#This is based off a headcanon that Sam would jump out of the car when he was younger

[sastielsfandom]

Sam's aware his emotions get the best of him sometimes, like when him and Dean were teenagers and he jumped out of the car in the middle of an argument. Raising a finger up to Dean as he landed in a patch of dirt.

Dean stopped the car, rushing out to check on his little brother, but Sam was stubborn and Dean had to pick him up and carry him in. Sam fought the entire way and didn't speak to Dean for three days.

The fight wasn't anything special. Dean was given an order to get them out of town, John had already left and would meet them some towns over. Already on a different hunt.

Sam wasn't ready to go, begged Dean to let them stay, but Dean never failed an order. Not from their Dad. Sam begged Dean to do something for himself just for once instead of playing good solider, and Dean begged Sam to be a good son for once and not go against their Dad.

Sam didn't think about it, he simply opened the door and jumped out, thinking he was going to die. Dean thought he killed Sam as he tumbled out of the car, but the kid raised his middle finger up, and Dean circled back around.

It became a thing unfortunately, but Dean wouldn't circle back around, he'd go ahead, speeding up, trying to discourage Sam from jumping, it only egged him on. Dean would try locking the door, but Sam always had it open before he could.

Dean didn't stop the way he did the first time, iantead driving a bit, forcing Sam to walk to the car. It allowed them both to calm down a bit, Sam would walk off his anger, Dean would turn up the radio, not letting any thoughts move further into hatred.

But times changed. The two weren't teens arguing about their Dad, and Dean's foot pressed on the gas, his anger getting the best of him.

They both kept cutting deep into old wounds, and Dean wouldn't stop. Sam was willing to let everything go, until Dean spat out, "My biggest regret was every saving someone like you."

Sam didn't even know what happened until he was picking himself off the side of the road with a bloodied knuckle, it wasn't his. He didn't bother to raise a middle finger, just walked off the opposite direction of the Impala. Dean didn't stop for Sam, he left him for the first time like this on the side of the road.

Sam didn't want to go back, in fact he didn't, he found a town the opposite way, but Castiel was ordered to bring them back together for a hunt. Usually after walking away Sam was able to let go of whatever Dean said or did, but this time, it was seared into his heart.

No matter how many times Dean tried to take it back or say something to change it, all Sam could hear was the genuineness in Dean's voice when he told Sam his biggest regret. But Sam's anger wasn't at Dean, it was at himself.

He couldn't be a good son, can't be a good brother, can't even save people right, what good was he? He wished he died when he jumped out, part of him did. But not nearly enough as he woke up and tried to pretend he didn't remember those words and repeat them in the silence over and over. It was an unwelcomed mantra that didn't shut up.

But Sam lived with it, unable to get it to shut up. Maybe the real problem was how much Dean sounded like John or how much Sam hated himself then. It didn't really matter. It was the last time Sam jumped out of the car, but it didn't feel like an achievement to either of them.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

I Wish You’d Stay

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: N/A

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester

Word Count: 1676 // Rating: Teen & Up

Summary:  I know you need to go, But before you do I want you to know

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, Halloween Challenge, Writing Challenge, Songfics, Pre Supernatural, Sam Goes To Stanford, Stanford College, Brothers, Codependency, Arguing, Angst, Theft, Winchester Brothers, Hugs, Family Arguments, Supernatural,Lyrics, Songfic, I Wish You’d Stay // Brad Paisley

Notes:  This is part of my writing Challenge for Halloween 2022. All fics are based off of songs I love. The aim is to write one fic a day for 15 days straight. I’m doing a similar thing for Christmas but they will all be headcanons [requests welcome for that] Enjoy x  

Updated 8/23

15 DAYS OF SONGFICS FOR HALLOWEEN (OCT 15TH - OCT 31ST)

Sam trudged down the long black top. The road was deserted as it was the middle of the night and though he didn’t really know where he was going he kept walking, unable to turn back. Anger had fuelled him most of his journey but as it had lifted he had become a bit tired. So much so that he thought about turning around though he knew that was fruitless. He and his dad had fought like never before, Dean as always in the middle. All he wanted to do was go to college, hell, he’d even gotten a full ride. How was that a bad thing? He didn’t understand how his Dad couldn’t be proud of him. So what if he was leaving ‘the lifestyle’? Dean was still by his side and it wasn’t as if they’d made any significant progress in the past twenty years of chasing whatever killed their mom.

As he heard someone coming down the road he threw his hand out, his thumb extended hoping whoever it was would take him into town where he could find a bed for the night. Or maybe to some transport so he could get a jump on heading across the country. He turned and stopped as he heard the car start to slow down. It was a beat-up old Ford Taurus but he couldn’t pass up an opportunity and so he threw his bag over his shoulder as the car stopped beside him. The window was rolled down and he spotted the driver. Dean. Sam sighed and with a scowl on his face turned on his heel and started walking again. Dean rolled his eyes and put the car in drive, following beside him slowly.

‘Oh come on Sammy,’ Dean said, ‘get in the car.’ ‘What so you can drive me back to Dad? No thanks,’ he said huffily. ‘I’m not gonna drive you back to Dad,’ Dean said. ‘Sure you’re not. Stop pretending like he hasn’t sent you to do his dirty work,’ Sam said. ‘Sam,’ he sighed stopping the car. Sam stopped as he heard the handbrake come on and he looked at his brother. He looked tired, bags were under his eyes which were a little bloodshot as if he’d been crying. Guilt settled inside Sam like a lead weight. Through all the shouting and anger he’d never considered that his leaving might hurt them. That underneath his dad’s reaction was fear. Seeing that look on his brothers brought that thought to the forefront of his brain.

‘I’m not coming back,’ he said trying to sound as sure as possible. He didn’t want to hurt Dean but he also didn’t want him to get in his head and convince him not to follow his dreams. ‘I know,’ Dean said. And then with a nod, Sam walked around to the other side of the car and slid in beside his brother. Dean started the car again and they set off down the open road in complete silence. Neither of them knew what to say. Sam watched as the trees passed by him in a blur. Dean was never one to drive slowly especially when he had no one else to share the road with.

‘How’s Dad?’ Sam asked after a few minutes. He didn’t look at Dean who glanced at him before he sighed. ‘Angry,’ Dean said honestly. ‘Yeah I got that from the way he screamed at me,’ Sam said bitterly. ‘Because he’s scared,’ Dean said before adding quietly, ‘we both are.’ ‘And telling me to never come back or have anything to do with him ever again is the way to handle that?’ Sam said. ‘Sam,’ Dean sighed but Sam cut him off. ‘Look I don’t wanna talk about it okay? If Dad’s done with me then fine. I’ll be done with him too. Nothing you say is going to stop me from going to Stanford. This is my chance, Dean. To get out of this life. Don’t you both get that?’ ‘I do,’ Dean said, ‘but I guess I never thought our life was that bad.’ ‘What working all the time? Getting our ass handed to us every hunt-’ ‘Not every hunt,’ Dean reasoned. ‘Being pulled out of school time and time again. Not having any friends, our mom? Sounds pretty bad to me,’ Sam said folding his arms across his chest and looking at his brother. Dean refused to look at him instead he chose to look out down the road as a lump formed in his throat. ‘We have each other,’ Dean said sadly, ‘I guess that’s enough for me.’ ‘Yeah well I want more,’ Sam said.

Dean nodded and silence fell between them again. They were pulling into town now and the sun was coming up minute by minute illuminating their way. Dean pulled into a parking lot and mumbled something about Sam staying put. He did as he was told watching as his brother disappeared down the side of the building in front of him. The parking lot was empty but for some reason, Sam felt more exposed this way though he didn’t know why. Maybe at the back of his mind, he was still worried that Dean would try and force him back to his dad. Maybe this was a ruse so John could get enough time to get down here. Maybe it was the fact that his new and honest life was starting out in a car his brother had stolen. Maybe he was just scared that his new life was starting and from what he could tell he was on his own from now on.

As Sam fell into his thoughts Dean reappeared, sliding into the driver’s seat somewhat noisily. Sam watched as his brother placed a bag on his lap and pulled his coat closer around him rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

‘Man it’s cold out there this morning,’ Dean said. ‘I bet the heater doesn’t even work on this old thing,’ Sam said fiddling with the nobs on the dashboard. ‘Nah, I bet you’re right,’ Dean said. ‘Where did you go?’ Sam asked trying to spy on whatever was in the plastic bag. Dean’s gaze followed his and then he looked away somewhat shyly. ‘I had to make a call,’ Dean said. ‘Not Dad?’ Sam asked panicked. ‘No,’ Dean said, ‘don’t get your panties in a bunch.’ ‘Right,’ Sam said nodding. His heart was beating quicker as his fear of being pulled back home came back. Dean’s gaze dropped to his lap and he started rummaging through his bag. Then after clearing his throat he spoke.

‘I er, I got you something,’ he said handing papers to Sam who took them and started to look through them, ‘that first one is a number of an old buddy of mine. He lives in San Jose, so not too far from where you’ll be. I gave him a call and told him you were headed out to California. He said he’d help with whatever you need all you gotta do is call.’ ‘Thanks,’ Sam said slipping the small strip of paper with a phone number into his back pocket. ‘And the rest is a couple of maps and a bus ticket. The bus station’s just around that corner, they didn’t have a ticket all the way there but this one will get you to Texas. Or if you want you can take this old thing,’ Dean said, ‘but I figured now you’re on the straight and narrow you might wanna be doing your travelling like a civilian.’ ‘Yeah I don’t think me pulling up to college in a stolen car is the best first impression,’ Sam chuckled looking at his brother who was watching him sadly he swallowed thickly and said, ‘look, Dean. I know you don’t get it-’ ‘I do,’ Dean said, ‘I get it…and I guess I’ve always known it was coming. I mean since you turned twelve you and dad have been at one another’s throats. I figured you’d need your space someday.’

Sam nodded.

‘And don’t worry. I know there’s no way I’m gonna change your mind. I’m not going to try to,’ Dean said, ‘I just want you to know that…well, I’m gonna miss you a whole lot.’ ‘I’m gonna miss you too Dean,’ Sam said quietly. Dean nodded and pulled his brother in by his neck. Though Sam now towered above him it didn’t feel like it one bit. He fit into Dean’s grasp as he had when he was a kid. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, clinging to him just as tight as he had the day that he’d carried him out of that burning house. Dean sniffled as he pulled back but his jaw was set tightly as he gestured towards the bus station.

‘You’ve not got much time,’ Dean said, ‘you better get going.’ ‘Okay,’ Sam said sadly. He stuffed the papers into his bag and clambered out of the car ungracefully, a mess of belongings and limbs. Once outside he loitered by the open car door, looking in on his brother who was watching him with a small sad smile on his face.

‘See ya,’ he said with a small sad smile of his own. ‘See ya, Sammy,’ Dean said. Sam nodded and then headed towards the bus station. He never looked back. Dean sighed and fell back against his seat with a sigh.

Then he started up the engine and pulled out back through town and back to that black top. As he drove Dean thought about his brother setting out on his new life.

‘I hope you get what you want Sammy,’ Dean sighed. God knows he’d lost all he wanted.

I’m sorry for still holdin’ on I’ll try to let go and I’ll try to be strong, and I’ll Wish you the best And I wish you nothing less Than every thing you’ve ever dreamed of And I hope that you find love along the way But most of all I wish you’d stay

[anti-jack-kline]

I just watched the scene where jack kills mary bc I’d never seen it before and. I want to vomit. I didn’t even watch it with sound and I was horrified. just based on what I saw she was clearly scared of him, but also worried about him, trying to figure out how to help him. she shows ONE negative emotion, and apparently that’s too much for him, and he kills her. the people in the comments are just. vile. someone literally said “my poor baby jack” . . . like. he KILLED her. bc she was upset with him. bc he couldn’t handle his fucking emotions. he’s old enough to drive a car, he’s old enough to hunt monsters, but he’s not old enough to control his own fucking temper? get the hell out of here. children can learn how to do that! children go in time-out, they get things taken away, and they learn hey, it’s not okay to hurt someone, here are some calming exercises to help you work through your emotions when you’re upset.

if jack knew he had trouble controlling his powers and emotions, he should’ve worked on that instead of watching riverdale or whatever bs headcanons his fans have for him. innocent people don’t deserve to die just bc oh, we can’t hold poor jack accountable for his actions :( sam jumped in the cage with lucifer. cas took on sam’s pain from hell. dean was willing to live on the fucking moon if it would stop him from killing people. jack is strong enough to kill, apparently, but not strong enough to resurrect someone? he just makes a frowny face like that’s supposed to make up for literal murder? and then fans are out here wanting DEAN to be killed bc, god forbid he be upset about his mother’s death. god forbid he relive the trauma he’s had since he was four years old.

like. I don’t care if mary was boring or annoying. I think jack is boring! I think he’s annoying! but I have to see people treat him like the epitome of goodness, knowing he’s killed multiple innocent people and done nothing to make up for it. he’s ACTUALLY the epitome of every abusive man who gets away with shit just bc they didn’t know any better. or their victim was overreacting. or the victim deserved it. oh, I am in a rage. I’m sorry to go on like this but I am PISSED. this is why I hate jack. when people are saying they’re glad a woman is dead bc she was “annoying”, that she DESERVED to die for that, and meanwhile this whole fucking show was built on dead women, built on pushing female narratives aside for the men, and they have the devil rape a woman, and that woman dies giving birth to his child, and then they do THIS, and try to justify it. oh. oh, I am mad. what a vile, disgusting character.

On the other hand, this storyline has relied on sexist and harmful tropes so yey for continuity?

Alright, jokes aside, this deserves an honest answer. 

Thing is, I can see where they were going - they wanted to create a tragedy by showing a good, innocent character doing something bad due to circumstances beyond his control. Trouble is, they didn’t think it through. By the time they reached the point of him killing Mary, Jack had had multiple chances to learn better, or at least to realize he should learn to control himself, but instead, he was still killing people and doing anyone’s bidding whether demon or angel or whatnot. And even soulless people are supposed to have brains - Sam famously claimed he “worked better now” which even makes sense, considering emotions tend to cloud your judgement. So Jack should have known he was dangerous. 

Add to that the times we live in, and the subtext and implications. If this had happened in, say, some Star Trek mind control episode in the Eighties, I would probably have shrugged it off as “they didn’t realize what they were doing”, but as to here...

What we actually see is a man - and boy, the casting of “cute white guy” doesn’t help, although at least they didn’t saddle a POC with this role that would have been even more terrible (I frankly admit I don’t think anyone could have made this work for me) - who has considerably more power than the one he’s talking to - a woman - killing said woman while she is pleading for him to stop causing harm while still being worried about and loving him. It’s textbook in abuse cases - down to the “she made me do it” argument. It’s so tone-deaf and full of terrible implications, especially since Jack gets absolved and becomes God just because he’s sorry, that I’m frankly astonished not a single person in the writers’ room realized what they were doing. The only reason I chose to believe that is because it is infinitely preferable to the possibility that they knew and either didn’t care or that this - all the sympathy being given to the killer/abuser, who got to make puppy dog eyes and cry about how sorry he was instead of his victim, who we were simply told was so happy and at peace after having been killed by someone she considered as part of her family - was a good story to tell in the year of our Lord 2019. 

[theysaywhatasadsight]

Wedding Bells, Part One (Steve Rogers x Desi!Reader)

A/n: *Slides up to you* Good Evening (technically its morning hehe) but this fic was made possible by Amy (some may know her, she was formerly @thelazypangolin ), by @messy-random-bitch and @officially-tonynat-shrine who listened to my crazy headcanons and gave me amazing ones. @nasarogers is the clueless American I would die for (love you bby) and @shurisneakers and @chillingbucky wanted to be tagged. Technically this is a desi au, so translations are right next to the sentence and some pop culture references are in the glossary. The story is based in Delhi so if any of y’all live there don’t come for my head skkssk. (P.S.: IDK if the ‘person sitting in the lap of another person in a car’ is technically illegal here or not? Imagine my surprise when I went to Europe and found out it’s illegal there RIP. So ignore the “is this actually allowed?” question, please and thank you.

Warnings: Floof, some violence and blood, swearing (well it’s in another language)

"Agent (L/N), thoughts?" The post mission debrief was often long and complicated but this time, one of her many gods had clearly smiled upon her as it was over in an hour. Most of the junior agents had cleared out of the room, leaving behind a few of the senior ones and the director of SHIELD. "Don't let Richardson go next time; all he does is whine and make extremely bad decisions. Our job is to provide assistance to the Avengers, not to be heroes ourselves. Let's keep ourselves a bit on the down low." "Agreed." Smith piped up. There were nods around the table. "I'll talk to Richardson, push him on a desk job for a while." Everyone stood up and filled out. Walking beside Nick, YN grabbed his tablet for him. "Always working, Sir." "Unlike you, Agent (L/N). A whole month for a wedding? It's not you that's getting married is it?" He looked completely serious but she could see the glint of mischief in his eye. "What? I haven't taken a single holiday in a year. Besides,its my cousin's wedding; they're pretty close." "I suppose you're not joining us for the Islamabad mission?" "Not really, already I get called unpatriotic too much. Good luck!"

She handed off the debrief files in the Avengers' living room. A few were lazing around, some off to shower or maybe nap. She herself wanted one, not wanting to wrestle with a saree and a suitcase. "So I hear you're not showing up for the next month?" She handed the file to Natasha while Tony looked up from his phone where he was declining with Pepper and Morgan who were away to Chicago for a meeting and visiting Pepper's family. After Ultron, it was always better to have physical copies of files. "Yeah, cousin getting married." "Oooh, with the number of days you were leaving I thought it was yours." "Don't, Fury already made that joke. And besides, wouldn't I invite you lot to my hypothetical wedding?" She smiled as she sat down on the sofa next to him, grabbing an apple from the coffee table. "Considering it was Steve's wedding too I would think we would already be invited, I did call you all to mine." He smirked. Y/N nearly choked on her apple. "Wait, what?!" "Darling, we know you've been hooking up. Or planning to." Natasha sighed and glared at Tony. "So much staring at each other on missions. You always covering his ass, and might I remind you of the time he went into a coma after a mission and you nearly ripped the place apart?" "Clearly, your super senses are gone because there is nothing there. Nada. Zilch. There is absolutely no potential there. We're just colleagues." "Colleagues who hooked up once? Last new year's you two were slobbering over each other. You left Bucky and Me dancing alone to that...what was it called again?" "Sheila ki Jawani*?" "Yes! Amazing song, by the way. Movie didn't make a lick of sense but then again, which heist movie does?" Glad at the change of topic, she smiled. "Do you need more movie recommendations?" "Nope, Bucky and I still have your old list to go through." "Call me if you need explanations. Only WhatsApp calls though, I'm not shelling out a fortune to explain the reincarnation of Shanti Priya* to you."

Hungry, jet lagged and extremely fatigued she landed at the Delhi airport, hoping against hope that the crowd assembled at the pick up was for the Tik Tok star that was also on her flight and not because her whole clan hadn't seen her for 3 years. But when was she ever lucky? When she had left the army to join SHIELD everyone had been very disappointed in her. Not that any of them knew. For immediate family, she was in HR for Stark Industries and for the rest she was in 'Amreeka, doing something or the other'.

When they told her she would be sleeping alongside her younger cousin who was training to be a doctor she just sighed. The nerd would probably study the whole night and keep the light on. Maybe she could do some pending work; jet lag would keep her awake anyway. Work, yes. Work would keep her awake. Definitely not daydreaming about a pair of blue eyes that wouldn't go away; the owner of whom was the biggest fattu (coward)  she had ever seen.

He missed Y/N. It had barely been 4 days since she was gone. He should ideally know better. Fraternising among agents wasn't good. Her job would be in danger if anyone found out. He never really had a thing for rules though. "Good God, Rogers, stop moping about and give her a call." "I-what?" "Yes." Natasha frowned at him from where she was leaning against the countertop. He was crushing the cardamom, trying to figure out if it went after the chai was done or before. "Ask her when the cardamom goes in. I think it's before the whole thing boils." "I, uh, I'll look up a recipie." "Care to tell me why Steve Rogers, who loves coffee as black as his soul is trying to replicate YN's sweet as hell chai? Couldn't you get some from Starbucks?" "That's no chai,that's just tea and milk. She had it once and almost threw it at the barista's head...Nat, why are you looking at me like that?" "Nothing, nothing at all."

"They're no longer in Islamabad." "What?" "Someone leaked the details of the raid to them. They're moving it to India now, possibly to the capital. They have enough contacts to pull it off, even HYDRA's helping them." "New Delhi, isn't that where Agent (L/N) is now?" "Fury, she's on vacation; besides she's not picking up any of her calls." Natasha glared at Nick. "A radioactive gas that can take out the entire subcontinent and a dude who's not stopping at anything to further his our-return-to-the-dark-ages agenda? Pretty sure it beats all weddings. Send someone with the briefing and gather your team. We’re sorting this shit out, fast."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to show up at her door asking her to cancel her family commitments and go back to work." "Really, the concern you two have for each other is extremely sweet and nauseating; but you have to do it. Get in, get recon and get back in contact. If the rumour is true we'll have to assemble the whole team." The former assassin rolled her eyes at Steve's aghast face. "I got her address off an old file; I'll ask her to pick you up. And please, don't get lost somewhere; we really don't have any spare agents to track you down." "I've been outside the States before, Widow. And using confidential information for personal purposes? Nefarious." "This is the reward I get for being a good wingwoman. Fine, don't come crying to me when you're invited to her actual wedding." As he set about packing he daydreamed about jumping off the top of the compound and wondering if his feet would still work to escape into the surrounding forest.

She got the text the minute Natasha assumed Steve's plane took off. "Your boyfriend is headed towards Delhi. Introduce him, be the black sheep you are and for the love of God read the files and make a plan." The rest was just code saying the plans had changed, the expected mission derailed. When her family began pestering her, saying that her turn at the altar was next and asking about boyfriends, she had blurted Steve's name by accident, the fact that it made a perfect cover was a different matter. That's what happens when you space out while talking to Sunita Chachi*, woman has a tongue sharper than Gordon Ramsay's knife. Her mother had just smiled sadly and asked two of YN's younger cousins to share a bed when told another guest would be joining them.

30 minutes after the plane landed he immediately wanted to go back. What he was used to was executing secret and well-coordinated missions, not the actual planning and coordinating. Sam argued he was growing soft. He just liked listening to YN's voice. And now he was in an unfamiliar land with no foreseeable end to his stay and a wedding to attend, apparently. YN smiled at him at the receiving line, smiling as a lover receiving a spouse after a long separation. She walked up to him and whispered "You're my boyfriend from work, you know zero hindi and Natasha introduced us." She embraced him and leaned forward for a kiss. It lasted shorter than he would've liked. She continued whispering as she grasped his hand and lead him to the car which already had three people in it. "Did you pick up more guests?" "Nope, they just wanted to see you first." Opening the door as Steve tossed his bag in the back she yelled something at the assembled children and got in the right. Was the kid in the front supposed to drive? "Do you need an invitation?" One of the kids yelled out.

He had judged wrong. There were not only three teenagers, there were two more kids who had been too shy to outright stare at him like their elder siblings (he assumed) had. One sat in his lap, staring outside the window. The others chose instead to glare at him unnervingly. YN drove, swearing at everything. One of the younger ones laughed at something she said and immediately had his ears covered and shushed."Didi* don't teach Gudiya bad words!"

"Arey baba sorry, tu toh janta hai traffic kitna bura hai; akele chalane ki adaat ho gayi hai bhenchod. Sorry."  (“You know how bad traffic is, I’m used to driving alone, sisterfucker” Basically the reader’s saying the traffic is the worst and how she’s used to driving alone and hence swears often while driving; also people from Delhi apparently like to attach swears to everything.)  She grinned as her cousin gasped again. She was at the moral, change-the-world stage. YN missed that.

“So, change of plans?” Pinky grinned at Y/N as she looked up from a complicated looking textbook. The kid had somehow made it to medical school without losing her mind or her calm demeanour. “I’m only gonna switch places at night, right now let me study Anatomy.”Sighing at her cousin’s confused stare, she glared back.  “Arey you’ll want to sleep next to your boyfriend na?” “Uh, yeah, I mean, thank you, but it’s no problem. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.” “Calm down. If we get caught sneaking around in the middle of the night its worse for the two of you. I got into MBBS, I can basically get away with murder now.” she smiled. Y/N wondered whether her cousin would be a sociopath or a leader later. She went about chalking up the updated plan for the recon, only hoping her family would behave themselves around Steve. She caught some part of her wishing it was the real thing so that the poor guy’s suffering wouldn’t be in vain.

Hey bhagwaan (oh God), I need gangajal* and a stiff drink. Also a lobotomy.

“How did that idiot even cross the border this quick? And how are we getting informed this late? This is going to be a logistical nightmare, the government is going to put the pressure on us.” “Maybe someone exposed him or he got pushed back down on the social hierarchy. It’s a mess.” On the pretense of sightseeing, Y/n had dragged Steve away from her nosy relatives to get details for the now completely changed mission. "Can I try that?" He gestured to the bowl of chaat* in her hands. "Don't cry if you find it too spicy then. You couldn't even tolerate my butter chicken; even my youngest cousin can eat that." "My tongue is really not fond of burning and not being able to taste anything for a fortnight." "Oh? What is it fond of then?" His answering blush made her smile. "I-uh, we need to report within three days, Nat is busy getting everyone together and ready for the mission." "The engagement is in 2 days! How are we even going to get out?" "How much do you like this cousin anyway?" "How. Dare. You. Rahul is one of the few I actually like." "Yeah, how many are there? I lost count at 13." She punched his arm and snorted, earning a smile from him and a glare from the chaatwala*.

YN truly regretted coming back here. The never ending taunts, the upcoming solo recon mission (that she would have to give Rahul’s engagement a miss for, he was one of her favorites too) and the fact that the guy she had been thirsting over the past few months was suddenly her so-called boyfriend. Massaging her temples as she got up to get ready, she hoped desperately the recon would not involving fighting. She already had thinning hair due to the stresses of being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, her hair being yanked out while pins were still attached to her hair wouldn’t help the cause.

"Mummy!" She yelled over the din of the loud, jarring music. Her mother was smiling and gossiping with her sister-in-law. "Thoda kaam aa gaya; Delhi wale office Jana padega." (Some work popped up, I’ll have to go to the Delhi office) "Itni raat ko? Uss gore ko lekar?" (So late? With the foreigner in tow?”) "Are kuch nahi hoga, bohot important hai, warna nahi jaati." (Nothing will happen. It’s too important, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone.) "Wapis aa jaiyo jaldi, raat ko ghumne safe nahi hota." (Come back quick, It's not safe to roam at night.) "Pakka." (I promise)

"MADARCHOD!" (”MOTHERFUCKER!”) She grunted as she ducked, the bullet nearly embedding in her collarbone. She fired back two shots, one at a goon's head and one at his accomplice's knees. Whipping her head at a noise, she gasped as Steve has a bullet graze him as one of them took a lucky shot at him. He only winced. The goddamn lehenga* got in the way of her running after the idiot who could run like fucking Milkha Singh* even after being shot in the knees. They both chased. The recon turned ugly after someone spotted the tent she was wearing that was pretending to be a skirt. If they somehow got out alive, she'd burn this thing. By the time she caught up to Steve, who had left her long behind, she came upon a sight that gave her a heart attack. The men (apparently some were laying in wait for them) all lay dead in various poses, with Steve in the middle grunting and struggling to get up. Firing at someone who awoke, she leaned down, cradling his head in her hands. "Steve. Hey, whoa. Don't die on me. Where are you hurt?" He was bleeding all over her skirt. "Knife to the ribs. Two or three times..may...maybe. Hurts like a bitch." "I'm getting you up. We're going home, okay?"

This was a terrible situation. Somehow supporting the huge, burly figure of an extremely injured Steve, she set him down, leaning against the bike they had zipped around on and somehow escaped on, looking for her phone in the carrier attached. She lived this bike even when she lived here; it belonged to her uncle who would give the keys to only her. The sagaai* had clearly ended an hour or so ago. People still milled about, probably the men from the tent house they had booked for the whole tamasha*. “Shobhit, neeche aa. Garden ke side. Aur Bunty aur Puneet ko bhi leke aaiyo.” (”Shobhit, come downstairs, to the garden side. Bring Bunty and Puneet with you.") “Itni raat ko kya kar rahi ho bahar? Khatam ho gaya aapka office ka kaam?” ("What are you doing out so late, is your office work done?") “Are tu neeche aa, sab samjhaati hu.” ("You come downstairs, I’ll explain everything" )

“Samjhaana agar shuru karti toh achha hota.” "It’ll be good if you start explaining now." Shobit muttered as all three of her cousins stared at the crumpled figure of Captain America on the ground, to their cousin wincing in pain, her lehenga covered with blood, again to Steve. “Isko uthake Pinky ke kamre tak jaane mei meri madad kar. Yeh marr warr gaya toh naukri gayi meri.” "Help me pick him up and take him to Pinky’s room. If he dies, I’m losing my job."

“First of all, I’m not a doctor. Yet.” Pinky also did her fair share of staring at everyone. Y/N could feel her eye twitching. Whether it was out of anger, stress, or the false eyelash that had ripped from her lash line as she drove like a madwoman in the traffic, no helmet or gloves. Steve screaming like a grandma as he held on for dear life was a tiny bit amusing though. Endearing maybe, Nope, definitely not endearing.

“I should tell you that because I have very, and I mean very little experience in sewing. Particularly sewing up bodies professionally. If he dies, I am not responsible.” She yawned once, extremely sleepy. “That being said, someone get cotton, Dettol, and uh my sewing kit is in the left front pocket of my backpack. Jija*, there’s no anesthesia, but I suppose you don’t need it, super strength and all. Didi*, aisa muh mat banao (don’t make that face), just because none of the oldies know who he is doesn’t mean we’re stupid too.” Y/N shut her gaping mouth.

“He’ll live.” Pinky said as everyone in the room collectively sighed. The suture had been painful to witness, Y/N biting her lip so hard she tasted copper. Steve seemed okay now. When he had taken that guard’s knife to the stomach, Y/N’s heart had stopped. The fear she felt, that was no general fear at seeing someone stabbed or even a friendly fear (was there even such a thing or was 3 AM her just rambling?). The panic she felt was heartbeaking. “Make those self realisation faces later, Di. I’m tired and I just want some sleep.  “Jija ko unke kamre tak chodke aa. Koi raaste mei mile bol dena bike bhid gayi thi, hospital se aate hue late ho gaya tha.” (Jija is the hindi word for sister’s husband. Pinky’s telling him to drop him to his room and if anyone asks to tell them he had an accident, the bike hit something and they were late coming from the hospital.) “Tu sabko heart attack dilayegi kya?” (Do you want to give everyone a heart attack?") “Aur koi bahana mile toh batao.” ("If you have any other excuse then tell"

As everyone scattered, Y/N shut the door to change. Her cousin just lay down on the bed, semi-asleep. She cracked one eye open when Y/N reached out her hand to switch off the light, whispering “So you are a secret agent?” “Nope, I sell veggies with Captain America.” “Ugh, way to thank me for saving your boyfriend’s life, with terrible puns.” “He’s not my...leave it. Good night. Oh, and PInky?” Pinky hummed. “Thanks.” “So jao.” (Go to Sleep)

“Tell Romanoff we’ll need backup. They clearly planned ahead for the move, the facility is impossible to get into, and now they know we’re coming. Also, Steve is injured." “Very well, we’ll invite ourselves to the wedding. Take care if your boyfriend until then."Natasha sounded worried but her tone was light. “Bring a gift, I’m not keeping strangers in my family home without payment.”

Glossary *-Sheila ki Jawani is a pretty popular Bollywood Item Song. Played at every wedding /party since 2010 *-The Reincarnation of Shanti Priya is a reference to the film Om Shanti Om where the leads get resurrected after having an unhappy ending *Chachi- Father's younger brother's wife; aka yn's aunt *Gangajal- Water from the river Ganges that Hindus consider sacred, its used for purification purposes (guess why Y/N wanted it *wink wink*) *Didi- Elder Sister *Chaat: some spicy-sweet snack, it's a general term; desis feel free to imagine your favourite. *Chaatwala: the person who owns the chaat shop *Lehenga: a crop top and floor-length skirt outfit worn at weddings and traditional functions *Milkha Singh: famous Indian athlete, also known as "The Flying Sikh" because of how fast he was. *sagaai- engagement *tamasha- a sarcastic way of saying how over the top the whole wedding is.

[haveyouseenmymind]

Growing up in Iowa

So, the actual idea for this was to be a bunch of headcanons based on this post about Leonard who finds Jim taking a bath with a rubber duck.

And I have no idea how this instead happened. This was wasn’t supposed to turn into something like a fic? I’m confused, this was not supposed to happen. 🙈

I kinda got carried away, so this somehow turned out angstier than I wanted it to be. Uhm... I’m sorry? I didn’t want to be so mean, but I normally have no control over what I write, so this developed on its own.

There’s going to be more, and I promise that this is the only angsty part.

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Pairing: none

Rating: Teen (heed the warnings)

Warnings: child abuse, short mention of Tarsus IV

Words: 1784

Jim and Sam’s childhood would have been better without Frank around.

Sir Duckington III is, like the name suggests, the third rubber duck Jim owns. The first and the second were given to him by his brother Sam.

+++

When they were kids, a small travelling funfair resided at Riverside for a week or so.

Of course the boys wanted to go, exciting things like that came by seldomly, but Frank was having none of it. Their mother had just left after one of her rare visits and Frank always got extra mean  after such occasions. Also, there was hardly a minute of him being sober afterwards.

So they snuck out, full of themselves and so sure the drunk man wouldn’t be any the wiser. And Sam led small Jimmy around, between the booths and attractions that filled the eyes of his little brother with wonder and excitement.

When they reached a weird booth, that was avoided by most of the other few visitors, Sam of course went straight for it, he was brave, he was a Kirk and so the old scary looking lady owning the booth didn’t terrify him at all. Well, only a little bit, but he had Jimmy with him, and he couldn’t show that he was frightened in front of his little brother. And Jimmy? Well, he would have gone anywhere his brother would have gone.

There wasn’t much to this booth, except that it didn’t really fit in with all the other pristine looking stands. Knickknacks were lying around everywhere, old stuff no one had a use for anymore. Even an old teddy bear, with an eye missing and a hole in its side, the white fuzzy stuffing spilling out of it, was sitting on a chair, waiting for its final journey, or maybe even better times to come.

No one in their right mind would have wanted anything of that trash, but Jimmy? He was quite fascinated by the three yellow rubber ducks lined up on the front of a table. He took the one in the middle in his hand and squeezed it just once, as the woman suddenly stood behind him. Sam of course stepped between them, no way he would have let something happen to his little brother.

“You like the ducky? If you want, you can have it. Just give it a nice home and take good care of it.”

They thanked her and made off after that, it had gotten late and they had to get back to the farm before Frank would wake out of his delirious state and throw a tantrum.

But of course they had been too late for that. At some point Frank had realized that they were gone, so when they came back he was already sitting on the porch, another beer resting in his hand while he was waiting for them to return.

Apart from frequently sipping said drink, he was silent and very still. Sam immediately became rigid, he knew that their stepfather was the most dangerous when he was like that. He pushed his brother behind his back, trying to shield him from the rage they surely would have to face now.

When Frank stood up, he squished the beer can with his hand, and threw it away before he staggered up to the frightened boys, still not saying a word.

He yanked the yellow ducky that Jimmy had still tightly gripped out of the boys small hands, and threw it somewhere behind him.

Sam, who was prepared for punches following after that, pushed Jimmy away and told him to run into the house and lock himself into their room.

And Jimmy did what his brother told him, he always did so, as he dodged Frank, who got distracted by Sam screaming insults at him a second later, grabbing for him.

He just ran, didn’t look back, tried not to listen to the sound of fists hitting his brother’s flesh while he ran into the house.

He rushed up the stairs, nearly stumbled and fell them down, but he made it up in one piece. As soon as he was behind the door, he locked it as fast as he could, fumbling with the key, panicking when it first didn’t turn around in its lock.

When he had finally locked the door, he crawled up into his bed and pulled the blanket over his head. As darkness surrounded him, he started to cry silently, afraid for his brother and afraid that Frank would come after him too, when he was done with Sam.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, when he finally heard slow steps creeping up the stairs. His whole body went tense, but when he heard that it was his brother as he was knocking the door and asking to be let in, Jimmy scrambled out of the bed and hurried to unlock the door.

As soon as it was open, Sam hobbled into the room, shutting it quickly to get another barrier between them and the monster lurking downstairs.

He slowly made his way to his own bed and crawled under his blanket before Jimmy could see all of his injuries. He didn’t say a word, or made any other noises except for the slow breaths he took.

Jimmy, not knowing what to do just crept into his brother’s bed behind him, resting his head against Sam’s back weeping silent tears.

Sleep didn’t come for a long time after that for them.

The next day when Jimmy woke up, he was all alone. No Sam next to him, and when he searched through the rest of the house he couldn’t find neither him nor Frank.

Fear gripped him tightly, as he went out and saw the car gone. So he just sat down on the porch, the same spot as Frank the evening before, and waited.

He waited patiently, too panicked to leave this spot, afraid that no one would come back, or even worse, Frank coming back without his big brother.

Hours later, he finally heard the car coming back, and he was relieved beyond words, when Sam got out of it, his injuries from the day before apparently healed in the hospital.

Frank, who seemed to be sober for the first time, told him to sit down next to Jimmy and not to move until he told them so.

Too afraid of another round of beatings, the boys stayed where they were, as their stepfather rolled up an old rusty barrel, and started setting up a fire in it.

When the fire was lit, he went back into house and came back with a bunch of things, clothes and other personal items belonging to their mother.

After he had thrown them into the fire, he repeated the scenario - an old quilt made by their grandma, some of their toys and other belongings that once had been in the hands of any Kirks.

When he suddenly came out with a staple of books, real books of paper, Jimmy saw red. Those were his father's books, the ones he loved leafing through so much.

He jumped at Frank, tugged at his arms to let the books go, yelled at him to spare them, but Frank just slapped him straight across the face, so that he fell back into the dirt.

He whimpered as he held his burning cheek, and his eyes teared up when Frank threw the books into the fire.

Their stepfather seemed to be satisfied with his work, he bent down and Jimmy saw that he had grabbed the rubber duck, the one he had gotten the day before, that he had wanted to name Sir Duckington, as that was a good name for a little ducky.

With horror he saw it being thrown towards the fire, and it landed in the barrel, letting out one last dreadful squeak before it was consumed by the flames.

+++

Sir Duckington II came into his possession a few days later, when Sam gave it to him with a smug smile and told him to hide it, so that Frank wouldn’t be able to find it. Apparently he had gone back to the old lady and somehow gotten hold of one of the other two remaining ducks.

+++

After that the boy’s relationship with Frank became even worse. Beatings happened more frequently, so that they started avoiding the house and their stepfather. Food they could somehow get by themselves, it wasn’t as if Frank really took care of that, so hey were better on their own.

Over the next few years they learned to take care of themselves, but that didn’t mean for things becoming better or even easier. Sam got angrier with each passing day, until one day he ran away and left Jimmy back alone with Frank.

From that day on, he wasn’t Jimmy any longer. Just Jim. 

And Jim locked Sir Duckington II away, somewhere in a box on the attic, not able to look at the duck any longer after his brother’s betrayal.

Now that Sam had left, it was Jim who had to avoid Frank’s beatings. It was Jim who drove the car over the quarry.

His mother came back, but it wasn’t as if she had any idea what to do with the boy who had become so rebellious. The only thing she knew, was that she still had some relatives left, who were willing to take care of Jim.

Tarsus happened. Jim became J.T. and became Jim again.

He somehow got back to earth. He had survived. He lived. Though he didn’t know if one could really call that living.

He somehow made it over 20, though the road leading there was filled with bumps and delinquency and him not giving a fuck about anything.

That changed when a Starfleet Captain dared him to do better. Pike somehow had gotten through to him, and for the first time in who knows long, Jim felt a spark of ambition light up in him.

So the night before the shuttle would launch for San Francisco, he went back to the farmhouse, that had been thankfully void of Frank for a few years now, and searched for something worth to take with him into his new life.

But apart from a few clothes there was nothing he wanted. He dug through dozens of boxes, until he stumbled upon the one he had hidden the duck in.

He stared at the yellow thing, as if it was offending him personally.

And with a heavy sigh and a hearty “Fuck it” he grabbed Sir Duckington II to pack it into his bag. He still could decide later about what to do with it.

For now he had to get a shuttle.

+++

Ok, I have to stop here. I still have more for it, but the heavy stuff should be done with this and I don’t want to put the lighter part under the same warnings.

It’s also probably a bit shitty, but it’s late here and I’m tired, so sorry again. 

tags: @thevalesofanduin @medicatemedrmccoy @toosouthernforspace @reading-in-moonlight @feelmyroarrrr @0dannyphantom0 @eyeofdionysus

If anybody else wants to be added to my tag list or be removed of it, just let me know. :) 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Memory

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~1700

Warnings: Language, Sam in skinny jeans. 

A/N: For @idreamofhazel‘s Throwback Challenge! Thank you for letting me join in on the fun, and for the extra time! This was fun as fuck to write. I totally have a headcanon that Sam was a closet emo kid, and used to listen to MCR and shit behind Dean and his dad’s back. This is also based on that time I snuck out of boarding school to see the Academy Is...

My prompt was Memory, by Sugarcult. 

“I’m going out,” Sam says, and he throws his backpack over one shoulder, trying to look like he gives exactly zero fucks. Dean’s giving him laser-eyes, so it’s probably not working.

“Where?”

“Out. To a show. With a girl.” He can’t help but smile a little bit on the last word.

“What girl?”

“Y/N. Just a girl.”

She is, emphatically, not just a girl, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. In fact it’s much better if Dean doesn’t know that, because if Dean figures out exactly how many butterflies are crashing around in Sam’s ribcage, he’ll have to endure a lecture about getting attached and how stupid it is when they’ll be moving on in a week or two anyway. And Sam knows all that. He does. But he’s seventeen, and he has a crush, and he doesn’t want to fucking hear it.

They’ve been dancing around each other for a few weeks now, since Sam accidentally tripped her in the hallway (thanks, gigantic clumsy teenage feet) and then immediately caught her before she could fall (thanks, ninja-like hunter reflexes) and then she grinned up at him with these sparkling eyes all smudgy with black eyeliner. God, she’s cute.

He realizes he’s smiling as he thinks about it, and Dean is looking at him suspiciously. He waves and turns to go before Dean can call him on it.

“Do you need a ride?” Dean asks.

“Nah, she’s picking me up at the diner down the street,” Sam says. It’s partly because he doesn’t want her to know that he’s staying in a seedy-ass motel, but also because he needs to change his clothes where Dean can’t see and make fun of him.

Because Sam maybe bought skinny jeans the other day. And he’s totally comfortable in his masculinity and all that, and he knows he looks good in them (the salesgirl said so, and then she gave him her number, so she definitely meant it) but he also knows exactly what Dean would say. And if Dean knew he was going out to a pop-punk show? Holy shit. It would be bad.

“Well, I’m going out with Amber,” Dean smirks. “So make sure you have your key, cause I might not be back til really late.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Bye, Dean. Have fun.” He holds back the “Love you.” It’s been a while since he could say it casually like that, but sometimes it still jumps unbidden to the tip of his tongue.

He walks down the block quickly, dodging a hooker and a dealer, and gratefully opening the door of the all-night diner that’s become his favorite place in town. He’s been coming in every day to do his homework at the counter with a strawberry milkshake.

“Hey, sweetie,” says the motherly woman behind the counter. “The usual?”

“Just a coffee?” Sam asks. “Thanks, Maggie. Be right back.” He heads to the bathroom to change, shimmying into the black skinny jeans.

She raises her eyebrows when he comes back out, but doesn’t comment, and he’s grateful. He gulps his coffee nervously.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, Sam!” he hears, and almost falls off the stool as he spins around.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, and jumps up to give her a hug. She keeps her arms around him just a second too long, and he loves it. Her hair smells like strawberries.

She leads him out to where her best friend’s car is idling by the sidewalk. The front passenger seat is also occupied by a girl with purple hair that he vaguely recognizes, which means the two of them get to slide into the backseat.

He doesn’t know most of the songs that play too loudly on the CD player as they drive to the venue, but it doesn’t matter. She sings along to every one. Her voice isn’t great, it cracks noticeably when she’s trying to sing that one Fall Out Boy song, but he watches the easy confident grin on her face, the line of her neck when she tilts her head back to really belt it out, and his face hurts from smiling.

They put on the CD of the band they’re going to see, Sugarcult, and he maybe got the CD at the mall and listened to it in secret for a while, just so he wouldn’t look like an idiot at the show, and so he knows the words to this one. Her eyes light up when he joins in on the chorus, and that makes the last of the self-consciousness evaporate. He drums on his knees, getting into it, and when the song ends they skip back to the beginning and listen to it again, and he rolls down the window and screams the words out at passing cars.

There’s this warm liquid glow in his stomach, fluttering and perfect. It’s her, partly. Those fucking butterflies are multiplying by the minute. But it’s something bigger, something to do with the reckless speed of the car and the blistering volume of the stereo, something about how goddamn normal it is. He feels carefree in this ecstatic, invincible way that he never wants to end.

He reaches out and takes her hand before he can talk himself out of it. She beams at him in the intermittent yellow light of the streetlights, and her fingers are soft and perfect between his.

When they get to the venue, this tiny shitty club, there’s a line out the door of boys and girls with tight jeans and studded belts and flat ironed hair, and they wait impatiently and then get in, with big black X’s in Sharpie across their hands. Y/N makes a face at him, showing off those X’s and rolling her eyes, and he takes it as an opening to grab her hand and hold it again. She smiles that sweet, secret smile, looking up at him through her lashes.

He’s fought demons, for fuck’s sake. He knows how to shoot and how to use a knife and how to get rid of a fucking ghost. But the lights go up and the first chord vibrates through his chest and the crowd surges forward, and the adrenaline rush of it is like nothing else. The entire room screams as one, and he can feel the scream ripping through his throat but he can’t hear it, can’t hear himself in the chorus of voices, and then the drums are snapping out a beat and the singer is leaning out over the sea of upturned faces, and Sam gets lost in it.

He dances, sort of. He jumps up and down, at least. The crush of bodies around him means that he only has so much freedom of motion, but it also means that he has an excuse to be pressed up against Y/N the entire time. They dance, and they shout along, and sometimes they hold hands, fingers clasped tight, and she’s so fucking beautiful when she dances, sweat shining on her cheeks, purple and green and gold in the lights, and sometimes she closes her eyes and smiles blissfully as she sings, and Sam is so, so, so fucked. But he also hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

His favorite song starts, the single, and they’re jumping up and down in sync and shouting the words at each other with big, goofy grins, and when he kisses her, everything seems to freeze. It’s a good kiss. It’s such a fucking good kiss. Everyone around them is going nuts, dancing and moshing and jostling against them, and they’re so still, locked together in the middle of the chaos, and Sam forgets about everything except her and her soft lips and her strawberry-scented hair running through his fingers as he holds her.

They have to leave before the last song, because her friend has to get home before curfew. They hold hands as they run through the parking lot and they’re still holding hands when they collapse breathless and giggling in the backseat.

Her friends in the front seat turn up the stereo and sing along again, but they sit quietly. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. His chest is swelling as he looks from their clasped hands to her beautifully flushed skin and messy hair.

He knows it’s stupid to get attached. He knows they’ll be moving on in a few weeks. But it feels so good to let himself fall, to let himself have this one stupid night of being a stupid careless teenager with a crush.

He kisses her again before he gets out of the car, a quick peck on the corner of her mouth. “See you Monday,” he whispers.

He changes in the bathroom of the diner, and because he’s sure he can’t go to sleep yet, he slurps down a strawberry milkshake and tells Maggie about his date.

When he gets back to the motel, the room is dark and empty. He doesn’t bother showering before he gets in bed. It’s sorta gross, the way his skin is getting sticky, but he doesn’t want to wash the night off yet. He wants to hold onto it as long as he can. He dozes off with drumbeats echoing in his skull and the memory of her smile glowing behind his eyelids.

“Wakey wakey, Sammy,” he hears when he starts to stir. “Time to get packed.”

“What?” he says dazedly. Dean is tossing his backpack onto the bed.

“Time to go,” Dad’s saying. “Hunt wrapped up sooner than I thought. It was a djinn.”

They pack. They get in the car. Sam knows it’s pointless to protest, and he manages to hold back the tears.

He pulls out his Walkman, once they’re on the highway, and turns up the song loud enough to drown out the Ted Nugent cassette that Dean’s been obsessed with lately. He closes his eyes, and tries to relive the high of it, the way her lip pillowed between his, the press of her palms against his back.

This could never start

We could fall apart

And I’d be your memory.

.

.

.

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