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turtlethon · 1 year

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"Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter!”

Season 7, Episode 24 First US Airdate: December 4, 1993

A wealthy businessman starts an anti-mutant campaign that places the Turtles in danger.

Season seven of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles nears its conclusion with "Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter!" As with most of the episodes during this stretch of the show, David Wise is credited as writer here.

The Turtles are investigating a series of appearances by a pair of mysterious creatures and are seen examining their footprints. Donatello remarks that since Shredder’s use of mutagen in the zoo “years ago”, new mutants have continued to appear in the city. This seems to be a call-back to the events of “Planet of the Turtleoids” that led to the creation of Groundchuck and Dirtbag. As that was in season five it’s true that for us as viewers it was a while back, but I believe this is the first time we’ve ever had in-universe confirmation that the events of the series have taken place over a period of several years.

Our heroes are alerted to a commotion at the nearby Crystal Palace Mall. Inside, a mutant wolf and turtle are terrorising shoppers. This duo will be familiar to anyone who’s seen the second live-action TMNT movie as Rahzar and Tokka respectively, though their characterisation here differs greatly from their movie appearances: rather than being BABIES – or, if you prefer, “stupid infants” - Rahzar is surprisingly eloquent while Tokkka sounds like... Beavis? I’m gonna go with Beavis. The Turtles valiantly take on these two new mutants but are outmatched, with both Leonardo and Michaelangelo going through the windows of one of the mall’s restaurants.

An interesting facet of Rahzar’s portrayal here is that from the outset it’s established he cares deeply for Tokka and considers him to be his only friend. Upon seeing Raphael and Donatello fight Tokka, Rahzar becomes furious, smashing the mall’s supporting pillar. Having left the complex in ruins, the two mutants escape; the Turtles emerge from the crumbling shopping centre but find their new enemies are long gone.

Later, in the Lair, the Turtles watch a broadcast on Channel 6. AJ Howard, an “eccentric billionaire”, is allowed to go into an anti-mutant diatribe in which he blames the many half-human, half-animals who have appeared in the city not only for the recent destruction of the mall, but for hurting the local economy and driving out business. He goes on to mention that the completion of his new skyscraper, the Howard Building, has been postponed until the mutant issue is dealt with. Beyond that, he has launched a full-on anti-mutant campaign, including promotional “down with mutants” wristbands. Announcing the next phase of his program, he introduces Dirk Savage, a burly and heavily armed man with an eyepatch who he declares is a “professional mutant hunter”.

Savage boasts about his intention to track down “every last one of you freaks”, a vow that understandably rattles the Turtles. The broadcast ends with AJ Howard encouraging citizens to request Savage’s services by way of a special hotline, 555-NO MUTANTS.

The Turtles head to Channel 6 and request April and Irma’s help in learning about Dirk Savage. April isn’t able to find much beyond him being “a professional soldier of fortune... he’s fought for governments all over the world!” Irma provides further details about Savage’s allegiances, noting that he typically fights against “rebels, misfits and other outcasts”. While at the station offices our heroes receive an incoming Turtlecom transmission from Napoleon of the Punk Frogs, who has just arrived in town with Genghis. It only takes a matter of seconds before Genghis manages to get his foot caught in a laser trap. From the bushes emerges Dirk Savage, who swiftly captures both frogs and carries them away.

Our heroes head to the spot where the Punk Frogs were captured, and determine this was indeed Savage’s doing: in a nod to the weariness that viewers may have been feeling after seven seasons of new supporting characters being introduced, Raphael notes that there are “eight zillion mutants in this series and [Savage] captures two of the good ones!” With no clear plan on what to do next, the team head back to the Lair to request Splinter’s advice.

Savage is seen transporting the Punk Frogs in his personalised truck to a special facility, where several mutants can be seen imprisoned in energy cages. The mutant hunter checks in with AJ Howard, who reminds him that the Turtles are still free: Savage assures his boss that capturing them is his top priority.

Splinter tells the Turtles that he senses Dirk Savage may be the key to solving their problem, and that they should focus on convincing him to change his ways by showing him his hatred for mutants is the result of ignorance. Later, while wandering the sewers, the Turtles discuss these words of wisdom. Donatello and Raphael are unconvinced by the idea that Savage can be reasoned with. Michaelangelo is then pulled into the air and captured in an enormous electromagnet, which Donnie helpfully explains has him “by the buckles of his bandoliers!” Before the team can free him, Dirk Savage appears, a gun in each hand and set to capture his enemies, as act one wraps up.

Act two opens with Savage angering the Turtles by calling them “mutant scum”. He attempts to capture all four members of the team, but after restraining Leonardo is pounced upon by Raphael and has a stream of water sprayed on him by Donatello from a nearby pipe. Ultimately the mutant hunter retreats, taking the tied-up Leo and Mikey with him. As he loads the two Turtles into the back of his truck, he makes a point of relieving them of their Turtlecoms, crushing the devices with his bare hands. Donnie and Raph head to the Turtle Van to give chase, but are alerted to further developments from April, who asks that they return to the station as Irma has made a major discovery.

Savage presents Michaelangelo and Leonardo to AJ Howard. The two Turtles are understandably furious and refuse to comply, but the billionaire forces them to don “compliance cuffs” - arm restraints that compel anyone wearing them to do his bidding. Napoleon, Genghis and the other assembled mutants can only look on as Leo and Mikey are brought to their knees. Meanwhile, Irma reveals her discovery to the Turtles: that Howard used to own a genetics lab which was suddenly closed, coinciding with the wealthy businessman’s disappearance for more than a year. (We can only take Irma’s word for this, as the report which appears on-screen contains no relevant information and seems to just be letters of the alphabet in sequence.)

While April and Irma are helping the Turtles, Vernon goes on-air with an editorial segment. Professing his allegiance to AJ Howard, he rails against the “nasty creatures” supposedly taking over the streets, before revealing that more than half of the city’s residents now wear the billionaire’s anti-mutant bracelets. Raphael is keen to give Vernon a piece of his mind, but is convinced to direct his energy elsewhere, as Donatello intends to infiltrate the mutant holding facility. Meanwhile, April and Irma will investigate the site of Howard’s in-construction skyscraper.

Donnie and Raph visit Mondo Gecko, making his first appearance since his debut two years earlier. As per the conclusion of that adventure he appears to still be residing in the sewers as a neighbour of sorts to the Turtles. Upon learning of the activities of Howard and Savage, Mondo agrees to assist, angered by the capture of his good friend Michaelangelo.

Savage places a table of food in an alley, luring Tokka and Rahzar into the open. This turns out to only be partially successful, as he’s able to capture the snapping turtle but not his partner. After escaping, Rahzar can only watch from a nearby rooftop as Tokka is loaded into the back of Savage’s vehicle and transported away; enraged by the loss of his buddy, he vows revenge before howling at the moon. On his way back to the mutant detainment facility Savage also encounters and captures Mondo Gecko. This time Donnie and Raph are ready, and follow the mutant hunter in the Turtle Van.

As April and Irma arrive at the Howard Building, which is covered in an enormous sheet and surrounded by guards, Donnie and Raph watch Savage unload his mutants at the facility. After he leaves again our heroes use a vent to gain entry to the mutant detainment building. Inside, they watch – along with the captive Leo and Mikey, as well as the other jailed mutants – as AJ Howard places his special cuffs on Mondo Gecko and Tokka. After an off-hand remark from Mondo about how the billionaire will never be able to kill destroy the city’s entire population of mutants, Howard reveals that isn’t his intent, and that his captured prey will serve as his own personal army. The assembled mutants are shocked as Howard removes his rubbery face mask to show his true form: that of a half-man, half-slug.

The impact of Howard’s revelation is watered down considerably by the fact that when we return for the concluding act, he’s seen pulling off his mask again, this time spouting new dialogue as he does so about being not only a mutant, but the greatest one of all. He further explains that it was an accident in his genetics lab that led to his current form (hence his year-long disappearance alluded to by Irma earlier). Donnie and Raph emerge to confront Howard, but through his compliance bracelets the slug turns the jailed mutants against them, forcing the two Turtles to retreat to their van. With his true intentions now known, Howard declares that he needs to implement the next phase of his plan immediately and marches off with his new mutant army.

Donatello is beginning to warm up to the idea suggested by Splinter earlier about Dirk Savage acting as a potential ally. From a phone booth, he calls the hunter’s hotline and leaves a message indicating that two mutant turtles have been spotted. Meanwhile April and Irma watch as Howard relays a message to the guards surrounding his building, informing them that as the mutant issue has been dealt with, they can stand down. With the coast clear, the two ladies sneak inside, finding what initially appears to be a relatively innocuous building.

Savage takes the bait, arriving at a fish market to find Donatello and Raphael. Before he can capture them Rahzar intervenes, still livid at the capture of his friend. The Turtles battle the mutant wolf, ultimately using one of Savage’s own restraining weapons to deal with their foe. It’s only after being saved by Donnie and Raph – and subsequently lectured by them about how not all mutants are bad – that Savage learns he was working for a villainous slug-man the entire time.

AJ Howard guides his army to his new skyscraper, revealing that its true name is not the Howard Building but rather the Mutant Building, a towering statue of his true form mounted on its roof. As he pulls away the sheets at ground level, April and Irma have made it to the top, and head inside to find a control room. Donnie and Raph are informed of this discovery and head off with Savage to confront the bad guys.

Michaelangelo and Leonardo are taken to the top floor by Howard with the other mutants, and due to the compliance cuffs are forced against their will to capture April and Irma. Both ladies are made by Howard to wear his “Down with Mutants” cuffs: far from being a mere propaganda tool, the slug reveals these are miniature versions of the restraints worn by his army. Soon, he announces, they’ll be used to bring everyone in the city wearing them under his control. Across town at Channel 6, Vernon is seen gushing about the bracelets to a surprisingly wary Burne Thompson. As the bracelets are powered up April’s rival is seen marching out of the room, his boss furious at the idea of him taking orders from anyone else.

Dirk Savage is also wearing one of Howard’s anti-mutant bracelets, which activates as he flies the Turtle Blimp, accompanied by Donnie and Raph. Despite this setback the team manage to open fire upon Howard’s statue, and the resulting destruction of the control room breaks the control of the bracelets over the humans who had been wearing them. Howard still has sway over the mutants, but only temporarily – it doesn’t take long for Savage to snatch the control unit out of the hands of his old boss and destroy it.

A further complication arises as the building begins to shake. Howard reveals that the explosion which destroyed the control room must have overloaded the building’s power generators. Donatello drops a dizzying number of ropes from the Turtle Blimp, allowing everyone to fly away safely before the entire skyscraper blows up.

Later, Savage makes a brief apology for the way he’s treated the assembled mutants, pledging to try and understand them in the future and offering his help if needed. Michaelangelo suggests this is almost a happy ending, but something is still missing: the Punk Frogs then step in, offering to buy the Turtles a jumbo pizza, and this is enough for Mikey to now be entirely satisfied.

Michaelangelo might be content with this conclusion, but I’m considerably less impressed. For the most part “Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter!” is an exceptional episode even by the standards of what has been a surprisingly strong season. While the series was set up around the premise that the wider world would be hostile to the Turtles – in this continuity that was established from the outset as the reason Splinter trained them to be ninjas, a means of defending themselves rather than to kill Shredder – only season three’s “Turtles on Trial” explored this idea in depth. In the years that followed, the Turtles became real-world celebrities who spent more time selling cereal, raising awareness of public transportation and going on tour as musicians than they did being depicted as underdogs struggling in a world that didn’t understand them. Arguably this fed back into the series, as the team have spent years wandering around mostly without disguises, meeting little resistance from the residents of the city and often being treated as celebrated heroes. It’s only here – in the seventh season of the show, as the need for the Turtles to serve as real-world pitchmen and role models for hire fades away, that we begin to see a re-alignment take place, freeing the team to become ninjas who reside in the shadows once more. To that end, here we return to the idea of a media-driven narrative turning opinion against the Turtles. These themes felt worryingly prescient when I wrote about them in the Turtlethon entry for “On Trial” a few years back and viewed through the lens of this episode seem just as relevant to our real-world political and cultural climate now. The difference is that while the season three approach to this story resulted in an effective story with an ending that felt all too plausible, this one manages to stumble right before making it over the finish line.

I don’t know what it is about season seven: for some reason the overarching theme for this year seems to have been terrific stories that invariably wind up with half-baked, unsatisfying conclusions. (Baxter’s final appearance is the most obvious example of this.) Whereas Clayton Kellerman’s insistence on continuing to profit by directing hate at the Turtles even after being saved by them felt all too real, here Dirk Savage’s willingness to cast aside his hatred of mutants so readily comes across as entirely inauthentic. Far worse than this, though, is AJ Howard’s fate being omitted from the end of the show completely. Did he feel any remorse for treating the mutants the way he did? Was his perspective changed after being saved from the exploding buildings by the Turtles, or would he simply vow to get revenge? We’ll never know, and it’s one of the great missed opportunities that this villain – part Ross Perot with his pie charts and presumably paid TV broadcasts, part Richard Nixon in voice and general demeanour – didn't get used again. I could easily envision an alternative direction for seasons eight through ten where it’s Howard who becomes the main villain of the series as Shredder and Krang fade into the background, a cartoon counterpart to Null from the Archie TMNT Adventures continuity whose influence and power make life much harder for the Turtles.

Comparisons to “On Trial” notwithstanding, there’s no shortage of other things going on here that are genuinely interesting. The revelation that Shredder’s schemes led to the creation of a variety of unseen mutants is intriguing, but even here there’s a sense that much more could have come of this: we see several mutants in this adventure who are all original designs, but they could so easily have been existing characters from the Archie comics or the toy line. It’s not hard to imagine the likes of Scratch, Panda Khan or Halfcourt receiving cameos here, or even Ace Duck finally getting some proper screen time. At least we get guest appearances from Tokka and Rahzar, albeit years after their debut in The Secret of the Ooze. This is more relevant to Turtlethon entries for the live-action movies – which I still intend to do before this project is over – but the inclusion of this duo in the cartoon after so long feels particularly odd given that they were effectively an unsuccessful attempt to outdo its own Rocksteady and Bebop. Perhaps Playmates were keen to have Tokka and Rahzar incorporated into the show, as both did have a couple of action figures at retail during this period.

Without a doubt this episode is going on the Required Viewing list, but with the caveat that as good as it is, it had the potential to be something far greater than what we ultimately received. We say goodbye to the remaining Punk Frogs and Mondo Gecko here for the last time, with the conclusion of season seven and the classic era of TMNT looming on the horizon. Before then our attention must turn back to the Technodrome Crew for the subject of the next entry, “Invasion of the Krangazoids”.

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #TMNT 1987 #Ninja Turtles #Turtlethon #1993 #Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter #Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter!#Dirk Savage Mutant Hunter #Dirk Savage #AJ Howard #A.J. Howard #Tokka #Rahzar #Tokka and Rahzar

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neopolpleb · 3 years

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Curiosity Saved The Cat | a Micheal Myers x GN!Reader

warnings: none! Just a sweet ol thingy bout you and ol mikey meeting

A/N: Aye babies this isn’t my first rodeo on this hellsite but you’ve probably never seen my work unless you have the memory of an elephant and an obsession with Karl Heisenberg!

But! New user new me y’know. So this is my first fic as Neopleb and I hope you stick around and maybe send in some requests!

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His favorite activity was to watch you. Sometimes you didn’t know. Sometimes he knew you knew, but your favorite was when he didn’t know that you knew.

You were used to the iconic Micheal stare. I mean, dating this seven foot hunk of a killer for a few years meant you had to get used to it or it just wouldn’t be pleasant for you. Thankfully, you were able to take his glares and glances but you also learned how to tell them apart.

Of course, theres the stare that fills even the strongest of men with fright as they realize their death is soon nearing when they look into the emotionless gaze that hid the truest form of evil. The Shape.

You’re grateful you’ve never experienced the full force of that gaze. You had seen it be fought off the night you two met. It was replaced with the next stare; curiosity.

The day you two met is a memory you cherish, but of course your logical side always is ringing in the back of your head “HOW THE FUCK DID I SURVIVE EVIL FUCKING PERSONIFIED???” or something along those lines.

The answer was simple, you intrigued him. Micheal had never seen anything like you. He couldn’t understand it. The shape was banging in his skull telling him to kill you right now. Finish the job. But Micheal for once didn’t listen. For once in over many decades, he let his more human side take over and he just left.

Imagine the look on your face when Micheal Myers, who was five seconds away from killing you just up and walks away. You didn’t know how to react. You sat in the corner of your silent bedroom praying to whatever was out there that he wouldn’t change his mind about sparing you.

You didn’t want to provoke him in anyway so you cast logic to the wind and didn’t contact the police. In the weeks following the encounter you thought you had just been a miracle and would never have a run in with the masked fellow again…

Until you started noticing things. Things like, windows being open that you were sure to have closed the night before. Locks suddenly broken no matter how many times you would replace them. You tried your best to calm your thoughts but the obvious answer was basically hitting you in the face. He never let you be. He had been watching you the whole time.

Of course you freaked out, but then came the confusion. Why hadn’t he killed you? You had lived in Haddonfield long enough to hear the stories, and from what you gathered, Micheal didn’t really keep victims. Of course if they ran he’d find them again, but it was usually a quick job. So why are you still here?

That was a question even Micheal couldn’t answer. It felt like everyday was “the day he is definitely going to do it” but it never was. He just watched you. Almost as if you were a science project that he had to observe.

He couldn’t wrap his head around you. To the naked eye you were just a normal person. You moved from the city to live a quiet life, a fresh start, in a small town in Illinois. You kept to yourself. The only person who knew you by name was the usual cashier at the local supermarket. You minded your business. Yet some how you caught the eye of god’s most terrifying creation.

After a few weeks of trying fix the locks, even going as far to super glue a few windows shut, you gave up. They always found themselves open again, you came to the thought that “if he hasn’t killed me yet, why am I to be so worried?” Which on your part isn’t the smartest, but no one ever said you were the sharpest knife in the drawer.

It was a silent night it February. You had fallen asleep on your couch after a long day of studying for your exams. You hadn’t slept in over 20 hours, and you were out cold, so you didn’t hear the creak of the back door opening.

Micheal stalked in, as silent as ever. Hiding in the shadows as he mapped out his plan to finally end you tonight. He headed towards your bedroom, expecting you to be there asleep in bed as you usually were. He stopped as he spotted you passed out on the couch. Half your body was hanging off the side and there was a pencil stuck in your hair.

He stared at you again, the curious gaze returning as his plan slowly faded from his mind. You were an enigma. How did you capture his gaze like this, why did he push everything aside just to watch you. You were just another victim. Another body. Another object to him. Why is his mind seeing you as something more.

The thing that pulled him from his thoughts was your body slamming to the ground after just a bit too much of you came off the couch. He quickly hid in the shadows of the hallway, planning his escape as you tried to get your bearings after your rude awakening.

You rubbed your head, groaning as you slowly stood. You waddled over to the kitchen to get a glass of water before chasing the lingering sleep to your bed. You felt his gaze, you had become more aware of it once you had given up on shutting the monster out. You grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it was tap water. The stream filling the glass was the only sound that could be heard throughout the house.

You leaned back against the counter as you sipped the water. Glancing around the room hoping to spot your watcher but you as always, you never could. You sighed shaking off the gaze and setting the cup in the sink before heading towards your bedroom.

You made it halfway towards your hallway before you spotted the silhouette in the shadows. Your brain was yanking at the reigns of your body to run, hide, call someone, ANYTHING. Yet you just… stood there. Not as if you were frozen in fear, but as if you were having a staring contest with your intruder.

You took a deep inhale and let it out in a sigh before you continued your walk to your room. You knew that this could possibly be your final moment, but it was almost 4 am and you were still incredibly tired. So with logic to the wind, you walked past Micheal who kept his gaze on you the entire time.

You couldn’t see his face, but it was contorted in pure confusion- Why weren’t you running? Why weren’t you cowering in fear. He stared in shock as you reached your bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

Your hand grabbed the knob turning it gently, before glancing back at the man who now stood on the opposite side of the hallway, still watching. You opened the door slowly, turning back to face him.

“… Theres uh- Theres leftovers in the fridge. Spaghetti. You can have some if you want, just put the plate in the sink when your done please.” You spoke quietly, before quickly closing the door to your room. Immediately jumping under your covers as if you were a child hiding from the monster in your closet, but you knew even a child wouldn’t be dumb enough to offer a monster DINNER.

You squeezed your eyes shut and cut out the world as you let sleep take over, hoping to awake the next morning.

You did in fact wake up the next morning, your bedroom door was left open, which you let go quickly considering the fact that you were still alive. You slowly crept out to the living room, glancing around to make sure your visitor hadn’t stuck around. You didn’t see anyone, or feel any gaze so you walked to your kitchen feeling more safe.

There was a bowl left on the counter, you furrowed your eyebrows at it. “Dude breaks into my house, eats my food, and I ask him ONE thing and he can’t even do it? Unbelievable.” You fake being dramatic to yourself, as you set the bowl in the sink and begin making yourself breakfast.

You begin cracking eggs into a bowl when you hear the creak of your back door opening. You pause momentarily, before continuing your cooking. A few silent seconds later and you feel the familiar gaze resting on the back of your head.

You continue your cooking and point to the table,

“If you want breakfast sit down and it’ll be done soon” it came out more confident than your offer last night and you hope that you didn’t anger him. Thankfully, you hear a chair being pulled out and you take a glance to see Micheal sitting, his gaze still locked on you.

Sometimes you still wonder why he hadn’t killed you. He doesn’t talk much but in his more talkative moments he joked that he only kept you around for your food. Though in truth sometimes he doesn’t really know the answer. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Hell he didn’t even believe in love period before he started hanging around you. Yet something about you stuck out to him, but he has a lifetime with you to figure it out.

#micheal myers #oneshots #micheal myers x reader #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #fluff #micheal myers fluff #slasher fluff #halloween #slasher films

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

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Piss Off Your Parents - Part 8

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG13

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous → Part 7

Next → Part 9

Feeling a body shift beside you, you slowly began to wake from your deep, dreamless sleep. With thin rays of sunlight shining through the crack between the curtains, you let a content, sleepy smile toy at the corners of your lips as you rolled over in Keishin's arms and came face to face with his sleeping form.

It had been over a week since you had started staying with Keishin and even though waking up beside someone every morning definitely took some getting used to, you were a little surprised by just how quickly it was beginning to feel normal. Not only that, but you never slept better than you did in Keishin's bed with his warm, calming presence beside you and strong, protective arm draped over your waist.

Eyes closed and lips slightly parted, Keishin was fast asleep. His chest rose and fell rhythmically and at some point during the night, just like every other night, his hair—which wasn't tamed by the headband while he slept—had gotten all messed up and a few strands had fallen into his face.

Whenever you woke up before him, you would always take the chance to just look at him. While he slept, he seemed completely and utterly at peace—no longer burdened by the stress of coaching volleyball, working at the store, and no doubt whatever extra problems you had brought into his life. You thought back to the time you had watched him sleeping on the couch in the back room and sighed happily; the thought of how much things had changed in such a short period of time truly putting things into perspective.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself any longer, you reached out slowly and brushed the loose strands of hair out of his face and tucked them behind his ear—the same way you had done when you two had first had sex and the same way you had done countless times since.

Keishin could sleep through a thunderstorm or the sound of you calling out his name, but as soon as he felt your fingertips graze against his cheek, his eyes fluttered open. Upon noticing he was awake, you made your touch more prominent and caressed his face.

"Good morning," you whispered, unwilling to raise your voice any more than that and ruin the soft ambiance of the early morning.

Keishin leaned into your touch and smiled softly. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you answered as you ran your thumb along his bottom lip, internally debating if you should ambush him with kisses now or wait until he had woken up a little more first. Chuckling to yourself over your own thoughts, you caught yourself staring at his lips and directed your gaze back to his eyes. "I'm just looking at you."

Keishin scoffed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your thumb. "Why?"

"Because you look so beautiful when you're asleep," you told him matter-of-factly. "Not that you don't always look beautiful," you added quickly before he could make some sort of sarcastic comment.

Keishin rolled his eyes before pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you. "You're such a sap, you know that?"

You laughed. "First, I'm dramatic. Now I'm a sap. What's next?"

"I have no idea." Keishin shrugged the best he could while lying down. "What I do know, however," he glanced at the clock, "is that we need to get up and get ready."

Following Keishin's gaze to the time, you huffed sadly when you noticed there were only five minutes left until your alarm would go off, forcing you to get ready to open the store. "Can't we just stay in bed all day?" you asked, hoping you could convince him to stay under the covers with you.

"Not unless we want to go broke and end up living under a bridge together."

You chuckled as Keishin crawled out of bed, the temptation of slapping his ass gently when he stood up almost too much but you managed to control yourself. "Together?" You grinned. "You'd stay with me even if we were both dirt poor?"

Keishin rolled his eyes playfully at your takeaway from his statement. "Of course." He collected his clothes before making his way around to your side of the bed and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But I think I like plumbing and heating too much to give them up, so let's shower and get ready."

Sitting up in bed, you cocked an eyebrow. "You want to shower together?"

Keishin flashed a devilish smirk as he headed for the bathroom. "Purely for the purpose of saving water." He disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later his boxers flew out and landed on the floor, indicating he was completely nude. "But if you hate the planet, then I guess that's on you."

Your cheeks flushed red but nevertheless, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began removing your clothes as you approached the bathroom. "Sure," you laughed as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself and let your eyes wander over Keishin's wet, naked body as he stood under the steaming water. "If it's for the planet, how could I possibly say no?"

20 minutes of passionate kissing and soapy hands exploring every inch of each other's body later, the two of you towelled off and finished getting ready before sitting down for a quick breakfast together.

"So the volleyball team has a game today, right?" you asked Keishin as you poured milk into your bowl of cereal. Keishin nodded. "What time do you think you will be home?"

Keishin thought for a moment before answering. "Probably around six or seven tonight. The game is right after school so it shouldn't run too late."

"Okay." You sat down across from him at the table. "Should we get dinner after I close up the shop?"

Keishin nodded again. "Sounds like a plan."

With a few more bites of his breakfast, Keishin was setting his dishes in the sink, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, and rushing down the stairs and out of the building to start his day.

As you listened to his footsteps stomp down the stairs, followed by the sound of the back door opening and closing to indicate that he had left, you sighed to yourself and sat back in your chair. It was then that you took a minute to think about everything; your job, your boyfriend, your living arrangements, your tattered relationship with your parents. In the span of a few months, your life had completely turned upside down, but that wasn't the part that freaked you out the most.

What really got you thinking was the fact that, even though your life had done a complete 180, you had never been happier; which led to the constant internal questioning about if you had ever really been happy before you had met Keishin at all, or if this was just a different kind of happy—a happy that only a stable, supportive significant other could provide.

Before you had the chance to get lost in your thoughts, you snapped out of it, finished your breakfast, and headed downstairs to open the shop and begin your day.

As usual, you dealt with the typical morning rush of people stopping in to grab a coffee or other various food items on their way to work or school. Once the mid-morning slump hit and the customer traffic went way down, you took the time to do some routine cleaning and inventory. By now, you were like a well-oiled machine when it came to the daily task of running the store.

Around noon, as you were finishing up stocking some shelves, the front door opened and a very well-dressed man strolled into the store. "Hello," you greeted him, standing from where you were kneeling in front of the shelves and dusting off your pants.

The man gave you a once over, eyeing you from head to toe. Without so much as an acknowledging nod, he brushed past you and toward the full-length fridges at the back.

Assuming the man just wasn't in a chatty mood, you took the empty boxes to the storage room. When you exited, the man was already standing at the front counter, impatiently tapping his foot while he held two bottles of water in his hands.

"Sorry for the wait," you apologized. "Just the waters today?"

The man just nodded and let out a grunt.

Trying not to take his dismissive attitude too seriously, you rang up his purchases and gave him the total. Instead of pulling out his wallet, however, he just gave you a dirty look.

"That's a little expensive for two bottles of water, don't you think?" he retorted.

You didn't know what to say to that, so you shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't make the prices, sir," you told him. "I just work here."

Huffing loudly, the man fished his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out some bills before tossing them haphazardly onto the counter. "Fine. Don't forget my change."

Before you could open the cash register, the front doors opened again and a woman dressed in a beautiful dress with her hair done up elegantly walked in and stopped beside the man before you. "Have you paid yet?" she asked the man, who was either her boyfriend or husband based on the way she was hanging off of his arm. "I just realized I'm out of cigarettes."

"I'm just paying now," he told her, his face softer than you had seen it yet before he turned back to you and asked for the brand of cigarettes that his partner smoked.

Spinning around, you felt your stomach twist at the sight of the empty dispenser of cigarettes, meaning that you were out of the brand he had requested. Of course, the delivery for that day hadn't come in yet, making your job even harder right now.

Plastering the warmest smile on your face that you could muster, you turned back to the couple. "I apologize, but we are all out of that brand. Can I get you something else?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "No, everything else tastes like garbage."

"I see." You stepped back up to the cash register. "So just the waters then?"

The man nodded. "I guess so if your shitty little store doesn't even stock up on popular brands of cigarettes." He watched you intently as you opened the register and counted his change. "I knew we should have stopped somewhere other than this hole in the wall."

As much as you so desperately wanted to rip this man and his spoiled girlfriend a new one, you bit your tongue instead and grinned as you handed him back his change. "Here you are." You dropped the coins into his outstretched hand. "Have a wonderful day."

Neither one of them said anything in response as they turned on their heels and marched out of the store, noses turned up at everything around them. As you watched them get into their fancy car and speed away, you wondered if they treated everyone like that or just lowly corner store workers like yourself.

Trying to let the incident slide off of you like water off of a duck's back, you returned to the remaining tasks on your to-do list and tried to forget all about being treated like a second-class citizen.

As the day turned to late afternoon and the after-school and after-work rush hit, you had found your way back into your groove again.

An hour or so before closing time, and roughly around the time Keishin would be returning, you heard a pair of heels clacking against the tile floor and stood up front behind the counter only to come face-to-face with your mother. Dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, it was obvious she had just come from work, but your attention was more focused on the envelope she was holding out to you.

"This came for you the other day." She didn't even bother with a simple greeting even though it had been weeks since you had seen or spoken to her or your father.

"Oh, okay." You reached out and took the envelope from her. Turning it over, you felt your heart jump into your throat when you read that it was from the University of Tokyo.

You looked up at your mother expectantly but she waved you off. "Don't ask me what it says, I didn't open it," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Why didn't you tell your father and me that you applied to the University of Tokyo? It's a very good school."

"Because I didn't do it for you," you said as you tucked the envelope into your back pocket. "And I certainly didn't do it to go to law school or anything you guys would approve of."

Your mother narrowed her eyes at you. "Then why did you do it?"

"To play soccer," you answered, your mind immediately going to the conversation you had had with Keishin while taking inventory together. "And because I told someone I would."

Your mother eyed you for a minute more, waiting to see if you would reach for the envelope again to open it. When you made no indication of sharing your application results with her, she hummed softly. "Well, whatever that letter says, you should take some time to seriously consider what your next step is going to be." She turned to leave but stopped halfway to the door and looked at you over her shoulder. "It's not too late to make the right choice. Think carefully before you throw your life away."

With that, your mother exited the store, leaving you with a mixed slurry of emotions and no clue how to deal with any of them.

Pulling the envelope out of your back pocket, you set it down on the counter in front of you and stared at it. Whatever was printed on the single piece of paper inside would set a course for your future . . . although you were unsure if you even still wanted the future that this piece of paper could give you.

All you wanted was to be happy, and all you knew was that Keishin gave you that.

Anything more felt like asking for too much.

Anything more felt like a gamble that wasn't worth the risk.

#piss off your parents #part 8 #haikyuu #haikyuu!!!#sexy time #haikyuu smut #lostinthewiind #reader insert #reader imagine #x reader #ukai keishin #ukai #ukai x reader

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radioactivepeasant · 2 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Spooky Season is nearly upon us, my loves! And so in advance celebration of the air finally freaking cooling down a couple degrees, I bring you badly retold ghost stories from my home state of South Carolina!

I'd have suggested Florida, since that's where I spent my early childhood, but tbh Florida is just so...Florida...that ghosts can't upstage the shenanigans of the living.

1. The Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp

My dude starts out in 1988 with police reports about a woman's car having claw and teeth marks, with muddy footprints and hair left behind. Ah yes, lizards: famously hairy creatures. After a teenager calls the cops about a seven foot tall "green" "wet-ish" critter doing its darndest to go car surfing -- and maybe snack on some teenage drivers if he gets the munchies -- the two reports kinda get conflated and the Lizard Man was born. Very shortly thereafter, the local chamber of commerce realized they could capitalize on a local cryptid, and he’s been a regional meme ever since.

Worth noting: 2 years before our scaly friend debuted, The Swamp Thing was filmed in the same state ��

2. Lavinia Fisher, the Demon Barber Innkeeper of Fleet Street Charleston

Because who doesn't like beds that are secretly trap doors, right?

That's the legendary modus operandi, at least. This was the 1800s, so what we know now might be as badly retold as anything I could make up, as a disclaimer.

The story goes that John and Lavinia Fisher ran an inn called Six Mile House, which is a strange thing to name a house, except when you have built it six miles from Charleston. Nice little place, but people started noticing that it seemed to be a branch of the Hotel California: you could check in anytime you liked, but you were never going to leave. But considering the lack of a Yelp column in the newspaper, this took a while to be noticed.

Lavinia would welcome wealthy guests in, make them comfortable, make them feel at home, and then make them poisoned tea. Not enough to immediately kill, just enough to drug them.

Now, you may be wondering what I initially wondered: But Radio, wouldn't they have tasted something odd?

And now I regret to inform you of the peculiarity that is South Carolina Sweet Tea.

Sweet Tea is definitely a Southern Thing around here, but I'll say this: the sweet tea I've had in other typically southern states at least tasted like tea. The stuff we have here around the capitol? It's syrup in a cup. You could put it in a feeder and attract hummingbirds. Pour it on some decorative ivory and your knickknacks will develop cavities. Its served cold because if you drank that much sugar while hot your teeth would instantly mutiny and flee your mouth.

Lavinia could've put whatever she wanted in that stuff and it probably would've been hard to tell. And Southern Manners would mean those poor saps would just pretend not to notice the taste. Either that, or their taste buds were already so destroyed by their own preferred blends of sweet tea that they wouldn't have known the difference anyway.

Once a guest got sleepy, John and Lavinia would show them to a guest room and leave them to go to bed. But seeing as you read the beginning of this section, you already know where that bed is going: straight through the floor.

I don't know how they set that up, but I'm picturing like, the frame just opening and dropping the whole kit and caboodle down.

Supposedly, they kept a row of spikes in the basement for the guest to drop onto. Honestly though, that would tear up the mattress or pallet wouldn't it? That's not a cost effective way to mug your inn guests and still hide evidence. So unless they had an unlimited supply of replacement bedding, we can probably ignore the spikes in favor of the rather more Sweeney Todd theory: that John was waiting downstairs with an axe to finish what the blunt force trauma started.

It all had to come crashing down eventually, of course.

The scheme, not the trapdoor, mind you.

Eventually a guest with taste came along: a word here used to indicate that he could tell the difference between tea and syrup in a cup. When Lavinia made her special brew, he took a sip and had a perfectly reasonable reaction:

But he didn’t want to hurt his host's feelings. After all, we can't all be skilled in measuring an Appropriate Amount of Sweetener. So he waited until Lavinia was busy, and dumped the tea down the sink. Of course, this had the side effect of him not being sleepy when he went to his room. He was still up and puttering around when John and Lavinia pulled the lever, and saw his bed disappear into the floor.

Naturally, he beat feet and informed the authorities that Six Mile House was not, strictly speaking, up to code. As a result, John and Lavinia were arrested and charged with highway robbery and mass murder, for which both were later executed. Nobody actually knows how many people died in the inn, nor exactly how involved Lavinia actually was.

3. One more for the road: Bigfoot

Yes, I said Bigfoot.

Generally, we stick to our Lizard Man, and maybe the Catawba River Runner. But there have been just enough Bigfoot Incidents for police in 2017 to put out a warning for locals not to shoot at any Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) Lest they harm a prankster in a monkeysuit.

Aaaaaand then September arrived. And with it, a surprise cameo by the big fella himself at Hunting Island State Park. I, personally, stand by my theory that many "Bigfoot" sightings are Regular Animals In Places They Definitely Shouldn't Be (like the monkeys that live in Wekiwa Springs, FL). I personally find that explanation both technically still a cryptid, and also very entertaining. Brownish black fur, five or so feet tall, walking upright, according to witnesses.

The park superintendent says he's taking it as a "credible incident", so make of that what you will.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #folklore friday #explaining folktales badly #explaining ghost stories badly #no actual ghosts though #cryptids #bigfoot #scape ore lizard man #sc lizard man #true crime #true-ish crime

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paganimagevault · 2 years

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Portrait of a young Pythagoras by Bruce Pennington 2010

"Another early teacher who enormously influenced Pythagoras’ life and ideas was Thales, one of the Seven Sages of Antiquity. Thales was an old man when Pythagoras sought him out, and his advice was for Pythagoras to follow in his footsteps and travel to Egypt to learn all he could from the priests there. Young and impetuous, Pythagoras was quick to follow this advice. He looked like a freak as he departed for Egypt with long flowing hair and beard he never cut or shaped. He wore an oriental turban, and Persian trousers made of linen – neither ordinarily seen on the island of Samos, or elsewhere in Greece. In Egypt he was quick to learn to cover his feet in papyrus for shoes. No animal skins were ever used. He spent the next 22 years there, and was a witness to the Persian conquest of Egypt. Greek visitors to Egypt, including Pythagoras, were collected into slavery by the conquering army and transported into Babylon. There Pythagoras’ adventures and occult studies were allowed to continue, probably due to his charisma and talents. He was never mutilated to prevent his fleeing, as were so many slaves, for he had little inclination to depart, and instead assimilated himself into this strange culture and continued to grow. Six years later he was able to buy his freedom. For Pythagoras, it was finally time to journey home to the island of Samos.

Due to his ever-strengthening belief in the transmigration of souls, Pythagoras was obliged to become a vegetarian, to avoid the chance of accidentally eating a friend or relative. It’s reported that one day Pythagoras encountered a man beating his dog. As the dog whimpered and yelped in fear and in pain, Pythagoras recognized the noises as the voice of a recently departed friend. He physically intervened upon the man to release the dog, thus allowing his reincarnated friend to escape a life of misery.

Pythagoras the vegetarian did not only abstain from meat, he didn’t eat beans either. This was because he believed that humans and beans were spawned from the same source, and he conducted a scientific experiment to prove it. He buried a quantity of beans in mud, let them remain there for a few weeks, and then retrieved them. He noted their resemblance to human fetuses, thus convincing himself of the intimate relationship between beans and humans. To eat a bean would therefore be akin to eating human flesh. Equally, to crush, smash, or dirty a bean would be to harm a human. Thus the very strict rule to abstain from beans.

There were many rules to follow if you were to be accepted into the Pythagorean Brotherhood. Fail in any of these and you were likely to be cast out from them with great ceremony. A mock funeral would be performed and you would no longer exist in the minds of the Brotherhood. One rule that could never be broken was the edict to refrain from eating beans.

One bright day a vigorous Pythagoras came upon an ox which was feeding upon beans in a pasture in the region of Tarentum in the south of Italy. Pythagoras informed the startled herdsmen that this must be stopped. He strode across a muddy field and began to speak to the ox in a quiet voice, murmuring into its ear for a long time. Observing all this, the herdsmen broke into fits of laughter. Yet they reported later their startled observation that Pythagoras had convinced the ox to never again desire beans. The locals and visitors to the area thereafter considered the ox to be sacred. The ox, persisting with his new beanless diet, lived to a very old age, well past the lifetime of an ordinary ox.

It took a while for Pythagoras’ career to take hold, and he only found true success when he brought his ideas and his ardent followers to the east coast of Italy, taking residence in the welcoming Greek colony of Croton. There the Pythagorean Brotherhood was able to obtain a strong footing, and its influence soon became widespread. Before long, Pythagoras’ name became known throughout Greece and beyond.

Kylon was the son of a wealthy Crotonate nobleman. Born into nobility, he was used to getting anything he desired. When denied, he could become violent, tyrannical and demanding. Although Kylon had access to all levels of schooling, he proved to be something of a dullard. Nevertheless there came a time when he desired to become a part of the Brotherhood. Because he was a young man of privilege, he believed that he should be allowed to bypass the years of training, silence and deep contemplation which preceded entrance to the inner sanctum of the Brotherhood. Pythagoras bluntly turned him down: and not only was Kylon sent away, but Pythagoras refused a conference with him. Like Hera, Kylon grew angry and vengeful. He was soon giving mock discourses on Pythagorean ideas and beliefs – discourses that characterized the people of Croton as cattle being manipulated and controlled by the Pythagorean leaders. Kylon himself manipulated the emotions of his friends and townspeople, until, as a mob, they descended upon the cluster of houses in which the Brotherhood lived, studied and slept. The angry mob torched the buildings, forcing members of the Brotherhood to flee the terrifying flames. As the members exited the conflagration, many were stabbed to death. Those who escaped both fire and knife fled to the surrounding countryside. Pythagoras was one of the lucky ones: his followers formed a human bridge to help him to clamber out of one of the blazing buildings. But his escape did not go undetected. Soon several of Kylon’s angry friends were in pursuit, yet as he had a significant lead, it looked as if the aging Pythagoras would make it to safety.

Suddenly Pythagoras came to a stop. A vast bean field stretched before him. He stood frozen, uncertain what to do. His eyes focused on a single bean dangling inches from his papyrus- covered feet. So true was he to his ideals that, even at the risk of losing his own life, he was unwilling to trample upon even a single bean. Staring down upon that vibrant bean, the sun low in the sky, he imagined it to be blossoming into a divine ripeness before him. And as he stood there, hesitating, contemplating his next move, his pursuers caught up with him. They lifted their weapons, and bringing the knifes down hard, spilled Pythagoras’ blood on the plants – ending his life for the sake of a bean, and for the deep wisdom immersed in that diminutive cosmic object."

-taken from PhilosophyNow

#ancient greece #greek #pythagoras #pagan #pro life #pentagram #paganism #art #history #ancient history #the soul #reincarnation #magna grecia #egypt #babylon #sketch #vegetarian

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winterscaptain · 4 years

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infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown.

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm.

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket.

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape.

Especially then.

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place.

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile.

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee.

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question.

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron.

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.”

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best.

“Nothing to live for.” Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted.

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to.

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass.

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction.

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.”

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today.

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too.

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes.

That’s enough, for now.

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating.

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown.

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.”

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp.

You look at him, your frown deepening.

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder.

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet.

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call.

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle.

Long-legged asshole. Slow down.

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen.

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up.

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer.

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps.

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason.

You miss her.

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them.

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye.

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

You grit your teeth. I don’t know.

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case.

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself.

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know.

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him.

Come back to me.

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break.

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront.

“We’re too late.”

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave.

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you.

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth.

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything -

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.”

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.”

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.”

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia.

Oh, Aaron.

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.”

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.”

Goddamn it, Aaron.

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.”

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now.

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit.

Fine.

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly.

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.”

“They don’t need the extra manpower.”

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck.

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him.

You always do.

+++

“Let’s go.”

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you.

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging.

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves.

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped.

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.”

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well.

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.”

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup.

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!”

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun?

“Let him go.”

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight.

“We have to trust him.”

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.”

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.”

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait.

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof.

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic.

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.”

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.”

He has everything to lose.

You have everything to lose.

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid.

You hope that he can hear you somehow.

Too late.

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy.

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear.

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot.

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you.

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again.

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.”

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.”

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home.

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment.

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter.

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up.

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks.

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face.

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.”

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far.

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie.

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain.

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high.

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye.

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub.

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team.

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear.

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you.

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care.

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable.

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you.

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it.

I love him.

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife.

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you.

There’s nothing you don’t love about him.

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.”

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still.

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He nods, his jaw flexing.

“Don’t do it again.”

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment.

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone.

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.”

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say.

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head.

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens.

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.”

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.”

A sigh. “I know.”

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch.

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm.

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.”

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?”

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says.

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.”

You have me. You’re not alone.

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it.

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink.

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.”

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #aaron hotchner fanfiction #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

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sage-nebula · 3 years

Note

11, 24 and 29? :D

Someone asked for the other two, so I'll answer this one for "why is there a body out here".

This was actually a fic prompt I was filling for you, iirc! The fic had to have that line in it, but the rest was up to me. I decided to go for a Keitor Modern AU in which Keith (a ride-share driver) meets Lotor (estranged heir of a crime family) when he accidentally drives a would-be assassin to Lotor's house in the middle of the night. Shenanigans (and romance) ensue from there.

A snippet:

The front door opened, bathing the lawn in light, and the person who opened it said the last seven words Keith wanted to hear:

“Why is there a body out here?”

There were probably worse situations Keith could have found himself in, but in that second he was having a hard time thinking of them. Few things seemed more compromising than standing on a stranger’s front lawn in the middle of the night with an unconscious man at his feet, regardless of the circumstances that led him there. He glanced down at the man he’d knocked out, and then looked back up at the guy who’d opened the door. The guy was about his age, Keith thought, with brown skin and long white hair. He was also waiting for an answer to his question.

“He’s not dead,” Keith said.

The stranger folded his arms, and leaned against the door frame. “That is good to know, but I’m afraid it doesn’t answer my question.”

Keith looked down at the man at his feet again, and then (feeling at a loss for where to begin) tossed his hands palms up as he looked back at the stranger and said, “He was trying to kill you. Or someone in your house.”

The stranger said nothing. He remained against the door frame, poised and waiting.

“I’m a Dryft driver,” Keith said, and gestured toward his motorcycle, parked back beside the street. “I picked this guy up about twenty minutes ago. When we got here, he pulled a gun.” He pointed at the gun the man had dropped with his foot, but it was dark against the grass, and upon reflection he nudged it lightly so the light from the house caught it. “I figured he was here to hurt someone, so I knocked him out. That’s when you found us.”

The stranger was quiet for a moment, just long enough for Keith to wonder if he was waiting for an even longer explanation (and then wonder just what the hell he was supposed to add). But then he said, “Allow me to make sure I understand. You drove this man to my house. Upon arrival, you saw that he not only had a gun on his person, but that he intended to use it. Upon realizing this, you deliberately attacked him, despite apparently not being armed yourself. Is that correct?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The stranger was quiet for only a second more before he chuckled. He shut the door behind him before he stepped off the porch. “Well, let’s see who we’ve got, then.”

“Uh . . .”

On the one hand, Keith supposed it was a good thing the stranger seemed to be taking everything in stride. He could have (and in fact, Keith had expected him to) immediately reached for his phone to call the cops, which was the last thing Keith wanted. Keith hadn’t done anything wrong—all he’d done was defend whoever was in the house—but the cops wouldn’t see it that way. They never did. And the last thing Keith wanted to have to do was call Shiro (or god forbid, Kolivan) and tell him that he’d been arrested again. It was one thing when he was being hauled in as a juvenile delinquent; it was another thing altogether when he would have to face charges of assault and maybe even attempted murder like the adult he was.

But on the other, Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t find it weird and even a little unnerving that the stranger seemed so blasé about the situation. Instead of calling the cops or at least freaking out that someone had wanted to kill him, the stranger strode across the lawn and shoved his foot under the man’s shoulder to roll him onto his back. That accomplished, the stranger crouched down to get a look at the man’s face under the distant light of the porch. After a only a second, he shook his head, another breathy laugh leaving him.

“Oh Throk,” he said. “You miserably inadequate bastard.”

Keith stared at him. “You know this guy?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve known him most of my life, in fact.” The stranger pushed himself to his feet, and once he caught Keith’s eyes, said, “Wait here with him, will you? I’ll only be a moment.”

“Where are you going?” Keith demanded, as the stranger turned and started back toward the house.

“Inside,” the stranger called, without looking over his shoulder, and Keith rolled his eyes, grinding his teeth to stop himself from biting out the obviously on his tongue. “As I said, I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Sure you will,” Keith muttered, glancing down at the man on the grass as the front door shut behind its owner. The real question was whether he’d be back after making a friendly call down to the local police station.

[. . .]

Any chance he had to bolt before the stranger came back out was gone before it really had a chance to settle. True to his word, he was only in the house for a minute two or before he came back out, followed this time by a woman taller than either of them, her biceps at least as wide as Keith’s head. Her hair was styled in an asymmetrical undercut, and while most of it was dark (blue, it looked like, when the light caught it), the undercut itself was pink. She looked Keith’s way for a moment, her eyes squinted in a shrewd stare, before she looked at the man crumpled on the grass and snorted a laugh.

“You weren’t kidding. It really is him.”

“Would I jest about something like this?” the stranger asked. Without waiting for an answer, he squatted by the man’s feet and said, “If you’ll kindly take his wrists, I’ll bind his ankles.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got ‘im,” the woman said, as she yanked a long strip of duct tape off the roll she held in her hands. With wide eyes, Keith noticed that the stranger had done the same.

“Wait,” Keith said, but neither did. “What’re you—why are you doing this? What are you planning to do with him?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” the stranger said airily, as he started on a sixth layer of duct tape around the man’s ankles.

#Throk is taking a little trip to the river under a bridge #for his sake he better hope he wakes up before he drowns #voltron #prince lotor #keith kogane #keitor #zethrid #fic fix

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ajbwasntwriting · 3 years

Note

Can I pls request a Bucky x single mom reader? Maybe the kid recognizes him and they bond and then the reader comes and Bucky asks for her number? It’s okay if you don’t wanna write this! No pressure!! Have a great day ❤️❤️

As a child who was raised by a single mother this one was both a challenge and a joy to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This takes place like a week before TFATWS

Bucky Barnes x single mom! Reader

Tags: Fluffiest Fluff, mild ptsd and anxiety, Oranges.

Getting used to the modern world wasn’t that much of a struggle for Bucky, but the civilian modern world was a different situation. He still felt himself looking over his shoulder as he walked. He had locks on all of his windows and a sliding bolt on his front door. He had three phones, a burner he showed his therapist, a smartphone for keeping track of the news and talking to friends, and a third one that was exclusively for communicating with Wakanda. The last of which was a mixture of conversations with Ayo and memes from Shuri.

His therapist was pushing him to make friends and to try online dating. She later told him to ‘play tourist’ and explore what his locality had to offer. Something about it possibly introducing him to new people and at the very least ‘make you more interesting’.

So every week he went to a different place. He started with the Brooklyn Museum, having gone there for field trips as a kid. It was definitely more interesting now as an adult. The next place was the Brooklyn Flea, where he managed to get a record player and some records from when he was a teenager. He smiled fondly as the old tune played through his apartment, bringing back memories of flirting with pretty girls at the soda fountain and beating up bullies with Steve (Well, FOR steve at this time)

This is what lead him to be out in Brooklyn Park’s Harbour View Lawn on a Thursday Evening. They had this event called ‘Movies with a view’ that they did in the summer. The idea of being alone in a crowd of picnic-goers didn’t seem that appealing, but when he saw they were playing the original Dumbo, the same one he took his little sister Rebecca to see when he was 16 years old, he couldn’t pass up seeing the animated masterpiece on the big screen. Besides, if he got too uncomfortable no one would bat an eye to a man leaving an open-air venue.

He put some snacks, a drink, and a book(One of the ‘Lord of the rings’ series as he had been catching up)in his backpack and set out. He arrived early so he could sit on one of the benches. People from all walks of life arrived around him. Families both young and old, older couples searching for nostalgia, lovers looking longingly at each other, groups of friends looking to fill an evening, and so many children. The lawn had filled up so rapidly as people descended onto the grass, laying out their blankets and pulling out picnics they had prepared at home and purchased moments before from their favorite grocers. There was an undeniable excitement in the air as the sun was setting. Despite the fact it was the people watching that had him caught up, Bucky hadn’t noticed the small child walking up to him until she was less than a foot away from him, staring at him with big e/c eyes.

She wore a summer dress with a cardigan protecting her shoulders from the sun. Her hair was pushed back in a hairband. She was holding a yellow teddy bear that wore a silver t-shirt and a red cape and had gone limp from a combination of lost stuffing and age.

“Hi,” Bucky said, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you okay?” She walked up and sat next to him. He shifted away from her slightly, aware that this may look odd to any by-passers.

“I know who you are.” The little girl whispered to him.

“Do you?” Bucky asked, trying to remain calm. It was just a little kid, but she was freaking him out a little bit. For all he knew, this small child could be a member of some new black widow program. She smiled widely, revealing she was missing a front tooth.

“You’re Captain America’s best friend!” she half-whispered, half-squeaked in excitement. “Me and my brother saw you at the museum!”

Bucky couldn’t help the nervous laughter that came out of him. He felt himself relax at the kid’s excitement. “You saw me at the museum?” he faked intrigue. He knew there was a display on him in every Captain America museum.

Her hair bounced as she nodded. “There was a big picture on the glass and it said that you were dead, but my brother said you weren’t dead. And I thought he was being stupid, cause,” She looked around and then leaned in a little closer as if telling Bucky a secret “He can be really stupid. He didn’t even know how to tie his shoelaces until he was ten! But I’ve known how to tie my shoelaces since I was six!” She boasted.

“That’s amazing. since you were six? How old are you now?”

“I’m seven and three quarters.”

“Wow, you’re a big girl.” She nodded with a ‘yep’. “But you’re not big enough to be on your own, kiddo-”

“I’m not on my own, I’m with you.” She interrupted him. Following the trend of interruptions, a boy ran up to the two of them, holding a picnic blanket in his arms. He wore blue board shorts with a Captain America t-shirt and Iron man themed sneakers.

“Y/D/N what are you doing?! Mom is looking for you!” He yelled at the little girl. The two looked remarkably similar to each other.

“Look!” she ordered, pointing at Bucky. The boy looked at Bucky and his mouth dropped open, looking like a fish. Bucky wanted to laugh at how cartoonish it looked.

“You’re Captain America’s best friend.” He exclaimed though he couldn’t be heard that well over the chatter of people settling down and the movie being set up. “I knew that you weren’t dead, even before you were fighting Iron Man in Germany. That was so cool, Iron man was all pew pew and Spiderman was all thwish twish and you were in the middle all pow pow” The blanket had since fallen to the ground as the young boy got caught in his excitement and started recreating the movements with the sound effects, punching the air for Bucky’s punches, waving his arms around wildly for Wanda’s magic. Y/D/N looked on bored as he continued his display “and when the dust cleared you and Cap were gone, like dust in the wind.” He recounted epically, waving his fingers in a sideways motion.

“I told you he was stupid.” The little girl commented.

“You’re stupid!” he shot back. Before anything could escalate, Bucky gently put his arms between the children.

“Hey now, let’s not fight. If I have to call the Avengers they’re gonna be mad.” Bucky spoke. He really hoped this would work, and that they wouldn’t continue to fight in hopes of bringing the Avengers down to Harbour View Lawn. The movie started then, music playing out over the crowd rendering the crowd quiet.

“Mom is gonna be worried.” The boy stressed out loud

“What’s your name, son?” Bucky spoke to the boy

“Y/S/N.”

“Okay, Y/S/N. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Spread that blanket there.” Bucky motioned to the empty patch just a step in front of the bench he was sitting on. “and you two will stay here while I go tell the event people that you can’t find your mom.” The two kids spread out the blanket and sat on it. Bucky passed them his backpack and asked them to take care of it so they wouldn’t runoff. He found an event organizer and told them the situation, describing the kids. He returned shortly, the two kids not having moved as the movie played on a screen in front of the open water. He sat back down on the bench just behind the kids, paying more attention to them than the film.

“I’m hungry,” Y/D/N complained.

“That’s what you get for running off.” Y/S/N shot back at her.

“Do you like oranges?” Bucky spoke up behind them. Y/D/N nearly launched off the blanket as she yelped ‘yeah’ back at the man, twirling to look at him. He opened his bag and pulled out his orange, passing it to the little girl. Unprompted, the little girl asked her brother if he wanted half, which he happily accepted. “Sorry I don’t have another.”

“It’s okay, we share all the time,” Y/S/N explained, shoving an orange slice into his mouth.

You are a good ten minutes into the movie when a panicked woman is lead over to them by an event organizer. She runs to them, falling to her knees as she scoops them into a hug. “Oh, my babies.” She sobbed. “You scared me so much.”

“Mooom!” The boy groaned.

She rapidly thanked Bucky and the event organizer, who took their leave once they were reassured that the situation had been handled. “You are both in so much trouble!”

“Can we be in trouble after the movie?” The girl asked.

You were about to order them to get up and leave when Bucky spoke up. “I’ve been able to keep a good eye on them from up here, and there’s plenty of space.”

The joint chorus of ‘pleases’ from your two kids won you over. You sat down next to the man. You two could barely see each other in the dark, but he seemed nice. After all, he had reunited you with your kids.

“Thanks again for keeping an eye on them.” You whispered. “I hope they didn’t give your group too much trouble.”

“No,” he answered quietly “They’re good kids.”

“Not good enough,” you muttered. “They’re excitable, but that just means it’s never boring.” Bucky watched as Y/D/N turned around and pulled a full net of oranges out of your bag.

Watching the movie with company was definitely better. A comfortable silence fell among the four of you, only broken when you had offered him a couple of the bite-sized chocolate bars you had brought. The kids laughed at the movie, your little girl even cheering on the animated elephant. She threw her hands up in a cheer when he successfully took flight, making the two adults chuckle.

“Told you they were excitable.” You giggled.

“Me and my little sister were worse when he first saw Dumbo.” Bucky admitted. “We were on the edge of our seats the whole movie.”

“How else can you enjoy a movie!” you posed the rhetorical question.

Bucky had to admit he thought you were lovely. Just enough seriousness and playfulness rolled into one. So when the lights came on at the end of the movie and he saw how beautiful you were he felt his heart race a little. You were already cleaning up while your children told you how great the movie was. He gathered his stuff and went to slip out when Y/D/N called out to him.

“Where are you going?”

“The nice man probably has places to be-” you began to lightly chastise the girl when you finally saw who you had been sitting next to throughout the movie. “You’re…”

Bucky held his breath. It was one thing the kid’s thinking he was amazing; you were a grown adult. Someone that possibly knew of his history and most likely thought ill of him. He waited for you to say his old mantal, possibly with fear or anger. Instead, you smiled gently,

“James Barnes.” You spoke. A moment later you flustered slightly. “I’m sorry. I work at the Museum of the City in East Harlem. We just did a big-” you stopped yourself before you could ramble onwards. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

It was a breath of fresh air to have someone react to him in such a…human way. “Please, call me Bucky.” He smiled warmly as he fixed his bag on his shoulder. “Can I walk you out?”

After your section was cleaned up the four of you walked out, with the two kids walking ahead of you. Despite how late it was, they still had energy. You had been left to take care of your daughter’s stuffed toy while she chased your son around the park space. “What you said about your sister,” you started, trying to keep an eye on your two kids despite how eye-catching the man beside you was. “I’m guessing that was back in the forties?”

“Yeah. Me and my little sister Becca went to see it. Me and Steve took her to see Snow White and since then we’d see all the cartoon movies. Every time we’d run home and beg our parents for extra allowance and bunk off school so we could see it before the other kids.”

“Captain America and the Winter Soldier…loved Disney movies.” You chuckled. “It sounds like some click-bait title.”

“We didn’t even have to beg that much, looking back,” Bucky recalled, shaking his head. The memories of Steve having an asthma attack outside the theatre because they’d run so fast to get there in time. Becca would pull him in by his shirt while he was still wheezing so she wouldn’t miss the opening cartoons.

“According to the display, you two were quite the pair.” You replied. “They were probably just happy to have you off the street and not causing trouble.”

Speaking of trouble, your two kids came bounding towards you with an angry swan on their heels. “Mommy!” Your little girl shrieked. The swan had given up its chase but the two still charged, Y/D/N colliding right into you and Y/S/N going behind Bucky to use him as a shield.

“I think that’s enough wondering for today.” You passively suggested. Y/S/N agreed as Bucky put his arm around the young boy and keeping it there as you walked and talked. You came to the exit of the park. “I’m this way,” you said.

“I’m the other way,” Bucky admitted. The two kids said goodbye to Bucky, clearly sad to be parting. You thanked him again for what he had done and turned to go with your own goodbye. “Before you go,” Bucky stopped you. “Could I get your number?”

You were instantly shocked. Your mouth opened and closed limply for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Bucky was slightly taken aback at that question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I have two kids?” You said, almost sounding like a question.

“He knows that, mom.” Your son groaned. He looked absolutely bored; your daughter had newfound excitement.

“And I’d like to get to know more about you,” Bucky spoke. You chuckled nervously, looking away for a moment as you felt your cheeks flush then looked back to the tall man.

“I’d like that too.” You confessed, stepping forward. “Gimme your phone and I’ll put it in.”

Without a second thought, he pulled out his smartphone and watched you put your phone number in. “All setup.” You passed the phone back with a smile.

To say the two of you were riding on cloud 9 for the rest of the night would be an understatement.

#mcu bucky #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #mcu bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes #mcu x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f reader #bucky fluff #mcu reader insert #reader insert #fem!reader #fem!reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x fem!reader #tfatws #tfatws fanfic #tfatws fanfiction #becca barnes

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emachinescat · 4 years

Text

The Rich Girl Next Girl (Just Tried to Kill Me)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 7 - poisoning

Summary: Shawn will never complain about being ‘barely poisoned’ again after he’s ‘fully poisoned’ by a woman he’s investigating - via her poisoned lipstick and an non-consensual kiss.

Characters | Pairings: Shawn, Juliet, Henry, Gus, Lassie | Shawn/Juliet

Words: 3,199

TW: non-consensual kiss

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging! :)

It was the beautiful ones you had to watch out for.

She was tall and dark haired, with green eyes that twinkled like twin emeralds, and high cheekbones and plump lips colored with the most devastating red Shawn Spencer had ever laid eyes on. She had squeezed into a tiny black dress with an open back and plunging neckline, with legs that seemed like they would go on forever. She wore closed-toe, diamond-studded, four-inch heels that perfectly matched the color of her lips.

Somehow Shawn had managed to charm her into asking him to be her date to a charity gala at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, and he was very well aware of the many eyes on him as he moved through the crowd with her on his arm.

Well. It would be more accurate to say that he was on her arm, because she was most definitely in charge, had been from the moment she’d picked him up her limo and she’d already had another, better tux waiting and pressed for him - and had refused to let him in the car until he’d made the switch.

She wasn’t only a total knockout, though - she was also a local celebrity, a socialite, born into enormous wealth but not the heir to the bulk of her late parents’ fortune. That honor went to her older sister, who had, just a week ago, gotten into a terrible accident on her yacht. Part of her had been recovered on the deck after the explosion. The Coast Guard were still looking for the other part in the ocean. They weren’t optimistic.

So now Aria Thorton, the twenty-seven-year-old millionaire goddess, was Shawn’s date to a high-end charity event, and they were the center of attention.

Shawn should have been in heaven.

There were three things that dampened the occasion, though - for one, she thought he was a billionaire from two counties over named Chaz Hemsworth (no relation to Chris or Liam, but his rugged good looks and fabulous hair had made many people think he was).

Then there was the fact that she was the SPBD’s number one suspect in her sister’s supposed-accident-but-Shawn-had-revealed-that-it-was-murder-yet-again case. Hence, why she thought he was Chaz - he was undercover with the help of the police department, much to the chagrin of Lassie and Jules, because he was the best person for the job. (Well, he had barged into the case and presented himself as Chaz Hemsworth, and she had been interested, and now he was the best chance they had since he was already on the inside and it was a time-sensitive case - just like he’d planned it).

Oh, and the third thing was definitely the worst of them all: His actual girlfriend, the aforementioned Jules, was here too, acting as Lassiter’s date and ready to provide backup. And she was pissed.

Shawn forced himself to focus on the case, though. Technically, he’d already solved it, put all the final puzzle pieces together, just half an hour before the gala. But by that time, she was already at the luxury hotel the SBPD had reluctantly put him in as part of his cover (“Any snacks or room service ordered will be paid for by you, Mr. Spencer, not this department,” Chief Vick had warned with that iconic raised eyebrow of hers. And no, she wasn’t going to sink funds into a ticket for Mr. Guster - Shawn had thrown himself into this investigation alone, so Gus would just have to sit this one out. Needless to say, Gus had not been pleased.).

Now, there were just a few more loose ends to tie, a few more t’s to cross and i’s to dot and little squiggly fancy things to add to capital S’s - namely, he needed to do the reveal. And since Lassie and Jules would be at the gala anyway, it would be the perfect time to do the reveal (and he’d get to live it up as a male socialite for a few more hours).

He waited until he’d tested all the hors dourves (Why the hell had no one told him caviar was fish eggs and not really fancy boba, and that it did not taste good in even the fanciest of cocktails?), but as soon as the moment was perfect, he called everyone’s attention to him by accidentally-on-purpose smashing his cocktail glass with a knife a la the Princess Diaries, jumped onto the nearest table, and presented his case.

As he revealed the truth of the tragic death of Selena Thornton, and how her sister had taken freaking Skill Share lessons on yacht safety procedures so that she could backwards engineer them to arrange an accident for her sister and swoop up her portion of the inheritance, he noticed something odd - Aria didn’t try to get up, she didn’t argue or yell something like, “That’s ridiculous!” or “You have no proof!” or even “I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you muddling, hunky psychic!” Instead, she opened her shimmering handbag, calmly applied some sort of thick balm to her lips. Then she pulled out her lipstick and reapplied it. Maybe if Shawn hadn’t been so focused on his wrap-up, he would have noticed that the lipstick was the same shade, but that it came from a different tube than when she’d reapplied earlier. Later, in his hospital bed, he would kick himself for missing that tiny, crucial detail.

He finished by announcing, “And remember, folks - this murder reveal was brought to you by Skill Share.”

And then he was getting off the table, and Jules was preparing the cuffs while Lassie held Aria, and the rest of the rich guests were sitting in stunned silence or otherwise whispering among themselves, already spreading the gossip for the next Tabloid, he was sure. Then, out of nowhere, the formerly docile homicidal heiress lashed out, slamming the pointed heel of her left shoe - it looked like the heel had been shoved into a pencil sharpener - into the top of Lassie’s foot, buried the elbow of her perfectly tanned right arm into Juliet’s stomach, and broke away from the detectives.

Shawn thought she would turn tail and run, try to escape, but to his shock (and confusion), she lunged straight for him, zooming forward in those ridiculous heels with a speed and grace Shawn couldn’t even achieve with sneakers. He braced himself for an attack, got ready to defend himself, even as Lassie and Jules recovered and dove for the sabotaging socialite.

They were too late.

What happened next was the literal opposite of what Shawn had anticipated. She crushed her body into his, grabbed his face the way they do in every rom com ever, and pressed her lips against his in a kind of tender but still somehow aggressive kiss.

For a moment, he stood in shock, trying to process what the hell was happening. Was she glad he’d caught her? Did she look forward to being stripped of her wealth and going to prison for life?

Then he realized that as pleasant as her soft lips were against his, he had not authorized this transaction, and even though she was a rich, drop-dead gorgeous socialite, she was also a sister-killer, and his girlfriend whom he loved very much was watching, and he pulled back. She held on, forcing her lips on his even as he tried to squirm away from her touch. Her expertly manicured fingernails dug into his skin, and left scratches on the side of his neck when Lassie and Jules dragged her off of him.

Shawn stumbled back, neck stinging where she’d scratched him, lips tingling where she’d kissed him. He could taste her lipstick - it didn’t taste like cherries like he’d thought. It didn’t taste good at all. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and spun on Aria Thorton, who was now being wrestled into cuffs and passed off to waiting police officers. “Hey, I know I’m irresistible,” he said, trying to fight off his growing discomfort at the kiss - any other time, he’d probably be thrilled to have a beautiful woman throw herself at him and surprise him with an attack-kiss, “but I’ve got a girlfriend. And she’s way more hot and bad-ass than a homi-sister like you.”

Jules turned to him and there was a little smile on her face that told him maybe he wasn't as deep in the doghouse as he'd thought. “Homi-sister?”

“Yeah,” said Shawn, rubbing absently at his chest. He needed to change out of this tux. It was too hot, and it was too tight. “Sister-murderer. Like homicide, but for sisters.”

“Sororicide,” Lassiter corrected.

“I’m sorry, Lassie, when did you take on the role of Scooby Doo? I can only keep up with one fictional dog at a time, man.” Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. A muscle twitched in his upper arm.

“It’s the actual term for killing one’s sister,” Lassie sneered derisively.

Shawn opened his mouth to retort, but he coughed instead. And suddenly he couldn't stop coughing, and his chest was being squeezed, and the muscle in his arm jumped again, this time painfully, and he promptly deposited a disgusting mixture of fourteen varieties of hors dourves on Lassiter’s shoes. A strong hand grabbed his upper arm and kept him semi-upright even as Lassiter groaned, “These are $400 loafers, and they’re rentals!”

“Shawn!” Juliet’s face had gone white, Shawn noticed through tears and haze as she surged forward and gently lifted his chin with her delicate hand.

He struggled to answer her, but his chest was so tight, and his left calf muscle contracted then, and all that came out was a strangled cry of pain.

“Call an ambulance - now!” Lassiter’s voice was far away, though Shawn could have sworn that the head detective was standing right by his side, keeping him from face-planting in his own caviar and cocktail sludge.

Vaguely, over the sound of screams and murmurs and cries of alarm, he heard Juliet’s voice, scarier than he’d ever heard it before - he’d never been so convinced she was about to murder someone before - growl, “What did you do to him?”

He never got the chance to hear if Aria Thornton gave up her dark little secret. His eyes rolled up into his head, and, muscles twitching and lungs scrambling for air, he passed out.

***

He woke up to pain.

It was a slow process, getting his eyelids to cooperate, but he could feel a soft hand in his, and he would know it anywhere, and someone was crying.

When his vision had cleared enough for him to make out more than just blobs of color, he saw Juliet sitting slumped in a hard plastic chair by his bedside. Sure enough, it was her hand in his. But she was fast asleep, her neck crooked back at an awkward angle and small, adorable snores wafting out of her slightly parted lips. So it wasn’t her who was crying.

His gaze dragged languidly to the right, and everything made sense. Gus was in the chair next to her, quietly sobbing into his hands. Poor bastard.

Shawn spoke, his voice raw and trembling and the effort seemed to squeeze every bit of air out of his already starved lungs. “G-Gus?”

Gus’s head snapped up, he leaped out of his chair, and in a loud voice reminiscent to an all-black hallelujah choir, he exclaimed, “Shawn!”

Juliet startled awake, her hand instinctively squeezing his, and he saw the worry in her stormy blue eyes as soon as they landed on him. She smoothed his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Thank God you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Shawn didn’t answer immediately, but let his eyes wander around the room, confirming what he already knew. He was in a hospital - a private room - and there was a heart monitor beeping above him and an IV lead ran from his hand to a pole, where two different bags were feeding his veins with who knew what. He took a moment to remember what had happened and shuddered internally when he thought of the kiss of death.

It took everything he had in him to speak again, but he had to know where he stood, “S-so, more than b-barely poisoned this time?”

Juliet laughed, a short, manic sound of mingled relief and exasperation. “Yeah, a lot more than barely,” she agreed.

Shawn didn’t get to enjoy his moment of validation, because his left pectoral muscle spasmed, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending bolts of agony through his chest. It was like the muscle was twisting itself into the most complex pretzel known to man. An agonized guuuh burst from his mouth and he grasped at his chest, as if trying to tear the pain away.

Gus was panicking now, tears still streaming down his face, and Jules looked stricken. Shawn was certain he was actively dying now and tried to call for help. The door to his room burst open and distantly, beneath the mound of pain that had erupted in his muscle, he heard his father’s voice.

“Jules - it looks like it’s his chest. Massage it. Remember, small, gentle circles. Gus, pull it together, you’re just making him panic.” And then he could feel Jules gently massaging the screaming muscle, and Gus hiccuped into relative silence, and his father was there, seated in a chair on the other side of the bed. He grabbed Shawn’s hand - the one with the IV - and for a wild moment, Shawn was convinced his father was going to rip it out like he had the last time his son had been poisoned.

But instead, he held on firmly to Shawn’s hand and said, “Squeeze as hard as you need to, pal. Ride it out. It’ll be over soon.”

The heart monitor was screeching now, and a nurse ran in just as the spasm was beginning to ebb, leaving the entire muscle feeling weak and squishy like play-doh. She injected something into one of Shawn’s IV bags and checked his temperature and fed him ice chips and told him to try to rest and be patient, that it wouldn’t be long until the spasms would stop. She might have told him her name at some point, but he didn’t hear.

Whatever she’d given him made him sleepy, and he felt his twitching, tense muscles relax the tiniest of fractions, and the last thing he saw before falling asleep was his father’s face leaning over him. He must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn that his father’s eyes were red and puffy and that there were tear-tracks down his face.

***

The next time Shawn woke up, he was still sore, and his muscles still gave the occasional, defiant twitch, but he wasn’t in blood-curdling agony anymore, so it was a definite improvement. This time when he woke, no one was crying, and his dad had washed his face, but his eyes were still rimmed with red.

“What happened to me?” Shawn asked, his voice weaker than he could ever remember. “What the hell was in that lipstick?”

His dad chuckled humorlessly, not because anything was funny but because it wasn’t crying. “You figured out it was the lipstick, then?”

“I’m psychic, dad, remember?” Shawn had put the pieces together the first time he’d woken up, but he’d been too out of it to realize he’d made the connection.

Henry didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I can’t believe you went to a millionaire’s gala and almost died, Shawn!” Gus chided irritably. “If I had been there -”

“You would have hyperventilated and passed out on your plate of hor dourves,” Henry finished dryly, and Shawn couldn’t help but grin.

Juliet was the one who brought the conversation back around to his question. “She refused to talk, so we took her purse and had her fingernail polish, lip balm, and lipstick tested for toxins,” she informed him. “We thought that she might have done it when she scratched you, but it was the lipstick that was poisoned. The lip balm was actually a protective buffer between her lips and the lipstick so that the poison wouldn’t reach her skin.” With a heavy sigh, Juliet revealed, “It was VX poison.”

“What’s that?” Shawn asked. “It sounds like something from a spy thriller.”

“It’s a nerve agent,” Gus supplied. “It can be made into gas, but it’s base form is about the consistency of gasoline. It’s super fast-acting, especially when inhaled or ingested, even in small amounts like with you, and it causes muscle spasms, respiratory issues, nausea, headaches, fever, and a whole lot of other nasty symptoms.”

“But there’s a cure?”

“Atropine and pralidoxime,” Gus answered promptly, and Shawn resisted the very strong urge to tell his best friend to, for the love of every 80s movie they’d ever loved, get a hobby. “Both were administered the second the results came back. It was a close call, but thankfully they were administered on time - though it was touch and go for a bit. The nurse gave you another dose of a muscle relaxer the first time you woke up. The other drip is saline.”

“I guess the real question is how the psychotic rich girl next door got ahold of poison like that in the first place,” Shawn muttered, head swimming and eyes burning and body feeling like it had been run over by a monster truck.

Juliet answered promptly: “Lassiter was finally able to crack her. Turns out she’s also got some contacts in the black market. She had that tube of lipstick custom-made and infused with VX two years ago in case any of her many boyfriends cheated on her. Surprisingly, she hadn’t used it until you came along, but when you exposed the truth, it was her way of getting revenge. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to escape, so she decided to take you down with her.”

“Damn,” said Shawn, faintly. He was drifting off again, but he was so happy to be alive, to see his friends - even his dad, imagine that!

“Go back to sleep, Shawn,” Henry ordered. “It’s going to take a while for you to heal, and you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Not knowing what had come over him, blaming the poison and trauma for the words that spilled unbidden from his lips, he found himself asking, “And you guys will be here? Next time I wake up?”

Gus grinned and leaned over to give Shawn a one-sided fist bump, and Juliet kissed him delicately on the forehead. His dad ruffled his hair in a manner that could almost be construed as affectionate if he wasn’t careful.

“You bet your ass we will.”

Overall, Shawn reflected as he allowed sleep to claim him, being fully poisoned fully sucked, but it was kind of nice getting a glimpse of just how much his friends and family cared.

They could find other opportunities to show their love in the future though. Shawn had had enough of poison, barely, fully, or otherwise, for a lifetime.

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junker-town · 3 years

Text

Western Illinois, Year 40, 2046-2047

The final season of our sim dynasty with Western Illinois in College Hoops 2K8 is here.

Welcome back to our simulated dynasty with the Western Illinois Leathernecks in College Hoops 2K8. You can find a full explanation of this project + spoiler-free links to previous seasons here. Check out the introduction to this series from early April 2020 for full context. As a reminder, we simulate every game in this series and only control the recruiting and coaching strategies. Dynasty mode runs for 40 years.

Before we pick up with the Leathernecks at the start of Year 40, here’s a recap of everything that happened last season:

Western Illinois entered Year 39 trying to three-peat as national champions for the first time in program history. We lost two starters early to the NBA coming into the season, but still had enough talent to be ranked No. 10 overall in the preseason polls.

We ran through the regular season schedule, losing only one game to UCLA during the non-conference season and sweeping Summit League opponents once again. We entered the NCAA tournament at 29-1 on the year and earned a No. 4 seed to the big dance.

We beat Brown in round one, knocked off Georgia Tech in the round of 32, beat Indiana in the Sweet 16, and lost to Florida in the Elite Eight. We know enter the final season of my career tied with John Wooden with 10 national championships.

We added three players in our last ever recruiting class: five-star JUCO SF Jerald Obasohan, four-star SG Erwin Walls, and four-star PF Kenny Butler.

Here’s a first look at our roster for Year 40:

It feels like only yesterday that a fresh-faced, 25-year-old came to the small town of Macomb, Illinois with big dreams. Coach Rick was hired by Western Illinois to do the impossible: win a national championship with arguably the worst team in college basketball. After 39 seasons at the helm, our tiny program has accomplished that and so much more. Now it’s time to hang it up.

Our journey at Western Illinois is finally coming to an end. In literal terms, College Hoops 2K8 forces mandatory retirement upon coaches in dynasty mode after 40 seasons. All good stories need closure either way. As we start our final season, we have some big stakes attached to our swan song.

Western Illinois has won 10 national championships in the Ricky Charisma era. That ties us with UCLA legend John Wooden for the most in history. What started as a mission to win a single national championship has now left us with a different goal: to become the undisputed greatest program in the history of the sport.

While we failed in our bid to three-peat last season — falling to Florida in the Elite Eight — we did bring back all four breakout juniors for this season. We only lost starting center DJ Foster to graduation. Yeah, it’s been a while since we last published Year 39 (thanks for your patience), so let’s go over the roster:

PG Christano Ngounou, junior, 89 overall: Ngounou made major strides after being forced into the starting lineup last season, and now looks like a rock solid contributor going into our final year. An international recruit out of Cameroon, Ngounou is a fast 6’3 guard with lockdown defensive ability and a slightly above average three-point shot. We have bigger names on this squad who will be expected to carry the scoring load, but Ngounou is going to play a huge role because he’s way better than every other point guard on the roster. We need quality minutes from him in the tournament. Former five-star international recruit with B potential.

SG Bernie Doyle, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Doyle is an incredible talent who enters his senior year looking to fully blossom into a superstar. The 6’9 shooting guard uses his immense size on both ends of the floor. He’s elite at getting into the passing lanes and forcing steals (a team-high 1.8 per game as a junior) on the defensive end, and has a sweet three-point stroke offensively. Doyle is such a smooth scorer and dominant defender that it feels like he has the natural talent to develop into an all-great in his senior year. Let’s hope he’s up to the challenge. Former No. 36 overall recruit from Detroit with C potential. Projected lottery pick.

SF Floyd Keller, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Keller checks every box for a small forward. He has good size at 6’7. He has a three-point rating in the mid-80s. He’s the best dunker on the team. He’s an elite offensive rebounder for a wing with a rating in the low 90s, which helps equip him to play minutes at the four. After a tough shooting night in our Elite Eight loss last season — he went 1-for-7 from three — we’ll need Keller to be consistently great if we want one more run through the bracket. Former No. 101 overall recruit out of Dallas with C+ potential. Projected second round pick.

PF Oscar Fray, redshirt senior, 88 overall: Fray enters his third year as a starter with a fascinating combination of size and skill that could set him up for a breakout senior year. The 7-foot power forward is a great three-point shooter for his position with a rating just below 80. Defensively, he’s the top-rated shot blocker on the team, and also does a pretty good job on the glass. Former No. 118 overall recruit out of Lynn, MA with C potential. Projected second round pick.

C Brody Munoz, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Munoz finally gets the spotlight as a senior after backing up DJ Foster — a one-time NCAA tournament Most Outstanding Player — for his entire career up to this point. We’re expected big things, and not just because he’s tied for the highest rated player on the roster going into the regular season. What Munoz lacks in elite size at 6’11 he can make up for with strength, agility, and rebounding. We expect him to be really good at forcing turnovers, grabbing putbacks, and helping fortify the paint. Former No. 169 overall recruit (No. 6 center) out of Nashville with B potential. Projected lottery pick.

We have an incredibly deep bench for our final season. Center Logan Polk (85 overall) will be our sixth man, and should be able to form a three-man front court rotation with the two starters in the tournament. After that, we have a lot of options but not a lot of good options.

Here’s the rest of the bench: wing Jaycee Queen (80 overall), wing Jerald Obasohan (79 overall), guard Archie Howell (78 overall), wing/guard James Haranga (74 overall), guard Edwin Walls (74 overall), and power forward Kenny Butler (74 overall).

This is really it. Year 40. The last dance. What a ride it has been. We start the season at No. 4 in the polls.

How did the regular season go?

For our final regular season, we tried to schedule a good mix of local schools and historic big conference rivals with a couple in-season tournaments thrown in for good measure.

Here’s how the regular season went:

Win over Bradley

Win over Nebraska

Win over UTEP

Loss to Southern Illinois

Win over Florida

Loss to Northwestern

Win over New Mexico

Win over DePaul

That sets up a rivalry game against Illinois. We’ve played the Illini in almost every season, and we don’t want to end this dynasty without one more dub. The losses to Southern Illinois and Northwestern were a real bummer, and we need a palate cleanser. Let’s go!

Big win, 102-68. Look at Cristano Ngounou hanging 17 points and six assists on the Illini. Love seeing both starters in the front court — seniors Oscar Fray (13 points, 10 rebounds) and Brody Munoz (18 points, 11 rebounds) — each dropping a double-double, too. And how about our new five-star JUCO addition Obasohan chipping in 12 points off the bench? Really promising performance from the boys.

We get a big win over Kansas in our next game. That sets up another marquee game with a program we don’t like very much out of the state of North Carolina: Duke. We’ve battling with Duke on the court and on the recruiting trail for 40 freaking years. Can we end this rivalry with a dub?

Ugh, loss, 88-83. Nice games from Bernie Doyle (19 points, four assists) and Oscar Fray (14 points, 12 rebounds), but it isn’t enough. That’s our third loss of the season. Get bent, Duke.

We end the year with three more non-conference games.

Win over Illinois-Chicago

Win over American

Win over Arizona State

While we may have lost the final battle to Duke, I won the war over Coach K with a significantly better career by any measure (more on that in a minute). Now it’s time to jump into conference play in the Summit League.

Did we go undefeated in conference season?

Yes we did, another perfect 18-0 stretch.

Now we enter the conference tournament. Can we punch one more automatic bid to the NCAA tournament?

Win over UMKC

Win over Southern Utah

Win over UL-Calcutta

We’re going to the NCAA tournament for the last time, but that isn’t even the headliner after winning the Summit League. Im taking home the conference tournament championship, I won game No. 1,171 of my career. That currently puts me ahead of Coach K for the most wins all-time.

We have built a great legacy at Western Illinois. Before we enter the NCAA tournament, let’s take a look at our statistical leaders:

What a year for Munoz. Dude sat on the bench for four seasons before finally getting a starting spot, and all he did was lead our team in scoring at 17.2 points per game. Fray was awesome, too, averaging a hair under 15 points per game while chipping in nearly two blocks and six rebounds per game. It’s good to see Keller and Doyle both hit double-figures in scoring. I’m a bit surprised Cristano couldn’t even put up seven points a night after his big game against Illinois, but the assist and steals numbers are solid. We’re going to need him in March.

The Leathernecks are heading into the NCAA tournament at 32-3 on the year. I can’t wait to see what seed we get.

2047 NCAA tournament

Well, we couldn’t end this dynasty without getting swindled by the Selection Committee one more time. We’re a No. 6 seed in the NCAA tournament. I thought we should have been a top-four seed without question.

We’ll open the tournament with a game against No. 11 seed Syracuse. Sheesh. Before we get to the game, let’s check in on our roster one more time:

I’m loving the way this group progressed through the year. We have two awesome wing scorers with an elite combination of size and shooting in Keller and Doyle. We have plenty of beef up front with Munoz, Fray, and Polk. Ngounou entered the program as a 77 overall and shot up to a 92 in three years without a redshirt. The bench also really improved during the season and should give us plenty of different lineup options in March.

This is going to be a tough run, starting with Syracuse. The Orange have knocked us out of the big dance before, and consistently put together really strong teams.

Our last dance starts now. As always, we’re simulating every game, I’m not controlling the ‘Necks.

Let’s go!

Win, 105-73! What an absolute beatdown. We’ve moving on to the round of 32.

Long-time followers of the series will know that our Leathernecks have always been known as a second half team. It happened in a big way in this game. Syracuse ended the first half strong to cut our lead to nine points, but we quickly turned it into a blowout out of the break.

I thought this was a tremendous all-around team effort. Six players hit double-figures in scoring with no one putting up more than Floyd Keller’s 15 points. Everyone who played recorded an assist. I loved this play from the first half when we set two screens for our five-star JUCO Obasohan that helped get him an easy layup.

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Our bench is a big question mark coming into this tournament, mostly because it’s filled with a lot of fresh faces who haven’t played big minutes in clutch spots before. I have to say, the performance of our reserves in our tournament opener was super encouraging. Obasohan in particular looks like a keeper after scoring 10 points on 4-of-5 shooting and knocking down a three. We always need wing depth, and he should be able to provide that on this run.

The clear highlight of Obasohan’s night: this sick two-handed dunk in transition for an and-one.

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We love to turn defense into offense, and Ngounou and Doyle’s ability to get into the passing lanes really helps us out there.

Speaking of Ngounou in transition: he had a beautiful finish on the break to put the game fully out of reach. That’s what you want out of your point guard.

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The win sets up a second round game against Colorado State

The Rams have been a solid program throughout this sim dynasty, regularly making NCAA tournament appearances. We have a decisive edge in talent heading into this game.

We are one win away from going to the Sweet 16 and extended our run in the big dance. One time, ‘Necks. Let’s go!

Win, 109-79! We’re going to the Sweet 16!

We didn’t need to be a second half team in this one. Our ‘Necks blew the doors off Colorado State from the opening tip-off. I thought we played a great game offensively thanks to our inside-out ball movement.

We had five scorers in double-figures in this one, but it was senior starters Bernie Doyle and Oscar Fray leading the charge. We know Doyle is capable of taking over a game at his best, and he was awesome in this one: 20 points on 7-of-13 shooting from the field and 4-of-6 shooting from three. The real story was Fray, though.

Fray was probably the least appealing long-term prospect of our recruiting class when he entered the program alongside Doyle, Keller, and Munoz. That was mostly because of his 74 rating and C potential grade. While he’s always been rated a few points lower than his classmates, Fray’s skill set on the court is so important to us. He’s a massive 7-foot power forward who can protect the rim and shoot threes. What more do you want?

Fray went off in this game: 22 points, eight rebounds, two assists, two steals on 9-of-11 shooting. I love watching the big man shoot from deep. This was from NBA range.

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Here’s one more catch-and-shoot three for good measure.

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Fray might get slept on a little on this team, but he’s absolutely critical to our success if we want to win it all.

I also want to shout-out the bench for another solid performance. I liked what I saw out of Obasohan (11 points) and Howell (10 points). Since we already have two Obasohan clips in this post, why not make it three? Love him hitting this triple in the first half to help us open up the lead.

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We’re rollin’.

The win sets up a Sweet 16 game vs. Alabama

We’re now four wins away from ending this dynasty with a national championship. A Sweet 16 game against Bama is going to be an absolute battle.

In our simulated future, the Tide have become a basketball school. This program seems to make the tournament every year, and they’ve given us plenty of trouble in the past.

A trip to the Elite Eight is on the line. Let’s go!

Win, 112-69! We’re onto the Elite Eight!

Say it with me: SECOND. HALF. TEAM. After a tight first half left us with a six-point lead coming into the break, our ‘Necks absolutely torched the nets in the second half to come away with the blowout win. Seriously: we scored 66 points in the final 20 minutes. That was an offensive clinic at its best.

I had a good feeling about the second half when Cristano got this three hit the rim like 50 times before falling. Sometimes you need some good luck on your side.

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A couple possessions later, Floyd Keller came down a ripped another three. We finally had a double-digit lead, and we’d never look back.

It was great to see Keller (15 points) get going from deep. He hit all three of his attempts from beyond the arc.

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While we don’t have any clips of the front court from this game, they absolutely deserve credit for the win.

Fray turned in another incredible performance, this one somehow even better than his last. He ended the game with 25 points, 14 rebounds, four assists, three steals, and three blocks on 10-of015 shooting. He didn’t attempt a three (booooo) but he dominated the game on both ends. His front court mate Munoz was almost as good. The senior center finished with 20 points and 16 rebounds. We kept going inside — Munoz and Fray combined for 35 (!) field goal attempts — and they were making the Bama defense pay.

Not the best Bernie Buckets game (9 points on 3-of-10 shooting), but I clipped this shot from the first half, so I might as well embed it here.

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Elite Eight, here we come.

The win sets up an Elite Eight matchup against No. 1 seed Indiana

Our run in the NCAA tournament has been a breeze up to this point, but I fear things about to get a lot more difficult. Our plucky No. 6 seed is about to run into one of college basketball’s blue bloods: the top-seeded Indiana Hoosiers.

The Elite Eight has been something of a bugaboo for us. We lost in this round last year. We’ve lost in this round many times before. I don’t want it to happen again.

A Final Four trip is on the line. As always, we’re watching a simulated version of this game; I am not controlling the Leathernecks. Let’s go!

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***

Loss, 96-86. Oh my gosh. And just like that, our dream of ending this dynasty with a national title is over.

I am devastated. I really thought this team was good enough to send me out on top, but it wasn’t meant to be. The Hoosiers’ outside shooters did us in. Indiana’s guard-heavy lineup caught fire from deep (10-of-21 for 47.6 percent), and our perimeter attack couldn’t keep up. We only hit 6-of-22 (27.3 percent) attempts from three.

What happened to our second half team this time? We were only down two going into halftime, but we were outscored by eight over the final 20 minutes. Tough scene.

There were some solid individual performances. Munoz went out strong with 23 points and 10 rebounds. Bernie Doyle dropped 21 points and hit this three-pointer to keep us in it early.

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Floyd Keller just didn’t give us enough on the wing. He shot 1-of-8 from three in the loss. He did give us a little juice in transition, at least.

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Cristano played all 40 minutes, and had eight points and nine assists. I really wish I got another year with him as a senior next season.

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Unfortunately there is no next season. After 40 years at Western Illinois, our sim dynasty is over. Here are some final numbers on the series:

Final record: 1,177-213

10 national championships (tied with John Wooden for the most in men’s college basketball history)

15 Final Four appearances

25 Sweet 16 appearances

Final NCAA tournament record: 113-27

38 Summit League regular season championships

35 Summit League tournament championships

38 seasons with 20+ wins

61 players drafted

The thing I’m most proud of? After we made the NCAA tournament for the first time in Year 3, we didn’t miss it again the rest of this dynasty.

Is Ricky Charisma the greatest men’s college basketball coach ever?

I think so. Here’s how we stack up to other top coaches in NCAA history in important categories.

Total wins

Ricky Charisma: 1,179

Mike Krzyzewski: 1,170

Jim Boeheim: 1,083

Roy Williams: 903

Bob Knight: 899

Dean Smith: 879

Jim Calhoun: 877

Adolph Rupp: 876

Bob Huggins: 828

Eddie Sutton: 806

Tournament wins

Ricky Charisma: 110

Mike Krzyzewski: 94

Roy Williams: 77

Dean Smith: 65

Jim Boeheim: 57

Tom Izzo: 52

Jim Calhoun: 49

John Wooden: 47

Final Four appearances

Ricky Charisma: 15

Mike Krzyzewski: 12

John Wooden: 12

Dean Smith: 11

Roy Williams: 9

Tom Izzo: 8

Rick Pitino: 7

Denny Crum, Adolph Rupp, John Calipari: 6

Consecutive tournament appearances

Western Illinois: 36

Kansas: 31

North Carolina: 27

Arizona: 25

Duke: 24

Michigan State: 23

Gonzaga: 22

Winning percentage

Ricky Charisma: 84.7

Mark Few: 83.44

Sam Burton: 83.33

Clair Bee: 82.444

Adolph Rupp: 82.1

John Wooden: 80.3

National championships

Ricky Charisma: 10

John Wooden: 10

Mike Krzyzewski: 5

Adolph Rupp: 4

Roy Williams: 3

Jim Calhoun: 3

Bobby Knight: 3

Who is the best player in Western Illinois history?

That’s the big question within the fanbase right now. Before we get to it, let’s look back at our greatest recruiting wins.

We landed five five-star recruits out of the domestic high school ranks during my time at Western Illinois. We also signed nine five-star JUCO recruits, and six five-star international recruits from places like New Zealand (shout-out Dave French), Montenegro (anti shout-out Vitor Andrisevic), France (what up, Kim Kone!), and Cameroon.

The highest-rated recruit in program history was Sammy Yan at No. 10 overall in 2032. He was pretty much a disappointment. The program’s all-time leading scorer was center Vinnie Harmon with 2,452 career points during his career. He was the No. 122 overall recruit and the No. 8 center (those that followed the series or played the game know that centers are always weirded underrated on the recruiting trail).

Here are some more numbers during tournament games only (aka, the games we streamed), from the amazing Leathernecks Database maintained by our fans:

The highest rated player in program history is a tie between small forward Nic Cummings and point guard Duncan Martinez, who are the only players to reach 97 overall. Cummings in particular is a great choice for the GOAT. He ended his career with three national titles, though only one as a starter. He’s top-10 for me, but not No. 1.

The people’s choice for the GOAT is Deke Van, the legendary center who helped carry us to our first national title in Year 8. Deke’s turn from from Year 7 goat to Year 8 GOAT is the most memorable we’ve ever had. We couldn’t have done any of this without you, Deke.

When Coach tell you youre guarding @deke_van https://t.co/RDhmDAPRA8 pic.twitter.com/fm2udgvMZT

— Ryan Thomas (@RTtheSID) May 10, 2020

As the series went on, other great players emerged who finished with gaudier stats and better resumes.

My personal favorite might be Bert Draughan, Mr. Basketball out of Chicago (No. 29 overall recruit), who went on to win a title with us in Year 13 and also starred for our Year 11 team that began the season 35-0 before losing to Michigan State in the Final Four. Harmon is another fine choice. Skip Clemmons helped us win three national titles in Year 23, Year 24, and Year 26. Albert Jagla, Clemmons’ former teammate, played a big role in our first back-to-back championship squad, and is arguably the greatest perimeter bucket-getter in program history.

All-time favorite moment? Impossible to say. The first one that comes to mind is Kim Kone’s go-ahead corner three in the 2024 tournament. Najeeb Goode’s steal vs. UCLA in the Final Four to help us win our second title in Year 13 also stands out. There was also the time superstar power forward Allen Cunningham took off his pants mid-game.

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Thank you to everyone who read, watched, and interacted

I started this series on April 11, 2020, a few weeks after the pandemic had shut down all ‘real’ sports. At the time, I was gearing up to cover the 2020 NCAA tournament. That never happened. I had college basketball on my mind, and I always wanted to write something on ‘College Hoops 2K8’, probably my favorite video game ever. This project is what came of it.

I had no idea if anyone was going to read this. I definitely did not think I’d finish out all 40 years like a complete lunatic. I didn’t think I’d write the equivalent of multiple books in terms of total word count.

Just before I dropped the first post in the series, I tweeted this:

Got a real dumb blog post coming

— Ricky O'Donnell (@SBN_Ricky) April 11, 2020

I wrote around 70 posts in the series, counting the inaugural Hall of Fame induction (read a big Deke Van retrospective at that link) and two posts of my Deke Van x Seattle Supersonics spin-off. I’m estimating I wrote 200,000 words in this series. That’s about the length of “The Fellowship of the Ring.”

I still can’t believe everything that came from this series. The Washington Post wrote a profile on it. I went on WGN TV and did a few radio spots promoting it. We sold a Deke Van t-shirt with Homefield Apparel. Our series inspired a new friend in Japan named Thanh Nguyen to write a pair of e-books adding greater depth to our story. Friend of the program Mike Rutherford did an amazing hype video for our first championship run. When I moved the series to Substack for a few months, more than 7,000 people signed up for email updates and still remain. Our first Twitch stream for the Year 8 Final Four drew more than 7,000 total viewers, and had 2,500 concurrent viewers on it at as we were closing out the win. On SB Nation, the series has been viewed more than 500K times.

What really made the project special was always the community around it. Some quick shout-outs:

The Leathernecks Database is an amazing companion to this series. You can lost in there. Thank you to the diehards to helped maintain it, and reader Evan for starting it.

Thanks to my guy who started the Leathernecks Nation instagram fan page and whoever is behind the wondrous fake Deke Van twitter account.

Thanks to everyone in the Discord who maintained ‘Necks discussion always and forever.

Thank the diehards that came out for every Twitch stream. I don’t want to name names because I’ll forget someone, but you know who you are. I love you all. I also want to thank the readers for keeping up with the recaps, and everyone who emailed me feedback throughout the series. I also want to thank my buddy Scott for introducing me to the game and running through multiple 40-year dynasties with me way before I ever considered blogging through it like this. This series would not exist without him.

What a ride it’s been. As I sim through to the end of the calendar, I’m greeted with this message.

Thank you, everyone. Go ‘Necks.

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angryducktimemachine · 4 years

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UwU Iiiiiiiii adopted a Diathim from @thefoodwiththedood and here are my first concepts for him! His name is Machuriel, he is part of the Devaron’s Angels (Local Angel Man Has His Angels Confused More at 11)! I read a bit through the Diathim Jedipedia page and will now add my own personal canon to it cause it’s fun :)

First of all: His face keeps changing. I describe it as, you see this guy everyday in the cantine. You know this guy, right? You know how he looks. Somebody hands you a pencil and asks you to draw them. You want to start - but you cannot remember their face, as it always seems to look different.

Another part of his “face tricks” is that people who only pass him or see him out of the corner of their eyes, seem to recognize faces of passed away loved ones in his - often leading a few tears or at least a little melancholia and nostalgia.

These two aspects, on top of being a seven foot tall, glowing creature, make him quite unsettling to encounter - which eventually leads to him start wearing the mask to keep the number ofpeople freaking out after seeing loved ones in his face at a minimum!

He also uses all pronouns cause like,, my man is an Angel, they don’t have time for any gender binary.

That’s the basics for now, if yall got any questions feel free to jump into my ask box!!

#Machuriel #Diathim #Iego Angel #star wars #star wars oc #swoc #star wars art

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merakiaes · 5 years

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Spoiler Alert - Scott Lang

Pairing: Scott Lang x soulmate!reader

Requested: No

Warnings/notes: Game of Thrones spoilers, I guess? Another Scott Lang soulmate part, it’s short and silly but I hope you like it!

Wordcount: 749

Summary: You are born with the first words you’re going to hear your soulmate speak tattooed on your arm. The words on your arm are not ones you appreciate very much.

Soulmates were something that excited everyone. The idea of it had excited you, to a start, too. You were born with the words “Man, I can’t believe Jon Snow died” on your arm, this being the words that, in the future, would be the first ones you would hear your soulmate speak.

At first you didn’t think much about it, only wrinkling your nose at the strange name. But then the first Game of Thrones book got published. You were so excited for finally finding a book that seemed to fit your taste. But then Jon Snow was introduced. And everything was ruined for you.

You read the rest of the books when they got published, but never without a burning hate raging inside of you for being spoiled. The same went for the tv-show when it got released, but still, you read every book and watched every season.

That’s where you found yourself today. In the local bar where you would be watching the season five finale together with the rest of your fellow Game of Thrones fans that occupied the bar, although very sourly, as you already knew what was going to happen. How couldn’t you? It was stamped in ink on your freaking arm.

You didn’t enjoy the episode as much as you wanted to, the fact that you had been spoiled totally ruining it for you, despite having read about it in the book, as well. You wanted to find out about Jon’s death yourself.

When the episode was over, you were the first one to stand up, your friends taking their time beside you to gather their things before standing up as well. Getting out of the bar was never fun, and this time was no different.

People were shoving each other left and right, desperately trying to get out of the room first to avoid getting stuck in traffic. You usually weren’t one to push back when people stumbled into you, but you were just too mad to care today.

But then, as you pushed your way along the bar to get to the exit, you heard it suddenly. Those seven words that you had hated for years.

“Man, I can’t believe Jon Snow died.”

You snapped your head up to look at the man who had spoken the words right as he passed you, holding out a finger accusingly. “You! It’s you!” You shouted out before you could stop yourself, watching as the man stopped in his tracks at the sound of your voice, turning around hastily to look at you with wide eyes.

He stumbled on his words for a bit, struggling to find the right words as he watched you in shock. After a few seconds of stuttering, he finally managed to speak. “I- That’s not really how I imagined that being said.”

“You ruined this entire franchise for me!” You yelled again as you finally managed to push your way out from the crowd, marching up to him without a doubt in your mind and shoving a finger into his chest.

“I- what?” He stuttered, gaping at you as you backed him into a wall.

Without a word, you slipped your arm out of your jacket and pulled up the sleeve of your sweater, showing him the words on your arm and watching as his face lit up with realization before turning into a sheepish smile.

“Oops?” He offered, but soon came to regret it as your foot came down on his, causing him to groan in pain.

And then, without another word, you had turned around and marched off towards the exit, your friends in tow and leaving him behind to look after you.

“Hey!” He called out as he hurried to follow, pushing his way through the crowd. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t get an answer and stopped in his tracks as he saw you disappear out the exit, seeing no way to reach the door before you would already be gone with the way people were moving around.

The next day, with a little help from Tony to find your address, he showed up at your doorstep with Chinese and the entire collection of the A Song of Ice and Fire-series in customized, limited edition hardback books, offering his sincere apologies for spoiling the death of your favourite character.

Luckily for him, you had been wanting that specific collection of the series for a long time, or else you would’ve never let him in the house.

#avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #ave #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel one shot #marvel #scott lang x reader #scott lang imagine #scott lang one shot #game of thrones spoilers

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winchesterbrotherstan · 5 years

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Supernatural- Asylum (1.10)

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: The siblings are sent on a hunt by an unknown number, a crazy doctor gets his hands on Sam, and things go downhill for Dean and Olive very fast

Warnings: mental asylum, crying, cursing, guns, threats, etc

Word Count: 7385

“No. Dad was in Cali last we heard from him. We just thought, since he goes to you for munitions…” I sighed deeply. “Maybe you’d heard from him in the last few weeks… Just… please call us if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

I sighed again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you bet.”

“Caleb hasn’t heard from him?” Dean looked up as I flipped the phone shut.

“Nope. Sams?” I turned to him, tears welling in my eyes.

Sam only shook his head. “Neither has Jefferson. Or Pastor Jim.”

“De, what about the journal? Any leads in there?” I tried to hold back my breath.

“No. Same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out… I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frigging Yoda.” Dean scowled.

Sam sighed and put his arm up, offering the space. I ignored him, instead standing at the base of the bed, arms crossed over my chest.

“Maybe we should call the Feds.” He sighed. “File a missing person’s report.”

“We’ve talked about this.” Dean shook his head. “Dad would be so pissed if we put the Feds on his tail.”

I scowled, tears now dropping down the curve of my nose. “You know what Dean, who cares anymore?”

His phone buzzed, but I kept going.

“After what happened in Kansas? He should’ve been there, Dean! You even said it yourself!”

“Ollie, I know!” Dean scoffed as he rummaged through his duffel bag. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

“You know, Olive’s right. He could be dead for all we know.”

“Don’t say that!” Dean turned, angry. “He’s not dead! He’s-he’s…”

“He’s what, Dean? He’s hiding? Busy?” I shouted, seeing spit fly out.

“Olive, stop!” Dean screamed back at me, chest heaving with his phone in his grip.

My shoulders fell and I let myself cry. Dean’s face softened and he sighed, shaking his head, trying to say something. I sighed, staring at Dean and feeling betrayed.

“Dean, where the hell is he?” I sniffled. “Where’s the hell’s Dad?”

Dean sighed. “Ollie, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, but he isn’t dead.”

He flicked his phone open, looking away from me. I dropped onto the floor, leaning back against the bed. Sam came to the foot of the bed and gripped my by the waist, pulling me onto the bed with him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered.

I snorted before leaning against him.

“Huh.” Dean scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”

“What happened?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a text message. It’s coordinates.”

***

“Do you think Dad was texting us?” I whispered.

I was sitting next to Dean. I hadn’t raised my voice above a whisper since this morning. I was stressed and sad, and I missed Dad and I wanted things to go back to normal. Dean was still angry, upset with me because I had lost it, because we said Dad could be dead.

“He’s given us coordinates before.”

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“Sam, it’s good news! It means he’s okay. Or alive at least.”

“Was there a number on the caller ID?”

“Nah, it said unknown.”

I sighed. “Well where do the coordinates point?”

“That’s the interesting point. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Okay, and that’s interesting how?”

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” Dean shifted the computer toward us. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

Sam and I looked at each other, confused.

“Okay, I’m not following. What does this have to do with us?”

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean flipped through the pages. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

I took another deep breath and sighed. “This is just another job. Dad just wants us to work a job.”

“Well maybe we’ll meet up with him. Maybe he’s there.” Dean offered.

“Maybe he’s not, Dean. I mean, he could just be sending us there. By ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“You know what, Olive? Who the hell cares? If Dad wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”

I rolled my eyes, and Sam stepped in.

“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?”

“Guys! Dad’s telling us to go somewhere. We are going.” He hissed. “End of fucking story.” He slammed the laptop shut and stormed into the bathroom.

Sam and I looked at each other again. I sighed and sunk into my seat.

“This is fucking bullshit, Sam.” I rubbed my face.

“It’s gonna be okay, bug.”

***

“We’ll be back soon, okay?” Sam brushed my hair behind my ear.

“Keep the doors locked.” Dean ordered as he slammed his door.

I sighed. “Be careful. Please.”

Sam nodded. “Always.”

***

I watched as Dean stormed out of the bar. I sighed and got out of the car.

“No Dad?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No Dad.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.” I shuddered out.

He sighed and his shoulders dropped. He shook his head.

“No, I’m sorry.” He held his arms open. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

I wrapped my arms around him and whimpered.

“I’m sorry, De, I’m just scared. I’m so fucking scared. It’s just that Dad’s never gone this long, a-and Sam’s right. It feels like something really big is starting. I’m so scared.” I let out a sob.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I yelled.” He brushed a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

He squeezed me. “I love you too.”

I shuddered. “Aren’t you cold?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Let’s get in the car.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

***

“Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy.” Dean scowled as Sam ducked into the car.

“I had to sell it, didn’t I? It’s method acting.” Sam shrugged.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Sam shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What did you find out from Gunderson?” I asked, shaking my head.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

“What about at home?” Dean asked.

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”

I snorted. “Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or-”

“Something else did this to him.”

“Exactly.”

“What’d Gunderson tell you about the asylum?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “A lot.”

***

I sighed as we stared up at the fence.

“Okay. I’m not gonna lie. This is a terrible idea.” I shook my head.

Dean shrugged. “Best we got.”

Sam shook his head and got on one knee. “Alright, bug. Up you go.”

***

“So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wig.” Sam pointed to the door labeled.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second. 1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.” Dean read from the journal.

“So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it.” I sighed.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?”

Spelunking? What is this, a 90s sitcom with an angry dad?

I blinked as Sam looked around and tutted.

“Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could’ve been chained up for years.”

“Yeah, to keep people out.” I shrugged.

“Or to keep something in.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

We sighed as we looked at each other. Dean pushed me closer to Sam, keeping himself behind me. Sam opened the door and we followed him through.

***

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel.” Dean teased.

“Dude, enough.” Sam scowled.

“I’m serious. You gotta be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”

“I told you, it’s not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.” Sam hissed.

I giggled. “Sammy’s got bad vibes.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“You get any reading on that thing or not, Ol?” Sam asked, nodding to the EMF meter in my hand.

I shook my head. “Nah. Doesn’t mean nobody’s home though.”

“Spirits can’t appear during certain hours of the day.” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah. The freaks come out at night.” Dean snorted.

Dean grabbed my arm and I froze, fully attentive. He nodded toward Sam.

“Hey Sam. Who do you think is the hottest psychic? Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed Dean into me. Dean snorted a laugh and I squirmed away from him and to Sam’s side, clinging to his arm.

***

Sam pushed a door open, and the rusted hinges screamed. I flinched, and Sam sighed as he led the way through. Dean was right behind me, and he let out a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people. Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo’s Nest.” Dean made another reference I was too young to understand as he made crazy eyes at Sam.

Sam ignored him and Dean dropped his smile, now pouting.

“So whatcha guys think? Ghosts possessing people?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Or many it’s more like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting.”

I shivered. Amityville scared the hell out of me, and I was never sold on the Smurl haunting.

Dean nodded. “Spirits driving them crazy. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.”

Sam sighed. “Dean. When are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Dean looked around, confused.

I sighed. “He means that Dad’s not here.”

Dean snorted from the back of his nose. “Oh. I see. How ‘bout… never.”

“I’m being serious, man. He sent us here.”

“So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.”

I sighed. I could feel the tension in the air rising, and I knew what was about to happen. Dean would imply Sam leaving because of Dad, he would mention that he didn’t try as hard, Sam would get pissy and say he wanted answers and it wasn’t his fault for wanting to have a normal life. It would turn into a war, and Dean would be Dad’s loyal soldier while Sam would go rogue.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants.” Sam hissed again.

I sighed again. Here it went.

“See. That attitude right there? This is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him! We deserve answers, Dean. I mean, this is our fucking family we’re talking about.”

“I understand that Sam, but he’s given us an order.”

Sam scoffed. “So what, we gotta always follow Dad’s orders?”

“Of course we do.”

Sam opened his mouth to rip something else out, but Dean turned around, ending the conversation.

I sighed a third time, feeling my nose and eyes burn.

“Sanford Ellicott…” Dean read off a sign. “You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.” He shoved the sign into Sam’s hand and pranced away.

I wrapped my arms around myself and sighed. Sam was angry, lip raised into a snarl and nose twitching.

“Let’s just go.” He scowled.

***

“Let me do it.” I perked up.

Dean and Sam turned to me, confused. Ellicott’s son was a therapist nearby. We needed to get more information, and undercover as a patient was the best shot we had.

“Are you sure, baby girl?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded. “Yeah, I can do it. I-I’m just a kid. They can take me in with your consent because you’re basically my dad, but it might be a little more difficult with Sam.”

“Olive…” Sam trailed off, concerned.

I grinned. “I can do it, Sams. I promise.”

***

“Olive Winchester?”

I looked up from the magazine. The door was open, and a man with glasses was standing in it with a clipboard.

“That’s me.” I stood.

“Come on in.” He stepped aside, letting me follow him into the room.

“Thank you so much for seeing me last minute.” I sat down on the couch, looking around the room. “Dr. Ellicott. Ellicott… that name. Wasn’t there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott? Chief psychiatrist somewhere.”

He nodded. “My father was a chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum.” He tilted his head. “How did you know that?”

I shrugged. “My older brother is sorta a local history buff… Hey, wasn’t there… an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”

“We’re here on your dollar, Olive. We’re here to talk about you.”

“Actually, we’re here on my brother’s dollar.

“So. How’s things?”

“Ah…” I sighed. “Things are good, doc.”

“Good.” He nodded, crossing one leg over the other. “What have you been up to?”

I shrugged again. “Same old. On a road trip with my older brothers.”

“Was that fun?”

I cracked all my knuckles and blew air from my mouth. “Lots. Um… you know, we uh… we met a lot of interesting people.” I let my inner child out and blew a raspberry. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry. What was it exactly what happened in the south wing?”

“Look, if your brother is a local history buff, he knows all about the Roosevelt riot.”

“The riot… No, he never told me. I’m curious.”

“Olive. Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”

“What subject?” I tilted my head.

“You. Now I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you about the Roosevelt riot if you tell me something about yourself. Like, uh, these brothers you’re road tripping with. How do you feel about them?”

I scratched at the back of my neck. “Uh… well, let’s see… I was like… less than a week old when my mother dropped me on a motel doorstep. Sam was… seven, and Dean was eleven.” I chewed my lip. “Dean didn’t ask for me… and neither did Sam. My dad least of all. Anyways,” I shrugged. “He’s been missing for a while, and maybe it’s my fault, but-”

“Your father’s missing?”

“I love Dean. He raised me. I mean like, technically so did Sam, but mostly Dean.” I sighed again, now upset. “Dean’s sad. He misses our Dad. I hate it when he’s upset.”

“Olive, would you say you have a high dependency on your brother?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean’s my entire life.”

“And would you say this dependency extends to Sam too?”

I took a breath. “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong! I love Sam to death, but it’s not the same with him as it is with Dean.”

“If I can speak bluntly…”

“Go ahead.”

“It sounds to me like you have a dangerous dependence on Dean.”

I blinked.

Yeah. Probably.

***

“Baby!” Dean perked up as I walked out of the door. “You were in there forever. What did you talk about?”

I pulled him into a hug. “The hospital. You and Sam. My mom leaving me. Dad being gone… a lot.”

Dean only blinked, and Sam grinned. “And what’d you find out?”

“Oh, the south wing! It’s where they housed the real loonies. The psychos, criminally insane.” I huffed.

“Sounds cozy.” Dean dropped his chin onto my head.

“Yeah, and one night in ‘64, they lost their shit. Attacked staff. Attacked each other. So many fucking people died.”

“So the patients took over the asylum?”

I nodded. “Apparently.”

“How many deaths?”

“Uh, upwards of a few dozen. Some patients. Some staff. It was super gory. Most of the bodies were never even recovered, including Doc Elliot.”

Dean pulled back. “Never recovered? The hell’s that mean?”

“Cops scoured every single fucking inch of the place.” I shook my head. “Nothing. Guess the patients must’ve stuffed the bodies somewhere.”

“That’s grim.” Sam shivered.

“Yeah. So they transferred all the remaining patients and shut the hospital down.”

“So to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.” Dean huffed.

“And an assload of angry spirits.”

“Good times.” Sam tutted.

“Let’s check out the hospital tonight.” Dean squeezed me tightly before sighing.

We piled into the car.

***

“Getting readings?” Sam asked as he shuffled through the doorway.

“Yeah, big time.”

“This place is orbing like crazy.” I mumbled as I swept the video camera around.

It would be easier for the boys to look down to see it than Dean and I stand on our toes to see it in Sam’s grasp.

“Probably multiple spirits out and about.”

I shivered. “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ‘em and burn ‘em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is the pissed of spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean grimaced.

Sam shook his head. “Let’s just keep moving.”

***

Sam stayed with me as Dean split into the next room. He held his shotgun up and moved at the same pace I did as I swept the camera around the room.

“Anything?”

“Nah.” I mumbled before bringing it back around to do a second sweep.

This time I could see an old woman, white hair crazy, with one eye hanging out of her head. She was moving toward us, slowly and calmly. She wasn’t trying to hurt us. I tilted my head.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted as he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. “Shotgun!”

“Sam, Ol, get down!”

Sam yanked me down as Dean shot, leaving the woman to burst into a cloud of dust.

“That was weird.” I pushed myself to my feet and brushed myself off.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Dean snorted as he held a hand out for Sam. “Since when don’t spirits put you on the defensive?”

“No De, I mean… it was that she didn’t attack us.”

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing.” Dean shook his head as he picked at Sam’s shotgun. “Clip got stuck.” He slammed his hand against it, a satisfied grin on his face. “Fixed it.”

“Olive is right. She didn’t hurt us. She didn’t even try.”

“So if she didn’t wanna hurt us, then what did she want?” Sam and I asked at the same time.

There was a scratching metallic noise and I jumped a foot in the air. Dean pushed me between him and Sam as he raised his shotgun. Sam flicked the flashlight and shined it into the room. There was a bed on its side, covered in ratty sheets. The top of a blonde head was peeking out from above it. I propped the video camera up against my cheekbone as Sam and Dean nodded to each other.

Sam reached out and tipped the bed onto all fours, and the head turned out to be a girl. She spun to face us, horror clear on her face as she gasped.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” Dean asked, shotgun down.

“Uh, Katherine.” She shook her head. “Kat.”

“I’m Olive.” I piped up, letting the camera go slack at my side. “This is Dean, that’s Sam.” I gestured.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

“Um. My boyfriend, Gavin.”

The boys and I looked at each other, same expression copied onto our faces.

“Is he here?”

“Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…”

“Alright. Kat?” Dean asked and she nodded. He put out a hand to help her stand. “Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and Olive will stay with you while we find your boyfriend.”

“No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

Dean scoffed. “It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous.”

She nodded. “That's why I gotta find him.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Sam shrugged and I snorted as Dean turned back to Kat.

Alright, I guess we’re gonna split up then. Kat stick with me, Olive, you’re with Sam.”

I nodded and hooked a finger onto one of Sam’s belt buckles. He patted my head with a smile.

“Let’s move.”

***

“Sam.” I patted his arm and pointed to the unconscious boy on the floor.

Sam nodded and stepped in front of me before crouching to shake the boy. His eyes opened and he freaked out.

“Hey, it’s okay!”

“Gavin, we’re here to help.” I coaxed as I squatted next to Sam.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Gavin sat up.

“My name is Sam, that’s Olive.”

“We um, we found your girlfriend?”

“Kat?” Gavin moved to stand. “Is she alright?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she’s okay. Just worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I was running. I think I fell.” Gavin rubbed his forehead.

“Running from what?”

“There was… there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up.”

“Okay listen, did this girl… did she try and hurt you?”

“What? N-no, she uh…”

“She what?” I pressed.

“She… kissed me.”

Sam and I looked at each other, and I blinked. Sam held back an annoyed snort and eye roll combo.

What the fuck?

“Uh… um… but… but she, she didn’t…” Sam trailed off, blinking as he looked at me, confused.

“She didn’t physically hurt you, did she?”

“Dude!” Gavin snorted. “She kissed me. I’m scarred for life!”

Sam and I looked at each other again, blinking furiously.

What the… fucking hell?

“Well, trust me… it… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Now do you remember anything else?” Sam asked, blinking.

“She actually, uh, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. I ran like hell.”

Sam and I looked at each other again and sighed.

This is fucking pointless.

“Let’s get back to Dean and get them the hell out of here.” I mumbled.

***

There was a shrill scream that rang off the metal of the building. Gavin jumped and Sam flinched. My chest clenched and I gasped.

“Dean!”

I burst into a full out sprint, boots pounding on the floor.

“Dean!”

“She’s inside with one of them.” Dean grabbed me by the shoulder the second I reached him, pointing to the rusted door.

“Help me!” She shrieked, and Sam and Gavin got to us, panting.

“Kat!” Gavin began to panic, and Sam’s fists clenched as he shut his eyes.

“Get me out of here!”

“Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.” Sam huffed.

Dean blinked as he turned to Sam. “She’s gotta what?”

“I have to what?” Kat echoed.

Sam sighed. “These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“You face it!” She spat back.

“No!” Sam hissed. “It’s the only way to get out of there.”

“No!” Kat fought.

“Kat, just look at it! Come on, you can do it.” I leaned against the door.

There was silence and Gavin called out to her. Dean sighed and ducked his head.

“Man, I hope you’re right about this.”

Sam huffed again. “Yeah, me too.”

I reached for Dean’s hand as we waited, silent and tense. He looked down at me and swallowed, pulling me closer to his side. Sam’s breath was the only thing I could hear. Dean squeezed my hand as the lock unclicked. I tried to steady my own breathing as the door slid open. Kat stood in the doorway, pale and drained.

“Oh, Kat.” Gavin grabbed her and she fell into him.

Sam dashed into the room, shining the light around. He made a grabby hand at me and I put the camera into the palm of his hand. He flicked it up and looked around.

“Anything?” I asked as he emerged.

He only shook his head.

“One thirty-seven.” Kat spoke.

Dean and Sam and I looked at each other, each blinking in confusion.

“Sorry?” Dean asked.

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number.” The three Winchester brains clicked as I ducked to squat, pulling Dean down with me, Sam following on his own.

“So if these spirits aren’t trying to hurt anyone-”

“Then what’re they trying to do?” I finished his question.

“Maybe that’s what they’ve been trying to tell us…” Sam shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Alright.” Sam huffed as the three of us popped back onto our feet.

Dean turned to the teenagers with a grin on his face. “So, now, are you guys ready to get the hell out of here?”

Kat snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded to Sam. “Get them, Olive can stay with them while I find 137.”

“No.” I reached for him again, latching onto his wrist.

“What?”

“I’m going with you. Sam can get them out on his own, but we shouldn’t leave one person alone in here.” I shook my head.

“Olive-”

“Dean, she’s right.” Sam sighed. “It’s dangerous.”

Dean blinked. “Fine. Keep the shotgun.” He pulled it off his back and held it out to Sam.

Sam took it and slung it over his back. “Be careful.”

“Always.” Dean grumbled back.

***

“Found it!” I called to Dean as I stood in front of the door.

“Here, help me move this.” He pocketed his own flashlight and gestured to the fallen furniture in blocking the doorway.

I gripped my flashlight between my teeth as I anchored my feet on the ground and pushed against the wooden mess. Dean followed, his weight doing the job. I stumbled as the support of the cabinet gave way and he helped me stay steady by grabbing the back of my neck. I cleared my throat as Dean pushed the door open.

The room was a disaster. The walls were stained with what was most definitely blood and other bodily fluids, filing cabinets tipped over and papers strewn about. Dean pushed me behind him.

“You got the camera?”

I patted my sides and huffed. “No. We left it with Sam.”

He huffed. “Alright. Just stay close.”

I nodded. This room had bad vibes.

***

I huffed from my spot on the floor. I was leaning against the wall, and I was absolutely leaning against blood, but I didn’t care.

“De, we’ve looked through every single paper here. Whatever we’re looking for, it’s not here. The spirits are wrong.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ol, it has to be here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed.

“Fine. Then there’s a secret door or drawer or something. It’s not in this mess, not in plain sight.”

Dean blew a raspberry. “Fine. Fine, let’s try to pull the room apart then.”

I groaned as I got to my feet. “I wish Dad was here.”

He sighed. “Yeah Ollie, I know. I wish he was here too.”

I turned to face the wall and splayed my fingers out, running them across the wall as I started to circle the room.

“Here!” Dean piped up.

I blinked. “How did you find it so fast?”

He chuckled. “It was right in front of me.” He pried the floorboard up and tossed it aside.

I joined him, delighted to see a satchel that looked full.

“This is why I get paid the big bucks.” He pulled the satchel up with a grunt.

I pranced to the desk in the middle of the room and sat down. Dean pulled up a chair and laid the papers from the satchel on the table. I snatched the top half of the pile and pulled it into my lap.

“Holy shit.” I grimaced as Dean sat and took his pile.

Notes upon notes upon notes, medical instruments and procedures hand-drawn, it was insanity on paper.

“Hey Ol.” Dean mumbled.

I looked up from the papers, seeing that his expression matched how I felt.

Pure concern. Whatever had happened to Ellicott to make him do this must’ve been awful, and what he did to the patients must’ve been even worse.

Dean broke into a smile and I blinked, confused. Why was he smiling?

“Looks like all work and no play makes-”

“Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy.” I chimed in, finishing the saying with him as he chuckled and I giggled.

There was a thud and our heads snapped up.

“Sam.”

***

We got shot at the second we rounded the corner. Kat had the shotgun, and thankfully, Dean reacted quicker than I did, pulling me down around the corner with him.

“Damn it, damn it! Don’t shoot! It’s us!” Dean shouted.

“Sorry!” Kat squeaked. Sorry.”

“Son of a-”

“What the hell are you still doing here? Where’s Sam?” I asked as I ran around the corner, seeing Gavin and Kat huddled together against the wall.

“He went to the basement. You called him.” Gavin spoke.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“I didn’t call anyone.”

“Not you. Dean.” Kat nodded to him.

Dean and I looked at each other again, increasingly confused and frustrated.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was you.” Kat shrugged.

“Fucking hell.” I hissed.

“Basement, huh?” The wheels in Dean’s head began to turn.

I sighed and looked around, picking up the first pipe I saw. I twisted it in my hands. It would be better than nothing.

“Alright. Watch yourselves, and watch out for us.”

“Be careful!” Kat called as Dean reached for my hand and led the way.

***

“Sammy? Sam, you down here?” Dean called.

“Sams? Sammy!” I followed behind him, holding onto his jacket like a little kid.

The basement was creepy. There were desks and chairs thrown around, like Ellicott’s office but worse. I felt a step behind me and jumped as I turned, Dean immediately jumping in front of me with the shotgun up. Upon seeing that it was Sam, I sighed.

“Man, answer me when I’m calling you!” Dean barked, reminding me very quickly of Dad. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Sam’s gaze seemed dead and it sent chills down my spine.

“You know it wasn’t me who called you, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.”

“Probably Ellicott. That’s what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven’t seen him, have you, Sams?” I asked, still behind Dean, inching closer slowly.

“No.” Sam’s cold eyes went from Dean to me. “How do you know it was him?”

I flinched. How do you know and not why do you think. That was bad. It gave me a bad feeling at the base of my spine and in the pit of my stomach.

“Cause we found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Awful shit. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin.” Dean scoffed, unaware of the tension.

Sam kept his eyes on me. Something was wrong with him. “But it was the patients who rioted.”

“Yeah.” Dean snorted, and Sam’s eyes went back to him, face blank. “They were rioting against Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy.” Dean rolled his eyes. “He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So we were thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal?” Dean proposed, and Sam said nothing, still staring.

I huddled closer to Dean, clenching his jacket so hard my knuckles began to hurt. “Guys, let’s just go. We have to find his body and burn it.”

“How?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. “The police never found his body.”

Dean shook his head, shooting me a look over his shoulder. I looked up at him, terrified. Sam was not Sam right now, and I was hoping Dean would catch onto that.

“The log book said he… had some sort of-” He cut himself off to look back at me, confused. I shook my head and Sam cleared his throat. I jumped, feeling my skin crawl. This was hopeless. I pushed my face into Dean’s back and whined. His hand came back to my arm and I sighed. He had gotten the message.

“Uh… he had a secret procedure room down here where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient, I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work myself.”

“I don’t know, Dean. It sounds kind of…” Sam trailed off, looking over Dean’s shoulder at me.

I squirmed, uneasy. “Crazy?” I proposed, and Sam’s eye twitched as he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out from behind him, to his side.

“I told you. I looked everywhere. I didn’t find a hidden room.”

My blood froze again. He hadn’t mentioned looking at all.

Dean chuckled. “Well yeah, that’s why they call it hidden.” He pulled me to follow him around, and I could feel Sam on my tail.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would stop. Ellicott must’ve done something to him. He was freaking me out.

“You hear that?” Dean asked, tilting his head to the ground. “There’s a door here.”

He dropped my hand to crouch, and Sam’s hand slammed over my mouth as the shotgun pressed into the base of my neck and I was dragged backward, away from Dean. I squealed, horrified and shaking.

“Dean.” Sam spoke, and Dean stood, eyes wide. He took a step forward, and Sam dug the gun into my skin. I whimpered, trembling like a chihuahua.

“Step away from the door.”

“Sam, put the gun down.” Dean tried to reason, putting his hand up.

“Is that an order?” Sam tilted his head.

Dean shook his head. “No. More of a friendly request. Let her go.” Dean squared his shoulders. “That was an order.”

Sam snorted. “Well I’m getting pretty sick of taking your orders.”

I bit down into Sam’s hand and the gun pressed harder, but I got my mouth free.

“De, I was right! Ellicott did something to him!”

“Oh, for once in your life, Olive, just shut your mouth.” Sam covered my mouth again.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Shoot your little fucking sister? Gun’s filled with rock salt. It won’t kill her. Won’t kill me either.”

Sam huffed, and the gun left me. I sighed, but then he aimed at Dean and shot.

“No, but it will hurt like hell.”

I screamed as Sam put the gun down and dragged me across the room, tossing me into the corner. There were ropes right by, and I knew he had planned this. Dean had been blasted backward, through the door. He was strewn on the floor.

“Dean! Dean! Dean! Sammy, stop it! Sam, please! Dean!” I tried to kick Sam away, screaming and crying.

“Shut up, Olive! I’m tired of hearing you!” Sam hissed into my face as he tied my wrists together, then my ankles. “You ruin everything.”

“Sam, don’t do this.” I whined. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” Sam spat on me and I let out a whimper.

“Olive!” Dean’s voice was a howl, and then it turned into a bark. “Sam!”

Sam was now standing over him, a grim smile on his face. Dean was trying to back away so he could get to his feet, but it was clear that he was in pain and struggling.

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and then all of this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.” Dean panted.

I struggled against the ropes. He had made the mistake of tying my wrists in front of me and tying the rope on my boots and not above. Sam hissed at Dean.

“I am normal! I’m just telling the truth for the first time!”

His attention was fully on Dean. I slowly grabbed at the laces of my boots, undoing the knot.

“I mean, why are we even here? Cause you’re following Dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question?”

I pulled down the zipper as he raised his voice. I tugged one boot off, grunting as the rope dug at my skin as it passed. One boot was off.

“Are you that desperate for his approval?” Sam laughed.

“This isn’t you talking, Sam.” Dean shook his head.

“That’s the difference between you and me! I have a mind of my own! I’m not pathetic, like you!”

The other boot slid off, leaving me in socks, wrists tied but functional.

“So what are you gonna do? Huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean challenged, seeing that I was halfway there.

“You know what? I am so sick of you telling me what to do!” Sam shouted, and I took the chance to get to my feet and tiptoe toward him. “We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago!”

“Well then here!” Dean screamed louder than Sam had, giving me enough time to drag a chair behind Sam and step onto it. “Let me make it easier for you!” Dean held his Smith & Wesson out to him. “Come on! Take it! Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.” He growled, and I took a deep breath as Sam hesitated. “Take it!” Dean spat.

Sam snatched it and pointed it at Dean’s face. I caught Dean’s eye and there was a twinkle of a smile before his attention reverted back to Sam. “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Dean taunted him. “Do it!”

Sam pulled, and the gun clicked. I felt my eyes burn with tears, and I wasn’t sure if they were from fear or relief. He pulled the trigger again, but it would be of no use. The chamber was empty. Sam was confused. Dean nodded at me and I took the chance to leap onto Sam, hooking my tied wrists over his neck. He stumbled backward, trying to get me off as Dean struggled to get to his feet.

“Man, I’m not gonna give you a loaded pistol!” Dean shouted.

“Get Ellicott, I can handle him!” I squeaked as Sam grabbed my arms and tried to pull them off.

“Sorry, Sams.” I whispered as I tugged my arms back, elbows to my sides.

My wrists hit Sam in the throat and he gagged, thrashing about and trying to get free of me. I dug my heel into his side, and he hissed, falling to the ground. I shook loose and looked up to see that Dean had disappeared behind a pair of curtains.

The heel of Sam’s hand came up to my nose and I groaned, stumbling backwards.

“Sam, listen to me!” I howled, spitting the blood that traveled to my mouth.

“Why can’t you ever stay out of it, Olive?” He screamed at me. “Sometimes I wish you had never shown up!”

I sighed as he pinned me down, hands at my neck. He was gonna choke me out, and I would either pass out or die. I was scared of both. I tried to squirm away, but it was no use. I prayed another apology before bringing my knee up to his crotch. His arms lost their tension, and I looped my wrists around his neck, bringing his head down and slamming my forehead into his nose. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp. I huffed as I pushed him off of me and looked for his pulse. It was there. I sighed, dropping onto the floor.

“Olive!” Dean shouted and I struggled to get back up, panting.

Ellicott had Dean in the corner, hands on his face.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m going to help you. I’m going to make you all better.” Ellicott cooed, and Dean stopped struggling, staring into the doctor’s eyes.

I took a deep breath, gagging at the smell of a dead body, but also being washed in a sense of relief at the smell of salt and kerosene. I rummaged through my pockets to find a lighter. I heard Dean’s laugh as my fingers curled around the lighter. I looked up to see him coming at me, a horrifying grin on his face. I flicked the lighter open and threw it onto the body. Ellicott’s ghost began to crumble as the body burned, and Dean stopped right in front of me. His smile dropped and his eyes went wide at the fear on my face. He started to cry and he fell to his knees.

“Olive, I’m so sorry.” He panted.

I fell to my knees in front of him and looped my arms around his neck as he grabbed at me, sobbing.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook. “I don’t want you to be scared of me, I’m so sorry.”

I giggled. “I’m not scared of you. Now let’s go. We have to haul Sam out of here somehow, and he’s massive.”

He pulled back and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead before getting to his feet and holding his hands out to help me. There was a groan and I looked over to see Sam sitting up, wriggling his nose.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You’re not gonna try and kill us, are you?”

“No.” Sam cupped his nose.

“Good. Cause that would be awkward.” I huffed as I shuffled over to him.

***

I took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed, leaning into Dean’s side as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks, guys.” Kat sighed as we stood outside of the asylum.

“Yeah, thanks.” Gavin added.

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean emphasized, and we watched as they walked toward their car.

“Hey, Dean? Ol?”

Dean and I turned to Sam, eyebrows raised.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I said awful things back there.”

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You remember all that?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Dean eyed him.

“No, of course not!” Sam’s face became panicked, and inched away from Dean and to him, throwing my arms around his middle. He hugged back with a sigh. “Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean shook his head as he opened the car door. “No. I’m not really in the caring and sharing kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He got into the car and Sam sighed.

I pulled away and gave him a sympathetic smile. “He’ll come around. Ellicott just hit some sensitive spots, that’s all.”

“Olive.” Sam frowned. “I love hearing you talk. Y-y-you’re like… this little genius. You’re so smart and creative and funny, and you’ve never ruined anything in your life.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean any of it. And Dean knows too. He’s just…” I leaned in and whispered. “Insecure.” I cleared my throat. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Sam chuckled. “I love you, Ol.”

I grinned. “I love you too, Sam.”

***

I yawned as I pulled my hoodie on. Dean was asleep in bed, and Sam had just gotten into the shower. I was about to crawl in next to Dean, and I was so tired I was sure that I’d snore louder than him.

His phone rang and I groaned.

“De?”

He didn’t move. I let out a whine and grabbed the phone. It wasn’t a familiar number, but we knew a lot of people.

“Hello?” I put it to my ear.

“Olive? Where’s your brother?”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “Dad?”

Previous Ep: Home (1.09)

Next Ep: Scarecrow (1.11)

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cruecifymesixx · 5 years

Text

Love and Leather /part thirty three/

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Tommy’s part where he goes through his day inspired me to write this chapter! Wish I could’ve partied with him :( enjoy tho! Let me know what you thought!

Warnings: drugs, alcohol, language

Taglist: @brideofdraculana, @xstarryeyes, @aryssav, @miserablecunt, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies, @fandomshit6000, @anntheboneless, @venus-calum, @justjodeye, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @are-we-real, @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @awkwardblackgirls, @countrygirlswonderland, @dillightfulpickle, @baiabouk, @awesomealmostdopestudent, @martabastic, @romanticvengeance, @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill, @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @motlycrue, @brooklyn-antiques, @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, @lilytalebi, @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @lunamadhatter99, @broke-n-bitchy @thanks2pete, @slowandangry, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @swoopygorl, @motherloovebone, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @wheresmyvodkabitch, @waywardprincess666, @nikkisixxsixxsixx, @iluvmesomemarvelndc , @marvelismylifffe, @zoenicoles, @pfft-halsey, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @primal-screamer, @electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @miss2001babe

I stumbled into the hotel room, practically falling to my knees, “Okay, let’s get you in bed.” Nikki said, helping me up as I was full of laughter, “I’m fine, it’s all good.” I slurred, as I watched his eyes close so the irritants of the alcohol wouldn’t burn, “Can you fuck me?” I asked Nikki, he chuckled, shaking his head as he turned me around and unzipped my dress, I stepped out of it as I tripped on the fabric, “What’s my rule?” He asked, as he helped put a shirt on me.

I whined, “Nikki.” I stomped my foot like a spoiled brat, “What’s my rule, Vanity?” He repeated himself as I plopped down onto the bed, “We don’t have sex when I’m really fucked up.” I breathed out, “And why don’t we have sex?” He asked, “Because you hate me.” He laughed, “C’mon babe, one time won’t hurt.” I said as I propped myself on my knees, getting dizzy all at once. I put my finger through the belt loop of his pants and pulled him to me.

Nikki looked down, moving pieces of hair out of my face. He smirked the moment all color left my face, “I’m gonna throw up.” I said pushing past him and running to the bathroom, getting there just in time.

“And that’s why we don’t fuck when you’re drunk.” Nikki said with a chuckle as he walked into the bathroom to hold my hair back. “Your fault. You feed me all the alcohol.” I said as I wiped my lip, and he helped me to my feet, “Doll, I don’t do anything you don’t want me too.”

“Except heroin.” I mumbled, “I didn’t mean that.” I quickly tried apologizing, Nikki sighed, “Brush your teeth and get in bed.” He ordered as he left the bathroom.

As I’ve been touring, this has been my life for the past three months. So you wanna know what life on the road is really like? And what it’s like to hang around Mötley Crüe, well let me give you a rundown of my day.

Seven A.M: I wake up before everyone else to try and take a shower before Vince can use up all the hot water. He’s already awake and trying to get his stuff together, we reach for the bathroom door at the same time.

“Vanity common! You know I have to deep condition my hair! Or the humidity will fuck with it!” I rolled my eyes, “I get the first shower of the day before you guys dirty it up! That’s if you four even shower!!” I shouted back at him, “And at least I have the decency to leave hot water!” I shout at him before slamming the bathroom door, waking everyone else up.

Nine A.M: Get upset because the boys don’t keep food in the fridge of the tour bus.

I groaned again, looking into the fridge hoping something would appear. But to my dismay, there was still a moldy block of cheese, left over McDonald’s from god knows what town, and bottles on bottles of alcohol. It was a rule with Nikki: the fridge had to be stocked with Jack Daniels for him and Vodka for Mick.

“Can we please stop and get something to eat.” I begged Nikki, “Doll, we’re gonna be late.” I rolled my eyes, slamming the fridge door shut.

Nine Thirty A.M: Have my first fight of the day with Nikki.

“Well maybe if you planned things a little bit better we could actually eat!!” I shouted at him, he put down the notepad and glared at me. “Well maybe you could have gotten stuff yesterday before we left!!!” He shouted back, as the boys groaned.

“Maybe if you weren’t a control freak and wanting to leave at a certain time and having everyone waking us up and taking our shit I could’ve!!” I said walking closer to him as he was laying on the couch, “We are stopping at the next town so I can eat!! I can’t live off of booze and drugs like you guys!!” Nikki sighed angrily.

“Yeah man, I’m kinda hungry too.” Tommy quietly butted in, “And that is why T-Bone is my favorite.” Nikki groaned, “Maybe you should fucking sleep in his bed then!!” He shouted before storming off to the back bedroom.

“Such a drama queen.” Mick added on, taking the first sip of vodka of the day.

Ten Thirty A.M: I finally get something to eat, as Vince takes a local girl to the bathroom of the establishment so we can get half off. What a cheap bastard. Nikki says sorry for being an asshole, admits that he’s hungry too, and that he should of just listened to me.

“Stop taking food from my plate.” I said as I smacked Nikki’s hand when he tried to grab a French fry. “That looks good, though.” He shrugged, “Sixx, you literally got the same thing.” I said with a laugh, “I know...but yours look better.” He said before stealing a fry and popping it into his mouth.

Vince slid back into the booth, pushing his hair out of his face, “We got half off on the bill.” He said with a smirk as the boys laughed, I rolled my eyes and continued eating.

The girl gave Vince her number, thinking that he would actually call. I always wonder when these girls are gonna learn.

Mick and I are walking back to the bus so we can smoke, as I notice Nikki flirting with a girl. I see him look over to me, giving me a ‘hey look what I’m doing and I hope you get jealous’ smirk. I laugh it off as he always comes back to me.

One P.M: I’m rudely awaken from a nap as Mick and Nikki are strumming away at their instruments.

I groaned, knowing that I can’t even get mad because they’re working. But fuck man, shut the fuck up for once. We’re in a closed, confined space and everything is louder. I turn on my side, covering my head with the pillow as Vince begins to sing. It only gets worse as Tommy starts banging his drum sticks on the table.

Two Fifteen P.M: I get a phone call from mom.

“Pass the coke!” Vince yells, “Shut up!” I quietly yelled back, holding the end of the receiver, “Yeah mom, that’s amazing Sage is finally figuring out where she wants to go to college.”

Tommy then begins to mimic a woman’s moans, and when I mean a woman’s moans...I mean mine.

“‘Oh Nikki, don’t stop, don’t stop.’”My face turns red with embarrassment, I quickly turn around, smacking him against the chest.

“No, that’s just Tommy...yes he’s the drummer.” I say, trying to play it off. “Yeah, We should be in Dallas for my birth-“

“Hey, Mrs. Blackwood, it’s Nikki.” My eyes went wide as he snatched the phone from me. “give it back.” I told Nikki but he put his hand on my shoulder, trying to keep me away.

“Oh yeah, I’m doing good, thanks for asking. Do you want to know what your sweet, innocent little daughter did last night?” My eyes went wide, “Nikki!” I yelled, as he turned away from me, and I jumped on his back but he kept moving the phone from one hand to the other.

“So get this, she let us run a train on her.” He said with a laugh as I scoffed, “Um, ew!” I yelled in his ear, “Oh? What does that mean? Well let me tell you...it means-“ I grabbed the phone out of his hand finally, “Bye Mom! Love you!” I said then quickly hung up.

“You’re such a dick!” I yelled, as I tightened my grip around his neck, making him laugh more, before he flipped me over his back and put me on the couch

“Vanity, is your mom hot?” Vince asked, “Dude.” Tommy said as he laughed, “I mean, I know she’s a widow...and I know she’s probably lonely, I would just be doing a good deed for society.” I rolled my eyes, “You are not fucking my mom!” I shouted, “Fine, how about your sister, she just turned eighteen right?”

I quickly got up, “Easy..” Nikki said, quickly grabbing me, and pulling back to him, “No one is fucking Vanitys mom or her sister.”

Four P.M: arrive at the hotel. Nikki, Vince and Tommy immediately let everyone know Mötley Crüe has arrived.

The boys had their asses pressed against the glass wall of the elevator, banging on it and letting everyone in the lobby see, “Hahaha, fuckers.” Tommy said as he flipped everyone off. I rubbed my face as I let out a groan. “Join the fun!” Tommy said, nudging my arm, “I bet she won’t!” Vince added, “Bets a bet, doll.” Nikki says, a devilish smirk on his face.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Bets a bet, doll’ has gotten me into a lot of trouble last few months.

I quickly pulled up my shirt and pressed my tits against the glass as the boys began hooting and hollering, Nikki then starts getting mad that the guys saw my tits.

Five Thirty P.M: have my second fight with Nikki of the day.

“God! At least lock the fucking door if you’re gonna start shooting up already!” I yelled at him, slamming the bathroom door as I walked in on him sticking a needle into his arm.

I hate seeing him do it, and I hate it even more when he’s slumped over, basically drooling all over himself and I have to get him presentable.

“Maybe don’t fucking barge into my room!” I rolled my eyes when he followed me out, as he bumped into the wall.

“Your room?! It’s my room too since you refuse to let me have my own or let me share one with the others!!” I yelled back at him, annoyed that he’s always in my fucking face.

He doesn’t let me ever have my own hotel room! And he freaks out when I try to sleep in anyone else’s bed! Like the last concert back in Ohio, I was really drunk and was banging on the door because I left my keys in the room but he was in there freebasing and wouldn’t let me in, so I slept in Vince’s bed and that itself was a huge fight.

“Well fucking knock for once in your life!” He defended himself, “Whatever, get yourself cleaned up, we’re going to dinner.”

Six P.M: have dinner with all the producers and radio creeps.

I was siting in between Mick and Tommy, as Vince and Nikki sat across from me. Nikki was now mad that I wouldn’t sit by him. But why would I when he’s just gonna be talking out of his ass and talking about nonsense when he’s higher then a fucking kite right now?

“Vanity, did the guys really run a train on you last night?” I started choking on my wine, “Yeah, man we did.” Vince added with a laugh, until Nikki punched him in the chest, “Dude, only Sixx is allowed to touch her.” Tommy chimed in, telling the man who asked the question, “Its like a standing rule.” He continued, “T-bone, shut up.” I said, nudging his side. I continued to eat dinner, not bothering to look up at anyone, including Nikki because I could just feel the smirk he has as he knows how flustered I get when someone brings up the fact that I’m off limits to every guy, except for him.

Six Fifteen P.M: Nikki quickly takes me to the bathroom and proceeds to screw my brains out. All while the manager of the restaurant and Doc are banging on the bathroom door, but Nikki doesn’t care.

“Fuck off, man!!” Nikki yelled, continuing his thrusts into me, “Sixx, Vanity! let’s go!! They’re about to call the cops!!” Doc was then yelling at us, “Alright!!” Nikki yelled as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders placing soft kisses on his skin, “Fuck you Sixx! Let’s go!!”

I went limp in his arms as I felt my moment of bliss, “Fuuuck.” His moans were dragged out as he released himself into the condom. He pulled himself out, quickly giving me a soft peck on the lips before pulling his pants back up.

I adjusted my dress, checking for any make up that was smeared, “Ready?” Nikki asked, I nodded as he grabbed my hand, “What, man?” Nikki said, a smug smile on his face as we walked out. Both the manager and doc were fuming in anger.

Seven P.M: every line of coke is snorted and every bottle that is handed to me is not passed up, because that would just be rude if I said no.

“Here lets do some dust!” Tommy said shoving the silver tray into my hand, I quickly snorted up the line before passing it to Nikki. He finishes it off, while licking the residue off the tray.

Nikki then hands me a bottle of Jack, followed by a bottle of tequila. And he wonders why I’m so fucked up by the end of the night.

“After the show, we’re chugging and I have a bet for you tonight.” Tommy said, opening up a bottle of beer and handing it to me, “What’s the bet?” I asked him, “You’ll find out later.”

Eight P.M: Have my third fight with Nikki as I again find him after shooting up in his dressing room.

“Right before the show! C’mon!” I yelled as he was slumped over on the couch, “Wake up!” I shoved his shoulder, “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s all good.” He said, not seeing the problem.

“You’re gonna be a mess out there.” I expressed my concerns as I fixed the now smeared black lines on his cheeks as he was continuing to nod off. “Nikki! Wake up!!” I yelled, “God damnit, alright!!” He shouted back, pushing me away from him as he stumbled up to his feet, tripping over the table that was in front of him and falling onto it.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled as he got himself up. “Shit.” He said, picking up a tray that use to have coke on it before he spilled everything on the table.

He walked over to the mirror and looked at himself, his eyes slowly moving to the reflection of me, “I’ll get help.”

I rolled my eyes knowing that was a lie, “Okay.” I said, standing up from the couch and walking to him, “You don’t believe me?” He asked, I ignored it while picking up a comb and teasing his hair, “Vanity.” He replied, as I looked into his eyes. Dark, cold, and his pupils were blown. “I don’t think you want help.” I confessed as his eyebrows furrowed, continuing to fix his hair and trying to make the mess less messy but still keeping that famous look.

He didn’t say anything in return, he just continued to let me fix him up. “There.” I said, wiping my nail under the black line on his cheek, getting the last of the smear wiped off.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, I nodded before he took my hand in his and we walked out of his dressing room.

Nine P.M: Show starts, as Nikki always has a spot saved in the front row for me. I’m surrounded by drunk men who want to touch me and angry groupies who get upset when Nikki reaches down and touches my face.

“I said, leave her alone or I’m throwing you out.” A security guard approached a man that was trying to grab me, “Back off.” The guard warned him yet again. The guy who was harassing me was pulled back to his group of friends that were a row or two behind me.

I turned my attention back to stage as Nikki rolled around on the ground with his bass, “Sixx!!” I yelled for him over the blaring drum solo Tommy was currently in the middle of.

Nikki propped up on his knees as he crawled to me, trying to get as close as he could without falling off the stage. I stepped on the railing that divided the stage and the crowd, leaving only enough foot room for security. I leaned over, reaching my hand out for him, thinking he would give me the pick for the bass.

He licked the tip of my finger, before gently biting it. I bit my bottom lip as he brought my finger into his mouth and sucked on it. I laughed as I took it out of his mouth and caressed his jaw line. He gave a wink before jumping back on to his feet and beginning to play again

My shoulder was tugged on as I saw a fist flying my way, making me stumble down to the ground, “Dude! What the fuck!” I yelled out, clutching my nose as I tasted the blood dribbling into my mouth.

“I’m going back with him, not you!” A groupie was standing over me. I quickly got up, tackling her down to the disgusting floor, “Whoa, whoa, cat fight!” I heard Vince yell into the Mic as the stage light moved from them and onto me and her.

“Stupid whore! Get her out of here!” I yelled at the security guard who pulled me off, “Fuck!” I yelled out, bending over in pain as I held my face.

Eleven Thirty P.M: the shows over as I am sitting in the back getting checked on by a super hot paramedic.

“Doll, are you alright!” Nikki said, throwing his bass to a roadie before coming to me, “I’m fine, right, Diego?” I asked rather flirty as I touched his arm.

“She’s all good man, no breaks, just a simple bloody nose.” He smiled at me, not even bothering to look at Nikki, “Great, thanks man, you can go.” Nikki ordered, “Thanks for taking such good care of me.” I smiled at him as I bit my lip, continuing to check him out.

“Anytime love, hope I can see you again.” Diego responded, “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Thanks for helping.” Nikki snapped, grabbing my hand as he dragged me to his dressing room for our post-concert quickie.

Twelve Fifteen A.M: Find the nearest strip club for the boys. It doesn’t last long as Tommy throws up on one of the strippers as she dancing. It also doesn’t last long as I am not a fan of strip clubs so a quick trip to the bathroom with Nikki as a way to convince him to move the party back to the hotel works.

One A.M: Tommy and I have our annual chugging contest with a bet that ends all bets.

“Alright here’s what I got.” Tommy slurred his words as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, “I-I I’m gonna tell you the bet.” I listened as I leaned into his chest, “Looser....has to get a tattoo of the winners choice.” Those words sobered me up. “Tommy, I don’t know man.” I said hesitantly as he put the beer in my hand.

“C’mon! The guy is sober as hell and he’s almost done tattooing Vince!” Tommy egged me on, giving me the puppy dog eyes making me give in.

“Ready, go!” Tommy said quickly, immediately getting a head start in cracking open his beer. I started choking on the beer, trying to force it all down. I’m fucked up and there is no way Tommy fucking Lee is making me-

“Done!!” He yelled, crushing the beer can and throwing it to the ground. “T-bone.” I said in defeat as he took the can, shaking it as he felt I still had half left, “Again! Let’s go again!” I shouted. He laughed, shaking his head “You never, ever once let me have a do over, so why start now? Hm?” He replied, lowering his head down to my height and smirking in my face.

“Nikki, baby, tell him I’m not getting a tattoo.” I turned my head to the side, watching his face leave the mountain of coke on the table. He wiped his nose, “Sorry Princess, that’s your guys thing.” He shrugged, as my lips parted in shock.

“So because I love you, I’ll let you get it where it’s always covered.” Tommy said, motioning for the tatted up guy to come over, “It’s going on your ass.” T-bone slurred, “Oh c’mon!” I groaned, “So what are we doing?” The man with the tattoo gun in his hand asked, as he turned it on so it would buzz.

Tommy whispered into his ear. The guy looked up at him snickering, “Alright, lay down on the couch sweetheart.” He said, patting down the couch before putting gloves on. I sighed, pulling up my dress and laying on my stomach as the guy began to tattoo me.

“What is she-“ Nikki stopped talking as he stood over me looking down at what was permanently being left on my body, “Is it bad!?” I asked, as he he cupped his hand to his mouth, trying to keep his laughter in. “It’s technically not a bad tattoo.” Nikki said, “Here. You’re gonna want this.” He added, shoving a bottle of Jack into my hand as I began to chug it, feeling it burn all the way to my soul.

Two Thirty A.M: I disappear from Nikki’s sight as I go and find a random guy to fuck, but in the middle of it, I start feeling bad because he isn’t Nikki.

“I’m gonna get us a friend.” I said, wiping my lip and getting up from sitting on my knees in front of him. His eyes light up as I give him a teasing smirk and leave the bathroom.

I drunkenly stumble over to Nikki and sit on his lap, “Where’d you go?” He asked, kissing my neck, “To the bathroom.” Nikki glared at me, not buying my lie for one second as he smelt the cologne that wasn’t his.

Two Forty Five A.M: We have our final fight of the night.

Nikki shoved me off his lap, “Go back and fuck whoever you found.” He growled, “Oh Sixx, relax for once, you aren’t my boyfriend.” He hates when I say that, especially when I’m fucked up on his drugs and alcohol.

“Alright, so you won’t mind if I fuck a bitch in the bed tonight, right?” I rolled my eyes, “You’re being over dramatic.” I slurred my words, shoving his shoulder, “It’s not like she’ll suck your dick as good as I can.” I retorted, “Can I watch?” Vince butted in, “No!” Nikki and I said in union.

“Go ahead, you’re right I’m not your boyfriend, go fuck whoever you want, but give me your key to the room cause you aren’t sleeping in my bed tonight.” Nikki also slurred his words, I scoffed. “God, go fucking shoot up in the bathroom and do us all a favor and shut the fuck up for once.”

Nikki sighed, knowing it was time for me to go to bed. “Lets go.” He said grabbing my hand, and pulling me up to my feet, as he begins to walk us back to the room

“Goodnight Vanity.” The other three said as Nikki wrapped his arm around my waist, helping me walk on my own two feet as the whole world was spinning around me.

Three fifteen A.M: Stumble in drunk, Nikki helps me get undressed, throw up before going to bed. Watch Nikki rummage through his bag, grabs a small cherry oak box and takes it to the bathroom. He doesn’t come back out for at least an hour.

Eight A.M: wake up to a call from Doc. Sit up and examine the room. It’s a fucking mess. Why is my bra on the lamp shade? And why the hell is my ass hurting?. Leave the bed as Nikki is hanging off of it snoring, he only snores if he shoots up before he goes to bed.

I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, I had a bruise around my nose and my make up was smeared everywhere.

I strip out of my clothes and take a shower with the highest temperature I can withstand. Nikki joins me shortly after. I get out of the shower before him, “Did you see your tattoo?” My eyes went wide as I looked down my body. I turned around to see cursive in black ink surrounded by red, irritated skin on my left butt cheek:

‘Property of Mötley Crüe’

I crack up laughing, “No, No, is this real!?” I yelled, pulling back the shower curtain and showing him. Nikki smirked as his finger ran across it, “It’s very real, doll.”

Nine A.M: get on the tour bus after being able to eat breakfast for once, immediately start yelling at Tommy for making me get a tattoo. He just laughs and asks if I want to have a line, I say yes. The cocaine immediately gets rid of the hangover.

I wake up, try to sober up before the next town. I start partying right after eating, pass out and then do it all again the next day.

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