#i know sam got railed into next week afterwards…

[lambmotifz]

does he realize how much he sounds like a jealous possessive boyfriend

[stivibi]

Back to Normal-Chapter 10: Belt

check it out on AO3 here!

Bucky emptied his half eaten bowl of soup into the sink. He sighed and rinsed the bowl, before loading it into the dishwasher. Bucky knew that he would probably be hungry later, but he couldn’t focus on dinner with so much on his mind.

Bucky had gone to lunch with Sam earlier that day. Sam had asked Bucky to join him on a mission in London. Nothing too serious, but Sam wanted back up just in case. Bucky agreed to accompany his friend, but now he was second guessing himself. He hadn’t talked to Peter yet.

Bucky knew that Peter wouldn’t object to him leaving for a mission. Peter was an avenger after all. Peter understood what that entailed… but they had been going out for less than a week. Bucky was nervous to up and leave so early into their time together. He didn’t want Peter to think that he wasn’t a priority.

Peter was working late again. Just like the night before, he was in the zone—redesigning parts for the new arc reactor. Peter had texted Bucky, promising that he would be done soon.

Bucky brought a container of soup down to Peter’s lab at 6:00.

“I’m not rushing you, I promise,” Bucky said, when Peter opened the door to let the soldier inside. “I just wanted to make sure that you ate something.”

Peter smiled, and took the container of soup from the older man. He leaned up to give Bucky a quick kiss. “Thank you. You’re too sweet,” Peter said. “I’m not going to stay too late tonight. I just need a little longer to make sure that everything prints correctly.”

Bucky gave Peter a small smile. He looked over Peter’s shoulder to where a large machine was whirring in the background. The tables were littered with miniature metal pieces—fresh from the 3d printer.

“Take your time, doll,” Bucky said, looking back at Peter. “Just make sure to save a little time for me. I want to talk to you about something.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?” He asked.

“Later,” Bucky said, plating a kiss on Peter's forehead. “It’s nothing major.”

“I’ll be done by seven,” Peter promised. “Then I’m all yours.”

Bucky grinned. All mine. He leaned down to plant a kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Meet me in the penthouse when you’re done.”

Bucky returned to the penthouse, where he found Sam setting up his Nintendo switch. Bucky passed the time, playing Smash Brothers with Sam. Bucky rarely played video games—partially because he thought they were pointless, but mostly because he was no good at them.

“You’re cheating,” Bucky growled to Sam, after losing the fifth match in a row.

“How am I cheating?” Sam challenged. “I think you’re just a sore loser.”

The elevator doors opened at ten till seven. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Peter emerge from the lift. Bucky peeled his eyes away from the TV screen, and he waved Peter over.

“Dead again!” Sam shouted, having taken advantage of Bucky’s lack of attention.

Bucky rolled his eyes and grinned at Peter. “Sam’s been cheating,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Peter laughed as he crossed the room. He sat down on the arm of the couch next to Bucky, leaning down for a quick kiss.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Nah, Bucky just doesn’t know how to fight. Not in real life or in video games.”

Peter laughed, and Bucky scowled. Peter gave the soldier an apologetic look, and Bucky’s frown melted away.

“I think I’m going to call it quits,” Bucky said, passing the controller back to Sam.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Sam said. “You probably don’t want you boyfriend to see just how bad you really are.”

Peter blushed at the word boyfriend. Bucky, pretending to tighten his shoelace, bent down to hide his grin. Neither of them corrected Sam.

“You in the mood for frozen yogurt?” Bucky asked, sitting up and turning to Peter.

Peter smiled and nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Oooh you should go to Frannie’s,” Sam said. “Would you bring me a cup of cookies and cream?”

“Cheaters don’t get any,” Bucky said flatly. Sam frowned, and Peter laughed.

Peter leaned around Bucky, and whispered theatrically. “We’ll get you some.”

“Thanks Parker,” Sam said. “At least someone around here appreciates me.”

“Traitor,” Bucky muttered. He stood up, and reached out to take Peter’s hand. They walked over to the elevator, and Bucky pressed the down button. Bucky gave Peter a serious look as they entered the lift. “You and I are going to have to have a serious talk about loyalty.”

Peter laughed and the elevator doors slid shut. A minute later, they emerged into the empty lobby and walked through the large glass front doors.

The streets were busy as usual. They walked down 45th Street, turning right onto 5th Avenue. As they walked, Bucky lightly squeezed Peter’s hand with his vibranium fingers, and Peter returned the gesture.

Frannie’s YoArt, was located on the southern perimeter of Central Park. The small shop was crowded. Several curious eyes fell upon the two avengers as they waited in line. Peter heard the sound of more than one phone taking a picture, and he bowed his head.

Bucky had been quite successful at staying off the media’s radar over the past few years. Peter hadn’t been so lucky. With his work at Stark Industries, and his constant vigilantism in the city, Peter often found his own face staring back at him from magazine covers and online ads for celebrity gossip.

When they reached the register, Bucky insisted that Peter order first. Peter ordered a small orange splash, and Bucky ordered chocolate.

“Oh, and a small cookie and cream,” Peter added, remembering Sam’s request.

Bucky smiled, and paid for their order. The cashier placed lids on their orders and slid them across the counter. Peter stacked Sam’s cup on top of his own, and slid three spoons into the pocket of his jacket. Bucky placed a hand on the small of Peter’s back and led him out of the shop.

Bucky kept his arm around Peter as they walked back to the tower.

“Want to eat out on the balcony?” Peter asked as they entered the elevator.

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky said with a smile.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Bucky stepped closer to Peter. He backed the younger man up against the elevator wall. He hooked a finger under Peter’s chin, tilting his head up.

Peter smiled as Bucky’s lips found his. The kiss was awkward—Peter held a frozen yogurt cup in each hand—but that didn’t keep Bucky from pressing his hips into Peter’s, making the younger man moan.

They broke apart when the elevator doors slid open. Peter’s face flushed as they stepped into the penthouse. Sam looked away from his game, smiling when he saw the extra cup in Peter’s hand.

“I knew I could count on Spider-Man,” Sam said with a grin.

Peter chuckled and placed Sam’s yogurt and spoon on the coffee table. “You should thank Bucky. He’s the one who paid,” Peter said.

“Don’t tell him that,” Bucky huffed. “I don’t want Sam getting too chummy.”

Bucky and Peter made their way out onto the balcony. The wind howled, rustling Peter’s already untidy hair.

They ate their dessert on the bench in front of the railing, staring out across the darkening city. Bucky raised a spoonful of chocolate to Peter’s mouth. Peter accepted the bite, licking his lips afterwards. Peter lifted his own spoon to Bucky’s mouth too, and the soldier licked the orange yogurt slowly, a devious glint in his eye.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Peter asked.

Bucky’s face fell and his stomach did a backflip. He had been putting it off.

“Well I had lunch with Sam today,” Bucky said. “He wants my help on a mission in London.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What kind of mission?” He asked curiously.

“Nothing major,” Bucky assured him. “It’s going to be mostly reconnaissance. There was some chatter on the dark web about a black market weapons deal. He just wants me there as backup in case something goes down.”

Sam and Bucky had always given each other shit. That was their friendship. But after fighting the flag smashers, nobody could deny that they worked well together. Bucky was Sam’s go-to for backup these days.

Peter took a bite of yogurt, his expression unreadable.

“Do you guys need any help?” Peter offered tentatively.

Peter chose to spend most of his time helping people in New York. Not that Peter wasn’t happy to help people in other places—but he knew how much violence there was in New York City alone. So for the time being, he focused his efforts on his hometown and the surrounding boroughs.

Bucky smiled, and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Peter’s lips. The kiss was cold from their ice cream, but nobody minded.

“I think we’ve got it covered,” Bucky said. “We’ve got Rhodey and some military buddies joining us. It’s nothing high risk.”

Peter took another bite of his yogurt, a small fret appearing on his face. He was glad to stay in the city, but he knew that he would miss Bucky. “When are you guys leaving?”

“The day after tomorrow. We’re going to be gone for at least a week,” Bucky said. He set his yogurt down on the bench and adjusted his position so that he was fully facing Peter. “Just… please don’t lose interest while I’m gone.”

Peter’s heart melted. He set his own yogurt down and leaned in to kiss Bucky. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark as he looked up at the soldier. “You don’t have to worry about how interested I am,” he said, going slightly pink.

Bucky grinned and leaned in to capture Peter’s lips again. Their yogurt melted while they kissed. Bucky’s vibranium arm was on the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter’s hands roamed Bucky’s chest.

Despite Peter's words, uninvited images flashed in Bucky’s mind while they kissed. Images of tall handsome strangers asking Peter for his phone number. Buying him drinks… Bucky pulled away, the sudden need for further clarification taking over him.

“Are we exclusive?” Bucky asked, looking somewhat nervous.

Peter’s grinned. “Absolutely.”

The next two days flew by way too quickly. Bucky and Sam were scheduled to depart on Saturday morning. On Thursday, Peter spent the night in Bucky’s room again. They ordered take out, watched movies, and showered together.

Peter played hooky on Friday afternoon. He locked his lab door at noon, and took the elevator up to the penthouse, where he found Bucky reading on the couch.

“Hey doll,” Bucky said, folding down the corner of the page in his book.

“Hey,” Peter said, plopping down on the couch next to the older man.

“Lunch break?” Bucky asked, leaning in to give Peter a quick kiss.

“Something like that,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s a long lunch today… Actually I think I’m done working for today… I was hoping that we could maybe spend some more time together? You know, before you go?”

Bucky grinned. “Yes, I would love that,” he said. He glanced around, making sure that no one was within earshot, before leaning in. “How about some time with your face in my pillow?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Peter grinned. “That’s what I was hoping for,” he said.

Two minutes later, they were in Bucky’s room. Bucky’s hands were on Peter’s hips as he walked the younger man backwards towards the bed.

Bucky pushed Peter onto his knees, and Peter reached up enthusiastically to undo the soldier’s belt. Peter unzipped Bucky’s jeans, and pulled down his underwear. He took the head of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, going down as far as he could. Thick dark hair brushed up against Peter’s nose. Bucky pulled him down, sliding his cock deeper into Peter’s throat.

Bucky’s hands gripped Peter’s hair tightly, and he fucked Peter’s mouth. Bucky removed his shirt, and Peter’s hands roamed the soldier's abdomen. Peter looked up through watery eyes, staring in awe at the expanse of muscle above him.

As usual, Peter swallowed Bucky's first ejaculation. It was practically tradition at this point. Thick hot spurts, went straight down his throat. The super soldier serum did wonders for their sex life. Bucky always blew more than one load, and Peter had zero refractory period.

Peter pulled away and wiped his mouth. Bucky bent down, gripping Peter and pulling him to his feet. Bucky lay Peter down on the bed, and unzipped the boy’s jeans.

Bucky yanked Peter’s jeans and underwear off, making Peter gasp. Peter undid the buttons of his shirt, and soon they were both naked. Bucky placed a hand on Peter’s stomach, pressing him down against the bed. He moved down and took Peter’s cock in his mouth. Just to assert his dominance, he held Peter down while he sucked him off.

Peter moaned and squirmed. Bucky took hold of Peter’s hands, holding him still. Bucky was bobbing up and down, so quickly that Peter was whimpering with overstimulation. Peter came in no time, and Bucky swallowed the hot liquid.

Peter was breathless, when Bucky moved up to kiss him. Peter usually preferred to be the one giving pleasure, but that had been something else.

Bucky moved away, kneeling on his knees. “On your stomach,” he commanded.

“Yes sir,” Peter said. He rolled over and lay flat on the mattress, looking over his shoulder at Bucky.

Bucky reached over the edge of the bed to where his discarded pants lay. He pulled his belt from the loops, and turned back to Peter, belt in hand. Peter’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the strip of black leather.

“Can I try something?” Bucky asked, his voice low and gruff.

“Anything you want,” Peter said, seriously.

Bucky grinned and moved closer. Peter shuddered excitedly as Bucky took hold of his wrists. Bucky positioned Peter’s arms so that they were behind his back, before wrapping the dark leather belt around his wrists.

“Comfy?” Bucky asked, once Peter’s arms were tied securely behind his back.

“Yes, sir,” Peter breathed into the pillow.

Bucky poured lube on his cock, and lined himself up with Peter’s hole. He placed one hand on Peter’s hip, and with the other hand he tightened the boy's restraints.

Peter moaned as Bucky pressed inside. Bucky knew how Peter liked it. He didn’t pace himself. Immediately balls deep, Bucky started thrusting, sliding his swollen member in and out of Peter’s hole.

“Oh god,” Peter whimpered into the pillow. Moaning, he turned his head to look back at the older man. Bucky grinned and gave a particularly rough thrust, making Peter cry out in ecstasy.

Bucky moved up onto his haunches. With his hand, he pressed Peter’s shoulders against the mattress.

The feel of Bucky cock was overwhelming Peter. Bucky was so big, and the way he stretched Peter’s hole was just so right.

Peter never lasted long when Bucky was fucking him. Peter whimpered as hot cum erupted from his cock, splattering the against sheets.  He hadn't even touched himself.

Bucly wasn’t done, and Peter was glad that he didn’t pull out. He used Peter’s hole relentlessly. Peter fell apart from the soldier’s relentless pounding. Peter was sobbing into the pillow, begging for more. “Fuck me. Use me. I’m yours.”

“All mine,” Bucky growled into Peter’s ear.

“All yours,” Peter repeated. “Forever.”

Bucky’s heart swelled and he doubled his pace. Peter cried out as Bucky’s hand gripped his hair tightly. Bucky grunted, as he filled Peter’s hole with his seed. He continued thrusting, desperate to give Peter every last drop.

When Bucky finally pulled out, he leaned down to kiss Peter’s neck while he removed the belt from his wrists.

Peter rolled over to look up at Bucky. Peter was teary eyed, and grinning dazedly. “I really liked that,” Peter said.

Bucky grinned. “Good. Me too.” He loomed over Peter, planting a kiss on his lips. “You were amazing. You took it so well.”

Peter blushed and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s torso, rubbing circles in his muscular back.

“I really like you,” Peter whispered into Bucky’s neck.

Bucky melted into Peter. “I really like you too. I’m going to miss you,” Bucky said.

The remainder of the evening flew by faster than they would have liked. They stayed in bed for hours, listening to music. Peter played all of his favorite songs for Bucky, who had yet to catch up on the greatest hits of the 21st century.

Peter made Bucky a playlist to listen to while he was away, while Bucky traced invisible pictures on Peter’s back with a vibranium finger.

They dressed and left the bedroom only to retrieve their take out from the lobby. They ate pizza in the penthouse with Sam and Bruce. Sam cracked jokes throughout the meal, and Bucky rubbed Peter’s thigh beneath the dining room table.

They went back to Bucky’s room after dinner, and watched movies in bed. Peter rested his head against Bucky’s chest, listening to his breathing.

“I’ll probably have the new arc reactor finished by the time you get back,” Peter said, running his fingers along Bucky’s clean shaved jaw. “If it works, then the arm should be perfect.”

“I’m excited,” Bucky said, planting a kiss on Peter’s forehead. “But more excited to see you again.”

Peter smiled and kissed Bucky. “Will you text me while you’re gone? You know, whenever you have time.”

Bucky squeezed Peter lightly. “Of course. Can I call you too? There’s a time difference, but I don’t mind staying up late.”

Peter smiled. “How about I stay up late a few times too,” Peter offered.

The night grew late as they exchanged kisses and conversation. Neither of them wanted to go to sleep. Bucky assured Peter that he would sleep on the jet, and Peter had a flexible work schedule. Around 2 am, Peter’s eyelids grew heavy.

They would have liked to stay in bed the following morning—waiting for gentle rays of sunlight shining through the window to wake them. Bucky’s alarm didn’t care what they wanted, and jolted them awake at 5:30.

They dressed and brushed their teeth. Peter insisted on carrying Bucky’s backpack as they made their way to the elevator.

They entered the penthouse, where they found Sam up and dressed. Peter made coffee, and poured a cup for each of them. They ate cereal in silence. Peter and Bucky played footsie beneath the table.

“We should probably get going,” Sam said around 6:00. “We still need to pick up Rhodey.”

They took the elevator down to the lower balcony, where the launch pad was located. Sam started the quinjet, and loaded up their luggage. Bucky and Peter stood in the far corner of the launch pad.

“Text me when you land?” Peter asked.

“Of course,” Bucky said. “I’ll text you long before then too.”

Bucky placed his hands on Peter’s waist, and pulled him flush against himself. He leaned down and kissed Peter passionately.

They didn’t want to break apart, but Sam hollered from the jet that it was time to go.

“Think of me while I’m gone,” Bucky said when he pulled away.

Peter grinned and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “You know it. Listen to the playlist that I made for you.”

“Will do,” Bucky promised. He leaned down for one last kiss, before turning on his heel and climbing the ramp of the quinjet.

The ramp lifted, and Peter watched the jet ascend, hovering above the launch pad. The engine roared, as the jet shot out from beneath the cover of the upper balcony.

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the jet soar away, disappearing in the distance.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Accidents happen; Queen x teen reader

*Author’s note*

Hey all, okay so here I am with a new request. After people seeing my last Queen x teen reader ‘time for us to look after you’ this anon wanted another teen fic with Queen but with the reader being older. So in this fic imagine you are 18. Now to the anon in the light that as I was writing and trying to finish your fic during Deacy’s birthday I kinda leaned a more close bond with our beloved bass player so I hope that’s okay with you. Hope you all enjoy my lovely darlings :)

Warnings: parent death from drugs, head injuries, fluff, bit of angst. But MOSTLY FLUFF FROM OUR BELOVED 4 BOYS :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@platawnic

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

__________________________________________________________

I was up on stage rewiring some of the bar lights so that when my dad would go to do the light cues to light up the bottom of the stage, they would hit the boys exactly on cue.  Wearing special gloves to ensure that no fingerprints got on the covering or the actual bulb smudged with fingerprints dimming the lights when they go up on cue.

“(Y/n), oh (y/n) baby~” I perked up my head and turned around to see my favorite Queen member the one whom I’ve considered a big brother to me, John Richard Deacon.  Known to most as the bassist of Queen, the ‘quiet’ guy, but to me he’s the Disco king, father to three beautiful children, loving and dedicated husband to his lady Veronica and as stated before, my brother from another mother.

“Yes?” I asked wearily.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my Fender bass is at, would you?” I stopped my work and stood up.

“How dare you would accuse me of stealing it Deacy, I’m hurt.”

“I didn’t say it was you, I just asked if you had seen it.” Oh bugger. “But since I know it was you, where is it?”

“I plead the 5th!”

“You’re in England love, it won’t work here.” I gulped and quickly raced off with Deacy chasing after me.  I hopped off the stage and ran through the rows of seats with Deacy right behind me.

I would jump over the seats just to get into the next row before Deacy could grab hold of me.  We’d just stare each other down as we’d fake each other out trying to either escape or go on the chase.  I then raced towards the end trying to jump back onto the stage.  

As I rolled across the stage and just before I could make another run for it, I felt Deacy’s arms wrap around me and pin me down to the ground.

“Gotcha! You gonna tell me where it’s at?” I shook my head and that’s when I felt him start to tickle me.

“Gahh Nohohohoh! Deheheheacy stohahahp!”

“Then fess up love, or I won’t.” he mocked. “I have no problem doing this all night love.”

“Okay! Okay uncle! I’ll tell you!” He ceased his attack then before I could speak I heard the voices of the rest of the band come up from backstage.

“Ahh I see you’ve caught your culprit Deacy darling.” Freddie said.

“And it would seem you got a confession out of her.” Stated Brian.

“And now here we have the evidence. It was in her dressing room up against a guitar platform.” Roger presented Deacy with his bass.  He stood up and took his instrument back and I said as I got up.

“Ya’ll are snitches. Good to know I’ll be able to trust you guys in prison.” I joked.

“(Y/n)!” we all turned around and there stood my dad, Queen’s stage designer and main light technician.  “You know better than to distract the boys from their rehearsal.”

“Sorry dad.” It was then Roger came up and said.

“Ahh no worries (f/n). She wasn’t distracting us. She never is.” Roger said as he gave me a playful noogie.

A little background information about me.  As you know my name is (y/n) (l/n), my mum died of a cocaine overdose back in America 2 years ago.  Wanting a new life for me, my dad moved us across the ocean here to London where he got a job working at the Odeon Hammersmith theater.  After Queen performed their famed Christmas Eve concert back in ’75, they hired my dad as their permanent stage designer and light director because they loved what he had done to make them look good.

And just to get me out in the work field during my holidays, I helped with lighting all thanks to my dad for teaching me the ropes.  That’s kinda what helped Deacy and I connect was our knowledge of electrical engineering, and why the two of us just clicked with each other even being 8 years younger than him.

And of course bonding with the rest of the guys wasn’t hard either.  Freddie was the first one to just instantly love me cause of my genius work with the lights, he was even impressed when just last year my dad had allowed me to run the lights all by myself.  Brian and I bonded with each other due to our love for animals and Roger and I—we already kinda had that teasing big brother-little sister dynamic.

I’d embarrass him whenever he’d tried to bring in one of his ‘flings’ and he’d be the overbearing big brother when my dad was too busy to pick me up from school and intimidate the boys at my high school.  You know that kinda of stuff, but he’s also always there for a comforting shoulder and a good bear hug.

“Alright. But you better get back to work missy. I’m gonna start the light checks in half an hour and if those stage lights aren’t done by then, we’re gonna have an issue here.”

“Don’t worry dad I’ll get it done.” He just grinned at me suspiciously before heading back up to the control panel in the very back of the arena.

“You work too hard darling, we can back you up if you need a break.”

“Thanks for the offer Fred but I’m good. I’m….still kinda grounded for going to that party you invited me too last week.”

“Still? That was over 3 weeks ago.”

“Yeah and punishment is hard labor. But at least it’s not staying in my room with cabin fever.”

“I suppose.”

“Go on, you guys get ready for soundchecks, I’ll be five minutes anyways.” I then went back to the edge of the stage and continued my work on the bar lights.

Afterwards I was up on a high elevation machine to screw in the lights that hung along a track up on the ceiling.  Once I got done tightening the last screw so that it wouldn’t fall almost 20ft and really kill one of the guys, I saw all four of them starting their soundchecks. Since I was closest to Brian I couldn’t help but say.

“Hey Bri, I can finally see the top of your head.” He looked up at me and I swore he was probably giving me a bitch face.

“Ha-ha very funny (n/n).” he said.

“Oi (y/n), what’s it look like from up there?” Roger cried out.

“No different, just looks like a waterfall of curls sprouting out of his head.” I told him.

“Alright enough of this, you all had your fun.”

“Aww Bri I’m kidding. You know I love you right?”

“Sure you do.” He sneered sarcastically.  I chuckled and pressed the down button on the machine.  As I was being lowered down, I radioed my dad.

“Everything’s all good here dad.”

‘Good job sweetie bell. Head backstage and help Robert and Sam with the backdrops.’

“You got it pops.” Once I was successfully down and out of the elevator crane, Derek and Jason wheeled it away and I went to find Bobby and Sam.

It was getting close to concert time and as I was walking along stage right when I saw Deacy in his normal side of stage right practicing his bass and just when he thought no one would be looking, he’d try and work in one of his little Disco moves.  Which is why I have given him the endearing nickname, Disco Deacy.

It was then I heard something from up above.  I took out my binoculars and noticed that something didn’t look right with the track railing, especially on the left side.  There was this creaking and groaning sound and that’s when I had to act fast.  Quick as I could I cried out to Deacy and shoved him aside when I felt something hit my head and the next thing I knew, my world went black.

*3rd Person POV*

When John overcame the suddenly shock of suddenly being shoved aside, he turned around and saw probably the most horrifying thing he would ever see in his entire life.  There lying underneath the track railing was (y/n).

She wasn’t moving and it didn’t look like she was breathing either.  Without a word he rushed over and tried to lift up the railing but it was just too damn heavy with all the extra lights screwed onto it.

“Deacy! Are you alright we just heard a—oh my god!” Freddie gasped in horror.

“Don’t stand there gawking like idiots help me!” Deacy snapped.  Soon all the band members, plus a couple of stage handlers all piled into helping Deacy raise the railings to get (y/n) free.

“What in the samhell is going—(Y/N)!!!” Her father soon came in on the scene after hearing the crash.  He raced up towards the stage and he ordered. “Okay everyone lift slowly on three; One, two, three!” Soon the seven men began to lift the track with all their might. “Slowly, slowly, okay I can pull her out, keep it off of her.”

He then pulled his daughter out from under the track, finally seeing a small pool of blood on the stage.

“Okay slowly lower it back down. One, two three! Easy! Slowly!” Once the track was on the ground, the four band members surrounded the father and daughter.

“(Y/n)? (N/n), can you hear us?” Roger spoke.

“Here press this to her head.” Brian said as he got his jacket off and handed it to her father.

“Medic!”

“Someone call 999!” Soon the stage medics came in and took (y/n) out of her father’s arms and began checking her over.

Outside the ambulance finally arrived and the medics were loading (y/n) up into the back of the truck.

“Go with her (f/n) darling.” Freddie said.  (F/n) turned to Freddie and said.

“But what about the show?”

“For once there won’t be a show. We’ll tell John to cancel the show and refund all the tickets. We won’t have enough time to fix the stage. Plus none of us will be focused after seeing that blood.” Explained Roger.

“Go be with your daughter, we’ll try to get there as fast as we can.” Brian assured him.  (F/n) nodded and thanked the four band members for their help, most bands would’ve just left it be and not have gotten involved as they did just now.  

He raced up and asked the medic to ride with her, the paramedics allowed him to ride with them and once he entered the back of the van, two medics closed the door and the male tapped the door and almost immediately, the van took off for the hospital.

It took some convincing but Reid managed to work out with the manager of the stadium and they made an announcement to the audience that an accident happened and the show had to be canceled.  

Freddie, Brian, Roger and Deacy managed to find (y/n)’s dad in the waiting room.  He told the band that she was in surgery right now and come out once they had news.  Hours passed and finally by 4am a doctor came by with a clipboard and said.

“(Y/n) (l/n)’s father.” It was then the four band members along with (y/n)’s father all stood up.  The doctor was confused until her father walked up to him and said.

“I’m (y/n)’s dad.”

“Your daughter sustained a massive head injury. We did all we could to help her but the best we could do for her now is have her be in an induced coma.”

“Does that mean she’s—” her dad feared to continued but the doctor assured him.

“It’s up to her. She’s stable and all vitals are normal. It’s…..just gonna be up to her whether she wakes up or not.” He sighed heavily but thanked the Doctor.

“Can we see her?” asked Freddie.

“Of course. She’s in room 302, you can visit her now.” They all nodded and headed towards the room.

When the five of them came to the door, they saw (y/n)’s head wrapped in bandages, IV’s in her arms and all these hooks and wires attached to her as the machine showed her blood pressure, brain activity and heartrate.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s me. I’m here sweetie bell.” Her dad choked out as he took his daughter’s hand in his. “I’m here baby girl, I’m right here. Oh please let me see those pretty (e/c) eyes of yours. Let me know you’re gonna be okay.” He sniffed and kissed his daughter’s hand.

Taking this harder than anyone else, Deacy stepped out trying to compose himself as he gripped his head in his hands and tried to keep his sobs in, but they kept coming out in chokes.

“Deacy darling?” Deacy sniffled and wiped away his tears but refused to speak to Freddie because he knew if he tried to speak, all that would come out would be sobs. “This was in no way your fault darling, you couldn’t have known the track would collapse.”

“But……but…..”

“No buts darling, you. Didn’t. Cause. The. Collapse.” Freddie emphasized.  Deacy sighed heavily and cleaned himself up and he choked out.

“If she doesn’t wake up……I’ll never forgive myself.”

“She will. Our little light goddess is a fighter. She’s like a wild mustang. Can try to break her, but she’ll always keep bucking and fighting.” Freddie brought Deacy into a comforting hug, patting his back and rubbing it comfortingly.

Over three weeks passed and still there wasn’t any changes of (y/n) waking up. Even with the News of the World tour, any chance the boys got when they would perform back in England or they managed to get a day off, they’d go see (y/n) and ask her father if she had shown signs of improvement.

Currently Deacy was in there alone with (y/n).  As he listened to the machines that were his sign of her still being ‘alive’.

“I—I uhh….I know I’m not much of a singer, so if—you can somehow hear this I don’t want any teasing. As you know I wrote this for Veronica, but ever since meeting you, some of the lyrics seem to resemble you. You’re….like the sister I’ve always wanted and—I hope this song helps you see it.”

He took out a keyboard piano and placed it in his lap and began playing “You’re my best friend” as well as singing the song to her, hoping that somehow this could help her wake up.

*My POV*

I woke up to hearing the sound of a piano playing and a voice singing.  It wasn’t as powerful as Freddie’s, nor as high and strong as Roger’s and Bri’s, so….no it couldn’t be, could it?

Slowly I tried opening my eyes but for some reason they were so heavy to open, it was like my eyelids were made of lead.  When I did manage to open them, all I saw was a bright light and white walls. I also saw what looked to be balloons in the room as well.  I turned to my right to see dozens upon dozens of flowers, balloons and stuffed animals all in a “GET WELL SOON” package, as written on most of the balloons.

I then turned to my left to see Deacy sitting there with a keyboard on his lap and I finally pieced together that the voice was coming from him.  He briefly stopped and looked like he was about to break down crying.

“Don’t stop now Deacy.” I croaked out.  Wow how long have I been asleep? His head shot up and the second he looked at me, he looked like he was about to explode with a million emotions.  He quickly set aside the keyboard and rolled the chair closer towards my face as he said.

“Hey, oh my god you’re—you’re okay.” I felt him stroke my cheek and he repeatedly yet lovingly kissed over my face repeating ‘you’re okay.’

“A little dizzy and exhausted but yeah I guess.”

“Dizzy? Your vision’s not blurry is it? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Deacy, relax. No my visions not blurry, and you’re holding up two FYI. What happened?”

“You—you don’t remember?” he asked me concerned.

“That’s a little hazy. I mean last thing I remember was running towards you and my vision went black after that.”

“(Y/n). The track beam that held the lights came down. You pushed me out of the way but got caught under the end of it. It took seven of us to get you out. God you….you were bleeding heavily from your head.”

“But—you guys still did the show last night, right? Did it still happen?”

“Uhh love. That happened over 3 weeks ago.” My eyes widened and that’s when I saw the three remaining members of Queen enter in with more gifts and when they saw me awake, they all proclaimed my name and raced over toward me talking all at once.  “Alright! Okay you guys step back, give her some air.” Deacy snapped.

“Oh love you still remember me don’t you?” Freddie begged.

“Of course I still remember you. How could I ever forget Freddie Mercury?” he sighed with relief and said.

“I was just worried that you had gotten memory loss from the bump on your precious noggin. Thank god you didn’t, and don’t you ever scare us like that again you cheeky darling.”

“In his own dramatic way, he’s glad you’re safe and awake (y/n).” Brian assured as he stroked my shoulder.

“Was I—really out for 3 weeks?”

“It felt like forever.” Roger stated solemnly.

“Where’s my dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Hardly left your side the poor man. Finally took Deacy being here to watch over you for him to finally head home and bathe.” Said Freddie.

“As well as get some rest. He looked like he was ready for an early grave.” Roger stated which earned him a back of the head slap from Deacy.

“It’s okay Deacy. It—couldn’t be hard for him. I mean first he lost my mom, and now the thought of losing me, it must’ve devastated him.”

“Well he won’t have to worry about that anymore. Because you’re back, and soon you’ll be on your feet in no time!” Freddie proclaimed.

“And he won’t be alone in taking care of you, because he’s got 4 willing volunteers to help nurse you until you’re back to normal.” Roger stated as he gently poked my nose as he emphasized the ‘you’.

“And just who would those four unfortunately souls be?” they all proclaimed at my negative answer but I couldn’t help but playfully stick my tongue at them.

And they did as promised.  But god never did I imagine what mother hens these guys were.  They always hovered over me any chance they got, never leaving my side, making sure I was given my medications, and if any signs of discomfort came they’d even have a fight about who got to be my ‘body pillow’.

Mostly Rog, Bri and Fred were the ones to duke it out, which only allowed Deacy to make his move.  So nine times out of ten he was my body pillow leaving the other three to wallow in self-pity of not being my body pillow/teddy bear.  As Deacy and I were alone, I told him.

“You know I don’t blame you right?” he sighed heavily.

“I know. But seeing you on the ground, blood pooling out from your head. I should’ve heard the thing snapping off. I’d give anything for it to have been me and not you.”

“But what if you had died? Where would that leave Veronica? Your boys, your baby girl, the band, me? Deacy you are valued and the most important person in so many people’s lives. I’d never forgive myself if it had been you in that bed when I knew I could’ve saved you.” He gently stroked the back of my head and kissed my forehead.

“Just promise me never do something that reckless again.”

“I’ll try, being a stagehand is dangerous business.”

“I’ll make you my assistant or fashion designer if it means you’ll be safe. And you know I can make that happen.”

“Yeah but it’d totally backfire cause for one I’ve got 10 left fingers when it comes to drawing, and I’d be the worst assistant ever.” He grinned and gently bopped my nose.

“I don’t think you would. Veronica loves you and she knows you’d give me every message she had regarding her or the kids.” I softly smiled and leaned against his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“Sing me a lullaby.”

“Love you know I can’t sing.”

“I know, but you sang to me at the hospital three days ago.”

“That was when I felt you wouldn’t be able to hear me.”

“C��mon pwease?” I begged with the puppy dog eyes. “Injured girl with a concussion demands her favorite Queen member sing to her.” He sighed but held me close rubbing my shoulder with his thumb and first hummed the opening notes to my favorite Beatles song “Here comes the sun”.

I soon heard him beginning to sing softly.  Now while he may not have a strong voice and sure it cracked at some parts, mainly when the range went a little higher, Deacy still had a descent voice. And when he would sing in a normal, low range tone to fit his range, it actually sounded good.  Soon enough his voice sent me off into dreamland.

“Goodnight poppet. Sleep well.” Was the last thing I heard before feeling a kiss right over the very spot where I had been hit.

[spnbaby-67]

The Story Of Us

Summary: You and Dean met when you were kids, you knew then he’d be your soulmate forever. You also knew the life he led could come with a price, but you were up for the challenge.

Pairing: Dean Winchester and reader, Sam Winchester and reader!friend, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, ofc Molly (daughter), Bobby Singer (Readers father). Crowley king of hell, Demon!Meg (2.0), Castiel,

Warnings: Flashbacks are in italics, Fluffy stuff, angst stuff, Character Death, kidnapping, Depression, Dark times

A/N: Hi ya’ll, here is the first part to The Story of Us, my first ever Supernatural RPF that I am scared as hell to post, only because i have no beta, and I suck, so all errors are on me. . Please don’t copy and paste on any other sites and claim them as yours. If you have any questions let me know.  I’m posting the first chapter now to get a feel for this series. once I have a few chapters I will post on a weekly basis. 

Chapter One

She owned a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but that’s how she liked it. Completely isolated, away from any form of existence.  She loved the peace and quietness it brought her when she visited the cabin, it was her sanity or as she called it her own slice of heaven. She went there when she was little with her parents, Bobby and Y/M/N Singer ever since she could remember. It was there vacation home, a chance to escape the life of work and stress for relaxation. A time to enjoy each other and spend quality time with her family. It was not often they went, but she remembers plenty of Summers there. When she was 15, she came to know the magic of the place, that a lot of people had not had the chance to experience. She found peace, independence, first loves and hardships that made her stronger.  A place she could remember the past, but look forward to the future.

After her parents both had passed away, she found her father’s will leaving her everything. It came to a surprise to her at first, but she was very thankful he left her the land. It was something special she could hold onto, to feel closer to her parents. She was happy with receiving such a beautiful gift that she will always be thankful for.  Its where she felt more alive there than anywhere else she went. Even if it was for a day or two, she still to this day felt her parents happiness, strength, and love hoping one day she would be able to receive the same.

As she sat on the front porch staring before her, her eyes surveyed the lake. This time of the year it was calm, murky green in color, but with some hint of dark from the shadowing trees surrounding it. With it being early morning the fog spread across the open land, which left behind clouds of white frost that covered the trees and bushes. Making it look ghostly almost like they were being erased from eyesight, but she knew different. The vapor would soon dissipate when the sun reached its peak to start the day, bringing the trees and bushes back to life. The lake itself was perfectly smooth and solid tranquil to the mind's eye. Mirroring what was above to the still waters like a Monet painting capturing every detail. Giving her the perfect backdrop to just stare endlessly just relaxing only to remember days gone by, before chores and other things that needed attention to. Sitting there on the porch swing that was built by Dean a couple of years ago, she took both her hands, wrapped the warm cup, then took a sip of her coffee to remember a time special to her, all the while tears threatening to fall. But she held them at bay.

Flashback

Her and Dean had been at the cabin for a month now relaxing after a three week long hunt in Texas. The leaves were falling and changing from green to different shades of orange, reds, and browns made it look like snow how they were falling from the trees.  Fall was her favorite time of the year, and since Dean found out that bit of information, he made a point to bring her there whenever they needed time to get away.  She had been outside all morning trying to gather some leaves for the pumpkin bags she had bought to put in the porch for Halloween.  Something inside her, made her stop a moment. She looked both ways and secretly behind her to see if anyone was there.  With a mischievous smile, she took a bunch of leaves in all colors, throwing them so high above her. It gave her plenty of time to twirl around in a circle with her arms out longways, and her head back feeling the leaves falling down softly hitting her face.

What she didn’t know was that Dean was there on the porch taking photos of her and recording how happy and childlike she was feeling.  It made him happy to see her feel like a kid again, something she long time forgot how to feel..  Suddenly, she felt two strong arms wrap around her waist, only to swing her around then fall into the pile of leaves.   

She opened her eyes to see who it was.  “Dean? Now it’s going to take forever to get the leaves together again.” She said as she sat up with leaves still in her hair and a smile on her face.

He took a few leaves and blew them gently at her adding to her collection. “You should have thought about that before you threw them in the air, sweetheart.”  He chuckled as he sat up straighter Indian style before her.

She tilted her head slightly to get a leaf out from it that was tickling her ear, “You, uh saw that hmm?” She adverted her eyes from his to the ground below shyly hoping he didn’t see.

“Hmm I did, beautiful to I might add.” He saw a few leafs still in her hair, so he took his right hand to retrieve it, “Make a wish, y/n.”  he held it before her.

She looked at him confusingly. ”  Dean you don’t make a wish on a leaf, that’s a four leaf clover.”

He held onto the leaf in his hand and looked at her seriously,  “My dad always said that the first leaf you catch in the fall that’s orange, you make a wish. Supposedly, it’s an old wise tell he used to win mom over. So, make a wish.”   He looked at her with so much love in his eyes she couldn’t say no.

She swallowed a lump that formed in her throat, “You sure know what to say to make a girl blush Dean Winchester.” Shocking herself she said that out loud she covered her mouth quickly feeling her cheeks suddenly get hot.

“You’re too cute, y/n.” He held the leaf still in front of her waiting.

“I’m not cute Dean, you clearly have me mixed up with someone else.” She took her gaze from his green emerald eyes to her lap looking down at the leaf she had been playing with.   

He took his finger under her chin to lift her head up to look at him,  “Would I do this if I didn’t think you're beautiful?”

Seconds later, his lips were pressing against hers. Her eyes widen a moment in shock, but then closed the more he kissed her. He slid his tongue below her bottom lip asking for permission to enter, which she gave.  He kissed her soft, sweet, sensual. It was her first real kiss from a boy, ever, she couldn’t help but melt into his arms. She did everything to remember the taste of him, to feel his tongue under hers then run up the underside to the tip only to suck on it a moment; eliciting moans she never heard before within.

end of flashback

Hearing the screen door creak, she jumped out of her daydream. She turned to the right of her to see Sam holding her three month old daughter, “You ok?”  He asked as he sat next to her seeing her face flushed a bit. .

She nodded her head with a brief shake afterwards to clear the tears that had been building. “I have to be, for her.” She smiled at Molly as she played with her little hands.  

“I know it’s tough, I miss him too. But honestly, It doesn’t seem real he’s gone, you know?” he sighed looking ahead. “I mean especially when I see him everywhere.” Like she did, he held back his emotions so Molly wouldn’t pick up the sensations around her.  

She made a face at Molly to get her to smile.  “I know what you mean, last night I felt his arms around me.  It felt so real Sam.” She swallowed, “For a second or so, I thought I heard him say I love you.”  

Sam quickly smiled at her, then went back to paying attention to Molly. “Sam, we both miss him very much. I know it’s hard for you because it’s very hard for me... Molly won’t be able to see him, but you can bet your bottom dollar she will know about him and what a good man Dean was when he was alive.”  

“That’s good, I agree. She will know who her dad was.” he paused a moment to look down at her. “Hey little monkey, what’s wrong hmm?” He looked over at y/n  to see if she  knew but noticed her were looking elsewhere towards the entrance of the property.  “Yn? What’s wrong?”

She heard him call her name, but at the same time her ears had picked up a familiar rumble of an engine she’d  recognize anywhere. Her heartbeat picked up that made her stand up and walk a bit to the rails to get a better view of who was driving. They were still far away to see, but she knew deep down only one person drove ‘Baby.’  She had left the Impala at her father's house Bobby Singers because she couldn’t look at it every day and not see Dean. The day he died six months ago, played in her mind seeing the car get closer to her.

“Yn? Get in the house, take Molly with you.”  Sam stood closer to her protectively.

She didn’t hear him, she was fixated on the car that she blocked him out. “Yn? Go now!” He finally tugged at her shoulder to get out of a trance. “Here.”  He gave her Molly who started crying feling the sudden change.

She took her from him, “ Y-you don’t think it’s really him, do you?” She asked with a bit of worry.

“I don’t know but I’ll find out.. Go inside put Molly in the bassinet… get the gun by the tv, and don’t come out until I know for sure who it is.” he saw her not moving, “Go y/n! Now!”  He ushered her inside.  

Once inside she put Molly in the bassinet that was protected with all sorts of vigils, devils trap, and whatever else they learned overtime. She then did as Sam said quickly and nervously.  She got the gun and stood before Molly’s crib protecting her from whatever it was ready to shoot whoever was trying to trick her.

Outside Sam stood his ground on the porch, the Impala stopped right in front of him.  From insid, she heard whoever kill the engine. With the familiar creaking sound of the door opening, her heart pounded faster.  The next thing she heard was “Hiya Sammie!”  Before darkness overtook her vision.

Current tags:

@secretlyfurrydragon @racheladams77 @angelessquirrel @mirandaaustin93 @sammyimpala-67 @mysteri @reginaphalange2403@writersaredreamers@waywardbaby@horsegirly99@shaelyn102@impalaimagining @percussiongirl2017 @mogaruke @internationalmusicteacher @shamelesslydean @alliedimlerr @destiny314 @percussiongirl2017 @nanie5 @spndeanlover1967 @akshi8278 @tiffanycaruso @spnlover67 @wonderfulworldofwinchester @jensen-gal @squirrelnotsam @alliekay727 @madisun16 @haceleyes @smoothdogsgirl @jdmbabe1980 @bombaluv96 @waterlilyshaista @family-business-forever @Suchandra10 @waywardnerd67 @mannls@woodworthi666@healojane @rainflowermoon 

[edgewoodrp]

Congratulations, Alice! You have been accepted as your desired character, Valerie Bianchi. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the New Member checklist and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Welcome to Edgewood. There’s no place like home.

OOC INFORMATION

Name: Alice

Age: 22

Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: CST

CANON CHARACTER APPLICATION

Character: Valerie Bianchi

Gender & Pronouns: Demigirl, she/her

Sexual Orientation: Queer

WRITING SAMPLE:

1998

It’s the first warm day of spring and only weeks from her fourth birthday. Clouds hang in the sky but the sun breaks through them, and her warmth beats down on Val’s upturned face. The rain showers have turned their backyard into mud puddles and despite her rain boots there’s dirt splattered about her bare legs and on her yellow skirt. She can hear her mother’s voice in her ear already. What have you done? Look at your dress! She couldn’t care less though. Winter has been put to rest, and she knows exactly what that means.

The fox.

He’s been coming to her every spring since she could remember. Red fur, pointed muzzle, curious eyes. He’s bold and sweet and he likes to curl himself about her legs, lick and her offered hands, and press his head against hers. Mr. Fox she calls him and she thinks it’s inventive or clever. She waits for him that Saturday morning and he never keeps her long.

1999

He leaves in the middle of the night. It’s December 29th, and the Christmas tree is still up. The present, unwrapped, still huddled in little bunches. This one Sam’s. This one her’s. This one dad’s. They’ve been arguing for months. Every time their voices raise, they turn on the vacumn or the blender. She sits on the landing of the stairs, her legs through the railings, and hears the clash, unable to discern the words. It’s anger though, and it makes her stomach turn. Sometimes Sam pulls her away, sometimes he sits with her, sometimes he rushes down the stairs to join in the argument. So when he leaves, she understands that this has been overdue. He steps in to her room before. He kisses her forehead, brushes her blonde hair from her face, whispers how much he loves her. She pretends to sleep. She’s too afraid to open her eyes.

2000

Mr. Fox doesn’t come that spring. In fact, he never returns again.

2001

“Can I do your make-up, mom?”

Her mother is going on a date. The fifth date to be exact. The man’s name is Garrett and she’s seen pictures of him with his warm brown eyes and dimples. She’s also seen the change in her mother, the softening of her frown, the brightening of her gaze. That evening at the dining room table she sets her mother’s lipstick, dusts on some blush, some eyeshadow, ever so carefully rolls on some mascara. Despite her care she’s messy and unsteady, but she adores every minute. By the end of it there has been a transformation from mother to Marisol Delgado.

2006

Garrett picks her up from detention and doesn’t immediately start it when they slip in. He looks at her, brows drawn together, and she seethes under his gaze. There will be no apologies from her lips, no excuses, and no explanations. Molly Jepsen had been sent to the nurse with a bleeding nose and she had made no qualms at confessing. Her hairpin trigger has been the bane of many a family dinner, many a birthday party, and now many a gym class. If Molly wants to call her a slut for kissing Joaquin Valdez then she’s got to learn there are consequences.

“V, listen-”

“Save it, Garrett.” She clips on her seatbelt, crosses her arms.

“Your mother needs rest. While on bedrest this stress-”

“I said save it. Ground me. Punish me. Just get it the fuck over with.”

She can’t take him looking at her, she turns her face to the side. Since her last birthday she’s been waking up feeling like a stranger in her own skin. She’ll blink at her reflection in the mirror and no longer be able to recognize herself. For a moment she feels like a jigsaw. Her lips are not her own, her nose is too long, her cheekbones too full. Over the past month she has fever dreams of waking and seeing the faces of her classmates in the mirror. Sometimes when she speaks her voice sounds off in her ears. Her hair once a deep ash blonde has darkened and thickened. Her friends compliment the dye job but she hasn’t been to a salon in months. Even on her best days, when she looks in the mirror she feels like a freak. The face staring back at her is both familiar and strange and if only she could blink, could turn one way or the other, everything would come into focus.

These are concerns she cannot take to her mother who is on bedrest for the last two months of her pregnancy. And then afterward there will be a little brother in the house that will steal all the available space, all the air.

She’s angry. Sometimes she goes up to Greenwood Bluff and just lets herself scream it out.

After a minute Garrett sighs and starts the car. “You can’t keep this up forever Valerie.”

2007

She rings up Joaquin hours afterward as she sits on the roof of her home. It’s too cold to be out here but she doesn’t care. She looks into the backyard and when he picks up she grins. They talk about stupid shit, and classes, and exams, and wanting to go see the latest blockbuster. And then she tells him about Mr. Fox and how he disappeared. When she says Mr. Fox she thinks father. She conjures his face in her mind, knows now how similiar they appear, and she sets her jaw.

She understands now. She can feel the strength under her skin and the fluidity of her own skin. And she understands just what she lost when her father left that winter night. She’s angry still. She would like to punch Roman Bianchi in the face, hurl abuse at him until he understands exactly what he did when he abandoned her and Sam. But she won’t let it eat her, she won’t let him be the reason she’s a lost cause.

2012

She’s Arizona bound in the fall. College and then something, anything. As she packs her suitcase she tries not to think of Joaquin. She lets Kris bound about her room and try on her clothes, and mimics his kid’s voice to such perrfection that he breaks down into hysterical giggles. The break-up was messy and she had ensured that. There’d been many a boy, many a girl, many a betrayal. This was never going to last. That’s how she justified it. They were never staying in Edgewood. When college came around they would be set adrift, never to reconnect. Better for him not to get attached.

She’s an ice bitch and she knows it, but this is all for the better.

2017

She’s no shifter. Can’t even turn into a housecat. Useless. Unnatural. Freak.

Failure is not something that Valerie prescribes to, but when she roles back home and takes up residence in her childhood bedroom, she has to admit it. Her baby brother is in middle school, her older brother is living on his own, and she is right back where she started. Five years. Four in college. One working. Not a single shifter who could take on the likeness of another person, not a single shifter incapable of changing into an animal. Her bones ache to transform. She’d take a goddamn wasp, or frong at this point but no matter the willpower her body won’t bend to her will. She does not belong among the humans or the shifters and so she exists without.

And at night she curses her father for passing along this gift, and chuckles at the thought that he gave it to her broken. That’s all he’s ever done.

2019

Waitress in the morning. Drinks at night. Occasional make-up on the weekends. She saves up money, dreams of buying her own apartment, and amuses with her gift of imitations. And some nights in the backyard with her rain boots on she lets herself get splattered in mud and remember that hopeful little girl. She thinks perhaps she’s let her down in the end.

ANYTHING ELSE?

aesthetic

[imagineteamfreewill]

Hopefully

Title: Hopefully

Pairing: Mermaid!Reader x Mermaid!Dean

Word Count: 2,896

Warnings: Angst, mentions of character death, subtle pining

Summary: A late-night talk with Y/N dredges up something that Dean had been trying to forget.

A/N: This is part two of the Back to the Start series! Feedback is greatly appreciated. Enjoy, and reblog!

X

Back to the Start Masterlist

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_______________

Weeks passed as Dean and Y/N settled into a routine together. She was adjusting quickly to life on land, but he still sensed that she was hesitant whenever she encountered something new. So, Dean stuck by her side and helped her to learn as much as possible. He answered all of her questions, usually without complaint, and he found that he enjoyed having her around now just as much as he had that very first day. In fact, he was learning that he was even more infatuated with her than he’d originally thought. He missed her whenever he had to go into town to get something or to go to work, and at night he often fought the urge to get out of bed and check on her.

When he’d told his co-worker Benny about how weird he’d been feeling around her, the man had simply smiled and muttered something about him “falling for her”. Dean wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not, but hopefully, he would find out before she had to return home.

The sun had already sunk below the horizon by the time Dean arrived back at the house after work. It had been a long, frustrating shift and he was ready to be in bed, but when he opened the front door to find Y/N absolutely fascinated by the hour-long infomercials that were beginning to play on TV, he knew that he’d be up for a while longer. She always had questions, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved how curious she was about everything. It was… endearing.

After slipping off his shoes and jacket, Dean headed into the living room.

Y/N reluctantly tore her eyes away from the commercial when he walked in, giving him a bright smile in the process. “You’re home!” she cried.

Dean couldn’t help but smile in return. “I sure am, sweetheart. Whatcha watching?”

Y/N glanced back at the TV and frowned. “It’s for some kind of… storage device. You put food in it so it doesn’t become inedible. You should get one of these. Your food is always disgusting by the next day,” she noted, her voice serious as she looked up at him once more. “I could call them for you. I’m sure they’d like to talk to you.”

Sighing, Dean settled down on the couch beside her and grabbed the remote, then changed the channel to a late-night sitcom. It was a rerun, he noticed, and he leaned back against the cushions.

“I don’t need any food storage containers, Y/N. The things they sell on TV usually break pretty soon anyway. It’s easier to just eat all the food right away.” Looking over at her, Dean realized that she hadn’t heard a word he had said. Y/N was completely focused on the sitcom, a small smile playing on her lips as she caught onto one of the jokes.

Neither he nor Y/N spoke until the show had finished. Finally, she yawned and settled against his shoulder, then said, “I missed you today.”

That took Dean by surprise. He hadn’t expected Y/N to even think of him while he was at work; he’d shown her how to work the TV before he’d left, and by the time he was climbing into his car, Y/N was completely enraptured by the cartoons he’d put on for her.

“Really?” he mused, not quite sure how to respond. No one had ever told him that they’d missed him before. That and the fact that she was comfortable around him to rest against him was enough to put him at a loss for words.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I had lots of questions about the shows and no one was here to answer them.”

So she didn’t really miss me, Dean thought as his heart sank. She just missed having someone here to help her understand the human world.

“Well, if you were sticking around longer I’d get you a phone so you could text me, but I don’t think you’ll need one of those. Your leg is almost healed,” Dean replied. He was right. The pale skin of her leg was no longer marred by the angry red gash. Instead, it had healed into a long, pink scar. It was still sensitive to the touch, and Y/N sometimes complained that it pained her, but Dean was beginning to wonder if that was really true. He’d had his own fair share of cuts, and he’d never had any kind of pain afterward.

“I want to pick a show now,” Y/N said, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. She reached for the remote and he handed it to her without a word.

As she flipped from channel to channel, Dean tried to ignore how she’d cuddled up against him, and how he didn’t mind the weight of her against him even after his long and tiring shift. Hesitantly, he moved his arm so that it was around her shoulders, and almost immediately Y/N snuggled closer to accommodate his embrace.

“Dean?” she asked as she began to go through the channels for the second time. Dean hummed in reply. “How come you never ask me about being a mermaid?”

Dean tried to keep himself from growing tense as he glanced down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she began, chewing on her lip as she finally stopped on another channel playing sitcoms, “I would think that if a human saw a mermaid, he’d have a lot of questions. I mean, you haven’t asked about my tail or my gills or what I eat or even if there are other mermaids… Aren’t you curious?”

It took Dean a minute to formulate a reply. He had to be careful about what he said; if he was too blasé, it would look like he was trying to avoid the subject, but if he started asking her tons of questions, it would seem like he was trying to cover something up.

Carefully, he pulled his arm away from her, and the awkwardness of the situation almost made him cringe. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you. You’re trying to adjust to my world and I don’t want you to feel homesick on top of that,” he answered.

Y/N lifted her head and looked up at him, a soft smile on her face. “That’s very kind of you, Dean, but you can ask me anything about my life. I have nothing to hide. It would be nice to get to tell someone about my life,” she said. “Besides, everyone else I live with already knows everything because they all live the same way I do.” She didn’t look away as she spoke, and Dean felt his heart lurch a little at the earnestness in her eyes. She was being so truthful with him, yet he had done nothing but lie.

Well, almost nothing. Telling her that she could stay as long as she wanted wasn’t a lie. And I wasn’t lying when I said that I would buy her the things she needed to live on land, like clothes and towels and a phone.

“Go ahead, Dean,” Y/N urged. “I promise it’s okay.”

After a moment, Dean asked, “Why is your tail the same color as your eyes? Are all mermaids’ tails like that?” Of course, he already knew the reply, but he tried to sound as genuine as possible.

Smiling, Y/N nodded and replied, “Yes. If you were a mermaid, your tail would be just as beautiful as your eyes are.”

She didn’t seem to recognize how flirtatious her words were, and Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”

Suddenly realizing her implications, Y/N flushed and ducked her head shyly. “Yes, but I don’t mean to… to…” She searched for the words, and after a few seconds it was clear that she didn’t know what she was trying to say.

“It’s okay,” Dean told her. He smiled to try and relieve some of her discomfort, and when she finally smiled back, he continued, “And what about my name?”

“Your name?”

Dean nodded. “You said that my name is legendary or something?”

“Not quite,” Y/N asked. She rested her head against Dean’s shoulder once more and went back to watching the TV as she continued, “As a kid, my mom always told me about a legendary mermaid named Dean. He, his brother Sam, and their parents were all royalty. They took care of all the mermaids in the Pacific, and everyone adored them.”

Y/N grew quiet. Her eyes stayed focused on the characters onscreen, and when she didn’t speak anymore, Dean carefully laced his fingers with hers. Both of their hands rested on his thigh, but Y/N didn’t try to move them, nor did she object.

“What happened?” Dean murmured. He was already dreading the answer, but he had to know.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again. “They died. They were attacked by a sea demon while on their way to visit a pod. None of them made it.”

Dean closed his eyes. He had been foolishly hoping that the other mermaids had made up some fanciful tale of him and his family making it out alive, then living in hiding while they tracked down the demon once more, but Y/N’s story told him otherwise.

Silently, Dean let go of her hand and got to his feet. He was already halfway up the stairs when Y/N spoke up, saying, “I’m sorry if I upset you, Dean. It’s just a story, you know—something that moms tell their kids to scare them into not swimming into deep, unknown waters. Dean and his family never existed, at least not in real life.”

“I know,” he replied, pausing on the steps. His hand rested on the railing for a moment longer before he dropped it to his side and turned to face her. Y/N was watching him from the couch, her eyes wide with worry and curiosity. Dean knew he was acting strangely by leaving suddenly, but the memories that had resurfaced were too painful for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” he added. “It’s just been a long day and I need to get some sleep.”

Y/N nodded in response, but he could tell she looked unconvinced.

“Dean, please come tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded.

Shaking his head, Dean went to finish climbing the stairs when he heard the TV volume being turned down.

“Dean, I only want to help. You don’t look fine and I want to help you,” Y/N said. Her voice was kind, but Dean sensed an edge of pity in her words, and that was enough to make his temper flare. He didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t she see that?

“I said, I’m fine!” he snapped. “You don’t need to constantly ask if I’m okay, Y/N! I’m fine!”

He hadn’t meant to yell; Dean would never intentionally yell at Y/N, at least not without a good reason to, but his anger had reared its ugly head, and the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

Thinking of the terrified look on his younger brother’s face and the fear in his mother’s eyes is what had made him angry. He wasn’t angry at Y/N, of course, but at himself and the monster they’d been trying to draw away from the pod. His family hadn’t deserved to die, just like Dean didn’t deserve to live. Learning that mermaids talked about him and his family like they were nothing but an old wive’s tale had stung, and the memories of the only people he’d ever loved dying in front of him was too much to handle.

Y/N’s expression had turned wary at his shout, and Dean tried to ignore the way she’d flinched. She was sitting motionless on the couch as she waited for his next move. Fear filled her eyes.

Without another word, Dean continued on his way to a room. He shut the door and began to undress, then headed to the bathroom and started the shower.

“Clean, fresh water,” he murmured to himself. “No more saltwater, no more memories, no more mermaids, nothing. This is my life now. I’m human. I’m not a prince, I’m not a mermaid, I’m not a warrior—I’m human through and through.”

The water ran hot and clear as he finished peeling off his clothes from work, and as he stepped into the spray, Dean tried to ignore the phantom feeling of the demon’s long, curved claws digging into the meaty flesh of his leg. He knew that the pain wasn’t real, but the muscles twinged in remembrance and he had to brace himself against the slick shower wall so that he wouldn’t fall to his knees.

Still holding himself up, Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture Y/N’s smile. She always had a way of warding off the nightmares and bad memories—at least, she had in the past few weeks they’d spent together. She was probably afraid of him now that he’d shown her what he was really like, but he could deal with an apology in the morning. Right now all Dean wanted was to think of a future with her, rather than her fear of him and the past he’d been trying so hard to forget.

_______________

You didn’t move as you watched Dean disappear up the stairs. He’d yelled at you, which was something you’d never thought that he would do. To be honest, you didn’t even think that he was capable of yelling. Sure, he’d seemed gruff at first, but from the moment you’d come into his home, Dean had been nothing but gentle with you.

When he’d finally gone out of sight, you let out the breath you’d been holding and relaxed back against the cushions. The TV was still quietly playing and the canned laughter did nothing to fill the dreadful silence that now filled the living room. Unsure of what to do, you picked up the remote and turned it off, leaving you sitting in the dark and quiet. Upstairs, the shower turned on, and you found yourself wondering if Dean ever cried in the shower like you had during your first two nights on land. Of course, Dean had heard you, and he’d been quick to comfort you. ‘Life on earth is hard,’ he’d said, ‘but you’ll get used to it.’

Sighing, you got up from your seat and followed Dean’s steps, instead going into your own bedroom. You shut the door behind you and slowly pulled on your pajamas, then crawled into bed.

The room was chillier than the rest of the house because Dean had insisted that you left the window open so that you would never be without the sound of the waves, even at night. As you got comfortable under the covers, a breeze came in from through the open window and you breathed in deeply. The smell of the salt eased your anxiety about Dean’s swift anger. Turning to face the window, you watched as the sheer white curtains billowed out as the ocean breeze blew in, and you smiled softly at the sight. Dean had bought them specifically for the room the week before. They were gentle, like the breeze itself or sparkling waves on a sunny summer day, and they were absolutely beautiful, like the cream-colored seashells that lined your room in your childhood home. I should tell Dean about the seashells, you thought as your mind began to wander. He’d love them if he could see them.

Outside, you realized, stars would be shining in the deep blue sky. The young mermaids that lived down below would be snuggling down in their beds so that their mothers would tell them a story much like the one you’d told Dean. The thought made you think of your own mother, who was surely worrying about you, and a pang of sadness went through you. Soon you’d be going back to her, but you’d also be leaving Dean behind. You’d miss Dean almost as much as you missed your family now—maybe more. Your sadness deepened when you realized that you might be spending your last few days on land with him angry at you.

Hopefully, Dean won’t be so angry in the morning. I’ll get up and make him eggs like he showed me to, and maybe then he’ll forgive me for whatever I did. Hopefully.

As dreams started to slip into your head and the unhappy thoughts began to fade, you closed your eyes and tried to picture your mother’s smiling face. Instead, however, Dean’s smile filled your mind. The crinkles that appeared at the corners of his vibrant green eyes never failed to cheer you up, and you smiled a little to yourself as you remembered the feeling of his arm around your shoulders and his hand in yours.

Surely Dean wouldn’t stay mad at you, not after tonight. The two of you had gotten so close since you’d washed up on the beach outside his home, and one step back wasn’t that far. Hopefully you could recover from this and everything would be exactly like it was before.

_______________

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[eleonorebirk]

Cruise for Two

(For the prompt: Pretend Couple)

“Come on, please?”

Blaine looked away, knowing that, if he looked Sam in the eye, he would be unable to keep saying no. “Don’t you want to ask one of the girls? I’m sure they would love to come along.”

“But I want to go with you.”

Sam had won two tickets for a holiday on a cruise ship in a raffle he had taken part in on a lark. Only he had not read the details and had not realized that the prizes were for couples, that the cruise was a romantic cruise for couples.

“There will be only one bed,” Blaine pointed out.

“It’s not like we’ve never slept in one bed when I stayed with you.”

“There will be no other singles.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m currently looking for a partner.”

“They’ll think you’re gay.”

“I don’t care. People already think we’re a couple. So less chance of them figuring out that we’re not actually together.” Sam giving him puppy dog eyes was really unfair. “There’s no one I’d rather go on that cruise with than you. Please?”

“Fine. Okay. I’ll come with you.”

 ~*~

They looked around curiously as they made their way to their cabin. The ship was impressive, Blaine had to admit. It was not as big as the ship he had spend a holiday on with his family but then it made sense that they were using a smaller one for a romantic cruise aimed only at couples, offer more privacy and space for intimacy.

Finally they found their cabin. Sam opened the door, then held it open for him. “Wow,” he breathed when he got his first proper look at the cabin.

Blaine had to agree, it was a very nice cabin. A small but comfortable sitting room with a table, chairs and a small bar, with a curtain hiding the bedroom. “We even have a balcony.” He stepped out, leaning on the railing and looking out at the sea. “This really is a first prize.”

Sam joined him on the balcony. The balcony was small enough that their shoulders brushed when he also leaned against the railing. He hummed questioningly.

“There are cabins with no outside windows, cabins with only windows to the outside and then cabins like this, with a balcony,” Blaine explained.

“Got it. So, what do you want to do now?”

“Let’s go up and watch as the ship sets out,” Blaine suggested. It would also give him some more time before he had to deal with them sharing a bed.

They went up on the deck, passing by the restaurant, some of the shops and the pool. They were so distracted they almost ran into a woman wearing the uniform of someone working on the ship. “Careful there,” she said.

“Sorry.”

“No problem. Is this your first time at one of our cruises?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I won our places in the raffle.”

“Ah, yes. Well then, go and enjoy the ships departure. You should come see me later today or tomorrow to pick out the package we offer. It’s part of the prize.”

“We will, thank you.”

 ~*~

“What do you want to do?” Blaine asked, looking through the information they had been given. All of it would be awkward, he figured. Couple’s massage, candlelight dinner, private dinner on deck, ...

Sam dropped down on the couch beside Blaine, leaning against his shoulder to look at the pages with him. “I don’t think we need the dance class. The massage sounds interesting, I always wanted to try one.”

“The private dinner might be less...” Blaine tried to find the best word to describe having to pretend during a romantic dinner with other people watching them. “It will require less pretending.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m fine with either. Did they have any information on excursions we can do?”  

“They have, yes. Have you decided on a side of the bed yet?”

“I figured I’d take the left side again. Except if you’d like it?” They had slept in the same bed occasionally, both when they were at Sectionals and Regionals with the Glee club, during their brief stint in New York and when Sam stayed the night at Blaine’s.

“That’s fine. And you’re really sure you don’t mind us sharing the bed?” At Sam’s confused look, he decided to be blunt. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can’t promise that I won’t get hard during the night.”

Sam shrugged. “Dude, it would hardly be the first time.”

“What?”

“It has happened a few times. To me as well.” Sam shrugged again. “It happens.”

Blaine stared at him, speechless. Sam really was something else. He was the best friend he’d ever had. Certainly the most open-minded. He would not allow his stupid crush to threaten their friendship.

 ~*~

They had decided to use the good weather of their first day at sea to check out the pool. They had swam their laps together at first but then Sam had decided to keep going when Blaine suggested getting out. “With the all-inclusive eating here, I’ll have to be careful.”

Blaine frowned. “Please don’t overdo it. We can go swimming regularly and check out the gym here together.”

Sam smiled. It always warmed him that Blaine cared about him, not just his body. “Okay, I promise. Just a lap or two, then I’ll come join you.”

“Okay.” Blaine went to their chairs and pulled on one of the robes that had been supplied. He watched Sam swim, relieved to see that he was really taking it easy, not pushing himself but just casually swimming. When he reached the other side of the pool, he pushed himself out. Blaine swallowed heavily at the sight, the way the water drops trailed down his chest. He was aware that others were also giving him appreciative looks. Not that he could blame them.

Sam looked around until he saw him. When their eyes met, he smiled and pointed towards the pool bar. When Blaine made to stand up, he shook his head and mouthed ‘I’ll bring it.’

“Damn, you’re lucky.”

Blaine jumped, then turned to the woman beside him who had spoken. “What?”

“Good looking and courteous. I don’t remember the last time my Adrian went to get drinks for us both without my prompting him.” She shook her head, though she was smiling gently. Then she straightened. “Oh, sorry. I’m Lisa.”

“Blaine.” He nodded towards the bar. “That’s Sam. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand.

“Is this your first time on this cruise?”

“It is, yes. Not for you?”

“No. Adrian and I, we try to do this every year. Have a week away together, you the two of us. Many here are regulars.”

Blaine smiled. “Then I guess we know who to turn to for suggestions.”

“Always glad to help.” She frowned when she looked towards the bar. “In fact, here’s one piece of advice already. Keep an eye out for her.” She discretely pointed out a woman at the bar who was just now leaning closer to Sam. “That’s Sariah. She and her husband are regulars as well. Only they use the cruise as... hunting ground.”

“Hunting?”

“She tries to seduce other men here. I have no idea if they do it to spice up their relationship or because they get off on breaking up other couples or whatever. I just know that it has ended in tears more than once since they don’t care if the other man’s in a committed or open relationship.” She wrinkled her nose. “And she’s persistent.”

Sam came back, carrying to glasses. Blaine was more worried about his frown. “Everything okay?”

Sam passed him a glass, then sat down on Blaine’s chair beside him. “Yes. Just... this is a cruise marketed for couples, right?”

“It is. Lisa was just telling me about her.” He introduced them.

“Nice to meet you.” Lisa took a look at their glasses, then said: “Excuse me for a moment, I think I’ll get a refill as well.”

“We can say that we have an open relationship as well. If you’re interested in...” Blaine nodded towards the bar.

“No. I mean if a couple wants to have an open relationship, that’s their decision, but I can’t imagine that.”

“If you change your mind...”

“Thank you but I doubt I will.” Sam smiled at him. “I’m here with you.”

If only he were.

 ~*~

Blaine had been wondering if he should try to delay the couples massage or to get it over with, especially since he was not sure what exactly to expect from it. It was Lisa who had helped him decide. “You’re getting a massage in the same room at the same time, not giving each other a massage,” she’d explained. “Some couples like to cuddle in the relaxation area afterwards and enjoy the closeness, others want to quickly return to the privacy of their cabin.”

Right, they were sleeping the same bed. Surely they’d manage to deal if either or both of them got a boner from the massage. So he had reserved the next available slot for them.

It had been a good choice, he decided. He was able to ignore Sam on the massage table beside him, just concentrating on the relaxing massage, on the way tension he hadn’t been aware he was carrying was slowly being worked out. He sighed contently, just letting himself drift.

Sam was having a harder time, in more than one sense. The touches felt rather intimate to him already. Blaine’s soft sighs and moans he seemed to be letting out unconsciously were conjuring up images he did not need right now, making him feel hot and worked up. He could not help but wonder if he sounded like that when having sex as well. Or perhaps he was even louder then?

He took a deep breath. That train of thought was not helping with the problem he was developing. Better try and ignore it and Blaine for now.

When the two masseurs had left, with a reminder that they could take their time sitting up and putting on their robes (“But please remember that the doors are thin and we’ll be back in a few minutes”), Blaine languidly turned his head to look at Sam. He smiled. “Good?”

Sam was struck by the sudden desire to see that relaxed, blissful look on Blaine more often. “Yes, good. It was... good.” He’d stay laying on his front a bit longer. Hopefully things would have calmed down by the time they returned.

 ~*~

Blaine smiled to himself as they browsed along the stalls selling souvenirs. They had decided to get off the ship at one of the stops, do some sightseeing and look for little gifts for their friends back home. Being off the ship also gave them more freedom. He did not have to wonder if he was either letting on that they were not really a couple or if he was taking too many liberties and making Sam uncomfortable.

He turned to Sam to ask his opinion on one of the souvenirs when he noticed that he was no longer beside him. He looked around, then saw him a few steps away, talking to Sariah, though he did not seem happy about it. He tried to catch Sam’s gaze, to ask if he wanted him to interrupt or not.

Sam smiled at him as soon as their eyes met. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “Blaine and I have plans already.” He returned to Blaine’s side and took his hand. “And I believe we have to get going if we don’t have to miss the bus to the beach.” He gently tugged on Blaine’s hand, pulling him along.

“Sam?” Blaine asked when they were out of earshot. There was still amble time yet before the bus they’d picked out left.

“She reminds me of Charlie Darling.”

Blaine’s eyes widened at the quiet admission. He could see the similarities, both not accepting a no, both pushing even when it was clear their advances weren’t welcome. “Are you okay?”

Sam squeezed his hand. “I am. But I’d rather enjoy myself and not think about either of them.”

“Of course.” Blaine tried to remember the bus timetable. “Do you want to take an earlier bus? There should be one leaving soon.”

“Sounds good.”

Blaine told his racing heart to stop, that Sam’s bright, grateful smile was just them being friends. That they were still holding hands was not helping. “Then let’s go,” he said, trying to distract himself.

 ~*~

They walked along the beach, shoes in hand, enjoying the sun and the cool water of the surf washing over their feet. Sam sighed happily. This was great. He’d never been to the Caribbean before and, thanks to his win, he got to enjoy it now, and with the person most important to him at that. Going on a trip with Blaine was great, he’d known that already. Getting to spend every evening cuddling with him while they watched a movie or two made the trip even better.

He glanced at Blaine, pleased to see him so relaxed and at peace as well. He looked good like that. The sweat had dissolved some of the gel, so his curls were starting to get free. The sunlight looked amazing on all that tan skin. He really could not understand why Kurt had thought Blaine was not good enough.

But he did not want to think about Kurt and his relationship with Blaine. Those thoughts always left him angry on Blaine’s behalf and worried that Blaine might decide to give that relationship another try. He took Blaine’s hand again, reminding himself that Blaine was here now, here with him and happy and single.

“Wh-” Blaine began, then stopped. “Ah, I didn’t even notice them. Good that you did.”

Sam did not understand what he meant. He was about to ask him when he saw Lisa and Adrian coming towards them.

“Hey,” Lisa greeted, “another couple to have decided to leave their cabin.” She laughed when they flushed. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Though all the newlyweds on the ship do rarely leave their cabin,” Adrian said.

Sam wondered if that was a hint that they suspected that he and Blaine were not really a couple. But then Lisa and Adrian were also not in their cabin but here on the beach. “We’re... we’re not...”

“It’s fine, we’re just teasing. We can tell your relationship isn’t that new. You’re more comfortable with one another than those couples.”

“He’s my best friend.” Sam bit his lip. He had not meant for that to slip out, but Adrian and Lisa just nodded.

“I know what you mean,” Adrian said. “Lisa’s my best friend as well, the most important person in my life.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. You’re mine as well.” She cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. Then she turned back to them. “But don’t let us keep you. Enjoy your date.”

“Yes. Thanks. You as well,” Blaine said.

They watched them go, not speaking a word. They realized that they were still holding hands but neither let go.

 ~*~

Their private dinner had been set up on their balcony. Plates, cutlery and candles already been placed there and the food would be brought soon. They had taken turns in the bathroom, freshening up after their excursion. Sam had hesitated in front of the dresser, trying to decide on what to wear. True, it was just a dinner with his best friend in their room, in their cabin and yet... Decision made, he instead for the suit he had packed.

There was a knock at the door, signalling that their food was here. “I’ll get it,” he called to Blaine.

He watched them set it all up, standing beside one of the chairs.

Blaine came in just as the crewmembers were finished. It seemed he had forgone the gel, curls barely tamed because they were still a bit wet. He was also wearing more casual clothes. He stopped short and just stared for a moment.

“Would you like us to turn down the light?” one of the crewmen asked.

“Yes, please,” Sam said.

They turned off the overhead lights, leaving just the candles and smaller lights at the wall burning, then left.

“Come on, it smells really good,” Sam invited.

Blaine took a step forward, then stopped again and looked down himself. “Should I change quickly?”

“Not on my account.” Sam waited for him to join him before sitting down.

The food was good. Sam was pretty certain it was, considering it had always been great the last meals, but he was having a hard time concentrating on it. He could hardly tear his gaze away from Blaine, especially now, in the light of the candles, with the stars over them.

“I’m a bit sad that our holiday is almost over already,” Blaine said. “Just two more days and then it’s off, back home.” He smiled. “But at least we won’t have to pretend we’re dating any longer.”

“No, we won’t,” Sam agreed. He dropped his gaze to his glass, turning it around and around. “Which might be better if you want to start dating.”

“Not anytime soon. I mean, I’m ready to start dating again but I don’t have my eye on anyone.” He shook his head. “Not like there are that many gay guys our age in Lima. And no, I’m not interested in giving Sebastian a call.”

“I’d hope not.” Sam paused, gathering all his courage, then asked: “How do you feel about dating a bisexual guy?”

“I’d be fine with that? I don’t know any bisexual guys, as far as I know, but I wouldn’t mind dating one.” Blaine shook his head. “I’m not biphobic like Kurt.”

“And would you mind going on a date – an actual date – with me?”

“Sam?”

“I... I know I’ve only dated girls until now. I’m not out yet, not in Lima at least. But I wasn’t lying today, you’re my best friend, the most important person in my life.” He held his hand out to Blaine. “So I’d like to give this, to give us a try.”

For one long moment, Blaine didn’t react but then he reached out and took Sam’s hand. “Us.”

[ladylilithprime]

Sastiel Love Week - Day 2 (AU)

Sam woke to a pounding on the bedroom door, and an eternity of searing smoke and a world on fire. The smoke detector screamed overhead, lost in boiling dark clouds. Sam flew out of bed, inhaled a double lungful of hot, acrid smoke, and hit the floor. The entire inferno galloped down his throat with sharp, steely hooves, and he flopped on the carpet, fingers scrabbling for any kind of purchase. He rolled onto his belly and dragged himself forward, fueled by adrenaline as the oxygen petered out. His eyes watered, the door blurring in front of him. Underneath it, though, he could see a dull ruddy glow. This wasn’t how he was going to die, Sam thought, not like this. Not alone, trapped in the shitty bedroom of a shitty twelfth story apartment in Bed-Stuy. The floor vibrated as something bashed against Sam’s bedroom door again. Now Sam spotted two shadows, breaking the underworld glow. Feet. Feet? “SAM!” Bellowed the person on the other side of the door, and then again with more force: “SAM!” An oxygen mask muffled the voice, but Sam had a name made for screaming over oxygen masks. The door splintered. A couple precise chops with an axe and a well-placed boot managed the mickey-mouser doorknob lock. Sam’s DIY hardware (an extra slide bolt, because he trusted abso-fucking-lutely nothing to chance) went flying across the room. The door swung inward, revealing the owner of the feet. A fireman. Kitted out for the fucking apocalypse, like this was a disaster movie or a round of Team Fortress 2. “Sam? Fuck!” the fireman shouted, with surprisingly human fear. And oxygen-starved as it was, Sam’s brain still had enough juice left to do a little simple math. Castiel. Fuck, indeed. With the strength of a raging rhino, Castiel looped his arms under Sam’s and dragged him out of the room. Sam remembered later, in greasy smears of memory, the second fireman with the oxygen bottle and the long trip down. Reflections of the carnage wavered on the faceplate of Castiel’s mask. The glass had ripples, Sam thought; he thought something that important would be perfect. He lost the rest of the night. The white highway lines of twin fluourescent bulbs, as he rolled flat on his back down long hallways. Doctors and nurses asking questions, interspersed with long absences and a chaos of noise. An IV, and then two, and another oxygen mask. Someone came by with ice chips. Dean arrived, some time between sleeping and waking, and was there when the pain meds wore off. Minor burns, they said; smoke inhalation and some lung damage from the heat. If he’d been on his feet longer than a few seconds, he’d have been beyond saving by the time Castiel got to him. Dean tried to clean the soot away from Sam’s face, fingers running roughshod over the red welts someone smeared with cooling gel. He talked in a thick voice, little wet bursts of laughter about the cell phone that was probably melted, and how they’d have to find him some new clothes but the gift shop didn’t carry size ‘Yeti.’ Somewhere between all the white noise, Sam began to know he was safe. Safe. A memory ghosted up unbidden, of Castiel’s arms under and around Sam like bars of steel, and the hot white lines down the sharp edges of his mask. He’d been carried to safety and now here he was, alive, in a cool white room, his brother framed by the ugly blue diamond pattern of the separating curtain behind him. Fear smeared across his thoughts like the cinders of his burned apartment, and then relief. He was safe. The building was still on fire, he thought. Hundreds of other people might still be in there. And Castiel. Castiel was in there somewhere too, probably. But Sam was safe. He didn’t deserve to be safe. Sam’s chest tightened; eyes blurring as relief and guilt rooted themselves in deep. The fire in his lungs tried to force its way up his throat. Dean fed him more ice chips, although the nurse warned them to take it slow. The water cooled his throat, numbing the gritty stabs of pain that followed every hard swallow. They waited in the Emergency Room for hours. Dean wandered the floor, bringing back new details as they surfaced. The fire was almost out. Every hospital in the area had survivors from the fire. One of Sam’s next door neighbors ended up sharing his cramped room. They commisserated - awkwardly - about the fire and the kid with the snarky cockatiel and the lady who played Christmas caroles year round. Sam confirmed he wasn’t responsible for the garlic smell in the hallway. Dean smuggled him a diet Coke. The nurse came by and made him put his oxygen mask back on. Castiel arrived some time in the morning. It was probably ungodly early. Sam couldn’t tell. The emergency room was a windowless labyrinth of white light and lineoluem with lines in primary colors. Even in the heat of summer or a white-out snowstorm, Sam had the feeling this room would look the same. But it was different now, because Castiel was here. His shift must be over. And because it was Castiel, he’d come without stopping to change clothes, or clean up. The grubby flame-retardant gear made him bulky, larger than life; heroic. His handsome face was dark with soot, right up to the place where his goggles sealed to his cheeks and nose. He looked like a reverse panda. A Precious Moments panda, maybe. A panda with the saddest eyes. Castiel sidled in, twisting his car keys in his filthy hands. At the sight of him, Dean went from doting brother to attack dog. Sam reached out for Dean’s arm, bumping his IV into the rails of the bed. “Dean,” he croaked, pushing the mask away again, “Cas got me out.” Under Sam’s fingers, he felt the tension start to slide from Dean’s forearm. “Thanks for that,” Dean said, and made gratitude an insult. “Hello, Dean,” Castiel said wryly. Not unkindly. His gaze fell on Sam again, then, and wouldn’t be swerved. “You’re conscious. That’s very good. I’m grateful.” Sam nodded. The smell of Sam’s burned apartment intensified as Castiel drew closer, and he retreated behind the oxygen mask. Everything smelled like burnt apartment. Like plastic and sweat and grief. “I won’t - I won’t stay long,” Castiel promised, retreating a step, “I just needed - wanted - to see you. To make sure you–” He trailed off. Fiddled and clenched his keyring, in the hand nearest Sam. Finally, his gaze broke. He dropped his chin, like an actor ending scene, and brought it up again with a polite smile. “I’m glad you’re safe, Sam,” he said, turning away. Another smudgy memory surfaced. Of Castiel yelling his name, muffled by an oxygen mask. The panic that had been in it. The grief. Behind that, the memory of other times - when Castiel said it as he had just now. Soft, alive as a touch. Thankfully, Castiel’s name translated through oxygen masks just as well. And years, and tension, and memories so old they felt dead beside the heat of now. “CAS,” Sam coughed. Castiel turned. The saddest reverse panda in New York City. The man who’d dragged him out of Hell. The voice he’d missed. A second chance at forgiveness. And more, of course. There was more. This was probably insane. The smartest thing to do would be to let an ex-fiance walk out of his life again and stay. Chalk it all up to karma or something. “Stay?” Sam asked. Castiel’s expression shifted. Softened. He looked down at himself, and back up, and the sad panda look was back. “I’m filthy.” “Okay,” Sam replied, voice cracking with pain and hope, “come back?” He heard Dean huff next to his shoulder. “There’s a shower down the hall,” Dean said, amusement bright in his voice, “You need to change?” Castiel’s eyes darted to Dean’s like a wary animal. “I - probably. This material,” he fingered the heavy jacket lightly, “doesn’t. Um. Breathe.” Dean’s keys glittered in a long arc across the room. Castiel caught them neatly, and stared at them like they might bite. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the trunk,” Dean explained, “Top deck of the garage.” The slow smile that spread over Castiel’s face was almost, almost (not really) worth the burns. “The overwaxed, black Sixties-era extension of your penis?” he asked. “That’s the one,” Dean confirmed with a smile that didn’t quite say 'fuck you,’ but rhymed with it. When he was gone, Dean turned to Sam and said, “Are you sure? Seriously. You probably have like thirty different toxic chemicals swirling around your bean right now from the smoke. Not to mention the percoset - I mean you’re probably a foot massage away from drooling on your shirt. This is a bad time to be making critical life choices, bud.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I dated him, Dean,” he protested, “And he just saved my life.” And it’s not like I can text him 'thank you’ later, he thought; my phone is probably a puddle of melted glass. “'dated him’?” Dean echoed in disbelief, “You mean the guy we went camping with for two weeks in Nevada? The guy I went tuxedo shopping with? The guy who was on my couch every Monday so you could watch Alton Brown torture cooks–” “–chefs,” Sam corrected, only realizing his lethal misstep afterward. Dean’s hands spread in defeat. “Fine, whatever. Look. Everything about you and Cas is a crticial life choice. You know it and I know it. You went on a date to the fucking bookstore. Months, Sammy.” “–Dean,” “I had to hear about that for months.” Dean gave Sam a flat look, a don’t-stop-me-I’m-on-a-roll-here look, and continued. “I’m not saying 'no.’ I’m saying if you wanna maybe wait until you get a new phone and a new apartment before you decide you wanna buy a 2018 Pinup Fireman calendar, I can shuffle him out of here right now.” The horrified part of Sam wished fervently that the smoke inhalation could make him pass out. Most of him, however, squeezed his eyes shut and laughed, even if it hurt his chest. “Pinup calendar?” “You know what I mean,” Dean whispered. Sam did know what he meant. As a matter of fact, Dean wasn’t wrong. Everything about the way he’d connected with Castiel had Critical Life Choice written all over it. They’d almost gotten married. But the secretiveness, the worry, the distance and the raw fights towards the end - was Sam ready to risk that? He hadn’t been an innocent then, and he wasn’t now. But there was a reason why, when he’d realized he was being rescued from a fire full bridal-style by a guy he was still (and probably always going to be) in love with, his first thought was 'fuck.’ Things would always be complicated with Castiel. A guy whose heart was huge. A guy who could have been born with wings on his back. A guy who was always fighting to leave the shadows of his brothers and his big, heroic, out-of-the-picture dad. Sam didn’t need a savior, and dating one made him itchy. But of the two of them, he’d always been the optimist. And if he was honest, whenever he thought about Castiel, Sam missed more than he didn’t. “Yeah,” Sam said finally, “I can handle it, Dean.” So Castiel came around the corner, clean and wearing Dean’s Metallica shirt and making it look like sarcastic commentary by default. And he sat down beside the edge of Sam’s bed, flustered by the metal rails until Dean showed him how to fold them down. When Sam offered him his hand, he took it. Which was a Critical Life Choice, of course, but by that point Sam figured they were five deep already so, what the hell. And he stayed.

Oooooh, my goodness, nonny, this was so amazing! You pulled me right into the action and fed bits of a wealth of history between these two into the narrative so brilliantly! It’s beautifully contained, yet also offers so much in the way of expansion, and is so brilliantly them even in this new setting! Very well done!

[wordsturnintostories]

2/ Remnants of Time

Chapter 1 | ... | Chapter 3

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.934 Song Choice: Sleeping At Last - Sorrow; Woodkid - Run Boy Run Special a/n: two songs. the first is for the flight part, the second for the train station scene. please check out the Spotify Link, I still have no idea if the link works for you guys.

When everything had stayed calm around them and the second hour of the flight had passed, Sam nudged Steve’ side. “You really are as reckless as Bucky said. Man.” Steve shot him a confused glance from the side. He actually looked a little tired right now, although he shouldn’t be. “Y’know, training for hours and not even taking water along. Gotta stay hydrated, man.” Sam grinned a wonderful white grin and Steve knew that this guy had way too much fun right now, when a water bottle flew right at him from the back. Grateful, Steve took a few gulps. “Bucky didn’t say I was reckless”, he replied. “Yeah he did, but I won’t turn around so you can ask him.”

You can’t ask him. Steve remembered the moment that became reality. When ice was poured over the man he wanted to see alive and breathing. These days Bucky just stood there, in the tube with only one arm and pretended he was dead. How many times Steve had stood in the same room, looking at Bucky, silence between two men who’d never been silent when together. A sigh escaped him. “I hope everything will go as planned.”

Sam couldn’t turn around to his friend, couldn’t look him in the eyes just then, maybe for the first time ever, because all the pain on Steve’s face was too much to take. Also, it caused him to feel like he was intruding, like this was a part of Steve too personal to be shared with anyone. Sam concentrated on the night beyond the windows of the cockpit, hands calm on the control board. “You saw Wanda’s face”, he started slowly, willing to encourage the man next to him, who just wasn’t supposed to be this breakable, this fragile. How could fate be so cruel? To someone who didn’t deserve it in the slightest? “She almost glowed when you told her to watch Bucky. She won’t let anything happen.” Sam didn’t know what to say when Steve stayed silent. This man inspired people by just being around, but right now, he didn’t do anything, let alone inspire Sam. “Sleep a little, I mean it.” Back came a grunt. But the blonde giant did stand up, obliging a piece of advice by a true friend very much crucial to the success of this mission. Nat would scold him for not listening to Sam, he could feel it. So Steve strapped himself onto one of those wide benches in the back of their stolen Quinjet, praying for peaceful rest. Sam did too, pray for him to have peace when his eyes closed. He knew he couldn’t handle nightmare-Steve if his life depended on it.

Because Sam, not just a therapist to war veterans with PTSD, but also a human being with a healthy sense of empathy and reason, had discovered what a proficient liar Steve actually was. All these evenings where they had been joking around, when Nat had proclaimed Steve the worst liar she’d ever met, they had completely forgotten - or maybe chosen to ignore - the depth of Captain Steve Roger’s sense of responsibility and selflessness. He’d lied to them all along, undetected and repeatedly and even soldiers and spies were blind, or longed too much for a lie that they’d decided to trust his every word.

The best liars are never those who make you believe the lie. The best liars are those who make you want to believe the lie. Sam inhaled sharply when these thoughts took him captive. Never before did he accept them, as though he could be punished for this knowledge, but he realized that Steve just didn’t let anyone see him. Oh, and how he had learned to defend himself with a shield. Only the people closest to him ever caught a glimpse of the horrors beneath the perfect, peak-of-human-performance-façade. And these nights in Wakanda, Sam had met the real Steve and realized that it scared him more than anything. After a few long time, however, he noticed a distinct pattern in Steve’s nightmares.

At first, the raw screams from behind walls sounded disassembled, cracking with every new intake of breath, pained by fear. Then names followed, some loud and urgent, some a mumbled bunch of syllables. Sam had heard Peggy before, he knew Bucky, he knew his own name and he knew Natasha. It hurt to hear those names in the middle of the night, sounding so broken and panicky. Sam’s heart shuddered. Was it more terrifying, in the wild minutes Steve didn’t stop screaming and thrashing his room, when Sam couldn’t move, fear nagging on his soul like he was a child again and the monster was just next door? Or was it in the eerie silence that followed right after, or maybe even the mornings afterward, when he caught a glimpse of Steve’s room, the room of a disciplined military operative, with neatly folded blankets, clothes and no traces of the forces unleashed by the super soldier in his midnightly wrath? Or probably when Steve smiled kindly at Wanda, encouraging her before school started, when he high-fived Scott after a good joke, when his blue eyes rested on Sam so peacefully, hiding all the pain that he endured as his own burden, that no one was ever to carry other than himself. Maybe Bucky would carry them, Sam thought, hoping for scenarios unlikely to happen during his lifetime, given how slowly the doctors progressed on his case. No matter how frozen he was right now, he was crucial to Steve’s sanity. These boys knew each other to a degree that he’d seldom witnessed before, they trusted each other too deeply to ever forget the other, brainwashing or no. Sam cursed silently. They couldn’t make any mistakes. Too much depended on this mission and they hadn’t even prepared for it. His mind wandered back to his first mission with them, back in DC. He hadn’t been prepared back then. Steve and Natasha had needed his help and hadn’t bothered to ask for it. Now, that fight was over and in the past and Steve still needed help.

His phone vibrated softly in the jacket he’d thrown over before rushing through and out of Wakanda’s most expensive hallways. As Sam pulled it out, a text message glowed at him. Annoyed, he scoffed at his screen that was way too bright in the dark. The message read Park the bird in Lyon, meet me at the Gare du Nord in Paris around noon. :). Shit, he thought after a few seconds. There was no way this message would stay hidden from intelligence agencies. We are fugitives again. On the run. He prayed Natasha had thought this through. Steve slept without distress this time and Sam made it to Lyon in less time than he had thought realistic.

Crowded. The train station in Paris was crowded and that was the only description Sam could find for this somewhat chaotic place. Of course, he’d been to New York and San Fran before, but this was a different way of crowdedness. If any more people enter the platforms, he thought, anyone standing too close will fall down onto the rails like lemmings huddled too close to the edge of an iceberg. Sam wondered if anything special was going on in Paris right now, but the city was the center of the country and probably always terribly busy. Additionally, this was a Friday. All the commuters drove home from work right now.

The train was still moving, slow and smoothly hitting the brakes. Sam checked his phone quietly, pulled it out of his jacket once to see if Natasha sent him another text with instructions, because he certainly didn’t want to spend hours in this place, and pulled it out a second time to see how late it was. Almost 12:30. Come on, Natasha. Where are we supposed to meet you? Give me something. Steve sat opposite from him, assessing the area with a serious expression on his face that made his jaw look hard and more square than usual. “Cameras everywhere. Still got the cap?” Sam pulled it up. Steve wore a hoodie and pulled the hood over his head, although Sam doubted that whoever was looking for them would fail to recognize the big blonde. Not after The Battle of New York, the Disaster of DC, Sokovia’s Shaking and his Berlin Bucky Jailbreak.

London

A dozen agents rushed into an office plastered with screens, computers and desks. “Alright, ladies. This is the CIA, not the kindergarten. We got intel claiming Captain America and The Falcon to be on the way to a rendezvous with The Black Widow. Pull up camera footage from Paris, Gare du Nord. Come on, people, find me both Rogers and Wilson. Run protocols, give me phones, credit cards, travel records, anything. Last week was a disaster and I will not have it repeated.” “Instructions for the local asset?” “Give order to shoot on sight. For both. If they want revenge, this is the price they’ll pay.” Trained fingers typed in codes and directives, streams of people appeared on the office’s screens and recognition programs ran to add identities to the many moving faces in the crowd. “We located the Falcon’s phone”, an agent threw in the room, “they are on a train, just entered the station.” “Tap it.”

The TGV train came to a halt and people exited, fusioning with the masses outside the automatic doors. People pushed from behind and were so close Steve was almost uncomfortable, doubting the big hoodie to conceal his identity to a sufficient degree. “Don’t look up”, Steve warned, “and take care of your backpack. More thieves here than at JFK.” After a few seconds, a beeping sounded behind them, a female voice blared through the speakers placed high on green metal pillars and signs up above, announcing the departure of their train. A phone left behind on an empty seat glinted in the sporadic beams of sun breaking through clouds and the glass ceiling at Paris central station. Sam sighed. It had taken him quite some time to befriend with the plan to leave his phone behind as diversion. “Bye, Candy Crush Level 153”, he whispered. Just when he wanted to divert his eyes, something bright flashed on the display of the phone, just for a second. A text message. Sam’s heart skipped a beat. He prayed the text wasn’t from Nat, saying that they needed to meet somewhere else. Maybe it was just an app notification, he tried to reassure himself. Slowly, he turned towards the soldier a whole head taller than him, than almost everyone, who hadn’t noticed his sudden unease.

The two men hadn’t moved far from the rails yet, still awaiting Natasha’s arrival. Their concentration was on peak right now, their eyes whirred around to capture every nuance of their surroundings, to notice every hint of danger. The upper level was much calmer, with fewer people scurrying around than downstairs. Steve noticed a homeless person snatching stuff out of people’s pockets, wallets and keys and loose money, but kept his focus on the cameras and skimmed the rumbling crowds for men in tactical gear, for men in dark suits and for men with suspicious earpieces. Public places were playgrounds for intelligence agencies and he was, albeit not an easy target, way too far up on their priority lists, thanks to the Sokovia Accords. A criminal. And he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

Right now, the only objects surrounding them were a ticket automat, a newspaper booth with familiar faces greeting them, one even lined with a distinctive dark goatee. A line of people stood right in front of it though, all of them unaware that they shielded Steve, who had for a long time been the shield of a whole nation, and his companion, from silent observers. But it was no coincidence, either, since Steve had observed the rotating cameras on the ceilings. The hardest task today was probably going to be avoiding all of them. Suddenly, something vibrated in the pocket of his hoodie and he almost scolded himself for not noticing the phone in there. He had left his' in Wakanda on purpose. That meant that they, the CIA, Interpol, P.R.I.D.E., whoever, had either found them. Or someone worse. Sam shot him a somber look when he too examined the device in the blonde’s big hand. “Who gave you that?”, he whispered and Steve shrugged. This was a brand-new phone, prepaid. Slowly, he answered the call, but waited.

“Sir, subjects are exiting the station, based on their phone’s location.” “What? I don’t understand. Location provided was the station…?”, their bosses’ tone was impatient. He’d done this for over twenty years. He knew his team was losing time. Phones rung in the office, agents forwarding directives. “We don’t know, Sir. It may be a diversion.” A different agent with headphones perked up. “Affirmed visual on two subjects standing near the ticket machines, matching descriptions.” “Follow them, Michaels. Pull it up to the big screen. I wanna see it. Johnson, activate parameters for the asset. They should enter his target area soon. And get me an audio feed. Put it on the 1.” The camera stream appeared on the main screen, right where the CIA supervisor stood, headphones held to his ear. He eyed the glowing wall with the live feed. One of the targets, Steve Rogers, pulled a phone out of his navy blue hoodie jacket. “Who is calling them? Why don’t we have their conversation yet?” “It’s a third phone, doesn’t belong to them.” “Where did he get another phone? Tap it!”

Natasha’s voice greeted Steve’s ear and he almost let out a sigh of relief. This was in every way better than the CIA or anyone else who planned on chasing and detaining them. Steve could hear that she was moving too, with car noises in the background before feet hit stairs in a fast and steady rhythm, the noise merging into one composed of human mumbling. “Get going, boys, head towards the pastry store”, she directed. “You really need to stop calling like that.” Steve pulled Sam with him on her command, behind the ticket machine, then around a pillar, escaping a camera that had just moved towards them. So they do know we’re here and they’re looking. Before them was a big area full of passengers and tourists, that Steve knew he could cross in roughly thirty strides. That would be exactly the time frame they had - else the camera would catch them. His eyes fell on Sam. Would he make it in time? “Don’t look at me, I’m right behind you.” Natasha was still on the line. “3…2…1”, she counted and Steve moved, quickly but not overly rushed. Running would be suspicious. Something silver glinted in the corner of his eye but disappeared when he turned his head. A second later, it was there again, a short flash. “There is someone with a special camera, on the upper level to your left”, Natasha provided and her fist hit something that grunted, probably a man. “Where are you?”, Steve asked when Sam slipped into the spot behind him. “You don’t wanna know. Watch the guy in the green jacket behind the soda machine”, she added, “pretend to look at the pastries to your right. The shop’s camera is broken.” “What a coincidence”, Steve mumbled.

People actually didn’t seem to recognize them, which was good. On the other hand, they also didn’t notice the danger they were about to face, if the worst case scenario ensued. Suddenly, Steve spotted a few men standing together in front of the ticket machine, the exact spot they had stood in a minute ago, one of them a hand on an earpiece, speaking into it. Crap. They were here. “We gotta hurry, Sam”, he motioned over there and pulled him closer towards the soft and sugary pastries on display. “You don’t say. Check out that guy up there.” Steve’s eyes made out a tall man clad in a fancy black business suit, hands gripping the metal railing at the edge of the level while his lips moved to no one in particular. But he stood on the other side of the hall and from his point, he would only see Steve’s back at most. Good enough for now. All of the sudden, a sharp whistle made Steve’s ear sting. Fire burst inside his head when Sam pulled him down and the store employees shrieked in shock. The shot had been soundless, but imperfect. They wanted Captain America’s head. “We need to run, just a few meters, come on!”, a near-panicked Sam pulled him forward with wide eyes.

“Sir, we lost visual on targets.” The CIA task force chief cursed, ran a hand through his short hair, but forced his eyes on the screens that lit up the entire office. “They can’t disappear. It’s a train station. We’re controlling the exits. Find them again. Get the team in there.” “The entire team?” “Yes.” “Sir, Mrs. Henderson suggests-” “I don’t care what Janet says, Michaels. Get it done. Now.”

Steve and Sam had vanished by slipping past the stores to the right, taking advantage of a very narrow gap between the shop’s walls. The super soldier raised a shaky hand towards his ear and thick red blood smeared over all his fingers. Sam shuddered at the sight before him, the rugged, bloody ear now a stark contrast to the light blonde hair. Torn off flesh and blank cartilage. Gross, he thought. No way I’ll forget that view. “Sniper”, Steve hissed into the phone and only received a grunt. Quickly, Sam checked their surroundings. No one would hit them in here. The blonde pulled his hoodie up again. His heart was still beating world-record-fast. A sniper. This was more than just the CIA chasing criminals. Did Natasha know what was going on before getting them into this? The warm blood dripped onto his neck, some even running down his back. “Are you alright”, Sam wanted to know and Steve, pressed into the wall, clenched his teeth. He’d be, later. Now this just hurt. He wondered how much of his ear had been torn off. “Sure”, he growled. “Let’s get out of here.”

“A hit, Sir.” “Good. Get them.”

On the other side of the shops, a stream of people walked as if nothing had happened. Just when Sam wanted to step out and move with the masses, Steve pulled him back. He’d spotted three armed task force assets with the same idea. “Quick, Sam, get up“, he ordered and they both pulled themselves up onto the stores roofs, that didn’t meet the ceiling. They lied down on their bellies, watching how the three men entered the gap, exactly where they’d stood seconds ago. When they crouched down to examine Steve’s blood on the ground, he grabbed Sam’s backpack and flung it over the edge, hitting someone’s head. The backpack was heavy. That guy didn’t stand up again. Next, Steve jumped down, ignoring how everything was spinning around him. He grabbed one guard by the collar and hit him against the wall. The other one held his gun out, Steve disarmed him immediately. Next, he buried his foot into the agent’s stomach. The stumbling man landed a fist in Steve’s face though. But he wasn’t prepared for the following rain of punches knocking him out. Steve pulled himself up to the roof again, returning the backpack and motioning for the nearby platform that was the upper level. “Jump”, he ordered and everything spun again. They both jumped, ripping the skin on their fingers when holding onto the rusty iron baluster. They had just pulled themselves up when a grenade flew at them. Steve pulled a vending machine out of the wall and over the explosive. After a loud boom, M&M’s flew through the station, people screamed and Natasha asked if they were alright. Part of the level’s floor collapsed, almost pulling a bleeding Sam with it, downwards. But they rushed further out of reach from the sniper and his friends, through store’s backdoors and more streams of people. Steve was glad no one noticed the red soaking his jacket. Most people just panicked.

“Camera! Tie your shoes, right now!”, Natasha urged and this time, Steve pulled them both down, his head erupting hotly in protest, which he ignored. “All clear, now move to your right. Hurry up, too.” They moved, always following her instructions, always checking for potential danger. Steve had entered a state of golden haze, where every movement around him seemed slower than usual. He wasn’t sure if he’d just lost too much blood or if that was adrenaline. He didn’t even feel the fiery pain in his ear anymore, all that was left was nausea. “Maintenance door ahead”, Natasha announced and a loud bang clanged not only through the speakers but also on the metal of said door. Steve quickly joined Natasha, who kicked three men’s asses in the narrow hallway behind. Even with impaired balance, he still managed to fold these goons together like cardboard. Sam took care of guarding the door.

“Listen, we’ll get out of here really quick, I have a car parked nearby, but you can’t be seen with me.” “Nat, what’s going on?”, Steve inquired with limited curiosity. He didn’t want to know, he needed to know. Whoever was coming after them, this was something bigger than he had assumed. “We’ll talk later. Use the exit next door. Wait for me at the bus stop and check the phone.” With that, she left, her step a little less quick and graceful than Steve remembered. She must’ve taken out quite a couple of men, taken not just a few hits.

A few minutes later, the two men stood at the bus stop she’d pointed out, their patience fading with every second. Again, the phone rang and Steve answered. “What now”, Sam asked, eyeing the streets. No Natasha. “Tell her to hurry.” He noticed a few men pushing through the main entrance of the station, at the other side of the street, who seemed very intent on finding someone - them. “Move closer to the guy in the blue jacket next to you, make it look like you’re talking. Offer him some bubble gum from your pocket.” At this point, Steve was slowly growing tired, but he pushed it away. He repeated Nat’s instructions to Sam. “But they can see us”, Sam protested. “Perfect”, she said. “They’ll come for you when the bus stops. I’m right behind.”

She was right. The bus stop turned into chaos as soon as the bus stopped. The men from the entrance rushed over and injected the guy who’d taken the bubble gum with syringes. His legs buckled and they dragged him out of the bus violently before lifting him into a van. Steve and Sam had already disappeared in Natasha’s car and stayed down when she pulled ahead of the bus, hoping to maintain her cover. Nobody saw them though, so they drove off in an Audi that probably didn’t belong to her.

“We lost them, Sir.” “Don’t you dare get your asses out of here before you have them; I expect their exact locations by tomorrow morning!” The team was dismissed for a quick power-break, albeit not without a distinctive grumble of deep annoyance. Only one agent was held back under the strict gaze of his superior. The first quickly closed the door and turned the room’s communication systems off. “Any updates on Project Limestone? Tell me you have good news, Adam.” “Yes, I do. The asset has reached the assigned destination. Plus, our associate requests a meeting, Colin.” Both men stayed quiet for a moment. Failure meant exposition. And that would be the end of them all. This had been planned for too long to fail now. Meeting here was impossible. “Well, invite him to the upcoming security event in Amsterdam. It shouldn’t be too hard to pull up a cover for him. No one will suspect anything, not after Wakanda opened up with the Accords.” “On it, Sir.”

Masterlist

{Note: Please have the grace to leave a comment or reblog with your opinion. There is nothing that would make me happier, seriously (I think it’s because authors are just very curious creatures by nature.) For a story like this, your reaction is as essential as good earth is to pretty flowers. Thank you :) } 

Permanent Tags: @nataliarxmanxva , @aubzylynn, @inappropriatepirate, @buckysmusculararm, @coffeeismylife28, @mitra-k-w, @captainmomofoshosho, @sarahwroteathing, @engineeringgirlcve

RoT Tags:  @hollycornish, @learisa

[dr-archeville]

INDY Primer: Trump Attacks, Silent Sam Stays + Other Things You Need to Know Today [2017/08/23]

Hey, guys.  A bit of housekeeping (and a contest!) before we begin: I’ll be taking tomorrow and Friday off, so this will be the last Primer for the week.  Which, if history is instructive, means that, at some point over the next two days, some sort of huge news will break.  The contest: Can you guess what it is?  Email me your predictions today ( jbillman@indyweek.com ) for the big news story that will break between now and Sunday — the crazier the better.  (We live in crazy times, after all.)  Winner gets a shoutout in Monday’s Primer. —Jeffrey C. Billman

---

1. TRUMP, OFF THE RAILS (AGAIN).

THE GIST: Remember twenty-four hours ago, when a certain subset of D.C. pundit was atwitter about President Trump’s Afghanistan speech showing a “new” Trump?  About that:

“In an angry, unbridled and unscripted performance that rivaled the most sulfurous rallies of his presidential campaign, Mr. Trump sought to deflect the anger toward him against the news media, suggesting that they, not he, were responsible for deepening divisions in the country.  ‘It’s time to expose the crooked media deceptions,’ Mr. Trump said.  He added, ‘They’re very dishonest people.’ … Mr. Trump also derided the media for focusing on his tweets, which are his preferred form of communication.  ‘I don’t do Twitter storms,’ said the president, who often posts a few tweets in a row on a given subject, with exclamation points.”

More attacks on the media: “The president singled out a familiar list of malefactors — including the ‘failing New York Times,’ which he said erroneously had apologized for its coverage of the 2016 election; CNN; and The Washington Post, which he described as a lobbying arm for Amazon, the company controlled by the newspaper’s owner, Jeff Bezos.  Pointing repeatedly to the cameras in the middle of a cavernous convention center, Mr. Trump whipped the crowd into fevered chants of ‘CNN Sucks.’”

Trump criticized efforts to remove Confederate monuments (and the use of the word “our” here seems particularly relevant): “Mr. Trump accused the news media of ‘trying to take away our history and our heritage.’”

Trump blasted Arizona’s two Republican senators: “The people in Arizona on Mr. Trump’s enemies list include both of the state’s Republican senators: Jeff Flake, a longtime nemesis whom Mr. Trump has described as ‘toxic,’ not to mention a ‘flake’; and John McCain, who cast the decisive Republican vote in the Senate to dash Mr. Trump’s effort to repeal President Barack Obama’s Affordable Care Act.  His voice thick with sarcasm, Mr. Trump said he had been instructed not to mention either of the senators by name.  Of Mr. Flake, he said, ‘Nobody knows who the hell he is.’  Of Mr. McCain, he repeated over and over, ‘One vote,’ which cost Republicans health care.

Trump also made news: He teased a pardon of racist former sheriff Joe Arpaio, who was found guilty of criminal contempt of court after refusing to abide by a court order to stop violating people’s Fourth Amendment rights; and threatened to shut down the government if Congress didn’t want to fund his border wall.

Trump claimed during his rally that only a few protesters showed up.  That wasn’t exactly true — and things got ugly: The police used tear gas to disperse crowds numbering in the thousands on Tuesday night outside the Phoenix Convention Center as tempers flared around President Trump’s divisive speech at a campaign-style rally here.  Hundreds of people ran off, streaming into the surrounding streets, coughing and wiping tears from their eyes.  Police helicopters circled above downtown Phoenix after the speech, telling people to leave the area or face arrest.  While tensions were high before and during the speech — the police tried to keep supporters and opponents of the president apart outside — they escalated afterward.”

CNN’s Don Lemon offers this scathing assessment: "He is clearly trying to ignite a civil war in this country. … He certainly opened up the race wound from Charlottesville. … A man backed into a corner, it seems, by circumstances beyond his control — and beyond his understanding."

WHAT IT MEANS: Mainstream Republicans can’t be happy campers this morning:

“Trump addressed other topics sure to anger top congressional Republicans such as Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.).  He reiterated his desire to end the 60-vote threshold in the Senate for most legislation, which McConnell has repeatedly said he is not open to doing.  He also threatened to shut down the government if his border wall isn’t funded.”

Trump’s relationship with McConnell is already frayed, as this deeply reported piece in The New York Times revealed yesterday, which said Trump and McConnell are locked in a “political cold war” that threatens the GOP’s legislative agenda: “The relationship between President Trump and Senator Mitch McConnell, the majority leader, has disintegrated to the point that they have not spoken to each other in weeks, and Mr. McConnell has privately expressed uncertainty that Mr. Trump will be able to salvage his administration after a series of summer crises.  What was once an uneasy governing alliance has curdled into a feud of mutual resentment and sometimes outright hostility, complicated by the position of Mr. McConnell’s wife, Elaine L. Chao, in Mr. Trump’s cabinet, according to more than a dozen people briefed on their imperiled partnership.  Angry phone calls and private badmouthing have devolved into open conflict, with the president threatening to oppose Republican senators who cross him, and Mr. McConnell mobilizing to their defense.”

From Politico this morning: “Anyone who spent more than a minute observing or participating in our legislative politics would describe Trump’s moves as some combination of self-defeating, illogical and misguided.  Behind the scenes, the White House is working despite the president's bluster: Top Trump aides are in touch with Hill leadership aides to ensure the government doesn’t jump off the rails.  And there still remains a glimmer of hope for some kind of tax reform effort to get off the ground.  But the president’s unconventional view of what it takes to govern is not helping, according to multiple aides and lawmakers involved in legislative strategy.”

Related: In her forthcoming book, Hillary Clinton reflects on Trump’s “creepy” behavior during the second debate: “MSNBC's Morning Joe has the first batch of excerpts from What Happened, Hillary Clinton's forthcoming memoir on the 2016 presidential election, which feature her reflecting why she wrote the book and on President Trump's intimidation tactics that made her ‘skin [crawl]’ during their second, town hall-style debate. … Her question to America during the second debate: ‘Well, what would you do?  Do you stay calm, keep smiling and carry on as if he weren't repeatedly invading your space?  Or do you turn, look him in the eye and say loudly and clearly: “Back up you creep, get away from me.  I know you love to intimidate women, but you can't intimidate me, so back up.”’”

---

2. SILENT SAM STAYS, FOR NOW.

THE GIST:  Yesterday, Governor Cooper gave UNC an out: he said the school could remove its Confederate monument, despite a 2015 law blocking it from doing so, if there was a threat to public safety.  Considering the protests that have erupted over these monuments lately and the school’s professed desire to take it down, it seemed like the school had an opening to end this particular headache.  Except, UNC didn’t go for it.

“With protesters set to rally on campus for the removal of a controversial Confederate memorial, UNC-Chapel Hill got North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper’s blessing Monday night to take the statue down.  Tuesday afternoon, just a few hours before the protest was scheduled to begin, UNC announced it would keep the statue up for now.”

“Cooper told university leaders there’s a loophole in the law that allows for statues to be removed if there are public safety concerns.  However, the university officials said Tuesday that they didn’t believe Cooper’s analysis was correct.  The law says the safety concerns have to be pointed out by ‘a building inspector or similar official’ –- which apparently hasn’t happened.”

Instead of taking it down, UNC erected two rows of metal fencing to protect Silent Sam.

THE PROTEST: The best play-by-play of last night’s protest at UNC, which drew hundreds (maybe a thousand) protesters, comes from the INDY’s Sarah Willets.

“Two people were arrested in a protest that brought hundreds of people to the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill and saw several tense confrontations between demonstrators and police.  The rally began at Silent Sam, a Confederate monument on campus, with speeches from protesters and chants calling for the monument to be town down.  When police took a protester into custody, much of the crowd ran after them to Hyde Hall.  There, protesters confronted officers, some of whom were wearing riot gear.”

“From there, protesters tried to block a police van carrying the person arrested from turning on to Franklin Street.  They banged on the van and chanted, ‘Let him go.’  Meanwhile, other protesters posted up outside the house of UNC president Margaret Spellings.”

WHAT'S NEXT: The pressure on UNC is only going to build.

Related: North Carolina congressman Robert Pittenger echoes Trump’s “both sides” rhetoric.

Related: The day the South began to worship Robert E. Lee.

Related to that: ESPN won’t let announcer Robert Lee work the University of Virginia’s first football game on account of his name.

---

3. NOBODY LIKES THE NCGA’S PROPOSED DISTRICT MAPS.

THE GIST:  The General Assembly heard public comments on its proposed new maps yesterday.  They were almost uniformly negative.

“People from across North Carolina concerned about the new maps proposed to be used to elect General Assembly members in 2018 had few supportive words on Tuesday for the lawmakers who had them drafted. … Speaker after speaker described the maps as ones that will allow the elected officials to select their voters, instead of voters selecting their representatives in government.  ‘The right to vote is the most precious right we have,’ said Eva Clayton, a former member of Congress and Democrat who was the first black woman to represent North Carolina in the U.S. House of Representatives.  ‘Redistricting is a way to deny that.  This is no more than a sham.  If the process is flawed, then the product is flawed.’”

HOWEVER: The new maps might have a few more competitive districts than the old, unconstitutionally racist ones.

“Democrats have little to no chance of wresting the majority from Republicans under these new maps, outside analysts agreed.  Whether they've got a shot of breaking the GOP's super majority in at least one chamber – a major accomplishment that would shift political power in the state by giving Gov. Roy Cooper and his party new bargaining power – was a matter of mixed opinion.”

“Meredith College political science professor David McLennan looked at the new maps Monday and gave Democrats a good chance of breaking that veto-proof majority with seats to spare.  He leaned heavily on recent polling data that gives Democrats a big boost on generic ballots, as well as a long-standing feature of mid-term elections: The president's party usually fares poorly.”

“North Carolina is fundamentally a purple state, but Republicans hold supermajorities in both the House and the Senate, allowing them to override Democratic Governor Roy Cooper's vetoes.  Democrats need to win just three seats in the House or six in the Senate to break the supermajority and hand Cooper enough power to sustain his vetoes.  But that doesn't appear likely with the new maps proposed by the committee, says Bob Phillips, the executive director of the advocacy group Common Cause, which has long advocated for nonpartisan redistricting.  ‘The Republican party would maintain their supermajorities when we run and look at the elections by and large,’ Hall says.  ‘Certainly factors of what 2018 may look like could change things, but generally the maps that they have created don’t change the calculation, the majorities that they have at all.’”

WHAT'S NEXT: Both chambers are likely to approve the maps Friday.  Then, they’ll have to pass muster with a federal court.

---

4. SIX LOCAL HEADLINES.

The downtown Durham YMCA is evacuated due to a bomb threat. [WRAL]

Two N.C. State football players are dismissed for violating the school’s code of conduct at an on-campus party. [WRAL]

Durham County Sheriff Mike Andrews is criticized for his response to the Confederate monument toppling and its aftermath. [INDY]

Questions of accountability loom over the Wake County Register of Deeds scandal. [INDY]

A Raleigh event promoter is effectively ended by accusations of misogyny. [INDY]

Alivia’s Durham Bistro will reopen next month as Maverick’s Smokehouse and Tavern. [N&O]

---

5. ODDS & ENDS.

After more than half of century, the legendary Village Voice is ending its print edition, though it will carry on online.  Sigh.

Longread of the week: GQ’s well-timed profile of Dylann Roof, the white supremacist who is the only person in American history to face a federal death sentence over a hate crime.

Katie Sowers, an offensive assistant for the San Francisco 49ers, has made football history on two counts: she’s only the second woman to be a full-time NFL coach, and she’s the first openly LGBT to do so.

Google and Walmart are partnering to take on Amazon.

Hot and partly cloudy today, with a high of 91 and a somewhat better chance of rain and thunderstorms earlier this week.  The good news?  The rest of the week’s going to be about 10 degrees cooler.

---

[melina-soprano-blog]

Street Scene - Janiec Opera Company

Scott Concert Hall at the Porter Center

Janiec Opera Company of the Brevard Music Center

https://tickets.brevardmusic.org/events/street%20scene/2017-7-27_19.30/porter%20center-brevard%20college?hallmap

Adapted from Street Scene: An Appreciation

by Mark N. Grant

Elmer Rice was characteristically ungracious in accepting the 1929 Pulitzer Prize for his play, Street Scene, when he remarked, "I do not enjoy playgoing." Others did; the play ran 601 performances on Broadway, was translated into many languages and widely performed abroad, and was filmed in 1931 by King Vidor. Composer Deems Taylor, who had written incidental music for Rice's 1923 play The Adding Machine and whose opera The King's Henchman was a success in 1927 at the Met, obtained Rice's permission to turn Street Scene into an opera in March 1929, but he abandoned it for Peter Ibbetson.

Soon afterwards, Kurt Weill saw Street Scene in Berlin, and later saw the movie as well. In 1936, upon meeting Rice, Weill expressed interest in musicalizing Street Scene, but Rice declined. In 1945, with two Broadway successes under his belt, Weill asked again, and this time Rice assented. At first Weill enlisted Maxwell Anderson to help adapt the play, but Rice preferred to do the work himself. Weill and Rice made an inspired and daring choice of lyricist: the African- American poet Langston Hughes. For research, Hughes and Weill went to Harlem nightclubs together and watched children playing street games. After the show opened, Rice insisted on co-credit for several of the lyrics, but it is clear that some of the most eloquent, as well as the street-savviest ("Hey Babarebop!"), are Hughes's alone. Backing for the show was provided by the Playwrights' Company and Dwight Deere Wiman, who had produced many Rodgers and Hart shows. The three-week tryout in Philadelphia in December 1946 bombed disastrously with both press and public. Weill redoubled his efforts to encourage the company and improve the show. It all paid off at the Broadway opening at the Adelphi Theatre on January 9, which drew very enthusiastic reviews; for two months Street Scene was a hit. The show closed in May after 148 performances—still one of the three longest first runs ever of an opera composed for Broadway. Today Street Scene is Kurt Weill's most frequently revived American stage work. Perhaps the least dated of all Weill's American works, it still "lands" on stage because it is so emotionally committed. Undoubtedly Weill felt a special connection to Street Scene because he, like its characters, was a grateful emigré to America. His heartfelt letters to Lenya in the spring of 1945 relishing the defeat of the Nazis are immensely moving, and it is hard to imagine that those powerful emotions didn't carry over into his music for Rice's play. The composer's own judgment of the work was correct: Street Scene is Kurt Weill's American masterpiece.

SYNOPSIS

Act I

Outside a multi-ethnic Manhattan tenement on a sweltering summer evening, some women are passing the time ("Ain't It Awful, the Heat?") while the janitor takes out the garbage ("I Got a Marble and a Star"). The women switch to gossiping about Anna Maurrant's extramarital affair with Sankey the milkman ("Get a Load of That"); they stop when she enters. Mrs. Maurrant and young Sam Kaplan, who is in love with her daughter Rose, converse as Mr. Buchanan frets about his wife's impending childbirth ("When a Woman Has a Baby"). Then Anna's brutish (and suspicious) husband Frank arrives and demands to know why Rose hasn't come home from work. After Frank goes inside, Anna pours out her frustrations and broken dreams, even as she continues to hope for a better life ("Somehow I Never Could Believe"). When Sankey walks by, Anna follows him, fueling the neighbors' gossip ("Get a Load of That" reprise). Lippo Fiorentino arrives with ice-cream cones for everyone, providing relief (comic and otherwise) from the heat ("Ice-Cream Sextet"). Frank, not amused, rails against kids today and modern society ("Let Things Be Like They Always Was"). The Hildebrand family enters, about to be evicted from their apartment because they can't pay the rent, even though oldest daughter Jenny has just won a scholarship ("Wrapped in a Ribbon and Tied in a Bow").

The building's denizens retire for the night. Sam stays outside to lament his isolation in the midst of so many neighbors ("Lonely House"). After Sam goes in, Rose Maurrant finally enters, escorted by her lecherous boss Harry Easter. Easter tries to seduce her with promises of a show business career ("Wouldn't You Like to Be on Broadway?"), but Rose rebuffs him ("What Good Would the Moon Be?"). Easter leaves as Frank enters. Mrs. Buchanan goes into labor, and Rose exits to summon the doctor. Mae Jones and her boyfriend Dick, who have been out partying, do a jitterbug on the sidewalk ("Moon-Faced, Starry-Eyed"). When Rose returns, Mae's brother Vincent makes a pass at her. Sam comes out to defend her, and Vincent knocks him down. Rose comforts Sam, and the two share their dream of escaping the tenement's squalor ("Remember That I Care").

Act II

Scene 1

Early the next morning; Rose's younger brother Willie and the other children play on the sidewalk ("Catch Me If You Can"). Buchanan's wife has given birth. Rose tells Sam she is on her way to a funeral. Frank says he is going out of town, but he gets truculent when Anna asks when he'll be back. Rose tries to convince Frank to be kinder to Anna, but he rejects her advice ("There'll Be Trouble"). After Frank leaves, Anna sends Willie off to school, telling him that he will make her proud some day ("A Boy Like You"). Rose tells Sam about Harry Easter's offer. Appalled, Sam pleads with Rose to elope with him now; she considers the idea ("We'll Go Away Together") but decides she needs to think it over. Rose leaves for the funeral, and city marshals arrive to evict the Hildebrands, as Sam remains seated on the stoop. Mr. Sankey enters and Mrs. Maurrant invites him up to her apartment. Suddenly Frank reappears. Sam tries to warn Anna, but to no avail. Frank rushes upstairs and shoots Anna and Sankey, who drops dead. Frank escapes in the confusion as an ambulance, policemen, and crowds mob around. Rose returns from the funeral just in time to see her mortally wounded mother carried off on a stretcher ("The Woman Who Lived Up There").

Scene 2

Later that day, two nannies push their baby carriages in front of the tenement and gossip about the murder ("Lullaby"). Rose returns from the hospital where her mother has died. As Sam and his sister Shirley try to comfort Rose, more shots ring out: Frank Maurrant has been captured by the police. Now remorseful, Frank awkwardly tries to explain to Rose why he committed the murders ("I Loved Her Too") as the police lead him away. Sam once more declares his love and implores Rose to go away with him, but she has decided that she must go off on her own ("Don't Forget the Lilac Bush"). Two strangers enter, hoping to rent the Hildebrands' apartment. As evening approaches, the denizens of the building once again sit on the stoop as if nothing happened, gossiping and complaining about the heat ("Ain't It Awful, the Heat?" reprise).

- Mark N. Grant

[xottzot]

2017-09(SEP)-27th-Wednesday--Max attacked me again for no reason and tore open my flesh. (bleeding)

2017-09(SEP)-27th-Wednesday--Max attacked me again for no reason and tore open my flesh. (bleeding)

Max, one of the two dear dogs of dear Fliss and myself, whom she abandoned into hell not for the first time (and who REFUSED to ever believe me what she ever did), Max has without any reason whatsoever attacked me and dear Sam AGAIN. He leapt up and tore at my elbow and tore my skin open through a windcheater I was wearing for the cold temperature here.

He did that whilst I was feeding them both their usual dry dog food in large metal bowls that I was hand-holding since both dogs snuffle their bowls around and spill it all everywhere otherwise.

Just prior to this, imbecile left this residence to go to his work after taking a week off from HUM bringing in a terribel flu into this hovel (the SAME flu that has then soon afflicted me because he brught it into this hovel), he took off for his work very early in the morning.

Then, as I was preparing teh dogs food, he VERY quietly slunk back into this hovel. The dogs thought it was an intruder. He went into his room, )and of course never ever greets or is ever friendly with the dogs at all, just barges past them always and expect them to get out of his way because he is so violent), he got soemthing from his bedroom then quickly slunk away outside and was gone.

It was THEN I was feeding the dogs.

Max was growling at all this shitty going and silently comning back then slinking away going again.

I expect it triggers in him the exact situatuiosn that dear Fliss inflicted upon the dogs time and again in her episodes of her madness, her mania, and her medical addictions, wheere she would try to slink around and do the same sort of shit without me ever knowing by waking me up.

Normally I would be in bed (not asleep), but because bad weather is coming, I decided it was prudent and better for the dogs to feed and let them outside whilst it was NOT raining. And of course I did not know that somebody would slink back into the yard then into the house like a criminal, which is what Max thought he was getting into the house and was then keyed up about it.

He exited this hovel, and walked out without a word. Not a word. he never talks at all. And when he does talk, it is almost always when he is totally by himself. And he talks to himself (entire conversations), and swears to himself, and has arguments with himself. He even does this when he is in the kitchen anytime, when he is IN the shower (where he talks louder to himself over the noise of the shower), and afterwards before he comes out, and then afterwards when he skulks quickly back into his room to mutter more in his bedroom and fossick about in there.

ALL THAT NOBODY KNOWS ABOUT. - THEY ALL THINK HE IS 'NORMAL' BUT HE IS NOT IN ANY WAY. HE HAS BEEN THIS WAY SINCE HE HAD A TERRIBLE EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN BROUGHT ON BY A HARRADINE OF A WOMAN THAT BEFRIENDED FLISS WHO INOCENTLY FELL INTO HER CLUTCHES AND MANIPULATIONS. - ALL THAT BROUGHT ON FLISS'S FIRST TERRIBLE BREAKDOWN MANY YEARS AGO, AND WHICH SHE BLAMED HERSELF OF.

SINCE THAT TIME, my imbecile brother has mentally been right off the rails and not only denies that anything is wrong with him, but becomes physically violent and attacks anyone or anything without provocation. Evidence of this I come across constantly, smashed items in the kitchen, bent and buckled kitchen implements to destruction, violentally bashed denting tins of food taken out of cupboards then smashed against things then put back again. -- And amongst all this he is silent ALL the time. He talks to nobody (except himself). He wanders about muttering and swearing and cursing and he has gotten worse and worse. He totally REFUSES to believe any of all this. -- Dear Fliss and I would try to get help for him, even approaching his friends to talk to him (they REFUSED to listen), and ALL this pressure made dear Fliss have a mental breakdown. It was NOTHING to do with me. - She fled to the other side of Australia, but then returned. She stayed for (less than a year?) and then she herself had a tyerribel breakdown brought on by stress and stealing pills and overdosing on Stilnox sleeping pills and any other pills she could grab and take without being discovered. And amnogst all that was terrible financial pressures she kept hidden from me despite us being so open about everything and I always helping her to pay her bills whenever I could, as did she. -- I've written all about dear Fliss and all tehose troubles, and she has lied and fooled everyone (including psychologists) who she has a great fear of to the point of outright terror. She only used them as ersatz 'friends' to talk to.

Throughout all this was the imbecile........always getting worse and there must have been instances which occured between him and her that I have no knowledge of. She only told me a few of them. He blamed her for EVERYTHING, absolutely EVERYTHING. And dear Fliss blamed herself. And I was always kept totally unawares and trying to always help Fliss in everything including her mental states. -- Of course NOBODY bleives any of the truth. All they believe is all the lies that Fliss has spouted out to get what she wants from her friends and family who beforehand hated her and everything that she ever did in life.

I'm sorry to have gone about about dear Fliss here, when I was trying to talk about Max becomng vicious and attacking me.

But dear Sam & Max have also become victims of dear Fliss's afflictions.

I have locked them totally ALONE. And they will stay that way in one part of the house ALL DAY.

Max has not even had 1/2 his bowl of dry dog food, Sam scoffed all of Max's bowl up whilst I was taking desperate refuge in another room with the door shoved shut and held shut to stop Max fror barging in which he can do.

When Max attacked me without any provocation or warning, Sam tried to defend me. And Max attacked Sam. And Max got worse and attacked me worse. I only escaped further terrible injury (or death) by barracading myself in a room of this hovel. I tried to yell out to order them to stop but they refused to listen. Just like EVERY TIME THEY NOW REFUSE TO LISTEN AND HAVE BEEN THAT WAY SINCE FLISS ABANDONED US IN LATE 2015. THEN SHE VERY BRIEFLY CAME BACK WITH POLICE ACTING AS HER LACKEYS, (BECAUSE OF THE OUTRIGHT LIES SHE STATED WHILST STILL DRUGGED UP), SHE STOLE ITEMS FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE OF MINE WHILST TAKING SOME OF HER ITEMS, THEN SHE TOOK OFF AND HAS NEVER RETURNED. - Poor Sam & Max laid by the backdoor for DAYS waiting for her to return. She destroyed their trust and confidence and lives and has destroyed me and yet I still love her and want to be with her because I suported and loved her and did all that when so many (including her own family) abandoned her and it was they and MANY others here in Western Australia who treated her with utter disdain and derision and exploitation at every turn. (all that is yet ANOTHER huge aspect that would fill MANY MANY pages of blogs and I STILL would not be able to to have it be all known about). - AND NO FUCKER BELIEVES ME!

Sam has terrible injuries around his neck. I am bleeding and hurt.

Additionally outside there has been all morning the LOUD sounds of sudden smashings and crashes because of the Mundaring shire attending the next locality in picking up their rubbish bins, and there are a lot of bins (especially aboriginal and crimnal places of which there are now very many) who have bins full of alcohol bottles from all the booze they consume constantly. All that noise, all that crashing and smashing, all that upsets dear Max as well. - The incidence of all the extra noise from all that is VERY loud and sounds like it is just outside and closer to Max. And all this has risen dramtically AFTER dear Fliss left. She is utterly clueless about ANY of all this. And anyone else simply totally REFUSES to listen. They try to convince themselves that it all simply CANNOT be connected...but it is.

The interior of this hovel is VERY COLD. THERE IS NO HEATER AT ALL. Dear Sam & Max are sitting in the COLD and suffering. Sam is outside my shut bedroom door and crying and trying to come in. I cannot let him in because dear Max will demand and rush to come in as well with Sam straight away or later. If I let him in, he will become vicious to me. I would have to order him outside and he would attack me AGAIN. (all that HAS occured before believe me). -- A neighbour hearing all the tumult will again falsley blame me for everything. No good talking to anybody or anything to anyone.

Dear Sam loves his brother dog Max. But Max is in great terrible depair. - To have Max put down (killed) and destroyed, would destroy dear Sam. Fliss knows this and knew this. But she never cared about any of that. She considered them 'toys' to flout to others about and to project her 'great experience and expertise' of training dogs, when in fact it was myself also doing a huge deal of all the things she claimed to others. I do not know if dear Fliss is STILL doing all that but I suspect she is. I was one of her many 'defence mechanisms' (lying to herself) she used to bolster her self assuredness and she did that long before I ever knew her because of her all her terrible physical assaults that she and her family tells NOBODY about and so everyone remains totally ignorant of all that...to my detriment and others. Lies are enginered to cover it all up, and idiots believe the lies becaue it sounds so simple and plausible when in fact the real truth is just so MUCH MORE plausible and TRUE.

It's like somebody always claiming all the GOOD things but NEVER accepting all the bad things. That is dear Fliss. And a lot of that comes from the very terrible things that happened to dear Fliss in her life long before I ever met her that left her emotionally, mentally and physically very damaged and becoming worse. - But I loved her and she loved me and we had a life together, a life that others refused to acknowledge or help with at all and indeed were not just a hindrance but would always be trying to exploit dear Fliss for their own ends. And that inlcudes the 'friends' Fliss had.

I am in great pain already. I am going to have to take even more pain killers when all I wanted to do today was to take a simple headache painkiller and go back to bed, be warm, try to get over this damned terrible flu, and to forever me watchful of the rampant criminals all about this area of HELL.

It is VERY VERY cold inside this hovel.

There is going to be rain. And letting dear Sam and Max outside in all that to do their ablutions will again trigger all that shit to rise up again and endanger us all.

I was once flippantly told to 'get rid' of Max (have him killed/put down), but that would only destroy poor innocent Sam just as I am with Fliss. - You have NO idea at all how much I support innocence over guilt, NONE AT ALL. And nobody and nothing supports me ever, not ever. I experienced long ago, long befoe I ever met dear Fliss all that and suffered terribly and tragically. IN late September 2015 I was trying to tell dear Fliss just SOME of all that and she was staggered of it all, but was considerate and said we'd be together in New South Wales soon. I was overjoyed. But I was also very mindfulof Fliss's poor delicate mental states. And so I did NOT tell her of even WORSE things in my life I have suffered throughout, things that would make her cry and be so very upset about for me. - I never ever got to tell her anything about all that. Those things were VERY VERY applicable to her and my own deceased mother. The woman she had never met and she she always quietly said to me , I wish I could have met your Mum. - I'm not saying anymore. I'm too upset remembering it all. Nobody knows. Nobody cares. And when I'm dead nobody will ever care....ever.

Meanwhile the rampant criminals are totally indulged and pandered to, to the detriment of all others.

Sam & Max are in HELL.

I AM IN HELL.

It is not worth it at all to be alive in any way and has not been for so long.

My vision is going very blurry again. I've had no more than 4 hours sleep and then all this shit occured this very early morning.

The sooner there is a major war and we are all dead the better.

For myself life is nothing but constant agony leaving death to be the welcoming answer.

I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you.

Taking pain pills, going to bed to fail to sleep and be in pain. But nobody cares