#time to dust off the ol' block button

[nautilusopus]

anyway the compilation sucks shit and if you're new here, well, now you know

[emmyliaclarke]

When I see a nice Jonerys gifset on my dash but it’s actually an undercover Jon gifset:

[sunflowersteves]

never letting go || r.m.

author’s note || I’m reposting it since it didn’t appear on tags so hopefully it works. @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ i hope you enjoy! also this is not related to the originals or vampire diaries! this was fun to write so thank you for the request :)

warnings || almost character death, blood, gore, angst, fluff

Main Masterlist

A cough croaked involuntarily from your mouth, dust, and debris floating in the air. You try to stand up, to see if anyone around you was okay, but you couldn’t. You raise your head and groan, noticing your leg was stuck under a large piece of wood. Rapid searing pain shot down your leg, and you could see a bit of fresh blood coming out of the wound.

You know you shouldn’t have messed with anything—messed with Klaus. You should’ve known that he would’ve tried to get you to meet your demise.

You pushed the wrong buttons of the wrong person. Ultimately, he just wanted to protect his sister, which you knew. And with Klaus being Klaus, the only way he knew how was through violence.

However, that still doesn’t excuse any of his murderous actions that he’s sent your way.

Rebekah could date whomever she wanted to and love whomever she wanted to. Klaus maybe her brother, but she was still her own person. She could make her own decisions even if that means dating a human.

“Sister, you can’t be with a human.”

Rebekah scoffed at her brother and rolled her eyes. He sneered at the two of you when she wrapped an arm around your waist.

“She can do what she wants Klaus. You’re not in control of her as much as you think you are.”

Both Rebekah and Klaus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. None of her past lovers had stood up to him like that--none that were human anyway. Every human that Rebekah had dated previously, always ran away from her when Klaus got involved.

Klaus was always relieved when she came to their family home and a human was wrapped around her finger. He could count on their fear to take over, and they’d run away.

However, that stopped with you.

“What did you just say, mortal?”

His vampire speed caught up with you, his gold eyes and sharp teeth were threatening you. Your heartbeat had quickened slightly at the sudden movement, however, you remained as unaffected as possible.

You stared into his hybrid eyes, looking almost bored. You knew that it only made him angrier, he looked like he was seething. Your eyes left him to look at Rebekah and saw her standing in front of you. She was blocking his path and you knew she was going to protect you with her life.

Klaus's glare flickered towards you again, “watch your back, little human.” And with that, he sped off in the opposite direction of the house.

In all truth, you didn’t want to be a vampire; you didn’t want an immortal life. You wanted to grow old someday and then have a grave next to that person.

Nevertheless, you knew what you signed up for when you started a relationship with her. At this point in your relationship, you knew that if you needed to, that you would let her turn you in a heartbeat.

You hadn’t said those three little words to Rebekah yet. It’d been hard with your last lover, considering that they weren’t all too kind and loving. Luckily, Rebekah knew of your situation and was there every step of the way. She never pressured you or made you rush into things, which you were always appreciative of.

However, now you were tangled in the Mikaelson family. You had pissed off Klaus for telling him off and defending your girlfriend.

You cursed to yourself as excruciating pain intensified on your chest. Your eyes trailed up to your chest to see more fresh, running blood coming out. You could feel something poking and prodigy into your chest—into the crevice of your rib cage.

“What’s this?”

Elijah looked over at you in intrigue. On the bar table was a small velvet box, just big enough for a ring. You nodded at the box, indicating that he should open to see what’s inside. His eyes flickered over to you and then to the small box, carefully opening it.

“A wedding ring? You haven’t even told each other your affections.”

You laughed towards the Original Vampire and shook your head, taking the small box back from him and placing it back in your pocket. You took a sip of your whiskey, letting it burn the back of your throat before continuing.

“It’s a promise ring. With my ex, I was never really shown any love. She would always tear me down every second that she got. That’s why I wanted to take things slow with Rebekah. I was scared of the same thing happening to her but I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I just want to be in love.”

“Do you?”

You fully down the rest of your whiskey, relishing in the bitter taste. You turned towards the vampire with a confused look on your face.

“What?”

Elijah let out a breath. Your first thought was that of annoyance but then you saw the bright smile on his face as he turned towards you.

“Do you love her?” You looked over at him with a smile graced upon your lips. He could hear your heartbeat start to rise.

“More than I’ve ever loved before.”

After your conversation with Elijah, he left you alone at the bar. Hayley had called him about getting groceries and something to do with the baby. So he bid you goodbye and off he went.

You just wished he stayed a bit longer and maybe you would be able to get help. Maybe you wouldn’t be stuck under a log and a piece of debris lodged into your chest. Maybe Klaus wouldn’t have ignited the bomb if he knew his brother was in there with you.

You couldn’t help but let a few tears slip down your cheeks. Was this how you were going to die? You didn’t even get a chance to tell the one girl you love how you feel. A hiccup places itself upon your lips as more tears roll down your cheeks.

You let out an air of relief as a bystander ran into the destroyed bar yelling for any survivors. You screamed over at them to help you and they called the ambulance immediately. However, you were putting up a fight. Sure, you needed medical attention but it seems that all you could muster up was:

“I need to see her.”

~~

You limped up to the Mikaelson house, wincing a bit as you walked up the steps. It was honestly amazing how much your body was resilient. The wrath and adrenaline that was surging through you was keeping you alive and awake.

The only thing crossing your mind was Rebekah and the disdain for Klaus. Your emotions were raging out and you needed Klaus to see you—alive. You needed that satisfaction that he couldn’t kill you, despite being mortal.

“I’m sorry, sister, she was in that accident.” Klaus’s voice was mixed with faux sweetness and sorrow. What made your heart clench was the loud cries coming from Rebekah and her screams in anguish only got louder.

You slammed open the door with your arm and everyone had their eyes locked on yours. Klaus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the fact that you were standing before them with crusted blood and wooden wreckage.

Rebekah ran towards you and enveloped you in a hug, her soft cries loud in your ears. You tried to hold her as good as you could but it was hard from the pain. You whispered sweet nothings into her ear as she calmed down—your presence and being alive had already soothed her pain.

“Couldn’t kill me, Klaus? A little Ole mortal like me has bested you.”

You could hear the feral growl escape his throat and before he could take any step closer, Rebekah put herself in front of you with her hand wrapped around your wrist.

“You’re such a coward, brother. I understand that you’re protective but this? You intentionally killed my love. She’s not like the others, don’t you get that? She’s understanding and brace and kind unlike you.”

You grit your teeth as a tiny second of pain flashed across his face. Blood now coated your mouth, your teeth were outlined in the red liquid. You tried to speak in rage towards your lovers brother but you suddenly became fainter. Rebekah quickly caught on and turned around, giving you all her attention.

“You’re bleeding—how long have you been hiding this?!”

You sadly smile at Rebekah, feeling weaker and weaker as you stand. You tried to open your mouth and the rest of her siblings could only watch in shock at your fate. You reach out to her as you go limp, your legs failing you at that moment. She swiftly catches you in her arms and holds you as close as possible.

She swiftly runs to the couch as Elijah and Hayley move every little piece of junk off of it. She gently laid you down on the cushion surface and yelled for someone to go get an aid kit. Her hands were softly stroking your hair as she tried to keep you awake.

Elijah finally ran over with an aid kit and tried his best to clean the blood but it seemed as if everything was running out of time. You turned towards Rebekah and gripped her hand tightly.

“I love you.”

Rebekah leaned in and placed soft kisses upon your lips and cheeks. She squeezed your hand a bit harder.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

She continued to give you little kisses and tears ran down her cheeks. She wanted so badly to save you but she knew that you didn’t want to be immortal. She respected your wishes more than hers.

“Say it, baby. I don’t have much time.” Elijah and Hayley were trying their hardest to locate the lodged debris in your lungs but nothing seemed to be working. Rebekah screamed at them to try harder but you shushed her, making her turn your attention towards you.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she continued to hold you, your breath becoming more shallow. She kept shaking her head every time you asked her to say those three words. She didn’t want to lose you, she couldn’t.

“I need you to live…because if you’re gone then, I don’t know what the point of it all is anymore.”

A smile graces your lips as you try to pull something out of your pocket but the pain is too much. She reaches over for you and takes it out, gasping at the little velvet box. She puts the promise ring on her finger and presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

Tears well in her eyes again at the thought of losing you like this. She thinks hard about the decision she’s about to make and the consequences, but she can’t lose you.

“I love you, y/n. I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth in confusion and watch as she sinks her sharp teeth into her wrist. Blood seeps out and she presses it onto your lips. You try and not let the copper-tasting liquid in but she forces more into your mouth.

Your eyes flutter close, and you let yourself drink the thick liquid. You could already feel it working, and your wound seemed to heal by the second. She lets her wrist off of your mouth and watches as you already start to look much better.

After a couple of minutes of letting the blood heal, you pick yourself up, and push her into a bone-crushing hug.

“Glad you already feel better, human.”

You couldn’t even react before Klaus vampire sped over to your now healed form. Rebekah tried to run over to you but Klaus was too fast. He gripped your neck with his large hands and twisted your neck —breaking it in two.

All you could hear was the cracking sound that your bones made, and the screams that filled your room. Your vision turned black, and you hit the ground with a thud, letting the darkness take over.

“Now you can be together forever, sister.”

[paper-stars-and-fireflies]

Tell me, should I let you go?

Tags: RadioDust, Trans!Angel Warnings: Drug Use, Addiction Fic was inspired by the song Sober by Bad Wolves. Listen while you read!      Angel Dust woke up in his bathtub, again. His neck hurt from being bent forward overnight, and his back and joints all ached from the cramped spaces and unnatural angles. At least the cool tile felt nice. Dizziness washed over him as he tipped his head back, trying to right his world, and soon after he was scrambling for the toilet, dry heaves wracking his frame. He spit, if just to relieve the nausea, and settled back against the wall, one arm feebly reaching for the vanity. There was a snuffling and scraping sound and all of a sudden Angel’s lap was full of pig, his pet bounding back and forth across him, desperate for attention.

    “Be easy on daddy, now,” Angel moaned, scooping up the pig and cradling him. The nausea was ebbing slightly, but not enough. He turned his head, coughing and hacking into the toilet again. Just holding Fat Nuggets felt like too much, but Angel managed to claw and stumble his way to his feet. His reflection looked worse than he felt, mascara and eyeliner dripping down his cheeks and his eyes red around the edges. His throat felt scratchy and a fresh wave of dizziness had him stumbling forward into the sink.     “Saint’s sake, am I still drunk?” he mumbled, fumbling for his toothbrush. His mouth tasted like sugar and stomach acid, and it took him twice as long to get himself looking presentable, crumbled clothes aside. The dizziness and nausea had more or less left him to fester, but the lights felt too bright and a migraine had settled behind his left eye. He matched his steps to the slow pulse of his head, wobbling around his room as he unceremoniously stripped out of yesterday’s clothes and pulled on a fresh shirt and shorts. He had no plans to go out, so he didn’t bother getting too dolled up. He checked his phone, but there were no messages, not from work, not from his family, not even from Alastor. Probably for the best, even though he was craving a few sweet words this morning. Better to lay low and not let anyone realize how he was. There were empty bottles and plastic cups, and evidence of the fun that was wreaking so much havoc on him this morning scattered around the room. He cleaned it all up, burying it in his trash so no one would find it later. He should feel ashamed, maybe, drinking, smoking, maybe even popping a pill or two, but it wasn’t such a big deal. Just a couple drinks, a smoke, a couple pills. No one had to know, and he’d been so good. They had to give him that.     This was just one of those, whaddaya call’em? Cheat days. It was just a lil treat. One time thing. He placated himself, shoving off the bits of shame and regret crawling under his skin. Angel settled into his bed, Fat Nuggets happily curled up against him, grumbling as he thumbed through the TV channels. It made his head hurt that much more, but frankly he’d take that over the silence, in the room or in his head. He scratched idly at the inside of his arm, only glancing down when he realized he’d picked at a scab. A very new one.     He swore, tearing tissues out of their box, knocking over everything else on the nightstand. Angel dabbed at the tiny wound, peering closer. It was definitely a needle mark, and not the only one. He yanked down on the sleeve of his shirt, casting furtive glances around his room. It was fine, it was okay. It would be gone in a couple hours, a day top. It was tiny. No one had to know he hadn’t just fallen off the wagon, that he’d jumped headfirst. It was fine. He just had to stay home, lay low one day, be extra careful from here on. He crouched by the bed, picking up the things he’d knocked over. A couple framed pictures of his friends, another of him and Alastor dressed up in silly Valentine’s themed costumes. They’d thrown a party back in February for his six months sober celebration. There was a lopsided stuffed deer, a prize Al had won for him at Hell’s carnival, back on one of their early dates. When Fat Nuggets had torn it up one night, Al had hushed him, stitching it up and adding a few personal touches, showing him anything could be repaired. He set everything back up neatly. No biggie. This was something else that could be fixed. No big deal. Definitely not, until there was a knock at his door.     “Angel? You okay?” Charlie’s innocent voice was the last thing he wanted to hear, but he heaved himself onto his feet and stumbled to the door as fast as he could manage, leaning against it to hold it shut.     “Just peachy, dollface. Ya need something?” he called through the door, making sure all the locks were on. He pushed the chain lock all the way across, quieting the metal with his fingertips.     “You’re late for your check-in session, I was making sure you were up.”     “Check-in?”     “Did you forget? Today’s the 5th, you were supposed to meet me downstairs an hour ago.” Charlie’s voice was picking up a suspicious edge he didn’t like. Of course today would be a check in. How had he forgotten that? He was so careful, making sure he’d clear his appointments so he could live pretty freely under the radar.     “Sorry doll, I, uh, just over-slept. Stayed up too late….watching too many movies!” He bit at his lip, not buying his own excuses. Clearly, she wasn’t either.     “Angel, let me in. I want to make sure you’re okay.” She insisted. Angel huffed, putting on his usual demeanor. It wasn’t like he didn’t have practice faking it.     The door swung open abruptly, revealing Angel in his t-shirt and sports shorts, a button down shirt only partially blocking out the pride pun printed on his shirt in pastel colors. The sleeves hung down to half-way down his forearms, carefully folded. Charlie studied him, suspicion and confusion warring across her face.     “Something wrong, doll? I was in the middle a somethin.” He tried to hurry her along, one arm braced against the door frame. The injured arm was tucked against his back, the elbow carefully hidden with the cuff.     “I’ve just never seen you dressed like that.” Charlie finally admitted, staring at his chest. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if the shirt looked wrong on him. Finally, she smiled, pointing at it. “I like your shirt. It’s good to cope through positive humor.” Angel glanced down. ‘The first gender’s free,’ the pink text read. ‘Too bad I needed a refund’, the white and blue text finished. He laughed with her, but it felt stuck in his throat. He could feel sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.     “So look, can we reschedule the uh, check-in, doll?” He tried to keep his voice steady, his smile wide. Charlie waved one hand, still giggling.     “Sure, sure,” she called, turning away. “I’ll see you after lunch then, my office. Bye Angel!”     Oh sugar honey. Angel bit his lip, keeping his internal screams to himself, willing himself to shut the door calmly and muffle his impending break-down in a pillow.     By two in the afternoon, Angel had scrubbed himself head to toe, made sure his makeup was flawless, perfumed, eaten, drank, anything and everything to beat back last night’s demons and act the part of the perfectly adapted, normal, and completely clean Angel Dust he’d been becoming the last eight or so months. ‘Just one quick meeting, no big deal,’ he kept reminding himself. He sauntered into Charlie’s office, plopping down into the chair opposite her desk, checking his nails to keep up his bored act. The marks on his arm were all but gone now, but there were still a few nagging symptoms of a come down he hadn’t quite chased off yet. Charlie shut the door behind him, part of her pledge to privacy, and sat across from him, separated by a massive wood desk that was definitely made for one of her parents. She just looked tiny, sitting behind it.     “Okay! So, we are… just shy of one year! How are you feeling today?” Charlie consulted her paperwork, searching around for her pen as she spoke. It was the one she’d taken from Katie Killjoy, way back at the hotel’s launch.     “Same ol’, bored as hell, but doin’ my best. Clean, nice, and well-adjusted.” Angel ticked off on his fingers, reciting the three goals Charlie pushed all of her patrons towards. She hummed, clicking the pen a few times before she began to take notes. She probed at him with the usual list of questions, asking about his recent activities, work, friends, mood, and how he was coping and feeling about each of the problems he’d mentioned in previous meetings. He could see she’d drawn his shirt in the margins. ‘Piece. Of. Cake.’ he congratulated himself, standing up and starting to excuse himself. He’d made it through the full hour without a single slip up.     “Sit back down, Angel.” Charlie scolded, setting her page down flat. She dropped the pen, eyeing the chair when he didn’t. He sighed, plunking back down.     “What’s up, boss?” He asked, arms crossed. Charlie reached over the desk, yanking his sleeve up before he could stop her.     “I knew it.” she hissed, sitting back in her chair, hands wrapped around her elbows, arms pressing flat against her ribs. “Angel, you’re not even close to clean.”     “What! That’s playing dirty! I am! Well, I was. Definitely was! I was being a super good boy, but then, I dunno, something happened, and then I guess I made a mistake last night, and then I guess, I dunno. A lot happened last night, an’ I don’t remember none of it, but I swear! I was clean until yesterday! I’ll get it back!” He wasn’t being completely truthful, he’d been sneaking drinks and hits of whatever coworkers had on hand while he was at work, but he definitely couldn’t tell her that, and he really had been cutting back… Why couldn’t he remember last night?     “Angel, you’ve come to check-ins still stoned before, just… stop.” Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose, blowing out a breath. “Last night, Alastor brought you home from Val’s. You were a huge wreck. He took you upstairs, but you started screaming at us and locked yourself in your room.” She paused, looking up at him, willing him to say something, but Angel, for once, had nothing.     “Have you ever told me the truth?” Charlie sighed, pushing herself to her feet. She circled the desk, opening the door with a resigned, defeated look. Angel frowned, knowing he was the cause, but not how to fix it. Getting high at work wasn’t surprising, but to get totally wrecked wasn’t right. Angel shuffled, thinking he was being dismissed, but what happened next was so much worse.     Alastor walked in, face blank and perfectly schooled into place. Charlie retook her seat, gesturing to the open chair beside Angel. Al took it, not looking at him. He just stared straight ahead, completely zoned out.     “Angel, you were already on your last warning before this. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Charlie tried again. Angel opened his mouth, starting over with what he’d already tried, but it fell on deaf ears. Neither Charlie or Alastor so much as twitched as he tried spinning line after line, trying for pity, sympathy, humor, anything. When she couldn’t take anymore, Charlie shook her head, scribbling away on a sheet of paper. Angel couldn’t make out the words, no matter how desperately he wanted to. It felt like his whole head was throbbing and the room was spinning. How hot was it in here anyway? He shoved his sleeves up, already caught out. It was hard to catch his breath, he slumped forward, tempted to put his head between his knees. Were his ears ringing, or was that Al’s static?     “Angel,” Charlie said, clearly not for the first time. Concern was leaking into her voice, and he fished himself back out, sitting up, head lolling to one side. Al stayed silent, not offering a hand, a word, even a tune. He had never felt so alone in a room full of people who were supposed to care about him. So much for that.     “Angel, I have to evict you.” She said finally, sliding the page over to him. “You have to sign this.”     It wasn’t possible to hold back the tears dripping down his face, and just as impossible to figure out why he couldn’t stop. Who cared about the dumb hotel. He had any number of places he could go. Molly had a spare room, if he wanted to go back to the mob. Cherri had a couch, and he’d already thrown his lot in with hers for turf wars. Hell, even Val would take him back and let him live in a studio if he did more videos. Screw the Hotel! Angel growled, throwing his things into duffel bags, ripping his posters off the wall, slamming the drawers closed after emptying them. Fat Nuggets hid under his bed, snuffling sadly, but he didn’t have it in him to apologize yet, even if the pig was innocent. Sometimes he just had to stay angry.     “I would think you wouldn’t want to destroy your own possessions, darling.” Alastor spoke softly from the open doorway, looking around slowly. Angel pouted, looking more pathetic than mad, but he didn’t care. He didn’t notice when Al had gotten there, but it didn’t matter.     “I don’t possess anything. Anything that’s mine gets broke or taken away.” He said pointedly, snatching the pictures off his nightstand. He inspected them, finally dumping them in the wastebasket by the vanity. Alastor blinked, his radio noise some garbled music that was probably supposed to calm his nerves, but they just grated on them more. Angel did his best to ignore him, storming around the room, packing away every possible hint he’d spent a moment in the room. Finally his last nerve snapped, worn thin by his unhelpful, intrusive, cold boyfriend. He snatched the deer plush off his nightstand, the last thing left unpacked, and hurled it at the Radio Demon’s chest. There was sharp feedback as it struck him, like a microphone dropping or a headset being plugged in.     “Would you just get out of here!” He screamed, voice shattering. Alastor looked passively at him, picking up the doll slowly, smoothing its short fur.     “Very well. I will wait for you in the foyer, if you prefer.” Alastor turned, still cradling the deer. “Would you prefer I take Fat Nuggets, or can you manage, love?” His trademark smile drooped, dipping into something smaller, sadder, but sincere, broken-hearted love in an instant. Angel sniffled, dragging his arm across his face. Saints’ sake, his makeup was wrecked all over again.     “Whaddaya talkin’ about?” Angel choked out, grabbing for more tissues. Alastor set the doll down on the bed, coming closer. Angel let him into arm’s reach, but he wasn’t ready to be touched just yet.     “I’m waiting on you, my dear.” Alastor repeated, gesturing to Angel’s bags.     “What for? Ain’t ya done with me for bein’a a dirty wh-” Angel was cut off with a harsh look from Alastor, contempt and scorn he rarely wore. “You’re nothing of the sort. I discussed this very carefully with Charlie last night, I’m very sorry we did not make ourselves clearer.” Alastor fetched the pictures from the wastebasket and looked at them, keeping his hands busy.     “You ain’t breakin’ up wit me?” Angel asked again, eyes wide. But he was sure that Al had been so cold because…     “Never, my love. I would never abandon you over something so trivial.” Alastor set the pictures aside, finally lifted his hands, cupping the spider’s face gently. His gloved thumbs cleared away the last of his love’s tears.     “But you were so….dead?” Angel tried, sniffling again.     “I was so worried about you, darling, I was beside myself. I stayed with you all night, and spoke with Charlie once I was sure you were quite alright by yourself.”     “So Charlie is kicking me out -”     “You’ll be moving in with me, my love.” Alastor spoke softly, eyes downcast. He drew Angel in closer, pulling him to his chest. “Charlie agreed it would be better for you, but to keep it quiet. If that’s not what you want, then-”     “No! No, no no, I, Al, I want that, I just. I don’t get it.” Angel sighed, resting his weary head on Al’s shoulder, four arms wrapped loosely around him. He knew not to hold too tight, or else Al got squirrely. Al drew back, but only slightly. He pressed his forehead to Angel’s, his ears and horns tangling gently with Angel’s hair.     “Addiction is difficult, and it can only be fought with attention and support, not alone, isolated in a hotel room. I’d like to give you that, if you’ll have me.” There was hope, love, faith, and trust in Alastor’s voice, everything Angel had ever wanted, truly wanted, the things he’d tried so long to replace with the high, trying to stuff his feelings with drugs.     “I’m never going to let you go.” Angel answered, new tears prickling at his eyes.     “Let’s go home, my darling.”  

[andmaybegayer]

can i get some just general tips on cooling my computer cause it overheats real easy

You’re in luck! Until a couple years ago I had a laptop that ran at 95°C all the time and straight up couldn’t play 720p youtube videos unless it had supplementary cooling.

If you’re talking about a laptop, There’s a couple things to do:

1) Clean out your laptop. If you have pets or have been working in a dusty place or have just had the laptop for a while, dust has probably clogged up the fans and heatsinks a bit. I usually just take a vacuum cleaner, block all the other holes with sheets of paper and pull a vacuum on each of the fans or vents in turn. This cleans out a fair deal of dust and will usually help a bit. If you can, taking the bottom cover off will give you better access but that’s hard to impossible on a lot of devices so don’t sweat it too much.

2) Check for unnecessary programs running in the background. If you have an aftermarket antivirus like Norton or McAfee or Comodo or whatever, it may be scanning your system every time anything happens. This can cause your CPU use to be really high all the time, which both drains battery life and will heat-soak your machine, causing it to run slower. Personally I think that Windows Defender is a perfectly suitable antivirus for most people, but you could also consider turning off always-on scanning. Check your task manager to see if anything weird is running, and turn off any unwanted apps on startup (open task manager, go to advanced view, go to startup application tab, and disable any junk)

3) Get a laptop cooler. One of these bad boys.

That’s mine, it’s the Coolermaster NotePal X3. It’s fine. There are cheaper ones like the NotePal CMC3 and a thousand generic varieties I’m sure you can find on amazon or whatever your local amazon equivalent is. Most physical tech stores will carry a few, the main thing is to get one with a fan. This one has a big ol’ fan in the middle. Plugs in to USB for power, pushes cool air up and around your device, or sucks hot air away from your device.

This has two benefits: 1) airflow will carry off some heat and improve the heat dissipating ability of your device above and beyond what the internal coolers can handle, and 2) it lifts the laptop up above the surface it’s on, giving it access to more fresh, cooler air.

You probably know that you shouldn’t use your laptop on a soft surface like a bed or blanket, but even on a solid surface, your laptop might be drawing air in from a tiny 3mm gap underneath. This gives it a lot more room to work with. There are passive lightweight coolers that don’t have fans, just lift your device off the surface. I had one of these, they’re fine and quite useful if you’re on the go a lot. Either way, a stand like this will help keep the machine cool and will also let you use it on a bed without any problems if that’s your speed.

If you really need a portable one, there’s these integral designs that you can stick directly to the back of your machine, but they’re mostly for newer macbooks and on a lot of laptop designs it either won’t fit or will restrict air intakes. Note that the fan coolers will reduce your battery life, running a big fan like that takes some power, but hopefully you’re staying home at the moment.

If you have a desktop you’re going to need to be more specific. I can help but you should at least send me a description. It could be anything from poor thermal paste application to incorrectly wired fans to just straight up having mismatched parts.

secret additional option you probably shouldn’t try:

You could repaste your laptop. If you’re confident in your repair abilities, you can replace the thermal interface material between your heatsink and processing chips with something higher quality. The factory thermal paste is usually basic stuff chosen for longevity rather than performance, and it will slowly degrade over time. In the extreme cases (using liquid metal) you can see pretty significant improvements, but this is messy, somewhat risky, involves completely disassembling the device, and working with laptop heatsinks is a finicky proposition at the best of times. When I did this with a middle-range paste I saw a small but mostly negligible improvement. If I’d used a higher quality paste it might have been better.

You can mess with your fan curves: depending on the laptop you have you might be able to manually control the fans to make them push harder in response to rising temperatures. My laptop has a button you can press to make the fans go absolutely ham, but it’s also hella noisy. Whether you have manual control at all is a crapshoot that varies between machines so this isn’t a reliable option.

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 18

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17

NOT having to wait a year for another update?! WHO AM I?!?!! A new woman I tell you. Fortunately (or not) Frat Harry’s the same ‘ol Frat Harry. And this time you let him into your life a little more. But will he stay? Enjoy loves, lemme know what you think ;) 

“So turns out Mike’s bottle of tequila was $350 and John and I had already dank all of it. When Mike told us how much it was, we just had to be the full dicks. You start apologizing at block parties and you lose your edge. Stuff is borderline evaporative!” Father looked around at our unimpressed faces and his red face grew darker, exploding from wheezing laughter. “Oh, come on! It’s funny!!” His wheezing subsided with a toss of his eyebrows. He shrugged dramatically. “Good thing I appreciate my humor.” 

 Paul sat at the head of the table, the top two buttons undone on his blue business button-down. He made eye contact with me, both of our eyes widening. I’d given him a quick side-hug, one of those awkward lean-down-because-the-other-person-is-too-lazy-to-stand-up hug. It’d almost been a year, but it was the same customary greeting we’d developed. Their plates were already stacked in the sink, but my mom had readied plates of mash potatoes, string beans, and steak for Harry and I. 

 They were sprawled out, tummies full, all of them looking like they’d had long days at the office. Father especially. His face was reddened like the whites of his eyes, his hair standing on end. 

 I poked at my steak. 

 “You missed it, Y/N. He’s already five glasses in,” Paul continued. Teasing father was the one thing we could connect on - but he enjoyed it a little more than I. 

 Mom leant over the table, rolling her eyes. “At least. This is his ‘not drinking during the week,’” There was a smile, though.

 Dad held up his hands. “Hey! I haven’t had one sip of tequila. Wine is like water now.” He turned to Harry, as if his frat boy radar sensed a fellow drinker in his midst. “You have that problem…?” He fished for a name. 

 Harry’s shoulders straightened. “Harry.”

 “Harry?” he asked. 

 Before Harry could answer, Paul’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.” 

 It was like somebody sprinkled coked-out fairy dust over Mother. She sat up straighter, eyes twinkling, and sprawled her hands on the table as if to reveal the grand hurrah that Harry was the heir to all the land. Which, in modern day Newport, perhaps he was. I tried to come up with something to rescue Harry, but she beat me to it. 

 “His dad’s a doctor here. Coast Shores Medicine. Mr. Styles runs his own practice.” 

 “He can speak for himself,” I grumbled, stuffing my mouth with mash. 

 My mom stirred, voice low, “Honey, I was just letting them know.” 

 My dad’s eyes bulged out of his head before erupting into laughter. “You- you’re-” He pointed his finger, looking between Harry and me. He laughed more. 

 “Dad,” I warned. It’d clicked in his mind. At the end of summer, before I’d even known the Styles legacy let alone seen Harry’s face, we’d walked past the Styles medical office and my dad absolutely BLASTED their ostentatious display. My dad’s boisterous - Can you believe this idiot??! MORON! DIPSHIT! - blared in my mind like a flare gun. 

 Father caught my daggers. “Oh, relax,” he wheezed, settling down. He wouldn’t say anything, for now. “I transferred more money into your account today by the way.” He winked, pointing to me. “I love you.”

 “Love you too.” But I shrunk in my chair. I know Harry wasn’t one to talk about living off family money, but I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea either.

 Completely oblivious, Harry smiled politely, answering Father’s previous question. “We all have our vices.” 

 “Speaking of addicts-” Paul started.

 “Oh, God,” Dad huffed.

 Paul put his hands up with a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t targeting you, but now that you mention it-” 

 “Paul.” I frowned. 

 My warning tone flipped a switch in him. 

 “What?!” It was sharp, full of irritation, and no matter how long it'd been since I’d heard it - I stilled. His eyes challenged me to press him further, but I didn’t. “Can I speak?” 

 “All right,” mom said. “Let’s settle down.”

 “I’m calm,” Paul declared tersely. “I don’t know about your daughter.” 

 I scoffed, fighting the urge to bite back. 

 Harry tensed, and if I was an inch further I wouldn’t have heard his breath get a little deeper. 

 Without breaking his stare, Paul sat back in his chair, pushing up his sleeves. “Okay,” he started. “As I was saying. I don’t know if you guys saw on the news - probably not, but there was a scandal at the company last week.” 

 The company – AKA Rich Silvang Industries. Paul went straight from college and his internship to full-fledged Wall Street investment banking. He was only three years older than me, but he hadn’t lived at the house since he was eighteen. By 17 ½ all his things were in boxes. Meanwhile, I was almost twenty-one and still had half my things in my old room.  

 Mom practically gasped. “Really?” her voice swam with concern. 

 “I think I saw something about that,” Dad mentioned, putting on a serious tone. 

 “Maybe you did hear about it, then. It’s pretty big. The president was caught in his Vegas penthouse suite filled with drugs, and they arrested him for drug trafficking. They’re searching for someone to replace him right now.” 

 My mom’s hands dropped in her lap. “Wow.”

 “Could you be the replacement?” I asked.

 “Ha, yeah. I wish. I’m a few years off from that.” One thing you need to know about Paul - he has a plan for everything. If he wants something, he’ll buy every book to learn the ins and outs before making a move. His career was no different. 

 “What’d they find?” Harry asked, brows stitched in curiosity. 

 Paul puffed out a breath. “Everything. Heroine, cocaine, meth, ecstasy. It was just sitting there, in his suite. His girlfriend’s arrested, too.”

 “God, what a dipshit,” Dad breathed, irritated disbelief. “This guy has all the money in the world-”

 “Three thousand million dollars,” Paul corrected. 

 “Three tHOUSAND MILLION-!” Father squeaked. “God, if I had that money- GOD, why the hell would you piss it away like that.” 

 “Greed,” Mom said. “Is this the same president who donated all that money to helping foster children? The one invited you for a weekend in Aspen?” 

 “There’s only one president, mom.” 

 “Well I hope you didn’t USE anything.”

 Father ran his hands through his hair, still distraught at the impotence of those with money to enjoy their money. “I mean, I’d be fishing on an island somewhere.” 

 “On YOUR island that you BOUGHT,” Paul pitched in. 

 “With three thousand million,” I breathed. “If someone has everything in the world…” my voice trailed. Human nature was a mystery to me. A complete and utter mystery sometimes. Why get involved in drug trading when you had more than you could possibly need. You could fish off your personal island and then declare that island it’s own country if you wanted to. You could give hundreds of thousands of people access to clean water! Education! Tampons!! Essential things!!!

 Harry suddenly rested his hand on my thigh beneath the table, completely silent. My mom caught the action, a knowing smirk appearing on her lips. 

 “Money is wasted,” Father sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his belly. “Oh!! Speaking of, I have an important question for you.” 

 It took me a second to realize he was looking at me. “Yeah?” I asked, skeptical.

 “Can you grab me another bottle of red?” 

 ----

 The hot water ran over dishes clattering in the sink, and I winced, but I didn’t pull away. I could still feel the crusted blood beneath my nails.

 “Quick, somebody grab a camera.” 

 Father stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, hands up, mouth open in a ridiculous pressed circle like an orangutan. “Y/N’s doing the dishes!!” 

 “Haha. Very funny.” 

 Father sighed, running his hands over his face with a tired smile. “God that was a tiresome dinner, huh.” He tossed the empty wine bottle from hand to hand. 

 My eyes widened. “Yeahhhh.” 

 Harry, Paul, and Mother were still by the table, talking on some new financial law. I timed an escape perfectly. So had Father. 

 “Are you staying the night?”

 “Hm.” I hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe.” 

 “Is he spending the night?” 

 I smiled, not sure what he was going to say to a boy spending the night. The situation certainly hadn’t come up before. “I don’t think so.” 

 “I mean, I don’t care. You’re an adult, you can do what you want. Mom might not like the idea.” 

 In any other case, I’d agree. But this was the Styles boy. I think she’d make an exception. As if knowing where my mind was heading, his blue eyes suddenly twinkled with something mischievous. He finished his thought out loud. “Styles, huh... Isn’t that funny. Where’d you meet this kid?” 

 “English class. Small world, huh?” 

 “For how small it is we don’t see Paul too much, do we?” he asked. It was a more serious question than I was used to. One that didn’t need to be answered. 

 My hand suddenly came too close to the metal faucet, burning it, and I quickly turned it off, moving the dishes to the drying rack. An old Patsy Cline song crackled through the old radio in the kitchen. 

 “I don’t see too much of-” you either. But the words died on my lips when I saw Father’s notoriously clear eyes, wet with springing tears. I stood, shocked, not quite knowing what to say. I couldn’t be mad at him. Not for money, not for drinking. Maybe it was the wine getting him emotional. 

 He gave me one of those dad smiles, patting my shoulder. He hugged me, a proper hug, and I stood, stiff, before relaxing, letting myself be held. I hugged him back, feeling like I was six and he’d just told me he was going away for business. “Let’s go to the shake shack soon,” he said, softly, the slight jokey tone trying to reappear. “S’been a while.” 

 Guilt pricked me. Guilt for growing up, guilt for leaving, guilt for something I couldn’t name. “Course, papa.”

 Over his shoulder, I met Harry’s gaze from the kitchen table.

 Later at the door, we stood telling Paul goodbye. 

 Harry stood behind me in a protective stance while Paul adjusted his briefcase. “So what are your plans for the rest of the year? Are you going to add that extra class next semester, finish early?” he asked, the business-technical tone coming back in his voice. 

 “I’m going to finish my internship at the practice.” 

 “Good. Good. Then what?” Only half-joking.

 “I don’t know, I have another year to figure it out. Go to med school, probably.” 

 “Probably?!” He knocked on the door as he started to leave. “Time flies! Better figure it out, Y/N.”

 I smiled, the only thing I could do.

 “At least you’re going into something employable!” he called. The car beeped behind him, and he loaded his briefcase in the car.

 I smiled tighter.

 “She’ll be fine, Paul,” Mother waved behind me.

 He waved back. 

 “Wait!” Mom called. “You’re not going to give us a hug goodbye?” 

 He jogged back up the side-yard to the door, giving them hugs. Harry a handshake. Me, a side-hug. 

 “Will we see you soon?” I asked.

 “Why?” 

 “Thanksgiving.” 

 His brows rose. “Mom didn’t tell you?” 

 I shook my head.

 “This was our Thanksgiving. I leave for Japan next Wednesday.”

 “What?” I knew for a fact Thanksgiving was two weeks out. 

 “Honey..” she scolded. To Paul, “I told her we were going to do it early, she just doesn’t listen.” 

 “I’ll be back after Japan.” He exchanged a look with my father I couldn’t quite decipher. 

 Some vague memory of Mother telling me about an early Thanksgiving was there, buried beneath sororities, and gangs, and policemen questioning me. And beneath a thick layer of pig’s blood. 

 “Sorry, I forgot.”  

 But he was already in his car, closing the door behind him. 

 We stayed until the headlights disappeared, a sharp wind bellowing in and shaking the curtains. Harry didn’t stay to watch Paul leave. When my parents left for their room, I found him by the painted green wood table, picking at the edge.

 “This is from my fourth birthday.” I pointed to a dark circle on the edge of the table. “I ate my cake so fast, the candles knocked over and almost put the whole house in flames.” 

 “You didn’t blow them out?” 

 “There was cake. I didn’t see the candles.” 

 He smiled. “You’ve lived here a long time?” 

 “Since I was born.” 

 “Not bad.” 

 I led him wordlessly through my past, going through the 70s living room over plush stained carpet, down the hallway past family photos. It was a wordless tour. He stopped in front of a gold frame. It was all of us, on the beach in white. Paul and I had our arms around each other, laughing with gaps where our baby teeth had fallen out and the new ones had yet to come in. Our parents stood behind us, trying to wrestle us in their own arms, wind-whipped hair covering half my mother’s face. Taken seconds before we all fell over and Paul kneed me in the jewels, Father liked to say. 

 Harry caught himself staring, easily catching up with me in the short distance to my room. 

 “The grand reveal,” he murmured. 

 I was suddenly nervous. He followed close behind, entering a space of Frank Sinatra and Elvis posters. My old white wire bed frame stood in the middle of the small space, Winnie the Pooh sheets and mismatched purple pillows on top. The rest was taken up by a large pink bean bag that touched the foot of my bed and the mirrored closet with a European travel collage I’d taped together in its bottom-right corner when I was sixteen.  

 He looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling, oddly reminiscent of his sister’s old nursery room. “It’s cute,” he finally said. And somehow when he said it, it didn’t sound condescending. 

 He approached the near-empty bookshelf against the wall, now holding my mom’s arts and crafts and random junk bins. Ever since I moved out, more of her had moved in. She still left the walls untouched, though. Harry plucked at a photo booth strip I’d taped to the walls when I was thirteen. The summer after middle school. Matt and I were smiling, tongues out, sticking up our noses, pretending to strangle each other… 

 He tried to tape it back, but the tape had lost its stick.

 “It’s fine,” I said, taking the photo back. I propped it up against the bins. 

 “Do you have most of your books at the dorm? 

 “Yeah. The rest we sold a while back.” 

 “Spring cleaning?” 

 “Kind of??” I wrestled with whether to tell him the slightly more complicated truth. I’d hesitated too long though, and just came out with it. “Actually no, not really.” 

 He raised his brow, looking at my lips, waiting for me to digress. For some reason, I didn’t care if he knew. Maybe because I knew he had secrets, too. Even if he wouldn’t tell.

 “When we were younger… about four years ago now? It was a really rough time, financially.” 

 Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t move. I continued, “We had to get rid of a lot of things to afford the lease.”

 “You guys have been leasing this same house?” 

 I nodded. “It’s a lease-to-buy option. So maybe, one day…” I let my voice trail off. Maybe we’d own it. A potential dream, pretty impossible on paper. “It’s an old lady who owns this house, really sweet. She rents the house to us for a lot less than she could. I think it’s because she doesn’t want somebody else to buy it and tear it down, and she liked our family, too. She grew up here.”  

 He dusted the spine of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. “That’s one of the few I kept. Cliché, I know, but…” -I shrugged- “Who doesn’t love Mr. Darcy, right?”

 He turned, a softness in his eyes. 

 “We had to sell a lot in the house to make the payment on-time. She’s sweet and has the final say-so, but her family essentially runs her finances. They’re not so sweet.” 

 “You had to sell your books?” 

 “They were nice. Rare. My Grandpa picked them up for me in antique bookshops he’d visit when he’d travel. People sell a lot more than that to make it… like their bodies, their souuulllll.” 

 “Y/N,” he scoffed. 

 “What?” I sat at the foot of my bed, watching a once-again awkward Harry not quite what to do with his body. “It’s better now! A lot better than what it was. We still live here,” I shrug. 

 “Why don’t you live somewhere else?” 

 He didn’t say what he was thinking. Some place we could afford. 

 “My dad needs to live by the water. It’s his lifeline.” I paused. “That, and wine. If he works this hard and dies tomorrow, he wants to at least enjoy it.” 

 “Your brother…-” 

 “Wasn’t always an ass.” I smiled. 

 “I wasn’t going to say that.” 

 “I know.” I lay down, closing my eyes. I sensed him move towards my feet. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven my dad,” I admitted. I didn’t say what for, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, the words I’d wondered about for years, I regretted it. That was too personal to share, even to Harry. With the tact of someone who learned not to speak about his past, he noticed. He didn’t bat an eye, didn’t press, just silently accepted. He moved his hands along the only other Austen cover I had. Sense and Sensibility.

 “You know…” he started, voice delicate as silk. “Austen’s dad went to a publisher on her behalf without even telling her.”

 “Really?” 

 He nodded. “He got declined, but- still. He did everything he could to help her succeed with her work, with her dreams.” 

 “Where are you going with this Shakespeare.” 

 “I can see that in your dad. He really loves you.” 

 I propped myself up on my elbows. “You know, for a boy who’s supposedly failing his classes, you’re pretty smart.”

 “Y/N,” he laughed lightly, settling in a strong gaze. “I was never failing.”

 The room stilled. “What do you mean?” 

 “You know what I mean.” He gently nudged my legs over, settling in beside me. I turned on my side, the Austen book cradled in the nicest hands I’d ever seen. “I didn’t know how else to get you alone,” he admitted, a quiet confession. 

 “Josiah de Saude didn’t know how to talk to a girl.” 

 “Oh, come off it,” he laughed, my favorite shiny laugh. And suddenly I was grinning, too. “I used to know what to say.” His eyes ran over my face, lingering on my mouth. “But then you came along, Y/N,” he admitted. His smile faded.

 With a strong gust of wind, the brush outside thwacked against my window. I jumped. It was always eerie, no matter how old I got. Inside, we had blankets, childhood memorabilia plastered to my walls, the steady thrum of a heater that’d just come out of summer hibernation. The outside wasn’t as calm as it was here. Here, in this mix of childhood and whatever it was that made my heart beat wild, we were safe. If only for a little while.

 I almost forgot Harry was next to me before the back of his hand brushed my leg. His fingers stroked my thigh, the skin beneath him tingling. A simple touch was all it took, and suddenly each cell of my body was on high alert, informing me, fairly quickly, that he didn’t let his hands wander. Did he want them to? 

 “They’re coming after me now,” I said, when it was clear he wasn’t trying anything. His eyes were closed, but his nostrils flared when I spoke. The hickey he’d given me was still there, carefully hidden by pounds of coverup. My fingers memorized its spot. It seemed to burn anew, reminding me of its place as its giver’s face shadowed.

 It needed to be said.

 Maybe my paranoia wasn’t just paranoia. Maybe it was my sixth sense. A warning. Maybe they really had been watching me. Maybe they’d memorized his mark, too. I remembered Harry shouting at me before disappearing on the field. If they fuck with you, they fuck with me. Was I just a walking target? 

 “They won’t get to you.” 

 “They could’ve.”

 “They aren’t dumb enough to do something like that,” he glowered.

 “Something like what?” 

 Words stalled at the curve of his lips. 

 “Something like what,” I repeated, slightly panicking. What had these people done before? Wouldn’t be dumb enough to rape me? Kill me? Hadn’t they come close enough?? His chest rose with a deep breath. “Tonight wasn’t a mistake,” I whispered.

 “You’re right, it wasn’t.” 

 “Well then what do they want? Because if it’s money they’re barking up the wrong tree.” I propped myself on an elbow, silently begging him to open his eyes. He did, hand running gently up my spine. “Do you even know?” I asked, suddenly horrified that he might be as in the dark as me.

 He swallowed, hooded eyes darkening. 

 “They want what I have,” he said. “And they’ll threaten me in any way they can until they get it. They’ll fish out any weakness. And then they’ll exploit it.” His voice softened at weakness. 

 Money, then. They wanted money. Unless… unless his weakness was me? I shook the thought away.

 “Why can’t you tell the police? Why can’t you just… tell them what’s going on?” I was becoming the girl I hated in movies. The girl that as soon as something horrific happened, she made an awful decision to try and solve it herself instead of CALLING THE DAMN COPS. Which is what I yelled at the screen, every time. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Which is what my brain was yelling at me, every day. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Neither of us listened. 

 “It’s more complicated than that,” he brushed off. 

 “Does this have to do with your ‘association’ with them?” 

 His voice turned sharp.  “That’s enough with the questions.” A horrific tremble rippled up my spine. The tone, so harsh and authoritative, just like my brother’s, made my skin crawl. He looked at me, sighing. “Please, just trust me on this. The less you know the better.” 

 “It’s a little hard to trust you when you’re the reason I’m a target.” 

 My words lingered for a horrible moment. A long, drawn-out silence. I could practically feel them dissolve into Harry’s skin before he sat up, leaping to his feet.

 I panicked. “I mean, it’s just hard to trust anyone when there’s so much that could happen. Things I don’t even know that could happen to me. Or even my family.” He scratched his collar, looking at our reflection in the mirror. My body scrambled upright, tearing itself from the blankets. “I don’t know what these guys are capable of. If you could just tell me, maybe-”

 “I should go.” 

 “No, Harry- wait!” 

 He stalled at the door. I met him there, tugging at his sweater sleeve. He’d looked so lovely in my room, in a different part of my life he’d only just entered. And now to see him leave my safe place so suddenly hurt me deeper than I thought it would. He turned, begrudgingly. The green ivy of his eyes had cooled, hardened, becoming impenetrable. 

 “Don’t leave. Please. You can’t keep coming and leaving, it’s more than confusing, it’s… it’s completely maddening!” 

 He leaned his head back against the door, practically groaning, but pinched the bridge of his nose instead. He took several levelled breaths. Finally, “You think I want this?” 

 I stilled. “Want what?”

 The horrifying possibility that “this” referenced us, petrified me. But the insecurity that he didn’t want me vanished when he looked traitorously at my waist, strong hands following suit. They gripped my sides, tugging me lightly forward. Suddenly I was drunk off the thought of them pushing me further, enough to make me dizzy... but they didn’t push. Strong hands kept me a safe distance apart, at any second looking like they could pull me into him or push me away. 

 “I want so many things, Y/N,” he breathed. “But all of them seem to do with you. And I don’t-” He seemed frustrated with himself as his brows stitched, trying to find the words. “I don’t know how to handle this. Everything’s so entangled.” 

 A knock at my door made us both jump. It creaked open, Mother poking her head in with a wide smile.

 “I heard it was a good game tonight,” she half-whispered. 

 Harry cocked a smile, and his hands fell from waist. “Yeah, it was.” Guarded eyes look to me. “Y/N went with my sister.” 

 So he had seen. I couldn't tell if there was irritation lacing his voice, but there certainly wasn’t joy. Entangled…. 

 “Oh, that’s fun. We’ll have to go watch you sometime huh honey?”

 I nodded slowly, eyes wide, silently asking what in the HECK are you doing in here?? 

 She drummed her fingers along the door. “Are you staying the night? You’re more than welcome to sleep on the couch. I know it doesn’t look that big, but it’s actually quite comfortable with all the blankets...”

 “You’re so sweet, really,” he started. And Mother believed it. I believed it. His entire look softened. “But I can’t, unfortunately. I have an early practice tomorrow. And I have to get gas on my way home.”

 My heart sank. The car. He needed to move my car.

 “Oh, really?” Mother opened the door wider. “It’s getting late, though. It started raining…” 

 “I’m used to a little rain,” he said, slipping past my mother. I remained behind her, arms crossed. “Thank you for having me. It was a lovely dinner.” He looked to me, betrayed and abandoned, something sad and regretful brimming in his eyes. He lifted a finger to his brow in salute, then turned on his heel, heading down the hall. 

 “Bye Harry!” She called. Then, to me, “Don’t you want to walk him out?” 

 I shook my head, fighting back a slew of angry words as I sulked to my window. I opened it, wide, letting the first sprinkles of rain hit my face. 

 “Oh honey, shut that, you’ll get the sill all wet.” 

 “I just want to feel it for a little while,” I said. 

 “You’ll catch cold!”

 “Mom, please.”

 She flinched. “Okay. Just a little, though. Want me to close your door?” 

 I nodded, a gust of wind blowing and almost slamming it shut itself. 

 “A storm’s coming, Y/N,” she shivered. “Don’t stand there too long.”  

 I wasn’t sure when she left my doorway, but I knew when he left the driveway. An engine roared to life and the rain surged with a frenzy. I listened as the grumbling faded away, down the street and off to somewhere unknown - but not out of my life. That part wasn’t in my control, but there were things that were. I couldn’t stand around and wait for him anymore. Mother was right.

 I closed the window, walking to the foot of my bed. Alone, a soppy looking girl stared back at me from the mirror. She sat on a familiar bed, wet hair plastering her face, droplets hanging from her nose, from her lashes. She looked only partly relaxed, the rest of her poised, tensed, like she could either jump or sleep in any given second. She looked exhausted.  

 But there was something alive, still. Just beyond her eyes, a little ember catching spark.

 I wasn’t going to stand around. The window had already opened. The rain had hit the fan and it’d soaked me through. Nothing was going to change unless I did. Unless I moved.

 Waiting for a boy to verify my safety?

 Yeah, no thanks. If Madame Bovary taught me anything,

 I’d get that myself.

part 19

[medleymisty]

Knock Three Times

Rusty Jenkins sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the general store. The chair was almost as old as he was, and he was getting on up there. Nigh about eighty now.

He rocked back and forth, listening to the floorboards creak. A man could sit out here all day, chewing tobacco and rocking.

Shame about that Sutphin boy. He’d been sweet on that pretty young thing, that Thomas girl. Well, weren’t gonna be no wedding now.

The screen door flew open and Farmer Brown stepped out onto the porch. The door, worn out by all this activity and excitement, slammed shut behind him.

Rusty spoke. “What you think ‘bout this weather?”

Farmer Brown looked up. Rusty followed his gaze. The sky burned a bright hard blue. The air smelled of smoke and dead leaves.

“Killin’ frost comin’. Reckon I oughta go down to Tate’s, help him cover his pumpkins.”

Rusty reached down and picked up his Dixie cup, spat a stream of sticky brown tobacco juice into it.

“You be careful out there. Boy got his head tore plumb off out that a way t’other week. They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave. Ain’t found his head yet.”

Farmer Brown nodded and stepped off the porch. Rusty watched him get in his brown pickup truck and pull out of the gravel parking lot, headed down to Tate’s.

Sure was a shame about that Sutphin boy.

–

Farmer Brown turned left on Redbrush Church Road. The Pleasant Rest cemetery came up on his right.

The spikes on the cemetery’s wrought iron fence leered at him as he drove by.

They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave.

The grave was in the far southern end of the cemetery, down by the edge of Tate’s land. Folks said that if you knocked on the gravestone three times at midnight on Halloween, Ol’ Knocky would knock back.

He’d been down there a few times on Halloween with his friends as a boy. None of them had ever had the gumption to knock more than once. He’d gone back when he was older. He and Mae had left Ol’ Knocky in peace, but they’d sure had some fun.

He drove past the end of the fence. The sun tipped the trees with gold.

–

He parked his truck in Tate’s driveway and jumped out. The house was small, only two bedrooms. Tate had built it himself thirty some years ago.

He walked up the path of square stone blocks to the concrete porch. Leaves crunched under his shoes. When he reached the door he stopped for a moment, inhaling the smell that clung to the house. It was musty, closed-in, the smell of dust motes in a slanted sun beam.

The doorbell was dead. The wires hung loose where the button used to be.

He knocked once on the door.

He stood for a while and waited. A breeze sprang up.

He knocked again, louder.

The breeze shook the branches of the trees surrounding the house. Leaves spiralled to the ground.

Farmer Brown knocked a third time, as hard as he could.

He heard movement inside. Something squeaked, a door closed, and heavy footsteps came from the back of the house. The front door swung open. Tate stood there, silent. Farmer Brown spoke.

“Good afternoon. How are you?”

“I’m doing all right. Can’t complain. How about yourself?”

“Fine, fine,” Farmer Brown answered.

Tate was lying. He was not doing all right. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin under them bagged.

“I’d invite you in, but the house ain’t quite to rights. I ain’t felt too good lately.”

Farmer Brown looked down at Tate’s hands. The thick brown fingers slid across each other, like snakes crawling all over each other in a pit.

Tate noticed him looking. The hands went still, limp.

“You want something to drink? Water, tea? I might have some pop.”

“No thank you, I’m fine. Listen, there’s gonna be a killin’ frost tonight. You got anything to cover your pumpkins? I got a tarp in the back of the truck.”

No answer. Tate deflated, drew back into himself. A crow cawed in the distance. The breeze came again. Leaves skittered across the porch.

Inside the house, something squeaked.

Tate lifted his head. He stepped back into the house, started to close the door. Farmer Brown tried again.

“You got any old blankets in there?”

The door closed. The lock turned. The heavy footsteps receded, a door closed inside the house, and something squeaked.

–

Farmer Brown walked down to the pumpkin field, carrying his tarp. Wasn’t like Tate to just shut the door on him like that.

The crow cawed again.

He stopped at the edge of the field. The pumpkins were ripe, just days away from harvesting. Normally, this time of year, Tate was crazy about his pumpkins. He’d set up a sign on the side of the road, Tate’s Pumpkin Patch, and sell ‘em for Halloween. Some years he got all up into it, with hayrides and carving contests. Didn’t seem like he had a mind to do any of that this year.

Well, wasn’t his place to tell Tate what to do. He’d just cover up what he could and go on back home. It was getting on towards sunset. Mae’d be wondering where he was before too long.

He put the tarp down on the ground, found a rock nearby to hold it. He set off down the field, looking for more rocks.

–

He was at the end of the field, close to the cemetery, when he saw a good-sized heavy rock. He bent down to pick it up.

When he stood up, the scarecrow was there.

It had not been there before. He was sure of it. He saw the field in his mind. Rows of pumpkins, grass, dirt, the shadows of the trees stretched long across the ground. Not a straw man to be seen.

Tate had never had a scarecrow, not that Farmer Brown knew of.

He remembered the bloodshot eyes, the coiling hands. Might be a lot about Tate he didn’t know.

The scarecrow was a good six foot. The pole looked weathered, like it’d been standing there in the rain and the snow and the sun for years. A pair of jeans swung in the wind, stuffed with straw. A red plaid shirt was tucked into the jeans, the arms stretched out across the cross pole. Bits of straw clung to the ends of the sleeves.

A fly landed on his hand. He shook it off.

He looked up, past the jeans and red plaid. Saw the white scarf.

It was a fine scarf. He wondered how much it must have cost. Must have been a pretty penny. Too bad about the stains. He stared at them. Listened to the flies buzzing.

In the distance, the crow cawed.

A snatch of song from childhood came back to him.

knock three times three times dead knock three times and lose your head

The scarf uncoiled itself, reared, struck.

It wrapped around his neck and yanked him forward. Dragged him face to face with the scarecrow’s head.

The smell hit him full in the gut. Bile rose in his throat.

Bulging eyes stared at him. Blood dripped from the nose. The half rotted mouth hung open like a tomb on Judgement Day. The swollen tongue twitched.

The scarecrow squeaked.

He pulled hard against the scarf. In response, it tightened around his neck. Cut off his windpipe.

He was going to die and they would find him here in the pumpkin field, stinking to high heaven, and Mae would be alone and he would never see her again.

The scarecrow squeaked again and again, the squeaks rising in volume until the thing was shrieking. Its screams stabbed into his brain.

The scarf cut into his skin and he couldn’t breathe and he felt something hard and rough in his hand.

He was still holding the rock.

He brought his right arm up. Swung it around. Drove the rock right into the scarecrow’s nose.

The thing let out a single high pitched squeak that reached into his bones and turned them to water.

He lifted his arm again, brought it down with the force of a tidal wave. The rock slammed into the scarecrow’s cheek. The scarf went limp.

He could breathe now. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the odor of decay and putrefaction. Raised his arm.

Blood flooded through his veins. His muscles burned.

Unable to squeak, its tongue stilled, the scarecrow moaned out a dirge.

His arm whistled through the air and came down like a scythe. The rock smashed into the side of the scarecrow’s head and kept going. Bones crunched. Skin tore and fell away.

The head came off the pole and thudded to the ground. The rest of the scarecrow followed, taking Farmer Brown with it.

The moaning stopped.

–

All of Farmer Brown’s bits ached. He could feel bruises forming on top of bruises. He was bleeding. But he was alive.

His hand was empty. The rock had fallen and disappeared.

He rolled off the scarecrow and looked up. It was nearly dark now. The moon was already in the sky. He could see every crater, every valley.

He could hear the footsteps when they came. Heavy and slow.

“I didn’t ask you for no help.”

Tate was coming down the field.

“You shouldn’t have come out here. I didn’t ask you to come out here.”

The footsteps stopped. Tate stood over him. Farmer Brown took a breath, a deep sweet breath, and spoke.

“I didn’t know you had a scarecrow.”

Tate’s face twisted with rage.

“I don’t.”

Tate held something in his hand. Something long and thin. And sharp. The knife glowed in the twilight.

Farmer Brown pulled his knees up, braced himself against the ground. Before he could get up, Tate’s boot came down hard on his chest and knocked the breath out of him.

He watched Tate raise his arm and thought Mae. The knife plunged.

–

Tate put his arms under Farmer Brown’s shoulders and lifted.

He hadn’t asked the man to come down here. He hadn’t done anything.

He walked backward. Farmer Brown’s boots scraped over the dirt.

Tate hadn’t done anything. It was the voice. The voice that screamed and screamed and never gave him any peace.

He hadn’t done anything. It was Ol’ Knocky. It was all Ol’ Knocky’s fault.

Farmer Brown’s head bumped against his chest.

The wind rustled through the trees. Leaves rose and fell in little gusts.

He came to the cemetery fence. Dragged the body through the gap he’d made three weeks ago.

Ol’ Knocky’s grave was in the row nearest his land. He laid Farmer Brown’s body down on it. Knocked on the tombstone.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He sat on the grass in the dark and waited.

–

Rusty Jenkins sat in the rocking chair on the porch of the general store. It’d turned cold. Winter was coming on. His daughter didn’t much like him being out in the cold air. He’d have to give up the general store and spend his time at home soon.

The door slammed. Mae Brown stood next to him, shaking and breathing fire.

“They said you was the last person to talk to him. What did he say?”

“Said he was going down to Tate’s. I told him. I said a boy got his head tore off down there t’other week.”

Mae stared at him, wild fear in her eyes.

“He didn’t pay no account. Went down there anyway.”

She didn’t wait to hear more. She ran down the porch steps and out to her Bonneville. She slammed the car door, gunned the motor, and peeled out of the parking lot in a shower of gravel. Headed down to Tate’s, he’d reckon. No one ever paid any account to what old folks said.

Rusty settled back in the chair. Rocked back and forth. Listened to the creak of the floorboards. Maybe he could get his daughter to buy him a rocking chair like this one.

He picked up his Dixie cup and spat a stream of tobacco juice into it.

Sure was a shame about that Farmer Brown.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Really Good Friends

Jack collects dust sitting at the kitchen table. Head bowed, fingers laced, and a stern expression across his face - he makes an excellent statue.

Sam finds him in this pose one early morning, glancing between him and the coffee pot. “More important than the coffee,” he mutters, shuffling over to sit across from him. “Jack,” he starts, “is anything wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong Sam, I...” he pauses, biting his lip.

Worry tugging at his nerves, Sam affixes the warmest smile he could muster without his usual caffeine boost. “You can tell me, Jack. I’m here to listen.”

“I was, well...” Jack sighs, unwinding from his tense posture, “I was wondering as to the nature of Dean and Cas’s relationship.”

Sam leans back in his seat, surprised. “Really?” he asks, “Why?”

“I’ve been noticing things,” Jack starts, fiddling with his thumbs, “things that they’ve been doing that seem... more than what a friend would do. Or a brother. I think they might be seeing each other in a romantic sense, like those movies Dean and I watch together that he makes me promise not to tell you- ... which I have, accidentally...”

“Like I don’t know Dean has an unhealthy obsession with chick-flicks,” Sam huffs, waving him off. “And Dean and Cas’s relationship? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “they’re just really good friends.”

Jack’s eyes widen, not expecting Sam’s comfort to sound like that. “Are you sure?” he asks, “Because I remember seeing -”

“You’ve probably been watching too many of those rom-coms with Dean,” Sam says, “Although probably a better option than all those cowboy movies... Anyway I can assure you Dean and Cas aren’t dating.”

Speaking of, Dean and Castiel enter the kitchen one right after the other. Castiel leads Dean towards the coffee maker, the hunter holding onto his former angel’s robe. “Morning Sam, Jack.”

“Morning Cas,” Sam says, as if nothing was amiss - like they weren’t talking about them moments ago, within earshot. “Hey, can you make me a cup?”

“Sure thing,” he tells him, “After Dean’s, though, as we all know what he’s like without his first cup of the day.”

Dean grumbles something Jack can’t hear, elbowing Castiel in the side. Castiel rolls his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean’s cheek that brings a small smile out from deep within the hunter’s sleep-ridden consciousness.

Jack’s eyes widen at the display, glancing between them and Sam hoping for an answer.

Sam turns to face him again. “Y��know,” Sam continues, nonplussed, “sometimes people who have lived with each other over the years... they get close. Comfortable. Attuned with who they are as a person and what they like.”

Castiel readies Dean’s coffee, handing it over to the other man leaning on the counter. He perks up at the smell of coffee, reaching over to snatch it. Kept out of hand, Castiel wags his finger in Dean’s face. “Payment first.”

Dean sighs but dips forward to capture Castiel’s lips in a more intimate kiss. Jack watches as Castiel lowers the mug and fits Dean’s hands around it, however neither seem willing to break the kiss first. Both content in breathing in each other’s morning breath. Sam carried on during all of this.

“It doesn’t mean that there’s anything more going on there. We have to respect how people view their relationship and not read so much into things. If there’s nothing else there we shouldn’t try and push it, ruining what’s already been built. And besides...” Sam smirks, “wouldn’t I know if that were the case? Maybe later today or tomorrow you and I can go out into town and observe how these things naturally play out.” He looks up, Castiel walking towards them with two mugs of coffee in hand. Sam stands, taking his from the former angel. “Thanks,” he says, “I’m taking this in the library.”

“I thought we weren’t going to start research until this afternoon?”

“I’m pushing it up so Jack and I can hang out later,” he says, winking at Jack despite how the younger boy pulls at his hair.

“Don’t overdo it,” Dean says, swinging his arm over Castiel’s shoulders and knocking their heads together.

“I’ll do it to the right amount!” Sam leaves them, Jack seething with confusion. When the other man is at a safe distance away he pounces, launching upwards and slamming his hands on the table.

Dean and Castiel startle, whipping towards him. “Jack,” Castiel says, “what’s the matter?”

“Are you two dating?”

They glance at each other, frowning. “Yeah,” Dean says, gesturing between them with his coffee, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Jack scoffs, pointing towards the exit. “Then why doesn’t Sam know!”

“Sam knows.”

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, Jack collapses into his seat. Exhausted from the many turns of this ride, he meeks out a demand for an explanation.

“Sam was one of the first to know,” Dean starts, “I mean, how could I not? Before I even thought about... taking any steps with Cas, I asked Sam about it. Wanted to know how he’d feel.”

“And Sam has been very generous,” Castiel adds, “taking single rooms so we could enjoy some alone time. Allowing us to work cases together.”

“Except,” Dean says, smirking, “one day he was a little too... impatient. Kid bursted in on Cas deep in my -”

“He caught us in a very intimate position,” he spoke over Dean, glaring at him. Dean blew a kiss Castiel’s way and nuzzled his chin, delighting in the five o’clock shadow.

“After that,” Castiel continues, blushing, “his reception to our union has... shifted.”

“Like he hit a restart button up here,” Dean taps at his forehead, “Compartmentalizing all that we do in the wrong boxes that we used to - all that macho crap Cas and I kept up that just made us miserable. Believing ‘Cas is my best friend only’ this and... ‘he’s like a brother, Sammy’ that. ...’I love you but totally in a platonic way don’t get any ideas’ - all nonsense. And he’s accepting it as fact. I get it though... probably a defense mechanism or some shit. I mean I’d hate to know what I’d be like if I walked in on him getting...” At Castiel’s stern look Dean sheepishly withdrew into his shoulders. “Like that,” he finishes lamely.

“So you two are dating,” Jack says, “and Sam is... processing?”

“Hopefully he’ll come to accept what he saw,” Castiel shrugs, “Until then it’s a waiting game.”

“Or,” Dean smirks devilishly, “Jack can whip up some sort of wall that Sam can use to block out the memory - like he did with ol’ Lucifer.”

“That didn’t work then and I doubt it’d work now.”

“Then should we shock him again? Maybe it’s like amnesia and a second hit will bring him back?”

“I swear, I don’t know why I put up with you...”

Dean lays his coffee on the table and wraps his other arm around Castiel to pull him closer, gently pressing a kiss to his nose. “Cause you love me, angel.”

“Yes, yes I do,” Castiel hums, brushing their lips together, “...But only after you’ve had your coffee.”

Dean shoves him away, snickering. “Way to ruin an intimate moment, assbutt.”

“Assbutt? I thought that was my curse word Dean?”

“You don’t get to use it when you’re being one... assbutt!”

“Dean!”

Jack snags Dean’s coffee in the chaos, sipping at it. Content in watching his fathers bicker lovingly while his other father relaxes in his ignorance, the possibility of remembering hanging overhead like the Sword of Damocles. Sitting there, though, he can’t help but agree with Sam.

“This is nothing like the movies,” he whispers, smiling, “this is much better.”

[itsbuckysworld]

HELLO SPRING DAY 5

Pairing: Astronomy Student!Bucky X Psych Major!Reader Category: College AU! Warnings: fluff bomb! Word Count: 2.6K Guest Appearance: very very very briefly Steef Rawgers

i know i said no writing two prompts in one day but im doing so to catch up because as the “host” of this event I feel like I should be up to date. 

I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE!

Day 5: Starry Night, for my Spring Short Story Writing Event

“Sorry!” Someone says, startling you out of your calm state. It’s 9pm and you’re lying on a blanket at the top of a tall hill in the park. The spot you had claimed as yours since the past week, where you come to relax and just breathe after long days. You always had a thing for laying down in the great outdoors to sort of unwind and let your body and mind breathe, and suddenly, there was a slight interruption, a bump of something hard and metallic against your outstretched leg. Opening one eye, clearly annoyed, you look to the intruder.

It’s a guy you’ve never seen before, his sweatpants hanging a little low on his hips and his short hair is messily pulled back as he circles clumsily around you looking up to the sky, bothering only slightly not to run you over with his… whatever he’s carrying. You sit up and notice his equipment, the heavy looking backpack, the small briefcase and the telescope he’s trying his hardest to set up. You deduce that’s what bumped into your leg as the guy continues to ignore your laying frame. He’s wearing glasses and he fixes them rashly, his face clean shaven and young.

You’re about to ask him to leave you alone and tell him this was your spot, as if you could claim a section of the public park, but he doesn’t let you begin when he’s crouching and looking through the lense excitedly, quickly reaching into his bag to take notes.

“Uhh, excuse me?” You start but he’s too busy looking at whatever he’s looking at, squinting through the tiny hole, to even chance a glance at you. In fact he shushes you as he takes his eye off the lease to scribble something hastily.

You give him a glare behind his back and scoot over closer to him “Hello! I was here first!” The guy all but whines. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m trying to work on my thesis”

Thesis? This guy couldn’t be much older than you. What? 23 tops? And he was working on his thesis? You notice all the scattered books that have flown out of his backpack in his frenzy to study the sky. Astronomy, Physics, The universe and us, A brief history of time.

After sitting there confused for a few seconds he finally addresses you, once more apologizing as his fingers maniacally tremble and play with the frames on his face. He’s shy, excitable, and giddy, almost reminds you of a puppy or a toddler, seeing the world for the first time, as he explains he’s an astronomy major, a freshman like you, and since day one he’s decided to study and try to catch patterns in the night sky and stars in a yearly basis, but first he had to find a spot that would allow him so, to sit and examine almost on the daily to grab the correct data. This, the tallest hill of the park – your spot to relax – was it.

“Well –“ you begin, sassily and brushing imaginary dust off your legs – “this was my relaxing spot first” you state matter-of-factly, returning to lay down as if claiming your territory and expecting him to pack up and leave but all he does is stare at you bitting his lip, and then he shrugs with a smile slowly creeping in. “I won’t interrupt you…” he says and you can tell he’s already made up his mind, he’s not leaving your spot. “Would you mind sharing your spot with me every now and then?” And you eye him with one eye open, head resting on the palms of your hands, you sigh closing your eyes and extending one hand towards him. “Y/N” “James”

☆｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ☆  ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Turn your music down” James, or well, Bucky as you’ve grown to call him over the months, now almost a year, tells you as he squints and spies on the specs of stardust in the dark sky through his telescope. You’re listening to some albums your creative writing teacher recommended for the upcoming months – your favorite elective so far, guaranteed – With a quick roll of your eyes you oblige, ticking the down button on his computer and returning to taking notes on your notebook as you lay on your tummy, using your free hand to push some of your now shorter hair away from your eyes as the breeze fluttered it around. 

“Find any new constellations worth naming after your sister?” “Nope” Bucky chuckles, and reaches to grab a sandwich from the picnic basket you’ve brought for the day without glancing away from the telescope “Not yet… Pass me my B chart?”

You don’t take your eyes away from your book as you reach over to his backpack and pull out a thick roll of paper he’s tried to explain to you over and over but it always goes over your head, every single dot is a star that you can’t place whenever you look up, and you think it’s a superpower of his, how he finds exactly the constellation he’s looking for – In his eyes, your superpower is how you easily know every single song and band from the 70’s.

You continue like this for a little longer, and later when you start to yawn, Bucky is right there with you and you both pack up in complete sync as he finishes his sandwich and sends a text to his roommate, the two of you walking together down a few blocks. His slight stubble and thicker frames adorning his face, different than when you’d first met. “See you tomorrow?” “Can’t, have this event to attend to, extra credit” “Wow, look at you needing extra credit” “Shut up. Friday?” “Sure, your turn to make sandwiches”

And then you go your separate ways.

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“Wait, the box with like... the- the triangle on top?” “Yes! yes! Ok, now now, do you see Cassiopeia?” he leans over you from behind, clapping excitedly. “Now you’re asking for too much” you lean back and sit away from the telescope in a fit of laughter that Bucky joins in. His now long hair is pushed back into a bun, away from his eyes, but a few strands adorn his face, and he’s changed his frames a second time this year, these ones you like way better, not so thick as the ones he used to have last year and not wonky like the ones he just switched out of.

He’s looking at you through them, appreciating how the new glasses are so clean and pristine he can see you perfectly through them and he enjoys the view.

His phone chirps on the blanket you’re both sat on, right next to the familiar picnic basket you’d bought all those years ago. It’s Steve, FaceTiming him. You greet him as well, he’s now your friend too, and you’re trying your best to see if you come up on the video despite it being so dark out. “Oh, you’re in your spot” he says it, almost mockingly, given he’s always found it kinda funny how you’ve both grown to call this your spot. This patch of grass at the park was yours and Bucky’s to keep. “Whatcha need punk?” Bucky doesn’t want him to keep mentioning their spot like that, specially because Steve always does it in this tone that sounds like he’s saying I told you so, you’re blind if you can’t see you’re head over heels for her. 

Bucky doesn’t want to talk about that or bring anything that could indicate to that, certainly not in front of you. “Think you took my car keys, idiot, I’m stranded at the apartment.” Bucky curses under his breath. “They’re at your place” he says looking to you and you shrug, it’s no big deal, you can swing by and get them on your way back, after all, Bucky was done stargazing for the night and you were done Bucky-gazing as well.

☆｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ☆  ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ☆

“You nervous?” It’s a chilly spring night when you lay on your back on the red and white checkered blanket, looking at the stars, with Bucky next to you laying in the opposite direction. This time around there’s no telescopes, no mess of notebooks strewn around you, and Bucky just tosses a ball up into the air and back into his hands, over and over as you just take in the night. You can’t remember the last time your spot was used for just relaxing. Surely, it’s happened many times over the course of the years, but these past months were filled with nothing but stress, which is exactly where your question comes from. 

“For my thesis presentation?” He asks, turning slightly to face you. You’re upside down in his eyes but still way too pretty through his contacts – a fact you’re not so happy about him no longer having the dark frames adorning his face, you’d grown quite used to it, but you’re glad he at least chose clear contacts, means his eyes are the same vibrant blue, and he’s kept the beard despite going back to a shorter haircut, which is altogether a nice new look – You nod. “Almost crapping my pants” a nervous chuckle leaving his plump lips, and you laugh wholeheartedly. “You’ve got this in the bag. Been at it since you were a freshmen, if someone knows how the stars dance over new york city on a yearly basis, it’s you” “And you too” “Well I’m flattered you think this silly ol’ psych major has been understanding a single word you’ve said about time and space” this causes him to laugh out loud now, a little more at ease.

The breeze hits your face and you close your eyes, letting it consume you and relax your bones. Bucky can only stare from the corner of his eye. He’s thankful for whatever combination of events lead the both of you here and now, and there’s a smile he can’t contain, suddenly drawing itself on his features.

“That lab internship write back?” You continue with your eyes closed. You hear it in his sigh the answer is no, and your hand blindly but gently reaches over to scratch at his scalp in a soothing way, however you can. He likes it when you do that, really calms him down. “They’re missing out.” There’s a tenderness in your voice as you turn to look at him. You mean it, whoever is not giving him their time of day must be insane. He’s worth his weight in gold and more. “The idiots that refused your proposal last week are missing out too, big time” his hand reaches over to push a strand of hair back from your face and your smile is warm and so is your face and every place his fingers graze, getting a dorky smile out of you. You catch a small glimpse of the star pendant on his bracelet, you’d gifted it to him long ago and he’s had it close ever since.

There’s a silence that envelops the two of you, a kind you’ve experienced before during all those years. Whenever he was deep in thought analyzing bright specs in the sky behind the clouds, or whenever you were reading too intensely into some case study, there was always silence. The kind that screamed how well you two could coexist and be perfectly content with each other.

“Look” you say, and point away from him, up and to the left. “Ursa minor”

Bucky looks and immediately bursts into surprised laughter. “Oh my god! It took me four years but you finally can find Ursa Minor on your own without a telescope!” He’s short of clapping amusedly. You push at him almost making him roll away down the hill some and calling him a jerk as his laughter calms down and he repositions his body to a sitting position. It doesn’t take you long to join him, the both of you facing the rest of the park over your hill

Looking at the time you know it’s late, usually the two of you are packed up by the time midnight rolls around, but just for tonight you’d rather stay and enjoy the company under the bright light of the stars. Bucky points somewhere in the distance, probably another constellation you can’t name, except, because he’s a great teacher – you’ll remind him later that he should look into that teaching position Professor Ruffalo had suggested – you can now recognize some shapes and this is definitely not a constellation he’s told you about before.

He traces the outs of it, just five stars that almost make the shape of a heart if you squint hard enough. “Discovered a new constellation” “Did you now?” You glance at him, taking in his features and how he slowly looks back at you, time seeming like it’s stopped, even though Bucky knows that’s impossible. The pull you have on him is comparable to that of a black hole, except you’re so bright it burns, and it’s continued to burn through the years ever since that day his old telescope almost broke because he was too busy trying to stop you from tripping down the hill, not that it was insanely dangerous, it’s just you were – are – insanely important, and he realized you were it for him. With all the star and space puns you’d googled just for him, and with your crazy theories about people’s minds and your unwavering dedication to everything you did. “… yeah…” came out of him barely above a whisper. He’s been jokingly discovering constellations with you since his sophomore year, and you found it even more charming every time. Lost in his eyes, you’re only slightly aware that you’ve cupped his face in your hand and now the tip of his nose has met the tip of your nose and it’s a nano second before his lips have met yours and you’re melting into him, allowing him to take your breath away, and being hypnotized by his always minty breath.

It takes a lot in him to stop kissing you, but he has to pull back to breathe and make sure it’s all real and not just another dream. He can barely separate from you though, just enough that he can breathe and mutter some words to you, but you’re there, so so close, just how he wants to keep you. He’s tired of looking at stars that are damn far away, so it’s nice to see one so up close. “Would it be too corny if I said I named that new constellation after you” he murmurs, just above a whisper, and you giggle, pressing your forehead to his. “yeah.” And you shrug as if saying you don’t care. “kinda cute tho” “you like cute” it’s more of an affirmation, he knows you too well by now. The two of you basically eskimo kiss through the short hushed conversation. “i love cute” “noted” He’s smiling, breathlessly as he closes the distance and kisses you again and again and again. It makes the spot – your spot – unforgettable, and even more so when a year and a half down the road he’s on one knee right there, promising you the stars as you assure him he’s already given you the whole sky.

☆｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ☆  ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ☆

feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!! I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE HOPE YOU DO TOO. I feel like this could have been a fic, like all the days i skipped? wow. Or their life after they marry? cuteeeee

[strangelittlestories]

Third Eye for the End Times - Corpies

Hey there FM Fanatics and broadcast beserkers, sorry for our recent absence from the airways, the recent apathy storm really knocked our production team (which is, uh, me) for six and then we had a run-in with, well, more on that later.

You are of course back with Third Eye: fashion tips for the end times with me, Isaac Browning the Third, your irregular reccie of sartorial regulations in these dust-filled days.

In this week’s episode, I’d like to talk about suits.

Since the sun went bad, it’s safe to say that our collective relationship with formalwear has been somewhat … mixed.

Now, I’ve known some real suave survivors who have made the humble suit work for them.

I once had a fine time living in a wind-farm commune run by a real chivalrous besuited sort who wore his crisp shirt and pressed bespoke blazer like it was armour. While such glimmers are rare in the constant dusk in which we find ourselves, there was something about the sharp contrast of white collar to black lapel that seemed to *shine*.

The kind of person you have to watch out for, however, is the person who doesn’t make the suit work for them, but who makes themself (and you) work for the *suit*.

Yep, I’m talking about corpies.

It’s a widespread urban myth that you’ll mostly find these worrying relics of the last age’s corporate line around the square mile.

And, sure, there is an unfortunate abundance of assholes in that particular urban no-person’s land.

But the truth is this: corpies can pop up anywhere there’s a particularly strong resonance with the Finance Bro archetype.

In fact, it’s a little discussed issue that most of the corpies out there are, well, *victims* in their own way.

You know how when someone flicked the big ole dimmer switch in the sky, ideas went a little screwy? Well, somehow the idea that ‘the clothes maketh the man’ really got out of hand along the line.

Hence: corpies. The first lot, sure, they were maybe your tax-avoiding, business lunch-drinking, financial-crash exacerbating blends of greed and dead-eyed hedonism wrapped up in a skinsuit. But a lot of people … they just put on the wrong kind of suit or scavenged in the wrong office block and found themselves dragged into Acquisitions.

Poor assholes. Sacks of meat puppeted around like marionettes with pocket squares. Unable to escape their three-piece straight jackets.

It’s made salvaging in a Moss Bros something of an extreme sport, y’know?

If you must risk it, though, here’s some top tips:

1: You’re best off avoiding suits with two buttons. Yes, I know, three-buttoned suits can look a bit stuffy and one-buttoned blazers look like you’re not trying hard enough OR trying way too hard. But, trust me, there’s something about the two-buttoned type that is just *memetically* dangerous. Don’t go there.

2: Think colours. Navy and anything medium to dark grey should be right out. Black’s usually safe (and dashing), whereas a lighter grey or cream can be a great light summer look (that also blends nicely into the cityscape). Pinstripe can be okay, but make sure it’s a tight stripe. Basically, you wanna hit that old-school knighthood look like Jonathan Steed out of the Avengers TV show, not new-school arms dealer like Tony Stark in the Avengers movies. Seriously, that trope is not your friend.

3: Add elbow patches. They work as a kind of trope ward, plus they give you that hot professor feel.

We’ve got some suit-themed tunes coming up for you soon, but after that I have a real treat for you: I happen to have a corpie in the studio with me right now (suitably restrained) and we’re gonna attempt an interview.

Isn’t that right buddy?

“I’m going to short your future, partner!”

Poor sod.

[chemaddictedghoul]

Chapter one: 50 years? More like 210

WORD COUNT: 2313 Summary: Anne takes her last steps in vault 111, and her first steps into her new life. To Concord we go...

A/N: Am I writing a fic all about my FO4 playthrough? And breaking canon a bunch? yep. If you’re not into slightly shitty writing or a very shippy fic, then I’m sorry. If you follow my main, then the characters will be a bit more familiar. Anyways. yeah! Chapter one!

i need a tag for this story sksks

By the time Anne had grabbed up the pipboy and was standing before the vault door, watching it unscrew, she had thrown up several times. The first was when she got out of the cryo-pod. She had just seen her husband murdered, after all. Of course her guts would fail. The second time was when she saw the first giant cockroach. It was just so... disgusting. The sound it made, the way she had to crush it with her hand... It made her retch. The third time was when she saw all the skeletons. Each and every one of them made her gag, but the doctor with the pipboy was what did it. It was probably a mix of the cockroach she had to kill, and the way her hand brushed the bones before she got the pipboy itself. She blew off the dust of the screen, coughing as she accidentially inhaled some. That would probably come back to bite her in the ass, but she didn't know. It took just a couple seconds for the pipboy to boot up, and just a couple more for her to insert the plug into the vault door controls to start opening it. Anne had pressed the button, and ran over to the platform. And that is how she ended up there, and empty stomach and a gun in hand. She watched the large door unscrew with a loud screech, the rusty metals opening up. How... How long had she been in there? It had to be years... Her mind flashed back to the man, and what looked like a robotic arm on him. Maybe she was just too middle class to have seen. But she saw the bombs. No life would exist for years. No way. So safe money was on at least five decades. Fifty years. That seemed logical, right? She didn't have time to keep questioning the time, because the vault door had opened and the elevator and came to a screaming halt at the bottom. Anne slowly crept forward, eyes widening at the elevator. She was going to get out. But she wasn't sure she was ready. What... What would the world be like? Would there be life? Would people have rebuilt? Or would there me nothing left? Would it be hopeless, some desolate wasteland with nothing left? Anne swallowed, and suddenly the gun weighed heavily in her hand. What if she couldn't take what she saw? But she quickly pushed away the thought. No, she had to push through. She had to rescue her baby. She had to rescue Shaun. And besides, she didn't have time to contemplate such drastic measures; she had arrived at the elevator. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. The doors closed behind her, and the elevator started going up. Going up to the new world. To her new life. The elevator couldn't have gone any slower. It just crawled up, groaning at the lack of care and the sudden use. But it did it's job, and made it up. Anne gave a bitter laugh as it almost reached the top. What if it had collapsed? Wouldn't that be some climactic end to her journey? It didn't fall, and soon the vault door began to open. The sunlight instantly filtered through, nearly blinding her. She squinted, holding her hand over her eyes as the doors kept opening. The sun was directly overhead,  lighting up the moving platform. Then, it finally stopped, leaving her to take in the view. Everything was dead. The trees hardly had any leaves on it, and the grass was all yellow. Hardly anything had grown around the vault. Anne gasped, slowly falling to her knees. Right in front of her was her old neighborhood, standing mostly unruined. She choked back a sob, forcing herself up. She couldn't take time to pity herself. Rather than walking down the path she had traveled so many years before, Anne slid directly down. She knew those people would've died, and she couldn't bear the thought to see them. She moved the gun to her other hand, shaking out her wrist as she began to walk. Crossing that old bridge. Walking the dusty path. The neighboorhood loomed before her, the simple blue colors of the building having faded over time. She took each step slowly, taking in the views. The air was dusty, choking her out as she walked. She had to fight for each breath, but she slowly got used to it. By the time she reached her old house, her lungs were used to the unclean air. Which was good for her. Standing--or rather, floating-- before her was Codsworth, her loyal Mister Handy robot. He focused his eyes on her, in his own way of showing shock. "As I live and breathe... It's you..! It's really you!" Codsworth turned his body around, floating towards her. Anne laughed softly. Even if he didn't intend to, Codsworth filled her with some slight happiness. He was a welcome sight, for sure. "Yeah... It's me." Anne set down the gun, and opened up her arms. Less like asking for a hug, and more like showcasing her body. Codsworth seemed as happy as a robot could. "You're still here..." And then it hit her. "Then... Then that means other people could be alive, too!" "Well of course I'm still here! Surely you don't think a little radiation could deter the pride of General Atomics Internation?" Had he been a human, or even an animal, he would be puffing out his chest in pride. It made Anne smile again. "But you seem the worse for wear. Best not let the hubby see you in that state. Where is sir, by the way?" Anne's smile faded away. He was... Gone. He was shot and killed by a man with a scar. Anne clenched her fist for just a second, blinking rapidly. "They... Came into the vault. M-Maybe you saw them? They had guns... And strange outfits?" "Ah, no. Only Ms. Rosa's boy, running around in his Halloween costume, more than a week early. I swear, the nerve of that woman leaving her brat unsupervised..." Codsworth hummed, his tone indignant. "Ah, not like you, mum. You're the perfect mother. And sir is.... Oh, where is sir, by the by?" Anne bit back a sob, shaking her head and blinking again. "He's... He's in a better place." "Mum, these things you're saying, these... these terrible things... I... I believe you need a distraction. Yes! A distraction, to calm this dire mood. It's been ages since we've had a proper family activity. Checkers. Or perhaps charades. Shaun does so love that game. IS the lad... With you?" Codsworth leaned closer, like a curious kid. The memory flashed, just as vividly as when it happened. "It doesn't make sense... I just don't get it... There's no reason somebody would take my baby..." Anne held her head in her hands, trying and failing to block it all out. And to think, she thought she lost everything when the bombs dropped. How wrong could she be? "It's worse than I thought. Hmm hmm. You're suffering from... hunger induced paranoia! Not eating properly for 200 hundred years will do that, I'm afriad." Anne's legs gave out. She fell down to the ground, her arms the only thing keeping her from faceplanting. He... He couldn't be serious, could he? "200 years? W-What? Are you...?" "A bit over 210 actually, mum. Give or take a little for the Earth's rotation and some minor dings to the ole' chronometer." Codsworth lowered himself, letting Anne use him to get herself back up again. Instinctivly, she brushed the dirt off of herself. She then looked back at him. "That means you're two centuries late for dinner! Hah! Perhaps I can whip you up a snack? You must be famished," he continued. Even if Codsworth hadn't been acting strange, Anne could definately not stomach anything right now. Or ever. "Codsworth, you're acting a bit strange... Are you alright?" She asked. The fact that should could somehow managed to get some coherent thought out surprised her. Guess she wasn't as bad as she had thought. "I... I... Oh, mmum, it's been just horrible! Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to serve. I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets nuclear fallout from vinyl wood. Nothing!" He leaned closer to her. "And don't get me started on the futility of dusting a collapsed house. And the car! The car! How do you polish rust?!" "What do you know, Codsworth," Anne asked. Maybe just talking to him like he wasn't having the robot equivilant of a mental breakdown would help him out. Codsworth lowered his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know anything, mum. The bombs came, and all of you left in such a hurry. I thought for certain you and your family were... dead. I did find this holotape. I believe sir was going to present it to you. As a surprise. But then, well... Everything 'happened'." He extended a claw hand, giving her the holotape. Written on it, in Nate's unmistakable handwriting, was "Hi, honey!" Anne, inserted it into the pipboy, but she didn't play it. Not right now. Not yet. "Thank you, Codsworth. It's something." "Well, enough feeling sorry for myself!" And just like that, his entire mood changed. Anne wished she could do that. It would make her life so much easier. "Well, shall we search the neighborhood ourselves? Maybe sir and young Shaun will turn up!" Anne knew that they wouldn't turn up. She saw Nate killed and Shaun kidnapped. But being with Codsworth would be welcome. It would help her. "Alright, Codsworth. Lead the way." Anne gave him a smile, and touched the cool steel of his body. He turned around, keeping one of his eyes on her as  he started off. "Tally-ho!" Codsworth took the lead, taking her over to one of the uncollapsed houses. He quickly located some giant bug, and burned it alive. Anne snuck past him, and one of those giant cockroaches came running at her. She shot it, shuddering. Codsworth had went down the hallway and had burned up several more bugs. "Just some bugs here... Oh wait, my sensors are detecting movement! Follow me!" He rushed out of the house, towards another house full of bugs. Anne let him take the lead on this one, hanging back outside. Those bugs would be the death of her... But then again, 200 hundred years could do some mutation... 200 hundred years. Her estimate of 50 seemed somewhat off. Codsworth came out much slower, eyes drooping. "Sir and young Shaun are really gone, are they..?" "No. Shaun is out there. He's alive. My baby has to be alive." Anne stepped forward, closer to him. Codsworth straighted up his eyes. "Then might I suggest you head down to Concord? There are some people there, and they only managed to hit my with a few rocks... Perhaps they could help you?" He suggested. If a robot could look hopeful, he was a perfect example. Anne smiled softly. "Thank you, Codsworth... I'm glad you're okay." "Of course I am! Good luck, Miss Anne! I shall hold down the fort while you search for young Shaun!" And Codsworth floated past her with a new energy. He had a purpose now. Anne watched him going, looking down at the gun in her hand. Who knew working for somebody could be your purpose in life? But then again, that is how he was programmed. Anne pushed the thought away, looking towards the bridge out of the neighborhood. She then started walking, crossing the rickety bridge slowly. There was a dead man laying on the ground, a gun a few feet away from him. Anne knelt down beside him, touching his coat. There was hardly any blood, and it felt much sturdier than her vault jumpsuit. She peeled it off the man, putting it on herself. It fit pretty well. Yeah, she was wearing a dead man's clothes, but it could be worse. She rifled through the pockets, feeling quite a bit of ammo in there. She then walked over and picked up the gun. It looked like some type of rifle, but she wasn't sure. Being married to a soldier had it's perks. As a result, Nate constantly taught her little things. One of which was how to use many guns. Anne popped out the mostly empty magazine, discarding it. She felt the belt around it, and slung it around her body with a smile. A real wasteland hero in the making. She then continued walking. A little ways down the road was an old gas station, a Red Rocket. She had to get much closer to it, however, to notice the dog. He ran up to her, sniffing her with that usual dog-like excitement. Anne looked at him, and knelt down. "Hey there, boy... How's it going?" The dog rested his muzzle in her paw, letting her tilt his head up. He then started panting, like he was smiling. Anne laughed. "Well I guess you're coming with me. Come on, buddy." She stood up, groaning quietly. She would have to do a lot of working out, now. At least she would get her dream body. Anne started walking away, and the dog trailed behind her. A little ways down the road, there were a couple huge mosquitos buzzing around. They hadn't noticed Anne or the dog yet,  so just a couple shots from her new rifle took care of them. This was her new life now. Anne looked at the city in front of her, sighing softly. She reached down to give the dog a scratch. They were going to find Shaun. They were going to avenge Nate. To Concord they go.

[nerdlife0612]

‘I Put A Spell On You’ Part 3

‘I Put A Spell On You’ Part 3 Word Count of actual story: 762 Rating: PG13 to start, maybe a bit higher by the end for reasons

Author’s Note:

OKAY. So. This little ditty came upon my little ol brain one night listening to my Spotify playlist when ‘I Put A Spell On You’ the version by CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival) came on. And based on my HIGHLY LIMITED knowledge of his TNA/Impact run, a songfic idea based on the Jeff Hardy/Willow x OFC combination came across my brain. The focus is more on the story and AU this will happen in rather than the characters themselves.

And it is important to note, while I have absolute respect for Jeff & his family, for this story to work this has to happen in an AU where he is single and has been for a long, long time.

REMEMBER: MY KNOWLEDGE IS HIGHLY LIMITED so do excuse me if my characterization or usage of Willow isn’t quite right. But this is based upon the vibes that I got. THIS WILL NOT BE A ONE SHOT. How many parts? NO DAMN IDEA at this point. And there will be smutty smut smut by the end of this tale too….

SO IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE – SKIP THIS FUCKER. xD

TAG SQUAD: (IF IT WORKS)

@evilangel84 @empress-with-the-crown @misadventuresofathot @thedevilnisworld @bigpixiefoot @theneverendingthirst @ballins-princess @princess3733 @sugasfatgf

Anyways…  onward….

*********************

Maia’s feet hit hard on the concrete beneath her, beating a rhythm of panic, adrenaline and determination to try and buy as much time as she could before she was overtaken. The sleeping city with its darkened street lights and various structures around her would have been comforting had it not been for the circumstances in front of her.

In the deepest part of her being, a component of her psyche wanted nothing more than to give up to the Alpha that was no doubt pissed and hot on her heels. But she wasn’t about to cave into that. Her experiences with men had been few and far between and many of the few experiences she had were lackluster at best.

So, suffice to say, she was terrified of what she saw in her Alpha’s eyes from across the bar, especially as the realization of what was happening set into both of their minds. She had to have some time to swallow it all and process the events. She just prayed, as she struggled for breath and as her legs were starting to burn, that she could accomplish that before it was too late.

Just a few blocks behind her, a harsh snarl passed through the lips of who would have appeared to be Jeff Hardy to the untrained eye but really was the Alpha Wisp, Willow. ‘This game is getting very tired. All I wanna do is…’

‘NO!’ The figure took a tumble, rolling side over side until he came to a stop. Groaning, his hands covered his eyes. ‘You are not going to just take her like that. She deserves better! She’s just a Human damnit!’

‘Don’t care! She’s OURS! OURS! You smelled her delicious scent too! You felt the same aura! She our little Omega who will come to her senses!’ Willow howled inside his mind. The draw of the spell was becoming unbearable. ‘If she don’t – you think I am mad now!?’

Jeff huffed inside the same mental prison, ‘I get it. I GET IT. I feel the same. But you know the rules! She has to AGREE you damn idiot! Trust me. All we’ll have to do is talk to her and appeal to her… better sense.’ Willow and Jeff stared at each from across the mental void they found themselves in.

Willow’s face a grisly snarl while Jeff’s grin turned into a smug smirk. He knew he was winning. The poor girl didn’t deserve to be basically mauled into destruction and forced to submit – he was better than that but he thought the Wisp didn’t give two shits.

Willow closed his eyes and huffed. ‘Damn you. But you’re fucking right. Besides… it might be better with her… complicity.’ Jeff raised an eyebrow at his other half. ‘Fucker proved me wrong.’ Willow smirked as the world came back into view.

All things settled now, Jeff opened his eyes to find he was in total control – the mischievous green eyes he was known for the signal that was the case. Let alone the fact he could control his limbs. Sitting up, he stretched his arms and groaned as he rose to his feet. Dusting off his white tank top and jeans, he pointed his feet in the direction that her scent flowed from and licked his lips.  One booted foot after another, he proceeded to follow the sweetest scent he’d smelled and never wanted to forget. Half an hour or so later, Maia, exhausted and spent, finally managed to stumble into her hotel. Hands on her knees and her brunette hair shielding her face from view, she closed her eyes – feeling a sense of relief that she knew would not last for long. ‘Guess it is time to get cleaned up and rest while I can. I have a choice to make.’

Pressing the up button on the elevator, she stepped in just in time to turn around to see Jeff walked through the doors of the hotel – his green eyes brightening further as they locked straight on her, a cocky grin gracing his seemingly ageless features. Panicked, Maia hit the buttons to close the doors of the elevator, finding a small sense of relief when she realized he was taking his time.

She leaned against the wall as the elevator climbed higher and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘But the look in his eyes…’

= I ain't gonna take none of your, foolin' around/ I ain't gonna take none of your, puttin' me down/ I put a spell on you because you're mine, all right…. =

*************************************

Author’s Note: OOOOO We getting close!! Another part or two with a confrontation and smut, smut, smut…. Need I say smut??

#thirsty thot crew #thirstythotcrew #I Put A Spell On You .Creedence Clearwater Revival #Songfic #Jeff Hardy #Jeff Hardy/Willow #Jeff Hardy/Willow x OFC #Fanfiction #Alpha/Omega Au #wwe #wwe fanfiction

[nerdlife0612writes]

‘I Put A Spell On You’ Part 3

‘I Put A Spell On You’ 

Part 3

Word Count of actual story: 762

Rating: PG13 to start, maybe a bit higher by the end for reasons

Author’s Note:

OKAY. So. This little ditty came upon my little ol brain one night listening to my Spotify playlist when ‘I Put A Spell On You’ the version by CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival) came on. And based on my HIGHLY LIMITED knowledge of his TNA/Impact run, a songfic idea based on the Jeff Hardy/Willow x OFC combination came across my brain. The focus is more on the story and AU this will happen in rather than the characters themselves.

And it is important to note, while I have absolute respect for Jeff & his family, for this story to work this has to happen in an AU where he is single and has been for a long, long time.

REMEMBER: MY KNOWLEDGE IS HIGHLY LIMITED so do excuse me if my characterization or usage of Willow isn’t quite right. But this is based upon the vibes that I got. THIS WILL NOT BE A ONE SHOT. How many parts? NO DAMN IDEA at this point. And there will be smutty smut smut by the end of this tale too….

SO IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE – SKIP THIS FUCKER. xD

TAG SQUAD: (IF IT WORKS)

@evilangel84 @gold--guccixxempress @misadventuresofathot-deactivate @thedevilnisworld @bigpixiefoot @theneverendingthirst @amballins-priestess @princess3733 @tacoshu

Anyways…  onward….

*********************

Maia’s feet hit hard on the concrete beneath her, beating a rhythm of panic, adrenaline and determination to try and buy as much time as she could before she was overtaken. The sleeping city with its darkened street lights and various structures around her would have been comforting had it not been for the circumstances in front of her.

In the deepest part of her being, a component of her psyche wanted nothing more than to give up to the Alpha that was no doubt pissed and hot on her heels. But she wasn’t about to cave into that. Her experiences with men had been few and far between and many of the few experiences she had were lackluster at best.

So, suffice to say, she was terrified of what she saw in her Alpha’s eyes from across the bar, especially as the realization of what was happening set into both of their minds. She had to have some time to swallow it all and process the events. She just prayed, as she struggled for breath and as her legs were starting to burn, that she could accomplish that before it was too late.

Just a few blocks behind her, a harsh snarl passed through the lips of who would have appeared to be Jeff Hardy to the untrained eye but really was the Alpha Wisp, Willow. ‘This game is getting very tired. All I wanna do is…’

‘NO!’ The figure took a tumble, rolling side over side until he came to a stop. Groaning, his hands covered his eyes. ‘You are not going to just take her like that. She deserves better! She’s just a Human damnit!’

‘Don’t care! She’s OURS! OURS! You smelled her delicious scent too! You felt the same aura! She our little Omega who will come to her senses!’ Willow howled inside his mind. The draw of the spell was becoming unbearable. ‘If she don’t – you think I am mad now!?’

Jeff huffed inside the same mental prison, ‘I get it. I GET IT. I feel the same. But you know the rules! She has to AGREE you damn idiot! Trust me. All we’ll have to do is talk to her and appeal to her… better sense.’ Willow and Jeff stared at each from across the mental void they found themselves in.

Willow’s face a grisly snarl while Jeff’s grin turned into a smug smirk. He knew he was winning. The poor girl didn’t deserve to be basically mauled into destruction and forced to submit – he was better than that but he thought the Wisp didn’t give two shits.

Willow closed his eyes and huffed. ‘Damn you. But you’re fucking right. Besides… it might be better with her… complicity.’ Jeff raised an eyebrow at his other half. ‘Fucker proved me wrong.’ Willow smirked as the world came back into view.

All things settled now, Jeff opened his eyes to find he was in total control – the mischievous green eyes he was known for the signal that was the case. Let alone the fact he could control his limbs. Sitting up, he stretched his arms and groaned as he rose to his feet. Dusting off his white tank top and jeans, he pointed his feet in the direction that her scent flowed from and licked his lips. 

One booted foot after another, he proceeded to follow the sweetest scent he’d smelled and never wanted to forget. 

Half an hour or so later, Maia, exhausted and spent, finally managed to stumble into her hotel. Hands on her knees and her brunette hair shielding her face from view, she closed her eyes – feeling a sense of relief that she knew would not last for long. ‘Guess it is time to get cleaned up and rest while I can. I have a choice to make.’

Pressing the up button on the elevator, she stepped in just in time to turn around to see Jeff walked through the doors of the hotel – his green eyes brightening further as they locked straight on her, a cocky grin gracing his seemingly ageless features. Panicked, Maia hit the buttons to close the doors of the elevator, finding a small sense of relief when she realized he was taking his time.

She leaned against the wall as the elevator climbed higher and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘But the look in his eyes…’

= I ain’t gonna take none of your, foolin’ around/ I ain’t gonna take none of your, puttin’ me down/ I put a spell on you because you’re mine, all right…. =

*************************************

[diinofayce]

Like A Whisper In The Night - 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Layne Hardin) | Word Count: 5,494 | Warnings: Swearing (probably), Violence, Angst, a dust bunny amount of fluff | A/N: I hope this chapter flows okay. I’ve been having a rough time getting my brain to do brain things. I re-read and re-wrote this like eight times. Scrapped like a whole 6k words to get this even remotely okay-ish. | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

If anyone can guess what song Layne is using in this chapter to help her block Hydra from her head gets a prize of some sort. Like a cookie or a prompt request. No using Google though!! That’s cheating!

It had been four days since FRIDAYS emergency alert sounded through the tower notifying everyone of Layne’s distress. The team had all rushed to the conference room, everyone looking confused and wild eyed. Bucky looked around at the others who mirrored his concern and all had the same question: how the hell did she get taken? No one knew she had even left the tower after the interrogation which had only been about fifteen minutes prior to the alert sounding. It all seemed to happen so fast, the enemy must have been waiting positioned outside of the tower looking for the perfect opportunity and Bucky was acutely aware that he had given it to them. Tony had pulled up the tracker that was in her bracelets and it said she was in Central Park. Steve and Bucky took off and found her things sitting neatly on a park bench. Bucky picked them up with slightly shaking hands and Steve watched his best friend carefully because it had been a long while since he had seen the man so distraught.

The days following had been filled with extensive searching of the surrounding areas and keeping an eye on all the nearby airports. They were coming up empty day after day and Bucky was starting to get more and more combative with the rest of the team. It wasn’t until breakfast on the fourth morning when Bucky nearly ripped Clint’s head off, throwing a ceramic mug at him, for taking the last cup of coffee without starting a new pot that Steve grabbed Bucky and pulled him aside.

“What has gotten into you?” Steve asked harshly, his hands locked on Bucky’s shoulders holding him in place.

“I just, I’m pissed. Why wasn’t a tracker in her suit? How are we not finding her?” Bucky asked trying to brush Steve off of him.

“We’re all frustrated, Buck, but none of us are attacking each other over it.” Steve countered. “Look, I know you have feelings for her or whatever is going on, but I need you to calm down. I need you level.”

Bucky let out a huff of air and carded his fingers through his hair, thumping his head on the wall behind him. “Steve, it’s my fucking fault she was out there. What if she was so pissed at me that she left with them willingly?”

Bucky had been crippled by that fear for the last couple of days. He kept replaying the day of the interrogation over and over in his head. It was stupid, flirting with Agent Mahoe, but he was just trying to see if he felt any sort of spark with someone like he did with Layne. He hadn’t been into it and was at the point of just going through the motions out of courtesy until he could get the chance to ghost the agent when Layne had graced them with her unfortunate timing. Bucky still had that fifty in his wallet, burning a hole in his back pocket reminding him of his idiocy, anxious to be able to give it back to her and ask her to go on an actual date with him.

“How is it your fault? She probably just needed to clear her head after the interrogation. She should have known better than to leave the tower on her own, she knows we always go in pairs,” Steve clapped his friend’s shoulders and stepped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Bucky took another deep breath and chewed on his bottom lip, looking at Steve hesitantly. He was going to get chewed out for his confession, good ol’ Captain America would have plenty to say on Bucky’s behaviour. “We slept together. The Thursday before the mission,” Bucky admitted, not able to meet Steve’s gaze.

“What?” Steve asked perplexed. “That’s incredibly unethical, Buck.”

Bucky frowned and raised his gaze to glare at his friend. “As unethical as you fooling around with Natasha? Does she know you went to coffee with Sharon?”

Steve flushed, thinking that him and the red headed assassin had been more discrete. But Bucky had always been more observant than Steve was, even before the training. “Of course she does. Natasha trusts me.” Steve blushed brighter remembering how in between coffee with Sharon and the interrogation Natasha reminded Steve exactly which relationship he was apart of. Steve paused, realization dawning on him and he looked at Bucky with a mix of incredulity and disappointment. “You were flirting with Agent Mahoe.”

Bucky dipped his head in defeat and pursed his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking his heel against the wall. “Layne didn’t want to talk about us or make anything official until after the mission and then we got so swept up with helping the new recruits…I just never bothered trying to talk to her. I figured she was over me or was not into me in the first place or I don’t know. I don’t have a line of thought for anything that’s happened the last couple weeks.” Bucky groaned closing his eyes and thumping his head back onto the wall.

“That’s crap, Bucky, and you know it,” Steve said and pulled himself up to full height, ready to give Bucky one of his Captain America lectures when FRIDAY’s automated Irish lilt filled the air.

“There is a woman on the main floor demanding to speak to Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers, and Mr. Stark. She is getting quite persistent and is claiming it has to do with Agent Hardin.” FRIDAY  informed.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other, Steve still looking at his friend very sternly. “We’re not done with this chat,” Steve said with a bit of a threatening note before grabbing Bucky’s jacket collar and tugging him off to the elevator.

Steve and Bucky met Tony coming off of another elevator in the lobby. They exchanged confused glances before their attentions were redirected towards the main commons of the lobby. There was a bit of a commotion and both tower employees and tourists who could come and take pictures with cardboard cutouts of the Avengers in the main entrance were standing around staring at an aggressive argument happening between two agents and a woman.

As Bucky got closer he immediately recognized the red hair, bandanna, and bright sleeve tattoos of Layne’s best friend; Susanna Sweet. She was wearing a black T-Shirt with a ripped denim vest covered in patches and leather pants. Her motorcycle boots were sans heels this time but she had a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket tucked under one of her arms as her free hand jabbed a finger into the chest of one of the agents. It was the tourists sudden excitement and flashing of cell phone cameras that alerted Susanna to the arrival of the three men. She looked up at them, her green eyes flashing with anger and it caused the men to pause.

Tony finally stepped forward waving off the agents who had also paused at their arrival. “Agents…you. Go back to what you were doing. We can handle this from here.”

“Johnson and Ramirez,” Steve whisper-hissed at Tony.

“What? Oh. Agent Johnson, Agent Ramirez. Good work, thank you.” The agents looked at each other and then back at Susanna who quirked an eyebrow at them. They quickly stepped out of her way as she stomped over to them.

Susanna raised her chin as she stared at them with controlled rage, when drawn up to her full height she stood nose to nose to with Tony and to the man’s defense only the muscle in his jaw twitched at her aggressive stance. “Do you want to take me somewhere private so I can tell you all how you fucked up or do you want me to let you know here?” She bit out through clenched teeth.

Tony cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Conference room then? Right this way, Ms. Sweet.” He reached out to guide her, but retracted his hand when she gave him a look that threatened to leave him needing a permanent iron appendage. Susanna quietly fumed the entire elevator ride up and until Bucky closed the conference room door behind them. She tossed her bike helmet and jacket on the table with a loud clatter and pulled her phone out of her vest pocket.

“So, one of your team members gets kidnapped and you can’t open your phone lines up? I have to come all the way out here from Minnesota to do your job for you?” Susanna seethes at them.

“Phone lines?” Bucky asked stepping forward, placing his palms flat on the table, his face knitted in confusion.

“I have FRIDAY block all encrypted calls to the tower. We’d get basement losers with voice scramblers calling the tower all the time reporting fake catastrophes,” Tony explained, leaning against the far wall and crossing his arms. Steve stood next to him with his hands on his hips, eyes trained on the woman in front of him.

“I got this call three days ago and I couldn’t get any of your agents to listen to me when I tried calling, eventually they blocked my number,” Susanna explained, hitting a few buttons on her phone and setting it on the table.

White noise crackled through the speaker before a soft hint of labored breathing could be heard. “Suzu? It’s Layne,” her voice was strained and quiet. “I have to be quick. You have to get a hold of Tony or Steve - I can’t - FRIDAYS defenses wont let me through. I was taken and I sneaked a phone from a guard but they’ll figure it out soon. Tell them I think I’m north of border, tell them I’m outside of any major cities and I heard one of them say something about a river and I heard rushing water when I was outside. There’s a complex of old bunkers. Please? I’m sorry.” There was a scuffing noise just as a sound of a large heavy metal door was thrown open. There was yelling and swearing and the sound of flesh against flesh before the line went dead. Sue’s fists were clenched around the back of a chair, her knuckles ghost white as she glared down at her phone on the table.

“There’s an old Hydra base on Moose River in Ontario, they had a meltdown at some point - I think in the seventies - and abandoned it,” Bucky said softly, his voice cracked and broken. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and clamped around his heart as he listened to her message, the thought of someone laying a hand on Layne made the acid in his stomach roll.

Steve nodded looking from the phone to Bucky. “I’ll get Natasha and Clint out there scouting ahead immediately. The rest of us will be wheels up in two hours. FRIDAY?” Steve called, immediately going into Captain America mode.

“Already alerting the others, Captain,” FRIDAY answered as Steve left the room, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as he went by.

Tony looked from the phone to Susanna to Bucky before clapping his hands together again, a nervous reaction he was never able to shake. “Right. Barnes, why don’t you show Ms. Sweet to Hardin’s room? You’ll have moderate access around the living and common areas. I’m going to go pick a suit.” He nodded to Susanna politely before also taking his leave.

That left Bucky and Susanna alone in the conference room, he looked up from where he had been staring a hole into the table to her through his chestnut hair. She was still radiating anger as she looked furiously at him. He stood and tucked his hands in his pockets, “Um. I guess if you want to follow me?” Bucky said reaching for the door. Before he had a chance to grab the handle Susanna had made her way to him in two strides, her fists tangled in his jacket and slamming his back against the wall, the plaster cracking on impact.

Bucky stuttered slightly, staring at her with disbelief. Sure she had caught him off guard, but he wasn’t exactly the lightest guy on the team and the walls of the tower weren’t exactly made of flimsy drywall.

“I’m going to level with you, Robocop. I don’t like the fact that I get a text saying you’re an asshole one second and a voice mail saying my girl is in danger the next. I like to think I’m pretty goddamn calm, but I’ve watched you stand here and scuff your toes in the carpet. So if you do not man the fuck up and bring her home safe I will personally make sure that you’re no longer able to shit without a bag attached to your side,” Susanna stated, sounding ever so calm and level headed.

Bucky reached up to carefully grab Susanna’s wrist with his metal hand to pry her grasp from him, but she redirected the grab slamming his metal arm into the wall next to him. The vibranium plates that made up his arm groaned and more spider cracks appeared around the impact point. Bucky raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, “You didn’t need help unloading your truck, did you?” She gave him a cheeky wink in response. Letting go of Bucky, Sue stuffed her phone in her pocket and grabbed her things from the table. “You going to show me to my room or what?”

~*~

Natasha and Clint had confirmed activity in the bunkers off the Moose River, so the rest of the team dropped the second quinjet down behind the tree line a mile out. When they converged Nat and Clint informed the others that it seemed like a fight had broken out in the complex. Bucky’s heart swelled with both pride and worry knowing that the only thing that should be causing a fight in there was Layne. They had decided that Bruce would stay on one of the jets unless there was a Code Green, so that they would have him for emergency medical if needed. Steve and Natasha were going to take the left couple of bunkers while Loki and Bucky were going to pair up and take the right. Sam, Tony and Clint would be running air interference. Wanda and Vision were tasked with finding any other hostages and getting them to safety.

Bucky hadn’t had the chance to really work with Loki yet and having both an unknown force with him and against him had his nerves on high alert, but he knew that if anyone was going to have a chance to help with Layne it was going to be him. Only Loki knew the full extent of Layne’s powers, even more than she did. All comlinks active in their ears the team dispersed, knowing their directions they started to make quick work of the complex.

Bucky and Loki made it through a bunker, taking down a handful of Hydra agents, but seeing no sign of Layne or Daniel. They weren’t necessarily here to rescue Daniel, but they figured if they came across the man they would bring him in. They didn’t even know if he needed rescuing or capture, but they knew Layne would never forgive them if they had a chance to get him and let him go. As Bucky and Loki approached the second bunker Natasha’s voice came over the comlink. It sounded strained and disgusted.

“I doubt we’ll find hostages. I have a bunker full of bodies, all various states of decay.”

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat and he almost ran to where Natasha was, willing to dig through corpses to make sure Layne wasn’t in there.

“Stay on target, we’ll go back to that building after if needed,” Steve’s voice responded, sounding just as distraught as Nat. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to picture what they might be looking at. After having been captured in the forties and dealing with that prisoner camp, he knew what a pile of rotting death looked like and he steeled himself hoping that he wouldn’t have to go foraging for Layne’s body.

“We need to split up,” Loki said tersely. He would never admit the affinity that he allowed to grow for Layne. He admired her quite a bit and the thought of her lifeless in that bunker terrified him more than he would ever let on. “We can’t risk them disposing of her or leaving with her. I’ll take this one, you take the last.”

Bucky nodded in understanding and shifted his hold on his gun. He trudged through the ankle deep snow, making barely any noise as he approached the last bunker. The door had already been blown off it’s hinges but no scorch marks or blast damage could be seen around the sight. Leading with his gun, one eye down the scope Bucky checks both directions and hears voices down the left hallway. Stepping carefully, wary of any traps that were activated with their arrival, he froze as a Hydra soldier was physically thrown from a room to his right and collided against the opposite wall crumpling to the ground.

Bucky could hear a man’s voice talking softly, as if trying to placate a child, as another’s voice screamed in pain before being silenced suddenly. Bucky peeked around the corner, gun risen, to see Layne with her back to the doorway and a man with a shock of brown curls approaching her carefully with his hands up, a Hydra agent lying still on the ground at Layne’s feet. Layne was dressed in a white hospital gown, bruises bloomed bright against her pale skin on her legs and arms. The man was in dark jeans and a blue t-shirt with a black tactical vest on. What drew Bucky’s gaze was the small metal box that seemed to be surgically attached to the left side of his head, small red scars roped out of the sight across his shaved scalp.

“Stand down,” Bucky barked appearing in the doorway, gun trained on the man. He looked up over Layne’s shoulder and raised his hands more.

“No, you stand down. You don’t know what you’re walking into,” the man barked back. Layne turned slowly to Bucky’s voice and his chest clenched in pain as he saw the left side of her head shaved and the same box attached to the side of her scalp. The rest of her long brown hair was swept to the side, held off the fresh looking surgery sight with a braid and some pins. A trail of blood ran from Layne’s left ear and her upper lip and chin had blood crusting to them as well, a sign that Bucky has come to notice that she was overexerting her powers.

Layne assessed Bucky, her head tilting to the right and she took a slow careful step towards him. A small light on the silver box activated and Layne’s brown eyes melted into a fiery gold. Bucky felt a strong flutter in his chest, it was like the training session when Layne was forcing his consciousness out of his body. He tried to suck some air into his spasming lungs but the feeling just intensified. Layne’s expression hardened and she raised her hand, another light switching on on the little box.

It happened suddenly, the last four days of memories pulled to the surface of Bucky’s mind. The initial conference that had everyone full of confusion and concern before they dispersed to try to find her. The hopeless searching, Bucky sneaking into her room at night to surround himself in her comforter and smell, finding a small stash of her booze and finishing it himself. His encounter with Susanna and being over powered followed by the antsy flight to Canada. But then it went further back and Bucky winced at the feeling of his mind being invaded. It wasn’t like Hydra when they would wipe them from him, it was more like she was flipping through the pages of a book. Layne landed on the coffee shop with Steve, Sharon, and Lola. The memory played like a movie, every comment Bucky made to Lola and every little touch; Bucky could feel Layne’s jealousy rip through him like fire and Bucky tried to push back with his own lack of feelings towards the other agent.

Then memories that weren’t his filled his head. Layne sitting on a park bench alone in Central Park, feeling sad for herself, when suddenly her brother sat down next to her. The long car ride where Danny would refuse to talk to her and a Hydra agent getting fed up with her questions and knocking her out with a blow to the temple. Layne sneaking a phone from a guard and trying to get through to the tower before finally calling Susanna in a fit of desperation - the beating that followed her discovery. How she was strapped down and forced to project into different girls, they were trying to get Layne to separate their powers from them and put them into Hydra agents. Bucky watched as every girl died at Layne’s forced hands twenty odd girls in the three days she had been forced before a woman, not much older than Layne, declared she would get the same enhancement as her brother. They did it to her while she was awake, they couldn’t risk putting her to sleep or she ran the risk of going brain dead. Bucky felt everything she felt in that instant, searing through his head, and it dropped him to his knees.

Layne released her mental hold on him and wobbled slightly, Danny rushed forward and caught her elbow - worry etched on his face. Bucky growled at him and stood shakily. Layne brushed her brother off and approached Bucky, running her fingers along the scruff of his jaw.

“She doesn’t know but when she’s gone I sit and drink her perfume. And I’m sure she’s drinking too, but why, where and what for and who?” Layne muttered and Bucky looked at her with confusion, but the opening of a door distracted the three of them. The doctor from Layne’s memories stepped forward, pistol raised and pointed at them. Layne and Daniel bristled instantly, Daniel stood with defiance while Layne almost shrunk back from the woman trying to make herself small.

“Whisper, the activation words,” Doctor List ordered simply, her black hair falling stick straight to her shoulders in a shiny sheet. Daniel had rooted through Layne’s memories for List on Layne’s first night here, he had told the doctor that Layne knew the Winter Soldier activation words but he couldn’t quite get a hold of them. Her dark eyes were crazed and menacing and Danny took a step to the side to put himself in between her and his sister.

“That’s fine, Specter. Give me the Winter Soldier, Whisper or I kill your brother,” she demanded again, pulling the hammer back on the gun.

Layne whimpered and shook her head. Her eyes were screwed shut tight and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. A light was blinking on the box on her head and she started humming some song. Blood starting dripping from her nose and down her lip. Bucky growled and raised his gun to the woman. There must be a control in the little box and the thought of her being a puppet for Hydra like he had been for so many years made him even more furious.

“That’s not gonna work, sweetheart,” Bucky responded harshly, grabbing Layne gently to pull her behind him.

“Forced fed, forced meds ‘til I drop dead. You can’t defeat her, when you meet her you’ll get what I said,” Layne whispered behind him. Bucky glanced back at her quickly, worry flooding his eyes before refocusing on the woman in front of him, gun pointed back at her.

“What did you do to her?” Bucky demanded, clicking his comlink line open.

“I gave her brain an enhancement, the same as I did her brother. She’s stubborn and strong willed, she just wants to fight. Daniel was such a good boy, compliant and strong, but now he wants to fight too. No bother, once I bring the Winter Soldier back to Hydra I wont need two little ghost children,” She fired her gun, and Daniel fell to the ground. Bucky responded by landing a bullet in between her eyes. Bucky felt Layne rush passed him and watched her fall to her knees next to her brother. Daniel let out a groan and moved to sit up.

“I have Layne and her brother, I need an evac immediately - Daniel has been shot. The doctor is dead,” Bucky said into his link and strode over to the two siblings. The bullet connected with Daniel’s shoulder just to the inside of the strap finding the soft spot under his collarbone, Bucky looked to the wall behind him and saw the bullet impact. “It’s a through and through, you’ll be okay. Can you stand? I have a good doctor on the plane,” Bucky held his hand out for the man and Daniel looked at it warily before reaching up with his good arm and taking it.

Bucky looked down at Layne who was still kneeling on the floor, her hair hanging in front of half her face. Daniel put a hand on her shoulder, rocking her softly and she looked up at them.

“Come on, doll, we need Banner to look at you. Let’s go home,” Bucky said bending down and picking her up carefully. She responded by burying her face in his neck and letting out a soft whimper. Bucky and Daniel met the rest of the team outside and everyone loaded into the jets. Bruce immediately went to work on Daniel’s shoulder, Natasha and Clint stayed behind to make sure there was no intelligence left in the base.  

Bucky sat towards the back of the jet, waiting for Banner to have a moment. He still had Layne in his arms, she made no move to get out of his lap when they got into the jet and he didn’t move to let her go. As selfish and guilty as it made him feel, he was relishing this contact with Layne. He buried his face in her hair and could smell the underlying scent of blackberries lingering under the sweat and blood. He softly ran his hands up and down her back in soothing motions as he closed his eyes to shut out the world. He could feel Steve and Wanda watching him carefully, both the only two that probably had an insight to what had been going on between himself and Layne, but he didn’t care. Bucky felt hot tears on his neck and he rocked side to side softly, making soft shushing noises in her hair.

He felt like such a fool, wasting time avoiding Layne after they got back from the mission and then messing around with Agent Mahoe. One big week of bad decisions led to Layne getting taken and experimented on and it was all his fault. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as tears pricked at the corners.  

“Who’s jealous, who’s jealous, who’s jealous of who? If I get busy then I couldn’t care less what you do. But when I’m by myself I think of nothing else than if a girl just might be getting through and touching you,” Layne whispered against his throat and Bucky sucked in a sharp rattling breath.

“I’m sorry, doll. God, I’m so sorry. We’ll get this all fixed and then we’ll talk. I promise, I’m not leaving you,” Bucky whispered into her hair, squeezing her to his chest.

Banner and Daniel approached the back of the jet where they were sitting. Danny had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, the arm up in a sling. “Does she still have the block up?” Danny asked, looking at his baby sister with concern. Layne looked up at Danny sharply, betrayal evident in her gaze as her eyes started to shift. Danny held his good hand up and stepped back.

“Block?” Bruce asked looking cautiously between the siblings.

“There’s a control in these boxes. I broke mine a while ago, I kept playing the part of their puppet and they never questioned. Layne is blocking their command signal, knowing her she’s probably playing some really annoying song playing over and over in her head,” Daniel responded. “She, for obvious reasons, doesn’t trust me so I don’t want to break into her mind to pull her barrier down. She’ll do it when she feels safe again.”

Layne continued to glare at her brother, not seeming pleased that he was speaking for her. A yellow light lit up on Layne’s box and she made a snarling noise, flicking her eyes over to Wanda. Wanda sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth and held her hands up, remorse evident in her eyes.

“I just wanted to see if I could help,” Wanda explained softly, a soft sob catching in her throat.

Bucky could hear the little mechanisms turning in the little three inch by three inch box, the yellow light going out and he could feel Layne’s muscles relax. He watched as Loki, Steve, and Tony all exchanged glances before Tony stepped up and clapped Daniel on his good shoulder.

“You wouldn’t mind working me through those little boxes of yours?” Tony asked.

Daniel looked at Tony carefully, taking in the iron suit that he had yet to take off. “They’re enhancers and I’m not exactly sure I want to hand over the secrets to them to the one other person who could replicate them. You already manufactured warfare once.”

“Well, I’m probably the most suited to getting them off of you.” Tony snarked, folding his arms across his chest. His stance was was a weird combination of offensive and defensive. He hated having the weapons thrown in his face and he was disgusted by the notion that he would mass produce an Inhuman control device. Tony was having serious thoughts about throwing the man out of the jet.

“Get them off?” Daniel scoffed. “That’s the last thing you should be doing. Hydra did us a favour with these, I just need to get Layne to let me take the control monitor out and she’ll be fine. The power mutation that runs in my family’s line is more of a burden then anything, there’s no way to actually control it all of the time. Now we can; pull memories selectively, remove souls from our opponents without leaving our bodies vulnerable, flip a mental switch and be able to read the auras. There is so much we can do now because of these enhancers. Besides it was brain surgery to get them in, it’ll be brain surgery to get them out.”

“And you just offered your sister up to them freely?” Bucky growled softly, he felt Layne knit her fingers in his jacket, but kept his glare on Daniel.

Daniel narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. “I had to play my part, I’m supposed to be their little puppet. If Hydra had told you to go kill your mother when you were the Winter Soldier - would you have?” Bucky tried not to wince at his question, knowing that he was right in that regard. “Besides, as horrible as getting the damn things put in is; she needs it. Once she gets the hang of it, no one kidnapping her or forcing her to do anything ever again.”

Everyone blinked at Daniel, Bucky looked down at Layne who was now blankly fiddling with a zipper on Bucky’s jacket. Tony pursed his lips as he looked down at the newest member of their team. When he had flown out to Minnesota to recruit Layne it was for a motley of reasons. He figured her intensive research into the DNA behind Inhumans would prove invaluable to Banner’s research and maybe give a break in the mystery behind the boy’s serum. He figured her powers would not only be good at keeping everyone in check, especially Barnes, but he also could see the asset behind her meticulous work and planning that was evident in her research papers. Tony, however, for all of his infallible planning never saw the girl getting taken and tainted like the rest of them.

“Yeah, well, I know a guy who could have those out in two seconds,” he finally spit out and turned away, bottling his emotions deep down inside like he was one to do.

“Wheels down in five minutes,” Steve called back from the pilot’s seat and Layne burrowed herself into Bucky more, still keeping a wary eye on her brother. Daniel looked down at his sister and frowned, she would forgive him eventually, she’d have no other choice.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[firewritten]

Knock Three Times

Rusty Jenkins sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the general store. The chair was almost as old as he was, and he was getting on up there. Nigh about eighty now.

He rocked back and forth, listening to the floorboards creak. A man could sit out here all day, chewing tobacco and rocking.

Shame about that Sutphin boy. He’d been sweet on that pretty young thing, that Thomas girl. Well, weren’t gonna be no wedding now.

The screen door flew open and Farmer Brown stepped out onto the porch. The door, worn out by all this activity and excitement, slammed shut behind him.

Rusty spoke. “What you think ‘bout this weather?”

Farmer Brown looked up. Rusty followed his gaze. The sky burned a bright hard blue. The air smelled of smoke and dead leaves.

“Killin’ frost comin’. Reckon I oughta go down to Tate’s, help him cover his pumpkins.”

Rusty reached down and picked up his Dixie cup, spat a stream of sticky brown tobacco juice into it.

“You be careful out there. Boy got his head tore plumb off out that a way t’other week. They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave. Ain’t found his head yet.”

Farmer Brown nodded and stepped off the porch. Rusty watched him get in his brown pickup truck and pull out of the gravel parking lot, headed down to Tate’s.

Sure was a shame about that Sutphin boy.

–

Farmer Brown turned left on Redbrush Church Road. The Pleasant Rest cemetery came up on his right.

The spikes on the cemetery’s wrought iron fence leered at him as he drove by.

They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave.

The grave was in the far southern end of the cemetery, down by the edge of Tate’s land. Folks said that if you knocked on the gravestone three times at midnight on Halloween, Ol’ Knocky would knock back.

He’d been down there a few times on Halloween with his friends as a boy. None of them had ever had the gumption to knock more than once. He’d gone back when he was older. He and Mae had left Ol’ Knocky in peace, but they’d sure had some fun.

He drove past the end of the fence. The sun tipped the trees with gold.

–

He parked his truck in Tate’s driveway and jumped out. The house was small, only two bedrooms. Tate had built it himself thirty some years ago.

He walked up the path of square stone blocks to the concrete porch. Leaves crunched under his shoes. When he reached the door he stopped for a moment, inhaling the smell that clung to the house. It was musty, closed-in, the smell of dust motes in a slanted sun beam.

The doorbell was dead. The wires hung loose where the button used to be.

He knocked once on the door.

He stood for a while and waited. A breeze sprang up.

He knocked again, louder.

The breeze shook the branches of the trees surrounding the house. Leaves spiralled to the ground.

Farmer Brown knocked a third time, as hard as he could.

He heard movement inside. Something squeaked, a door closed, and heavy footsteps came from the back of the house. The front door swung open. Tate stood there, silent. Farmer Brown spoke.

“Good afternoon. How are you?”

“I’m doing all right. Can’t complain. How about yourself?”

“Fine, fine,” Farmer Brown answered.

Tate was lying. He was not doing all right. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin under them bagged.

“I’d invite you in, but the house ain’t quite to rights. I ain’t felt too good lately.”

Farmer Brown looked down at Tate’s hands. The thick brown fingers slid across each other, like snakes crawling all over each other in a pit.

Tate noticed him looking. The hands went still, limp.

“You want something to drink? Water, tea? I might have some pop.”

“No thank you, I’m fine. Listen, there’s gonna be a killin’ frost tonight. You got anything to cover your pumpkins? I got a tarp in the back of the truck.”

No answer. Tate deflated, drew back into himself. A crow cawed in the distance. The breeze came again. Leaves skittered across the porch.

Inside the house, something squeaked.

Tate lifted his head. He stepped back into the house, started to close the door. Farmer Brown tried again.

“You got any old blankets in there?”

The door closed. The lock turned. The heavy footsteps receded, a door closed inside the house, and something squeaked.

–

Farmer Brown walked down to the pumpkin field, carrying his tarp. Wasn’t like Tate to just shut the door on him like that.

The crow cawed again.

He stopped at the edge of the field. The pumpkins were ripe, just days away from harvesting. Normally, this time of year, Tate was crazy about his pumpkins. He’d set up a sign on the side of the road, Tate’s Pumpkin Patch, and sell ‘em for Halloween. Some years he got all up into it, with hayrides and carving contests. Didn’t seem like he had a mind to do any of that this year.

Well, wasn’t his place to tell Tate what to do. He’d just cover up what he could and go on back home. It was getting on towards sunset. Mae’d be wondering where he was before too long.

He put the tarp down on the ground, found a rock nearby to hold it. He set off down the field, looking for more rocks.

–

He was at the end of the field, close to the cemetery, when he saw a good-sized heavy rock. He bent down to pick it up.

When he stood up, the scarecrow was there.

It had not been there before. He was sure of it. He saw the field in his mind. Rows of pumpkins, grass, dirt, the shadows of the trees stretched long across the ground. Not a straw man to be seen.

Tate had never had a scarecrow, not that Farmer Brown knew of.

He remembered the bloodshot eyes, the coiling hands. Might be a lot about Tate he didn’t know.

The scarecrow was a good six foot. The pole looked weathered, like it’d been standing there in the rain and the snow and the sun for years. A pair of jeans swung in the wind, stuffed with straw. A red plaid shirt was tucked into the jeans, the arms stretched out across the cross pole. Bits of straw clung to the ends of the sleeves.

A fly landed on his hand. He shook it off.

He looked up, past the jeans and red plaid. Saw the white scarf.

It was a fine scarf. He wondered how much it must have cost. Must have been a pretty penny. Too bad about the stains. He stared at them. Listened to the flies buzzing.

In the distance, the crow cawed.

A snatch of song from childhood came back to him.

knock three times three times dead knock three times and lose your head

The scarf uncoiled itself, reared, struck.

It wrapped around his neck and yanked him forward. Dragged him face to face with the scarecrow’s head.

The smell hit him full in the gut. Bile rose in his throat.

Bulging eyes stared at him. Blood dripped from the nose. The half rotted mouth hung open like a tomb on Judgement Day. The swollen tongue twitched.

The scarecrow squeaked.

He pulled hard against the scarf. In response, it tightened around his neck. Cut off his windpipe.

He was going to die and they would find him here in the pumpkin field, stinking to high heaven, and Mae would be alone and he would never see her again.

The scarecrow squeaked again and again, the squeaks rising in volume until the thing was shrieking. Its screams stabbed into his brain.

The scarf cut into his skin and he couldn’t breathe and he felt something hard and rough in his hand.

He was still holding the rock.

He brought his right arm up. Swung it around. Drove the rock right into the scarecrow’s nose.

The thing let out a single high pitched squeak that reached into his bones and turned them to water.

He lifted his arm again, brought it down with the force of a tidal wave. The rock slammed into the scarecrow’s cheek. The scarf went limp.

He could breathe now. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the odor of decay and putrefaction. Raised his arm.

Blood flooded through his veins. His muscles burned.

Unable to squeak, its tongue stilled, the scarecrow moaned out a dirge.

His arm whistled through the air and came down like a scythe. The rock smashed into the side of the scarecrow’s head and kept going. Bones crunched. Skin tore and fell away.

The head came off the pole and thudded to the ground. The rest of the scarecrow followed, taking Farmer Brown with it.

The moaning stopped.

–

All of Farmer Brown’s bits ached. He could feel bruises forming on top of bruises. He was bleeding. But he was alive.

His hand was empty. The rock had fallen and disappeared.

He rolled off the scarecrow and looked up. It was nearly dark now. The moon was already in the sky. He could see every crater, every valley.

He could hear the footsteps when they came. Heavy and slow.

“I didn’t ask you for no help.”

Tate was coming down the field.

“You shouldn’t have come out here. I didn’t ask you to come out here.”

The footsteps stopped. Tate stood over him. Farmer Brown took a breath, a deep sweet breath, and spoke.

“I didn’t know you had a scarecrow.”

Tate’s face twisted with rage.

“I don’t.”

Tate held something in his hand. Something long and thin. And sharp. The knife glowed in the twilight.

Farmer Brown pulled his knees up, braced himself against the ground. Before he could get up, Tate’s boot came down hard on his chest and knocked the breath out of him.

He watched Tate raise his arm and thought Mae. The knife plunged.

–

Tate put his arms under Farmer Brown’s shoulders and lifted.

He hadn’t asked the man to come down here. He hadn’t done anything.

He walked backward. Farmer Brown’s boots scraped over the dirt.

Tate hadn’t done anything. It was the voice. The voice that screamed and screamed and never gave him any peace.

He hadn’t done anything. It was Ol’ Knocky. It was all Ol’ Knocky’s fault.

Farmer Brown’s head bumped against his chest.

The wind rustled through the trees. Leaves rose and fell in little gusts.

He came to the cemetery fence. Dragged the body through the gap he’d made three weeks ago.

Ol’ Knocky’s grave was in the row nearest his land. He laid Farmer Brown’s body down on it. Knocked on the tombstone.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He sat on the grass in the dark and waited.

–

Rusty Jenkins sat in the rocking chair on the porch of the general store. It’d turned cold. Winter was coming on. His daughter didn’t much like him being out in the cold air. He’d have to give up the general store and spend his time at home soon.

The door slammed. Mae Brown stood next to him, shaking and breathing fire.

“They said you was the last person to talk to him. What did he say?”

“Said he was going down to Tate’s. I told him. I said a boy got his head tore off down there t’other week.”

Mae stared at him, wild fear in her eyes.

“He didn’t pay no account. Went down there anyway.”

She didn’t wait to hear more. She ran down the porch steps and out to her Bonneville. She slammed the car door, gunned the motor, and peeled out of the parking lot in a shower of gravel. Headed down to Tate’s, he’d reckon. No one ever paid any account to what old folks said.

Rusty settled back in the chair. Rocked back and forth. Listened to the creak of the floorboards. Maybe he could get his daughter to buy him a rocking chair like this one.

He picked up his Dixie cup and spat a stream of tobacco juice into it.

Sure was a shame about that Farmer Brown.

[bookmawkish]

An easy day, part 4

@worldoftherandom and Yasssssss

HE HAD IT COMING

HE HAD IT COMING

HE ONLY HAD HIMSELF TO BLAME

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

All the Loki/Heckyl stuff

To be fair to Loki, he’s already kicking ass like it’s going out of fashion: keeping Arcanon busy. Three simulacra Lokis, all acting independently? No problem. Some illusory flame to startle and turn his opponent? Barely a challenge. And that’s even before they get to the melee weapons - Tony has to wonder where the hell it is Loki keeps all those daggers. It just doesn’t seem plausible that there are that many pockets in the leather bodysuit.

But it’s not a one-sided fight, because Arcanon is a bastard of a hitter, and a glancing laser beam catches the real Loki across the face, making him gasp, breaking his concentration. The illusions all vanish, and a follow-up with a massive hand effectively slings Loki upwards and backwards until he crashes unceremoniously through the plate-glass window of the office block behind him.

At this unwelcome development, Heckyl abruptly appears out of nowhere (ha, magical cloaking, Tony totally called it) about a foot to Steve’s left and jumps at Arcanon like a rabid leopard. Straight for the throat. White-hot energy leaps from his hands, channeling straight down into the monster’s neck, lighting him up just as Clint’s arrows did minutes before. Tony can smell the burning, the heat of it. In combination with the oddly spiced-firework smell of Loki’s magic still hanging in the air, it’s overpowering.

“Heckyl,” says Arcanon, seemingly greatly pleased, despite the furious onslaught of power that’s making him stagger. “There you are.” And he brings his big clawed hands up, starts to wrestle, trying to wrench his attacker loose. Heckyl just up and roars right into that mask-like face and doesn’t let go, though he’s being thrown around like a ragdoll. Tony winces. Yeah, that’s the sound of personal right there. This is a grudge match. Heckyl may have the general demeanour of an effete Victorian geek, but he’s evidently just as capable of going primal-crazy as Bruce when someone pushes his buttons. And by the looks of it, he’s just about mad enough right now to forget that he’s horribly outmatched.

Only a matter of time, and he’s gonna get flattened. Oh hell no. And with Loki still out of the game after being thrown into the third floor of the office across the street, there’s no time like the present for the cavalry. Tony takes careful aim, gives Arcanon everything he’s got right in the flank. Steve goes for the legs in a beautiful baseball slide, kicking out at the red swathe of skirt to impact the shins. From above, another four arrows slip perfectly home, finding the shoulder and elbow and beeping cheerfully as they gear up to explode. Every fresh detonation drives Arcanon’s limbs back, pushing him off-balance, until between this and the continual pounding of Steve’s size thirteens on his legs, the monster is driven to his knees with Heckyl dragged along with him, still pouring all the lightning he’s got into Arcanon’s body.

And yet still, still, still it doesn’t seem to be enough: Heckyl’s strength is ebbing. He’s burning through his power too hard and too fast, and it’s not sustainable. The energy flow is starting to stutter and spit despite his obvious and overriding desire to kill his target: he’s plainly and simply running out of juice. The scream of pure, helpless rage he makes when Arcanon manages to get a grip on his throat and yank him away makes Tony grit his teeth. Arcanon is laughing now: he holds Heckyl struggling at arm’s length, with Heckyl writhing and striking at him the whole while like a trapped snake, and shakes him.

“You are weak,” Arcanon says, but Tony notices that although he’s making an obvious show of manhandling Heckyl, Arcanon’s not getting up off the floor. Huh. Maybe they’re not the only weak ones here. He catches Steve’s eye and nods at what he sees there. Yes. About now would be a good time. “You always were weak. Snide was the best part of you.”

This is evidently a very sore point, because Heckyl goes completely wild in Arcanon’s grip, thrashing and kicking and biting like a lunatic, while Arcanon continues to laugh at him.

“In my experience it’s always the bullies who turn out the weakest,” says Steve, in his best proclaiming voice (the one he pulls out specially for elementary school drug talks and when he’s on TV), Arcanon turns his immobile face in Steve’s direction, and then it’s on. Clint goes for a twofer in the monster’s back - he seems to be out of special arrows but hey, the regular kind are still really going to hurt - and Steve seems to have decided that he really hasn’t done enough punching today. Those big all-American fists of vengeance are definitely hitting home. Tony settles for taking to the air and coming down with both feet (did he mention that the repulsors are still fully firing? Ouch) onto Arcanon’s shoulders.

All of this unexpected backup for Heckyl seems to be enough to convince Arcanon to let go, and Heckyl drops to the ground. The alien rolls, snarling out what just have to be curse words in a language that definitely isn’t from this planet, then gets up with Loki’s fallen knives in each hand. Uh-oh. The underdog just got game, thinks Tony, pushing off from Arcanon’s attack and cruising upwards to avoid being lasered. He remembers with clarity the tone of Heckyl’s voice at the mention of Arcanon’s name, and he sees the look in the man’s eyes now: cold and glittering and alight with the growing promise of final satisfaction.

Tony has seen Heckyl look clownish, sarcastic, playful and vindictive before, but this is different to all of the rest. This feels dangerous. Flip the coin, because it’s all games and flirting and silly rainbows on one side - all storms and blood and death on the other.

It’s...well, damn, it’s actually scary.

Arcanon is on the street, struggling to rise, full of arrows.

“Okay,” Tony murmurs to himself, in the privacy of the suit. “Okay. I promised. You get your wish.” He darts down, past Steve, seeing on the readout display the green blip of Loki getting back in the fight. Good. Knew it would take more than blowing backward through a few layers of breezeblocks and glass to keep Ol’ Snake-eyes down, especially with his precious cuddlebunny being in jeopardy and all.  “Time out! Everybody back off, stand down. Except you, Goggles, you got this. Take him out.”

He hears Clint’s agreement almost immediately: Steve looks quickly to Heckyl and evidently sees the same evidence of incoming slaughter that Tony did. Steve is a good person. When Steve kills it’s because there really isn’t any other option, and the other guy will have already doomed himself through his own choices. Steve is uncomfortable with backing off at this point, because it feels too much like endorsing murder. But he doesn’t do anything.

And Heckyl, moving almost like a sleepwalker, bends to Arcanon’s side and plunges both the daggers into his neck. One each side, into the gap just below the two lowest masks. A last flare of reserved power lights the blades up bright blue, conducting through and dealing the final blow right up and into the monster’s brain. Arcanon convulses like a beheaded fish on the griddle, those static mask-faces seeming almost to move, contort into expressions of agony as the flickering play of light across them makes the shadows dance.

It takes an uncomfortably long time for the thrashing to stop. But it eventually does, and once they’re all as sure as they can be that the invader is properly dead, Tony, Clint and Steve move in, up to where Loki is standing at a respectful distance from the little tableau of slayer and slain. Even Loki hadn’t tried to get a shot in, Tony thinks. This was Heckyl’s job to do. And he’s done it in spades.

The man in question looks up when Loki murmurs his name, gently, with love. His expression is quite unreadable: an odd, uncertain mixture of joy and confusion and loss all in one.

“I - I was expecting him to just...disappear,” he manages, eventually, and Loki reaches out, pulls him to his feet, pulling him away from the very-obviously-not-vanished corpse.

“Nah, not around here, buddy,” says Tony, thinking back to that unnervingly perfect suburbia that Heckyl had once lived in. “It’s not nice and neat here. Not ever. No poof of fairy dust and a shower of sparks and then gone. Just a whole load of mess.” He shakes his head. “Always so goddamn messy.”

He clocks the protective set of Loki’s shoulders - hell, why can’t someone look out for him like that? - and feels the aches in his own body starting to tell. Jeez, but he’s getting too old for this. “Come on. Fury’s cleaning ladies will be along any minute and I’d rather not have to answer any awkward questions until I’ve had a shower, a shave and a...shawarma.”

“I’ll do it,” says Steve, unhesitating. “I’ll stay.” He smiles briefly, dazzlingly, in that incredibly reassuring and handsome way that always makes Tony want to puke a little. “Pick up the paperwork.” He turns the full force of the Approving Alpha Male Role Model Look on Heckyl. “Good job out there,” he says, and Tony fancies he sees Heckyl relax, just a little.