a potential weapon in - or in this case instead of - his hand now, can we? It hurt him; I could tell that, he was screaming in pain and hell, was it really attached to him, like it was burnt there or something. Damn, what have these guys been through?

Patrick was in his cell; literally the most innocent member of the band was accused with murder. What the hell is going on? My boss sent me to help James interrogating the other musicians and right when I was about to open the door, James burst out of the room, looking furious.

‘They’re a bunch of psychos, what they say makes no sense at all,’ he said to me, trying to control his anger, failing miserably.

‘I suppose you were the bad cop with all your usual shouting, so trust me, maybe they just need some nice words and a good cop,’ I smiled at him, patting his back and going into the room.

Andy and Pete looked at me and then back at the table right in front of them. I took a seat on the chair which now was too far from the table; probably James tossed it away during one of his not-so-uncommon outbursts.

‘Gentlemen,’ I started trying to stay professional since this whole thing was way too serious. I mean, a person just died, I can’t allow my fan-self to take over. ‘Please, tell me everything you saw, don’t let the fact that the accused is a friend of yours cloud your judgment.’

They just sat there in complete silence. I was patient, maybe they just needed time to think about a proper sentence. I waited one minute, then five, then ten more and they still haven’t said a word.

‘Gentlemen, please, we need as many details as possib-‘ I started calmly but I was cut off by a really angry Andy.

‘We just told every fucking detail to the other cop and he straight up called us crazy, what do you expect?’ In the heat of the moment the drummer even stood up and slammed his hands on the table which made me and Pete flinch.

‘Andy, please sit back down,’ Pete said. Somehow he remained calm. ‘He’s right though,’ he continued now looking at me. ‘We did tell everything and your colleague didn’t believe us, why would we make a fool out of ourselves again? Why would you believe us?’

‘Try me, I’m very open-minded,’ I told him with a small smile on my face which made him relax a little.

And they told me everything. How they had been kidnapped by a bunch of girls, how they drugged them, how they managed to escape and what happened in that hospital, everything. Honestly, when they got to the part where Patrick had yellow eyes and acted like he was possessed, I kind of doubted them, but looking in their eyes, I could tell they weren’t lying. I could feel it.

‘Okay, let’s make one thing clear,’ I said. ‘So when Patr- I mean Mr. Stump heard the music, he became this yellow-eyed demon thing, right?

‘Yes,’ Pete and Andy both nodded.

‘But… How could he just become a demon? Don’t you need to be possessed by one? And when it happens, doesn’t it take over your entire body all the time?’ I asked a bunch of questions in my confusion, I got to admit, I probably wasn’t acting so professional but I needed answers. ‘Or was Supernatural just a lie?’

Pete chuckled at my last question but Andy just stared at me which reminded me of the fact that I should be doing my job here.

‘Alright, thank you for the cooperation, one of my colleagues will be here in a few minutes to inform you of further procedures,’ I said now more skillfully then I did before.

I was about to leave the room when Andy asked me something. ‘Wait, you believe us?’

As I looked back at him I could see the surprise in his eyes. Once again, with a small smile on my lips which I tried to hide but didn’t really succeed I answered him. ‘Well, as I said, I’m very open-minded.’ And with that, I exited the room.

Did I believe them everything? I don’t know. They were drugged, could have hallucinated half of it, and not to mention the whole emotional trauma this case could cause to them. But how they described it, it sounded too real, not like something a drugged person would hallucinate and they didn’t disagree on any of the details. If what they saw wasn’t reality at least on a tiny part of the story they would have corrected each other. But it didn’t happen, they were perfectly in sync.

I let out a sigh while I was walking down a corridor which led me to the cell in which Patrick was. On my way there I grabbed a few paper towels; he probably needed it since he was still bleeding from a few cuts. When I was getting closer I heard him humming an unfamiliar tune, probably something from their upcoming album – if they’ll come up with another album after this.

When I got to him, he just looked at me and then back at his hand in his lap. I couldn’t even imagine how much pain he had gone through. I mean he lost one of his hands, one of his bandmates, he’s accused of murder…

‘Hey,’ I said in a soft tone and he looked back up at me. I was handing him the paper towels. ‘I figured you need them, you’re not in your best shape.’

‘Thanks:’ His voice only sounded like a little whisper and he gave me a weak smile when he took the towels and started wiping the blood off of his skin.

‘Do you need anything?’ I offered. ‘Water, maybe some food? I think I can get you a sandwich or something.’

‘Why are you so nice? You’re playing the good cop now?’ he asked, his words just shouted sarcasm and irony at me.

I let out a small laugh. ‘You met James then, I suppose. No, I’m not playing the good cop as you said, I am the good cop in general. At least I’m trying to treat even the accused ones how they deserve to be treated. I don’t have to be nice to you though, I can stop whenever I want,’ I replied with a stern look, getting a little too harsh at the end.

He was just looking at me, didn’t say a word, a flash of regret could be seen in his eyes. I pitied him honestly. He seemed such a nice guy throughout the media and I couldn’t imagine who and why would have done such horrible and unbelievable things to him and the band.

‘Look,’ I started, less sharply this time, ‘I’ve heard the whole story, and-‘

I was cut off by him saying ‘And now you think we’re crazy, amazing. Listen,’ he stood up and walked to the bars, now being closer to the spot where I was standing, ‘everything they told you is true. Everything. You got to believe us, I’m not a murderer, it wasn’t truly me, believe me. Please.’

He was so desperate, his bluish eyes were full of fear, despair, and pain. I could understand him, though. I couldn’t feel it but I definitely could understand.

‘I believe you,’ I said looking into his eyes.

‘What?’ he asked in confusion and disbelief. ‘Alright, I know I just asked you to believe me, but how can you believe me? Even I think I’m crazy’

I had to force back a smile. ‘I just do, okay? And calm down, we’re going to figure something out, we just have to-‘ I stopped in the middle of my sentence because I heard footsteps. Several footsteps, to be exact, probably three pairs, two made by… High heels? What the…?

My boss arrived with two women on his side. Wait a minute. The girls looked just like Andy and Pete described their kidnappers. Their long hair was in tight ponytails, all black clothing, leather jackets… My boss opened the door for Patrick’s cell and grabbed him, dragging him out of there, even though he protested and tried to stay with all his strength, screamed, shouted from the top of his lungs, begged me to help him. I tried, but one of the girls pinned me against the wall, holding a knife to my throat.

‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ she hissed. ‘We only need him.’ With her head she nodded towards Patrick, who was still dragged by my boss. Looking at them, I noticed two 100$ notes in my boss’s pocket. Son of a bitch.

When they turned at the end of the corridor, the girl let me go and ran after them. As soon as I could, I followed them and arrived just on time to see the women force Patrick into a car. Lucky me, I have good eyes and quick mind so I could see the plate of the car and memorized it.

I ran to the room where I left Pete and Andy only to find them gone with only a piece of paper on the table which had an address on it. I didn’t know if I should go to that address or run the plate of the car in which Patrick was taken. The address could have been a trap for the bass player and drummer, but it also could have been a safe place.

I decided to take chances and find out where the car must have gone. After a few minutes, thanks to the traffic cameras, I could find it. I got into my own car and took a deep breath before I started it. I hope I won’t find anyone murdered…

When I got to that older building which had the previously seen car parked in front of it, I hesitated. I know, it’s not so professional but I wasn’t doing the job for so long and it was way out of my league. I mean come on, brainwashing and demonic stuff? That’s not what a regular cop goes after. But I knew that somebody had to save those guys and since I couldn’t see anyone else who even considered helping, I felt like it was my duty.

I managed to get into the building which wasn’t so hard considering that no one was guarding it. The tough part was not getting caught inside. I went by a room in which at least a dozen of girls were destroying instruments rhythmically slamming their hammers at them. Fortunately no one saw me. They all wore similar clothes as the women at the station and they had the same hairstyle.

At the end of the corridor there was a locked door and I could have sworn that I heard a scream along with other noises from inside. So with a hairpin I picked the lock and slowly opened the door, careful not to make any noise in case some of the girls are in there. But no, it was only Patrick, tied to a chair, sitting calmly and staring at a brick wall with weird videos and pictures projected on it.

I ran up to him and immediately tried to free his hand from the grip of the rope only to hear him growl at me. I looked up at his face and looked into his eyes and I couldn’t believe what I saw. They were yellow. So everything was true. Every crazy detail I was told, all of it were true. Not that I didn’t believe them but knowing about it and seeing it are two completely different things.

After I recovered from the mini-shock I just had, I realized that if I let Patrick out in this state, he would kill me. So I tried the only rational thing which came in my mind. I shut down the projector and looked deeply in the singer’s eyes. ‘Patrick,’ I started softly but desperately knowing that any of the girls could come in any moment, ‘please, you need to listen to me. It’s not you, Patrick. You have to fight this, alright?’ He just stared at me, I wasn’t even sure that he understood anything. I continued anyway, this time little more hurriedly, probably because of the fear which started to take over me. ‘Come on Patrick, you’re not like this. You’re a little ball of sunshine, you polite everyone to death, even your haters. You need to turn back, your bandmates need you, your fans need you, everyone needs you, the real you.’

At the end of my mini-speech his eyes turned back to that unique shade of blue he had and it looked like he was himself again. ‘Good cop?’ he asked weakly, looking at me, blinking a few times like he wanted to make sure what he saw was real and I chuckled hearing my ‘name’. I could see that he was confused though, he probably didn’t even know where he was.

‘Yes, it’s me, I’m gonna get you out of here,’ I said reassuringly with my lips forming a huge grin and started to free his hands again. Right when his right hand escaped my smile fell because the door swung open and a bunch of women ran into the room. Three of them dragged me away from Patrick while both of us were shouting and screaming, desperately trying to escape. I tried to free myself but their grip was too strong and tight and by kicking one of them, I only made them angry and they held down my legs as well.

They restarted the projector and Patrick’s eyes turned yellow once again. For my surprise they didn’t held him captive anymore, they let him go but he didn’t move until one of them told him to follow her and he obeyed without any questions.

Damn it. I tried to escape once again and only earned a pretty strong punch in the face leaving my mouth bleeding. They tossed me to the ground, turned me so I lay on my back and I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. They kicked me once more which made me groan and then they exited the room.

I brought my hand down to my stomach only to feel the sharp pain again when I touched it. And there was another thing that concerned me. A warm, sticky liquid. Blood. I needed a few moments to realize that I’ve been stabbed. Well, that’s not how I imagined my day.

I was thinking about practically everything. How I couldn’t save my favorite band, how probably Andy and Pete were dead by that time, how nobody was ever going to find me, how I would probably end up in a trashcan or in the backyard of someone’s house, so yeah, pretty optimistic thoughts. I couldn’t even call anyone given that those women took and smashed my phone.

I was accepting my death, feeling that I was losing more and more blood as time went by when the door unexpectedly opened again. I didn’t even bother to look there just after I heard a small ‘oh God’ which was followed by rapid footsteps. It was Andy.

‘Pete, they’re still alive’ he shouted to the bassist and kneeled down next to me, my blood on the floor instantly soaking the fabric of his jeans. He tried to cover my wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding which made me moan in pain. It hurt like hell, but they were trying to make it easier for me by telling me stuff like ‘everything is going to be okay’ and ‘we’re here to help’ and so on, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it, I knew I was going to die, there was no way they could get me out in time.

‘Bullshit,’ I said and regretted it right at that moment because it sent a wave of pain through my entire body and made me cough up blood. Now that wasn’t a good sign.

‘Hey, easy on there,’ Pete said worriedly. It kind of surprised me that he was worried about me since we didn’t even know each other but still, it made me smile weakly.

‘Guys, there’s no way I’m gonna make it so listen,’ I started seriously but had to stop because I had to cough again. ‘They took Patrick, I guess to their leader who I think is upstairs so go, leave me, you can’t save me, save him and yourselves.’

They just looked at me, not moving a single muscle and I felt my eyelids getting heavier and I knew what was coming. I managed to whisper a last weak ‘Please’ right before the pain stopped and I wasn’t suffering anymore. I closed my eyes one last time. I was still conscious when I heard one of them – I couldn’t identify the voices anymore – ask ‘What was their name?’ and the other one just answered with a weak ‘I don’t know’. This is the last thing I remember from before I let the numb darkness take over me, and I didn’t regret anything I did that day.

‘So yeah, that’s my story I guess,’ I told to the man sitting in front of me with his big curly hair, wearing all white clothing. As a matter of fact, everything around us was white, even I wore white which I wouldn’t do normally. Who thought I was going to go to Heaven and meet Joe there. That’s right, the man in front of me was the lead guitarist of Fall Out Boy.

‘That’s awesome,’ Joe grinned. ‘I mean, not the fact that you died, that sucks, but I always wondered what it’s like to be a cop,’ he explained quickly which made me laugh.

‘Yeah, well, I think not as great as you thought,’ I said kind of getting sad because that’s not how I imagined everything. I know it’s cliché, but I was young and had my whole life ahead of me. I suppose not anymore.

‘At least you came to Heaven. Don’t get me wrong, Hell is cool as well, but-‘ he was cut off by me shouting ‘Wait, what???’ in complete disbelief which just made him chuckle.

‘I guess it’s my turn to tell my story, isn’t it?’ he asked with once again a huge grin and it just put a smile on my lips as well.

A/N: That’s it, I hope you all enjoyed, have a nice day and take care!🖤🖤

#YBC #young blood chronicles #fall out boy #patrick stump #andy hurley #pete wentz #joe trohman #fanfic #fanfiction

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woodshorenews · 5 years ago

Photo

RYAN: This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, we take a look at the town of Woodshore, Washington, home to one of the nicest resorts in the country.

SHANE: Oh, yay, something pleasant for once.

RYAN: Let me finish–– home to one of the nicest resorts in the country, however, behind the Pacific ocean views, lies a grizzly and surprisingly recent series of murders that have left police stumped.

SHANE: Annnnd there it is.

RYAN: ... Let's get into it.

RYAN: Located off the coast of Washington, Woodshore is a small city home to about 30,000 people. It’s about a two-hour drive from Seattle. Known for its legendary resort that comprises most of the city and its employment, most people would describe the town as idyllic and quiet. However, murky secrets lurk below.

RYAN: On February 4th of this year, Elias Peabody was last seen outside of the Rail Yard Tap, a local bar. For two whole weeks, the police department said nothing about his disappearance, other than there were no leads. But on the morning of February 19th, local newspapers reported that his body had been found, believed to be killed on the 17th. There were no details on the suspect, and no witnesses came forward. No one knows what happened to Mr. Peabody in the two weeks that he went missing.

RYAN: Another thing worth noting about this time is that on the morning of February 9th, local law enforcement found the remains of a mutilated deer carcass on the trail. And while this may sound unrelated at first, it is worth noting that February 8th, the night before, was a full moon. This has led some local residents to believe that it might be–

SHANE: No, no, no, no. Don’t do that. Don’t go looping your other shit into this.

RYAN: Do what? All I’m saying is that there was conveniently a mutilated animal carcass found. By the reports of it, it sounded pretty uh... pretty grotesque.

SHANE: No. That’s just – you know, the circle of life. Animals being animals.

RYAN: Listen, I’m not saying it was a werewolf.

SHANE: Yes, because werewolves aren’t real.

RYAN: I don’t even believe in werewolves! I’m just saying that’s what happened. And you know, uh, most serial killers, they tend to start off with hurting animals.

SHANE: But he already kidnapped the guy.

RYAN: That’s true. It’s just something to make note of. Let’s keep going.

RYAN: Just over a month later, on the morning of March 13th, a jogger found the body of a woman in these same woods. While the jogger initially thought they might be alive, paramedics declared her dead on the scene. According to the polite report, she appeared to have been pulled off the path and dragged, postmortem, before the suspect covered the body with various brush from the area. She was identified by a family member as 31 year old Nora Wentworth, a local elementary school teacher. The coroner’s report determined the cause of death to be asphyxiation and blunt force trauma to the skull. She was dead for thirty-six hours before she was found in the food. Nora was never reported missing, possibly due to the fact that schools happened to be on spring break that week.

RYAN: Well, I’ll give you that one. I don’t think a– uh, a second grader killed her.

SHANE: Also, hold on. She’d been dead thirty-six hours and the jogger who found her thought that she was still alive? What about decomposition?

RYAN: I don’t know, I mean, I didn’t talk to them. They probably didn’t get that close.

SHANE: What about the smell?

RYAN: Maybe they thought it was nature.

SHANE: Nature? No, no. You know what? The jogger did it. Case closed.

RYAN: That’s not how it works, dude. I mean, c’mon. Resort town. These people are probably you know, just going about their business, la di da, not thinking too much about any of it. They probably assumed there was no way they were finding another dead body in Woodshore.

SHANE: But there’d already been one murder!

RYAN: Yeah, well, nowhere’s perfect. I don’t know, dude, but I think if it was the jogger, they’d have found out by now. Finding the body always makes you a prime suspect.

SHANE: Uh-huh. Sure. What are the police doing, anyway? Sitting back, eating some donuts like those small town cops do, hoping there’s not a third?

RYAN: Well, they’re probably hoping that, yeah. That brings me to my next point.

RYAN: The day after the 2nd murder, the head detective on the case, Detective Hannah Zhang, suggested a town curfew and that people not be alone after day. Mayor Combs agreed to this, and the recommendation was published in the newspaper, along with information about the murder. However, after the case, Detective Zhang declined to make any kind of public comment about the case or how it was proceeding.

RYAN: What’s also interesting about this is that, after the first case, the police department reacted similarly. And, more noteworthy, after the animal attack–

SHANE: Not this shit again.

RYAN: Yes. After the animal attack, they sent out advice about how to go in the woods without upsetting wildlife. Isn’t it interesting how they have the same level of response about both events? I mean – now multiple people being murdered, compared to an animal.

SHANE: I mean, listen, you said this was a resort town. Chances are, they just don’t want to talk about it so that they can avoid putting a dent in their reputation. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. That’s just how small towns are.

RYAN: That’s not just how small towns are. That’s shady!

SHANE: It’s not that shady. C’mon, it’s the popo.

RYAN: That’s a terrible excuse. But, unfortunately for this small town, the lack of answers coming from the police department ultimately ended up with more harm.

RYAN: On April 2nd, only two months ago, Woodshore officers responded to a distress call. Upon arrival, the officers found a young adult who was barely responsive and suffering from extensive wounds to the skull and abdomen. Defensive wounds were also visible, according to paramedics. The phone that was used to make the call was later found at the scene. the young adult was declared dead on arrival at the Woodshore hospital and identified by family members as Orion Rubinstein, a twenty-two year old college student, who had last been seen only hours prior in the family’s suite at the resort.

RYAN: Do you want this guy to murder you?

SHANE: I’d like him to try, yes. I think that would make some great footage. Besides, we obviously wouldn’t be filming this episode if he killed me. I’d be doing viral on Twitter. And you uh, you’d probably be... sobbing and trying to contact my ghost.

RYAN: Yeah, I think I would try to contact your ghost.

SHANE: And you would fail. Because ghosts aren’t real.

RYAN: Not true, but I digress. Obviously, we did get a chance to go to Woodshore in the beginning of May, and neither one of us was murdered. But could we have conceivably crossed paths with a murderer? Definitely. Now would be a good time for that montage...

RYAN: It is a beautiful town.

SHANE: Lovely town. Absolutely lovely.

RYAN: Unfortunately, we haven’t quite covered everything sketchy that’s happened in Woodshore in the last year.

SHANE: Wait, really?

RYAN: Really. And uh... you’re really going to hate this one.

SHANE: Oh boy.

RYAN: On the morning of April 22nd, three weeks after the murder of Orion Rubenstein, the most grisly murder yet occurred. The evidence is both shocking yet underwhelming in what it reveals – there were no significant fingerprints or DNA evidence to be found. While authorities have not released this information publicly, an informant from inside the department has revealed that the victim’s cause of death was a wound to the neck and significant blood loss. The wound in question was two distinct punctures, and while the victim was drained of half of his body’s blood, only a few drops were found at the scene.

The victim was the notorious Augustus Gallagher, a forty-one year old loan shark. He had a history of settling lawsuits for fraud and embezzlement, and has been connected to some of Woodshore’s more unsavory characters, including potentially a drug ring. While this connection has never been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, it raises some serious questions about Mr. Gallagher… and the motives of the Washington Night Stalker.

SHANE: The Washington Night Stalker. Every good serial killer needs a name.

RYAN: So you’re not going to comment on the fact that the victim had two puncture wounds in his neck and was drained of blood? All you care about is the name?

SHANE: Yeah, I mean, it’s a cool name.

RYAN: Uh-huh.

SHANE: And vampires obviously aren’t real.

RYAN: See, I agree with you there. I don’t think they’re real. But, it’s interesting that between Gallagher’s murder, and the whole full moon thing, there’s a little... a little drop of vampires and werewolves in this town.

SHANE: But it doesn’t mean anything because none of that crap is real.

RYAN: Right, right.

SHANE: Well, this is a weird feeling. Four murders this year and the police have got, what? Nothing?

RYAN: Nada.

SHANE: Wow.

RYAN: Yeah. In this case, the police has said so little about the actual case and suspects surrounding it, just that they apparently have significant leads. But, nothing’s actually come from any of this. With four murders under its belt, and maybe something a little more savory going on inside of Woodshore, this resort-style town might not be as idyllic as it appears on the surface.

But for now, this case will remain... Unsolved.

#woodshore: news #multifandom rp #multifandom rpg #fandom rp #town rp

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kaleldobrev · 5 years ago

Text

Graveyard Smash

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Reader Gender: Female

Summary: Sam and you go on a simple salt and burn case, which leads to some sexy times at a graveyard.

Warnings: Smut, some language

Notes: This is my first time writing smut. So I’m sorry if it’s bad. I really tried. Also, if having sex in a cemetery offends you, do not read this. If you liked this, please like/reblog this. It really lets me know you support fanfic creators.

If you prefer to read this on Archive of our own, here is the link

“It looks like just a simple salt and burn. Doesn’t seem like it needs all three of us.” You stated, as you started reading the news story on your laptop. On paper, it seemed like a really easy case. Brunette women around the age of 30 were all found dead in their bathtubs. The smell of rotten eggs filled the room but no rotten eggs were ever found at the crime scenes; which was a weird sentence you thought you’d never read in a quote on quote serious news website.

“Alright, Sammy and I got it. Y/N, you can stay here and try to find us more cases.” Dean said, and all you could do was state at him blankly, trying to hold bac the oh so not very nice comment you wanted to say. But before you could say anything, Sam spoke, saving Dean’s ass from being chewed out by you.

“Actually Dean. I was thinking Y/N and I could do this case together.” Sam said looking at you, trying to see your smile of approval that you instantly granted him without any hesitation. It was nice being with someone that always had your back no matter what. “Y/N and I never really get alone time together. And even though this is a case, it’d be nice to spend a few days together uninterrupted.” Sam shot his brother a look, and Dean instantly looked offended.

“What do you mean uninterrupted? I never interrupt you two.” Dean said trying to defend himself.

“Bullshit.” You said ever too quickly. “Whenever Sam and I are trying to have sex or be intimate in any way shape or form, you almost always interrupt us.”

Dean pointed at you. “Ah ha! Almost! You said almost!” You rolled your eyes. He was practically a little kid at this point. But you loved him the same nonetheless.

“I hate to admit it Dean but, you can be a real cockblock.” Sam said shrugging his shoulders a bit. You nodded at what he said, and the two of you shared a similar look when looking at Dean.

At this point, Dean had no idea what to say. He didn’t mean to be a cockblock by any means. He just had really shitty timing sometimes. And the times he had shitty timing happened to be when Sam and you were trying to be intimate.

“Okay fine.” Dean finally said. “You two can have your little couples weekend with a ghost and some corpses. Meanwhile, I’ll have Dean time.”

“And what does ‘Dean time’ consist of?” You asked, putting air quotes around Dean time. You knew exactly what Dean time was though. Whenever he said he wanted some Dean time, it usually consisted of working on Baby and then going into his bedroom and watching Casa Erotica or hentai while drinking beer or whiskey and then passing out. But you wanted to see if Dean would actually admit it this time.

“It’s none of your business. Dean time is my time.” He said, sounding almost too proud. You grinned, trying your best to hold back a laugh.

“Okay. Enjoy your Dean time.” You said, giving him a thumbs up and him giving you one in return. And with that, Dean left the Bunker kitchen, and Sam and you had the go ahead to have your ‘couples weekend.’

The trip to the latest crime scene was a bit of a drive, but it could have been worse. The crimes were happening in Denver, Colorado so from Lebanon is was almost a six hour drive, but without stopping once, and the way Sam drove, the trip took less than five hours. Thank goodness Sam could be a speed demon when he wanted to be.

When Sam and you arrived at the motel, it was a little bit nicer than the usual motels the three of you stayed it, but it was still a motel nonetheless. The color scheme of the room was blues and greens, probably because Colorado was a very outdoorsy state. But, it was probably because the motel you were staying at was called The Nature Inn.

Placing your duffel bag on the bed you started looking through it trying to figure out your alias. After a few minutes, you decided on the perfect one. “Okay Sammy. I think I decided on who I’m going to be for this case.” You said, taking your FBI badge from the duffel.

“Oh?” Sam said, straightening his black tie. “Who are you today Y/N?”

“Agent Parker.” You grinned. “Want to guess who I want you to be?”

“It’s not Agent Barrow is it?” Sam grinned and you nodded. “And why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know how much I love Bonnie and Clyde. And if we’re doing a quote on quote couples weekend, why not have the last names of one of the most famous couples?” You explained.

“An outlaw couple to be exact.” Sam added.

You waved your hand. “Technicalities babe.” You grinned, which caused Sam to smile.

When Sam and you were ready, the two of you headed to the latest crime scene which was about a five minute drive from the motel you guys were staying at. When the two of you arrived on scene, you talked to some of the cops as well as the victims husband. Even though he was still in shock about the whole thing, he was still able to give some pretty usual information, even though a lot of the information he gave were things that you had read about in the other previous murders.

“So why does the bureau have an interest in this case?” Asked Detective Hargrove.

“This is the fourth murder in the same town in less than two weeks. All the victims died the exact same way and all the victims are similar in physical appearance and age. So, you tell me why.” You said to the detective, giving your best FBI-esque voice.

The detective shrugged. “Fair enough Agent Parker.” He said.

“Do you have any suspects?” Sam asked.

Detective Hargrove shook his head. “Not at all because there is really nothing to go on besides the rotten egg smell. I mean, there’s been no sign of forced entry at any of the crime scenes and there’s no murder weapon.” He sighed. “I’ve been on the force for almost two decades, and never have I been this stumped on a case before.” The detective sounded defeated.

“Has there been anything like this before here?” You asked, and the detective shook his head.

“Not to this magnitude.” He stated.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. Now we were finally getting somewhere.

“Well, I do not know the full details, because it was before my time. But, in the thirties, a man killed his wife because he thought she was cheating on him. The husband originally said that he came home and found her dead in the bathtub. But he later admitted that he killed her.” The detective explained.

“Thank you detective.” Sam said. He went into his pocket and pulled out a fake card, handing it to Hargrove. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.” The detective nodded and took the card from Sam, placing it in his pocket.

Sam and you walked away from the detective and headed towards the car. “So, I guess we have a vengeful spirit on our hands.” You said opening up the car door.

“Looks like it. When we get back to the motel, it should be easy to find the news story.” Sam said getting into the car and starting the engine once you closed your door and buckled.

After a couple hours of research, Sam and you finally had the news story the detective was talking about. “Y/N, I found it.” Sam said looking up at you. You got up from where you were sitting and walked over to Sam. You stood behind so and looked at the news article. “Joseph McHillian, age 32, kills Barbara McHillian, age 30, after he thinks she is cheating on him. On March 23, 1936, Joseph McHillian states that he came home after work and killed his wife Barbara after he suspected that she was having an affair with the mailman. When he came home from work, his wife Barbara was in the tub, and she was happy to see him. At this point, Joseph started yelling and making accusations. Joseph claimed that she denied everything and that she was not cheating on him, but he did not believe her.” Sam said, reading word for word. “It later came out that she was in fact not having an affair, obviously.” Sam stated.

“Did you find anything about where he was buried?” You asked trying to read ahead.

“I did.” Sam said closing out of the current window and opening up another one. “He’s buried at Saint Michael’s Cemetery, which is about a fifteen drive from here.”

“Thank goodness this asshole was buried.” You said, which caused Sam to let out a small laugh. “When it gets dark, we can head over to the cemetery.”

After dark, the two of you headed to the cemetery and looked for Joseph McHillian’s grave. His grave was pretty easy to find given the fact that it was in the criminal’s section of the cemetery, which you found insanely odd. What kind of cemetery has a dedicated criminals section?

Digging up the grave, Sam and you did the usual salt and burn to Joseph’s body. As the flames were engulfing the body, you turned to Sam. “I think this is the quickest case we have ever done.” You said. “Less than a day and we figured it out.” You commented.

“I call that a win. Especially since we have the room for three more days.” Sam looked at you, smirking slightly.

“What are we ever going to do to fill up three days?” Your voice was filled with want, which caused Sam’s facial expression to instantly change. His smirk turning a little devilish.

“I think I have a few ideas.” He said, moving closer to you.

“Oh?” You questioned, biting your bottom lip, knowing that was one of Sam’s sexual triggers. “What kind of ideas?” You played innocent, fully knowing what his ideas were.

“Do you want me to tell you or show you?” He asked, not really looking for an answer.

You closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms were wrapped around your waist now, pulling you closer to him. As he did this, you could feel the erection forming in his jeans. “I think you should show me.” You whispered.

“Right now? Where’s there’s a possibly that anyone could see?” Sam asked. The idea of getting caught was something that really turned him on. Public sex was something that the two of you talked about, but it was something that the two of you weren’t sure about actually doing it. But when the two of you talked about it, having sex in a cemetery was something that definitely never came up in the scenario.

You nodded. “Yes.” And the instant that word left your lips, Sam had you pinned to the ground. Your arms were pinned above your head, and your legs were separated by Sam’s knee. Sam looked at you, his eyes were full of want, and your heart was going a mile a minute. He leaned down and kissed your lips. His kiss was gentle and soft at first, but eventually turned rough and needy. As his hand one was holding your arms above your head, his other hand started roaming down your body, stopping just above the button to your jeans. As his hand started to unbutton your jeans, his lips started moving to your neck, which caused you to let out a soft moan. “Sam…” You managed to say. Your eyes were shut now, loving the feeling of his lips on your neck.

At this moment, he started kissing your neck, which caused you to open your eyes. Sam whispered in your ear. “Don’t move your arms.” He stated and released his hand from your wrists. “Keep them above your head.” He practically commanded, and you nodded. He unbuttoned your jeans and slowly started removing them. You bucked up your hips just a bit in order to help him remove them faster. Even though there was a chill in the air, you knew that you wouldn’t be cold for long, given the fact you were already warming up.

Within a matter of seconds, your legs were free of jeans, and you were left with just wearing your black boy short underwear and a sweatshirt. “Sam…please…” You moaned, as Sam started playing with the hem of your underwear. As much as you liked when he teased, you just really wanted to get to the good part.

“Please what?” Sam said looking at you, as he continued to play with the hem of your underwear. “What do you want?” He asked as he started pulling down your underwear.

“I need you.” You said to him, still being very vague, which was not good enough for Sam.

“You need me to what Y/N? Use your words.” He stated. Sam looked at you, his eyes were filled with want, and his facial expression screamed sex.

“I need you to eat me out and fuck me.” You were finally blunt with what you wanted, which was all Sam was looking for from you.

“Atta girl.” He commented and slowly started removing your underwear. Again, you bucked your hips slightly in order to help him. Once your underwear was removed, he leaned down between your legs and held them apart with his hands. Sam held them apart at your knees and his tongue started going to work. At the moment his tongue came in contact with your clit, your eyes shut and you let out a soft moan. His tongue moved in circles, and then started doing other kinds of patterns that he knew you enjoyed.

After what seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes, you came, and as you did, Sam continued as you rid out your orgasm. When you had your first orgasm, you thought that Sam was going to start eating you out, but you were wrong. He continued to eat you out until he gave you another orgasm. After you rid out your second orgasm, he stopped, and you whined at the lack of contact. You opened your eyes and saw Sam grinning at you, which caused you to smile at him. The both of you panting a bit, you more than him.

He leaned in and kissed your lips; it was needy and quick, but you tasted yourself on his lips. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered to you, starting to unzip his jeans. “Can’t wait to actually fuck you properly, without Dean in the way.” Sam said, taking off his jeans and boxers and tossing them to the side. He grabbed your hips and pulled you toward him. He was kneeling now, and his hands were on your waist, holding you in place. You were slightly straddling him, with your arms wrapped around his neck, and his cock slightly resting against your pussy. This wasn’t the most comfortable of sex positions, but it was a position that you could definitely get behind. Well, not actually behind…

Without warning, Sam lifted you up slightly and slipped his cock inside you. A loud moan escaped your lips, and Sam studied your face as his cock went in, inch by inch. One of his favorite things about having sex with you, was your facial expression whenever he entered you. Even though the two of you have been together for years, every time his cock slipped inside you, it always seemed like it was the first time the two of you had sex. The combination of your moaning and facial expressions always made Sam so confident, and turned on. The reason being, he knew that he was the only person in the world that could ever get this kind of reaction from you.

As he pumped in and out of you, you continued to moan. Not as loudly as when he first entered you, but your moans were still pretty loud. Probably louder than you would have liked, given the fact that not only were you in a public place, but you were in a cemetery of all places.

Sam had his arms wrapped around your waist, and your hands were cupping his face. The two of you were staring into each other’s eyes. Each thrust now was starting to get sloppier and sloppier. You could feel yourself getting close; and you knew for a fact that Sam was getting close too. You leaned in and the two of you kissed; your kiss wasn’t needy this time or full of lust. The kiss was passionate, yet gentle. “I love you.” You managed to say in between your final moans.

“I love you too.” Sam said. And with his final thrust, the two of you came at the same time.

The two of you stayed in that position for a minute, his still semi-hard cock deep inside you. The two of you panted for a minute, and you looked at each other. This wasn’t the most intense or passionate sex you’ve ever had with Sam, but it was one of the most intimate you’ve had with him. Which was a strange thought.

He pulled out of you, and released you from his grip, even though he didn’t want to. “You know Sammy,” You began to say, as you started putting back on your underwear; Sam was putting back on his. “I never thought I’d ever have sex in a cemetery, let alone having sex by grave firelight.” You finished. Sam looked at you, chuckling a bit.

“What? You’re telling me you’ve never had a sex in a cemetery before that was light up by a body being on fire?” The two of you looked at each other, and you couldn’t help but laugh at this comment. In return, he smiled.

“Shockingly no.” You said in between small laughs, finishing up putting your pants on and buttoning them. At this point, Sam was finished getting his pants back on as well. When you looked over at the grave to see if it was finished burning, which it was. This asshole was not going to be killing anymore women. You looked at Sam, who was standing next to you now. “You know, I feel kind of bad that you only got off once, and I got off three times.” You commented, and Sam smirked.

“Well, we do have the motel for a few more days. And, it is about a six hour drive back to the Bunker.” His statement made you smile. The two of you were definitely going to be having a lot of more fun the next couple of days, on your quote on quote couples weekend. But you were definitely going to leave out of the fact that the two of you had sex in a graveyard to Dean. That was something that he really did not need to know about.

#sam Winchester x reader #sam Winchester x you #sam Winchester one shot #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #smut #reader insert #sam Winchester imagine #spn imagine #supernatural imagine

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noreasonjustbored · 6 years ago

Text

You Will Never Understand My Everything

Warning- Sensitive Subject Matter Regarding Racism and Police Brutality

“Hey babe, do you know where the extra gumball tubes are?” Henry asks while walking through the door.

Charlotte jumps slightly, sniffles and wipes at the tears streaming down her face with the back of her hands. She was so focused on her phone that she didn’t hear Henry come in at all.

Plus she purposely chose to hide out in the storage room because no one really went in there. She wasn’t expecting for anyone to find her at all, especially not in such a vulnerable state.

“What’s wrong Char?” came the concerned voice of her boyfriend.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Charlotte mumbles while standing from her crisscrossed position on the floor. She eyes her shoelaces and dusts off her jeans nervously.

Henry steps further into her space, lifts her head with a finger to the chin and attempts to make eye contact. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing. You’re clearly upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s personal. You wouldn’t get it anyway.”

A flash of hurt flickers in Henry’s eyes and he nods. “Okay. Well if you decide that it is something, let me know.”

Henry backs up slowly and then turns to leave the room. He walks back into the Man Cave with a frown on his face. There is obviously a problem, Henry has never seen her cry in all their years of knowing each other.

He contemplates his girl’s words. I wouldn’t get it? Personal? What is that supposed to mean? I thought we told each other everything.

Ray had recently started participating in what he called Superhero Self-Care Sunday. He was currently in a full face mask with his head rested back against the edge of the couch and cucumbers over his eyes.

Henry walks over to the other side and plops down moodily.

Ray whips his head in Henry’s direction, cucumbers flying. He gives him an annoyed glare for disturbing his peace.

“Why are you being so noisy?”

“I haven’t said one word.”

“Yeah, well your teenage angst is loud.”

Henry rolls his eyes in response.

“Who peed in your cereal?”

“Eww dude. No one peed anywhere. It’s just Charlotte.”

“She finally realized that she was slumming it with you and kicked you to the curb?”

“What?! No!”

“It’s true though” Schowz gives his unsolicited opinion from his spot at the console.

“We did not break up!”

“Then what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“I wear boxers.”

“Whatevs” Ray says while swatting the air in nonchalance.

Henry sighs. “Something is upsetting Char but she won’t tell me what it is.”

“Wait. You’re mad that your girlfriend isn’t complaining to you about all her troubles?” Ray asks incredulously.

“That doesn’t seem like an issue to me” says the shorter man while walking towards them.

“Ugh. You guys don’t understand. She was crying. When have you ever seen her do that?”

Both men looked stumped while trying to think of a single instance where Charlotte had let tears fall in front of them.

“I know! There was that one time when she cried about missing that really good sale for crop tops” Ray offered.

“That was Jasper” Henry deadpanned.

“Oh yeeeeeaaaahhh” he agrees.

“Jasper is strange” adds Schowz.

“Hm. I guess that is out of the ordinary. So what was wrong with her?”

“I don’t know! That’s the whole point.”

“Right. I forgot.”

“Did you ask what caused her sadness?” the foreigner wondered.

“Of course I did! She blew me off. Said that I wouldn’t get it.”

“Maybe she thought that you couldn’t handle it.” “She probably doesn’t trust you” the two older men say at the same time.

“You guys are no help” Henry says frustratedly while getting up from the couch and walking towards the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Ray inquires.

“Away from you” came the reply as the blonde stepped into the elevator.

“Rude” he mutters under his breath before picking up a cucumber from the table and biting into it.

Once upstairs Henry walked towards Jasper who was at the register.

“Hey Hen, how goes it?”

“Bad Jasp. It goes bad.”

“What? Why?” Jasper asks confused.

“Charlotte is going through something but she won’t tell me what it is.”

“Ok and?”

“What do you mean ‘Ok and?’ Char is keeping things from me.”

“Yeah but it sounds like she wants to work through it alone. It probably doesn’t concern you.”

“Charlotte and I always tell each other everything.”

“You guys don’t tell each other everything, that’s impossible. Look, I get that you don’t want to see her hurting.”

“Why does it sound like a but is coming?”

“But...if she has something happening that she wants to keep to herself, then you have to respect that.”

“I hate seeing her so broken up, I want to help her through whatever it is.”

“You have to understand that you aren’t entitled to her every thought and feeling just because you guys are dating. That’s bonkers.”

“I guess you’re right. When did you get so wise dude?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe it’s just my natural state of being.” Jasper responds while trying to lean his elbow against the counter.

Except he underestimates how far away the counter really is and ends up almost falling when his elbow meets air.

“Yeah, natural state of being alright.”

Henry leaves Jasper in the front and takes the tubes back down. When the tube lifts he notices that Charlotte is sitting at the couch with her forehead on the table. Schowz and Ray are nowhere to be seen.

He walks towards her and clears his throat. She glances up in surprise. “I thought you left?”

Henry sits down. “I was in the store with Jasper.”

A few agonizing seconds go by while the couple just stare at each other.

“Listen I didn’t mean...” “I just wanted to...” they start simultaneously.

Both stopping and then nervously chuckling, Charlotte jumps in, “You go.”

“I’m sorry for trying to pressure you into telling me what was wrong. I just hate seeing you so down in the dumps.”

“No, I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I didn’t mean for what I said to come out so harsh. Thank you for caring.”

“I will always care. I love you Char.”

A soft smile spreads over her face. “I love you too Hen.”

Henry leans in and presses a sweet kiss against her lips. Sucking in a deep breath, Charlotte releases it slowly.

“The reason why I was-“

“You don’t have to tell me” Henry interrupts.

“I know, I want to.”

“Okay” he nods and gives her his undivided attention.

“The reason why I was crying earlier is because I stumbled across the video of Tyrell Watkins getting shot by the police.”

“I haven’t seen it. What happened?”

“Routine traffic stop. The cop said that his car matched the description of a stolen vehicle. His daughter was also in the car, she got it all on Facebook live.

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Stolen?”

“No, the car wasn’t stolen!”

“It seems like a pretty big mistake on the officer’s part. That guy should sue when he gets out of the hospital.”

“That guy’s name is Tyrell. And he can’t sue.”

“Why not?”

“He’s dead.”

“Huh?”

“Tyrell is dead. The officer killed him.”

“Oh my god.”

“The cop asked for his registration and when he went to get it, he shot him several times.”

Silent tears stream down Charlotte’s face as she struggles to get her words out. “The officer is claiming that he saw him reaching for a gun.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” Char sniffs.

“The officer asked him to get something and then shot him for following directions?”

“Yep.”

“That can’t be the whole situation. We must be missing something.”

“We aren’t missing anything Henry. That’s the entire scenario.”

“Can I see the video?”

“It’s pretty graphic. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

After seeing the video Henry was seemingly more confused and upset. “I can’t believe this. What kind of half-assed training did this officer get? He needs to be fired!”

“It’s not just training Hen. If this was you or Ray, it never would have ended like this.

Henry looked up from the phone with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You would have been annoyed to have been stopped unnecessarily but you would’ve survived to complain about it later. This turned out horribly because the man was black.”

“No... I don’t think- It can’t be... I’m not sure if- You really think so?”

“I know so. The cop shot into the car with a minor in the passenger seat. She could have been shot as well! The girl is around your sister’s age. If your dad and Piper were pulled over there wouldn’t even be a video. She wouldn’t have recorded anything at all. Why does that little girl even know to film the police?”

“I’m not sure why she pulled out her phone. But I’m definitely glad that she is okay.” Henry answers while scratching his head.

“Because as black people we know that we are disproportionately targeted by the police. We know that recording is the only way to hold them accountable. We also know that even with the evidence of misconduct, officers still literally get away with murder!”

“I-“ Henry starts.

Charlotte stands abruptly. “And another thing! The daughter may be okay physically but she is mentally traumatized. Not only will she never see her father again, she watched him get killed right in front of her. She is forever scarred!”

“Did you know him?”

“No. I didn’t know him personally. But I didn’t have to know him to know that he didn’t deserve to die.” Charlotte slumps back into her seat.

Observing his girlfriend, it seemed as if she was weary down to her bones. Like the sorrow she felt went down to her very core. Like she was defeated.

Lost for words and recognizing that he didn’t have a way to make it all better, Henry wrapped his arms around Charlotte in a tight, comforting hug.

He wanted to communicate how much he wished that the world they lived in wasn’t so filled with hate. How he knows that he can never truly comprehend what it means to be Black in a White world. How he was so angry that this was the reality she faced.

But that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t fix systematic racism. It wouldn’t bring Tyrell Watkins back to life.

So all he could do at this moment was show her that he loved her and that he would always be there for her.

She sighed and closed her eyes as she rested her cheek against his chest.

“We will never be unarmed when our skin color is seen as a weapon” she whispers.

#Charlotte Page #Henry Hart #Charlotte Bolton #Kid Danger #Chenry #Henry Danger #Riele Downs #Jace Norman #Jasper Dunlop #Ray Manchester #Schowz Schwartz #Nickelodeon

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spn-rewrites · 6 years ago

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01x13 (part 2)

Season One Episode Thirteen: Route 666

a/n: hey guys, the second part of episode thirteen is here and part three will be posted tomorrow, so stayed tuned! let me know if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming parts, i promise to be more frequent! as always, any feedback is appreciated. please REBLOG if you enjoyed! :)

synopsis: old lovers have returned and old secrets have been spilled

word count: 3838

You and Sam stay in the cabin, that was once enduring but now was giving you the chills, as Dean goes to Cassie’s house. You lay on the bed, the pillow folded under your head as the TV plays silently in the background.

“That TV is like a hundred years old,” Sam tells you. He’s sitting at the table, books open and the laptop in front of him. He says he’s trying to get some work done but really, there’s no work to be done. He’s just trying to busy himself.

He is right, however, about the TV. It’s ancient. The antenna keeps going out, making the entire thing static and it only plays like three channels, all which only play in black and white. “Shhh, I’m trying to relax,” you tell him.

“You think Dean is actually getting information? Or do you think he’s sleeping with her?” Sam asks, causing you to sit up promptly and look over at him. He senses your surprise at his question and sighs, leaning back in the old rickety chair. “He said he was going to talk to Cassie about her family. Look for information that can link the three victims, but do you think he’s actually doing that?”

“I think that Dean knows we have a job to do and he wouldn’t be clouded by whatever feelings he may have had for Cassie,” you tell Sam. You don’t really believe that. You think Dean could easily be clouded by Cassie because it had happened before but you wanted to tell yourself otherwise in hopes you end up believing it.

Sam doesn’t seem too convinced either, he just looks at you with blank eyes and no expression and you shift around on the bed, pulling the pillow on your lap. “What?” You ask.

“Nothing, I just. He gave me so much crap about,” Sam starts but then he pauses, probably for your sake more than anything, “Jessica. I just was shocked to find out about all this,” he admits.

“He kept a lot of it a secret from me, too, Sam. He didn’t tell me she dumped him and I didn’t even know about her for the first few weeks,” you tell him. Sam takes a deep breath and looks over in the kitchen space of the cabin and rubs his hand over his forehead. “But I know how happy he was and maybe he was just jealous, I don’t know. Maybe he was looking out for you when he told you not to tell Jess,” you say. Sam’s eyes snap to you right then. “Maybe he knew exactly how it would have ended, and he wanted to spare you of that.”

“Was he this beaten up over her the first time?” Sam asks quietly. You nod your head slowly and Sam gets out of the chair and sits down next to you.

“He was probably worse,” you admit. Dean was sharp and mean and he had stopped playing loud music in the car the first time. He refused to answer any of your questions, always giving vague and insufficient answers that didn’t fill your need to know everything but you swallowed that and let Dean have his moment. Eventually, it was like the whole thing never happened until earlier this week.

Sam lifts his hand and moves a piece of stray hair you didn’t know was hanging in your face. He tucks it behind your ear and cups your face with his hand loosely. “Thank you for taking care of my brother,” Sam tells you. You give him a soft smile and he caresses your cheek briefly before getting up and shutting off all the lights in the cabin. “It’s getting late, we should head to bed.”

You nod and you both did just that. Sam sleeps next to you, his breathing singing you to sleep. You didn’t feel like you slept for too long when the phone rang next to Sam’s head, making you wake up.

You try to go back to sleep and tune out his voice but he eventually gets out of bed and throws your clothes on top of you. “Get up, the mayor is dead.”

+++

It snowed overnight, white crap covering the entire crime scene. You never were fond of the winter time, especially when you were unprepared in only a light jacket. You stand next to Sam as you talked to an officer about the accident, trying not to shiver when Dean shows up.

“He’s with us,” Sam tells the cop once he notices him eyeing Dean entering the crime scene. The cop nods and leaves you three alone and Sam turns to his older brother. “Where were you last night?” Sam asks, a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, we had to share a bed for no reason. You could have at least warned us,” you tell him. You probably wouldn’t have woken up even if he did come home, but when Sam woke you up in a frenzy about this new accident, you were disheartened to see Dean not in his bed.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t like it,” Dean deadpans. He ignores Sam’s question about his whereabouts and starts walking the crime scene.

“You never made it home, I’m guessing you two worked it out,” Sam says, following close behind Dean, who so obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

“We’ll be working things out when we’re 90,” Dean says. You let out a chuckle and Dean quickly changes the subject to avoid any further questioning. “So, what happened?”

“Every bone crushed, internal organs turned to pudding. The cops are all stumped but it’s almost like something ran him over,” Sam explains.

“Something like a truck?” Dean asks.

“Yup,” you add.

“Tracks?”

“Nope.” Dean sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around the crime scene. There are officers everywhere, ambulance sirens in the distance and soft chatter of gossip.

“What was the mayor doing here anyway?” Dean asks. The mayor was found on the street just outside of an empty lot. It looks like there was going to be a new project breaking ground soon and the mayor was just tying up loose ends when he got hit.

“He owned the property. Bought it a few weeks ago,” Sam says. The entire thing was strange. Whatever was doing this was now breaking pattern. Killing off the main road. The mayor being white. It makes figuring it what’s doing this a little harder and makes your skepticism a little stronger.

Nonetheless, you follow Sam to the courthouse while Dean goes to the police station with Cassie. Thankfully, you come up with some good information and on the walk out, Sam calls Dean. “According to the courthouse,” Sam says and looks over at you. You’re holding his little notebook in his hands and you point to the information he needs. “Records show that Mr. and Mrs. Mayor bought an abandoned property. The previous owner was the Dorian family.”

“For like 150 years,” you mumble when Sam’s finished. He chuckles and repeats what you said into the phone. Sam had put the phone on speaker so you can hear Dean’s question voice when he answers.

“Dorian?” Sam confirms and you can hear Dean talking to Cassie on the other line. It’s muffled and faint, but you can hear him saying something about owning a paper and then computer clicks and Dean’s soft humming. “Interesting,” Dean says.

“What?” Sam asks, stopping in his tracks. You stop too and look over at Sam and then at the phone. There was a beautiful lake behind you and you could hear the kids laughs and the birds chirping and it was moments like that when you wish you could just forget about all the evil you’ve ever known.

“This Cyrus Dorian, he vanished in April of ‘63. The case was investigated but never solved,” Dean says. He’s talking slowly and you assume he’s reading. His brain trying to keep up with his mouth. “It was right around the time the string of murders was going on back then,” he says.

You flip over a few pages in the notebook and mumble, “here,” to Sam as you point to the notes you took about the Dorian place. Sam swaps you the phone for the notebook and you hold the phone close to his mouth as he reads.

“We pulled a bunch of papers up on the Dorian place. It must have been in bad shape when the mayor bought it because the first thing he did was bulldoze the place,” Sam says. You swap your items back and you close the notebook, keeping your finger inside to keep the page.

“Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?” Dean asks Cassie. You can hear her talking on the other line but it’s not clear. “You got a date?” Dean asks into the phone a moment later.

You shuffle to find it and when you do, you mumble, “the 3rd of last month,” to Sam and he repeats it to Dean a little louder.

“Mayor Todd bulldozed the Dorian family home on the 3rd. The first killing was the very next day,” Dean says. You look up at Sam and his hand drops a little with the phone in it. There was clearly a connection there, you just had to find it.

+++

It was an exhausting job, to say the least. Despite fighting things you can’t even see, you were also always woken up in the middle of the night for one reason or another and tonight, that reason was Cassie.

She called Dean in a panic and it was her screams on the other side of the phone that woke you up. When you got to her house, there was nothing there but she swore the truck that killed her father was right outside her house.

Sam hands her a cup of tea and Cassie makes a joke about spiking it a little bit for her, but no one laughs. You sit on the chair across from Cassie and Dean and Sam sits down on the arm of it. You feel his arm behind your back but he’s careful not to get too close.

“You didn’t see who was driving the truck?” Dean asks Cassie.

She shakes her head and puts the cup of tea between her legs after taking a sip. “It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast,” she says.

Cassie’s mom is sitting in the chair next to you and you look over at her. Her eyes are looking anywhere but at her daughter and she’s holding the cup of tea close to her face like she wants to be hiding. “And then it was just gone. Why didn’t it kill us?” Cassie asks, looking over at Dean.

He seems just as shaken up as Cassie and you can’t help yourself but wonder if loving someone in this line of work made you weak. You wonder if Dean knows that and that’s why he’s never let anyone get close again after Cassie and then you wonder if loving Sam would make you weak. And then you hate yourself for thinking that.

“Whoever’s controlling the truck wants you afraid first,” Dean says. He looks over to Sam for confirmation and then Sam looks down at you and then you nod your head towards Cassie’s mom. Her behavior is weird and off-putting and you want more from her.

“Mrs. Robinson, Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died,” Sam says to her. She seems taken back by the fact that Sam was talking to her. She lets out a little hum and her hands grip her cup tighter.

“Well,” she whispers and everyone’s watching her. “Martin was under a lot of stress. You can’t be sure of what he was seeing,” she says.

“Well after tonight, I think we can be reasonably sure that he was seeing a truck,” Dean remarks. Sam’s head snaps to his brother but you watch Cassie’s mom closely. You study the way her eyes twitch and her lips quiver. “What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked, okay? Your daughter could die, so if you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us about it.” Dean is being rude, you know it and Sam knows and even Cassie tries to correct him but Mrs. Robinson is so close to cracking, you let him be.

“Yes. Yes, he said he saw a truck,” she starts. You let out a sigh of relief and you can feel Sam’s body relax next to you. Mrs. Robinson’s hand caresses her face like she’s stress and her eyes stare into her tea.

“Did he know who it belonged to?” You ask her.

“He thought he did.”

“Who was that?” Dean asks. You take the time to look over at him and your eyes connect for a second before you look back at her.

Her whole face begins to quiver now, not just her lips. She shuts her eyes tight and her hand shakes as she goes to touch her nose briefly. “Cyrus,” she says. The dots connect in your head and all three of you exchange a look. Sam takes a deep breath next to you and sits a little straighter and Dean adjusts in his seat. “A man named Cyrus.”

Dean pulls out a news article from his bag. A printed version of what was released after Cryus’s disappearance and he holds it up for Mrs. Robinson to see. “Is this Cyrus?”

“Cyrus Dorian died more than 40 years ago,” she says. She doesn’t even look at the image of him in the article, she just stares straight ahead.

“How do you know he died, Mrs. Robinson?” You ask. Her choice of words are strange and she knows something. You felt it the moment you walked into the house tonight that she knew something, it was just a matter of getting it out of her. “The paper said he went missing,” you continue when she doesn’t answer.

She looks around at everyone with wet eyes but she still doesn’t answer. “How do you know he died?” Dean asks, louder than you and with more force. Enough to make her jump in her seat.

“We were all very young,” she starts. “I dated Cyrus a while.” Cassie’s eyes widen at her mom and Mrs. Robinson shakes her head. “I was also seeing Martin, in secret of course. Interracial couples didn’t go over too well,” she says and chuckles a little bit like it was funny but maybe she was just trying to ease her discomfort. “When I broke it off it’s Cyrus, and when he found out about Martin, I don’t know. He changed.” Her voice began to slow down, her eyes go distant and she starts talking just above a whisper. “His hates- his hatred was frightening.”

“The string of murders,” Sam says, connecting it for everyone. He looks down at you, you feel his eyes, so you look up at him. He touches your arm gently.

“There were rumors, people of color disappearing into some kind of truck. Nothing was ever done,” she explains. Her eyes were already wet, but now they were draining slowly but surely, tears were streaming down her face. She takes in a deep breath to collect herself, but the breath was shaky. “Martin and I, we were gonna be married in that little church near here but, uh, last minute, we decided to elope because we didn’t want all the attention,” she says. She finally drops the cup of tea from her face and you can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.

“And Cyrus?” Dean ask.

It was getting harder for her to compose herself, her deep breaths making her nearly sob. She holds her hand to her heart, no doubt trying to steady it. “The day we set for the wedding was the day someone set fire to the church.” Her voice was cracking and she could no longer hold it in and she started softly sobbing. “There was a children’s choose practicing there. They all died.” Your heart felt sad for her. The amount of guilt she must have been carrying around all those years.

She covers her face with her hands as she sobs, but Dean pushes for more. “Did the attacks stop after that?” He asks.

“No, there was one more,” she says and sobs. “One night that truck came for Martin. Cyrus was beating him something terrible, but Martin, see Martin got loose and he started hitting Cyrus. He just kept hitting him and hitting him.” You want to ask her to stop talking because her sobs were becoming unbearable. She’s making hitting motions against her legs with her fist as she talks.

“Why didn’t you call the cops?” Dean asks. The anger that was laced in Mrs. Robinson’s voice was now etched onto her face and she gasped.

“This was 40 years ago,” she says like Dean was stupid, which he was. He looks embarrassed and takes his eyes off of Mrs. Robinson and looks at you. “He called on his friends - Clayton Solmes and Jimmy Anderson - and they put Cyrus’s body into the truck and then rolled it into the swamp at the edge of his land and all three of them kept that secret all these years.”

“And now all three are gone,” Sam says. You take a deep breath and let it out. It was shaky and empty but thankfully no one could hear over Mrs. Robinson’s sobs. You look over at Cassie for the first time since the story started and she looks more horrified than you thought she would.

“So is Mayor Todd,” Dean says, picking out the loose puzzle piece. “Now, he said you of all people would know he’s not a racist. Why’d he say that?” Dean ask.

Mrs. Robinson’s hands were on her neck and she looks up at Dean. “He was a good man. He was a young deputy back then, investigating Cryus’s disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done, he did nothing,” she explains and her eyes go wide. “Because he also knew what Cyrus had done.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cassie asks, her voice breaking. She was crying, just not nearly as much as her mom. You felt like crying, too, if you were being honest.

“I thought I was protecting them, and now there’s no one left to protect,” her mom cries, holding out her hands like there’s nothing left.

“Yes, there is,” Dean reminds her. He looks over at Cassie and she looks at him and there’s that look again, that look that meant what they had wasn’t over and you hate yourself again for thinking that made Dean weak.

You excuse yourself and leave the house in a rush, Sam getting to his feet just as quickly as you did to follow you. You storm out of the house, your chest heaving. You put your hand to your heart to try and count your breaths but it was no use.

You stop on the porch and Sam stops behind you, putting his hands on your elbows. You start to feel guilty for walking out but in your twisted little mind, you tell yourself they needed time to be alone. “You okay?” Sam asks. You nod and try to slow your breathing when the door opens behind you and Dean walks out. He taps your leg as he walks past, gesturing you to follow him.

You do and then Sam follows you all the way to the Impala. Dean just paces around his car, his hands in his pockets and staring absentmindedly. Sam leans against the hood of the car, grabbing your hand and pulling you to him to keep you close. “I remember when my life was simple,” he says with humor in his voice. “Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms.”

Dean looks over at him and you know Sam was trying to make a joke, maybe lighten the mood, but you also knew he was kind of serious. “Sounds boring,” Dean says, reading your mind exactly.

“Occasionally I miss boring,” Sam says. He starts to pick at his fingers a little bit but you put your hand on top of his to stop him. He gives you a small smile and you return it but it doesn’t help your already racing heartbeat.

“So this killer truck,” Dean starts but Sam cuts him off just as quickly.

“I miss conversations that didn’t start with “this killer truck.”” Sam laughs and you can’t help yourself but laugh with him. You feel it too, sometimes. The nostalgia of being a normal person with a normal life.

“All right, fair enough, but this Cyrus guy, evil on a level that infected even his truck,” Dean says, getting back to work. You almost wish he’d let the moment sit for a little longer. “When he died, the swamp became his tomb and his spirit was dormant for 40 years.”

“What woke it up?” Sam asks just over a whisper, his brain thinking.

“The destruction of his house,” you suggest. That kind of trigger would wake any spirit, you assume. Both boys nod in agreement. “The guy who tears down the house, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus’s murder quiet and unsolved,” you say. You bounce your leg back and forth with restlessness.

“So now his spirit is awakened and out for blood,” Sam says almost more to himself than to anyone else. Dean purses his lips out and shrugs his shoulders. “You know we’re gonna have to dredge that body from the swamp?” Sam asks. You did know that and that was probably what was making you so restless.

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “You said it, not me,” he says, which makes Sam chuckles. You push your body into Sam’s a little bit more and he rests his chin on the top of your head for just a moment.

You didn’t notice Cassie walking toward the car until Dean pushes himself off the Impala and walks towards her. “Hey,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly. “She’s asleep, what’s next?”

“You stay here and watch after her. We’ll be back. Don’t leave the house,” Dean orders. He’s always protective but now that it’s with someone like Cassie, it seems a little sweeter than demanding.

“Don’t go getting all authoritative on me,” she says. Now, suddenly, you wanna puke. Sam laughs next to you and looks down. Probably wanting to look anywhere but at them, which you got. “I hate it.”

“Don’t leave the house, please?” Dean asks and you don’t have to look at them to know that now they’re kissing because you can hear them. Sam knows it too and he scratches the back of the head and clears his throat, which got only a middle finger from Dean.

tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae@jessewa26

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years ago

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Others Like Me Chapter 12: New York

Chapters 1 - 10 Chapter 11 Read It On AO3

It’s easily the worst experience Bucky’s ever had. It hurts like hell, for one thing, and for another, he feels like he’s in the spin cycle of a wash machine for what seems like hours. Then, at the end, it’s like getting spit out through a ring of fire and falling a few stories to land with a sickening series of snaps and cracks. His left arm is useless and he can’t feel it, which is probably good since it appears to be smoking. He takes inventory of his injuries. Left lower leg, definitely broken. Fairly significant head injury. Right wrist sprained, probably not broken, but elbow dislocated. So no meaningful use of either arm. And definitely some serious internal injuries.

Fucking hell.

So apparently he didn’t die, but he ain’t doing too good, either. He makes a mental note that, whenever he does die, he needs to find Tony Stark and kick the shit out of him.

The pressing question is, what the hell happened? Where is he? Of all the possible outcomes of flipping that damn switch, it never occurred to him that he might end up beat to shit. Dead, sure. But if he’s alive with all these injuries, and still in the Avengers Compound in his own universe, Bucky is going to have to invent a new language made up entirely of pissed off, offensive words.

But he isn’t still in the Avengers Compound, and he isn’t in his own universe. He knows this because when he opens his eyes, he’s looking at the Marina Bay Sands resort in Singapore. Or what’s left of it. The iconic three 57-story towers, which used to be topped by a huge, ship-shaped platform lined with trees and featuring pools, shops, and restaurants, are in ruins.

In Bucky’s universe, that would’ve made the news.

The North tower is half-destroyed, its top now a jagged stump. The central tower is simply gone. And the South tower, while mostly still present, leans ominously toward the space where the central tower once stood. Chunks of the platform, which had been a massive building in itself, can be seen tumbled among the debris of the towers. But the largest piece, at least five hundred feet long, is what had formerly been the “prow” of the ship. This part of the platform had cantilevered 220 feet off the edge of the North tower. Now, the point of the “prow” is embedded in the ground to the side of that tower, and the rest of the section leans crazily against the tower’s remains.

Bucky can’t imagine what caused that. Especially when he looks behind him at the skyscrapers of the city, and sees that they are all intact. But he doesn’t have much time to ponder the mystery, because he hears the unmistakable sound of emergency vehicles approaching. He doesn’t bother to worry about what will happen when they reach him, because there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it. Not in this condition. He closes his eyes and waits.

He must pass out for at least a few minutes, because when he comes to, there is a pleasant Asian face inches from his, yelling at him in English. Although Bucky speaks all four of the most widely-spoken languages in Singapore, it makes sense that, with his Western features, they’d start with English. For some reason - maybe just to be a dick, he’s not sure – Bucky answers in Malay.

The man, who is a cop, rears back in surprise at this bule, with his flawless accent. Huh. Must have been raised here. He doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out, though, because the guy is clearly badly hurt. He tells Bucky that an ambulance is minutes away, and then asks him what happened.

“Hit by a car,” Bucky lies, figuring the cop won’t question such a run-of-the-mill explanation, and he doesn’t. Given the extent of his injuries, Bucky is spared any further questions beyond his name. He barely coughs out “James,” and the cop is satisfied with that, since it’s so obviously difficult for Bucky to talk. He lets himself pass out again until the ambulance arrives, because that’s when the trouble will start. As soon as the paramedics start to examine him and find his metal arm, things will get interesting.

He’s not wrong. He regains consciousness when the excited shrieks start and they begin jerking his arm around. The good news is, the arm must be resetting itself, because he feels it. The bad news is, he feels it. He indulges in a Tony Stark-worthy eyeroll before he opens his eyes. That distracts the cops and paramedics for a moment as they remember he’s an actual person, who is significantly fucked up at the moment.

“What is this?” One of the cops asks, once again yanking at his metal arm. Bucky yanks it away from him, noting that he can now move it, and it’s no longer smoking. Yay, Wakanda.

“Research…” Bucky gasps, deliberately exaggerating his difficulty speaking, although not by much, because yeah. He feels like he’s been danced on by horses. Maybe buffalo. “Experiment. Prototype.”

The paramedics, too, are shocked by his Malay. They’re not satisfied with his answer about his arm – nobody makes a prosthesis like that – but now that they’ve at least gotten some explanation out of him, they’re content to shove the cops out of the way and stake their primary claim to their patient. Like it always goes when Bucky finds himself in this situation.

Bucky has been hurt many, many times before. He knows the drill. It’s his first time in a Singaporean hospital, but that’s about all that’s new for him. He’s immensely relieved when they put his dislocated elbow back in place; it hurts like a motherfucker, but once it’s over, he’s fine. Which is a low bar when you’re the Winter Soldier, but he detests hospitals and doctors. For seventy years’ worth of reasons. All he needs now is for them to set and cast his leg, and he’ll be on his way. Not that they’ll be willing to let him leave, but he’s not planning to ask for permission.

They get pretty excited about the damage to his internal organs. He doesn’t. None of it is anything he hasn’t had before, and he knows he’ll heal without the emergency surgery they’re suddenly shouting about. When he refuses it, there’s a stunned, disbelieving silence before the doctor who appears to be in charge explains, in language suitable for a toddler, that he will die without it.

No, buddy, I actually won’t. Never did before, and I’ve been busted up way worse than this. Hydra never bothered with surgery, and it’s probably the only point on which we ever agreed.

Bucky says no again, and the doctor switches to amusingly dumbed-down English to say the same things. Another refusal. It’s all Bucky can do not to laugh when the poor guy tries Chinese. So Bucky politely and firmly refuses in Chinese, too. He takes pity on the doctor and tells him it’s a religious thing, and that seems to at least shut him up, although it’s clear he’s frustrated with this idiot who thinks God is going to sew up the big-ass laceration in his liver.

Bucky does agree to a hefty slug of morphine, and enjoys a nice nap while they finally set and cast his leg. The Trauma Unit staff are a little bummed that they’re not going to get to learn more about his arm, which they’re all drooling over. But since he’s going to die anyway, they ship him up to a regular room - not even ICU, because why waste the bed on a walking corpse? That’s good news for Bucky, because it means he gets to sleep through the night. Early the next morning, by the time the small herd of attending and resident doctors come to do their rounds on him, he’s already been gone for an hour.

He doesn’t have any money, but he’s Bucky Barnes. He doesn’t like to steal, but his life sometimes makes it unavoidable. He always just hopes his mother can’t look down from Heaven and see him. Half an hour after he wheels himself out of the hospital in a stolen wheelchair, he’s also stolen enough Singapore dollars to check into a mid-range hotel. For this, he uses his fake American passport and credit card, although he could also have chosen the French, Russian, or South African ones he’s brought. He’s made the right choice, too, because as expected, the staff definitely gives him and his wheelchair some looks. He goes Ugly American and the front desk staff speed things up, after which it takes no time for him to be wheeled into his room by a porter just to get his annoying ass out of sight of other guests. Works every time. He tips the porter handsomely and then collapses onto the bed.

For the next week, he sleeps almost continuously and lives on room service. Thanks to his performance on check-in and his generous tips, he’s left alone unless he wants something. Hydra used to extract him from wherever he was when he completed a mission, no matter what shape he was in, but he’s recuperated this way before, too. The first and most difficult time was after the Battle of the Triskelion, but there have been others. By now, he doesn’t really have to think too hard to plan his next steps.

In fact, he hasn’t really thought much about anything since he arrived here. He’s in a strange sort of limbo, just existing. It’s maybe a little bit too much like being the Winter Soldier, but it’s more like other times, after that, but before he ended up in Bucharest. There was no Steve then. At that time, he’d begun to have momentary flashes of memory, but he hadn’t yet begun to try in earnest to remember. Hadn’t been to the Smithsonian. Hadn’t started his notebook. He holds onto that association, paying attention to those similarities because he hadn’t felt anything then, and he doesn’t want to feel anything now.

Steve, his Steve, has never existed in this universe. There is probably a Steve Rogers, and Bucky will probably have to find him in order to find Marya, but he isn’t Bucky’s Steve. Bucky’s Steve is irretrievably gone, in another time and, now, in another universe. Somehow, that makes Bucky feel safer. Gives his heart permission to take a few days off from grieving the son of a bitch.

When he’s healed enough, he orders a steak from room service and uses the knife to cut the cast from his leg. No easy task, that, but he’s had to do it before. He makes a note to steal a Ka-bar at the first opportunity. He had agonized over the decision whether to be armed when he flipped the switch. With no idea where he might land if it worked, he couldn’t know whether it would be necessary to defend himself, or an unnecessary complication to have to explain a bunch of weapons. As it turned out, he had guessed correctly. But now he wants some motherfucking knives. And a gun or four.

At the moment, he does not need the complications that would come with trying to purchase weapons legally in Singapore with foreign documents. Really foreign, he reminds himself, with the first grin he’s cracked in this new universe.

He finds himself a cautiously excited, now that he’s pretty much healed. During his week of recovery, he realized that, since he is here, that means there’s a good chance that Marya is alive and here, too. With any luck, he’ll be seeing her again soon.

That thought makes him feel a strange, pleasant but almost scary, sensation that he knows he’s felt before, but can’t put a name to. Although Bucky’s forgotten hope, Steve apparently didn’t completely destroy his capacity for it when he left Bucky for the past and Peggy Carter. He just crushed it so badly that it stayed dead until now.

He needs some more money. That means he needs to go to the Orchard Road area. Bucky isn’t going to steal from any of the real Singaporeans, the ones who work for a living. But he doesn’t need to. Singapore being an over-the-top shopping mecca, he can have his pick of targets who have more money that he needs in the cushions of their couches. Smug, self-congratulatory tourists and bored trophy wives, none of whom ever worry about pickpockets. And none of whom ever consider, when they realize they’ve been robbed, that the robber might have been the charming, handsome, blue-eyed man they’d briefly chatted with.

Bucky has some guesses as to why Hydra taught him that particular skill, but he’ll never know for sure. What he does know is that he’s a master at it. Within three hours, he’s accumulated more cash than he really expects to need. The hardest part is disengaging himself from his targets once he’s lifted their wallets. Steve is right, he thinks. He really is too charming for his own good.

Then again, fuck Steve.

Bucky hates airports. Hates everything about them. He’s going to miss private air travel. There are so many security cameras, so many checkpoints, so many damn eyes that airports have always seemed to be a place someone like him had best avoid. In this particular case, he needs to be especially careful, because he has no idea who Bucky Barnes is in this universe. His luck hasn’t been that great recently, and he really doesn’t want to find himself in the universe where Marya is, only to spend the rest of his life in prison because his alter-ego is an international jewel thief or some shit. Or worse, live only a week because his ass gets shot by some jealous husband. He has to look like his ID, though, which means he has to take the chance of wearing his own face. He’ll just have to hope for the best.

He shows up at the airport five hours early for the flight to New York. In part, he because he has nowhere else to go. But mostly because he knows his arm is going to be a big fucking problem. He’s never tried to get through airport security with it before. Never had to. At least he’s thought ahead. He spent a week in his universe creating reams of fake documentation showing that he lost his arm in a train accident and is part of a clinical trial of this new, highly advanced prosthesis.

He’s shocked to find that no one at the airport gives a shit. Not like medical professionals, who know that no one makes prosthetics like his. Security workers just want to know that it isn’t a weapon (he grins for the second time in this universe when he hears that). No? Then move on, buddy. There’s a long line behind you.

The first thing he does when he’s through security is purchase a computer tablet. He’s always wondered who would buy electronics from one of those vending machines at airports; now he knows. He wanted one the whole time he was recuperating, but thought it would be too odd to ask a hotel employee to purchase one for him. He needs to know the differences between this universe and his.

Bucky sits down under a mounted television that is permanently tuned to a twenty-four-hour news channel and continues the process he began at the hotel while he was recuperating. He slept a lot during that time, but he usually had the news channel on.

Thus far, he hasn’t found many differences. Apparently, terrorism is more of a problem here, because he learned pretty quickly that’s what happened to the Marina Bay Sands resort. It’s part of why he was so nervous about getting through airport security, and part of why he’s so surprised that it was so easy.

Another difference is that he’s seen no media coverage of the Avengers or Captain America at all. That’s one of the big reasons he’s been so anxious to get a computer. He Googles himself first, and gets a surprise. He doesn’t exist. He can find nothing online about himself, no matter how many permutations of his name he enters. He tries “Winter Soldier”. Nothing again. Huh? Did none of that happen in this universe? He frowns.

Then he bites the bullet and Googles Steve. Nothing again. Now that is really weird. Steve isn’t Captain America? Bucky tries Googling “Captain America.” He’s relieved to get some hits; he was starting to wonder whether any of it had happened in this universe. What he learns is that, in this universe, Captain America was a commercial character, created to sell war bonds. He was never real, and he ceased to be relevant when World War II ended. Bucky can find no information about the name of the man who “played” Captain America during the war.

I wonder what Stevie would have to say about that.

As far as Bucky can tell, the war happened the way it happened in his universe. There was just no Hydra. Can’t say that breaks my heart, he thinks.

Next, he Googles Tony Stark. For his purposes, that’s really the only thing that matters. If Marya came here, she would have tried to find Tony Stark. He has a momentarily heart-stopping fear that Tony won’t exist here, either, in which case Bucky will be well and truly fucked. How is he supposed to find a woman with no surname, no relatives, nothing but a first name, a face, and a distinctive blonde patch in her hair?

His heart starts again when he sees that Tony, at least, exists here. And how. Tony’s escapades in this universe dwarf those in Bucky’s own. Here, Stark Industries never stopped making weapons. Here, Tony was apparently never taken hostage in Afghanistan, and there appears to be no Ironman. Instead of designing Ironman suits and equipment for a team of superheroes, he’s apparently spent his time having truly mind-boggling amounts of sex. The description of Tony Stark as a “genius billionaire playboy philanthropist” doesn’t appear to fit in this universe. If he’s a genius, he’s not using it much. Stark Industries doesn’t appear to have come up with a new weapon since the Jericho Missile. Billionaire playboy? He’s a multi-multi-billionaire Olympic-level sexual athlete. That appears to be all he does: collect interest on his incalculable wealth and fuck everything that holds still long enough. Well, there are drugs, too, with terrifying levels of documentation. The philanthropy seems to be a little pro forma. The Tony in Bucky’s universe did a hell of a lot more, with less money. Jeez, Bucky thinks, I never expected to think of Tony Stark as someone who economizes.

Bucky can’t help himself; he clicks on some of the more lurid links. Shit, he really hopes this Tony has a good doctor and can tolerate antibiotics. Because damn. This guy gets around. Some of the stories are so Tony, Bucky feels a stab of nostalgia. Suddenly, he has to swallow around a lump in his throat. He’s missed Tony, but it hasn’t hit him this hard in a long time. Bucky’s glad Tony’s still alive in this universe – which is actually a little bit surprising, given some of his escapades - and he hopes he gets to meet him. He clicks on a link about Tony being arrested for indecent exposure at an art gallery gala.

And that’s where he sees it.

There are plenty of pictures of Tony, handcuffed and clearly shouting at the top of his lungs, being escorted from a glitzy hotel by a group of police officers, both uniformed and plainclothes. But there is one, smaller and less prominent than the more entertaining ones, of a nicely-tuxedoed Tony wearing sunglasses (after dark, Tony, you’re a douche in any universe) on a red carpet. He’s smiling like a fool and waving to a cheering crowd. On his arm is a beautiful woman in a stunning blue gown that fits her lithe body like a second skin, but features a transparent blue overskirt that flutters gracefully around her. The strapless bodice shows off her toned arms and shoulders, and does very nice things for her breasts. She’s not smiling; the look on her face is more of an amused smirk, like she knew this event was going to be nuts, but still can’t believe the foolishness she’s seeing. And her massive abundance of hair is twisted behind her in a chignon of sorts that looks simpler than Bucky knows it probably is. The simplicity sets off the striking, prominent, white-blonde patch of hair on the right side of her head.

Marya.

He’s found her. She’s here. His heart lurches in his chest and he actually has to cough to jump-start his lungs into breathing again. Bucky is thunderstruck. If seeing Tony’s picture made him nostalgic, seeing Marya’s picture takes him all the way back to the day she died. Or… didn’t. Whatever. He’s full-on smiling, with tears running down his face. He doesn’t realize it until a grandmotherly Chinese woman next to him actually hands him a tissue and pats him reassuringly on the arm.

The article says nothing about her, doesn’t mention her at all. But there is no doubt it’s her. Suddenly, his flight can’t begin soon enough.

*****

The hours at the Singapore airport and his research on the plane have prepared him, at least a little, for life in New York. The shape of life seems to be the same in this universe, but many of the details aren’t. He didn’t notice it so much in Singapore, because he’d only been to Singapore a few times, and always on Hydra missions that he’ll never remember well. But he grew up in New York, and he lived here once he broke free of his Hydra conditioning. The details are more obvious to him here. Here, the increased level of terrorism in the world is more glaring.

There are armed security police in the airport. They’re not airport security, or NYPD, or State Patrol, and they’re not National Guard. They’re something else. Something Bucky’s universe doesn’t have. He can already tell he’s going to be spending as much time on Google in this universe as he did when he first emerged from Hydra captivity into the present. Hopefully, there won’t be quite that much to catch up on here.

Bucky finds a kiosk and exchanges all his Singapore dollars for American ones. He’s shocked at the exchange rate, and glad that it’s in his favor. Did the terror attack in Singapore have some affect on its economy that caused that? More Google homework.

He gets a cab and his eyes are glued to the window all the way from the airport to Manhattan. The cabbie notices, and asks if it’s his first time in New York, to which Bucky answers yes. It is, after all, his first time in this New York. He doesn’t go to the Tower right away. He’s got errands to run first.

A few hours later, Bucky walks down the street toward Stark Tower. Not Avengers Tower, of course, because Tony never became Ironman in this universe. It’s the same building, though, or it appears to be. He feels about a hundred things right now. He might be about to see Tony Stark alive again. Maybe Natasha, too. He may see Clint for the first time since Tony’s funeral. And he may come face to face with Steve, and with himself. That would be some shit. Most importantly, he might be about to learn where Marya is. Of course, he also might be about to get the door slammed in his face, which is more likely on this first attempt, but there’s always the possibility.

Things get strange the moment he steps into the building, and he knows right away that, however he thought this might go, it ain’t gonna happen like that.

He gets double-takes from a few of the people in the lobby, a couple of whom sort of shyly greet him as though he’s – what? They’re doing this weird tight-smile thing, and having trouble meeting his eyes, but not in a “oh, fuck, it’s the Zimniy Soldat, please, God, let him be in a good mood and not feed me my pancreas” way. He knows that look. And then something really odd happens.

“Sergeant Barnes?” A tall, dark-skinned black man with a shiny shaved head calls to him from behind a marble and brushed nickel reception desk with the Stark logo embedded in the front. The man is wearing the typical blazer-tie-slacks uniform of a receptionist-cum-security guard, but he looks like he was chiseled out of obsidian by a very gay, very horny, military-obsessed sculptor. The dude is seriously built.

Bucky’s been in plenty of situations that call for icewater in your veins, and he recognizes this as one of them. He’s glad he has a few weapons now. He knows he needs to brazen it out, but all the same, it’s a little bit of a mindfuck to be brazenly pretending to be yourself.

“Yeah,” Bucky grins, ambling loosely over to the desk. “How’s it goin’?”

“Sir, did you lose your key card or something? Would you like me to get you into the private elevator?” The guy is looking around like he’s going to get caught at something. What the fuck?

“Stark in yet?” Bucky asks, like it’s any random day and of course he’s here in Stark Tower because of course he’s here.

“I don’t – I mean, he’s here, yes. I’m not aware that he left?” Yeah, Reception Dude is definitely having some sort of poorly-contained freakout.

“OK. Yeah, if you’d get me into the elevator, that’d be great.”

Apparently, that’s the correct answer, because Reception Dude looks like someone just pulled the ramrod out of his ass. He’s actually got a little line of sweat beads going and Bucky definitely heard an exhale of relief. MMMmmmkaaaay.

If this Stark tower is like Bucky’s Avengers tower, there will be only one button in this elevator. When the doors open, he steps in to see that’s the case, and Reception Dude pushes it.

“You have a good day, now, Sergeant.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, trying to sound preoccupied because he has no idea what Reception Dude’s name is. “You, too.”

Reception Dude walks away as the doors close, but at the last second, Bucky sees him give a troubled backward glance. It’s going to be real interesting when these doors open again, he thinks.

It actually isn’t very interesting right away. The elevator lobby up here in the residences looks like it always did. Through the doors, the Common Room looks about the same, too. Furniture’s different, but only in details, not in overall style. The room still feels like this could be a high-end prep school for gifted nerds.

The first person Bucky sees is Natasha. Holy shit. Bucky’s been so focused on seeing Tony and Marya again, and of course on the possibility of seeing Steve, that he hasn’t given nearly enough thought to seeing Nat alive again. She’s curled up in a chair that’s about twice her size, reading a magazine. If this universe is like his, it’ll either be a high-end fashion magazine, or Guns & Ammo.

“Barnes,” she croons from her chair, not looking up.

He decides to go with a noncommittal grunt and keeps moving. Before they discover that he’s the wrong him, he’s hoping he can get to Tony. Through the Common Room is the huge eat-in kitchen, where his Avengers always seemed to gather when they wanted to hang out together. The Common Room was always more for quiet chilling and for more serious conversations. Apparently, that’s true here, as well.

What Bucky is hoping to do is get through the kitchen into the hallway beyond, where there are a few of the residential apartments and, most important, the elevator to Tony’s lab. Tony has a private elevator to his lab and penthouse, of course, but if you’re not Tony, this is the route you have to take.

He doesn’t make it.

Bucky is about ten steps from the archway into the hallway he’s headed for when he hears the unmistakable snick of a safety being flipped and a hand racking the slide of a pistol. From the sound of it, a Beretta. He freezes.

“Turn around, asshole. I don’t particularly want to shoot you in the back.”

Bucky finds it very, very disconcerting to be threatened in his own voice.

“I’d kind of prefer that you don’t shoot me at all.”

The man behind him gives a noncommittal hum. Bucky turns around.

Not only are their faces identical, but the expressions on them probably are, too. But where Bucky’s hair is shoulder-length these days, and he wears a full beard, the man facing him has short hair and just a few days’ worth of scruff.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

“We could do that, but it’d be weird. It’s actually a little weird even to contemplate, so can I request a different expression of surprise?” Bucky replies.

That earns Bucky perhaps the most complex look he’s ever received. Is his face that expressive? He’s going to have to re-think Poker night.

“The fuck are you?”

“I’m definitely not a threat, which is the first issue. Why don’t you take your gun off me, huh? I’ll tell you who I am.”

The gun stays where it is. “Talk.”

Bucky starts to object, but as he does, he hears the sound of footsteps in the hallway behind him. Someone walking slowly and being careful where they plant their feet, which in the circumstances means it’s someone aiming a weapon.

“Hey, Barnes?” Clint’s voice comes from directly behind Bucky. “Why are there two of you?”

“He’s just about to explain that,” Bucky’s double says. His voice is cold, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s having as much of a freakout as Reception Dude did, he’s just better at hiding it.

“You might’ve guessed my name. I’m James Buchanan Barnes. I go by Bucky.”

Now that gets a full expression from the Bucky with the gun. “Bucky? You can’t be serious.”

Clint is laughing out loud behind him. “Oh, that is so gonna stick.”

“The hell is wrong with Bucky?” He asks, offended and surprised. He doesn’t go by Bucky here? Another difference between his universe and this one.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you. I got no problem telling you. I actually came here to tell Tony Stark.”

There’s a whoosh and a loud thump that reverberates through the floor.

“So tell me,” Tony’s voice says from behind Bucky and to his left, where there’s a bank of windows. One of them has slid open without a sound, and Tony is standing there, having just flown through it wearing full Ironman armor.

Huh? So Tony did become Ironman in this universe? Fucker must take vitamins or something, because he has a lot going on here.

“My name is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says to Ironman. “I came here using a device that you created. A switch. It’s in my pocket, but I’m guessing reaching for it would be a bad move right about now.”

“’Bad’ doesn’t quite cover it, Yanni. Keep ‘em where we can see ‘em. Go on.”

“I’m from an alternate universe. The same universe Marya came from.”

If Bucky had it to do over again, he wouldn’t have been quite so blunt, or mentioned Marya right away. Because he can feel all three of them flinch at that, and they’re all three still holding weapons on him, ready to fire.

“How the hell… Who are you?” Bucky demanded. Well, no, his name isn’t Bucky here. Barnes demanded. The other one. Whatever.

“I just told you that. Now, can we please put down the weapons? Or at least aim them somewhere else? I’ve been looking forward to seeing Marya again, and I’d prefer not to be bleeding when I do.”

For a tense moment or two, nothing happens. Then Ironman flips up his visor, and the other Barnes looks over at him. Bucky moves a little so that he can see Clint, at least out of the corner of his eye. Clint seems to be OK with that, because he moves enough toward Tony that all four of them can see each other now. He pointedly doesn’t un-nock his arrow, or aim his bow elsewhere, though he does look at Tony just as the other Barnes is doing.

“Shit, Barnes, he does look like you. Except for the whole Hagrid thing he’s got goin’.”

Bucky throws a dirty look at Clint. He still misses a good fifty per cent of modern references, but he knows who Hagrid is. “Fuck you,” he mutters, but it’s kind of affectionate. It’s good to see Clint. When he went back to Iowa with his family after Tony’s funeral, it had been permanent. They’d all known it would be.

“Screw it,” Tony says. “You armed, Bucky?” There’s a definite laugh in the way he says the name.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers simply.

“Let’s have ‘em,” Tony orders, holding out his gauntlets and making a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Soon as you disarm, we’ll stand down.”

Bucky very reluctantly removes both of his guns, and all but one of his knives. He sets them on the large kitchen table, slowly and carefully. “That’s it,” he says dejectedly, when he’s done.

“Not if you’re me, it isn’t. You got at least one more.”

Bucky looks at his counterpart and smiles. He reaches to the small of his back and pulls out the Ka-bar. Setting it on the table next to the others, he holds out his hands. “Frisk me if you want.”

The other Barnes holsters his weapon and does just that. Neither of them seem surprised to see that the other has a metal left arm. He finds the switch in the right front pocket of Bucky’s black jeans, and takes it out.

When Barnes is satisfied that Bucky’s unarmed, Clint relaxes and drops his arrow back in the quiver over his shoulder. He collapses his bow into an impossibly small rectangular block, then sets it on the table. Tony pushes a button and his Ironman armor retracts, seemingly into nothing. The other Barnes hands the switch to Tony, who doesn’t entirely hide his shock at seeing it.

“Don’t flip that switch if you like this universe,” Bucky warns.

Tony holds up the device and, with a cocky sneer, flips the switch.

Bucky gasps. “What the hell?”

“Even if you were telling the truth, there’s no way a device like that would work more than once.”

Huh. Tony’s files hadn’t mentioned that.

“Come on,” Clint says, elbowing Bucky to walk in front of them toward the Common Room.

Upon entering, Bucky sees that Natasha hasn’t moved from her chair. “Hello again,” she greets him pleasantly.

Now that he comes around the chair, Bucky sees that she has a matched pair of Glock 26s in her lap. She’s also still reading a glossy fashion magazine.

Bucky can’t help it. He smiles to see Natasha, superior, snarkily amused, and very much alive. He realizes that he has already smiled more in this universe than he smiled during the last year in his own. And he hasn’t even seen Marya yet.

They sit him down across from Natasha, and Clint perches – possessively, Bucky thinks – on the arm of her chair. Tony remains standing to the left of Natasha, arms folded. The other Barnes stands right next to Bucky, looming over him, coiled so tightly Bucky imagines he can hear the man vibrating, and glowering at him like he’s still considering shooting him.

The other Barnes addresses Natasha. “He says he’s James Buchanan Barnes, from Marya’s universe.”

Clint smirks. “He goes by Bucky.”

Natasha’s mouth stretches into a disapproving line. “I can tell you right now I will not be calling you Bucky.”

“That’s my name, you assholes. How about a little respect?”

“If you’re really Barnes from another universe, you know you’ve come to the wrong place for that,” Natasha deadpans.

“Why isn’t there anything about you on the internet?” Bucky asks. “I Googled you, and nobody’s ever heard of the Avengers, or Ironman, or…”

Bucky sees all four of them stiffen. Tony, especially, looks disturbed. Bucky sees him sneak a look at the switch he’s still holding in his hand. Their reactions would probably have been entirely invisible to most people, but Bucky knows these four – hell, one of them is him - and he’s been trained for a lifetime to see the smallest details.

“We’re asking the questions here,” Barnes growls.

That’s when the elevator opens. Their faces tell Bucky that all four apparently know who’s on that elevator, and don’t want them coming in. Clint jumps from the arm of the couch and tries to reach the door, but he’s still two steps short of it when it opens.

And Marya steps into the room.

#The Avengers #endgame fix it #Bucky Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Captain America #Natasha Romanoff #Tony Stark #Robert Downey Jr.#Ironman #Clint Barton

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haz3yyy · 5 years ago

Text

hazey misconceptions

Where do you begin when your story is so hazey? When the details get blurred between the lines and emotions and logic mix?

It’s taking me a while to figure out in which order I want to tell my story. Does the order of the story even matter as long as it all makes sense?

I want to start off by saying I’m a very open person; almost to a fault. Sometimes, I spill my words without even processing them, without thinking about the actual meaning behind what I’m saying. I forget that words have depth and just because they’re only words to me, doesn’t mean those who read my words feel the same way. While I’m entitled to use whatever words I want, I shouldn’t share them for the world to see - at least with expecting no reaction.

Seven days changed my life. I’ve learned lessons, I’ve climbed hurdles, I’ve been kicked when I was down, and I’ve had helping hands help me stand back up.

DAY ONE: For once, I didn’t see it coming. I never imagined I would wake up to a cop banging on my bedroom door, questioning me about things I posted on social media. What began as a simple welfare check escalated into my personal rights being violated, and then eventually taken away. After a traumatic battle with an authority figure on a power trip, I was determined to not be a danger to myself (or anyone else), although the crisis worker did recommend outpatient therapy to help me manage my emotions and impulses more appropriately. But, due to the police report, I had no choice but to sign myself into an inpatient psychiatric hospital - yes, against the hospital’s advice and solely due to the report. Little did I know, this was only the beginning of the “trapped” feeling I was starting to have. In my head, I’m thinking... “a police officer with little to no mental health education has the authority to commit me based off of a post on social media when a licensed social worker believes I am okay to leave.” so why do I have to go?

DAY TWO: Day one and day two are blended together in a way. I didn’t get to the second hospital until nearly 3am, over 12 hours from when the cop did the welfare check. It was quiet, which helped ease my nerves a bit, but sharing a room in a psych hospital is one of the most stressful parts. I didn’t sleep long before I was being woken up for blood work and vitals, maybe 3 hours tops. I don’t really remember much of the morning, but I remember not being allowed to leave the ward until seeing a doctor to make sure I was “okay” to go to the cafeteria. That sucked. I don’t know how or when, but I ended up mingling with a few others and having people to pace the hallways with helped lower my anxiety. At some point, my room was switched and I had a nice roommate! Her and I got along well and that also helped. I was eventually allowed down to the cafeteria, not that it made a difference in the quality of food, but it was nice leaving the ward. They also had me try a medication that caused my pressure to go up to 175/110,125bpm while I was trying to sleep, and I also had a slight fever. The fever broke once I drank a few bottles of water and got sick twice. Another short night of sleep with a minor panic attack thinking I was dying from taking a new medication.

DAY THREE: This was probably the hardest day/night of the week long sentence. I don’t remember anything major happening by day, but it was supposedly the day before my 72 hours (when I got to go home) and it went by SO slow. I watched football, chatted and paced with the friends I made, did puzzles, but eventually, the three things you’re allowed to do get old and you’re searching for new ways to release energy. Finally, it was time for bed. I always stayed up as late as I could reading or chatting because sleeping was the hardest part for me. They took me off all of my medications, including birth control, and only offered melatonin to sleep; which of course I took but it didn’t help. We had to be awake by 7 anyway so my goal was always to try to sleep around midnight. You know, now that I’m here typing this, I fell asleep before midnight.. Damn it! Anyway... Around 1am, a girl who (I think) suffers from schizophrenia woke up in an episode and due to lack of staff, they just allowed her to ride out this episode which caused another patient on the floor to be triggered. What could have been a simple (for lack of better words) situation with a reasonable solution turned into a full blown crisis in my unit. I don’t want to get into the details for a few reasons like HIPAA... but things that happened triggered my own PTSD and anxiety. The only medication I was offered at this point was melatonin and the anti-psychotic, Latuda, they gave me the night before. I rejected it the this night, thankfully, because between the crisis and the reaction I had the night before, I probably would’ve had a heart attack.

DAY FOUR: I woke up feeling like something was wrong. I kept blaming it on the incident the night before and my nerves being all shaken up from what happened. I don’t know why I tried to brush it off because my gut was right; something was wrong. I wasn’t going home. My feelings bounced all over the place. I felt angry, I felt betrayed, I felt upset, I felt nervous, I was worried and sad.. I didn’t even know how to feel in that moment and it was almost like I went numb. Why was I not allowed to leave? When I spoke to the therapist and PA, I was advised not to sign a 72 hour notice, which gives me the right to sign myself out at the 72nd hour with or without seeing a doctor, because I would be leaving sooner than that and the notice would keep me there an extra day (Tuesday). Frantic, I was asking everybody why I couldn’t leave. I was getting so many different answers that I truly believed it was a test to see how mentally and emotionally stable I actually was. I believed they thought I would’ve totally flipped out and they would’ve been obligated to keep me there longer. I would get an answer, solve the problem, and then get a different answer as to why I wasn’t able to be released. First, I needed an outpatient appointment within 10 days. So I asked my mom to call around and find me an appointment. She did. Now, the problem wasn’t the appointment, it was the fact that the appointment wasn’t in the same county as the one I live in. Okay, strange, but whatever.. We made a new appointment in county, and now the issue was I didn’t see a doctor. I gave up at this point because it was clear there was no way I was leaving. The doctors were going home for the day and the therapists were long gone, so what else could I do but ride out another night? At this point, I was thankful I made a friend in my unit and was able to “hang out” with them until we had to go to sleep.

DAY FIVE: Christmas Eve. I don’t think I know the right words to describe the empty, sinking feeling waking up Christmas Eve in a psych hospital full of strangers. They do their best to make the day feel festive, but it’s just not there.. You can feel the sadness. Anyway, day five was the day I found out I’ve been in the wrong unit since I arrived. Apparently, the unit I was in was a higher risk unit but at the time of my transfer, was the only unit with an available bed. How am I supposed to know I’m not supposed to be in this unit? I didn’t go home because I was on the wrong floor. The doctor couldn’t see me.. because I was on the wrong floor. I wasn’t doing anything I was supposed to be doing because. I. was. on. the. wrong. floor. I was sad to leave the friend I made in my unit but was hopeful that moving to another unit was promising towards being able to go home. Again, my nerves kicked in and I was anxious about who my new roommate was going to be. Please excuse me if this sounds shallow at all, but your roommate really determines how high or low your anxiety will be because most of your time is spent in your room. Thankfully, another cool roommate. Things in this unit seemed a lot more relaxed and was clearly a lower security risk than the previous unit I was in. Is it in or on? Was I in the unit or on the unit? They were allowed to stay up later and had more interaction with groups and other similar activities. I finally saw the doctor and she asked me to take a suicide risk assessment before she would be comfortable letting me sign myself out. Of course I completed it immediately but due to the holiday and her being the only doctor, she didn’t get around to it and I wasn’t allowed to leave yet. I was still super anxious about when I was able to go home, so I decided to sign a 72 hour notice. To be honest, I still don’t understand how that works...

DAY SIX: Merry Christmas... I woke up feeling really sad and discouraged. All I could do was pray that today was the day I would get to go home. I couldn’t think of anything other than going home if I tried. After breakfast, the doctor came in. I WAS NERVOUS. I was so anxious that she would want me to stay longer. She wouldn’t let me go home. What if it was all another test to see if it would break me? I teased the tech who calls patients into the doctor’s office to put me on the top of the list to talk to her... And she came back and said “she wants to talk to you.. you’re not even on the list.” I probably could’ve thrown up on the floor, but I went quickly, hoping and praying I would get the news I needed. I did. I was allowed to go home. I was allowed to make arrangements to get the hell out of there. It was truly a Christmas miracle.

I’m pretty stumped on how to conclude this story.

One week isn’t a lot of time when your mind is scattered between various life factors and events, but when you have absolutely nothing to do but reflect on your thoughts and actions, it feels like a lifetime. Although this week was one of, if not the toughest week I’ve ever experienced, I’m thankful for the time I had to reflect on myself and work on understanding my thoughts better to help prevent actions similar to the ones that got me where I was.

#mystory #psych

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egosandchaosandmoreohmy · 6 years ago

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Commission for @catgirlwarrior

Summary: Eric and Derek are invited to their first ego meeting, but things don’t turn out well for Eric when his Dad meets Ed Edgar.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse, Shitty Dads, Threatening Scenes, Violence

Eric knew he wasn’t the greatest son in the world. He was nothing like his deceased siblings and failed to do any of the things that they excelled in. Paired with the fact he was cripple and autistic, he didn’t impress his dad. At all. In fact, his dad would rather he’d died in the bus accident than any of his brothers. It wasn’t news to him, in fact, it was a common fact in his life. But having his dad talk about how much he hated him with another ego? That was an all new low, even for him.

Eric and Derek had been invited to the ego headquarters to join in their first-ever meeting. Eric had been genuinely excited at first. Even though he hated social interactions, it would have been great to perhaps find someone to bond with after the years of forced isolation by his dad. Though it seemed Derek found a friend first, specifically, Ed Edgar. Eric had heard how Ed wasn’t a fan of kids, so he didn’t really want to interact, but his dad wouldn’t let him off on his own.

“So, you had sixteen kids with yer late wife?” Derek nodded in response, taking a sip from his water.

“Yes. And the only survivor was this failure.” He made a vague gesture towards Eric that had Ed cracking a smirk.

“I know how it feels. Had three kids originally. The only one I have now is the worst of the three. Real shitbag. Can see why his mom didn’t wanna take him, and why I haven’t been able to sell him.” Derek smirked.

“Probably better than Eric, the kid can’t do anything except cry and hug his handkerchief. He’ll never get a decent job cause he’s crippled. He keeps asking for new prosthetics too, but he’s just being ungrateful. I give him a job, and he just wants money and new legs.” Ed shook his head.

“A true shame he couldn’t be like his brothers.”

“Before or after the accident?”

“After.” They shared a laugh, but Eric wasn’t laughing. In fact, he was on the verge of breaking down. He suddenly stood from his seat, getting a look of pure disgust and hatred from his father.

“Where do you think you’re going, brat? Running off to act like the freak you are?” He was beginning to stand, and Eric panicked, running from the other as fast as he could without his prosthetics slipping off. He was crying hysterically, ducking into the first room he could find that wasn’t locked. He locked it shut so Derek couldn’t get in before turning to see a surprised Edward Iplier. He was in the middle of a conversation with Wilford, who was also in great shock to see Eric cowering against the door and crying.

“I-I-I’m so-sorry, I-I can g-go, I-I di-didn’t m-mean to-to int-interrupt--” Edward shook his head, slowly getting up with his hands raised to show he meant no harm to the other.

“Hey.. You’re alright, you didn’t do anything wrong. Do you mind telling me your name? I’m Dr. Edward Iplier, I’m the physician here.” He glanced down at Eric’s legs, taking note of his ill-fitted prosthetic limbs. “Do you need new ones?”

Eric couldn’t answer, considering running back out before hearing his dad outside.

“Where the fuck did you go-” could be hissed outside the heavy wood, and he quickly scurried behind the other two, trembling in fear at the sound of his father’s anger.

Edward glanced at Wilford before giving a silent nod.

“Here honey, why don’t we go to the back and talk? Wilford will take care of the bad man outside.” Wilford grinned, gently patting his shoulder.

“Indeeeeed, I wiiiiill!” Eric liked the strange accent he had, the funny voice making him grow quiet before he nodded in agreement. Edward smiled kindly, helping him up and walking him back to the care stations as Wilford turned towards the door. Eric swore he saw the glimmer of something gold, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Besides, Edward was trying to talk to him, and he needed to focus on the words fully.

“So, do you wanna tell me your name kid? I need information to create your profile.”

“O-Oh.. I-I-I’m, E-Eric D-De-Derekson-”

“Oh! You’re one of the new egos, correct? I should have a profile for you then-” He moved to a computer, typing in some things before smiling.

“There you are! So Eric, you need new prosthetics, right? I should have some that’ll fit much better than the ones you have currently.”

Eric seemed so dazed, confused by what exactly was going on now. Why did they care so much? He couldn’t understand why Edward wanted to help him so much, or why Wilford seemed to want to help deal with his dad.

“W-Why are y-you he-helping m-me..?” The shocked expression on Edward made him hide, and he was ready to get yelled at.

“Oh honey… Everyone deserves help, and I can see your dad’s denied you of that... Come here, you’re gonna stay with me from now on because your dad obviously doesn’t treat you with the respect and love you deserve.” Eric was crying again, overwhelmed by his words, and he hugged his handkerchief close as he tried to calm down.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, dear… Here, let’s go get those new prosthetics. You like yellow, right?” Eric nodded, hiding his face as he felt Edward carefully take off his “legs”. It felt weird, the scarred stumps of what used to be there exposed to the doctor. He gently held what was left his legs before looking up at Eric with a parental care in his eyes, looking truly sadden by seeing what he had to experience at such a young age. He pulled away after a few minutes, getting the prosthetics and gently strapping them on. They already felt much better than before, and Edward helped him up to do a test walk on them.

Though his movements were awkward and clunky, he could move a lot better than before, and he hugged Edward tight in thanks. Though a bell had them jerking away from each other, a signal that dinner was about to start.

“Let’s go Eric, I heard they’re having meatloaf tonight. I could perhaps ask Chef for celery for you too? Your file said you like to stim with it.” Eric blushed and nodded sheepishly. Edward smiled fondly at him, gently holding his hand before walking out with him. The hallways were empty, and they took great care to avoid other egos in case Eric panicked anymore. They slid into the kitchen, seeing an energetic man happily finishing up dinner, and Edward smiled at the German man.

“Hey, Chef. You have any celery that Eric can have?”

“Ja! It’s on the top shelf of the fridge mein friend!” He flashed a brilliant smile at the two. Edward swiftly got the vegetable, taking a stalk or two before heading back to Eric and helping him out to the dinner table.

Many stared as the man took a seat next to the doctor, a seat normally reserved for the Host, but he wasn’t going to show up today, too busy with his radio show. He nervously started snapping the celery, the sound helping him calm down and focus. Though panic quickly surged through him when he heard the door slam open. His dad was there, looking exhausted from running from the gun-wielding psychopath that Wilford was. He slumped into a chair normally reserved for Dark, though being as self-entitled as he was, he boldly took the seat for himself. Eric tried to be as unnoticeable as possible, which seemed to be working since Edward hid him behind him a little.

Ed Edgar grinned at his acquaintance.

“You manage to find the little squirt?” Derek glared at the question.

“No, he gave me the slip. I think he sent that weird pink, fruity guy after me too. As soon as I see him, he’s going to get an ass beating for it.” Eric was on the verge of crying. Did they truly not notice him and the other egos? Many looked at them both in disgust, but suddenly the room turned cold. Derek was too busy laughing at another insult he’d thrown about his own child to notice it. When he noticed no one else was laughing or even really responding, he looked about.

“What’s wrong with you all?” Ed only managed to shakily point a finger behind him. He looked up to see the cold face of the one and only Darkiplier behind him. He jerked his head to the side, neck popping before it returned to its initial position.

“I see that we have invited swine into our headquarters.” He spoke coldly, a hand reaching down to grip his hair before suddenly Derek was thrown to the far wall. A crack was heard, most likely his ribcage, as he made hit the wall. Dark then turned to the cop of the egos.

“Frank? If you could kindly escort Mister Derekson off the premises, that would be kindly appreciated.” He caught Eric’s trembling figure in the corner of his eye.

“Ah, and please keep the other. Mister Eric here is permitted to stay, per Wilford’s orders since he’s quite keen of keeping him as his own child.” Wilford had conveniently appeared as if on cue.

“Oh shucks, Daaaaarkling! You don’t have to expoooooose me!” Dark rolled his eyes before taking his seat, Frank scrambling to lift Derek up and take him out to his car. He’d probably have to drive him home, but Dark didn’t particularly care. Dinner slowly commenced, idle chatting with a few of the younger egos eagerly talking to Eric and complimenting him on his new prosthetics. Wilford and Edward both kept an eye on him, making sure he had a proper meal since the other seemed a tad too thin to be really healthy, and they both smiled like proud parents when he’d snap the celery to calm himself down again. They were both going to absolutely spoil him.

After dinner, Edward helped Eric up into what would be his room. The mansion that served as their headquarters and home always seemed to shift and move, adding rooms and removing them as needed. Wilford had tagged along to help Eric settle in, bringing him to a room with a white door. They waited for him to open the door, wanting to see the excitement of opening what was soon to be his new home. He did after a few minutes, surprised to see the room was a pastel yellow, his favorite color.

There was a window that looked out into the garden of the mansion, and pristine white curtains framed the window. The carpet was as equally white, and it was quite fluffy too. A desk sat under the window, a comfy chair in front of it, and a bed next to it. His bed was a full sized bed with blue and yellow blankets and looked absolutely soft to the touch. He had a closet opposite his bed that was full of new clothes. There were fairy lights around the top of the ceiling, and there was storage space with a gift basket on top of an empty bookcase. Eric looked ready to either cry or pass out from all the kindness.

He turned to hug them both, crying as he thanked them repeatedly for all they had done, for helping him through so much. They didn’t mind, shushing and cooing to him. It was officially, he was now a part of their family, and they weren’t ever going to let this child go back to his poor excuse of a father. They’d be dead before that happened.

#markiplier #markiplier community #markiplier egos #markipliergame #eric derekson

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chronicbatfictioner · 7 years ago

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Theater of the Soul - Chapter 6

They'd spoken in tongues around him, he'd heard. None of them knew that he understood them.

"<You crazy enough to take the boy away from him, you bastard, then you should be crazy enough to eliminate him!>"

He hadn't recognized the voice. But the language was Hispanic - a learned language, not a street- or birth-earned language. He'd suspected a white, upper-class somebody being there other than... than the horror that is the clown. He had not heard the reply, only that it was followed by a lot of loud noises. Ugly, loud noises. The last time he had heard those kind of noises, cops were later seen leaving the apartment next to his after taping the door with bright yellow ribbons.

And then he was leaving. He'd had no idea where to, or how. Just that he was leaving. Leaving all the noises behind.

And there was a lot of blood in his line of sight. Only he wasn't sure if it was his line of sight or his own eyes. Maybe it had been him bleeding. Maybe he'd caused the bleeding, he couldn't be sure. He knew there were others - warm, soft bodies.

And then everything was cold and chilly again. There was so much pain, too. And he'd kept moving. Somehow, his brain had told him to keep moving, ignore the pain and just keep moving. That keep moving would be his best bet to survive.

Barbara's friends were... scary ladies, if anyone would ask Tim. Fortunately, no one would ask. And they looked... well, Dinah Lance and Helena Bertinelli looked like they'd just walked out of 'The Gladiator' movie set - almost complete with Roman gladiator garb. They were both tall, and even if Tim's brain said that Barbara would've been just as tall if not for her wheelchair, the two ladies still looked imposing to him.

The three of them, Tim thought, looked very colorful - with Barbara's flaming red hair and fair skin, Dinah Lance's platinum blonde hair and peachy-tan skin, and Helena Bertinelli's jet black hair and dark chocolate skin.

And yes, he did not hide his surprise well when Helena said that she was a primary school teacher. "Does that mean I'll have to call you Miss Bertinelli?" he asked, only half joking because he did feel like he was still in Primary School.

Helena was glaring at him, and Tim hoped that she would at least be amused.

"You're... what? Ninth grader?" she asked.

Tim frowned. "I've graduated high school last year." he scowled. Yes, he was small even for 15. But he still has time to get some much-needed growth spurts, surely. Like one or two - or a dozen.

She looked surprised. "Well! A genius, Barbara? Who'da thunk it." she smirked.

"I would. His grandpa was Jeremiah Galavan." Barbara said, almost smugly. "The guy who almost singlehandedly built the wastewater treatment plant in Gotham. Even when everyone was laughing at him. I'm not surprised that Tim has his brain."

"Here I am thinking that Bruce would only take people with high theatrical aptitude." Dinah Lance said.

"My parents were stage actors." Tim told her. "That's how I know Bruce. They... left me in his custody when they died."

"That's nice of them..." Helena quipped. "So close in the heels of..." then she paused.

"He didn't take me in to replace Jason!" Tim snarled. "I was officially adopted before Jason left!"

"He never take anyone to replace anybody," Dinah said, practically calming him. "Bruce takes orphaned children because of his own deep need to make sure you won't be lost in the system. Like some of his..." she paused and meet his gaze, "... earlier acquaintances." she finished. Tim suddenly got the thought that by 'acquaintances', she had meant herself.

"Matter at hand, ladies." Barbara reminded them.

"I'll go with the little genius bird." Helena stated, her voice sounded challenging.

Tim just sighed. He was not in the mood for arguing. It was already past 10.30 and he felt that they would be kind of wasting time if they were to argue on who rides with who. "Whatever." he said. "Can we go now? The addresses were arranged by location, anyway, and we've got some solid 33 thousand square miles to cover." he cringed inwardly, suddenly thinking just how small Gotham City suddenly felt.

"Relax, kiddo. We'll find him." Dinah patted his shoulder gently. "Bruce should've..." and she pressed her lips, willing herself not to say anything more.

"I don't disagree, Bruce should've asked for help back then. But that door is closed already. Now we move on." Barbara didn't snap, but her tone implied so. "We will find Jason. Even if it means knocking every damn door in the whole county of Los Angeles."

"Babs and I can start at the north side, from here onward to Antelope Valley areas." Dinah said. "You take the beaches?"

"Will do." Helena said.

"It's not like my wheelchair would be bothered with the beaches, you know." Barbara cocked her eyebrow at them. Her wheelchair was specially made - lacking the back handles because she didn't like to be pushed by anyone else; and has reinforced all-terrain wheels.

"Nothing to do with your wheelchair, hun. Southward are usually populated with family ones. While northward are veterans and otherwise." Dinah replied calmly. "They see your wheelchair and they'll be more inclined to talk than otherwise."

"Psychological query." Tim acknowledged.

"Yes, little bird, you got that right." Dinah gave him a finger-gun salute. Tim almost grinned.

Their plan for today was to prowl the homeless areas, as well as stopping by at Napier-owned buildings or whatever property he has. Tim was a little proud that Barbara did not shot down his suspicion that the reason Bruce hadn't been able to find Jason right off the bat would have been because Napier had somehow hidden Jason somewhere. He was not at any hospitals back then, and the only record of him showed that he was checked out of LA General Hospital a week after he was admitted. Bruce had even pulled all the stops by asking a load of favors from his friends to ask if any of the private rehab centers and/or hospitals would have had Jason there - to no avail.

Hence, really, Tim's suspicion that Napier was not what he appeared to be. Not 'merely' a stage critic, but was hiding something else. When the Harley Quinn club opened a mere few months after Jason went missing - based on the date of the accident and his last known whereabout as he was signed out of the hospital, Tim's suspicion was vindicated.

And his suspicion lead him to poke around the internet and unternet - the dark side of the web - to find out who the hell this Napier guy really is. Said poking around also provided him with a list of assets belonging to Napier, mostly in Los Angeles County area - much to his relief; a small number in Gotham. Dick would poke around at the Gotham ones - excluding Quinn's club - with Barbara's father, James Gordon, in the guise of finding a place for himself. James Gordon, the city's Mayor, would be a good smokescreen - no pun intended for his smoking habit, really - to hide their true purpose.

Tim has to begrudgingly admitted - albeit inwardly - that explaining the general gist of things to Helena was easier now that he has had time to mull it over and brainstorm it with Barbara. They have barely gotten a block away from the Penthouse when Tim's presentation of his theory finished.

"So how is it a brainiac kid like you get roped to the ever-glamorous world of showbiz?" Helena asked. "Yeah, I get it that your folks were in it. But you could've gotten yourself a scholarship somewhere, MIT? Ivy? I mean, why stay?"

Tim fiddled with the camera on his lap. The camera would be their cover story - building Helena's portfolio at interesting locations, or having her pretend to be a reporter if all else fails. "Why should I?" he asked.

"Why should you what?"

"Why should I go for technical stuff just because I'm a genius?" he pressed. "Why can't I be in arts, just because I can work out how a supercomputer works, or how a robot can move and walk and talk at the same time? Why can't I be a painter, or singer, or photographer?"

There was a few good seconds' worth of silence following Tim's questions, and he knew he'd stumped Helena.

"You're right. I actually never thought of it that way." she finally admitted. "Most of the kids in my school are average. There are a few with above-average intelligence, and they all tend to lean toward sciences."

"They do that because through science - things that has absolute, numerical and alphabetical quantifier - because they can prove their intellects through it. How about languages? Did you know that the English language - while the second most spoken language in the world, has significantly less amount of words? As in, it has only one word that defined art: 'work'. Bengali language has five, Russian has four, Arabic has five. That, to me, is interesting. Would you like to know how I found that out?" Tim asked, almost coyly.

"Okay, I'll bite. How did you find that out?"

"Jason Todd told me. People tend to think him stupid, just because he was a street urchin and didn't get to be schooled to show his academic skills. But he speaks five languages fluently. All of which he'd learned on his own by reading the books at the library. Is he not a genius, then?"

"Ah," she nodded. "I get it. There are many types of genius, and the more visible ones are those with science-based aptitude."

"Yes, that should answer your question on why I'm not interested with scholarships. I don't need them to do what I love. And what I love is--" Tim suddenly clamped his mouth shut, realizing his true motive in doing this. It has nothing to do with what he loved to do - taking photographs, sharing the printed evidence of things he could easily pull out from his memories with vivid details. Not because he'd wanted to 'save' Jason. Not because he didn't want to see Bruce upset and stressed.

He wanted to do this so that he could earn his place within the Wayne family. He wanted to prove that Bruce taking him was not a mistake. So that Jason would stop being mad at him. So that Jason would come home.

Before Helena could finish her questioning, thankfully, they were approaching their first target location,

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Barbara Gordon #Dinah Lance #Helena Bertinelli #JayTim #SoulTheater!AU #no-capeAU #BatFam

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website-packages · 5 years ago

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FastandSocial.com - 10 Questions To Ask New SEO Clients - https://fastandsocial.com/10-questions-to-ask-new-seo-clients/Here's a selection of some of the questions I ask and why they're important to the overall SEO process: 1. What web analytics program do you use, and can we have access to it? Web analytics are the key to measuring the current level of SEO success (or lack thereof). They're alsoHere's a selection of some of the questions I ask and why they're important to the overall SEO process: 1. What web analytics program do you use, and can we have access to it? Web analytics are the key to measuring the current level of SEO success (or lack thereof). They're also the key to determining whether any future SEO implementation is helping to bring more targeted traffic. Therefore, it's critical for me to have access to this information regardless of the level of SEO service I'm providing. If you use Google Analytics (GoAn), it's very simple to add new users to the account and in most cases it's fine to provide report-only access (rather than admin). Along with GoAn, I also ask for access to the client's Google search console account. These days, if you have GoAn access, you can usually add the same website to your google search console account as well, which makes the process easier. 2. What's the purpose of your site and who is your target audience? This is a seemingly simple question, yet it often stumps many clients. Some of them will cop out: "Well, the purpose of our site is to sell our product." And your target audience? "Umm ... anyone with a credit card?" Not very helpful. If you don't have a good handle on who the people are who are buying your products, how will your SEO consultant help you bring those people to your website? An SEO consultant needs to have a clear picture of who you are because everything we do hinges upon this -- from the keyword research to deciding what type of content needs to be written, to how you might want to attack social media marketing. If you're an SEO consultant, I urge you to push for deep answers to this question. 3. Are there any other domains or sites that you own or control, or that you used to use instead of the current domain? (Please list them all.) This information is important so I can assess any duplicate content issues. I need to know whether that other site I found that is using nearly the same content as yours is owned by you, or if someone scraped yours. I also need to know if you're using multiple domains as an SEO strategy (so I can smack you!). I added this one to my questionnaire when I kept finding doorway domains or other sites that my clients *forgot* to tell me about. Even those who really do forget or who purposely don't tell me about their additional domains aren't getting away with anything. I usually end up finding them during my website audit process. So if you're a client, do us both a favor and come clean from the start. This will save us all some time down the line! (And I was just kidding about smacking you :)!) 4. What have you done so far (if anything) about optimising your site? My favorite answer is to this is "nothing" because that means we're starting with a clean slate and have nowhere to go but up! But most clients these days have done at least some rudimentary SEO. While I can usually spot any on-page optimization, it's helpful to hear it from you. Sometimes, the things clients say they've done (e.g., created keyword-rich Title tags) don't actually seem to be done when I look for them. That tells me that your idea of SEO and mine may be quite different, and it's good to know this up front. It's also good to know if you have already been through a string of SEOs and what each of them has done to the site during their tenure. 5. Is there anything that you may have done that the search engines may not have liked regarding previous optimization efforts for your site? This one is sort of an addendum to the last one for those who may have *forgotten* to tell me any bad or spammy things they (or a previous SEO) may have done. While they may have not mentioned anything spammy in the last question, this gives them the opportunity to add anything that they weren't quite sure was on the up-and-up. Very often, the client may think something was bad or caused problems, when it's actually innocuous. Other times, there can be a big mess to sort out -- e.g., all kinds of paid-for spammy-anchor-text links. As an SEO it's helpful to know right away where to focus my efforts. 6. List the websites of your three biggest competitors. Why do you feel they compete with your site? I like this question more for the second part than the first. It's always interesting to see why people think another company or site is their competitor. Very often, the only reason people think it is that the other site shows up in the search results for the keyword phrase that the client wants to show up for! While that may make them your competitor, it also may not. It may simply mean that you're shooting for the wrong keyword phrases. It's also very helpful to look at competitor sites to see how they're set up and whether they seem to have done much in the way of SEO or not. 7. What do you feel is your most unique selling proposition (USP)? Why would these clients come to you as opposed to anyone else who offers the same or similar products and services? What's different or better about your product or service? Along with who your target audience is, these are some of the most important questions for any client to think about and answer. Sometimes a client will have a great grasp of this and provide lots of valuable information, but more often, the best they can come up with is that they are "more friendly" than their competitors . In today's competitive marketplace and search results (especially since Google's Panda Update), it's critical to be able to differentiate your products and services from the rest. And even those who have an excellent grasp of this don't always make it clear to the users of their website, which is something that will need to be fixed. 8. After a potential customer visits your site, what specifically do you want them to do? This is a wonderful way to understand what the various conversion points of your website are. If your only answer is "Make a sale," then you likely need to add some other smaller conversion points, such as signing up for a newsletter or updates, following you on social media, filling out a contact form, calling you, etc. As an SEO you need to know what all of these points are so that you can make sure that the client's web analytics are set up to correctly capture all the conversions, and that the website is properly leading people to complete those conversions. 9. Do you have social media accounts (e.g., Twitter, Facebook, Google+) and if so, what are your user names? This is important to see if and how they're using social media. If they're not using it at all, as an SEO, you must determine whether they should be. If they are using it, a quick review of their accounts will show you exactly how they're using it. For instance, you'd want to look at whether they are simply tweeting out links to their own content via an automated feed, or if they are also interacting with their audience. This will help you devise an appropriate social media marketing strategy for them down the line. 10. Is there anything else you may have that you think will provide a more complete picture of your site? It's always a good idea to have a final, open-ended question such as this in case the client forgot to tell you anything within their previous answers. You may learn all kinds of things that you would not have otherwise learned without asking this question. Those are the most important ones that should get you started. While you can ask all these in person or on the phone, I find it extremely helpful to have it all in writing. It also provides the client with the opportunity to think about their answers and get additional input from others within the company, as necessary.

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