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kleenexwoman · 2 years

Note

wait but do u have posts about ur fics so i know what to ask u about 🤲🏻💖

Master List now in progress!

STRANGER THINGS

Ego Death With a Side of Demonolatry

a lesser key for a smaller lock at https://archiveofourown.org/works/45536833

Eddie summons a demon, and it decides to possess Steve and take Eddie's virginity. I came back from a witch convention with COVID and had this as a series of fever dreams. Take that as you will.

now i can wake up and face the day at https://archiveofourown.org/works/49101538

Inspired by a post on @thorniest-rose about Steve being BPD. Mental institution abuse, conversion therapy, electroshock. This one's getting a longer second chapter soon.

Eddie Sells Billy Bad Tabs at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48920308

Inspired by a discussion on the Eddie Sluts Discord about Eddie having the chance to punch Billy. I suggested a more subtle method of revenge.

Everything That Rocks

Move to the City at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48409945

A little metal RPF. Eddie hooks up with Rob Halford (inspired by real events in Rob's life) and sells weed to Axl Rose (Indiana boy).

Gary Rock City at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48735946

A Reader/Eddie fic. Reader finds Eddie at a bar and talks about their favorite metal bands.

MARVEL

Writing About the Gods

the whisper of the wind and the words of the woods at https://archiveofourown.org/works/406564

Thor takes Steve to help him fix a drought in Middle America--by having sex with the goddess Columbia. I've been informed that Thor is actually with Columbia in the American Gods TV show, which tickles the hell out of me.

Permit Me to Tell You How to Wage War at https://archiveofourown.org/works/40130454

Speaking of American Gods... Justin Hammer makes a new friend in prison. This is me smooshing Sam Rockwell and Crispin Glover together like I like to do. Not gonna tell you much else cause NOT FINISHED YET.

Five Times Loki Flirted With Royalty (And One Wedding) at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43872652

Loki said that he'd flirted with princes and princesses both. Join the fun and subscribe as the royalty and deities are slowly revealed.

on a high hill, his clear gaze at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44892385

my heart was not so hard as your arrow at https://archiveofourown.org/works/45244795

sweeter than ambrosia is your love returned at https://archiveofourown.org/works/45260953

An Eros/Loki teenaged love story I wrote for the Valentine's Day bingo at @marvelrarepairbingo. I thought Eros was cute as shit (I didn't know he was in a boy band and I apologize to my edgy middle school self, lol). Hail Eris Discordia, as always.

Writing About Being Jewish

The Angel and the Wise Man at https://archiveofourown.org/works/249466

This was an attempt to do an X-Men: First Class fic in the style of Isaac Bashevis Singer. Some asshole started arguing with me in the comments and made me lose my wind entirely. Fuck that guy.

the fruit of your hands, the breath of your being at https://archiveofourown.org/works/438561

Three chapters of suburban AU Cherik mpreg free verse. I turned the first one into a poem I read at my open mic and impressed a bunch of crustpunks with it.

When Orchards Burn Their Lamps of Fiery Gold at https://archiveofourown.org/works/42156090

Tony Stark goes to shul for the first time after he finds out his daughter Morgan is autistic, and talks with Magneto. This is a very personal work and Pepper is real shitty about autism in it for Story Reasons.

A Taste of Orange and Plum at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43590858

Magneto and Emma Frost compare holiday memories. I found out some FASCINATING shit about Nazi Christmas for this fic!

Bad Shit Happens to Steve and Bucky

Tarot Americaine at https://archiveofourown.org/works/35152768

First Steve runs across a magical mutant carnival somewhere in the Midwest on his USO tour--and becomes small again for a night--then he's co-starring with famed eternal beauty Emma Frost in his own series of low-budget action films. Then, eventually, he goes to a Hellfire Club party on Halloween and meets thinly veiled versions of real life people I want to rag on. NOT FINISHED YET.

a slice of life and cucumber at https://archiveofourown.org/works/36433486

I literally just gave Bucky a day I had. It's stuff that happened to me, but it's Bucky. And also I hurt my foot instead of my arm.

Every Breath That I Held For You at https://archiveofourown.org/works/40856901

My answer to what happens when Steve goes back in time to share that dance with Peggy. Past Tony/Steve, and Peggy is not portrayed kindly in this for Story Reasons. I also spend about half a chapter just making the characters watch a play that I really liked. NOT FINISHED YET.

Coffee in Paradise at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33429637

So I wanted to write a coffeeshop AU for Steve and Bucky that had intense longing, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, a threesome where the guys pretend really hard not to have feelings for each other, and just a whole lot of angst and loving detail about stuff like sandwiches and interior decoration. And this is it. It's gonna be long and meandering. There's random sex dreams sprinkled in. And very powerful, magical things want Steve and Bucky to be as happy as possible. NOT FINISHED, ENDPOINT INDEFINITE

pizza in heaven at https://archiveofourown.org/works/35266066

A "The Good Place" fusion/crossover where Bucky is basically Eleanor and Tony is... well, he's still Tony. They're fake soulmates! Tahani is there running things and has Heelys. I attracted an infamous troll to this one.

The Sun is Also a Warrior at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43872903

Captain America but it's a 1940s urban fantasy universe where humans mix with magical folk pretty freely. Dracula is in it. NOT FINISHED YET.

so pricketh them nature in their courages at https://archiveofourown.org/works/39808719

Captain America if Steve and Bucky were Arthur and his most loyal knight. Peggy is Guinevere and once again not portrayed kindly for Story Reasons.

The Seventh Spring at https://archiveofourown.org/works/43591576

I tried to smoosh together Captain America (apex of corporate entertainment) with a couple of Ingmar Bergman movies (apex of thoughtful independent film). Will probably remain unfinished because I got on antidepressants that work and I can't write the grim shit I was gonna.

FAIRY TALES

Fairytales at https://archiveofourown.org/works/141004

Inspired by Sara Bareilles's "Fairytales" and the "Real Housewives of X County" shows my mom was watching all the time, this Yuletide Exchange original imagines popular princesses as modern women with their own TV shows.

The Legend of the Dancing Queene at https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803193

Inspired by ABBA's "Dancing Queen" and Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market," this Yuletide Exchange poem tells the story of a girl cursed to dance for centuries by fairies (literal centuries, until the 1970s).

The Uses of Enchantment at https://archiveofourown.org/works/42710370

An "Enchanted" fanfic following Nancy Tremaine as she struggles to adjust to ruling her new kingdom. NOT FINISHED YET.

#captain america #stucky #stucky fanfiction #cherik #cherik fanfic #enchanted fanfic #Steddie #stranger things fanfic

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lucy-sky · 1 year

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Writer Self-Rec Fics Ask GameRules: writers list your top 5 favorite fics of yours and then send this to 5 writers! :)

Oh god, it took me quite a while, right? x'D It's always so hard to choose from my own stuff, not because I hate my writing or something, but... Just hard xDD

I decided to chose from the latest ones, because I don't think anyone is interested in my Sam Rockwell characters' stuff (if you are, please check Masterlist 2018, 2019, 2020 and a bit of 2021)

So, in no particular order and only based on how I feel:

The Warmest Weekend (BJ Rose x f!Reader) - I love how easy it was to write and to imagine, and it makes me feel warm and good.

Sweetheart (Shane Walsh x Reader) - written to comfort myself, so of course it's kinda special for me.

Monsters in the Dark (vampire!Braxton Wolff x f!Reader) - I'm very soft for him :')

Who Cares? - Eddie Munson x virgin!f!reader - not a Jon Bernthal character for a change. Eddie makes me remember my younger self.

Moonlight Blossom (The Mute x f!Reader) - back to Jon's character, oops :') I LOVED writing this <3

That's it, thank you for thinking of me @darlingshane :))

#replies #fanfiction

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arianadevareux · 4 years

Text

Imagine...

Always beating Eric at board games.

(For anon)

“How did you - are you cheating? Boardwalk and Park Place?”

You grinned at Eric, who now had to fork over almost all of his remaining Monopoly money. “Pay up.”

He did so, begrudgingly, and began to sell his remaining lots to stay in the game. “Every time. What are you, a Monopoly champ? Do you have trophies hidden somewhere?”

“It just takes a little planning. You should know about that, Mr. Scientist.”

“Should, but I don’t.”

It didn’t matter what game the two of you played, you nearly always won. On the rare occasion that Eric was able to pull the rug out from underneath you and secure a victory, he wouldn’t let you live it down for weeks. He even had a little victory dance.

“Ha! Yeah, baby, we’re back in the game!” Eric began to celebrate as you landed on the Electric Company.

“Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“I own the Electric Company. You sold it 5 turns ago.”

Eric hung his head. Defeat was imminent.

#eric knox #charlie's angels #charlie's angels eric knox #eric knox imagine #eric knox x reader #reader insert #imagine #gif imagine #charlie's angels reader insert #charlie's angels imagine #charlie's angels eric knox imagine #sam rockwell #sam rockwell imagine #sam rockwell x reader

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myveryownfanfiction · 7 months

Text

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @ali-griff

song: Mamma Mia by ABBA

warnings: Swearing, Aidan is upset with reader

"Oh come on Aidan." I said with a laugh. "It wasn't that bad." Aidan stopped walking away and turned towards me. Giving me a hard stare, he turned around again before he said anything. "Aidan!"

"Just fucking stop (Y/N)." He said. I paused and my smile fell. "Leave me alone for a bit alright?"

"I don't understand." I murmured. Aidan rubbed his forehead.

"That's part of the problem." He sighed. "Just...just stay here. I need to get some air." Aidan walked out the door and I stood in the middle of the room, confused by what was going on. I turned back to the apartment and decided to get some spring cleaning done. Once the music was selected and on, I started on the bookshelf. I ended up making three piles, one to keep, one to get rid of and one to ask Aidan about when he came home. I sighed as I thought of him. Not long after I glanced at the clock Aidan walked in the door. I turned to look at him and he gave me a small smile.

"Hey." I said softly. He walked over and stood next to me.

"Hey." He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s all this?” I shrugged.

“spring cleaning.” Aidan nodded. He offered me a hand to help me up and I ignored it. Aidan watched as I got up myself and frowned when I stood before him, arms wrapped around my waist. “didn’t expect you back so soon.” Aidan nodded reaching out for my hand as the song changed. I let him take it and swayed gently with him.

“yeah well.” He shrugged. “I did some thinking.” I hummed as Aidan put his hands on my waist. “And maybe you were right. It wasn’t that bad of a prank. I’m just a little…you know…” I nodded.

“high strung.” I said. “I am too sometimes.” I agreed with him. Aidan leaned into me until his head was resting on my shoulder. “That’s why I thought I’d prank you. But I’ll admit I may have…misjudged.” Aidan kissed my throat.

“and I may have overreacted.” Aidan said softly. I buried my face in the back of his neck. “Talk it out next time?”

“yeah.” I confirmed. “Missed you.” Aidan smiled against my throat and spun us around.

“missed you too.” Aidan said, pulling back. “Should never have walked out. No matter how upset I was.” I cupped his cheek and smiled at him.

“you did what you had to do.” I said. “I know you don’t agree but Aidan, I’d rather you walk out than start a screaming match.” He pulled me to him tightly.

“I could never.” He whispered. I hugged him back tightly.

“now if that’s that…” I said, pulling away from him. “Help me figure this out?” Aidan nodded before kissing me.

“of course.” He said with a smile.

#Aidan wilde #aidan Wilde fanfic #Aidan Wilde fanfiction #Aidan Wilde imagine #Aidan Wilde x reader #Sam rockwell #sam Rockwell x reader #sam Rockwell fanfic #Sam Rockwell fanfiction #sam Rockwell imagine

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nasabeckx · 7 years

Text

OKAY I NEED A BUCKY FIC BASED ON “MR. RIGHT” RIGHT NOW

#I JUST WATCHED THIS MOVIE AND IM OBSESSED #please im desperate #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #fic ideas #mr. right #anna kendrick #sam rockwell

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theconstantsidekick · 3 years

Text

The Sound of Silence and Static (5) | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Past!Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x OFC Pia “Rocky” Rockwell

Genre: Angst, Mystery, Crime

Summary: Y/n meets back up with her boys but the ground between her and Sam is still pretty damn shaky. It's a brutal back and forth. What else did you expect?

(Set after the events of The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static, Static: Get, Set, Glitch, and Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been? While this series can be read as a stand-alone story, it would make a lot more sense if you read those beforehand. And you know? They’re fun.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Past Trauma, Canon Typical Violence, Torture

a/n: read Age of Ultron (ft. Static) to get a better backstory. Highly recommended. Gives context to her powers, but not so necessary. @freeflyingphoenix is half the reason this thing is a real possibility.

sidenote: Please, please, please read Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been? cause it ties in directly with this story.

“Howdy boys! Why the long faces?”

“Y/n?!” Steve exclaims, rushing over to the door to get to her.

Bucky reaches her first, placing an arm around her waist, her free arm comes to rest around his shoulder. He shoulders her weight happily and effortlessly.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam scolds, rushing out of the kitchen.

Steve comes to kneel in front of her and Bucky as they sit down on the couch.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” Bucky asks, hesitant and scared. He’s terrified of the answer because he already knows what it is.

Before she can answer though—

“She’s got two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and second-degree burns on her side. The rest I’ve taken care of—which reminds me, hi guys! I’m here too,” Harley deadpans, having moved away to close the door to Joaquin’s small apartment, now that he didn’t have to hold up a hobbling Y/n anymore.

Burns??

"What happened, sweetheart?" He tries to make his voice as soft as he can, while Steve, having assessed her wounds, makes his way to the kitchen.

Now, he knows Y/n. He knows her far too well at this point, and he knows that she'll pretend to be fine. She'll try, at least, to seem all put together and unhurt. But moments like these bring her back—back to HYDRA, back to having to feel afraid and scared of her life every waking hour. He knows her well enough to know that she’s always been unafraid of everything because she believes that she’s lived through the worst possible hell there could ever be. It makes her feel invincible… until she stumbles upon moments like this.

Scooting closer to him, “Stuff,” she tells him dismissively.

“Y/n—”

“Jamie.”

He already knows the battle is lost so he decides to settle for comforting her instead. But then—

“Holy shit!” suddenly a voice chimes in. “I was peeing for like, 40 seconds, tops,” Joaquin remarks, walking into the living room to stand behind Harley who's sitting on the edge of a chair he’s pulled. “What happened?”

“Stuff,” she reiterates, louder this time.

“Joaquin, could you please—” Bucky’s cut off by the man himself.

“First aid kit,” Joaquin nods, already ready with the answer. “On it.” He rushes out of the living room, walking past a fidgety Steve who comes back and hands her a glass of water with a couple painkillers.

Swallowing the pills, and chugging down the water, “I’m sorry about leaving like that,” she mumbles into Bucky's chest as he wraps her close.

Dropping a kiss on her head he counters, “You have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

“I left you half naked, bub,” she throws back.

It makes him chuckle a little. “I think I’ll let it slide, on the account of you being arrested and whatnot,” he tells her with a soft smile, caressing her cheek.

She mirrors his smile and finally, for the first time in the last 30 odd hours, Bucky feels like he can finally breathe again. He’d been missing his moon, something awful. Moonless skies is something Bucky hasn’t had to face in a good long while, and now that he has her back—he has the shiny glittery light of the moon beaming at him—even a little—he can finally breathe again. His moon and her faint moonlight is outshining the afternoon sunlight that’s creeping in through the windows of Joaquin’s apartment, and he can finally breathe again.

But the moment is cut painfully short as—

“Y/n,” Sam calls out as Joaquin comes back into the room with a small box of medicines, bandages, burnall and such. “What happened?”

She looks up at him then, where he stands in front of her, towering, exuding command. He looks unforgiving, Bucky thinks and part of him burns at the realizing it might be because that’s how he feels.

“I broke out of the Raft,” she tells him plainly as Joaquin comes and settles on her feet, bandages in hand.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for your shit?” Sam reprimands, his voice raising, arms flailing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Where else was I supposed to go after I broke out of a high security prison?” Y/n throws back, as Joaquin asks her to brace herself for what’s about to come. She nods dismissively without thought.

“Y/n—” Sam’s losing his patience, Bucky can see it. But before he can finish—

“Cocksucker!” She yells out in agony.

“Sorry,” Joaquin apologizes, wincing himself as he assesses the shoulder that he just repositioned back into its place.

Bucky’s jaw must be clenched too hard for comfort because a moment later he feels a soft hand caress his cheek.

“I’m okay, baby,” she whispers to him. “It’s okay.”

Wow, what kind of a shit boyfriend needs to be consoled by his injured girlfriend?

Great job, Barnes. Seems like that ‘Bucky Barnes is Sergeant Asshole’ club is never going to run out of material.

“If you were gonna break out anyway, then why feed that bullshit to Murdock about wanting a fair trial?” Sam snides. There’s enough venom in his words that even Steve turns, from where he’s leaning with folded arms on the doorframe to the bedroom, to stare at the Captain.

“Sam—” Steve begins but Y/n cuts him off.

“Because I did!” She states with ferocity, the movement of which makes her wince. Hissing as Joaquin continues cleaning the blood off her gashes, “An impartial judge, a skillfully selected jury and I would have won. I would have wiped the floor with the prosecution,” she proclaims with enough faith that a part of Bucky wishes he got to witness her in action. “So would have Matt,” she adds.

“Then why did you break out?” Sam yells.

“Because they would’ve killed me if I didn’t!”

The statement gives everyone pause.

Joaquin’s hand stun, Steve stands up straighter, Sam stops pacing and Bucky can notice Harley’s face shift from feigning disinterest to genuine worry.

Bucky himself? Yeah, he’s kinda losing his shit right now.

His head is running a mile a minute and he’s making a list of people he wants to… give a stern talking to. The top of the list would’ve been Ross but seeing as he isn’t, you know, alive to face Bucky’s wrath, he settles instead on someone far more accessible… like his best friend who is screaming at his girlfriend right now.

“Look, Y/n, I’m getting tired of this shit, okay? Please. Just this once, can we be serious for one damn second?” Sam asks, sounding genuinely frustrated, one hand rubbing down his face while the other rests on his hip. “Can I get one straight answer, that isn’t a lie?”

“I haven’t lied to you, ever!” Y/n defends, her voice rising to match his.

“Seriously?” Sam challenges. “You sure about that?” When all she does is shrug, Sam steps forward, as if stepping up to the said challenge. “What about Whitehall?”

Well, fuck.

It seems to throw Y/n off.

Her hand finds Bucky’s instantly.

“Sweetheart—”

“That was different,” she cuts Bucky off. “I didn’t lie as much as I… changed my mind.”

Bucky feels guilt creeping up on him like a snake slithering onto him, gripping him like a vice.

But Sam—well, Sam just scoffs.

“Of course,” he sneers, shaking his head with disdain clear in every action. “A loophole… I should’ve known. You’re great at those, aren’t you, Atticus Finch?”

Her eyes fall shut for a second as she exhales a shaky breath. “Sam, man,” she’s trying to exude patience, but she’s off her mark by an inch, which is rare for her. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me about the Whitehall thing, and you have every right to be, that’s why I dealt with all your bullshit back at the precinct... but dude,” her mark veers off further still, “I’m serious, right now!” She exclaims.

“And I’m not?!”

This is the moment Bucky realizes something, and by the way that his eyes meet Steve’s instantly, he knows Steve does too.

If the guilt was a snake crawling onto him by slithering over his feet, this realization is a scorpion a second away from stinging his neck. Because fuck him, fuck Steve, and fuck Sam… she doesn’t know.

“So what?” She throws back, scoffing with a humorless and impatient chuckle. “You seriously think that I did it?” Her tone is absolutely rhetorical. It sounds like she thinks Sam believing she murdered Ross to get some sort of twisted revenge is a thought that’s barely crossed her mind. There’s so much faith in those words Bucky thinks he might choke because when she’s met with a pregnant pause as the response from Sam, he can practically hear her heart break.

“You… You think I did it?” She asks again. Except this time, all the conviction of believing otherwise has mostly vanished. All that’s left is a broken whisper and a shaky voice and… fear.

“Didn’t you?” Sam challenges. But Bucky thinks his question lacks the sheer rhetoricity of hers before. Bucky thinks the question might be at least a little genuine.

There’s a shaky exhale, Bucky’s not sure if it’s loud or the room is too silent.

Her eyes fly right to Steve in front of her. Whatever she sees in them must be enough because then she looks at Harley to her left, where he sits.

“What about you, Junior? You think I did it?” She asks, all her ferocity gone and replaced with the grim realization that one of her closest friends in the world thinks she’s a monster.

“I…” Harley sighs, “... don’t know… but—”

“—You don’t care,” she finishes for him, shaking her head. “Cause you’re an idiot,” she adds, eyes shut with a disappointment that Bucky can’t quite place. It lasts only a few seconds because then she’s looking down at Joaquin to her right, who’s crouching in front of her with what Bucky can clearly decipher as a hint of guilt in his eyes. “You… You think I did it, too. Don’t you?” She asks with a melancholy smile on her face. She’s always adored Joaquin.

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes falling to the ground for a second before they meet hers again. “You have a track record of losing control when things get personal,” he offers in his way of explanation. He looks like he wishes what he was saying wasn’t what he believed… but it is.

Of the five men in the room, the only people who believe that Y/n didn’t kill Ross are the ones who have been in love with her. Bucky would want her to take that as a testament to how well he and Steve know her. But he knows she’ll take that as proof that she’s just the monster they wanted her to be.

It will break her.

He can already see the cracks beginning to appear as she lets out a broken chuckle.

And then she stands up, cradling her very recently fixed shoulder.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky calls out, but the only answer he gets is her beginning to walk towards the exit. He’s on his feet instantly, “Hey! Hey! Sweetheart?”

She doesn’t stop, moving past the couch, towards the door.

“Y/n! Where you going?” Steve calls out, following her as well.

“Come on, sweetheart just—”

“Y/n—” Joaquin tries too.

“Y/n, you look like shit, you can’t just—” Harley yells out, getting to his feet.

There’s a chaos of words until her steps halt when she hears Sam, call out, “Y/n—”

Turning around to face them, she says, “If I’m right, then there’s a fight around the corner. And I have no clue who it’s going to be against.” She gulps. “I can’t ask you to fight for something you don’t—for someone you don’t believe in.”

There’s silence; it’s heavy, it’s gnawing, it’s painful.

“Y/n,” Sam breaks it, stepping forward, “I want to believe you but you won’t—It’s like you’re trying to give me reasons not to.”

“What are you talking abou—”

He cuts her off, “One question, man. I asked you one question. Where were you the night Ross was murdered?”

Yeah, about that… Bucky would like the answer to that question too. He doesn’t doubt her for a second. She says she didn’t do it, then she didn’t. But it would be very nice to know where she was.

Almost as if she can hear his thoughts, her eyes fly over to his, but they are gone a second later.

“Doesn’t matter,” she tells Sam.

“See! That’s exactly what I am talking about!” Sam exclaims. “All I’m asking is for you to tell me where you were and you won’t even give me that. So,” he exhales exhaustively, “why the hell should I believe you?”

Running her hands through her hair in annoyance, she steps forward too. “Wherever I was, you’re just gonna think I glitched out of there. So, why does it matter?”

“Because it’s something!” Sam shouts back. The outburst makes the silence in the room even heavier than it already was, and fuck if the room wasn’t painfully silent before. Sam takes a moment, clenches his fists. It looks like he’s hoping to squeeze the anger out of himself somehow. “It’s something,” he reiterates, much softer this time. “And I—I’m desperate.” He means it. He really does. Bucky can tell.

Apparently, so can Steve because suddenly—

“Y/n—” Steve begins.

She cuts him off, “Steve.” It’s a warning.

“Y/n.” A plea.

“Steve.” A dismissal.

“Y/n.” An imploration.

“Steve.” A refusal.

“Y/n.” End of the line.

“Steve.” End of the fucking line.

“She was with me,” Steve tells Sam.

“Steven!” A reprimand.

Sam turns to look at Steve, “If she was with you, why wouldn't she just say it?”

Bucky’s question exactly.

And then a horrible, fucking horrible thought crosses everyone’s mind, almost in unison.

“Wait—did you two—?” Sam, Harley, and Joaquin ask simultaneously.

Bucky remains silent.

“What?” Steve asks, confused, but only for a second. “No! No! God, NO!” His arms fly up. “We were at Peggy’s grave. It was the anniversary of her death. We go every year,” he explains in a rush. “It’s ugh�� It’s our thing,” he adds, in a smaller voice, sounding somewhat guilty. It’s been that kind of day, Bucky thinks.

“Then why not just say it?” Sam asks, looking at Y/n.

The question finally makes her break the gaze she’d been holding with Bucky.

She turns to Sam, “Because it doesn’t change anything. Because... you still don’t believe me, not really.”

“I’m sorry if I’m having a hard time with your alibi being Steve,” Sam throws back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve interrupts, giving Sam the disapproving eyebrows that he used to give Bucky whenever he tried to set them both up on a double date. All these years and he’s still intimidated by them

“Look man, no offense, but we all know damn well that you will lie to protect the people you love. And as much as we like pretending like it’s not the case, you still are in love with her.” Sam’s voice has a sense of irritated finality in it. “Who’s to say this isn’t a rehash of what happened with Bucky and Tony's parents?”

Well, fuck, times two.

“He thought Bucky’s life would be in danger,” Y/n tells him through gritted teeth.

“As opposed to now, when your life isn't?” Sam challenges, taking a step forward.

“That was different,” she states, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Was it?” Sam counters.

“Yes, it was,” she says with thundering certainty. Her anger is evident as she adds, “It was different, so don’t you dare make me defend it!”

“Then why not just tell me you were with him when I asked you? Huh?” Sam shouts out, annoyed.

“Like I said, it wouldn’t have changed anything! And it would do more harm than good”

“You having an alibi would be a bad thing? Seriously? Y/n, are you shitting me right now?” Sam chides, at the end of his rope.

Her eyes find Bucky’s again but they are gone a second later, focused back on Sam. But for the life of him, Bucky cannot bring himself to look away.

“You know what? Let me lawyer you for a second, Cap,” she states, her confidence back, hands in her pocket, shoulders pulled back. “Here’s what giving an alibi would do for me; the first thing the prosecution would do is find a gap. And it wouldn’t be that hard. Not hard at all. Because with me, it wouldn’t matter if it were an hour or 5 fucking minutes. All they’d need is a gap, which they would find, without much issue. It’s smooth fucking sailing from there. Any lawyer worth their salt would call to the stand, Bruce Banner, the only man that has ever even come close to understanding my powers. They’d ask him, under oath, if it would be possible for me to glitch from Peggy’s grave to Ross’s place in those 5 fucking minutes and Bruce would have to say yes. Because I can. Now, obviously, Matt and I would cross-examine him, ask him how exhausted I would be after traveling that long a distance. Bruce would tell them, I’d barely be able to stand up straight let alone assassinate someone. But it would be fucking futile because the prosecution would remind the Judge and the jury that Ross wasn’t assassinated with a glowing pink sword that manifests out of my arm, no. He was killed by a gunshot wound to his noggin, a sloppy one at that. And with that, I’m toast. No one in that courtroom would believe a word I said after that.” She tsks. “Was that more harm or more good?”

Everyone looks like they don’t know a single word in the English language.

That is until—

“But that isn’t why you didn’t tell him,” Bucky chimes in, challenge in his eyes.

All of her confidence fades again. “Sunshine—”

“We’ll do this later.” It’s a promise. He motions her towards himself, “Right now, I’m gonna fix you up,” he sits down on the table in front of the couch, opening up the first aid kit again, “...while you tell us what happened.” He points to the spot on the couch opposite him.

Passing Harley and Joaquin on the way, she sits down.

“Zemo happened,” she states, lifting her shirt to reveal her burns.

Bucky’s gonna squeeze that Baron’s head like a fucking balloon.

“WHAT?” Joaquin exclaims. “He got out?”

“Nope,” she replies, wincing a bit as Bucky begins to clean up her wound with gentle hands. It’s times like these he kind of likes his metal hand. The cold touch of vibranium around the burnt tissue seems to soothe her. Even if it’s a little calm for her, he’ll relish being the one who brings it. “Someone drugged me and I woke up in my cell, dangling upside down from the ceiling while he stood that with his junk in my face.” Her jaw clenches. “I think they let him out.”

“So you’re saying Zemo has control of the Raft?” Steve questions.

“No… I don’t think he does. I don’t think the guards were working for him because he’s the one calling shots. I think he is working for someone who is calling the shots,” she answers.

“Why the fuck would you think that? You’ve seen what Baron Asshole can do. He’s a diabolical son of a bitch,” Harley counters, arms folded in front of him.

“I’m with Harley on this one,” Bucky speaks up, hands still busy. “Zemo’s a dick but he’s a smart dick.”

“I know but—when he realized that I didn’t have the information he wanted, he let me go—”

Steve cuts her off, “He let you go?” Disbelief is clear in his voice. “Not that I’m not happy about it, but… why?”

“Something about owing me. Apparently, Jamie and I have let him live one too many times,” she replies, sounding like she doesn’t really believe it herself.

“Last time I make that mistake again,” Bucky mutters angrily.

Above him, it makes her chuckle, which makes her wince, slightly. “Anyway, um—when he let me go, he couldn’t stop the guards from attacking me.”

“Meaning he’s not the top dog,” Joaquin surmises, throwing himself on the chair to Bucky’s right where Harley was sitting minutes ago.

“You said he wanted information from you, what was it?” Steve asks, hands on his waist, brows furrowed.

“Oh yeah that,” she begins. “What the fuck is Project Extinction?”

The question makes everyone ponder for a second.

“Never heard of it,” Sam answers.

“Hmm,” she hums dismissively. “Well, according to him, that’s what I killed Ross for,” she adds, as Bucky finishes patching her up. “But none of us has even heard of the damn thing—”

“I have,” Harley chimes in, very unexpectedly, making everyone’s head to him.

See, the thing is, Harley Keener is the least likely person in the whole room to have heard of what was most probably a military-grade, off-the-books project. Unlike Sam, Steve, Joaquin, and Bucky, he had no dealings with the government. And even less like Y/n, he doesn't have an underground network of people feeding him information from all over the world. So the fact that the kid is the only one who had heard of it is well… concerning. Hence, pretty understandable when Y/n asks—

“Legally?”

“...no,” Harley replies honestly.

“Great,” she remarks with a dead look in her eyes.

“When I heard about what happened I started looking into Ross for…” He cuts his defense off in the middle.

“For my motive,” she supplies with a knowing smile.

“You gave me a PPK on my birthday this year. Sue me for thinking you’re a little trigger happy,” Harley counters. And though his words are cutting, his tone is the one he uses every day to annoy the fuck out of Y/n.

And it seems to be working right now, cause then she replies with, “One, you’re the one who said you wanted to be like James Bond. And two, don’t tempt me, junior. Just tell us what you know.”

“I found mentions of it in a few of his correspondences. If it’s important enough for Zemo to torture you for it, then there must be more that I overlooked the first time—” he says as he walks over to the table in the corner of the room, next to the window. Looking back at Joaquin he asks, “Can I use your laptop?”

“Will it be legal?” Joaquin asks.

“...no,” Harley replies honestly.

“Then no,” Joaquin declines

“Come on, man!” Harley begs. “This is kinda serious.”

“Yeah, and I’ll get serious jail time for it. My network is not secure enough to dig into the late Secretary of State’s outbox,” Joaquin protests.

“He’s not wrong,” Sam chimes in.

“But we need to find out what Project Extinction is, or we’re flying blind,” Steve argues, stepping up to Sam.

As the four of them bicker back and forth, Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on Y/n, while hers are on her phone that just buzzed.

“Fuck, shit! Guys,” she calls out, pocketing her phone, having read whatever message she just got. "I've gotta get out of here, now. We’ve got incoming in 5.”

How does she always know this shit?

That gets everyone’s attention.

“How do you know that?” Harley asks, voicing Bucky’s thoughts, at the same time, Sam asks, “Where do we go?”

Sam’s question makes Y/n's actions halt.

“We?” She asks, hesitant.

“Yeah, we,” Sam reiterates, his voice soft.

And then she smiles.

Bucky’s heart is a little hurt right now. It’s cracked up from the fact that his girl is hurt, that his girl was tortured, and that his girl lied to him. But that smile, yeah. Bucky’s whipped for that smile. He’ll do absolutely anything for it.

“What about that safehouse you have in Newark?” Steve suggests, addressing Y/n.

“Can’t go there. Rocky knows about it,” she answers as she nods towards the bedroom, silently asking Joaquin to begin packing up the essentials. He obliges.

“Rocky?” Harley asks, confused.

“Rockwell, Pia Rockwell, the agent in charge of her case,” Sam tells him as he catches the duffle bag Joaquin throws at him, setting it on the table.

“More like the agent in charge of Sam’s heart,” Y/n quips, as she grabs a cloth and starts wiping down all the surfaces around her, trying to get rid of as many of her prints as she can. If they find her DNA, Joaquin could claim it to be days old, weeks even. But fresh fingerprints are easier to tell apart from old ones. Clever girl. She throws one at Bucky too, he catches it easily.

“That was—that was bad, never do that again,” Harley says with so much pain, it even makes Sam smile.

“Can we focus on where we’re going?” Steve cuts in, helping Sam fill the duffle bag with weapons Joaquin has hidden around the place.

“What are we doing next? We’ll figure out where to go based on that?” Joaquin offers, shoving some clothes into the bag.

“That’s the best we've got right now.,” Sam remarks. “What do we need to figure out what the hell this Project Extinction is?” He asks, looking at Harley.

Pulling out his phone, Harley begins tapping away. “I need a secure network that I can use to get into databases that I really shouldn’t be into. Or at least a server I can bootleg off of so we don’t get caught,” he tells him. “But my place won’t do. We saw cops heading there when Y/n and I were leaving.”

“We also need to get our hands on the CCTV footage,” she states, discarding the cloth. “Ross called out my name before he got shot.”

“How do you know that?” Sam asks. “I never told you.”

“Zemo,” she answers plainly.

Everyone’s faces morph into grim concern. There’s like a clock ticking over their fucking heads and even though it’s not real, Bucky thinks he can fucking hear it. They need to find a place, and more importantly, they need to find answers. There’s far too many unknown variables currently in this equation and they have no clue how to fucking solve for x.

But then an idea strikes.

To solve for x you start with what you do know.

“Why don’t we just break into Ross’s place?” Bucky suggests, brows cocked.

As he watches Y/n’s eyes glimmer with a hint of mischievous agreement, Sam protests loudly. “Dude! It’s a fucking crime scene. Not a goddamn park. We can’t just walk in.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “...But we know someone who can,” he adds with a smirk.

Find the series masterlist here. Read the previous installment to this story here. Read about what happened with Whitehall here. Find other Static Verse works here.

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years

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Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

“What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

“Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

“Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

“You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.

Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

“I think we should do gifts.”

It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

“‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

“It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

Sam heard anyway.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

“I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

“Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

“Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

“Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

“I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

“That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

“I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

“They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

“It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

“It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.�� You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

“Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

“Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

“Want to open the other one?”

Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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banjodanger · 4 years

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X-Men:First Class(2011)-Movie Notes

*The intro so nice, they used it twice.(This is sarcasm)

*Nice that they react in this scene.

*Mystique lucked out, what if that was a picture of his dead aunt or something?

*These child actors are legitimately great.

*This movie DIRECTLY links his powers to trauma. It’s complling to see the films finally do that.

*Oh, that looked cartoony.

*Xavier using his powers to get laid is the most realistic thing in this series

*Mystique is brazenly flirting, so at least establishing that Xavier has always been kind of a dick

*They walked in like that? Ok.

*Can’t hear Palisades Park without picturing Sam Rockwell’s naked ass.

*I want that sort of table set-up. Scantily-clad Rose Byrne entirely optional.

*Sebastian Shaw has never lookeed this good, and possibly never will again.

*Better CGI, I guess? Maybe we’re just not meant for diamond Emma Frost

*Magneto is a man of many talents. Subtlety is not one of them

*Also, would fuck Magneto. 100%

*Does it go over well with coeds though? Does it?

*I actually love how they depict Shaw’s power.

*Why was the laughing stock in a highly classified meeting?

*Yea I don’t need to be a mind reader. He climbed up a boat in the middle of the night with a knife.

*That was a lot less silly than it could have been. I love this.

*How did they make that?

*This Emma Frost is not nearly Machiavellian enough.

*Damn Erik, way to kill the mood.

*This scene is tailor made for some slash. don’t tell me the screenwriters didn’t know what they were doing.

*I’m very jealous of how well-dressed everyone is in this film

*There it is, good old Richmond. I can still hear the theatre cheering.

*Best Cameo of this series.

*This party scene is one of my favorites. It’s natural and it absolutely is what would happen if a bunch of twenty-somethings with powers were hanging out.

*Ok, that is Emma Frost

*That is a fucking terrible plan.

*Damn. Bye Oliver.

*They didn’t make the replacement glass bulletproof?

*Yea, I have no problem with that guy dying.

*Still. Doesn’t. Sit. Right.

*She’s never bad as Emma...but something about her performance doesn’t sit right

*His grandfather feared nuclear bombs? When?

*Yea. Throw him out a window. Good plan.

*Is it wrong how badly I want them to kiss?

*Holy shit it’s reanimator juice.

*Chess and steamy looks. Sums up a lot of this series.

*Hey, the meme!

*That Beast design...

*Oh hey I’ve seen him in bondage gear. Fun cameo

*You punched solid metal, Erik. I do not know what you expected.

*Oh god that is wonderful editing.

*I love this movie but there are exactly too many bald jokes.

I’ll have my afterthoughts up as soon as I can.

#xmen #x men films #x men first class #movies #movie critique #movie critic

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frozenhuntress67 · 5 years

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Oscars (Chris Evans x Reader)

Imagine going to the Oscars as a nominee and Attending with your boyfriend Chris Evans

Key: (Y/F/N) = Your Full Name

I was nervous yet excited. I was going to the Oscars, I was nominated for an Oscar, and I was attending with the man I loved. Morning came and went with my hair and makeup crew arriving shortly after lunch. Once I was made up I slid into my dress.

“How do I look?” I asked my agent Cara.

“Amazing, Chris is downstairs waiting for you, have a good time and good luck.” She replied and I smiled grabbing my purse and heading down to the lobby. I smiled with a bit of a blush at his reaction to seeing me.

“(Y/N), you look absolutely amazing.” He said giving me a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you baby, I’m just so nervous, this movie means everything to me and I know it’s a little conceited but I really want to win.”I replied as we climbed into the town car.

“You’re going to win (Y/N), I saw how much work you put into this film and how dedicated you were.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I said smiling.

“I ask myself the same thing about you everyday.” He replied. His positivity always had the ability to calm me down almost instantly. We spent the rest of the time in the car taking silly pictures on instagram. Then we arrived and walked the carpet and Chris after doing his interview joined me for mine. It had always been that way. We stood by one another for moral support. I approached Robin Roberts Chris by my side with a hug.

“(Y/N), It’s so good to see you again. You look absolutely amazing as do you Chris.” She said and I smiled.

“It’s good to see you too Robin.” I replied.

“So you’re nominated for Best Actress and Best Screenplay for ‘Norma Jeane’ your biopic of the life of Marilyn Monroe, how do you feel?”

“It’s amazing, I wrote this screenplay because Marilyn Monroe was one of the people I looked up to as a child. She came from such hardship and worked for everything she had. I wanted to show that she was far more than a sex symbol. And in general that Women are more than their appearance and sex appeal.”

“And you’ve worked on this for how long?”

“I started on it when I first came to Hollywood and acting wasn’t working out so I began writing. And now after all these years I’m finally bringing it to light.”

“And you play Marilyn beautifully. The other stars I’ve talked to tonight have said they’re routing for you. Have a good time tonight.”

“You too Robin.” I said hugging her once more before going down the line fore interviews and then into the auditorium. The show began and I enjoyed myself having a good time. And then Brie and Sam walked onstage to announce best Screenplay. As the nominees flashed I gripped into Chris’ hand.

“(Y/F/N) ‘Norma Jeane’.”Brie said and then they went to the envelope. “And the Oscar for best original screenplay goes to..” Brie said opening the envelope. “(Y/F/N) for ‘Norma Jeane’.” I was shocked pinching myself to make sure this was really happening. Chris helped me up the stairs because I knew I would’ve fallen if he hadn’t. I kissed him before finishing the walk. Once I felt the cold metal in my hands I felt safe and began to speak.

“Wow this is, this is something I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl watching this show with my mother. I’m happy to say that she has always been one of my biggest supporters. I became interested in learning about Marilyn Monroe when I was a teenager and my mother an I would watch her films along with other classics. As I learned more about her I knew I wanted to tell her story if I ever got out here. She was more than a sex symbol and more than her gender. She was an intelligent, strong woman who endured so much hardship and I’m honored that the Academy deemed my story about her story worthy of this award. And to my loving boyfriend Chris, I never would’ve been able to get to this moment without your support as well, I love you. Thank you everyone.” I said before walking off so they could announce best adapted screenplay. When I came back oscar in hand Chris greeted me with another kiss as we enjoyed the show. Then Best Actress came up. Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell announced. The nominees were announce myself again being last. One hand griped my single oscar and the other gripped Chris’ hand. As my name was called.

“(y/f/n) ‘Norma Jeane’.” Frances called and then they opened the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to (y/f/n), Norma Jeane!” They both called and I took a minute from the pure shock of it all.

“Sweetheart you won, you won.” Chris Exclaimed holding me tight as I gave him a strong kiss.

“I love you so much.” I replied kissing him again.

“I love you too! Now go!” I nodded and walked up the stairs to the stage.

“I can’t believe this, I, um, Thank you to everyone here, to the academy. To Glen, Olivia, Melissa, Yalitza, and Lady Gaga it is an honor to be considered in the same caliber as you are. And again Chris I would be nothing with out you, you are my light and my life. Thank you!” I said leaving the stage once more. It didn’t really mattered that I had won even though it felt amazing. I had the man I loved by my side and that made it all the better.

#Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #Oscars #imagine #love

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known Finale: Just One of The Many

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: Demon!reader x Moc!Dean, Dean x Chloe “CC” Collins: Hunter/ Nephilim Anomaly OFC, Charlie Bradbury, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Death, and Amara

Summary: CC deals with the consequences of her actions. Dean gets a voicemail and our reader finds that Winchesters rarely heed any advice. Some dialogue is taken from canon. This is it folks, the final chapter. Thank you so much for reading until now. xoxo Stu

Beta’d: @thoughtslikeaminefield and @dontshootmespence Ladies, I owe you more than I can express.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS

Series Masterlist

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Dark Dynasty

May 6, 2015

Sam’s Code Breaking Hideout

“Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them.” Charlie stood before Rowena, soft and sure.

“I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl,” Rowena’s brief kindness faded into a marked taunt. Charlie squinted at the witch’s retreating form before looking to CC for shared annoyance, instead she found a gentle agreement on the hunter’s face.

CC wasn’t one for cat fights and she certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire Sam had started by shoving the hacker and the Queen Mother of Hell together, but Rowena had a point. Charlie was just more forgiving than most and CC had been in the life too long for that kind of optimism.

May 7, 2015

Crowley’s Earthside Operation

“--look, I get it. She’s unpleasant. She’s horrible. She has a messy workstation! What’s the dirt?! There must be something that I don’t know about her. Something I can hold over her as a bargaining chip. A demon lover?” Crowley was incensed with a hamster in a cage, which would have been concerning, if you didn’t understand the hamster as well as your boss. “You don’t need to paint a picture.”

You bit back a smile as the hamster spewed off Rowena’s questionable decisions like a grocery list.. Naturally, his birth came up along the litany. As his patience started to slip to microscopic proportions, you cleared your throat. “She once saved a little boy’s life.”

“You, not funny,” Crowley bellowed over his shoulder before he leaned down to glare at the hamster.

“Oh, come on, it is a little funny, but that’s only ‘cuz it’s true,” you purred, leaning your elbow on the opposite side of the cage’s lid, eyebrows raised in challenge. Crowley’s dark eyes danced over yours as the hamster that was once Olivette grew unnaturally quiet.

“What’s the punchline?” he demanded.

You sighed and mock whispered, “he’s still alive.”

“And?”

“I’ve met him. Tall, cherub curls and innocent as a Rockwell painting.” The hamster slowly crawled to your side of the forgotten wheel. Crowley listened as you explained the story you had pieced together, a tale of a friendly witch who’d been adopted by an impoverished farming family, lifetimes ago. Before you could give him more than the bare outline of Rowena’s startling past, he was bellowing for a minion and the taste of freedom started to ghost over your tongue.

Blackbird Motel

CC picked up the phone on the third ring; it was Cas in a panic. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

“Girls’ night out, grabbing some pay per view and thinking about throwing a motel party,” CC mocked as she checked that the door and the windows were secure.

“You know that the Stynes will stop at nothing to find the book.” CC rolled her eyes at the patronizing tone from the angel.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have the book. Look, she needed a Rowena free space and I can’t blame her. Let the woman work so we can get this over with, once and for all,” CC closed her eyes as Charlie set up her computer, backpack full of notes left on the table untouched.

“It isn’t just Charlie I’m worried about,” Cas’s voice dropped in warning.

“We’ll be fine,” CC replied tersely. “I’ll call you when we know more,” she added to appease Charlie’s worried glances before hanging up. “Alright, I don’t think I bought us much time; work your magic.”

The rain muddied everything, CC’s alertness as well as any sound or scent outside. She hadn’t sat since they arrived, knowing that even a lumpy mattress would push her exhaustion away in the blink of an eye. Startlingly quick, Charlie found the cypher. Just as CC decided she would always bet on red, a gut dropping pound sounded at the door. She waved Charlie into the bathroom as she released her knife from her hip.

“I know you’re there, Miss Asimov,” a taunting drawl notched CC’s adrenaline to eleven. “You have it, I want it!”

CC’s mind raced, no time for witty replies now. She had been out of practice and somehow the Book of the Damned had juiced up this family into something she didn’t know how to kill. He banged again, voice genteel and grating. She inhaled and finally spoke, “it’s not here, Jethro. You can back off.”

“Well, that wasn’t too hard now was it?” And he kicked in the door. He was striking, refined and enraged, and missing half an arm. CC recoiled briefly before squaring up, knife at the ready, focus locked onto her target. “You’re not who I was expecting, darlin’. But either you’re gonna tell me where that book is, or I’m gonna take it out of your little redheaded friend.”

CC heard Charlie’s voice through the rain and the thin walls, but she doubted whichever Styne stood in front of her could. Help was on the way, all CC had to do was hold the guy off for twenty minutes and the cavalry could clean up. Except fights never lasted that long and the glare he was shooting, told her he thought he’d already won.

“You should leave, trust me.” CC walked toward him, he wasn’t overly large, a hair smaller than Dean. It was the unnatural way he moved, despite massive blood loss that had her questioning her every step.

“Not until I get what’s mine,” he bit the last word out with curling lips. He leaped at her, right hand swatting hers as he stepped into her space. Bloody stump of a forearm pushing into her throat. CC dropped lower, getting a nick to his side, slicing through waistcoat, shirt and flesh in practiced motions. He didn’t flinch; the only indication he felt the wound was how his nose flared as he looked into her eyes, disdain dripping from his every pore.

His hand locked around her wrist, squeezing, the tendons screaming until she felt her bones snap. She kneed his groin, using her center of gravity to push him back. Her knife useless in her misconnected hand, CC dropped it, leaving them to spar on more even terms. The broken in door swung on its hinges in the storm outside and just as CC spotted the shadow watching them a heart-stopping thwack and shattering of plastic sounded from the bathroom. In the second it took CC to realize they knew Charlie was still there, she froze. The blonde kicked her blade to his silent partner and before CC could get out more than a slight force of will against them, they had her caged in.

His mangled arm wrapped around her neck, unable to grant the pressure he wanted, so he tipped her face at the ceiling, broken wrist pulled across her chest like a frayed seatbelt. The other Styne, the one in the long woolen coat kept quiet, inspecting the intricate carvings on each side of her treasured weapon. The one restraining her let out a low whistle.

“Oh, that is nice, a bit too classy for the likes of you, though. Now, you gonna sit politely and let us finish our business here, or are you gonna make my cousin put you down with your own blade, girl?”

CC was, had, and would never be the type to sit politely. She jammed her left elbow into her cage’s ribs. A guttural shriek came from her chest as she tried to bend low enough to get him off his feet in an augmented arm toss. But that only occupied one of her opponents; with little more than a raised eyebrow the cousin jabbed in and down, pulling her collar open like a macabre off the shoulder number. Everything burned, CC fell to her knees, the blonde man walked her down. The gold started to spark in her periphery, and she willed her body to stop. She couldn’t heal, not in front of these kind of men, if any part of them even remained human. Suddenly a hand was on her jaw and her neck popped. She fell, broken and trapped inside her own mind.

CC watched their tailored suit pants and polished shoes retreat to the bathroom. The sound of blood thrummed in her ears masking the rain and the demands, but not Charlie’s cries. Those she heard as tears of guilt burned through until she willed her eyes closed with the last wisp of energy she could muster. She didn’t want to black out, she needed to stay in control, but her body stopped listening.

She sat up in a lurch of panic, neck reattached despite herself. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, there he was, covered in Charlie’s blood.

“Chloe! Thank fuck, what happened?!” Sam crouched over her, eyes misting with grief and shame. She couldn’t answer him, her throat remained partially crushed, and it took nearly all her focus not to repair the damage-- to give herself the pain, a shallow penance for Charlie’s life. Her eyes returned across the room, to Dean holding Charlie’s face in his hands like a parent in comfort, stroking the hair from her face. CC’s sob came out in a shrill wail, gasps as the reality and terror flooded her senses.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sam’s voice held more than the moment, it was a blanket covering their entire operation. The deceit that was supposed to help, yet it only pushed Dean further away from them all.

The Woods

Dean felt CC’s brows raise as his words cut into Sam at the pyre, but he didn’t care. This was on her almost as much as it was on Sam. He was so sick of people he trusted letting him down. But this, this was wrong. It was Charlie and she was gone. Screw ‘em. Screw all of them because he couldn’t look them in the eye anymore; their betrayal was beyond gut souring.

“Yeah, you had a shot. Well, you’re all terrible shots, ‘cause Charlie’s dead. Nice shot.”

Sam looked up, trying to find his words, to combat the monotoned cruelty of Dean’s voice. “You think I am ever--- going to forgive myself for that?!”

“You want to know what I think? I think it should be you up there, not her.” Dean barely even moved to deliver the last blow. CC cleared her throat, unable to listen any longer.

“Don’t get me started on you! This thing with Cas and the book ends now. Shut it down before someone else gets hurt. You both understand me?”

“What about you?” Sam was the beaten puppy that could.

“Oh, I’m gonna find whoever did this. And I am going to rip apart everything and everyone that they ever loved, and then I am gonna tear out their heart.” He wasn’t even enthused about it, it came off like weekend plans, point by point.

“Is that you talking, or the Mark?” Sam needed to stop asking questions.

“Does it matter?” Dean left the challenge hanging in the air, walking away. Leaving those responsible to watch Charlie burn.

The Prisoner

Dean waited on Rudy to run the plates while he pointedly ignored a call from Cease. Setting his sights on Shreveport, he went back to listen to the voicemail she left him. Which started off with oddly timid ramblings before she got to her point.

“Maybe in another life, we could have had something close enough to normal. But not after everything.” Dean could hear her sniffling; her voice came back with a bite to it.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Charlie, about everything. I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that for you. And I fucking hate that, but it’s on me. No matter what you say or do Dean, it is on me. Not Sam.

But apologies are for regret, and I don’t regret trying to help you. If goodbyes are forever, well I aint ready for that sappy shit.”

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest, it didn’t even hurt anymore. Nothing could touch him; it was the ghost of loss that haunted him. The guilt of unfeeling. Somehow it all came back to rage. He huffed, tongue teasing his back teeth.

“So, I guess, take care of yourself because that’s what I gotta do now.” The line stayed open for a fathomless beat and then the electronic female voice was reading him his saving options. Dean slammed the end call button, leaving Chloe’s voice hanging in the ether between a saved and deleted message.

Curtis’ Motor Court

Brother’s Keeper

You sifted through the mess of Dean’s making, curious to see if he’d return. He’d certainly given the $39 a night room the rock star treatment. Without any current errands for Crowley, you decided to try your luck. Dean had gone radio silent and that only meant one of two things: he had succumbed to the curse on his arm, or he was done with you. Either way, you had to be sure. Sam found you in the end. He came in, gun raised and desperation bursting out with his big heaving chest.

“Hey there, Sammy,” you greeted glibly, perched beside the note and keyring. “He knew you’d show.”

“Who are you?!” Sam barked behind his intricate gun.

“Just looking for your brother, I’ve been hearing things and it sounds bad,” you sighed, letting your eyes fill in.

“What do you want with Dean?” Sam kept his gun in one hand and reached for his flask.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Same thing as you, want to make sure he’s still Dean. That he’s safe. That everyone is safe.”

“You’re?” Realization washed over him, causing you to hum against a giggle. The latest vessel’s voice bubbly despite your best efforts.

“Long time.” You stood holding out your hand, which you awkwardly tucked into the back pocket of her jeggings. “Heard you struck out on Crowley, too bad on that.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Sam stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Have you seen him? Any idea where he’s going?”

“Not where, but what,” you sighed and looked up at Sam with warning. “He’s done, Sam. He told me so and after Charlie, I can only imagine—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? When did you see him? You know what, forget it. I’ll find him on my own,” Sam turned to go.

“If Crowley can’t crossroad deal something away and Cas can’t heal it off, who would Dean go to?”

“He hates praying,” Sam shook his head. He flinched, but instinctively caught the keys to the Impala you tossed to him.

“Somebody he knows, Sam. That’s he’s seen, face to face.”

He left without a goodbye or any gratitude, but you allowed Sam his head start.

Juanita’s

Outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma

You pulled up to the run-down restaurant just as Sam stormed inside, your demon senses telling you to stick to the perimeter. Death had already answered Dean’s call and the combination of voices left you enough to eavesdrop with. The hallway that lead into the main dining space was caked in dust. Dean’s voice bellowed, and it was as if you felt the hit his words landed on Sam. This wasn’t your place, this was a sacred conversation, of families and honor and things creatures like yourself couldn’t quite grasp anymore. It was also maddening.

When the punches started flying you stalked in, earning nothing more than a single finger shush from Death himself. Dean had the upper hand, but that didn’t make you feel any better about his state. Sam yielded, bloodied on his knees. Dean was dark and determined, flashes of a younger soul clouding your thoughts.

“You’ll never, ever hear me say, that you, the real you, is anything but good,” Sam pleaded from the floor. He spat and pulled himself taller. “But you’re right, before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped, at any cost.”

Your vessel’s blood ran cold. Sam’s tears somehow made their way to your eyes and he nodded to the eternal executioner. “Do it.”

Dean looked back to Death and he handed Dean his scythe. “Please, do me the honor.”

Dean took the weapon in awe, gauging the curve of the blade and the balance in the handle. He appeared transfixed and obedient. You tried to scream, but nothing came out. This wasn’t Dean’s destiny, no matter what Cain nor Angels decreed. He couldn’t kill Sam. Dean would not. He inhaled and faced Sam’s shaking form, towering over his brother who had been bigger than him for nearly twenty years. Everyone froze as Dean told him to close his eyes, something he probably said a thousand times before.

Sam prevailed, he pulled scraps from his jacket and set them at Dean’s feet. Begging him to find his way back, to himself and to family. Death knew better than to let a sibling’s pleas go on too long.

“It is for family you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you’ve become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will,” he wasn’t demanding, he was calm in a finite kind of way. His words crawled in your ears and taunted your every memory of Dean; it was as if Death could reimagine him into someone else just by sheer force of will. Truth and your unshaken faith in the man Dean was, at his core, beat back Death’s sway.

Dean paused, genuine anguish in his features as he let Sam make the final call. Even though Sam nodded for him to proceed, Dean asked one last thing from Sam, “forgive me.”

He lifted the weapon and swung a wide arch, clear into Death himself. The puny man disintegrated before your eyes and suddenly you were in control of your vessel once more. You staggered into the room, legs wobbling from strain at fighting Death’s hold.

You missed a moment the brother’s shared before blurting out, “What the fuck was that, Dean?!”

“I think I just killed Death,” Dean sounded on the edge of fear. “Who even are you, lady?”

A dumbstruck Sam chuckled, “Dean, this is, uh, Chloe’s demon? I guess.”

“Y/N? Nice digs.” You smiled gently as Dean’s lip quirked.

“Wait, you know her actual name?” Sam sputtered as thunder rolled in, made from a wall of voices, out of nowhere.

“Does that sound right to you?” Dean worried just as the flash of lightning burst through the ceiling. You screeched as Dean groaned with the impact, the magic peeling the Mark of Cain from his skin like an instant laser treatment. Just as quickly as it arrived, it returned through the roof. You gaped at the haphazard miracle you had all witnessed.

You followed Dean cautiously, his hand reaching back to take yours, pulling the door shut behind you. Sam started talking through the disbelief. “This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm, nothing crazy happened, you get your baby back.”

Dean dropped your hand to take the keys from Sam. “Yeah, I’m sure everything’s perfectly fine.” Nothing came without a price. Dean headed to the car as sizzling jolts of pink lightning webbed across the sky. Pillars of bolts staggered like tendrils in patternless cascades. Then it stopped.

“What did Death call this?” Sam knew his victory speech had been a tad premature.

“The Darkness,” you and Dean said in unison.

Erupting from the points of impact came giant streaks of black smoke, denser and grittier than any demon. They shot through the sky like dancers hitting a mark, synchronized destruction. They merged in a nearby field and exploded into a boiling mound of matter, growing like an ancient horror show entity. Constantly expanding as you stood beside the pathless hunters.

“Get in the car! Let’s go, let’s go.” You didn’t even hesitate, Dean pointed, and you listened, sliding into the backseat as if you had never left CC, never been cast out, never been a demon. The sheer terror of the moment dwarfed the realization and you slammed your foot down to help Dean accelerate, a phantom driver. The Impala’s back tires spun through the mud and you gripped the middle of the front seat, desperate to make the escape. The rear wheel fell into a pothole and Dean threw his door wide, panicked.

“Dean!” Sam looked to the looming shadow as it grew closer, an unstoppable avalanche toppling everything it passed. In two breaths, it had overtaken the Impala. One moment you felt eyes on you and the next Dean had disappeared. Doors and windows all secure, but he was gone. The rolling black cloud jostled the car frame, knocking Sam out before you could ask him if he saw his brother. With every ounce of strength, you had you pushed the backdoor open, the endless tide of fog pushing you back, a tadpole against the current.

Losing your vessel was your only hope to find Dean in the Darkness, you left her outside the Impala and swam up. This wasn’t the soaring you found most freeing, this was a frenzy of sound and force thrashing against the streams of your being. You reached out with your senses, feeling for Dean, his heartbeat, his scent, his voice. Needling through the chaos desperate to find him. Then you heard his name on the wind and someone else’s tongue.

She stood with Dean in a clearing that was still drenched in shadow. She was dark lines and angles, elegant black dress hugging her effortlessly. He called out and you dropped down, trying to hold your molecules together in some discernible form. If he saw you, he didn’t reach out to touch you then. He was transfixed by her, by the Darkness personified. He stood challenging her, demanding why she hasn’t atomized him. Then she played him with the destiny card, endlessly bound by the mark on her clavicle. THE MARK, lock and key.

There was no thought, just white hot, blinding rage. You snaked between them, spreading out to hold her from him. He had come too far to be made into her mindless drone. You had to stop her, you had to save him. As she leaned forward, closing the distance between her and Dean, you screamed without vocal cords. Vibrating with ownership you tried to push her back. You felt her eye your gaseous state and suddenly everything ceased to be.

There was no longer Darkness, nor Dean, nor you. It was just, Empty.

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Dean pulled away from the pristine farmhouse, leaving Jenna and Amara in the safety of family. He had another long drive ahead of him to catch up with Sam. Now that Baby was passenger free; his mind got too loud. He thought that Y/N had been plucked out of the car with him; he couldn’t see her, but he had felt her until he didn’t. There was a gnawing in his stomach on the whim of her bailing on him and her vessel. Something the Darkness said without saying filled the void of doubt with an unwanted certainty.

“No matter where I am, who I am, or who is in the way. We will always help each other,” she promised him. Dean felt it was more warning than devotion, though he couldn’t help but agree. He may have lost the Mark, but he was far from free of it.

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Epilogue

#known series #dean winchester fanfic #moc!dean x reader #moc!dean #dean x demon!reader #demon!reader #dean x cc #dean x female vessel oc #dark finc #dean angst #spn fanfic #spn dark fanfic

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