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letsgetusaghostfriend · 4 years ago

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A Green Day concert, a bloody nose and a coming out – Sunset Curve & Green Day I

Summary: Luke and Bobby got them tickets for the Green Day show in LA on November 2nd 1994, also known as the night Billie Joe punched a homophobe and Alex came out to the guys.

Friendship fic, super Alex & Bobby centred, Luke and Reggie are not straight but don’t know that yet. Also, I know most people think Alex came out way earlier, but he has to not be out for this story to work.

((warnings: homophobia, homophobic language (not fully written out except in the band name of the opening act), slight violence, mentioned: alcohol, underage drinking (I am german, so for me it’s not underage drinking but yeah), in general: swearing))

word count: 4.9k, read here on AO3 x

Luke and Bobby got four tickets for the Green Day show in LA on November 2nd in 1994, it was one of Green Day’s bigger shows at that time. The boys previously have been to other concerts of the band, but the last one was in a small club in ’92, of course, all four of them being way too young for that place. Luke and Reggie were the first ones out of their group to get fake ID’s, mainly to go to gigs and play gigs. In the beginning, Alex thought he would never do the same, too scared of possible consequences, but then Luke used his stupid puppy eyes. (They still work even after Alex crush died, dead and buried). And if he was being honest, it was really helpful for playing clubs if the owners can at least pretend that they believe the four boys are old enough to be there.

Alex was aware that Green Day’s opening act, Pansy Division, was an all-gay band. And he was excited and scared at the same time. He found out because this one kid in his English class, Josh, went to the San Diego show earlier that week and told one of his friends that he shouldn’t go to the LA show as Green Day was just a bunch of “f*g lovers” and not worth their time. So Alex was scared: what if his friends would say the same thing?

They arrive late and the line is massive, Alex anxiety pitches in and reminds him that if it takes too long for them to get inside, he might miss Pansy Divisions performance. Logically he knows that they wouldn’t start letting people in so late that the opening band already starts when most people are not inside yet, but his anxiety is not that into logical thinking. He can’t help being fidgety, at one point Luke noticed and asks him if the crowd is making him uncomfortable. “Yeah, a little bit” Alex responds, not wanting further questions about why he was so anxious. The boys keep close to the bar, staying in the back first, not too excited to get into the crowd just yet. Alex knows the others would be inside the first mosh pit if it wasn’t for his anxiety, but not once did they show any signs of annoyance about his hesitancy. They just patiently wait for Alex to get used to the crowd and atmosphere, never angry when he has a bad day and he never signals that it is okay for them to go into the more crowded areas. Sometimes, especially when Luke doesn’t know where to put his energy he and Reggie go, but they always make sure that at least one person stays with Alex. He probably should tell them how thankful he is for this more often (the others would disagree here since they feel like Alex thanks them too much).

When Pansy Division started playing Alex didn’t expect them to actually sing about hooking up with guys at rock concerts, loving men, having real, deep and meaningful relationships and just, in general, doing normal daily life stuff, living with a boyfriend and how it feels after a breakup. He feels so excited, almost jumping up and down to the beat, not able to put his excited energy out on the drums like he would if it was their own concert. Alex completely forgets to check the guys for any reactions, too involved in the music. He doesn’t see that the other three boys enjoy Pansy Divisions music just as much as he does. He doesn’t see Bobby eyeing him from the side, a knowing glint in his eye.

Alex doesn’t know that Bobby saw the way Alex would look at Luke when they were 14, at Brian from History when they were 15, and how he sometimes looks at pictures from Billie Joe Armstrong in magazines. Bobby also didn’t miss Alex’ obsession with the song Coming Clean. The other boys sometimes forget about how Bobby’s parents are genuine open-minded people, who introduce him to a lot more diverse people than his friends’ parents do. So yes, maybe Alex was discreet enough for Mr Luke Oblivious Patterson and Captain Reg Oblivious Peters, and his parents who anyway only see what they want to see, but not for Bobby. Bobby, who might from an outsider’s perspective looks like he is standing a bit outside this friendship group due to him being less loud and sociable than his friends, but Bobby who loves his friends with all his heart, Bobby who truly sees his friends and knows that this is where he belongs. Seeing the absolute bliss, happiness and excitement streaming from Alex like waves is contagious.

After Pansy Division finished their set and there was a short break before Green Day would start theirs, Bobby slips from their group, mumbling that he would get another beer. Instead, he goes to buy Pansy Divisions EP, because the band was genuinely good but mostly because he knows Alex wouldn’t buy it, but he will definitely want it. On his way to the little corner where they sell the Green Day merch as well as Pansy Division stuff, Bobby realises that it was actually packed, but he soon saw that it was just a long long line for the Green Day merch. Actually, there are so many people he can’t even see the Green Day merch salesperson. He manages to get to the guy who took care of the Pansy Division stuff, he greets him with a head nod and a short “hey”, while scrambling his money out of his pant pockets to count it. He’ll have to nick a bit off of Luke’s beer later, not having enough money left to buy another one. When he reaches out to hand out the money for the CD somebody joins the guy who cared for the merch. Bobby recognises that it’s the singer of Pansy Division and he smiles at him. “Great performance, really enjoyed you guys’ music!”. The singer grins at that and holds out his left hand, which Bobby finds a bit strange, but takes it nonetheless.

“Jon, nice to meet you.”

“Bobby, pleasure is all mine.”

“Ah, you’re a musician yourself!” Jon says while checking out Bobby as if he could tell whether the kid in front of him was any good based on his appearance. It took the guitarist a second to realise that Jon must’ve felt his calloused fingers from playing the guitar during the handshake. “Yeah, I’m actually here with my bandmates.” A voice in his head, that sounds suspiciously like Reggie tunes in with “We’re Sunset Curve, tell your friends.” But Bobby pretty much felt like a child trying to play in the adults’ league, so he doesn’t say anything else. Jon grabs the CD he was about to buy and opens it while asking “So Bobby, is the CD for you or someone else?” Taken aback by that question Bobby tells him without thinking “We kind of always share records. Em, so maybe Sunset Curve?” Jon who was about to sign the inside of the CD case, pauses and looks up again “You’re in Sunset Curve?”

“Yeah, rhythm guitar.” He answers without much of a thought, it takes him two seconds then he adds: “You’ve heard of us?” Jon chuckles at Bobby’s shocked tone.

“Saw you play a few months ago. Didn’t remember your name till Mike mentioned one of your songs, always called you “the band with the cute drummer” actually.” Jon casually explained to a still shell-shocked Bobby. The comment about Alex makes him choke on his own spit though. Jon smirks, but before he can say more Bobby’s mouth starts talking before his brain gave its okay: “You saw us well enough to say that Alex is cute, but you didn’t recognise me?” After the words left his mouth, he feels his face heat up.

‘Way to embarrass yourself by having too much of an ego, Robert, great job’, he thought to himself. But Jon again laughs it off, as if he made a funny joke, smirks and asks if Alex was here tonight.

“He is,” Bobby says, voice cold, “he is also sixteen.”

Now it was Jon’s time to look embarrassed. “Oh shit, never mind then.” He pauses. “Sixteen is a bit young to play that club you played, isn’t it?” He pauses again. “You guys take this whole music thing seriously, I like that!”

More at ease again after Jon’s reaction to Alex’ age, Bobby’s brain finally catches up with everything Jon said before he called Alex cute.

“Wait, Mike as in Mike Dirnt? As in Mike Dirnt mentioned one of our songs?” he asks astounded. Jon laughs at the utter bewilderment that the younger one’s face was showing. But before he could say something about it a loud voice behind Bobby sneers: “Oh look at that, Bobby the f*g lover.” He turns around and sees Andrew from his math class. “Always knew at least one of you would be a shirt lifter!”

Bobby tries to take a deep breath before he answers but Jon beats him to it. “I would really think people were clever enough to listen to lyrics, but you still find the poser ones at these concerts, especially since Dookie got Green Day so popular outside of the scene!” Bobby needed a few seconds to realise that Jon wasn’t even talking to Andrew but instead just talked about him to Bobby and the guy selling the merch.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that you fucking fairy!” Andrew sneers, stepping closer to Jon. As soon as Andrews anger is directed towards Jon and not Bobby anymore, the guitarists fight instinct kicks in.

“Fairy? Really?” he asks Andrew with a snigger in his voice, “Didn’t know we live in the 50s, Andrew. Learned all these terms from your daddy?” Bobby tries to make his voice sound as degrading as possible. For a second it seems like Andrew might shut up and leave but then Jon starts laughing loudly about Bobby’s comments and before anyone can react Andrew takes a swing and hits Jon right on the mouth. Without thinking, Bobby copies his action and the next thing he knows is that his hand hurts and Andrew has a red square on the side of his face. He glares at the guitarist and strikes again. This time the fist hits Bobby’s nose and he sees black stars in front of his eyes for a few seconds. After that, all hell is breaking loose and Bobby is being pushed around for what feels like a few minutes before he gets pulled aside and finds himself behind the selling booth with Jon by his side who has a busted lip that is still bleeding. Jon has a hand on the teen's shoulder and looks worried at him. “Fuck your nose does not look too good!” he says. Hearing the words Bobby brings his hand up to his nose and winces when he feels a sharp pain as soon as his fingers touch his nose. “Fuuuuuuuuck, Alex is going to kill me!” he groans at the thought of how the blond will react to seeing Bobby like this.

“Hey man, good punch you got on the dickhead there!” an excited voice states beside Bobby, which makes him turn his head probably a bit too quick, considering he just got punched in the face a few minutes before. But the guitarists' instincts were right: standing beside him was no other than Green Days’ singer, Billie Joe Armstrong. The blond (with fading blue in his hair) is smiling at Bobby and continues with “but I think mine was even better” while pointing at something behind Bobby, who turns around just in time to see security carrying a half-conscious Andrew out of the venue.

“You know that guy?”

“He goes to my school!” Bobby answers, still in awe looking after Andrew.

“Oh, you need to tell me about how he looks tomorrow, man I don’t miss high school but I’d love to go to school just to see that!” Billie Joe tells him and Jon, still sounding way too excited. When Bobby turns around again to look at the two musicians in front of him, he catches Jon telling Billie Joe that Bobby is part of the band they talked about the other day. Somehow getting even more excited by the news he fully turns back to Bobby. “Love that! We need more good people in this scene so we can make sure the music stays clean of dudes like that! Well, it was lovely punching homophobes with you Bobby, but I actually have a concert to play!”

And with that Billie Joe is gone through the door leading to the backstage area and Bobby looks at Jon hoping that he can find answers with him (like is he hallucinating?) but he just chuckles at the teenagers in awe face and takes the CD Bobby wanted to buy all along, as well as the money he had already paid and hands both back at the teen with the words “I think you paid enough for this already, thanks for sticking up for me!” And adding, when Bobby tries to give the money back again, “You better go so your bandmates don’t worry and you don’t miss the Green Day show!” Bobby thanks him and with a smile he makes his way back to the other boys while putting the money and the CD into his pockets.

When Alex finally sees Bobby come back to them, he feels relief washing over him. Alex always hates it when they split especially if one of them is on their own and Bobby has been gone for way too long. The first thing Alex notices is that Bobby doesn’t carry any beer or anything else that he could’ve brought from a bar, the second thing is that Bobby’s nose is bleeding. The easing relief is instantly replaced by worry as Alex's brain catches up with his eyes. As soon as the guitarist reaches them Alex starts searching his fanny pack for tissues and anything else that can help with a bloody nose, all while berating Bobby about getting into a fight. Reggie and Luke excitedly ask Bobby about it, but when their bleeding bandmate tries to tell them about what happened Alex just shushes him and gestures for him to look up so that he can take a better look at his nose. While Alex is still cleaning up Bobby’s face the crowd starts cheering and Alex turns around quickly to confirm his suspicion that the main act finally made it on stage. He keeps on cleaning his friends face from now slightly dried blood when he hears Billie Joe's voice over the speakers.

“Sorry guys, I know we’re late, but I had to punch a homophobe…” The rest of the sentence does not reach Alex’ brain as he looks at one of his best friends, whose nose was bleeding after obviously being punched and all he can hear is white noise, while the realisation, that Bobby being the homophobe who was just punched by Green Days’ singer, sets in. He feels a sharp sting in his chest all while feeling overwhelmed by fear, cold naked fear. And his thoughts race through his brain, too fast to actually make any sense, all he knows is that his worst nightmare seems to be coming true: the people he trusts the most will eventually leave him. They will hate him. They will think he is disgusting, and they will leave him. Unconsciously he takes a step back from Bobby, taking both his hands off his friends face but before he can totally spiral into his thoughts, he is caught by Bobby who holds the drummer by his wrists and looks at him like Alex offended him deeply.

“Seriously?” Bobby’s voice comes out sharper than he probably intended, softening his tone as he sees Alex flinch at him, “You actually think I am homophobic? Fuck Alex do you really think that poorly of me?” The guitarists' words and face are both filled with what Alex can only describe as hurt. Bobby attempts to say more but he is cut off by Billie Joe's voice coming over the speakers saying his name.

“A special thanks to Bobby from Sunset Curve! Make sure you check them out they’re a local band that’ll make it big one day, I’ll promise you! I swear, give them less than a year and they’ll be playing here on this very stage! Thanks, Bobby, for helping me punch a dickhead!” And with that they start into their first song, leaving the boys standing completely mind blown in the back, each one trying to comprehend what just happened. After a few seconds, Reggie, Luke and Alex all turn to Bobby with questioning faces, but Bobby concentrates on Alex’ face. “Do you believe me now?” When Alex nods the, still bleeding, guitarist feels relief wash over him. “Good! Because I already have your Christmas present and I literally know no one else who has the same taste that you have!” He actually manages to make Alex smile with his stupid comment, feeling like they might be okay again, he holds onto Alex’ sleeve, needing something to ground him, knowing that Alex is uncomfortable with public affection. He turns to Luke and Reggie who as soon as they have his attention try to bombard him with questions, but he stops them and promises to tell them later.

___

After the concert:

When they leave the venue, a wave of, for L.A. unusually cold air, hits Bobby’s face and clears his head a little, making it easier to think about everything that had happened. As he was the first one out of the four to step out in the cold air, he takes a deep breath before turning around to see the other three boys walk up to him. He notices that Alex pulls his jean jacket tighter around his body, clearly not enjoying the cold air as Bobby does. He smiles at Bobby and then follows Reg and Luke who started walking towards the side street where they parked the van before the concert. The two boys talk animatedly about the Green Days show, analysing every detail. Seeing one of their favourite bands live did distract the two enough for them to not ask any further questions, right now. Alex smile tells Bobby that the same did not count for the blonde boy. Bobby jogs up to Alex to walk beside him, but when he tries to initiate a conversation with his bandmate, the blonde just shakes his head and mumbles, that he has things to think, but as if to calm Bobby down, Alex takes his hand and squeezes it before they reach their van. The van they brought because they actually started to be able to book enough gigs to pay for it (and to actually need it), they all paid for it, even though they don’t talk about the fact that Bobby paid the biggest part, with him having the only parents who actually support the band.

Bobby is driving, with Alex in the passenger seat lost in his thoughts and Luke and Reggie in the back, trying to get Bobby to finally tell them about what happened at the venue. The guitarist promises to tell them as soon as they arrive at the garage, but despite the impatience from Luke and Reggie to find out about everything they still have a quick stop at a small diner on their way home to get their after-concert food.

Alex, Reggie and Luke all go straight for the couch while bobby prefers sitting on the floor, facing them. For a few seconds they all munch happily but soon Luke starts bugging Bobby about what happened at the club, so he puts his sandwich aside and takes a short breath. He doesn’t know where to start, he kind of wants Alex to know that he got the CD for him, but he doesn’t want to put any pressure on Alex, nor does he want the other two to find out about Alex liking boys before Alex wants them to.

“So,” Bobby starts, “we all really liked Pansy Division, right?” he asks with a nervous laugh tinting his words. He looks at the three boys on the couch for confirmation and gets it from two of the boys while Alex looks like he gets scared by the simple indication that he might have really liked the queer band they all saw tonight. Bobby acts like he didn’t see it while deciding, that he won’t tell the blond that Jon was hitting on him. That might be a bit much information for one night. “Well, I thought,” he continues while pulling out the CD he brought earlier “I’ll get us their CD.” He waves the CD then places it on the table in front of the couch so the guys can look at it.

“And that’s where I met one of the band members, Jon, he is the singer.” He looks up at his friends who all stare at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity on their faces, even Alex nervousness seems replaced. ‘I didn’t even get to the really shocking parts yet’, Bobby thought to himself.

“Okay, so we got talking, he found out I play in a band and when he asks for a name to use to sign the CD I just said Sunset Curve, because we always share records, like I mean I don’t even know who owns what anymore!” Luke looks dead serious while nodding his head, Alex starts smiling slightly and Reggie looks like he is trying really hard to separate their shared music collection in his head.

“Anyway, it turns out he saw one of our shows earlier this year and apparently, he was talking about one of our songs with Mike, but before you get too excited, I couldn’t ask him about it because that dick Andrew from my math class interrupted us. He called me a – eh, never mind” he stops himself, giving Alex a short glance – “he started calling me and Jon names and I kind of started making fun of him for using really outdated terms and when Jon laughed about that, Andrew hit him and then I hit Andrew and he hit me back and suddenly everything got crazy. Next thing I know is that I am behind the merch booth with Jon and Billie Joe Armstrong, and Andrew is being carried outside by security.” He tries to rush the words out fast enough so that Luke doesn’t stop him because of the band being recognised and Alex doesn’t stop him because he hit someone.

“And then Billie Joe finds out I am in Sunset Curve and he says something about it being good that more good people will keep the scene going or something and then he pretty much left to play the show and Jon gave me the CD and I went back to you guys so you wouldn’t worry too much.” When he finally finishes his story, he is staring at three really shocked looking faces.

“Mike Dirnt and Billie Joe both know of Sunset Curve?”

“Who knew Bobby is such a badass!”

“You hit Andrew?”

All three started talking at the same time, but then Alex stands up and he looks real mad and everyone else shuts up. Bobby looks at him. “Alex, I didn’t plan to, it just happened. I got so mad when he started calling Jon these awful names and when he hit him, I just snapped.”

“What about our no fighting rule, huh?”

“So, when someone is being super homophobic, I am just supposed to do nothing?”

At that moment Bobby realises that Alex didn’t process until now that Andrew was using homophobic slurs against Bobby and Jon. He sees Alex anger vanish from him in mere seconds, replaced by fear and sadness settling in his eyes. Lips pressed into a thin line Alex sits down on the couch again. It breaks Bobby’s heart to see his friend like this. They all stay silent for a while.

“What did he say?” Alex asks with a voice so quiet Bobby almost misses it.

“Alex,” he sighs, “I am pretty sure you don’t want to know!”

With that Alex's eyes, which were glued to his hands before, snap up and meet Bobby’s. “You know, don’t you?” Alex asks Bobby, seemingly completely forgetting that the other boys are in the room.

Bobby does not know what to answer, not wanting to make Alex come out because he feels like he has to, or because Bobby figured it out already. “I only know what you want me to know, everything else is just a hunch.” He finally settles on.

Alex laughs. “So, you definitely know, and I actually thought I was being subtle.”

“I still love you, you know that, right?” Bobby just needs Alex to know that. Even if this is a weird one, Bobby wants this to be the reaction Alex gets for his first coming out.

It takes Alex a few seconds but finally, he looks up again, searching Bobby’s face for any trace of him lying. As Alex realises that the boy in front of him means what he said he feels like the biggest wave of relief washes over him. This, black-haired, awkward and quiet boy in front of him, who buys CD’s from queer bands, punches one of his classmates because he was being a homophobic bigot to a complete stranger and whose first reaction to Alex half-assed coming out is to tell him that he still loves him. This boy, who is so uncomfortable with most people touching him, who still wants to hold all of their hands all the time, calling them grounding. This boy, who would probably punch more people to protect them because he gets crazy protective about the people he cares about. And suddenly it’s difficult not to start crying and Alex feels like his voice will break if he tries to talk so he just nods.

And in that second, knowing he has Bobby on his side for this, he decides that he wants them all to know. So, he gets up from the couch and “gets on the runway” as Luke likes to call Alex’ nervous walking occasionally. After walking up and down three times, he suddenly stops, turns to Luke and Reg who look super confused by what is happening and he blurts out “Iamgay” so fast that there was no way that any of the guys could’ve understood a single word. So, he takes a deep breath and repeats: “I am gay” while standing there, eyes closed, and breath held.

“Oh, that…” Luke starts, but he gets interrupted by Reggie who says: “That makes so much sense, that is why you were staring at Brian so much last year! That really confused me, man!”

“I was... I was not staring at Brian Denver!” Alex sputters embarrassment creeping in his cheeks.

“You totally were, you even knew who Reg was talking about right away!” Luke laughs and gets up to pull Alex in a big hug, squeezing him tight. Reggie gets a hold of them and pulls them down on the couch where he squeezes between them, and wooshes through Alex’ hair affectionately. Alex, now half sitting on the couch and half lying on Reggie looks up to Bobby, who stands awkwardly in front of the couch. As the other two notice Bobby as well they all kind of freeze in their cuddle pile. Even as Bobby was more comfortable touching his bandmates than he was with touching his parents, or literally anyone else, he still never expressed any interest in being part of a cuddle pile before. Seeing how all of his friends stopped as he approached, the guitarist started taking a step back, but Alex stopped him by holding out his hand for Bobby to take. It takes him a few seconds but finally, he lets himself being pulled on top of Alex into the cuddle pile and even though it feels strange at first he likes the feeling of Alex’ soft t-shirt under his cheek, Reggie’s arm around his waist and the smell of Luke’s cologne.

Later that night Bobby snatches a picture of his best friends still cuddling on the couch hours later, now all fast asleep. He hasn’t shown that picture to anyone except for his daughter when she finds out about the band 25 years later and he decides to tell her about the loves of his life, even if most people wouldn’t recognise them as it since it was purely platonic love. And even though he got married, he never loved anyone as much, with the exception of his daughter, as he loved the three boys who left him when he was just 17 years old.

The next day Bobby snatches a picture of Andrews black eye. He shows that picture to Billie Joe, backstage at an event he attempts without his best friends after the man recognises him as the kid with whom he punched a homophobe. After that Bobby leaves the event early, not being able to hold up the image of Trevor, too consumed by grieve and guilt. Guilt over not being able to protect them. Guilt over not dying with them. Guilt over using their songs.

#julie and the phantoms #sunset curve #fantoms #jatp #alex mercer #bobby/trevor wilson #this is a bobby friendly blog #green day #sunset curve loves green day #that should be canon #reggie peters #luke patterson #friendship fanfic #julie and the phantoms before canon #before canon #set in the 90s #dookie tour #idk if i am missing hashtags

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hikingmysteries · 4 years ago

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The (”Mostly Harmless”) Nameless Hiker

Arguably the biggest hiking story of 2020, the tale actually starts a few years ago. Though we love researching and writing our own pieces for Hiking Mysteries, it is tough to top Nicholas Thompson’s article from Wired magazine. So, here it is, along with images.

A Nameless Hiker and the Case the Internet Can’t Crack

The man on the trail went by “Mostly Harmless." He was friendly and said he worked in tech. After he died in his tent, no one could figure out who he was.

IN APRIL 2017, a man started hiking in a state park just north of New York City. He wanted to get away, maybe from something and maybe from everything. He didn’t bring a phone; he didn’t bring a credit card. He didn’t even really bring a name. Or at least he didn’t tell anyone he met what it was.

He did bring a giant backpack, which his fellow hikers considered far too heavy for his journey. And he brought a notebook, in which he would scribble notes about Screeps, an online programming game. The Appalachian Trail runs through the area, and he started walking south, moving slowly but steadily down through Pennsylvania and Maryland. He told people he met along the way that he had worked in the tech industry and he wanted to detox from digital life. Hikers sometimes acquire trail names, pseudonyms they use while deep in the woods. He was “Denim” at first, because he had started his trek in jeans. Later, it became “Mostly Harmless,” which is how he described himself one night at a campfire. Maybe, too, it was a reference to Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Early in the series, a character discovers that Earth is defined by a single word in the guide: harmless. Another character puts in 15 years of research and then adds the adverb. Earth is now “mostly harmless.”

By summer, the hiker was in Virginia, where he walked about a hundred miles with a 66-year-old woman who went by the trail name Obsidian. She taught him how to make a fire, and he told her he was eager to see a bear. On December 1, Mostly Harmless had made it to northern Georgia, where he stopped in a store called Mountain Crossings. A veteran hiker named Matt Mason was working that day, and the two men started talking. Mostly Harmless said that he wanted to figure out a path down to the Florida Keys. Mason told him about a route and a map he could download to his phone. “I don’t have a phone,” Mostly Harmless replied. Describing the moment, Mason remembers thinking, “Oh, this guy’s awesome.” Everyone who goes into the woods is trying to get away from something. But few people have the commitment to cut their digital lifelines as they put on their boots.

Mason printed the 60 pages of the map and sold it to Mostly Harmless for $5 cash, which the hiker pulled from a wad of bills that Mason remembers being an inch thick. Mason loves hikers who are a little bit different, a little bit strange. He asked Mostly Harmless if he could take a picture. Mostly Harmless hesitated but then agreed. He then left the shop and went on his way. Two weeks later, Mason heard from a friend in Alabama who had seen Mostly Harmless hiking through a snowstorm. “He was out there with a smile on his face, walking south,” Mason recalls.

By the last week of January, he was in northern Florida, walking on the side of Highway 90, when a woman named Kelly Fairbanks pulled over to say hello. Fairbanks is what is known as a “trail angel,” someone who helps out through-hikers who pass near her, giving them food and access to a shower if they want. She was out looking for a different hiker when she saw Mostly Harmless. She pulled over, and they started to chat. He said that he had started in New York and was heading down to Key West. She asked if he was using the Florida Trail App, and he responded that he didn’t have a phone.

Fairbanks took notice of his gear—which was a mix of high-end and generic, including his black-and-copper trekking poles. And she was struck by his rugged, lonely look. “He had very kind eyes. I saw the huge beard first and thought, ‘It’s an older guy.’ But his eyes were so young, and he didn’t have crow's feet. I realized he was a lot younger.” She was concerned though, the way she used to be concerned about her two younger brothers. The trail could be confusing, and it wouldn’t be long before everything started getting intolerably hot and muggy. “I remembered him because I was worried,” she added.

Six months later and 600 miles south, on July 23, 2018, two hikers headed out into the Big Cypress National Preserve. The humidity was oppressive, but they trudged forward, crossing swamps, tending aching feet, and dodging the alligators and snakes. About 10 miles into their journey, they stopped to rest their feet at a place called Nobles Camp. There they saw a yellow tent and a pair of boots outside. Something smelled bad, and something seemed off. They called out, then peered through the tent’s windscreen. An emaciated, lifeless body was looking up at them. They called 911.

“Uh, we just found a dead body.”

IT’S USUALLY EASY to put a name to a corpse. There’s an ID or a credit card. There’s been a missing persons report in the area. There’s a DNA match. But the investigators in Collier County couldn’t find a thing. Mostly Harmless’ fingerprints didn’t show up in any law enforcement database. He hadn’t served in the military, and his fingerprints didn’t match those of anyone else on file. His DNA didn’t match any in the Department of Justice’s missing person database or in CODIS, the national DNA database run by the FBI. A picture of his face didn’t turn up anything in a facial recognition database. The body had no distinguishing tattoos.

Nor could investigators understand how or why he died. There were no indications of foul play, and he had more than $3,500 cash in the tent. He had food nearby, but he was hollowed out, weighing just 83 pounds on a 5'8" frame. Investigators put his age in the vague range between 35 and 50, and they couldn’t point to any abnormalities. The only substances he tested positive for were ibuprofen and an antihistamine. His cause of death, according to the autopsy report, was “undetermined.” He had, in some sense, just wasted away. But why hadn’t he tried to find help? Almost immediately, people compared Mostly Harmless to Chris McCandless, whose story was the subject of Into the Wild. McCandless, though, had been stranded in the Alaska bush, trapped by a raging river as he ran out of food. He died on a school bus, starving, desperate for help, 22 miles of wilderness separating him from a road. Mostly Harmless was just 5 miles from a major highway. He left no note, and there was no evidence that he had spent his last days calling out for help.

The investigators were stumped. To find out what had happened, they needed to learn who he was. So the Florida Department of Law Enforcement drew up an image of Mostly Harmless, and the Collier County investigators shared it with the public. In the sketch, his mouth is open wide, and his eyes too. He has a gray and black beard, with a bare patch of skin right below the mouth. His teeth, as noted in the autopsy, are perfect, suggesting he had good dental care as a child. He looks startled but also oddly pleased, as if he’s just seen a clown jump out from behind a curtain. The image started to circulate online along with other pictures from his campsite, including his tent and his hiking poles.

Kelly Fairbanks works at the Army and Air Force exchange store on a Florida military base. She normally monitors the CCTV cameras for shoplifters, but if there’s no one in the store she might sneak a look at Facebook. It was a quiet moment, and suddenly the picture popped into her feed. There he was: eyes wide open and looking up. She recognized the eyes and the beard. “I started freaking out,” she says. It was the kind man she’d seen on Highway 90. The sheriff’s office had also posted a photo of the hiker’s poles, and Fairbanks knew she had an image of the same man holding the same gear.

She clicked right over to the Collier County Sheriff’s Facebook page and sent in two photographs she had taken of Mostly Harmless. She got a message back immediately asking for her phone number. Soon a detective was on the line asking, “What can you tell me?”

She told him everything she knew. And she shared the original post, and her photo, all over Facebook. Soon there were dozens of people jumping in. They had seen the hiker too. They had journeyed with him for a few hours or a few days. They had sat at a campfire with him. There was a GoPro video in which he appeared. People remembered him talking about a sister in either Sarasota or Saratoga. They thought he had said he was from near Baton Rouge. One person remembered that he ate a lot of sticky buns; another said that he loved ketchup. But no one knew his name. When the body of Chris McCandless was found in the wilds of Alaska in the summer of 1992 without any identification, it took authorities only two weeks to figure out his identity. A friend in South Dakota, who’d known McCandless as “Alex,” heard a discussion of the story on AM radio and called the authorities. Clues followed quickly, and McCandless’ family was soon found.

Now it’s 2020, and we have the internet. Facebook knows you’re pregnant almost before you do. Amazon knows your light bulb is going to go out right before it does. Put details on Twitter about a stolen laptop and people will track down the thief in a Manhattan bar. The internet can decode family mysteries, identify long-forgotten songs, solve murders, and, as this magazine showed a decade ago, track down almost anyone who tries to shed their digital skin. This case seemed easy.

An avid Facebook group committed to figuring out his identity soon formed. Reddit threads popped up to analyze the notes he had taken for Screeps. Amateur detectives tracked down leads and tried to match photographs in missing persons databases. A massive timeline was constructed on Websleuths.com. Was it possible, one Dr. Oz viewer asked, that Mostly Harmless was a boy featured on the show who went missing in 1982? Was it possible that Mostly Harmless was a suspect in Arkansas who had murdered his girlfriend in 2017? None of the photos matched.

The story pulled people in. Everyone, at some point, has wanted to put their phone in a garbage can and head off with a fake name and a wad of cash. Here was someone who had done it and who seemed to have so much going for him: He was kind, charming, educated. He knew how to code. And yet he had died alone in a yellow tent. Maybe he had been chased by demons and had sought an ending like this. Or maybe he had just been outmatched by the wilderness and the Florida heat.

It just wasn’t a normal story in any way. And, as Fairbanks said, “he was a good-looking dude,” which, she notes, might explain why so many of the searchers are women. In mid-October, one woman in the Facebook group posted a slideshow comparing his photos to those of Brad Pitt. “Actually I think MH looks better. 😉,” one commenter wrote.

The dude, though, seemed to have followed, to near perfection, the hiker credo of “Leave no trace.” None of the clues panned out. Nothing actually got people close to solving the mystery. An industrious writer named Jason Nark spent more than a year obsessively tracking down leads and then wrote an elegy to the hiker that began, “Sometimes I imagine him falling through space, drifting like dust from dead stars in the vast nowhere above us.”

Natasha Teasley manages a canoe and kayak company in North Carolina. As business slowed when the coronavirus hit, she started to spend more time online, and she started to fill the gap in her life with the hunt for Mostly Harmless. She sent flyers to the Chambers of Commerce in every city where people thought he might have come from, including Sarasota, Florida, and Saratoga Springs, New York. She tracked down details about every car that was towed out of Harriman State Park, where he likely started his journey. She scoured missing persons databases. I asked her what motivated her to spend so much time looking for a man she’d never met. She responded achingly, “He’s got to be missed. Someone must miss this guy.”

WHEN WE THINK of DNA tests, we normally think of their miraculous ability to give us a yes or a no. The unique thread of base pairs that make us who we are exists in every cell. So we take the genetic information found at a crime scene, or in the saliva on a coffee cup, or on the hand of a deceased hiker. Then we look closely at roughly 20 chunks, or what geneticists call markers, and we search in a database of collected samples to see whether the markers match. Imagine if a book, 1 million pages long but without a cover, washed up on the shore. And then imagine you could scan one page and search all the books in a giant database to see if that exact page appeared. That’s conventional DNA testing.

But DNA also can tell the story of human history. By running a different kind of test, you get beyond yes or no and into a million variations of maybe. The genetic markers in your body are closer to those of your first cousin than your third. And they’re closer to those of your third cousin than your sixth. There’s a little bit of each generation in each of us, from our parents to our great grandparents to the early apes of the forests of Africa. So now imagine that book, and imagine that instead of comparing one page, you could compare everything in the book with everything in all other books, to find similar words, syntax, and themes. You would need complicated math and pattern tracing, but, eventually, you might figure out the author. And so, early in the summer of 2020, the organizers of the Facebook group searching for Mostly Harmless’ identity sent news about the case to a Houston company called Othram. It had been started two years earlier and pitches itself as a one-stop shop for solving cold cases.

Othram’s founder, David Mittelman, is a geneticist who had worked on the original human genome project, and he was drawn to this odd case. The company asks the public for suggestions for mysteries to solve, and that’s one of the best parts of the job. “I like doing the cases from the tip line,” Mittelman told me. “Lab work for the sake of lab work is kind of boring.” If he could crack the hiker’s identity, he’d get attention for his technology. But there was something else, too, drawing him in, a riddle he wanted to answer. The hiker seemed to have found an internet family but had no connection to his real one.

Othram called up the Collier County Sheriff’s Office and offered to help. DNA analysis is expensive, though, and the company estimated that the whole project—from evidence to answers—would cost $5,000. The sheriff's office couldn't spend that much money on a case that involved no crime. But it would love Othram’s help if there were another way to pay for the work. And so three of the great trends of modern technology—crowdfunding, amateur sleuthing, and cutting-edge genomics—combined. Within eight days, the Facebook group had raised the money to run the analysis. Soon a small piece of bone from the hiker was on its way west from Collier County to the Othram labs.

The first step for Othram’s team was to extract DNA from the bone fragment and to then analyze it to make sure they had enough to proceed. They did, and so they soon put small samples of DNA onto glass slides, which they inserted into a sequencer, a machine that costs roughly a million dollars and looks like a giant washing machine made by Apple.

Unfortunately, it’s a washing machine that has a long run cycle. And it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the pages of the book you find are ripped or blurry. Sometimes the process is iterative and you have to tape fragments back together. So, as the sequencer spun, the Facebook hunters fretted that, once again, nothing would come of a promising lead. But by mid-August, Othram had a clean read on the DNA: They knew exactly what combination of As, Cs, Gs, and Ts had combined to create the mysterious hiker. A company spokesperson appeared live on the Facebook group’s page to detail the progress; posters responded with gratitude and euphoria.

Science sometimes gets harder with every step, though, and having the sequence was just the beginning. In order to identify Mostly Harmless, the team at Othram would have to compare his genetic information with other people’s. And they would start with a service called GEDMatch, a database of DNA samples that people have submitted, voluntarily, to answer their own hopes and questions—they want to find a lost half-sister or a clue about their grandpa. That collection of DNA has become a cornucopia for law enforcement. Each new sample submitted provides one more book for the library that can be searched and scoured. It was through this technique that investigators in Contra Costa County, California, found the Golden State Killer in the spring of 2018, connecting a DNA sample of the killer to GEDMatch samples of relatives. Just this past week, Othram helped law enforcement identify the murderer of a 5-year-old in Missoula, Montana, a case that had gone unsolved for 46 years.

It’s been over a month since Othram started looking through the GEDmatch database. It won’t say anything about what it has found, and the Collier County Sheriff’s Office is keeping quiet as well. But one source outside of the company who is familiar with its progress says that, while Othram doesn’t know Mostly Harmless’ name, it has found enough matching patterns to identify the region of the country from which his ancestors hail.

That isn’t sufficient though. Knowing for sure, for example, that his relatives came from Baton Rouge doesn’t mean Mostly Harmless came from Baton Rouge. His parents could have been born there and moved to Montreal. He could have been born in Louisiana and dropped on a doorstep in Maine. But, right now, the data scientists at Othram are combing through all the DNA samples in GEDMatch, looking for patterns and trying to circle closer to his identity. They’re most likely building out a family tree. Let’s say they found someone in GEDMatch whose DNA seems like a fourth cousin of Mostly Harmless, and then perhaps someone who seems like a third cousin. How do those two people connect? Through this sort of slow, painstaking analysis, they can get closer to an answer. Soon they might find his extended family, and then perhaps his parents’ names. And then law enforcement will be able to solve a case that has stumped them for more than two years.

They might get there, and they might not. A source familiar with the work suggests that the earliest we’ll get an answer is December. Unless between now and then, perhaps, someone reading this article or browsing a Facebook group recognizes his face. Or puts together clues that have eluded everyone else. Finally, he won’t be “Mostly Harmless”; he’ll have a real name.

And then, with that mystery solved, a new one will open up. Why did Mostly Harmless walk into the woods? And why, when things started to go wrong, didn’t he walk out?

#mostly harmless #hikingmysteries #mystery #lost #hiking #hikers #trekker

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tisfan · 6 years ago

Text

Excuse me, I think you have my Suitcase

With @27dragons Square: @tisfan T3 - sharing clothes @27dragons A1 Occupational Hazard Warning: lingerie, oral, anal, condom use Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Problem one: Tony and Bucky get their luggage mixed up. Problem 2: Tony’s suitcase is full of lingerie. Hijinks ensue. or... the one where Bucky exhibits extremely poor impulse control. Link: A03 Word Count: 7,354

Credits to: Fast Food Drive Thru - by Stevens and Grdnic Code Monkey - By Jonathon Coulton

Bucky threw his suitcase onto the bed, listlessly watching it bounce on the too-firm mattress. If he never saw another hotel room in his life, it would be too goddamn soon. Along with “fulfilling in creative ways,” minimal travel had been just another lie that Hammer Tech had sold him.

He’d been back in his own apartment a total of three days in the last month. His plants were dead, and thank Christ he’d never gotten around to getting a pet.

He picked up the phone and placed the least thought-process involving order to room service he could think of -- cheeseburger, onion rings, and a large orange soda -- and kicked off his shoes. Tomorrow would start a week-long seminar with Stark Industries (theoretically to brainstorm and resource share, but that was probably code for “get me something I can use” and he’d have to report up to Vanko that SI was decades ahead of the competition.) and all Bucky wanted to do was change into some comfy sweats and sleep for the next two days straight.

He fell onto the bed, his keys digging into his thigh. He shifted a little until he was mostly comfortable, and drowsed, waiting for dinner to arrive.

When it did, the waiter handed him a tray that contained:

One cheesesteak with onions and a bowl of those little orange slices that people gave to kindergarteners.

Bucky looked at his food. Looked at the hotel staffer. Sighed. Whatever. Why people couldn’t understand Cheeseburger, Onion Rings, and a Large Orange Drink… Bucky didn’t know. Maybe he was so tired he was speaking something other than English and hadn’t noticed. Sleep-absorbed Romanian or something.

Wasn’t that the idea of osmosis? Stuff moved from a high concentration to a place of low concentration. He was sure he’d read that somewhere. Which meant just about anything could have moved into his brain, since as far as Bucky could tell, everything else had leaked out recently.

He didn’t bother to correct the order.

Which he totally should have, because who the fuck put mayo on a cheesesteak? That was an affront is what that was.

Dinner finished, Bucky opened his suitcase to grab his sleep pants--

--and just about had a fucking heart attack.

(more below the cut)

Tony grumbled as he lugged his suitcase into the hotel room. Why couldn’t they have hosted this stupid conference at Stark Tower? Then he wouldn’t have had to travel, and he could sleep in his own bed, and the food would be better for everyone involved.

Instead, he was stuffed into a hotel room, with the dismal prospect of lukewarm meals and unevenly-heated showers and scratchy hotel towels. And worse, he’d have to “collaboratively innovate” with his competitors, all of whom would be sniffing around and hoping to steal Stark Industries’ ideas. He could only hope that Hammer’s representative wasn’t that creepy Vanko guy again this year.

Like, who came to a business conference and wanted to make small talk about whips? Ug.

Ah, well. Travel and all its foibles were occupational hazards that Tony knew well. But he was going to change into something comfortable and then he was going to call Pepper to report in and make her listen to him whine about the accommodations.

He heaved his suitcase up onto the bed. Damn it, the TSA assholes had stolen his lock again. He sighed and threw back the lid--

--and stopped.

That... was not his suit. Or his dress shoes. Or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his underwear, and oh fuck, he had gotten the wrong god damned suitcase at the baggage claim.

Which -- oh fuck -- meant that someone else had his suitcase. And everything inside it.

Unable to drag his eyes off the neatly-folded stack of underwear, Tony fished his phone out of his pocket. “Call the airport baggage claims.”

Okay, okay, Bucky thought. Call baggage claim. Someone probably was looking for their honeymoon suitcase, or whatever the hell this was. A collection of silk and lacy-- things. Along with a few changes of men’s clothing, but no women’s dresses or blouses.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes, we’re so sorry about the mix up--” the woman on the phone said, after Bucky hastily explained that he had somehow ended up with the wrong suitcase. “We’ve already been contacted by the other owner-- where are you now, we can send a courier over to retrieve the bag, and make arrangements to get your own things back.”

“Uh, sure, I’m at the Hilton on East Londontown Street, but what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?” He found himself reaching for the contents of the suitcase again and snapped his hand back as if the clothing inside were on fire.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, then,” the woman said brightly. “You’re both staying in the same hotel! Why don’t you just take the suitcase down to the lobby and I’ll let the staff know. You can have your own things back this evening, probably. I know the other man was concerned for his belongings.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky said. A man’s suitcase. Not a couple. Not the woman was concerned. He reached for one of the pieces of lingerie, a lacy black number. Looking at it more closely, he realized it was styled for a man, little silky things that resembled boxer briefs. Huh.

He shivered. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll do that. Take this right downstairs, and you’ll, uh, you’ll call me--”

“We’ll get the hotel to let you know when they have your suitcase,” the woman said. “Thanks for flying Southwest.”

Click.

Bucky put the phone down, and then fingered the slippery material. Couldn’t quite resist-- he brought it up to his cheek and rubbed the fabric against his face. Smelled clean and like men’s cologne. What would that be like, Bucky wondered, that soft material against his cock?

He shivered again. He was going to put it all back and take the suitcase down to the lobby. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

He rubbed the fabric again. There was so much of it-- teddies and underwear and a little frilly robe. Silk stockings and a garter belt.

Shit. He probably shouldn’t have rummaged through the guy’s stuff; there was no way he was going to be able to fold that up to anything remotely resembling tidy again. He tossed the one piece on his bed and started folding anyway. Closed the suitcase and headed down to turn it in.

The suitcase really did look like his, it did. Down to the scuffed handle and the broken lock. Huh. He thumbed the ID tag.

You Know Who I am

“No, no I don’t,” Bucky muttered. Out the door and down the elevator, he went up to the desk clerk and explained-- “I don’t know, Southwest was supposed to call you, I don’t know whose suitcase this is.”

The clerk finally found the note. “We’ll call up when we have your luggage.”

“Right,” Bucky said. He started back toward the elevator, then paused. Wondered what the guy looked like who owned the case.

Without quite consciously deciding he was going to do it, Bucky grabbed a seat in the lobby, picked up a magazine and pretended to thumb through it. The clerk had gone back to their duties, the guy would never need to know--

The room phone rang, and Tony snatched it up before it had even finished the first ring. “Yes, hello?”

“Mr. Stark, your luggage has been turned in. If you could bring the incorrect bag down to the front desk, we’ll be happy to return it to you.”

Christ, why couldn’t they just bring it up? Tony suppressed a sigh and made a note to tell Pepper to make sure he only stayed in hotels with concierge service, from now on. “Right, I’ll be down shortly.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. No chance, really, that whoever had gotten his luggage by mistake had realized it before they’d opened it. He could hope they’d only gotten a glimpse, and were assuming it was luggage for a couple. Not that he was ashamed of his lingerie -- he’d lost all sense of shame years ago -- but it got tiresome, having people raise their eyebrows and sneer about things that didn’t even concern them.

Well, whatever. Whoever it was wouldn’t know it was Tony unless they saw him with the luggage, and the front desk clerk probably hadn’t looked in the bag. (And hotel clerks probably saw much stranger things anyway.) He stuffed his phone in one pocket and the hotel key in the other, and headed down to the lobby.

There were a few people milling around in the lobby, a tired-looking businessman checking in at the desk, a young couple by the bank of tourism brochures trying to decide what to do on their vacation, another man slumped in one of the chairs reading a magazine. Tony took a second look at him; he had a rather appealing five o’clock shadow and a gorgeously rugged jawline, and broad shoulders that suggested he’d probably be making his way down to the hotel gym at some point, because damn.

Tony was so busy surreptitiously eyeing the guy that he didn’t notice when the businessman finished checking in and walked away, dragging his suitcase and briefcase and garment bag along with him.

“Sir?” the clerk prompted.

“Oh!” Tony turned back around and stepped up to the counter. “I’m here for my suitcase.”

“Oh, yes sir,” the clerk said briskly. “If I could just see your ID?”

Tony leveled the guy with a look. “You know who I am,” he said drily.

“It’s procedure, Mr. Stark,” the clerk apologized.

Tony rolled his eyes and fished out his wallet. “There. Good? We’re all good here? Can I please have my bag now?”

The clerk looked at the ID carefully, as if Tony might actually be some sort of imposter, and then nodded. “Yes sir, thank you sir.” He pulled the suitcase out from under the desk and wheeled it around to Tony’s side of the wall. “Please call the desk if you have any other issues we can help with.”

“Yuh-huh,” Tony muttered. He left the other suitcase where it was, grabbed the handle of his own bag, and turned to head back to the elevators.

The hot guy with the magazine glanced up as he passed. Tony tossed out a jaunty wave and kept heading toward the elevator. Now he really wanted to change into something nice, and possibly spend some quality time thinking about the guy’s mouth, because holy shit.

As soon as the elevator closed behind the guy who returned his bag, Bucky scrambled for his phone. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Bucky muttered. “That was Tony Stark.” He was pretty sure, at least. Thumbed up his web browser and clicked up a bio for the CTO of Stark Industries.

Yeah, probably. More than likely. Why hadn’t anyone ever waxed poetic about what a great ass the guy had, because really--

Bucky had a sudden image of that ass in those little silk nothings and all the blood in his body rushed south in a hell of a hurry. “Oh, god,” he said, swallowing hard. Not the only thing that was hard around here, Jesus Christ.

He almost threw the phone across the room in sudden shock when it rang.

“Mr. Barnes? Your suitcase has been returned.”

Why he’d thought they’d call the room -- well, honestly, they probably had called the room first -- he wasn’t sure.

Bucky got up and walked away, awkwardly aware of his erection as he headed toward the lobby’s restrooms. “Yeah? Great.” That sounded mostly normal. “I’m just gonna finish this drink and I’ll pick it up.”

“Of course.”

He hung up.

He was in the bathroom. Sporting a very firm erection.

Bucky sighed. Splashed water on his face a few times and tried to think about something unsexy. His high school Government teacher. Steve’s bad habit of leaving a half inch of milk in the jug and putting it back in the fridge, back when they used to live together. His mom’s corned beef hash on toast.

That did it.

Okay. Okay, he was fine. He was going to go get his bag and get some sleep.

It wasn’t until he got upstairs with his bag that he realized that he’d left one piece of the lingerie on his bed; the little black silky thing that had felt so soft against his cheek.

His neglected erection came back, full force.

Shit. Shit shit shit. There was no good way to give it back now.

Was there?

“Guess it’s mine now,” Bucky said, and that was a shivery little bit of kinky thought there. Like a prize, or a trophy. Look at this, I have Tony Stark’s underwear.

Bucky went weak in the knees, practically collapsing on the bed.

Finally. Tony opened his suitcase and -- yeah, this was the right one, thank Tesla. He pulled open a drawer of the dresser and opened the closet, and started to put things away so they wouldn’t get wrinkled.

Except the first thing he pulled out -- his gauzy, soft robe -- wasn’t so much folded as mangled into a more or less rectangular shape. Frowning, Tony hung it up and reached for the next piece. Which was similarly rumpled. As was the next.

Whoever had opened his bag hadn’t just looked in it and closed it up again. They’d looked through it. Damn it.

Well. Nothing for it, really. He didn’t have time to have everything laundered tonight. He’d just have to deal with it for now.

He put everything away and then stopped, unsettled. He opened the drawer again and counted the underwear. He was one short. He was absolutely certain he’d packed enough for the whole trip -- he’d double-checked -- but now there was one missing.

He checked the suitcase again, making sure it hadn’t slipped under the lining, or gotten tucked into one of the pockets. No dice.

Someone had taken his goddamn underwear.

Great.

Tony dropped into the chair and massaged his forehead a little to try to stave off the headache he felt coming on. It wasn’t like it was that big a deal, was it, really? Even if the person knew whose it was, there was no way to prove it. So he was out a pair of underwear. He’d just run out after tomorrow’s meeting -- the first day was always short, just introductions and business bluster -- and buy some more.

Right. Yes.

He put the incident out of his mind. Well, tried. He changed into a satin teddy and pulled on his robe, and laid back on the bed, feeling the soothing caress of the fabric against his skin, and tried to think of something else. That guy from the lobby with the pouty mouth and the shoulders, that was a hell of a combination.

Tony wondered what he’d look like in Tony’s underwear. Mmm, nice. That scruff would probably feel amazing, dragged over Tony’s stomach, the satin only barely softening the scratchy feel of it. Yeah. Yeah, that was very nice.

“Probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Barnes,” Bucky told himself, threading the belt through his loops. The soft pair of lacy boxer briefs cradled him like a lover, under his pants.

No one will ever know.

There was no reason, even, to think that anyone would figure it out.

And even if they did--

That had occurred to Bucky after he’d jerked off, the little shorts held in his free hand against his throat.

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different -- well, maybe his color was up a bit. There was an awareness. Something. He wasn’t sure.

“Take ‘em off and stop acting like a complete creep,” Bucky told himself. He got his hand on the buckle, except he remembered how nice they’d looked, against his skin, the way the fabric clung to his ass. Fuck it. One day of deviating from his normal habits of being as unremarkable as possible wasn’t going to kill him.

No one had to know. And he’d probably never see any of these people again, anyway.

He turned around and checked his ass. He couldn’t see the outline. Hell, he couldn’t see any outline, not the normal wrunkle where his boxers sometimes showed. It was all smooth and perfect.

Tony checked his ass in the mirror -- perfectly smooth, as it should be -- and then pulled on his suit jacket and adjusted his Day One Power Tie. He slipped on the matching sunglasses and checked the mirror again. Yeah, he was going to own the conference.

As usual.

He double-checked that his important shit was in his pocket or his briefcase, then headed down to the conference room.

Where he nearly ran over the hot guy from the lobby, now sharply dressed. In a suit that looked... familiar.

Tony blinked and took half a step back, and offered the guy a sharp smile and a hand to shake. “Hi. You’re here for the tech consortium?”

“Hmm?” The guy blinked a few times as if he’d accidentally looked straight into the sun. “Oh, yeah, right. James Barnes, Hammer Tech.”

Well, well, well. The conference was looking up already. “Yeah?” Tony let his grip linger just a couple of seconds longer than necessary. “Looking forward to hearing what Hammer’s pulled out of his ass for this year’s show. No offense to you, just your boss.” He grinned, not quite making it a joke.

“I’m sure Mr. Hammer will be delighted to hear you remember him,” Barnes said. He looked down at their clasped hands. “Not to gossip, but he has like the biggest man crush on you.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” Tony said. “Too bad for him it’s not mutual. My taste is a little more refined.” He gave Barnes a quick wink, then turned to help himself to the coffee.

Barnes selected a seat, and, either still half asleep, or absent-minded, he dropped his stuff on the table. A pen rattled, rolled, and fell on the floor. “Damn it,” Barnes muttered and bent over to retrieve it. His suit slacks -- not very slack at all -- clung to impressive thighs as he moved and Tony couldn’t help but follow the line down.

Barnes’ thighs and butt were… utterly smooth. Flawless.

Tony’s gaze lingered, and then realized he was looking at shoes that he’d seen before, too.

Shit. Shit shit shit, Barnes was the guy who had the matching suitcase.

The guy who’d swiped Tony’s underwear. Tony took another look at Barnes’ ass, and was about 80% certain Barnes was wearing Tony’s underwear, because Tony had seen the stuff Barnes had packed, and there should be a line.

About twenty percent of Tony’s brain was annoyed and indignant. The other eighty percent was rapidly falling down the hole of imagining (again) what Barnes would look like, stripped out of that suit.

Fuuuuck, other people were beginning to filter into the room and Tony did not have time for an inconvenient erection right now. He willed it down and set his briefcase down on the table, claiming a seat directly across from Barnes, before pasting on his meet-and-greet smile and turning on the charm for the other attendees.

This was going to be the longest day ever.

Bucky couldn’t have felt more naked than if he’d actually shown up to the meeting like he was in some horrible dream about high school.

This had been a huge mistake.

He was positive that most of the room could sense there was something just a little off about him.

The very first person he’d met at the confabulation was Tony Stark, who’d gripped his hand a little too long and had eyed Bucky like something he wanted to stuff and mount on his wall.

He knows.

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Stark was going to be at the damn conference? He knew that Stark was supposed to be there, it just… hadn’t really dawned on him that he’d have to make conversation with the man while wearing Stark’s damn underwear.

The table was narrower than he wanted it to be, too.

Bucky had long damn legs and there never seemed to be a setting on the adjustable chairs that was comfortable, so his legs stuck out further than the safe, halfway point.

And of course Stark sat down right across from him.

The first time Stark bumped Bucky’s ankle under the table, Bucky jerked back as if he’d been electrified. The talk and introductions and five minute elevator pitches went over Bucky’s head; if he heard one word in twenty, that was being generous. Bucky muttered his own intro and the carefully memorized scriptette, talking to the table.

And Tony had winked at him.

What. The Hell? Was Tony flirting with him?

Bucky went hot all over, his body flushing. He raised a hand to loosen his tie, and exhibiting more bravery than he’d ever managed in his life, glanced up to catch Tony’s gaze. He lifted an eyebrow, didn’t look away.

Tony didn’t stop talking about... whatever it was, carefully-worded hints about SI’s new proprietary coding engine or something, but the corner of his mouth ticked up, just a bit, and his eyes drifted down to Bucky’s mouth, and then lower, to Bucky’s throat, before sliding slowly, unhurriedly, back up to meet Bucky’s gaze again.

Bucky let his leg slide over until it bumped against Tony’s calf.

And didn’t pull back.

Tony didn’t pay much attention to the conference. He wouldn’t have anyway -- his tech could run rings around most of these clowns even if he slept through the whole thing. And with Barnes -- James -- playing along with Tony’s game, he had more important things to concentrate on.

That light flush that had crawled up James’ face stayed put, but he kept bumping his leg up against Tony’s under the table, kept giving Tony those steamy looks from under his lashes, kept biting and licking his lip and trailing lazy spirals on his notepad with his fingertip.

When they broke for lunch, Tony pretended to be checking and answering texts on his phone as he watched people filing out of the conference room one by one, chatting and shaking hands and exchanging business cards. Tony watched until James actually left the room, counted to ten, and then got up to follow at a leisurely, unhurried stroll.

He walked into the men’s room just in time to watch James realize that if he unzipped at the urinal, everyone would be able to see that underwear.

Tony met James’ eyes in the mirror, smiled knowingly, and pushed into a stall to wait for the few other people to leave.

Tony could hear James splashing water on his face.

“Heh,” one of the other guys said. “it'll be less boring tomorrow. Don't fall asleep.”

The guy left and James said to no one (or maybe to Tony), “Bored ain't even half the problem.”

Tony checked the floor under the stalls and saw no other feet. “No? And what is the problem, James?” He came out of the stall and leaned one hip against the sink counter, close enough to James to feel the heat baking off the man’s body.

“Super busted,” James muttered. “About thirty percent bad luck, thirty percent bad timing, and forty percent lack of forethought.” He glanced up to meet Tony's gaze in the mirror. “Took a calculated risk, but man am I bad at math.”

Tony grinned, sharp and toothy. “I rather doubt that. You strike me as a man who appreciates a good curvilinear function. Not to mention the thrill of discovery.”

James chewed on that lucious lower lip again. “In my, rather minimal, admittedly, defense, I didn’t notice that it was on the bed, before I took your suitcase down. And then, what? I couldn’t--” His gaze wobbled a little, nervous. “--couldn’t figure out how to give it back without making a mess of it. Reckon I did that, anyway.”

Tony slid just a little closer, until he had to cant his head back a bit to keep meeting James’ gaze. “So you thought, as long as you had them, you’d try it out? See how it felt?” He cocked his head, studying that gorgeous flush on James’ skin. “So tell me. How does it feel?”

“Nice,” James said, and his voice squeaked a little, like it was a question. He rumbled a cough, then, “it’s nice. Soft. Kinda… decadent. Like, oh, I ain’t s’posed to, but God, I want to.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to think of you sitting through all those tedious presentations all day wearing something that scratched and chafed, and you not even able to scratch that itch.” Tony let his gaze drop, let James see it as he took in the flutter of pulse at James’ throat, the heaviness of James’ breath. “Speaking of things you’re not supposed to do, but want anyway...”

Those blue eyes went wide and dark. “Yeah, you got somethin’ tender that needs attendin’? An itch to scratch?” Whole constellations spun out and died in space in the seconds it took James to move, his hand moving almost in slow motion, until it rested on Tony’s wrist.

Tony didn’t bother with any more words, just tipped his head and leaned in to slot their mouths together, teasing at the seam of James’ lips with his tongue until they opened to let him in. Tony curled his hand around the back of James’ neck and plundered that sweet mouth, tasting every bit of it, stealing the breath out of James’ mouth.

For a long moment, James met him, kiss for kiss and lick for lick, but barely moving, as if he was frozen in place, and then suddenly Tony found himself backed up against the wall, cool tiles against his back. James laced their fingers together, pinned Tony’s hand to the wall. The other roamed down Tony’s arm, to his hip, then down his thigh, urging Tony to hook his leg around James’s hip.

The space between them disappeared, and Tony could almost hear the soft whish of the silk under James’s trousers.

Tony dragged his free hand down James’ chest, teased at the waistband of his trousers, dipping a finger inside just far enough to feel the soft lace of the underwear. “Come up to my room for lunch,” he growled softly. “I’m sure we can find something tasty there.”

James was dazed, eyes a little glassy, and he nodded. “Yeah, probably this is not the best place--” He blinked, then gave Tony a slow, creampot smile. “Yes. I want--” He left it generally unspoken, but the hard line of him pressed against Tony’s thigh was clear enough.

Tony tugged his hand free, then left the bathroom, not really looking to see if James would follow, but feeling the man’s presence behind him palpably anyway. They didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, but once they were inside, Tony let himself examine James’ reflection in the mirrored wall. That sweet blush was something special.

James ran his thumb wonderingly over his lip, soft and swollen, as if he was checking to see if it was real, as if he’d been somehow changed by a few minutes of frantic making out in a public bathroom. He caught Tony watching him, and while his flush grew a little darker, it seemed more of arousal and less embarrassed.

When the elevator opened to an empty hall, he let his fingers slip into Tony’s hand and followed him down the hall.

Bucky supposed it could be a trap, an elaborate set-up slash revenge. Or even angry hate sex, meant to punish him for his thievery. He didn’t think so, but even if it was, he was pretty sure he’d follow Tony’s mouth anywhere-- that man could kiss like setting the world on fire.

They’d barely gotten inside the door of Tony’s hotel room -- several pay grades above Bucky’s own -- when he got another taste of that mouth. Tony pushed him against the door and kissed him like a starving man.

And each time Bucky’s hips moved, he could feel the lace, the silk under his trousers, like some erotic torture.

The silk stretched to cup him as he swelled, the material breathing easily. He was convinced he might die if Tony didn’t touch him, and then was positive that he would die, as soon as it actually happened. “Shit, that’s-- okay, okay, that’s…” He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, and his hands explored Tony’s body, lithe, lean, the muscles hard and wiry. Down Tony’s back and slid under the man’s belt to--

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Tony was also wearing the fancy drawers? His fingers encountered more of that slippery, cool stuff and the entire rest of him burst into flames.

He let himself sink to his knees in front of Tony and rubbed his cheek against that bulge that was tenting up Tony’s slacks.

Tony’s hands slipped through his hair, surprisingly gentle given the urgency of their kissing and groping. “Oh, yeah, that’s nice, that’s-- Hang on, let me...” He tugged at the belt and opened his trousers, pushing them down to the middle of his thighs, revealing elegant lace stretched over a gorgeous cock, the faintest dark patch over the tip where he’d leaked a little precome. “You can lick right through them,” he told Bucky in a conversational tone only just touched with a hint of unsteady wobble. “Go on, give it a try for me.” His hand was back in Bucky’s hair, stroking and petting.

It took him probably longer than he meant to actually try it, too busy staring and admiring and trying not to shoot off like he was a fourteen year old kid dry humping someone under the bleachers during school pep-rally. He let his fingertips graze down the fabric, not quite touching Tony’s dick. Just enough to notice how slippery, almost frictionless, the material was. More of a tease, maybe, than he meant. Until Tony’s knees unlocked and his thighs were quaking.

“Oh, can I?” Bucky asked, finally getting with the program. He closed his mouth a moment, just breathing warm air over the thin material. He darted his tongue out to taste, and the underwear was slick against his tongue. Not rough or lint-y, but like the next best thing to skin. Curious, he pulled back just a little and blew cool air over the wet stripe. “Reckon I can.”

Tony hissed and shuddered and his hand tightened in Bucky’s hair for a moment. “You certainly can,” he agreed. “Please do.” He shifted a little, making the trousers fall all the way to the floor and stepping out of one leg to widen his stance.

“Holy hell, look at you--” Tony was wearing black stockings; dark enough that they looked like men’s dress-socks at his ankles, but they went all the way to halfway up his thigh, a patch of lace and elastic holding them up. Bucky’d played around a little with dressing up -- everyone he knew had been in the Rocky Horror cast at one time or another -- but he’d always taken it as an illicit joke, a bit of a thrill. Acceptable, but only under certain circumstances.

And here was Tony goddamn Stark wearing the most elegant, obviously made for him as his --

“You wear this all th’ time? Or just special?” Bucky hoped that came out as curious, and not accusatory, because god, he could spend his whole life on his knees, looking at Tony looking like that, and not have one single goddamn problem with it.

Tony wobbled the hand that wasn’t still in Bucky’s hair, so-so. “Sometimes,” he said. “Half the time, maybe sixty percent? Not when I’m in the workshop -- too easy to get runs in the stockings -- and not when I’m flying, because all it would take is one TSA agent willing to dump confidentiality for a big payout. But definitely when I’m going to high-level meetings and shows. It’s a real power boost.”

“I can see that,” Bucky said. He reached up, very slowly, and unbuttoned Tony’s shirt. One at a time. Accompanied, or perhaps punctuated by, darting little licks at the fabric stretched around Tony’s cock. Each patch of wet made the silk more see-through, made it cling to him obscene and gorgeous.

Bucky wore simple, thin white tees under his dress shirts.

Tony wore a dark silky camisole that would have been even less visible under his blue business shirt than Bucky’s tank. His nipples were hard, under the camisole, poking at the fabric, and Bucky rewarded them with a tweak. Tony’s shirt spread open, the tie still around his neck, pants around his ankles… “You are the most fucking beautiful thing I ever saw.” He wanted to take a picture, to keep it, even if this moment was going to be seared in his memory for the rest of his goddamn life.

Tony smirked a little. “Likewise, hot stuff.” He brushed his thumb along Bucky’s lip, eyes dark with wanting. “Christ, you’ve got me wound tight already. Feel like a damn kid again. Can I-- Let me see?”

“What-- Oh, yeah, hang on.” Bucky gave Tony’s cock one long lick, as if he was saying goodbye, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Tony moaned and quivered under it.

Bucky tugged off his shoes, dumped the jacket and tugged his tie loose, but left it threaded through his collar. Tony watched him avidly, and Bucky felt the heat at the back of his neck, the way his ears burned. There was something erotic and very intimate about taking off his clothes while Tony gazed at him with those doe-eyes.

He shucked the shirt and undershirt, knowing they were going to be horridly rumpled, and didn’t care. The sound Tony made once Bucky’s chest was bare was worth it.

Finally, he dropped his trousers and stood there a little awkwardly, wearing the lacy panties and his business socks. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next; his arms felt strange, like he should be able to take one off or something, hang it on a hook. Without pockets, without touching Tony, he wasn’t sure what the hell his body language was saying.

Tony didn’t seem too concerned about Bucky’s hands, at least. He eyed Bucky up and down, hungry. “Oh, honey, just look at you.” His hands ran down Bucky’s hips, thumbs caressing the soft fabric, then dropped to one knee as he continued on down Bucky’s thighs. “God, you’re gorgeous, and I can’t even imagine how amazing you’d look dressed up in pretty things. These thighs... Nng.”

He leaned back to look up at Bucky, admiring, and cupped Bucky’s cock through the panties, making the soft lace drag over the sensitive skin. Bucky shivered and Tony did it again. “Yeah, just like that.”

Bucky was about to offer Tony anything he wanted; he’d wear anything Tony gave him, do anything, give Tony his soul on a fucking platter, as long as Tony didn’t stop touching him. He wondered what it would feel like to rub his dick against Tony’s through the layers of fabric. Shuddered all over, and then realized he could just fucking find out. The bed was huge, covered with a white, soft comforter. It would look a hell of a lot more inviting with Tony spread out over it, needy and desperate and rising to meet Bucky’s touches.

He nudged and brought Tony up for a quick kiss -- and then again, because he couldn’t seem to resist that tempting mouth -- before walking him backward across the room. Tony went over easily enough, squirming to fucking crawl into the center of the bed.

Holy hell, the back of Tony’s drawers were even more tempting than the front, sheer enough for Bucky to see everything. Before Bucky could even think to pounce, Tony rolled over, lazily sprawling his limbs out spread eagle like an offering.

Bucky took him up on that invitation, crawling up between Tony’s knees and covering him like a blanket. Rained kisses down along the planes of Tony’s cheeks, against that jaw, along his throat, and with each kiss, Bucky stroked himself against Tony, rutting them together. “Jesus,” Bucky swore, nipping at Tony’s throat lightly, then lower, licking his clavicle.

Tony rocked his head back, exposing his throat for better access. His hips rolled, his spine arched, he looked utterly lost to pleasure and entirely unselfconscious and unashamed for it. “God,” he groaned. “James... I want... I want more, I want--” He lifted his head to look at Bucky again. “You like to top, honey?”

Bucky tucked his face against Tony’s throat, weak with wanting. He would take whatever Tony was willing to give him, but letting himself sink into that hot, lean body would be-- could be… “Yeah, anything you want.” He licked at Tony’s neck again, slid down to nuzzle at Tony’s belly, soft and fluttering under Bucky’s questing mouth. “You-- uh, you got a condom an’, I mean. I didn’t expect--” They weren’t even in his room, where he had a bit of lube just for jerking off.

“I always travel prepared,” Tony said smugly. He squirmed out from under Bucky and walked to the closet where he’d stashed his suitcase, letting Bucky get a good look at the way the lingerie framed that stunning ass. He came out with a strip of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a cat-in-the-cream smile. He tossed his finds onto the bed and climbed up, straddling Bucky’s hips and leaning in to suck at Bucky’s neck, leaving a mark just barely low enough to be covered with the shirt collar.

Bucky ran his hand down Tony’s chest, ending with a loving stroke and squeeze at that gorgeous cock. “If I wake up from a wet dream, I am gonna be so disappointed,” Bucky said. He kept stroking Tony through those obscene little panties, until Tony was rocking into Bucky’s touch, practically riding him.

He slid his hand lower, then between Tony’s legs, teasing at his balls, and that flat, sensitive patch behind them before reaching all the way back. The lingerie didn’t leave anything to chance, each curve and wrinkle in Tony’s skin perfectly outlined. Bucky rubbed at Tony’s hole, using that frictionless fabric to smooth the way.

Tony moaned wantonly, pushing into Bucky’s touch like a cat for a minute, before stripping the panties off entirely and crawling onto the bed, pushing that ass up into the air, begging shamelessly. “Come on, gorgeous, want to feel you filling me up. You’re going to give it to me so good, I can tell.”

“You keep talkin’ filthy like that,” Bucky said, getting himself upright, “an’ what I’m gonna do is come untouched, and then where will you be? Hmmm?” He stroked Tony’s bare ass. The man’s skin was almost as soft and smooth as the drawers. Bucky couldn’t quite help himself, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek and chin against the firm curve of Tony’s ass, the same way he’d rubbed his cheek against those drawers.

“Mm, I bet we could get you up again,” Tony said, almost purring. “Could be fun to try it, really.” He hummed again thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, then sighed. “Not enough time. Maybe later.”

Later? Bucky swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought any further than this one afternoon, but-- “We got all week,” Bucky offered, and then he wet his fingers with the lube and blew on them to warm it up. Slippery stuff, like it was supposed to be, and it smelled nice. Like ritzy skin cream or something, instead of cheap bathroom coin-op lube. “Gonna touch you now.” He put one hand on the base of Tony’s spine and let the other tease at Tony’s hole, fingering the opening to Tony’s body.

Tony groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt. He barely resisted Bucky’s tentative probing, relaxing quickly to let Bucky in, and then drawing him even further in, hungry. “Yeah, that’s, that’s perfect, that’s-- Keep going, just like that, honey, that’s just right.” He pushed back as Bucky sank into him, eager and needy.

Bucky had to count backward from a hundred, and then again, to keep from just diving right in as soon as he’d gotten out of the drawers. Condom first, he told himself, and then had to struggle with it awkwardly, his fingers slick with lube, to get it open and on. Tony whined and wriggled, as if urging him to get a fucking move on. Nothing Bucky wanted more, but he wanted, oh, he wanted it to be good. To be… sublime and perfect and everything Tony deserved.

He was on his knees, bent over, those stockings still clinging to his thighs, a little red circle around each where the elastic had slipped a little. It was the most erotic thing Bucky’d ever seen. Making love in the middle of the damn day, sun bright in the hotel room, and Tony on his knees.

Fuck.

“That’s the idea,” Bucky told himself, just loud enough to get a hazy “hmmm?” out of Tony. “I gotcha, gonna take care of you,” Bucky promised, rubbing Tony’s hips as he lined himself up. He nudged the head of his cock against Tony’s hole. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He reached back with one hand and pulled on his hip, spreading himself open. “Want you in me, want to feel you in me, c’mon, now...”

Bucky nodded, even if Tony couldn’t see it. Pushed in, slow and steady. Tony was warm and slick and inviting, and Bucky had to run through a whole handful of unpleasant things in his head to keep from just slamming home. “Don’t move,” he said, panting as he felt Tony unclench around him, and then squeeze again, until he was confident he wouldn’t go off like a bottle rocket. “There, there you are.” He rocked back, and then in again, short strokes, but deep. Tony was all around him, an eager clutch.

Tony sighed and rocked in counterpoint, trying to pull Bucky even deeper inside. “Yeah, oh, god, James, yes, more, harder, harder, make me feel you all day.”

It didn’t take long before Tony’s encouragement and eagerness had Bucky moving; harder, faster, deeper. Each slick slide, each desperate clench, drew him closer and closer, but Bucky kept his eyes on the prize, waiting -- even though he wanted so much his thighs ached from the strain -- wanting Tony to get there first.

He reached around, curled his fingers around Tony’s cock, gave him something to rub against. “Yeah, you feel so good, baby, I-- yeah, that’s sweet, like that.”

Tony cried out, his body jerking in Bucky’s grasp, thrusting into Bucky’s fist at a near-brutal pace. “Yes, yes, yes, I-- Oh, fuck, that’s-- Oh!” He went rigid, shaking all over, and wet warmth flooded over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, god, yes.” Tony slumped a little bit, shoulders going lax in the wake of his orgasm.

Bucky swore fervently as Tony clenched around him. It wasn’t much longer, no more than a dozen more strokes through that heat and squeeze, before Bucky went over the edge after Tony. They were both panting for air, sticky with cooling sweat. “Holy christ.” Bucky grimaced and gripped the edge of the condom as he pulled out. “You a cuddler, or more of a ‘thanks, go away now’ kinda a guy?”

Tony slumped out flat on the bed and threw one leg over Bucky’s. “Shh,” he mumbled. “Time for a fifteen-minute nap.”

“‘Kay,” Bucky agreed. He struggled with the comforter for a moment, then got it, pulling it over them like a burrito, letting his nose find the dip in Tony’s throat. “Jus’ wake me up.” He nuzzled Tony once, twice, and… fell asleep before he could do it a third time.

#tonystarkbingo2019 #winteriron #lingerie #lemon #semi public

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screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms · 6 years ago

Text

Forensics to Romantics (Magnus Martinsson x Reader)

Chapter Three: The Present Reflects the Past

Part 3/?

Words: 2,660

AN: I am so so soooo sorry I haven't posted in so long. Life and school have been crazy, but it should be calming down at the end of the month. To help make up for it, I made this chapter a bit longer than usual. Hope you guys enjoy. Love you all!!!

Warnings: Death and Angst

(Y/N POV)

Magnus and I had arrived at Amy's address and saw that there was also another patrol car just pulling in. I got out of the car, followed by Martinsson over to where the other two officers had just gotten out of their car as well.

"Dickson," One of the other officers, Jake Lance said as we approached them. "We have the warrant and were told to wait for you."

"Great," I said with a nod. "Thank you, Lance. You and Hairston," The other officer and Lance's partner, Jenna Hairston. "Take the back door while Martinsson and I go to the front."

With that, the two of them made their way around the back of the moderately sized one-story house. Martinsson walked behind me as we made our way up the four steps that led to the front door, and I could see that he had his hand on his gun. I knocked on the door three times then waited for a response. After a few seconds a woman, Amy, opened the door.

"Hello?" Amy asked when she saw Martinsson and me outside.

"Hi, Miss Bloom," Martinsson said. "I am ID Martinsson and this is DI Dickson. We are here to ask you a few questions about your late ex-husband, Mr. Richards."

"Oh." She said and her mood changed. "I was sorry to hear about him, I really was, but we haven't spoken in two weeks."

"Ma'am," Martinsson started to say. "We need to come in and look around."

"What?" She asked looking almost scared. "Why? I mean, you can't, you need a warrant."

"We do," I said flatly unfolding the paper and holding it out for her to see. "Now please, we need to have a look around."

She lowered her head and stepped out of the way so Martinsson and I could enter her house. I was met with the strong smell of alcohol and the sight of things scattered all over the floor. Clearly, she was in disarray, and if I was right, killing two people only added to it. I was on high alert, and I knew that at this point she could do anything.

"I am going to ask you a few questions," Martinsson said as we walked in. "Please sit down. Dickson is going to look around while I ask some questions."

"Alright," Amy said moving a pile of magazines off the couch and sat down. "What....What do you need to know?"

I walked out of the room as Martinsson began questioning her so I could look around. I could see Hairston and Lance coming in the back door into the kitchen and they walked over to me.

"Dickson," Lance said quietly as to not disturb the questioning Martinsson doing in the other room. "Do you need us her any longer? We were just requested for back-up on an actual arrest with basis."

I knew that like most others at Scotland Yard, Lance didn't really think I could figure out a suspect quickly and that any idea I had was a waste of time. I was used to it by know so his comment about having an arrest with basis didn't really bother me, but I could see a sympathetic look in Hairston's eyes.

She had joined the Yard about a year ago and she was one of the few people who didn't hate me and we had even shared a few lunches together. She was sweet and had a good head on her shoulders, and was one of the best shots in the Yard.

"I understand," I said to Lance and without a second glance, walked out the door. "See you around, Hairston."

"You too Y/N," She said softly and began to walk to the door. "Good luck."

I gave her a nod and she walked out the door to follow Lance. Now it was just Martinsson and me in the house with Amy.

I looked around the kitchen for anything that could help prove what I already knew about her. I saw empty beer cans in the sink and on the counters. Besides the mess of beer cans and magazines, the cabinets of plates and silverware were completely organized. I looked down at the counter and saw that knife block was just as organized as the cabinets, except for one thing.

Two of the bigger knives, like the kind you would use for cutting turkey, were missing. I first I thought they could be in the dishwasher but when I looked inside of the dishwasher, there was nothing in it. Then I looked at how big the slot for the knife was and could tell it was almost, if not, the same size as the one used on Duke Richards and Julie Patterns, now all I needed to do was find the knives.

I walked down the hallway and saw the door to her bedroom was open. I stepped in and was greeted with a different order that I recognized a metallic smell. blood.

I looked around the room for any signs of blood, even though I knew even the drunken, disorganized woman wouldn't leave evidence out in the open. I put on a pair of gloves and a face mask so that if I did find anything, I wouldn't contaminate it. As I looked around more than a few things caught my eye.

There were a few pictures of her and Duke but his face had been crossed out and so had the area where his hard would be. That was probably an emotional motivation, emotion is a strong motivation.

I walked into the joint bathroom and the smell was even more prominent than before. I pulled back the curtain in the bathtub, but there was nothing there but soaps and hair products. Knowing that there was a large amount of blood somewhere in this room, I decided to look around more closely. I looked in the linen closet, but once again, nothing. Then I saw the small hinges on the side of the mirror and knew that it was a door. A lot of homes had these types of mirrors, they would have a medicine cabinet behind them.

I opened the cabinet and before I even had it all the way open, a heavy object fell into the sink with a thud. I looked down and saw the knife that was missing from the kitchen, and it had some faded red marks on its wooden handle. I did not touch it because the CSI would need to photograph it and take it to the lad for a blood test.

I looked inside the cabinet and saw balled up blood-stained clothes. I quickly closed the cabinet door and walked out into the bedroom. I took off one of my gloves and took my phone out of my pocket to call Lestrade.

One thing was still bugging me though. Where was the other knife?"

Hello?" I heard Lestrade's voice come over the phone after a few rings. "Dickson?"

"Yes," I said back hastily. "I need a CSI team over here as fast as you can. I found bloody clothes and a knife that looks about the same as the one we suspected in her bathroom."

"Damn," He breathed out as he spoke. "Alright, they should be there in about fifteen minutes. Until then, you have the right to arrest her and bring her in."

"Certainly sir," I stopped when I heard some noise for down the hall where Amy and Martinsson were. I knew something was wrong. "I have to go; I think something is going on with the suspect."

I hung up and quickly shoved the phone back in my pocket and made my way back into the hall. I took my gun out of my holster and held it in front of me sturdy. I rounded the corner and saw what I had been worried about.

Amy had a large knife to Martinsson's through and he had his hands up as to not make her do anything rash.

"Amy Bloom," I said forcefully while having the gun trained on her. "Put the knife down and we can talk about this."

"Talk about what!" She yelled out, her whole body shaking. "I know you are going to put me away! There is nothing else to say or do!"

"If you kill him it won't help you any," I say as calmly as I can. "Look, I know you feel stuck. I know you feel betrayed, but killing won't make it any better. You don't have to do this; trust me it will only make it worse for everyone."

I was getting worried about her shaking; it was getting so violent that she could have cut Martinsson easily with her shaking.

No, this can't happen. Not again.

"Put the knife down," I said again. "You know it's the right thing to do."

She looked at me then at Martinsson and then at the knife in her shaking hands. After a few seconds, she dropped the knife and Martinsson quickly grabbed his cuffs and placed them around Amy's writs.

I felt so stupid for not knowing that she would use the knife, I should have figured it out sooner.

*Time Skip*

(Magnus' POV)

We had Amy Bloom in one of the holding cell's and the lad results from the blood would be coming in any minute now. I can't believe within my first week on the job someone got the jump on me, and in front of Y/N no less. She must think I'm a really great cop now. She did seem to change moods once we had Amy in custody and was left alone to think.

Y/N talked to me briefly after the incident, asking me if I was alright and things like that. I told her who Amy had a knife hidden in the couch where we were sitting, and that's how she was able to get me where she had. But after that, she had been keeping her distance. Even back at the station, she would barely even look at me.

She probably doesn’t want to be seen with the screw up new detective who managed to be a hostage on his first case.

I saw two of the other officers from earlier, Lance and Hairston walking by. Hairston stopped and looked at me with a smile.

"She's really something isn't she?" Hairston asked, and I assumed she was talking about Y/N.

"Yeah," I said thinking about all the things I had seen her do. "I have never seen or met anyone like her."

"We haven't formally met yet," She began with a warm smile and sticking out her hand. "I am Janna Hairston, but please call me Jenna."

"Magnus Martinsson," I said, shaking her hand. "And call me Magnus."

"You know," She started looking around to make sure no one was coming. "I think she has taken a liking to you, well as close to a liking as you can get with Y/N."

"I don't think so," I said softly. "Not after today at lest."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean," I began taking a breath and ruing a hand through my blond curly hair. "I don't think she was very impressed by my being a hostage on my first case. That's why she has been avoiding me since we got back."

"Oh," She said softly as if she was remembering something. "That's not it at all, Magnus."

She pulled up a chair and sat next to me, looking into my eyes sadly.

"It's not that she doesn’t like you or doesn’t want to be seen with you," Jenna said to me with a sad tone. "It's just, well, something happened to her about two years ago, and I think what happened today reminded her of it."

"What happened?" I asked, now very curious to know.

"It was before I started working here, but I heard about it for the others here," Jenna began. "And Y/N did talk about it with me once. You know how Y/N doesn’t have partners, they all can't take working with her and request to work with someone else right?"

I nodded and gave her a sad look.

"Y/N is fully aware of that fact as well," Jenna said. "In fact, after what happened two years ago, she requested that she would not be assigned a partner."

"So," I began to ask. "What happened must have been pretty bad, right?"

"Yeah, it was," Jenna said. "Y/N and her last partner, officer Hailee Baxston, were going after a suspect. They had all the evidence they needed to convert them, thanks to Y/N, and so they sent Y/N and Hailee in first, they were the closet and no one else was there yet. Everything seemed to be going great, it looked like they would get in, arrest him, and get out without problems, but that didn't happen. Hailee and Y/N spit up so they would corner him, but when Y/N got back to Hailee, things went south."

"In what way?" I asked, even though I had an idea of where this was going.

"The man they were supposed to arrest had snuck up on Hailee," Jenna began after looking around once again to see if anyone was nearby. "He held a gun to her head and waited for Y/N to find them. He demanded that they let him go or he would kill Hailee where they stood. Y/N tried to talk him down, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to get out of this one. Y/N told him that if he didn't put the weapon down then she would have to shoot. Before Y/N could react, he shot Hailee right in front of her and then shot himself. She died a few seconds later right in Y/N's arms."

"That's awful," I said after taking in what Jenna told me. "I can't imagine what that would be like."

"The two of them were close," Jenna said after a few moments of silence. "She was the only one who stuck around with Y/N. It also didn't help that Hailee was spotted to be off that day, but Y/N asked her to help with the arrest because they had both spent so much time trying to nail the guy."

I let out a breath and looked over to where Y/N was talking with a few other officers about the arrest.

"I know Y/N won't say it out loud," Jenna said to me softly. "But she blames herself for what happened. She doesn’t like to show emotions or get close to people, but Y/N and Hailee had a bond, so losing her took a toll on Y/N."

"I can imagine," I said shaking my head. "That would shake up anyone."

"See, it's not you Magnus," Jenna said looking at me. "I think it just reminded her about that day. I know that you have only been working with her for two days, but I can already tell you are different. She likes you and I can tell you like her; most people won't want anything to do with her after the first few minutes. You two seem to work well together as well."

"You think?" I asked."Yeah," She said with a nod and stood up. "I really do."

I gave her a smile as she walked away and then I turned my gaze back to Y/N. I had a new understanding of Y/N and was amazed that she still stayed in this line of work after everything she had been through. I still couldn't see why no one wanted to work with her, I may have only known her for two days but she seemed like a great person. I think her intelligence just scared people off, but to me, I just found it more admirable.

Seems like there was so much more to know about Y/N Dickson then meets the eye, and I planned on sticking around long enough to find out.

Tag List: @theoneanna @mybabydrivesa67impala @lokislittleslut @camu-winchester @jessiejunebug @fandomnerdsarecool @narvelc00kie35 @kinghiddlestonanddixon @darkprincessloki92 @namelesslosers @turniptitaness @drakesfiance @wegingerangelica @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @imasultforlokiandspencerreid @vethrvolnir @scorpionchild81 @fire-in-her-veinz @dumbgopher1

Let me know if you want to be tagged or have any requests.

#magnus martinsson #magnus martinsson x reader #wallander #wallander fanfic #sherlock wallander #wallander sherlock #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fic #detective #sherlock wallander crossover #sherlock fic

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kashimos-hajime · 6 years ago

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Pachelbel’s Canon in Disaster

Request: firstly I just want to say that your writing is insanely good & I love reading your stuff. secondly i wanted to know if I could send in a Kavinsky request if that's ok? you invite peter to a family function to meet your extended family & he's nervous because he's afraid that they wont like him because they kinda have a thing about dating within your race (I'm coloured/black btw) its always something i worry about sadly but if you don't feel comfortable writing this that's fine

A/N: That sucks that you have to deal with that anon. I hope your family opens up soon and you can love who you want to love. Unfortunately, I didn’t write it as a black reader because I am not black and I don’t want to offend anyone by using stereotypes. Therefore, I used people of my own race (Chinese) and went from there. Hopefully, it’s okay! I mostly wrote fluff for this because I don’t think I can bring myself to write such hate right now. Sorry for such a long wait.

As the usual, thank you to @teawithbucky for being the OG.

Masterlist and Taglist are in my bio!

Summary: When you’re invited to your cousin’s traditional Chinese wedding, your boyfriend’s feelings about meeting more of your family resurface and while you don’t want him uncomfortable, you do want him to go. So, it’s up to you to convince him.

Characters: Peter Kavinsky, Chinese!Reader

Wordcount: 1.8k

Rating: K+ (soft, sweet fluff)

You knead the back of your neck with your fingers as you wait for the water to boil. It’s nearly there and you just want to make some noodles. There’s a soft rhythmatic pad of footsteps and you turn around to see Peter coming down the stairs with the messiest bedhead you’ve ever seen. Your other housemates are either asleep or out so you have to house to yourselves as long as you’re quiet.

“Morning,” he calls sleepily, collapsing on the couch in the living room. “You’re home?”

“Because it’s noon,” you reply as you start seeing the bubbles you’ve been waiting for. Taking out a frozen slab of udon, you slip it into the water and cover the pot. “You want some lunch?”

“Yes, please,” he says, voice scraping hoarsely. You smile at him, shaking your head as he gets up and makes his way into the kitchen, sitting on one of the tall stools at the counter. Heading around to him, you press a kiss to the side of his head before pecking his lips. His arms wrap around you, pressing his face into your stomach. “Squishy,” he mumbles into your middle and you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair.

You and Peter have been dating since he saw you at the movie theatre. You two hit it off since he saw you at the release of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 at your local cinema and had argued profusely over who was your favorite (yours being Yondu, his being Gamora, which then led to an argument if Yondu even counted as a Guardian, which led to you winning and him asking you out and you saying if he ever had the luck to see you again). Over a few chance encounters, you found yourself becoming close friends and then falling head over heels in love, leading to you taking the initiative and asking him out.

The two of you now live in a house along with three others that go to a university with Peter. You yourself is an aspiring actor and have just landed a role in a TV show that’s meant to be a mid-season replacement. Hopefully it hits off.

“You don’t have work today?”

“I already finished my scenes,” you say. “I woke up at midnight, drove over, finished at ten this morning.” He raises his head, chin against your stomach and you grin hopelessly at his wide brown eyes and tangled brown hair that falls into his eyes.

“You didn’t wake me up?”

“You were binge-watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine again,” you say with a sigh. Brushing hair away from his forehead, you bend over and kiss his forehead. He smiles as you pull away and go to the pot to make sure it doesn’t burn. You take the chopsticks that are resting atop the bowl and stir around the noodles, separating them. As you do so, your phone rings and you glance over your shoulder to look at the ID. When you see it’s your mom, you look to Peter.

“Can you answer that? It’s my mom.” He takes the phone, swiping to accept the call.

“Hey, Mrs. (Y/L/N).” You turn back to your pot as Peter makes conversation with your mom. You know they get along fairly well since introducing them a few months ago and you like how they interact so you just continue cooking. Covering the pot again, you go to the freezer and pull out some dumplings you had bought before coming home this morning. Peter has a smile on his face as he talks and you use your chopsticks to transfer the noodles to a bowl and pour the pepper and green onion dressing you had prepared earlier, tossing it so it coats the noodles evenly before sticking the chopsticks into the bowl and placing it on the counter across Peter.

You slide the bowl over to him and he stops it with a hand before removing the phone from his ear.

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” he said, taking the bowl and starting to slurp on his noodles. Rolling your eyes playfully, you turn off the stove and go to sit beside Peter. The dumplings can wait.

“Hey, Mom,” you start in Chinese. “What’s going on?” Peter spares you a glance when you start speaking your native language, smiling and kissing your cheek. Turning your head, you ask silently for another on your lips and he obliges quickly before returning back to his noodles.

“Did you check your mail lately?”

“Yeah? Why, is there something important in there?” you ask, trying to think back to the contents you had quickly scanned before setting it on the small cabinet near the stairs. There were bills, ads, and magazines, nothing more but-

Oh, wait.

“Oh, the wedding invite! Yes, I got it, plus he emailed me yesterday to make sure.” Getting up, you go said cabinet and take out the white envelope with the card within. Bringing it back to the kitchen, you open it and slide out the card.

“Can you make it or do you have filming on that day?” Checking the calendar hanging on the wall with a quick look, you shake your head before remembering your mom couldn’t see you.

“No, it should be fine. Unless I’m pulled for reshoots, I should be done by March so I can make it,” you say and you hear your mom giggle on the other end.

“I can’t wait to see your cousin in a suit,” she says nefariously and you sigh, eyes resting on Peter who’s sipping on his soup. “You should bring Peter along, have him meet the family.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Bye, Mom.” Hanging up, you set your phone down and read over the invitation. Seeing as it’s January, you highly doubt the director would pull you in for reshoots when the weather is completely gone in March. The series is nearly in post production and you sigh, leaning forward on your elbows.

“What?” Peter asks, setting his now empty bowl in the sink. You sigh, coming around to stand by him near the sink as he begins to fill the bowl up with water so nothing will stain. He turns to you and you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down. Kissing him multiple times, you just savour in his presence. There hasn’t been enough time between you lately and as the snow outside layered on the sill of the window, you just brush noses with him.

“I have to go to a wedding,” you mumble, lost in his scent, as his hands settle on your hips. He’s always had this effect on you. “My mom said I should bring you as my plus one.” He frowns and your eyes scan his face, not exactly confused. He’s always shied away from meeting your family, with your differences. In fact, he had made you make sure he learned everything he could about what was proper and what wasn’t, teach him how to make chopsticks, and even when he became a regular guest, Peter always helped with the dishes and tried to be almost overly helpful.

Now, his worry had faded away after a long stalemate in the war between you and your parents. They had hated that you brought some guy who seemed lazy, sleazy, and white, and you hated that they never saw past that. The only reason you are now on speaking terms is the fact that Peter proved them wrong and they let go of their prejudices. Still, clearly the confrontation lingers in Peter’s mind as much as it does in yours from time to time. You hate to see it resurface as a much bigger beast at the thought of meeting your extended family when the two of you had thought that part of the war was over.

“And?”

“Well, do you want to come?” you ask nervously. “You don’t have to but it’ll be nicer if you’re there.” You search his face, reading every inch of his hesitation.

“I’ll think about it.” You cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek and smile.

“Okay.” Pulling away, you sigh and he leans down to press his lips into your hair. Your hands trail down his neck and onto his arms, holding him there until you are ready to leave.

The topic becomes a dreaded subject. Every time one of you sees the calender with the red circle around the date of the wedding, either you or Peter leave the room. You hate how your relationship changed but you can’t help it. Especially because it’s a traditional chinese marriage, you know it just amps up the pressure on Peter to accept. If he says no, it may seem like he’s disrespecting your culture because he doesn’t think it’s worth his time. If he says yes, he may think or say or do something he thinks is wrong and therefore not have any fun at all.

When there are two weeks before the wedding, you and him are hanging out in your shared bed. You’re resting at the head of the bed, back against the headboard as you work on your newest resumé while he’s sprawled across the end of the bed on his back, scrolling through his phone and reading the textbook he downloaded onto his phone.

You sneak glances up at him, trying to approach the subject carefully. You don’t know how to say it, nor how to broach the subject but you want him to come. You want to show off your boyfriend like everyone else in your family does, and you want him to meet people you’ve grown up with all your life.

“So… it’s two weeks away,” he finally says, letting his phone and his hands drop to his sides. “I still don’t know whether or not I want to come. I’ve thought about it,” he adds, propping himself up on an elbow and turning to you. “Believe me, I have.”

“I know.” You close your laptop and set it aside as he crawls up between your legs and rests his head on your tummy. Threading your fingers through his hair, you sigh. “You’ve been using that brain more often than usual,” you tease, leaning over and pecking his forehead. He glares and scrunches up his face at you but you merely sigh, remembering the situation.

“I want to go, (Y/N). You know I do. I just can’t-”

“I can teach you. Everything I know about traditional weddings; everything from clothes to food to manners. We can start and if you feel ready by the date of the wedding, we can go together, okay?” A hopeful smile crosses his face and he sits up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. What do you think?” Leaning over, he kisses you hard against the lips and you laugh into it as the two of you roll over in bed. He gently moves your laptop to the nightstand as you land on top of him.

“I think it’s a fantastic plan.” Beaming, you lean down and your noses brush.

Two weeks later, Peter stands beside you at the wedding reception, your hand in his.

Your smiles can not be brighter.

TAGS: @teawithbucky @shadowsndaisies @itzyagirlrae

#to all the boys i've loved before #to all the boys i've loved before x reader #to all the boys i've loved before movie #to all the boys ive loved before #to all the boys ive loved before x reader #tatbilb #tatbilb x reader #tatbilb fanfic #tatbilb fanfiction #to all the boys ive loved before fanfiction #to all the boys ive loved before fanfic #to all the boys i've loved before fanfiction #to all the boys i've loved before fanfic #peter kavinsky #peter kavinsky imagine #peter kavinsky x reader #peter kavinsky fanfiction #my writing #peter kavinsky fanfic

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torentialtribute · 6 years ago

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Former Everton defender Pat Van den Hauwe reveals he held a gun to a man’s head

& # 39; If I had pulled that trigger, I wouldn't be sitting here now & # 39 ;, says Pat Van den Hauwe. & # 39; He wouldn't be around either. & # 39;

& # 39; He & # 39; is the South African acquaintance who has avoided a debt and has ended up paying his life within a split second by a double English First Division champion and a fourfold FA Cup finalist.

To tell the story of the Belgian-born, London Van den Hauwe, a stylish but tenacious Defend the nickname & # 39; Psycho Pat & # 39 ;, you have to start on that sultry evening in Cape Town, to ask the question: how did he ever get so close to committing murder?

Pat Van den Hauwe revives the night that I nearly shot a man in Cape Town, But first to the beach bar in Camps Bay, more than 20 years ago.

But while he once put the blue shirt of Birmingham, Everton and Millwall or the whites of Tottenham in his shorts, now he was wearing a gun, he had become so paranoid amid cocaine indulgence and underworld figures. So what happened?

& # 39; I nearly shot someone & # 39 ;, says the 58-year-old, with his birth. Why?

& # 39; His arrogance, and because he continued to restrain me for the money I had lent him. I was drinking with friends and walked by. I shouted: "When are you going to pay me? It's months ago."

No chance. So I walked over to him and put the gun on his head and said, "Where's my money?"

& # 39; I had a hair puller. It doesn't need much pressure. I also had hollow point bullets. They blow your head away. If I had done that, I would still be in prison.

& # 39; They have split seconds … if some noise had gone off, or if it had gone for me, I would have pulled that trigger. It was a millisecond decision. It was life-changing.

& # 39; The next day I thought, "What kind of fuck did I do there?"

& # 39; Van den Hauwe had won the First & # 39;

& # 39; But what I did not do that evening, it has haunted me since. & # 39; Division and European Cup Winners & Cup with Everton in 1985 and two years later his goal in a 1-0 win over Norwich in May 1987 helped regain the title.

He raised the FA Cup with Spurs in 1991 and played for Wales, a handsome poster boy with a cockney charm.

But during his time on White Hart Lane I met two people who would steer his life naturally – Ossie Ardiles and the Mandy Smith model.

Van den Hauwe first deals with Ardiles, the Argentinian installed the Spurs manager in 1993.

It happened more than 20 years ago when I ended up in South Africa to escape from England

& # 39; I immediately knew something was wrong. He said to me: "You are not in my plans." Why? & # 39; Do you remember that match in Birmingham? & # 39;

Van den Hauwe imitates dropping his jaws. & # 39; I did it in a tackle when I played for Spurs ten years earlier.

& # 39; At the time, there was little conflict between England and Argentina. I stood over him and said a few words. But I was a kid, I didn't know what I was saying.

& # 39; He had remembered it. So that was that, from playing every week to doing nothing. He then blocked me from joining another First Division club.

& # 39; I felt like throwing him through his f ****** counter. I had a few years left at the top.

We return to Smith, the former wife of a Rolling Stone that I met in a wine bar after an introduction by Spurs teammate Paul Walsh

]

They married in 1993 with the photos splashed about Hello! magazine. But the relationship, he said, was dysfunctional and was controlled by Smith's mother, who lived with them. They divorced within two years.

& # 39; If I could do it all again, I would never come close. The biggest mistake I've ever made. It was a different life and I hated it.

& # 39; Like f ****** that! & # 39;

Sportsmail & # 39; s photographer starts to click away Van den Hauwe is animated. I can not stand it! Years ago I would have chased you f ******! & # 39;

Our man lowers his lens.

& # 39; It became too much, I couldn't handle it. Three times we were on the cover of Hello! – It was a joke. Her mother was all about the money.

Some people thrive on celebrities, not me. I even let one of the Krays ask me to visit him in prison! I refused. "

& # 39; Mick is a lovely guy, but if you cross him … he was so fond of, & # 39; Come then, if you want something? & # 39 ;. But I honestly had given up.

& I knew the end was and it was the end too early.I played in the Second Division and live at home with my parents.

& # 39; I called Mick and said: & # 39; I'm ready. & # 39; I was a gentleman and they paid my contract. & # 39;

If that had a sad ending – I moved to South Africa soon afterwards – then the start and the middle were much more fun. He had made his debut in Birmingham City in 1978, where Mick Harford was a teammate. He laughs before he recalls one story.

& # 39; One evening we were on the road with our partners to drive through the city when a car cut us to pieces. It really turned Mick off, and when that happened, he didn't stop him.

& # 39; We have been chasing them for about 20 minutes. Eventually they stopped – three of them. "Ah s ***!"

& # 39; But Mick jumped out, opened his shoe, got this big golf club and broke their engine. They quickly got it. "

If Van den Hauwe had tried to play the peacemaker on that occasion, he would soon be the troublemaker.

& # 39; That came at QPR when I was one of their players on the Howard Kendall (Everton boss) said: "That was the best I've seen you play, but I still rate two weeks' wages"

& # 39; I was furious until I found out went to an end of the season p *** up in Magaluf! & # 39;

I met a girl on the first day, she was beautiful. I haven't seen the boys for the week. She asked me to move to Alaska and work at her ranch.

& # 39; I would give it all up. It was only Howard who stopped me. "

& # 39; I was caught, right? & # 39; I ended up in the hospital with a blood disease. My ankle was swollen and the virus turned out to be pretty serious. That was difficult, missing games. & # 39;

But Van Den Hauwe did not miss the big one, such as Everton & # 39; s 3-1 win over Rapid Vienna in the cup winner's final or the semi-final win over Bayern

He was three times losing to Everton in the FA Cup final but won the medal of his winner with Spurs against Nottingham Forest, the last notorious for Paul Gascoigne & # 39; s injury

& # 39 I am often asked if the senior pro & # 39; s could have calmed him down. No chance. I turned around before we left the tunnel. & # 39;

& # 39; But we wanted it winning for him after he left. I loved Gazza, the best I played with. "

I have no idea! There was no Welsh blood.

We meet at the Blue Base, in an Everton

It was for Liverpool that Van den Hauwe returned from South Africa three years ago. community center where he works, spends time with dementia sufferers. He is also a hostess at Goodison Park.

I am happy, I feel alive, he says.

That last comment, we learn, is a reference to how low he felt before the end of his time in South Africa.

I was just divorced (for the third time). One day you are awake and you are dead the next day.

& # 39; I spent 20 years there and had to sell all my medals, work a lifetime. I would have been caught and lost money. I was drained.

& # 39; The thought of starting all over again was too much. But then you think: & # 39; I have something to give & # 39 ;.

& # 39; It was not easy. When I returned, I didn't think anyone would remember me. I was stiff again when I spoke for the fans.

& # 39; Now my confidence returns. I have a lot to be thankful for, I just had to realize that. & # 39;

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racheltgibsau · 7 years ago

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How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should)

First, a confession. I click-baited you a little (really, just a teeny bit). I haven’t had to actually convince my leaders to let me and my team invest in 10X content. From the moment I was invited through the Typeform doors to launch a blog, it was clear that spitting out a dozen 500-word articles about forms and surveys each week—just so Google would be nice enough to send us a few visitors—wasn’t to be the “Typeform way.”

You see, I got lucky. I was joining a company founded by two designers—creatives, with big imaginations. They were never interested in the “read-it-do-it” way of doing things. Typeform was a product admired for being different, not just better. So anything we put on our blog had to take the same path, even if it cost more money and took more time.

But the point of this article is to talk about how investing in 10X content is helping us achieve multiple goals. And how it made dots on a GA chart fly upwards, like a herd of startled mountain goats:

Unique pageviews to Typeform’s online magazine, after publishing their first 10Xed piece of content

What Is 10X Content, Anyway?

Disclaimer: I have zero authority to be telling you this. It was, in fact, power marketer and all-round-good-egg Rand Fishkin who first referred to 10X content in one of his Whiteboard Fridays. In the video, Rand proposed placing content on a scale of Panda Invasion to 10X.

Rand Fishkin’s 10X Content whiteboard

It doesn’t take one of Elon Musk’s engineers to work out which end of the scale is the good end. Here are the criteria for 10X content, according to Rand’s 10X Content guide:

Provides a uniquely positive user experience through the user interface, visuals, layout, fonts, patterns, etc.

Delivers content that is some substantive combination of high-quality, trustworthy, useful, interesting, and remarkable

Is considerably different in scope and detail from other works on similar topics

Loads quickly and is usable on any device or browser

Creates an emotional response of awe, surprise, joy, anticipation, and/or admiration

Has achieved an impressive quantity of amplification (through shares on social networks and/or links)

Solves a problem or answers a question by providing comprehensive, accurate, exceptional information or resources

We certainly don’t get all of this right at Typeform. I mean, come on, it’s a big-ol’ demanding list, right? Just check out the page speed for a Net Promoter score guide we did:

Cool-looking guide. Slow as hipster-cooked pork.

Although we’re not quite reaching the full 10X milestone yet, I’d like to show you how trying to get there is helping to move the needle for multiple KPIs, even though we didn’t exactly plan it that way.

Backlinks and All That SEO Stuff

If you have SEO baked into your strategy, you might be focusing most of your time on creating super-targeted, intent-driven content to match with all those lovely keyword queries.

But without backlinks, your SEO-focused content means nothing, right? For anyone who has done it, you’ll know that getting people to link to landing pages designed for conversion is no mean feat. I mean, why would anyone link to them? They’re designed for one thing—to make your business more money.

We’ve seen that by trying to go 10X with our content, backlinks come to us without having to ask for them. Why? Simply because we’re producing something interesting or useful, that people want to tell others about. Pretty simple when you think about it.

Now, getting these particular pieces of content to rank in Google was never our main objective. For some of this stuff we’re creating, even if we’re #1 for a load of queries, the traffic that comes through would be so far above the funnel that we wouldn’t see much in the way of conversions.

For example, take our conversational article experiment. The topic? A deep dive into the history of conversational UIs and how technology imitates art. The experiment? Offering a new way to experience online articles by integrating a chatbot that gives you a kind of director’s commentary as you read. Number of CTAs leading readers towards our product? Just the one, standard CTA in the footer—which not many people, unsurprisingly, clicked on.

So what’s the benefit of getting backlinks to this page? Backlinks mean domain authority and lots of lovely link juice (not something you can buy from your local Starbucks). With some well-thought-out internal linking, you can pass that link juice to the pages that really need it (because they convert).

So, instead of tirelessly trying to get people to link to a page that converts well but doesn’t appeal to a wider audience, try creating amazing content that people do want to link to and find other ways to push that SEO authority to your high-converting pages. Well, you know, if you want to.

PR without Doing PR

How many press releases have you published on one of those PR distribution sites that promise you more exposure than a public sauna? Lots, right? And how many high-quality publications have actually picked up your news and written about it? Not many, huh? Yup, we’ve been there. Time to rethink how to do PR for your business.

We were lucky enough to secure an interview with Susan Bennett, the original voice of Apple’s Siri. Before we put our questions together, we watched and listened to other interviews she’d done. We noticed that everyone was asking the same questions and that once you had heard one interview, you had pretty much heard them all.

With that in mind, we tried to find a new angle for our interview. Instead of focussing on what it was like for her to go from unheard-of voice actress to one of the most famous voices in the world (ok, we touched on it a little) we focused on how some key moments in her career had coincided with big advancements in conversational technology.

With our interview angle sorted, we then set about 10Xing the experience of consuming the content. We created our own custom audio player, researched and wrote an article, and integrated an interactive timeline into the whole thing.

Something we didn’t expect to happen was for big publications to consume our content and then rehash it into an article for their own sites, referring back to us as the original source of the interview.

Check out our referring domains chart from Ahrefs.

“Read All about It!” Social Media Can Still Be a Source of Traffic

Are you finding it hard to get actual traffic back to your site from social media? Us too. We mostly use social as a way to engage with our audience and have a bit of fun.

However, for our Siri interview, social had something else in mind for us. A Reddit user kindly shared our interview, and within no time at all, it had trended on Reddit’s “Hot” list and had accumulated a cool 30k upvotes and 1k+ comments.

The result of our 5 minutes of fame on Reddit was 30k+ visits back to our article. Visits mean nothing without engagement, though. Just check out that time on page:

Team Motivation as a KPI

I’ve left it to last, but only because if you remember just one thing from this article, I think it should be this: teams that are empowered to make 10X content will be 10X more motivated than those who are not.

Think about it. Are you more likely to go home and tell your family about the 500-word article about contact forms you wrote today or the fact that you played a part in the potential future of content? Rand’s words, not mine.

In my opinion, underestimating the power of motivation is a big mistake. When deciding on your next piece of content to create, your next product feature to build, the next policy to implement, or whatever, don’t just think about how traffic, social shares, and conversions will be impacted. Ask yourself, “How much will this motivate the team?” Products, content—and just about anything—that have love poured into them will almost always get the best results. Even if that result is simply a happier team that’s ready and willing to take on the next challenge.

What’s Next?

Typeform may have been good-looking forms and surveys two years ago, but that was just the first chapter of our story. The next chapter will be a narrative of innovation and experimentation, all with the purpose of making the way people collect data more human.

My team and I will continue to put our heads together to think up new ways to deliver unique experiences through content. We’ll keep investing time, money, and resources—and we won’t expect everything to work every time.

And what about you? What are you creating on your road to 10X?

The post How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should) appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 http://blog.marketo.com/2017/06/convince-founders-invest-10x-content.html

0 notes

archiebwoollard · 7 years ago

Text

How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should)

Unique pageviews to Typeform’s online magazine, after publishing their first 10Xed piece of content

What Is 10X Content, Anyway?

Rand Fishkin’s 10X Content whiteboard

It doesn’t take one of Elon Musk’s engineers to work out which end of the scale is the good end. Here are the criteria for 10X content, according to Rand’s 10X Content guide:

Provides a uniquely positive user experience through the user interface, visuals, layout, fonts, patterns, etc.

Delivers content that is some substantive combination of high-quality, trustworthy, useful, interesting, and remarkable

Is considerably different in scope and detail from other works on similar topics

Loads quickly and is usable on any device or browser

Creates an emotional response of awe, surprise, joy, anticipation, and/or admiration

Has achieved an impressive quantity of amplification (through shares on social networks and/or links)

Solves a problem or answers a question by providing comprehensive, accurate, exceptional information or resources

We certainly don’t get all of this right at Typeform. I mean, come on, it’s a big-ol’ demanding list, right? Just check out the page speed for a Net Promoter score guide we did:

Cool-looking guide. Slow as hipster-cooked pork.

Backlinks and All That SEO Stuff

If you have SEO baked into your strategy, you might be focusing most of your time on creating super-targeted, intent-driven content to match with all those lovely keyword queries.

PR without Doing PR

Check out our referring domains chart from Ahrefs.

“Read All about It!” Social Media Can Still Be a Source of Traffic

Are you finding it hard to get actual traffic back to your site from social media? Us too. We mostly use social as a way to engage with our audience and have a bit of fun.

The result of our 5 minutes of fame on Reddit was 30k+ visits back to our article. Visits mean nothing without engagement, though. Just check out that time on page:

Team Motivation as a KPI

What’s Next?

And what about you? What are you creating on your road to 10X?

The post How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should) appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 http://blog.marketo.com/2017/06/convince-founders-invest-10x-content.html

0 notes

maxslogic25 · 7 years ago

Text

How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should)

Unique pageviews to Typeform’s online magazine, after publishing their first 10Xed piece of content

What Is 10X Content, Anyway?

Rand Fishkin’s 10X Content whiteboard

It doesn’t take one of Elon Musk’s engineers to work out which end of the scale is the good end. Here are the criteria for 10X content, according to Rand’s 10X Content guide:

Provides a uniquely positive user experience through the user interface, visuals, layout, fonts, patterns, etc.

Delivers content that is some substantive combination of high-quality, trustworthy, useful, interesting, and remarkable

Is considerably different in scope and detail from other works on similar topics

Loads quickly and is usable on any device or browser

Creates an emotional response of awe, surprise, joy, anticipation, and/or admiration

Has achieved an impressive quantity of amplification (through shares on social networks and/or links)

Solves a problem or answers a question by providing comprehensive, accurate, exceptional information or resources

We certainly don’t get all of this right at Typeform. I mean, come on, it’s a big-ol’ demanding list, right? Just check out the page speed for a Net Promoter score guide we did:

Cool-looking guide. Slow as hipster-cooked pork.

Backlinks and All That SEO Stuff

If you have SEO baked into your strategy, you might be focusing most of your time on creating super-targeted, intent-driven content to match with all those lovely keyword queries.

PR without Doing PR

Check out our referring domains chart from Ahrefs.

“Read All about It!” Social Media Can Still Be a Source of Traffic

Are you finding it hard to get actual traffic back to your site from social media? Us too. We mostly use social as a way to engage with our audience and have a bit of fun.

The result of our 5 minutes of fame on Reddit was 30k+ visits back to our article. Visits mean nothing without engagement, though. Just check out that time on page:

Team Motivation as a KPI

What’s Next?

And what about you? What are you creating on your road to 10X?

The post How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should) appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 http://blog.marketo.com/2017/06/convince-founders-invest-10x-content.html

0 notes

zacdhaenkeau · 7 years ago

Text

How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should)

Unique pageviews to Typeform’s online magazine, after publishing their first 10Xed piece of content

What Is 10X Content, Anyway?

Rand Fishkin’s 10X Content whiteboard

It doesn’t take one of Elon Musk’s engineers to work out which end of the scale is the good end. Here are the criteria for 10X content, according to Rand’s 10X Content guide:

Provides a uniquely positive user experience through the user interface, visuals, layout, fonts, patterns, etc.

Delivers content that is some substantive combination of high-quality, trustworthy, useful, interesting, and remarkable

Is considerably different in scope and detail from other works on similar topics

Loads quickly and is usable on any device or browser

Creates an emotional response of awe, surprise, joy, anticipation, and/or admiration

Has achieved an impressive quantity of amplification (through shares on social networks and/or links)

Solves a problem or answers a question by providing comprehensive, accurate, exceptional information or resources

We certainly don’t get all of this right at Typeform. I mean, come on, it’s a big-ol’ demanding list, right? Just check out the page speed for a Net Promoter score guide we did:

Cool-looking guide. Slow as hipster-cooked pork.

Backlinks and All That SEO Stuff

If you have SEO baked into your strategy, you might be focusing most of your time on creating super-targeted, intent-driven content to match with all those lovely keyword queries.

PR without Doing PR

Check out our referring domains chart from Ahrefs.

“Read All about It!” Social Media Can Still Be a Source of Traffic

Are you finding it hard to get actual traffic back to your site from social media? Us too. We mostly use social as a way to engage with our audience and have a bit of fun.

The result of our 5 minutes of fame on Reddit was 30k+ visits back to our article. Visits mean nothing without engagement, though. Just check out that time on page:

Team Motivation as a KPI

What’s Next?

And what about you? What are you creating on your road to 10X?

The post How to Convince Your Leaders to Invest in 10X Content (and Why You Should) appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 http://blog.marketo.com/2017/06/convince-founders-invest-10x-content.html

0 notes