#i actively cried over bobby's death last night

[babesareblue]

I like to think that Bobby and Tilin got to be reunited in whatever egg afterlife they went to

#qsmp #qsmp tilin #qsmp bobby #my art #gale's art #drew's art #enigma's art #illustration #i actively cried over bobby's death last night #literally the worst news ever i couldve found out #IT SUCKED SO BAAAD #at least these two are together again (hopefully) #qsmp eggs

[julia-highstorms]

Last Night on Earth (Bryce x Rei (F!MC))

Summary: Infected by an unknown poison, Rei spends what could be her last night on earth with her most important person.

Author’s note: Open Heart is back which means BRYCE IS BACK and omg the angst in chapter 11 was on spot. As usual, I wanted to give a bit of more depth between Bryce and Rei’s relationship. Read more about them here

Song: Last Night On Earth - Green Day

Disclaimer: Characters and some dialogues belong to Pixelberry Studios.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Rei Sato (F!MC)

Word count: +2.8K

________________________________________

Rei left out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she watched Ethan and June wheeling Rafael out through the decontamination room and down the hallway, solitary figures in a labyrinth of plastic. She had the sensation that her mentor took one last worried look over his shoulder to where she was. 

The silence that fell over was deafening, the pressure in her head felt too much. Now, all alone, she felt like she was the last person on Earth. She curled up on her bed and the tears came hard. She let them fall, hiding her face behind her hands, her frail and weak body quivering to the intensity of her weeping.

She cried for Danny, for Bobby, mourning the loss of those two souls. She cried for Rafael, scared of what could happen to him overnight. She cried for Kyra, fighting for her life at the O.R. She cried for herself. She felt scared of what fate had in store for her.

Working with medicine, she had to learn to endure that sometimes they were unable to save everyone. Death was part of life and a hospital staff dealt with it more often than most people would.

But she was scared either way. She was terrified. The feelings were overwhelming. Mourning, loneliness, anger, regret, helplessness, fear.

________________________________________

What it seemed to be much later, her friends and the diagnostics team arrived outside the window to her room. She felt tired, her eyes dry and puffy from crying so much.

She noticed Bryce standing behind Baz, staring at her with haunted eyes.

“How’s Kyra? The surgery must be over now…” “She’s fine. She’s resting. She, uh… we haven’t told her what’s happening with you yet.” - Rei nodded.

“Good idea.”

Sienna sniffed and buried her face in Jackie’s shoulder. The diagnostics team informed her that she had maitotoxin.

There was no cure for maitotoxin.

...She was going to die there.

Rei felt a wave of emotions all over again, feeling more helpless than she had ever felt. That was going to be her last night on earth.

Ethan told her to not give up yet. That was something so typical of her mentor to say and something she would usually be thankful for. If it hadn’t been for his tough love, she wouldn’t be the doctor she was today.

But today, right now, she wasn’t a doctor. She was just a dying being. He assured her that they’d synthesize an antidote overnight. Usually, she would believe and put faith in him. She trusted in Ethan Ramsey, and in June and Baz.

But that night she wasn’t feeling much hopeful. Even though Aurora came in with a group of doctors from Mass Kenmore. Even though Carrick affirmed that she wouldn’t die on their watch. Rei felt that she was already far from being saved.

Everyone said their goodbyes and followed June and Baz to the lab. Ethan stayed behind for a moment more, his pale blue eyes fixed on his favorite mentee, on the woman he was secretly in love, his face wrinkled with worry and something else. Fear. Regret. Longing.

“It isn’t over yet, Rookie.” - he said, and she smiled weakly at the nickname. - “You should try and get some rest.”

“What, are you my doctor now?” - she snapped back at him, good humouredly.

“Yes. I’m telling you as a doctor and...” - he hesitated, as if he tried to carefully choose his next words.

The head of the diagnostics team reminisced about the talk he had with Sienna on their way to a FBI field office earlier, where he confessed he had rather unprofessional feelings for Rei. But he didn’t tell Sienna the complete truth: although he had never really confessed to her, Rei knew about his feelings for her. At least, back then when she still was an intern. And Ethan was more than aware that her feelings for him weren’t mutual. She had rejected him. And he still pinned for her either way. And she could possibly die soon. Real soon.

He thought about throwing everything to the ceiling and fully confessing to her. How he still loved her. That might be his last chance.

...But that wouldn’t be fair. To Rei. A love confession from her boss and mentor was the least thing she needed right now. And it would be unfair to Dr. Lahela too. Whatever was the nature of their relationship, it was clear that Rei loved that scalpel jockey. And that, this time, the feelings were mutual.

The young surgeon was a few feet away, leaning against the wall, his hands buried inside his pockets, staring down at his feet, patiently waiting for his turn to talk to Rei. And Ethan was sure that he would possibly spend the rest of his night keeping her company. That was something she would want. 

“...as your friend.” - he finished his thought.

Rei nodded, smiling gratefully at Ethan, unaware of the storm of emotions he had inside him, and he left. 

She heard him exchanging a few words with someone who was behind the wall. Bryce came into view as he stepped to the side, lingering by the window. He forced a smile.

“It’s all gonna be okay, Rei. I promise. You heard Dr. Ramsey, they’re going to find a cure.”

“Bryce, you don’t have to pretend to be positive for my sake.”

The smile left his face.

“...I’m not. It’s for my sake. If I don’t stay optimistic, I’m gonna lose it. I can’t let myself do that. Not yet. Not while there’s still hope.”

“Okay. Whatever helps.” - she murmured, resting her head back into her pillow on her back. - “What did Ethan tell you?” “He asked me to take care of you.” - he frowned. - “You should try and sleep. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I don’t know if I can. I keep thinking about Raf… wondering how long he can hang on…”

Bryce looked down to his side, to the spare hazmat suit nearby, his brain working.

“...What if I stayed with you for a while? Would that help? There’s another hazmat suit out there.” - he smiled warmly at her. - “You know us scalpel jockeys. We’re beyond useless in the lab, anyway.”

That proposal seemed to bring a bit of life back into Rei, her eyes shining.

“Are you sure? What about Keiki? Will she be okay?”

“Keiki is a teenager, Rei, not a baby. She can take care of herself for a night. Besides, she forbade me of going home with you like this.” “Did you tell her…?” 

“Yeah. I said I’d be up late here. She told me to stay here with you. Keiki’s your number #1 fan, Rei.”

Rei chuckled softly and agreed on Bryce staying with her that night. A few minutes later, she heard the decontamination tent activating, and he entered her room.

“What do you think? Am I still handsome? Or am I somehow more handsome? Be honest.”

She laughed as Bryce strutted through the door in his bulky hazmat suit.

“It’s your best look yet. You should rock this every day.”

“Don’t tempt me, Rei.”

“I can’t believe you actually came in here.” - her voice dropped to a murmur.

“If I’m gonna be here for you, I’m gonna be here for you.” - he walked to her bed, standing up beside it and took her hand, squeezing it gently, as if to prove he was not a dream.

“I’m glad. I’m not doing so well in here on my own.”

“Not true, Rei. You’ve been incredible today.” “I haven't done anything but watch two good men die.”

He suddenly enveloped her in his arms. It was a good hug, even through the thick plastic suit.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” - he whispered into her ear and then Rei felt the tears back into her eyes.

She weakly circled her arms around him and sobbed. She looked so fragile.

“Bryce, I-- I’m scared.” - she confessed, hiding her face on his chest. He let her weep, his hands rubbing up and down her back in a comforting movement, saying nothing.

She was scared of not waking up in the morning. Of not being able to spend one more night at Donahue's with her friends. Of not knowing if Kyra had made it all after her surgery. Of not being able to see Bryce's smile ever again, or to feel his touch. She was scared that the last news their family would have of her was about her death.

“I know it wasn't my fault that this happened… but I still feel so full of regret. This might be last night on earth…”

“Hey, none of that. You need to stay positive.”

She brushed away her tears.

“Oh? Any suggestions on how to manage that?”

“I think we already established how incredible I look in this.” - he tried to give her a confident smirk. Rei smiled ruefully, her eyes red due to her crying.

“That’s… not quite doing it for me.”

“Fair. Then let’s focus on all the positive in you. What are you most proud of? What makes you happiest?”

“I definitely am most proud of my job.”

“As you should be. You’re a fantastic doctor, Dr. Sato.”

“And of working in the diagnostics team, although at first I didn’t intend to be part of it when we were interns.”

“I remember all the drama.” - it was almost funny how it seemed pettiless compared to what was happening now.

“And about what makes me the happiest… probably… You.” - she confessed, her cheeks blushing slightly.

“Now there’s a pleasant plot twist.” - Bryce grinned.

“Are you surprised?”

“Not really. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not special, but I’m a lot of people’s reason for living.”

“You asked for my favorite thing, not my reason for living.” - she pointed out, smiling back at him. - “In light of the new framing, I’m changing my answer to ‘pictures of baby animals’.” - he laughed.

“That’s actually fair. I’ll allow it.”

They grinned at each other and, even filtered by the mask, the beauty of Bryce’s smile could still almost blow Rei away.

“Gosh, you’re pretty.” - she murmured, adoration in her eyes. But to her surprise, his smile faded. - “Bryce? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. I just… Rei, I really am trying to stay positive. We both have to. But…” - he hesitated.

“But what?”

The truth was that Bryce was desperately trying to keep his cool. He somehow managed to do it at the operating room, but now, seeing Rei so terrified, feeling so helpless…

And even though she was the one in that situation, unsure of her fate, Rei Sato still was able to comfort him. To check on him, to make him feel like the most amazing person in the whole world.

He loved her.

He felt his heart clutching inside his chest and out of breath, a lump in his throat.

“You mean a lot to me, Rei. More than you know, probably. The idea of losing you…” - he trailed off, shaking his head ruefully, unable to finish his sentence.

Rei could see a sadness in his eyes as he gazed back up at her, but also something more… that something that made her heartbeat speed up.

“Bryce, you mean a lot to me too. As a friend, and as more…” - she murmured, her cheeks turning a bit redder and less pale.

“Yeah?” - he asked, as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

“Yeah. I don’t know what waits for me tomorrow… Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll get a tomorrow. But if tonight’s my last night on earth, then you’re the one I want to spend it with.”

“Well, damn, Rei. Talk about bittersweet.” - he smiled, his eyes glistening with the tears that threatened to fall.

“Let’s focus on the sweet part.”

She gently took his gloved hands and led him to the bed, too small for them both, especially with his suit, but they didn't care.

"Would you hold me?"

"I'd love to, Rei." - he curled around her, spooning her tightly from behind. She always felt safe whenever she was in his arms.

"I wish I could feel your skin."

"You will."

"I wish I could kiss you."

"Sorry, was I mumbling? You will, Rei. You're going to get through this." 

"It's nice."

"What?"

"Hearing a doctor tell you this. It almost makes you believe that it will really be okay." - Rei swallowed another fresh wave of fear.

"What is it?" - his voice sounded worried.

She turned to face him, the tears welling up on her eyes again.

"What if the inside of this hospital room is the last place I see? What if…"

"Hey, don't go there." - he said, brushing off the hair out of her face. She took a deep breath.

"I need a kiss." - he smiled, amused by her request.

"How do you want to manage that one?"

"With a lot of imagination, I guess?"

Smiling softly, he lifted her fingertips in his hand, bending over them to 'kiss' her through the mask. Rei couldn't feel the softness of his lips, but a tingle of warmth shot through her nonetheless.

"How was that?"

"Better than I expected, honestly."

"Good."

His arms tightened around her. She laid still, enjoying the strength of his embrace until, at last, sleep clouded the edges of her mind.

"I'm glad I at least got to hold you one last time…"

"It's not the last time, Rei. I promised." - she heard Bryce say as she drifted off to a restless sleep.

________________________________________

The hours passed slowly, but Bryce didn't dare to close his eyes, afraid of losing her. Rei's weak breathing was the only sound in the room. Her body would squirm occasionally and low whimpers would escape her lips as the pain would hit her. He would brush off a strand of hair away from her face, her skin feeling both clammy and cold through his glove.

Much later, when the sun was already up the next morning, Bryce still found himself with Rei. He was now in the chair right next to her bed.

She woke suddenly to a stabbing pain in her midsection. She clutched her stomach, gasping at the intensity.

"It's okay, Rei. You're okay." - he rubbed her back soothingly, his voice comforting.

She gave in, riding the wave of pain until it passed. When it was over, she lied back down the bed, feeling weaker than ever, breathing hard. She gazed listlessly at the window just as her friends hurried up.

"Rei! We did it!" - she heard Aurora's voice and blinked at the blurry shapes of people in the window.

"Huh?"

"Seriously? You guys found an antidote?" - Bryce asked, immediately standing up.

"Something like that." - Carrick smirked confidently. 

Rei took a shuddering breath, trying not to hope too hard. Ethan, June and Baz came swimming into focus as they entered her room. They looked exhausted, but there was a glint of hope in their eyes.

"How?"

Ethan explained, a smile on his tired face. They hoped it would keep the maitotoxin from progressing any further. They had already administered it to Rafael, but there hadn't been any change of his condition so far, neither for worse nor better. 

Well, it was better than nothing. It was the only shot she had anyway.

"Give me your arm, Rei." - she presented her arm, barely able to hold it up. Bryce promptly cradled her, holding her arm still as Ethan prepared the injection. - "Ready?"

She smiled back at him.

"Ready."

He smoothly inserted the needle into her vein and dispensed the serum.

"And now we wait… and hope." - June concluded.

________________________________________

The next several hours passed in a slow, anxious crawl. Bryce had to go back to work, as well as all of her friends. Every hour, June would come by to test Rei's blood.

Slowly, her blood pressure started to stabilize. Eventually, the nausea receded. The world swimmed back into shaper focus, until…

"It worked!" - Bryce announced, loud and clear.

"Seriously? I'm cured?"

The young surgeon strode through the decontamination tent on his scrubs, with a megawatt smile that told her everything she needed to know.

"I told you it was going to be okay. I told you-- Unf!" - she printed across the room and into his arms so hard it nearly bowled him over. - "Couldn't you wait for me to cross the room, huh?" - he asked, looking down at her, enjoying the sensation of her arms hugging him tightly, her body against his.

She shook her head, a broad smile on her lips, her dark eyes shining with happiness, full of life.

"Nope."

Rei grabbed the front of his scrubs and pulled him into a dizzyingly deep kiss. Bryce immediately responded, kissing her back as if there was no tomorrow. But today was tomorrow.

"Thank you." 

"For what?"

His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, both of them savouring the warmth and solidity of each other's body.

"For being alive." - he whispered, leaning down to kiss her temple.

Rei laughed, happy and feeling more alive than ever, and they held each other for a moment more. 

________________________________________

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @pixelburied @nyastarlight @endlessflame @awkwardalbatros @choicesarehard @strangelycami @stillafictosexual @queen-kass-the-writer @indiacater @worldofchoices @radlovedreamer @fairydustandsarcasm @choicesthot @blackreddish @lilyofchoices @fluffywhitehair @weaving-in-words @eileendannie @hellooliviaolivia @professorortegasstudent @bucket-harrington @god-save-the-keen @choices97 @camcantarella @sawyer0akleyscowboyhat @thequeenchoices @hellomynameisdevi @dreaming-of-movies @maria-lahela @zodiacsign1 @omgjasminesimone @miss-raleigh-carrera @lahellacute @soft-for-drake @raleighcarrera @simsvetements @wolverinesbeer @virtuallytakenby @anotherbeingsworld @teenytinytanya08 @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @sitsoncornflake @jamesashtonisbae @lxdy-starfury @choicesficwriterscreations (if you would like to be tagged in upcoming Bryce x MC fanfics, tell me!)

#bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart #playchoices #playchoices fanficiton #playchoices fanart #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #rei sato #bryce x rei

[retrogirlwrites]

Now You Say You’re Sorry: The Stories Behind Arthur Hamilton’s Jazz Standard “Cry Me A River”

“You drove me / nearly drove me / out of my head / while you never shed / a tear / remember / I remember / all that you said / told me love was too plebeian / told me you were through with me / and now / you say you love me / well just to prove / you do / come on and / cry me a river / cry me a river / I cried a river / over you”. “Cry Me A River”, written and published in 1953 but first released in 1955, is a jazz and blues classic that has been recorded by countless artists over the years. The haunting ballad is a meaningful break-up song, an empowering though ghostly melody encouraging ‘an eye for an eye’. The artist speaks of a lost love, of the pain he put her through, and how now that he wants her back, he can go through the same pain. Many credit Ella Fitzgerald with the original recording; while her recording is undoubtedly one of the most famous, it was released in 1961 and is not the original. “Cry Me A River” was originally recorded by Julie London, and released as a single by Liberty Records. The song also had a place as the opening track on London's first studio album Julie Is Her Name, also released in 1955.

At the time of the song’s birth, songwriter Arthur Hamilton was under contract with actor and director Jack Webb. A lover of jazz, Webb asked him to write a piece for Ella Fitzgerald to sing in his upcoming film Pete Kelly's Blues. The result was “Cry Me A River”, which was destined to become one of Hamilton's most famous works, though not in the movie. Jack Webb rejected the song, citing his belief that audiences would question a black woman using the word ‘plebeian’. Hamilton tried several times to rewrite the bridge to Webb’s liking, but eventually gave up and told Webb he could use the song as-is or scrap it completely. The song was dropped from the film, and Ella Fitzgerald lost her chance at the original recording. Peggy King was also offered the piece, but Columbia Record’s Mitch Miller rejected it for the same reason Webb had. Hamilton decided to offer the song to his high school girlfriend, who also happened to be Webb’s ex-wife, Julie London. 

London had left high school at 14, and by 16 was singing in nightclubs while attending Hollywood Professional School. Hamilton, while he was dating her, could never watch her sing due to age requirements in the clubs. The two were not a couple for long, but London left a lasting impression on him. In 1947, London married Jack Webb. The pair bonded over a shared love of jazz, though they did not have much else in common. London put her acting and musical careers on hold to raise their two children, Stacy and Lisa Webb. After seven years of marriage and a long period of problems, London filed for divorce in 1954. At 27, she found herself the single mother of two and was forced to return to performing in order to support herself and her family despite a large alimony allotted by the courts. She was a very shy, private person, and suffered from severe stage fright every time she performed. A year after her divorce, in 1955, Arthur Hamilton offered her “Cry Me A River”. She accepted and recorded the song, both as a favor to an old friend and as a final ‘f*** you’ to her ex-husband. 

The single was released by Liberty Records and produced by Bobby Troup. He was a well-known musician in his own right, most famous for writing “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66”. Troup had met London only a few months before, in a club with a number of mutual friends. It was a rare night that London allowed herself to go out, when she was at her most shy and unsure soon after her divorce. That night, London commented generally to the group “If I were ever to sing in a nightclub again, it would be in a place like this.” Troup left the table, and upon returning several minutes later told her, “You open in two weeks.” Her singing career took off in ‘55, with the single release of “Cry Me A River” and the release of her first album, Julie Is Her Name, both produced by Troup. She became known as the “Liberty Girl” in the early years of her career, as she was one of the artists who truly put Liberty Records on the map. Over the 14 years she was active, she released 29 studio albums. All of them were originally released by Liberty, and several were produced by Troup. 

London and Troup become fast friends, and more than that not long after. They were famous in their social circles for having one of the longest engagements in Hollywood. On New Year's Eve 1959, five years after they met and after a nearly four year engagement, they were married. They had seven children between them, two each from previous marriages and three children together. The couple was married for almost forty years when Troup passed in February of 1999. London passed in October of 2000, on what would have been her husband's 82nd birthday. They were together through much of Troup’s musical career and all of London's, with Troup producing the majority of her albums and writing several songs she recorded, including “This October” from her 1956 album Calendar Girl. London and Troup appeared often on game shows, both separately and together, most notably their joint appearances on Tattletales in the 1970s and Julie’s appearances on What’s My Line in 1957, 1959, and 1961. The couple also remained friendly with Jack Webb until his death, even taking starring roles in his final television series Emergency! (1972-79). 

Of the four that can be credited with making “Cry Me A River” the legendary song it is, Arthur Hamilton is the only one still living. He is also the only one who's main claim to fame is the song. He is also known for his other pieces, including “The Thirteenth Month” (also originally recorded by London), but best known for “Cry Me A  River”. Jack Webb, who passed in 1982, is better remembered for his radio and TV series Dragnet, Adam-12, and Emergency! than for his movies, though his films remain well-known. Bobby Troup, though known for his acting in Dragnet, M*A*S*H, and Emergency! as well as his music producing, is better known for the songs he wrote including “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66”, “Their Hearts Were Full Of Spring”, “Makin’ Whoopee”, and “The Girl Can’t Help It”. Julie London is known almost equally for her acting, particularly in The Girl Can’t Help It, Emergency!, Saddle The Wind, and Nabonga, and for her music. Musically, she’s well-known as a jazz performer and her studio albums, particularly Julie Is Her Name, Lonely Girl, Calendar Girl, and Whatever Julie Wants, gained as much attention for their pin-up covers as they did for her amazing voice. “Cry Me A River” is undoubtedly her song, but she has many albums with many wonderful songs including versions of “Makin’ Whoopee”, “Bye Bye Blackbird”. “Fly Me To The Moon”, and “Misty”. Most think of “Cry Me A River” when they think of London, but it is not so much her claim to fame as it is Hamilton’s. The song is a true classic, a jazz standard that has been recorded by many since its creation in 1955 and it will remain a standard in years to come. 

#julie london #arthur hamilton #jack webb #bobby troup #cry me a river #ella fitzgerald #jazz #jazz classics #classic jazz #torch songs #torch singer #crooner era

[the--blackdahlia]

Natural Born Killers Chapter 13 (Sam x Dean)

Title: Natural Born Killers Chapter 13

Summary: It started as an accident. That's what it was. But things escalated from there and now the law wants Dean Winchester, one way or another.

Warnings: Language, violence, death

Present

Victor observed. He watched Sam through the window of the interrogation room, drumming his fingers on the table, bouncing his knee, fidgeting. He almost looked like a normal person, but deep down, Victor knew he wasn’t. He knew he was covering for Dean, and if he had a way to prove it, he would lock them both up so fast. He watched as Sam twisted the black band on his finger

“Where’d you get that?” Victor asked himself. He looked down at the file. Some grainy, black and white surveillance photo of Dean. And there on his left hand was a black band, much like Sam’s. “Sam, Sam, Sam, I think you have some explaining to do.”

****

2006

Dean was released from the hospital and he immediately went with Bobby back to his home. He saw the crushed remains of the Impala sitting in the back, and he made a mental note to fix it. But he had to find Sam. That’s all there was to it. Bobby saw the way his eyes lingered on the car though. He knew how much Dean loved her and took care of her. And seeing her in this shape was just heartbreaking.

“If you feel up to it, you can go ahead and start on fixing her up.” Bobby said. “I’ll make some phone calls. Get my information.” Dean nodded and walked over the the Impala. He ran a hand on the crunched frame and closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Dean whispered. “I’m going to fix this. Promise.”

So he got to work as Bobby paced inside, talking to other hunters for any kind of sign that Sam was out there, alive and well. Dean was working on straightening the frame when Bobby came out. It had been hours and Dean’s body was screaming from all the torment he was putting it through.

“Dean, you should come inside.” Bobby said. “It’s getting late.” Dean closed his eyes and laid the mallet down. Bobby watched him as he walked inside and he saw the way Dean’s shoulder hung in defeat. “I don’t have word on Sam yet, but I have word on something else.”

“What?” Dean asked with a bit of a sigh.

“A hunter friend of mine, a man named Daniel Elkins. He claims to be in possession of a gun. A very special gun.” Bobby told Dean.

“Yeah? So?” Dean asked.

“It’s the Colt.” Bobby said.

“That hunter legend that supposedly can kill demons? Yeah right.” Dean said, going to the fridge for a beer even though the meds he was on would tell him not to.

“It can kill more than just demons Dean.” Bobby told him. “They say it can kill anything. Werewolves, vampires, that Yellow Eyed son of a bitch.”

“So, you’re telling me that this Daniel Elkins guy has a gun that can kill anything? Where is he?” Dean asked.

“Bismarck, North Dakota.” Bobby said. “Last I heard, his cabin was just outside the city. But I haven’t talked to him in awhile. I’m just going off of what Rufus Turner told me.”

“Well, guess I’m headed to North Dakota a long shot.” Dean said. Bobby stopped him.

“I’ll go.” Bobby said. “You stay here and fix the Impala up. We’re going to need a fast car, and my Roadrunner has about had it when it comes to speed.” Dean sighed. He knew that Bobby was trying to distract him. And if something happened, he knew that a hurt Sam would be more comfortable in the Impala then in the Roadrunner or GTO.

“Okay.” Dean said. “I’m gonna get started on her tomorrow. Quite a bit can be salvaged, and what can’t, I think I can find laying around.” Dean was pretty confident in his skills. He knew that he could get Baby up and running in no time. But without knowing what happened to Sam, he wasn’t sure where he was going to look once he did get the Impala fixed.

“Dean? You okay?” Bobby asked. Dean took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dean said, even though he was stressing out and just wanted to kill something. But not Bobby. Never Bobby.

“You hungry?” Bobby asked.

“Not really.” Dean said. “I’m just going to go to bed I think.” Bobby nodded and watched as Dean ascended up the stairs. He made his way to his own room then to back for his trip to North Dakota.

Dean went to sleep that night with a nightmare of him holding Sam’s limp body.

****

Location Unknown

Sam awoke with a jolt. The rotten smell of sulfur lingered in the air and it was chilly. He sat up on the thin mattress he laid on. It had seen better days, that was for sure. Sam looked around the small room he was in. All that was in it was him and the bed. He wasn’t even sure how he got there. One moment, he was at the hospital, the next, he was waking up there. He looked at the rickety old door and carefully opened it. A long, cold hallway greeted him.

“What the fuck?” Sam whispered. His breath could be seen, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or ghost activity. A woman’s shriek caught his attention then and he raced down the hallway to where a woman was being backed into a corner by a man in a black and white striped prison uniform. Sam looked over at a room that he realized was a cell. He pulled a loose bar off of it, prayed it was iron, and swung. The man disappeared.

“What the hell was that?” The girl asked. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sam.” He said. “And that was a ghost.”

“Lily.” She said. “And ghosts are real?”

“It’s a brave new world.” Sam sighed. “What are you doing here? What am I doing here?”

“I don’t know.” Lily said. “I don’t even know where here is.”

“It’s obviously a prison.” Sam said, looking around. He looked down at the bar in his hand. “I’m just not sure what prison it is. Or why we’re here.”

“Maybe it’s the man with the yellow eyes.” Lily said. “He came to me at the funeral. Told me he could help me.” She looked down at her gloved hands, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Lily? What happened?” Sam asked. Lily didn’t get to answer before a man with shaggy hair was running towards them.

“Holy shit!” He said, sliding to a stop. “There’s more people!”

“Hi?” Lily said, giving him a look.

“I’m Sam.” Sam said, sizing up the other guy.

“I’m Andy.” He said. “Where are we?”

“Welcome to the club of I have no fucking clue.” Lily said. “So is it just us three?”

“Not quite.” Another man said. Sam, Lily, and Andy looked to see two more people walking to them, the man who had spoken and another woman. “I’m Private Jake Talley. US Army.”

“Ava.” The other girl said, waving. “Secretary.” She laughed a little. Sam could tell that she was scared and nervous.

“Andy.” Andy told them.

“I’m Lily.” Lily said, shivering some from the cold.

“Sam.” Sam offered his hand to Jake, who shook it.

“Where is this place?” Ava asked, looking around. “It’s so, gross.” A mouse scampered by then and she squeaked. Sam walked over to a wall where an old, rusted plaque was. He wiped some dirt off of it.

“Tennessee State Prison.” Sam said.

“Prison?” Lily asked. “You’re kidding.”

“Explains the ghost.” Sam said.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” Ava said.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some ghosts.” Andy said. Ava gave him a disgusted look.

“Were you high when these ghosts came to visit?” She asked. Andy was about to defend himself, but instead rolled his eyes.

“Okay, what’s the last thing everyone remembers?” Sam asked. “I was at the hospital with my husband after a car accident.”

“My third bong load.” Andy told them.

“Picking out wedding invitations with my fiance.” Ava added.

“Afghanistan.” Jake said, back straight.

“My girlfriend’s funeral.” Lily whispered. Sam nodded.

“There’s got to be some kind of connect. Are you guys all twenty-two?” Sam asked. They all nodded and it started to click in Sam’s head. “Are...are you guys psychic?”

“What? No.” Ava said. “I just have these dreams and…”

“Sometimes they come true?” Sam asked. Ava nodded.

“How did you know that?” She asked.

“Because I’m the same way, except my dreams don’t always happen when I’m asleep.” Sam told her.

“Well, I can get people to do things. Put images in their head.” Andy explained. “I didn’t mean to though. It was totally by accident. My twin, he did the same thing. But he was shot and killed.” Jake walked over to a heavy piece of the roof that had caved in. He picked it up one handed.

“Sometimes I can get people to do things too. But it’s usually when my adrenaline is high. Like the time that my buddy was trapped under a his Humvee. I told him to be calm and he did.” Jake explained. Sam looked over at Lily, who was quiet.

“Guess I’m like Rogue to this team of X-Men.” She said. “I touch things, and I can kill them.” She closed her eyes. “I killed my girlfriend on accident. I wasn’t expecting it to happen.”

“Okay, so we’re all 22. We all have these, whatever they are,” Ava began. “But that doesn’t explain why we’re in an abandoned prison.”

“I brought you here.” A voice rang out. The five looked up at a catwalk that was in front of the upper level cells. A man stood there, smiling down at them, his yellow eyes almost glowing in the dark.

“You.” They all five said. Ava stared up at him.

“Where’s my fiance?” She asked. Azazel laughed.

“You wanted ease of stress from the wedding. So I helped with that.” His laugh was dark and sent a deeper chill into them. “There is no wedding anymore. Your fiance is dead.”

“WHAT?!” Ava cried out. “That’s not what you promised!”

“You can’t have stress for a wedding if there is no wedding.” Azazel pointed out. Ava buried her head in Sam’s chest and cried. “Let’s see. Lily. I found you crying at that funeral. I told you that I could take your pain away.”

“Did...did you bring Vanessa back?” She asked. He shook his head.

“No. I’m not that generous. But I did erase you from all of her family's memories. You’ll never have to deal with the pain of them accusing you of murdering their daughter.”

“But her family loved me!” Lily screamed. Azazel just smirked.

“Andy, Andy, Andy.” Azazel said, staring at him. “You probably don’t really remember our meeting. You and your  friends were a little too wasted it seems. But, you wanted to live wild and free. And you are. In fact, the lease at your apartment has been null and void. Your van has been repossessed. You have nothing tying you down!”

“You bastard!” Andy growled. “That’s my home!”

“Not anymore. I think a cute family with a baby has taken it over.” Azazel turned his gaze onto Jake. “You just wanted to go home. That’s what you told me, right?”

“What did you do?” Jake asked.

“Well, nothing much. Except your AWOL now and if you are ever caught, a court martial and jail time are in your future.” Azazel explained with a smirk.

“That’s not what I meant!” Jake said. “I love my job. I just missed my mama.”

“Oh. Guess you should’ve been a little more specific then.” He finally turned his gaze to Sam. “And Sam Winchester. Boy, I have been waiting a long, long time to finally meet you.”

“You killed Dean, didn’t you?” Sam asked.

“No. I didn’t. But the punchline of this joke is, he wasn’t going to die anyway.” Azazel laughed. “In fact, he was fine, just knocked out a little bit and needed some rest.” He paced on the catwalk. “I hope you enjoy your time here. If you try to escape, I can’t guarantee your safety. You do have some friends in the walls. They’ll keep you company.” He stopped and stared at them. “I’ll be back for you five later!”

With that, he was gone. They looked around, but didn’t see him. Ava’s tears had slowed as she let go of Sam.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Jake asked. “We can’t stay here. We’re not prisoners!”

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Andy asked, sitting on a pile of rubble, looking defeated.

“I’m not staying here.” Lily said. “I don’t care what that fucker says. I’m getting out.” With that, she ran for the door.

“Lily no!” Sam yelled. He went to stop her as she opened the heavy prison door. She stepped outside and turned to look at them.

“See. It’s not bad.” She told them. That’s when something grabbed her from behind, twisting her head and making her fall to the ground. A woman with long, dark hair stood over her. She mumbled something in Latin and a blue light came out of Lily’s open mouth, pouring itself into a small vial. She turned to look at them and smiled.

“Hi Sammy. I missed you.” She said, her eyes black. “And man, is my dad going to be happy at what I got.” She waved at him before she disappeared, leaving Lily’s dead body laying on the cold, Tennessee ground.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @marvel-af @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Supernatural Tags: @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @bandobsession98 @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories

Natural Born Killers Tags: @mysteriousharmony @webcraft4eveh @mereka18 @writinginthesecrettrees

#natural born killers #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #wincest #sam x dean #sam winchester x dean winchester #fanfiction #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

[idreamofhazeleyes]

Ties of Blood -- Chapter 22

I know this is later than when I usually post chapters. I had been able to have my laptop out at work, but I’ve been needing to refocus back to that and less on the laptop. I still do plan on writing and updating as much as possible.

Warning: There is a brief moment in this chapter of suicide idealization. 

@mrswhozeewhatsis @percussiongirl2017 @winchestergirl-13 @impala-dreamer @because-imma-lady-assface @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @squirrelnotsam @optimisticpeacecollector5

Chapter 22

Aaliyah turned the car off and sat in the driver’s seat. Guilt had eaten away at her the whole drive back from Wyoming. Bobby had asked her to stay with the boys for a time, but she refused. It was bad enough she had to use the three day psych hold to keep her brother safe in the hospital. With a breath, Aaliyah worked her way out of the car and into the hospital. Her mind replayed what had happened at the cemetery yet again as it tried to figure out how she survived.

Aaliyah did her best to ignore the looks from those she passed in the halls on the way to her brother’s room. The trips between hospital and the cemetery in Wyoming hadn’t given her much time for a shower and change of clothing. She swore there was a lingering scent of sulfur from the amount of demons that escaped.

“I don’t care if there’s still twelve hours left,” Aaliyah heard from the elevator bay. “I want to be released.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes as she followed the voice. She glanced around the corner to see a nurse at Xander’s bedside and their half siblings by the one window in the room. Nissa and Leo hadn’t noticed her arrival, and Aaliyah took the chance in walking into the room.

“Legally they can’t release you,” Aaliyah told her brother, startling all four. She smirked more to herself when Nissa let out a small yelp and Leo played it off like he had seen her the whole time. “Why’d you think I requested one and had our siblings come and visit you?”

“You trust me so little to stay here?” Xander shot back.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse cut in. “Who are you?”

“Aaliyah,” Aaliyah introduced herself, shifting her attention. “His younger sister. Has he been …”

“Much trouble?” The nurse’s eyebrows went up when she finished the sentience. “Very. He’s refused any sort of medication, barely ate what we brought him. Kept going on about seeing something called … reapers.”

“I swear I saw one,” Xander tossed in.

“Yeah, and I saw a demon walking into the lobby,” Aaliyah tossed back, half trying to defuse the tension. “Actually, I think that was a custodian come to think of it.”

“And we’ve seen wendigos out in the parking lot last night,” Leo added. “Seriously, big brother, you’re seeing things.”

Aaliyah turned her full attention to the nurse while her siblings bickered in a teasing tone that Aaliyah saw right through. It was better they did that than anything else. She gestured the nurse away from the bed. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

The nurse looked over the chart in her hands. “Whatever he went up against knocked him up pretty bad.” She pulled out a film and put it up against the light box. “They took this MRI the day he was admitted.” The light flicked on. “There’s minor fractures in his spine and the doctors suspect there was some sort of spinal injury that resulted in paralysis.”

Aaliyah moved in close and studied the MRI. A couple of the fractures didn’t look good, as if those could have been the result of Xander hitting the wall and causing the paralysis. “These two here,” she gestured to the two fractures. “Could they have caused the paralysis? If so, how quick will they heal and maybe he regaining some mobility?”

The nurse gave her a look that Aaliyah wasn’t sure how to interpret. It seemed to be a mix of mild surprise that Aaliyah was able to read the MRI well enough and posed questions that anyone in the medical field would. “Former nurse,” Aaliyah said. “I did some time in radiology in school.”

The nurse gave Aaliyah the nod that meant she really didn’t believe her, but accepted the answer. “It all really depends on Xander and how well his spine heals,” the nurse answered.

Aaliyah thanked the nurse and watched her take her leave of the room before turning back to her siblings.

“What the hell, Aaliyah?” Leo snapped. “You call asking us to come here and babysit?”

“Shit hit the fan bad, guys,” Aaliyah answered. “The yellow eyed demon managed to open a gate straight to hell, and a whole crap ton of demons got out.”

“So you decided to go deal with that instead of being here?” Leo questioned.

“I was asked to help two years ago, Leo,” Aaliyah countered as her cell starting ringing. “Things got rough. I didn’t plan on things getting this deep. The two of you need to keep a look out for any signs of demonic activity. It doesn’t matter how small, you take care of it.”

“And what about you?” Nissa asked as Aaliyah turned and headed for the door.

“I’m gonna answer this call.” Aaliyah fished the phone out of her pocket just as the ringing stopped. She worked her way down to the ground floor as her phone vibrated with a voicemail.

“Aaliyah, it’s Amanda,” the voicemail started. “It’s a good chance if you’re hearing this that I’m dead. Or dying. Not sure how often you check your voicemails. But, hey, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Oh, hell you’re not,” Aaliyah said under her breath as she ended the voicemail and called Amanda. She started pacing in the lobby as Amanda’s cell rang. Aaliyah started to pull her cell from her head when the other end picked up.

“Hey, Aaliyah,” Amanda greeted, her voice unusually calm. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a couple years,” Aaliyah agreed. “Sorry I hadn’t called before now; just got your voicemail. What’s up?”

“Can you … come get my body? That wendigo really did a number on me.”

Aaliyah stopped pacing. “God. Amanda, I’m so sorry. You shoulda called for help on that one.”

“You were busy.” Amanda’s voice had gotten weaker. “Off saving the world.”

“Still working on that bit,” Aaliyah said. “Could use some help with it. We can talk about it more when I come get you.”

“I’ll text you where I’m at.”

The line went dead and Aaliyah started at the cell for a minute before a text came through. Her head tilted a little before she left the hospital. Something told her that she wouldn’t make it to Amanda before she died, but Aaliyah hoped she’d arrive before that happened anyway. She sent a text to her siblings and Bobby telling them that she was off to get Amanda; and to prepare for a possible Hunter’s Funeral.

***

Aaliyah swore to herself in frustration. Picking the lock was proving to be more difficult than she expected. She wondered how Amanda managed to get back to her motel room if she suffered bad wounds from a wendigo. The lock clicked open and Aaliyah eased the door into the room. Left over food littered the table and clothing was scattered across the room with one of the beds stripped of all the blankets and sheets.

“Amanda,” Aaliyah called out as she moved toward the bathroom. “Come on, I busted ass to get out here. Don’t you die on me now.” She stopped right before turning into the bathroom and closed her eyes, trying to brace herself for seeing her good friend dead on the floor. With a semi deep breath, Aaliyah opened her eyes and looked into the bathroom. In the tub laid Amanda wrapped in the bedding. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Aaliyah.” Her name was just above a whisper. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Told you I’d come get you.” Aaliyah knelt down to the edge of the tub. “What about your wounds?” She dared to pull back the bedding to see a large gash across Amanda’s lower abdomen and part of her intestines spilling out.

“Pretty sure it’s infected.” Amanda made some sort of noise Aaliyah accepted as amusement. “I wouldn’t worry about fixing it, Aaliyah. We both know that I’m dead anyway.”

“What sorta nonsense is that, huh? I’ll get your guts back in and you stitched up in no time.”

Amanda rocked her head enough. “I’ve been fighting off death since I put myself in this tub. Hell, I’ve been seeing a reaper popping in once in a while.”

Aaliyah adjusted herself and sat on the floor and leaned in the corner made between the wall and tub wall. She didn’t say anything or do anything.

“Thanks for staying,” Amanda said after a while, her voice quiet. “I would have hated to die here alone and become an angered spirit.”

“You were one of my best friends,” Aaliyah said, getting an amused cough from Amanda. “Yeah, I know. But it’s true. I’m gonna miss you, Amanda.”

“Same … here. Give me a Hunter’s Funeral. Keep what I left in the room.”

Aaliyah shifted around to look Amanda in her eyes to see that little spark of life fade away. The bathroom grew cold, but she didn’t move. Either Amanda was there as a ghost or a reaper decided to visit to take Amanda. Aaliyah wiped away a tear before she collapsed back into the corner and cried. It wasn’t fair that her first friend had been killed by a wendigo. The one person that hadn’t judged Aaliyah when she first started digging after the werewolf on campus near three and a half years ago.

Aaliyah wasn’t sure when the tears finally stopped, or how long she was curled up in the corner with Amanda’s corpse in the tub behind her. She eased up to her feet and left the motel room, after a quick search for the key. There were things to do before night fell, and she was on her own.

***

Several hours passed before Aaliyah found a place out in the woods of upstate New York. Armed with an axe she bought from one of the hardware stores in town and a few six packs, Aaliyah worked until nightfall on a pyre. She helped the boys with the pyre for John, but then it was the three of them. For Amanda, it was just her. With the last log in place just as the sky took on the last hues of night blue, Aaliyah stepped back and wiped the sweet off her face. The pyre certainly wasn’t the best she had seen, but it would do. With a catching breath, Aaliyah walked over to where she had put Amanda. She had wrapped up her friend in the same way John had been; the white fitted bed sheet with the top sheet ripped up to tie up the body.

Aaliyah struggled a little with the dead weight but managed to get Amanda’s body onto the pyre. She poured some gasoline in a line on the wood and struck a match, dropping it onto the gasoline soaked wood. It went up in a burst of fire, sending Aaliyah back a few steps. She stood there for a minute before grabbing a beer and opening it. Her cell rang at one point, breaking the silence, but Aaliyah ignored it. It vibrated in her pocket. When the pyre burned half way down, and Amanda’s body had turned to mostly ash, Aaliyah picked up what remained of the two six packs and started back toward the motel.

***

Dawn found Aaliyah passed out on the unstripped bed on her stomach and one arm hanging off the edge, beer on the nightstand within her reach. Her cell started ringing, startling her awake. She moaned in her motions to grab the phone and answered it.

“This better be important,” Aaliyah snapped. “I’m not in the mood for talking.”

“Nissa called, saying that you took off a few days ago,” Sam said. “Said that you had a call while at the hospital.”

“Amanda died,” Aaliyah said, keeping her eyes closed. “A wendigo nearly gutted her.”

“I’m sorry, Aaliyah,” Sam said, his voice soft. “Really. Dean told me about her. What did you do?”

Aaliyah moaned as her head started to throb a little from the beginnings of a hangover. “Hunter’s Funeral is what she wanted. What’s up?”

“We found one of dad’s storage units had been broken into,” he said.

“And something was taken. How important is it?”

“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

Aaliyah rolled onto her back. “Do you blame me?”

“I guess not. I’ll send you where we’re at,” Sam said. “Drink plenty of water and take some pain meds.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Aaliyah hung up and laid there on her back, unsure if she wanted to move or lay there and sleep off the hangover. Sleep would be nice; and would provide a nice escape from the pain. But it would be temporary. She eased herself up to sitting on the edge of the bed before fumbling over to where she had dumped her bag for the bottle of Advil.

A seed of a thought sprouted in her mind as Aaliyah got a couple pills into an open hand. What was to stop her from swallowing the whole bottle? She had attempted to kill the pain with alcohol the night before and all it got her was the hangover. Yeah, it hurt losing a friend; but Aaliyah knew if she swallowed more than the two pills in her hand, she’d never hear the end of it. Washing the pills down with flat beer,

Aaliyah pushed past the discomfort of the hangover and worked through the papers and Amanda’s belongings. It took a few hours, but it had been done. The food she had dumped into the trash before making sure she had everything packed. With her and Amanda’s gear bags in hand, Aaliyah left the room. She settled the account for the room in the office before heading off to meet Sam and Dean.

#spn fanfic dealing with death thoughts of suicide

[sass-cass-writes]

Floating Downtown - Part 2

Title: The Hunters Club

Author: @sass-cass-writes / @sassy-castiels-angel

Description: Sammy its time to face your coulrophobia with Pennywise! With a string of disappearances occurring in Maine, the Winchester Brothers and the reader, a vivid Stephen King fan, try to stop the monster that snatches children and kills them every 27 years. But what will happen when the circus comes to town?

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, Beverly Marsh, Demons

A/N: Reader is speech impaired after being tortured by Abaddon’s right hand man and having her vocal cords destroyed. Ive never written mute characters, so this is a first. If anyone has feedback, please give some!

Warnings: brief PTSD of torture, gorey description, angst(?) clowns

tagging: @totallyluckycoffee / @dixonlover1605 , @wonderavian

READ PART ONE HERE, GIFS ARE NOT MINE

You felt the metal on your neck, its chilling tip dripping with death as it dug into your neck. The demon’s eyes were dark and bottomless. You tried to whimper, but how could you? You were scared. The tip of the scalpel dug into your skin cutting through the five thick layers of you neck as his hand expertly dragged down the metal tool as if completing an operation. You screamed, your muscles tensed and pulled making the pain even worse. Thrashing and writhing, your eyes strained at the immense and excruciating pain you felt. They slowly cut your throat, blooding flowing heavily onto the bed and into your lungs as you started to choke on your blood. While taking this opportunity, the demons placed the scalpel under the muscles and flesh that produces your sweet and comforting voice according to Bobby. He started to pull upwards. The scalpel sliced through each stretch of muscle. You tried to screamed but you couldn’t. One muscle, two muscle. The demon smirked evilly. Even worse, the demons were Sam and Dean. SNAP! The final cord and muscle broke as you laid there thrashing weakly.

“Oh sweetheart,” The fake “Dean” said as he stroke your hair gently. You shake as you try to move away. “It hurts us that you’re being put through so much pain.” He smiles cockily exactly like him. “But you have to understand that this is the only way to protect us,” motioning to him and fake “Sam”, “and you care about us, right?” You stay quiet. As much as you want to swear at them, curse and scare them saying the Winchesters, the real, HUMAN ones would skin them alive, you couldn’t. He smirks and mockingly places his hand behind his ear and leans in. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He reaches over and caresses your cheek as you bleed out. This wasn’t the end, they’d bring you back, harass you, get their cursed hands all over your body, cut you up until you die from shock, pain or blood loss. This cycle was repeated daily for the past week. It was even worse seeing that they were also messing with your mind, making you believe Sam and Dean were hurting you. Every bad word they said stung worse than the physical pain. You, surprisingly of all people, started to pray to Castiel. Every night you’d plead him to rescue you and the realisation dawned on you that he wasn’t an angel but a human now. So what could he do? You cried wanting to go home to the confines of the bunker. At least there, demons and monsters were warded off against.

“Y/N?” The question snapped you out of your recollection. You jumped up to see rain drops hit violently against the windshield and slide fast alongside the windows. Lighting struck somewhere in the distance. 1…2…3…4…5- lightning struck again. You sit up and groan, rubbing your head Sam’s jacket draped over you. “You okay?” Sam asked as he drove. The road was pitch black, Baby’s lights illuminating whatever in her path. The radio was on as it played your favourite mix tape. You all had one, you remember Dean making your very own. It was a mix of classic rock, new age and a bit of Australian songs. Dean and Sam had gotten used to your mixtape, even Dean’s favourite collection of Metallica wasn’t favoured as much. Chris Rea’s “Let’s Dance” had just finished with its brass instruments in an upbeat tune and guitar strums played in sync. Prince’s “” started to play, and it was one of your favoruites.

“Dearly beloved,

"We are gathered here today,

"To get through this thing called loved.”

Sam looks at you and smiles a little as you drive in the rain. You nodded in response to his earlier question. He nods and drives tapping the wheel as the techno pop sounds of ‘Prince and the Revolution’ filled the impala. “We’re about forty-five minutes out from Chicago, wanna pop into a motel for the night? OR would our princess prefer a five-star hotel?” He laughs a little as you punch his arm from the pet name and joke. You signed an answer.

“Motel, jackass.” You smile a little. Sam’s phone rang and sure enough it was Dean.

“Get this kiddo’s!"Dean reported into the phone. "I found Abaddon, figure I can take her out."You and Sam looked at each other and sighed.

"Dean,” Sam started. “Wait for us to finish this case and then WE can go kill Abandon.”

“Sorry Sammy, I gotta do this, the Mark’s getting worse.” Your face fell at this. You were there when Dean and Cain exchanged the mark, how it glowed bright red as it formed the cursed seven. Dean reassured you that everything was going to be okay. Last words you ever heard before you got kidnapped. You and Sam sighed, and so did dean after a while. “I’ll wait, just in case something happens.” You and  Sam smile a little. “So where are you guys now? Princes staying in a hotel?” Sam laughs as you flip Dean off and sign to the phone multiple curses. Dean knows what he did, and he laughs a little.

“We’re coming up to a motel now.” Sam said, wheezing from a little laugh.

“Why stay in a motel when your riding in one of the best home on wheels ever? Besides you’re forty five minutes out, don’t waste it.” Dean says, almost offended that any grimy motel was better than the 67 Impala.

“Its 10:43 at night Dean.”

You give a deadpan look a look over at the back seat. And your thoughts were proven right. You signed to Sam your response.

“There’s stains on the apolstry from Dean’s "extracurricular” activities back there!“ Sam snorted a little and laughed. Even though he wasn’t there, you could feel Dean frowning in response to Sam’s giggles.

"Did you just offend my baby, (Y/N)?” Dean almost growled, Sam wheezed and forced his giggles to a halt, you smirking in pride.

“(Y/N) said, from what I understand, that she’d rather spend a night in a grimy motel than a backseat with your cum stains on it. She doesn’t wanna get the clap from you.” Sam said bursting into a tiny giggle as the line went quiet and you couldn’t help but smile widely.  He hangs up as Sam steered the car into a motel lot and got out to book a room.  Whilst he did so, you grabbed the bags and ran inside out of the torrential rain.

-•••-

The next day, you and Sam headed to the office warehouse of Beverly Marsh. Pulling up to the curb in the impala, you stepped out in your FBI suits and walked in grabbing a file and notepad. Walking in, the creek of metal glistened as machines whirred and fabrics torn.

You screamed as they brought the hammer down on your delicate fingers, the force of the steel alloy on the wooden pole impacting with the thin layer of skin and brittle bone. They repeated the motion, until your nerves and bones were broken into nothing but clumps. You screamed and cried as the cold air pierced the open wounds.

“(Y/N)?” Sam asked, grabbing you out of your daze, as your hand felt numb. You looked at him and walked towards the main office a few floors up. The whirring of the elevator above you made you think about the drill.

It spun and whirred quickly as they brought it closer and closer to your face, a scare tactic. You leaned away from it to avoid its impact, until it’s breeze caressed your cheek. The fake “Sam” held you head firmly in place as “Dean” pressed the drill against your cheek. Your skin tore and twisted until in broke from the extreme force as blood splattered and flesh twisted and flew as “Dean"pushed the drill into your skin. The major nerves in your cheek had got caught in the twisting of the metal extension as they tightened and stretched until they snapped making you scream and bite your tongue. Your nails dug into the wooden chair as your gripped it tightly as eyes wide as you whimper. "Sam” held your jaw tightly so you couldn’t cry out. God let this be the end!

“(Y/N)!” Sam gripped your shoulders, gently but concerned as he jolted you awake to the reality. He was kneeled down in front of you as you were cowered in the corner, arms over your face. “Hey, its okay.” You leaned into him as he helped you up and held you. “I got you (Y/N), thats all behind us now.” You nodded as he kisses your forehead and stroked your hair. You looked at him. He didn’t deserve you, he’s too good for you, all you deserved was a translating machine. Not this fucking 6'4" sunshine ray of comfort and sass whom you’re in love with. He tilted your head up and wiped your tears away with the gentlest touch as he gives a small reassuring smile. The elevator comes to a halt as you step back and straighten your dress as Sam does the same. You hear arguing from the office and you instantly raise an eyebrow. A man in a black suit was arguing with a woman wiht fuzzy brown hair, that must be Beverly Marsh. You and Sam walk closer as you knock on the door.

“Who the hell are you?” The man almost yelled.

“Tom, dont talk people like that!” Beverly chastised as he stared at her. You and Sam pulled out your badges and showed them to the couple, Tom’s face falling into one of hidden panic.

“I’m Agent Farris, this is my partner Agent Hutchence. We’d like to talk to Miss Marsh.” Sam said as you both put away your badges.

“We’re about to close a deal with Japanese investors, it can wait.” Tom scowled as he gripped Beverly’s arm and proceeded to the door. You were quick to grab the man’s arm and stop him. “Don’t touch me Agent, I can call you for assault.” He sneered as you stared at him. Sam growled at the man. Nobody ever talked to you like that and walked scot free.

“Five minutes.” Sam growled as he walked to Miss Marsh, Tom reluctantly letting go and walking off pissed. Once he was far away, Sam muttered; “Asshole.” He sat Beverly down as she looked down embarrassed and scared. You gripped her hand reassuringly and smiled. She smiles back as Sam begins the questioning.

“Miss Marsh-”

“Call me Bev.” She requested.

“Bev,” Sam paused. “We came to you because we want to ask you about a string of murders happening in your hometown of Derry.” At that instant, colour drained from her face and swallowed as if a fish swam through her throat. Sam noticing this, softened his face. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s alright,” Bev reassured. “I just- Derry was a bad moment in my life. I’m sure you’ve heard of psychiatric reports.” She laughs little awkwardly.“

"We know ma'am. But we also know there was an incident with six friends of yours back in the summer of 88’. And people have claimed to have seen a clown.” As if at the word clown, Beverly’s face fell and became scared.

“A c-clown?”

“Yes,” Sam says leaning in. “Bev, just tell us the truth, because we’re going to end it.” She nods and sighs. She began to tell her situation as of 11 years old and how she befriended six male friends. And how he had haunted them. How they defeated him. It sounded so familiar.

“We had went to "It’s” hiding place in the sewers, and we had lost track of Stan along the way. We were scared.“ Beverly said as she fiddled with her fingers, scared of retelling the story.

"Beverly, you said defeated him.” Sam asked as you saw Tom striding towards the office angrier.

“Shit”

“Yes, we had found out tha-”

“I can’t hold off the Japanese Investors time anymore Beverly!” Tom roared, as he looked to Sam. “It’s been well over five minutes Agents.” He strides to Beverly but you once again grab his arm and stand up, giving him a stern look. “Get. Off. Me.” He sneered, the strong stench of alcohol in his breath.

“How about you show her some respect you son of a bitch.” Sam defended as he walked over. “She’s done more good than you ever had. And although she’s mute and lost her voice, she didn’t loose the respect and pride she has.” He stands in front of you and stares at Tom.

“I should go.” Beverly says as she stands, “We’ve been waiting for this deal for a while. If you have any other questions, please ask.” You nod and tap your chin lowering your hand as you sign “Thank You.”  Beverly smiles. “So thats why you didn’t talk, I thought you were shy.” She smiles as she walks out Tom following.

“What a dick.” Sam growled as he turned to you. “You okay?” You roll your eyes and nod closing your notepad full of notes.

“You shouldn’t have aggravated him Sam. As much as he deserves it, he’s not worth it at the same time.” You sign as you look up at him.

“He shouldn’t have talk to you like that (Y/N), you don’t deserve it.”

“Sam…”

“Don’t Sam me, (Y/N). Sam pleads almost. "Men have to respect you, not throw you around like nothing. You’re smart and beautiful, caring and selfless as well as bloody amazing.” Your face softens at his description of you. It’s almost like he’s saying he- NO, he doesn’t. Before you could respond, he walks- no, storms out and to the elevator. You sigh and follow, seeing Tom down the hall gripping Beverly’s arm tightly to bruise her. That would explain the bruises on her legs and cheeks through the make up.

Sam waited for you in the elevator as you walked in. It wasn’t long till you were driving back to the motel.

#supernatural #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #dean winchetser #it #pennywise the dancing clown #supernatural/it crossover #clowns #floating downtown

[theclaravoyant]

Sounds Like a Song - Ch.9

AN ~ more Bobbi Ann verse! ft. FitzSimmons! This is one of the angstier instalments but I hope you like it anyway! </3  ps - nobody dies I promise

Based on two prompts: 1) Bobbi-Ann and Kiki find some ~magic crystals~ they just HAVE to have for their costumes and it doesn't end well, and 2) after a weekend babysitting Bobbi-Ann and Kiki, FitzSimmons decide not to have kids.

I’d just like to apologise in advance to Daisy Louise Johnson and I hope she knows I love her very much. Okay, here goes.

Read on AO3 (~2500wd)

Sounds Like a Song - Ch.9

Fitz beamed, and dropped down to one knee as Bobbi-Ann and Kiki cheered his arrival. They ran to him and he embraced them, looking over their familiar faces – they grew so much every time he saw them! - and the brightly coloured costumes they were wearing. Patched together from old clothes and bits and bobs and someone’s amateur but passable sewing skills, the girls had matching outfits straight from a comic book.

“Hey girls, what’s this?” He prodded the crest on Bobbi’s chest: a crudely drawn cartoon of a dog’s face.

“We’re superheroes!” Kiki declared, and Fitz noticed the cat drawn on her chest, matching. His heart warmed.

“Oh, are you?” he checked. “You’ll fit right in. This is a real life superhero base, you know. Aunty Jemma can even get you a special card if you’re really superheroes.”

“Like your one?” Bobbi-Ann tugged at Fitz’s security card. “All the grown-ups have one.”

“Well, yours won’t be able to open doors yet. But I’ll see what I can do.”

Fitz winked, and the girls laughed. He was making quite a name for himself, tinkering with half the things they owned and making what all the aunties called ‘improvements.’ Usually with the quotation marks implied, although some of them were genuinely quite good.

Mack, laden with the girls’ bags, rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Fitz stood up to greet him, as the girls scampered off to find their Aunt.

“Don’t go giving these two any ideas,” Mack warned. “They’ve got plenty of their own.”

Fitz shook his head. “Come on, they’ll be fine.”

“Fighting words.” Mack raised an eyebrow. Fitz decided to pull his head in, and helped Mack offload what seemed like all the girls’ belongings. Two backpacks, a duffel, and two very important-looking shoeboxes. (For the superhero costumes, Mack explained). And a scooter? Fitz stepped back with his hands on his hips and examined the pile. All this, for a one-night sleep-over? In an underground secret army base? Maybe Mack was right to warn him. After all, it wasn’t like he’d been the most demure and obedient of children himself. Kids with Daisy and Elena’s blood would be bouncing off the walls in no time – and probably busting through police tape and bringing down the patriarchy to boot.

Still, it was just one night. And that’s when he found himself thinking that fateful, accursed phrase:

How bad could it be?  

-

At first, it wasn’t too bad at all. It was quite fun, in fact. Jemma found them each a cardboard flashcard that they coloured in – rainbow colours, because the Spectrum of Security made about as much sense to them as it did to anyone else here – and they ran around the place delightedly ‘activating’ the fridge and the bathroom door and anything else they could think of. Then Fitz took them out the back to a hangar-sized training facility, and pretended to be the monsters and villains to their play pretend games. Between their fast legs, Bobbi’s scooter and Kiki’s wheeled shoes, the girls had him rethinking his cardio routine (or lack thereof). At least he got a good laugh out of them with very dramatic finger-gun antics.

“You’re funny, Uncle Fitz,” Kiki said, sitting on his chest after having ‘captured’ him. “Can we have lunch now?”

Fitz sighed with relief. He’d thought they’d never ask.

Fortunately, Jemma had anticipated them, and prepared a spread of finger foods. The girls’ faces lit up and they ran for the table, chanting yes Aunty Jemma when she warned that they must have at least two sandwiches before any fairy bread.

“Party pies! Yes!” Fitz cheered. On his way past the table, he scooped up a fun-sized sausage roll and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. Jemma turned to him, glaring sharply, about to tell him off, but laughed instead when she saw the exaggerated exhaustion in his shoulders. She nudged him playfully.

“Did they run you off your feet, old man?” she teased.

“Many times, Jemma,” Fitz replied, with a wizened tone, pretending to favour a sore back. “Many times.”

“I told you, you should be doing stair runs.”

Fitz couldn’t argue with that, so he just rolled his eyes. Jemma smiled to herself, smug in her victory, and bit into a cucumber sandwich as she turned her attention back to the girls.

To the girl.

Fitz and Jemma shared a glance.

“Kiki?” Jemma asked, trying not to let her voice show the sudden worry that had clutched at her heart. “Where’s Bobbi? Did she got to the bathroom?”

Kiki twisted in her seat, bread and sprinkles hanging from her hand like nothing was wrong. She frowned at her Aunt and Uncle. They looked really nervous for some reason, and it made her uncomfortable.

“She had an idea,” Kiki explained. “For our superhero costumes. Well, it was kind of both our ideas.”

“What kind of idea, sweetie?” Jemma asked.

“We found some cool stuff before. Some lights and stuff and these crystal things. Bobbi said her mum said they have magical powers.”

Jemma and Fitz looked at each other again. Don’t panic.

“Did Bobbi’s mum also tell her that she shouldn’t ever touch them?” Fitz asked. “And neither should you?”

Kiki shrugged and pressed her lips together, apologetic that she did not have answer. Fitz ground his teeth together. Jemma flapped her hands, and pressed them to her neck, fighting to stay calm.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “You stay here. I’ll go find Bobbi. It’s fine, right? She can’t get into the lab storage anyway. I’ll be right back. Everything’s fine.”

-

Everything, needless to say, was not fine.

So not fine, in fact, that within seconds, alarms began blaring overhead. Down the hall, lights flashed. Doors began automatically sealing.

Jemma bit back a curse and near-sprinted off toward them. Kiki’s discomfort transformed into keen distress and she found a helpless wail building up in her throat. Should she go after Jemma, and try to find Bobbi? Was Bobbi okay? Was she in trouble? The telling-off kind of trouble or the really dangerous kind where, Kiki knew, they were supposed to tell an adult anyway?

“I’m sorry!” she cried, tears wetting her cheeks and tugging at her voice. “I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to touch it! Don’t get Bobbi in trouble, please!”

Crooning reassurances, Fitz lifted Kiki from her seat. He quickly sat down again in her place, with her on his lap – she was getting too big for him to carry for long periods of time - but she nuzzled closer to him and tried to hug his wide chest, and Fitz felt sorry for her. She must be terrified. He was scared enough without the dramatic imagination of a ten year old. He rubbed her back. She was shaking.

“It’s going to be okay,” Fitz promised. “All those loud sounds are just warnings, like what a fire truck does. They help keep people safe.”

“Is Bobbi Ann going to be safe?”

-

Jemma almost skidded to a halt outside the lab doors. They were sealed, but she had an override. She just had to make sure it wasn’t…. That it wasn’t….

Her breath caught.

On the other side of the glass, grey powder covered the floor. A broken crystal. A few stranded lab techs looked on in horror, their eyes fixated on a point. The same point that Jemma’s eyes slowly, reluctantly found.

Bobbi Ann.

Encased in stone.

Oh, God. Oh my God.

Meaningless sentences of distress circled around and around in her mind but now Jemma moved with surprising calm. She had a job to do. She had to figure out what kind of stone this was, what had happened, what had happened to Bobbi. She had to figure out what to tell Daisy, but that was later. She felt sick – sick with worry, sick with fear, sick with guilt. She’d only turned her eyes away for a minute. Maybe two.

She knelt by Bobbi Ann. That minute, maybe two, could have been the difference between life and death. That orange card, dropped from Bobbi’s fingers. Jemma clenched her jaw.

“Who gave her this?”

Nobody came forward. Later, she told herself. Now was the moment of truth. To look into Bobbi’s eyes. That was the easiest way to tell; the place where the different densities of the stone was most obvious. Would she find the flaky, ash-like substance of doom, or the granite-like encasement of a terragenisis pod?

The latter. Slightly shiny. Rough to look at, but smooth to touch. It did not crumble beneath her fingertips.

Jemma breathed at last. She let her hands find balance on the floor as relief washed over her and she remembered that the crystals here were not Jiaying’s weaponised ones. They were never going to have hurt her. And Bobbi-Ann, with two Inhuman parents? She’d always been headed for this. Daisy was going to be pissed. Pissed beyond all belief. She could probably look forward to the biggest fight they’d ever had over this, but Jemma couldn’t help but be relieved, as the shell began to crack and Bobbi-Ann looked back at her. Just the same. Crying, terrified, but safe after all. Jemma swept her into a hug.

“Aunty Jemma?” Bobbi confessed, from the cocoon of her Aunt’s protective arms. “I’m really scared. I think I wet my pants.”

Jemma almost laughed with relief as she pulled back to hold Bobbi more loosely. She wiped the tears off her face, and gently smiled.

“Oh, that’s okay, sweetie,” she promised. “It’s okay to be scared. And Daddy brought lots of spare pants. Let’s go change, okay?”

Okay. Okay. Okay. Jemma’s heart pumped with it. Bobbi-Ann nodded, and gripped her hand firmly as Jemma led her back to the others. Aunty Jemma nattered on about how they were going to use Granddad’s special private bathroom because the real showers here weren’t very nice for little girls. Bobbi Ann didn’t pay much attention, but she was glad to see Uncle Fitz and Kiki again, even though she had wet her pants.

Aunty Jemma kept asking her if she felt okay, and she couldn’t answer that question. She just wanted her mother. That would make everything okay. Even though she was getting big and she was in school and this was all quite embarrassing and she’d probably get in trouble, she couldn’t help it. She was used to understanding things and she didn’t this time, and Daisy did. Daisy would.

“I want my Mommy,” she confessed at last. Aunty Jemma nodded, very serious and sad, and promised that she would get her, so Bobbi Ann had a bath and Jemma had a difficult conversation.

-

It was a conversation so long and difficult that Jemma didn’t leave the side office she’d taken it in for some time. Bobbi Ann finished her bath and she and Kiki had a more subdued conversation, and went to bed without protest. Fitz tucked them in alone, since Jemma was busy, but they expressed no interest in a bedtime story. Instead, they apologised. Fitz accepted it as gratefully as he could; he was angry, and scared, and not looking forward to the likely coldness between himself and Jemma and Daisy over this, but at least the girls now understood what they’d done wrong. They understood now, why they had these rules in place. Why they weren’t allowed in the lab, or to open the cabinets, or to touch certain things. Sometimes these were lessons that had to be learned the hard way.

Still, the air hanging over them was heavy when Jemma at last retired from her phone call, and crawled back into the lounge with exhaustion written all over her. She collapsed onto the couch, and curled up by Fitz’s side. There were tears on her face.

“Daisy’s mad,” she confirmed softly.

“I know,” Fitz said. He stroked her hair, and passed her a cup of tea he’d prepared. “It’s just because she’s scared. We’ll be alright.”

“We could have killed her little girl!” Jemma lamented.

“No, we couldn’t have,” Fitz replied calmly. “Those crystals were not dangerous, remember? Nobody would have gotten hurt. Just changed.”

Jemma bit her lip. That was a whole loaded topic she didn’t feel like touching.

“It was irresponsible,” she said instead.

“It was. But irresponsible like letting an eight year old get their ears pierced, not like, letting her walk out in front of a truck. Right?”

Jemma hummed uncertainly. Fitz swallowed hard. He was doing a good job keeping calm, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. That fear they’d felt today, it would be worse for Daisy. No matter how logical it was or was not, it was hard not to be mad at somebody who’d inflicted that much fear. And the change was not entirely a harmless one: Daisy had been labouring over questions of Bobbi and identity and terragenisis for years. It was a change that put her at risk. At society’s risk, but maybe even at her own, especially given the volatility of each of her parent’s powers. In the scheme of overarching morality, they were in the clear, but nobody could deny that it was dangerous.

Fitz and Jemma sat in silence for a while, letting the day settle over them. It weighed on them, and turned their minds to other questions. Questions like, if it had been our daughter. Answers that they could not ignore.

“Fitz?” Jemma murmured, her head in his lap.

“Yeah?” He looked down at her; her eyes were pained and earnest.

“I don’t think we should have kids.”

He blinked, and looked away. It hurt to realise that he agreed.

“We live in too much danger,” Jemma continued. “What I felt today, I couldn’t – I couldn’t take that every day. I couldn’t have the kids around here. I certainly couldn’t send them away. And even if we moved, we’d keep working with Shield wouldn’t we? And even if we didn’t… We’ve done too much now. I couldn’t let them be. I’d never stop worrying if they’d been hurt, or attacked, or kidnapped…” Her voice hitched, eyes shining. “And that’s aside from everything else, like – like, who knows if I can even carry anymore or…”

“Jemma. Stop.” Fitz squeezed her hand gently. “I agree with you. I understand.”

“I wanted to,” she insisted, and her body started shaking with sobs as tears began to pool. “I wanted to, but I was so scared. I was so…”

She shook her head, finally falling victim to her tears as they flooded down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook. Fitz scooped her up and wrapped her in his arms, and she cried and cried. She cried for herself, for Fitz, for Bobbi-Ann and her fear, for Daisy’s fear and anger and the blow their friendship had taken today. She cried a lot, and soon enough, tears were slipping down Fitz’s cheeks, too. He held her tighter, until the tears were finally drained. Only then, and only gradually, did he peel back.

“Are you okay?” he checked.

Jemma nodded, wiping away tears again. “You?”

“I’ve been better,” Fitz confessed, and Jemma smiled sadly. With one arm, Fitz pulled her against his chest and she cuddled up to him. Daisy was on her way and they had to wait up, so this cocoon of warmth was not going to last long, but as they’d promised each other time and time again, they were going to endure it together.

#bobbi ann verse #fitzsimmons #engineering vs biochem #thefitzsimmonsnetwork #aosfic #team engineering #clara's fic tag

[deniscollins]

From Cosmetics to NASCAR, Calls for Racial Justice Are Spreading

Estée Lauder announced donating $1 million to support racial and social justice organizations in response to the George Floyd tragedy. But employees pinpointed Mr. Lauder’s political donations to President rump as being in conflict with the company’s stance on race, particularly since the president has tweeted conspiracy theories about injured protesters, and described demonstrators as “THUGS.” If you were Mr. Lauder would you increase your donation to social justice groups to match your donations to President Trump: (1) Yes, (2) No? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

The reckonings have been swift and dizzying.

On Monday, it was the dictionary, with Merriam-Webster saying it was revising its entry on racism to illustrate the ways in which it “can be systemic.”

On Tuesday, the University of Washington removed the coach of its dance team after the only two black members of the group were cut. The two women were invited to return.

On Wednesday, after a black racecar driver called on NASCAR to ban the Confederate battle flag from its events, the organization did just that.

On Thursday, Nike joined a wave of American companies that have made Juneteenth, which celebrates the end of slavery in America, an official paid holiday, “to better commemorate and celebrate Black history and culture.”

And on Friday, ABC Entertainment named the franchise’s first black man to star in “The Bachelor” in the show’s 18-year history, acceding to longstanding demands from fans.

In just under three weeks since the killing of George Floyd set off widespread protests, what started as a renewed demand for police reform has now roiled seemingly every sphere of American life, prompting institutions and individuals around the country to confront enduring forms of racial discrimination.

Many black Americans have been inundated with testaments and queries from white friends about fighting racism. And anti-racist activists have watched with some amazement as powerful white leaders and corporations acknowledge concepts like “structural racism’’ and pledge to make sweeping changes in personal and institutional behavior.

But those who have been in the trenches for decades fighting racism in America wonder how lasting the soul searching will be.

The flood of corporate statements denouncing racism “feels like a series of mea culpas written by the press folks and run by the top black folks” inside each organization, said Dream Hampton, a writer and filmmaker. “Show us a picture of your C-suite, who is on your board. Then we can have a conversation about diversity, equity and inclusion.”

“Stop sending positive vibes,’’ begged Chad Sanders, a writer, in a recent New York Times Op-Ed, directing his white friends to instead help protect black protesters, donate to black politicians and funds fighting racial injustice, and urge others to do the same.

The protests have so far yielded some tangible changes in policing itself. On Friday, New York banned the use of chokeholds by law enforcement and repealed a law that kept police disciplinary records secret.

But their power is also cultural. A run on books about racism has reordered best-seller lists, driving titles like “How to Be an Antiracist’’ and “White Fragility’’ to the top. And language about American racial dynamics that was once the purview of academia and activism appears to have gone mainstream.

In a video released June 5 apologizing for the N.F.L.’s previous failure to support players who protested police violence, Roger Goodell, the commissioner of the league, condemned the “systematic oppression” of black people, a term used to convey that racism is embedded in the policies of public and private institutions. The Denver Board of Education, in voting to end its contract with the city police department for school resource officers, cited a desire to avoid the “perpetuation of the school-to-prison pipeline,” a reference to how school policies can lay the groundwork for the incarceration of young black Americans.

“One of the exhilarating things about this moment is that black people are articulating to the world that this isn’t just an issue of the state literally killing us, it’s also about psychic death,’’ said Jeremy O. Harris, a playwright whose “Slave Play” addresses the failure of white liberals to admit their complicity in America’s ongoing racial inequities.

He added, “It’s exhilarating because for the first time, in a macro sense, people are saying names and showing up and showing receipts.’’

Sensing a rare, and perhaps fleeting, opportunity to be heard, many black Americans are sharing painful stories on social media about racism and mistreatment in the workplace, accounts that some said they were too scared to disclose before. They are using hashtags like #BlackInTheIvory or #WeSeeYouWAT, referring to bias in academia and “White American Theater.”

The feeling of a dam breaking has drawn analogies to the fall and winter of 2017, when sexual abuse allegations against Harvey Weinstein triggered a deluge of disturbing accounts from women and provoked frank conversations in which friends, colleagues and neighbors confessed to one another: I’ve suffered in that manner as well. Or: I now realize I have wronged someone, and I’d like to do better.

Though racism is hardly a secret, “a huge awakening is just the awareness of people who don’t face the headwinds,” said Drew Dixon, a music producer, activist and subject of the documentary “On the Record,” about her decision to come forward with rape allegations against the music producer Russell Simmons, which he has denied. “Many people had no idea what women deal with every single day, and I think many non-black people had no idea what black people deal with every day.”

A shift in the making

While the outpouring may seem sudden, there have been signs that perceptions on race were already in flux.

Opinion polls over the last decade have shown a self-reported turn by Democrats toward a more sympathetic view of black Americans, with more attributing disparities in areas like income and education to discrimination rather than personal failure. By 2018, white liberals said they felt more positively about blacks, Latinos and Asians than they did about whites.

The reason for the shift is unclear — and those attitudes have so far not translated into desegregated schools or neighborhoods — but may help explain the cascade of responses to Mr. Floyd’s killing.

The outpouring is also related to the horrific nature of Mr. Floyd’s death — a white police officer kneeling on his neck for nearly nine minutes — captured in a stark video at a moment of rising national frustration with the government’s handling of the coronavirus pandemic and the lockdown.

The protests still surging through the streets of America’s cities, said the civil rights movement scholar Aldon Morris, are “unprecedented in terms of the high levels of white participation in a movement targeting black oppression and grievances.”

Younger Americans are also much more racially diverse than earlier generations. They tend to have different views on race. And their imprint on society is only growing.

Brands trying to appeal to younger consumers have in recent years increasingly proclaimed their belief in equality and justice. Two years ago, Nike featured in a major ad campaign the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, who knelt during the national anthem to protest racism. The tagline for MAC, the cosmetics company, is “All Ages, All Races, All Genders.”

In the wake of the Floyd protests, everyone from Wall Street C.E.O.s and the sportswear giant Adidas to the fruit snack Gushers and a company that sells stun guns put out statements of support of diversity, flooding Instagram with vague messages.

These prompted cries of hypocrisy from those who said the companies don’t practice the values they’re espousing.

At several companies, what employees saw as an inadequate response to Mr. Floyd’s death seemed to serve as a catalyst for a long-simmering contention over questions of racial equity. At Adidas, dozens of employees stopped working to attend daily protests outside the company’s North American headquarters in Portland, Ore.

The tumult has been especially fraught at Estée Lauder, the beauty giant, stemming from the political donations of Ronald S. Lauder, a 76-year-old board member and a son of the company’s founders. He has also been a prominent supporter of President Trump.

On May 29, employees at Estée Lauder, like those in much of the rest of corporate America, began receiving emails from the company’s leadership addressing racial discrimination.

There was “considerable pain” in black communities, one missive noted. According to copies of the internal communications obtained by The New York Times, the company, whose vast portfolio includes Clinique, MAC, Bobbi Brown, La Mer and Aveda, encouraged employees to pause working on June 2 in honor of “Blackout Tuesday.”

At a video meeting on June 4 among an internal group called NOBLE, or Network of Black Leaders and Executives, company leaders said Estée Lauder was donating $1 million to support racial and social justice organizations. But employees pinpointed Mr. Lauder’s political donations to Mr. Trump as being in conflict with the company’s stance on race. The president has tweeted conspiracy theories about injured protesters, described demonstrators as “THUGS,” and praised most law enforcement officers as “great people.”

Employees left dissatisfied. Later that night, a petition appeared on Change.org.

The company’s donation did “not match, or exceed Ronald Lauder’s personal donations in support of state-sanctioned violence,” organizers of the petition, which has amassed more than 6,000 signatures, wrote. “Ronald Lauder’s involvement with the Estée Lauder Companies is damaging to our corporate values, our relationship with the Black community, our relationship with this company’s Black employees, and this company’s legacy.”

In his first public comment on the situation, Mr. Lauder told The Times in a statement Friday that he had spent decades “fighting anti-Semitism, hate and bigotry in all its forms in New York and around the world as president of the World Jewish Congress.”

“As a country, we must recommit ourselves to the fight against anti-Semitism and racism,” he said. “In this urgent moment of change, I am expanding the scope of my anti-Semitism campaign to include causes for racial justice, especially in the Black community, as well as other forms of dangerous ethnic and religious intolerance around the world.”

On Monday, Estée Lauder said it would donate $5 million in coming weeks to “support racial and social justice and to continue to support greater access to education,” and donate an additional $5 million over the following two years.

Other companies have also pledged money. On Thursday alone, PayPal, Apple and YouTube collectively pledged $730 million to racial justice and equity efforts.

Jobs on the line

As companies face restive employees, pressure has also grown to remove those who have made offensive statements. Others have had to apologize publicly. Adam Rapoport resigned as editor in chief of the magazine Bon Appétit on Monday after a 2004 photo showing him in an offensive costume resurfaced on social media.

And Greg Glassman, the founder and chief executive of CrossFit, stepped down on Tuesday following comments about race and racism on a Zoom call to gym owners.

“We’re not mourning for George Floyd, I don’t think me or any of my staff are,” said Mr. Glassman on the Zoom call, according to a recording of the call provided to The Times.

“Can you tell me why I should mourn for him?” he said. “Other than it’s the ‘white’ thing to do. I get that pressure, but give me another reason.”

NBCUniversal, a division of Comcast that includes the NBC broadcast network and cable channels like Bravo, has encountered fires on multiple fronts as the reckoning has swept the country.

For NBC, the problems started the morning after Mr. Floyd’s death, when Jimmy Fallon found himself under attack on Twitter for performing in blackface on “Saturday Night Live” in 2000. A video of the sketch had resurfaced online. Mr. Fallon, who has been an NBC star for 22 years, first at “SNL” and more recently leading the “Tonight” show, issued a written apology that afternoon. He apologized at length on camera the following day.

On June 2, a writer was fired from an upcoming NBC series, “Law & Order: Organized Crime,” after posting photos of himself on Facebook holding a weapon and threatening to “light up” looters.

Then came an explosion from NBCUniversal’s cable division. The hit reality series “Vanderpump Rules,” an anchor tenant on Bravo since 2013, fired four cast members for past racist behavior. Some of the incidents were already known. Others were disclosed on Instagram after Mr. Floyd’s death.

On June 8, Brian Roberts, Comcast’s chief executive, said in a memo to employees that the company would give $75 million to social justice organizations, along with $25 million worth of advertising inventory, including on Sky, its pay-television unit in Britain.

“We know that Comcast alone can’t remedy this complex issue,” Mr. Roberts wrote. “But you have my commitment that our company will try to play an integral role in driving lasting reform.”

LONG ARTICLE CONTINUES ...

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 19 (Multi Liverpool players)

#Football fanfiction #Trent Alexander Arnold #Andy Robertson #Mohamed Salah #Virgil van Dijk #football imagine

[notsofly]

Ties in Blood Chapter 22

Warnings: Brief suicide idealization

@mrswhozeewhatsis @idreamofplaid @impala-dreamer @winchestergirl-13 @percussiongirl2017 @squirrelnotsam

Chapter 22

Aaliyah turned the car off and sat in the driver’s seat. Guilt had eaten away at her the whole drive back from Wyoming. Bobby had asked her to stay with the boys for a time, but she refused. It was bad enough she had to use the three day psych hold to keep her brother safe in the hospital. With a breath, Aaliyah worked her way out of the car and into the hospital. Her mind replayed what had happened at the cemetery yet again as it tried to figure out how she survived.

Aaliyah did her best to ignore the looks from those she passed in the halls on the way to her brother’s room. The trips between hospital and the cemetery in Wyoming hadn’t given her much time for a shower and change of clothing. She swore there was a lingering scent of sulfur from the amount of demons that escaped.

“I don’t care if there’s still twelve hours left,” Aaliyah heard from the elevator bay. “I want to be released.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes as she followed the voice. She glanced around the corner to see a nurse at Xander’s bedside and their half siblings by the one window in the room. Nissa and Leo hadn’t noticed her arrival, and Aaliyah took the chance in walking into the room.

“Legally they can’t release you,” Aaliyah told her brother, startling all four. She smirked more to herself when Nissa let out a small yelp and Leo played it off like he had seen her the whole time. “Why’d you think I requested one and had our siblings come and visit you?”

“You trust me so little to stay here?” Xander shot back.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse cut in. “Who are you?”

“Aaliyah,” Aaliyah introduced herself, shifting her attention. “His younger sister. Has he been …”

“Much trouble?” The nurse’s eyebrows went up when she finished the sentience. “Very. He’s refused any sort of medication, barely ate what we brought him. Kept going on about seeing something called … reapers.”

“I swear I saw one,” Xander tossed in.

“Yeah, and I saw a demon walking into the lobby,” Aaliyah tossed back, half trying to defuse the tension. “Actually, I think that was a custodian come to think of it.”

“And we’ve seen wendigos out in the parking lot last night,” Leo added. “Seriously, big brother, you’re seeing things.”

Aaliyah turned her full attention to the nurse while her siblings bickered in a teasing tone that Aaliyah saw right through. It was better they did that than anything else. She gestured the nurse away from the bed. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

The nurse looked over the chart in her hands. “Whatever he went up against knocked him up pretty bad.” She pulled out a film and put it up against the light box. “They took this MRI the day he was admitted.” The light flicked on. “There’s minor fractures in his spine and the doctors suspect there was some sort of spinal injury that resulted in paralysis.”

Aaliyah moved in close and studied the MRI. A couple of the fractures didn’t look good, as if those could have been the result of Xander hitting the wall and causing the paralysis. “These two here,” she gestured to the two fractures. “Could they have caused the paralysis? If so, how quick will they heal and maybe he regaining some mobility?”

The nurse gave her a look that Aaliyah wasn’t sure how to interpret. It seemed to be a mix of mild surprise that Aaliyah was able to read the MRI well enough and posed questions that anyone in the medical field would. “Former nurse,” Aaliyah said. “I did some time in radiology in school.”

The nurse gave Aaliyah the nod that meant she really didn’t believe her, but accepted the answer. “It all really depends on Xander and how well his spine heals,” the nurse answered.

Aaliyah thanked the nurse and watched her take her leave of the room before turning back to her siblings.

“What the hell, Aaliyah?” Leo snapped. “You call asking us to come here and babysit?”

“Shit hit the fan bad, guys,” Aaliyah answered. “The yellow eyed demon managed to open a gate straight to hell, and a whole crap ton of demons got out.”

“So you decided to go deal with that instead of being here?” Leo questioned.

“I was asked to help two years ago, Leo,” Aaliyah countered as her cell starting ringing. “Things got rough. I didn’t plan on things getting this deep. The two of you need to keep a look out for any signs of demonic activity. It doesn’t matter how small, you take care of it.”

“And what about you?” Nissa asked as Aaliyah turned and headed for the door.

“I’m gonna answer this call.” Aaliyah fished the phone out of her pocket just as the ringing stopped. She worked her way down to the ground floor as her phone vibrated with a voicemail.

“Aaliyah, it’s Amanda,” the voicemail started. “It’s a good chance if you’re hearing this that I’m dead. Or dying. Not sure how often you check your voicemails. But, hey, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Oh, hell you’re not,” Aaliyah said under her breath as she ended the voicemail and called Amanda. She started pacing in the lobby as Amanda’s cell rang. Aaliyah started to pull her cell from her head when the other end picked up.

“Hey, Aaliyah,” Amanda greeted, her voice unusually calm. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been a couple years,” Aaliyah agreed. “Sorry I hadn’t called before now; just got your voicemail. What’s up?”

“Can you … come get my body? That wendigo really did a number on me.”

Aaliyah stopped pacing. “God. Amanda, I’m so sorry. You shoulda called for help on that one.”

“You were busy.” Amanda’s voice had gotten weaker. “Off saving the world.”

“Still working on that bit,” Aaliyah said. “Could use some help with it. We can talk about it more when I come get you.”

“I’ll text you where I’m at.”

The line went dead and Aaliyah started at the cell for a minute before a text came through. Her head tilted a little before she left the hospital. Something told her that she wouldn’t make it to Amanda before she died, but Aaliyah hoped she’d arrive before that happened anyway. She sent a text to her siblings and Bobby telling them that she was off to get Amanda; and to prepare for a possible Hunter’s Funeral.

***

Aaliyah swore to herself in frustration. Picking the lock was proving to be more difficult than she expected. She wondered how Amanda managed to get back to her motel room if she suffered bad wounds from a wendigo. The lock clicked open and Aaliyah eased the door into the room. Left over food littered the table and clothing was scattered across the room with one of the beds stripped of all the blankets and sheets.

“Amanda,” Aaliyah called out as she moved toward the bathroom. “Come on, I busted ass to get out here. Don’t you die on me now.” She stopped right before turning into the bathroom and closed her eyes, trying to brace herself for seeing her good friend dead on the floor. With a semi deep breath, Aaliyah opened her eyes and looked into the bathroom. In the tub laid Amanda wrapped in the bedding. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Aaliyah.” Her name was just above a whisper. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Told you I’d come get you.” Aaliyah knelt down to the edge of the tub. “What about your wounds?” She dared to pull back the bedding to see a large gash across Amanda’s lower abdomen and part of her intestines spilling out.

“Pretty sure it’s infected.” Amanda made some sort of noise Aaliyah accepted as amusement. “I wouldn’t worry about fixing it, Aaliyah. We both know that I’m dead anyway.”

“What sorta nonsense is that, huh? I’ll get your guts back in and you stitched up in no time.”

Amanda rocked her head enough. “I’ve been fighting off death since I put myself in this tub. Hell, I’ve been seeing a reaper popping in once in a while.”

Aaliyah adjusted herself and sat on the floor and leaned in the corner made between the wall and tub wall. She didn’t say anything or do anything.

“Thanks for staying,” Amanda said after a while, her voice quiet. “I would have hated to die here alone and become an angered spirit.”

“You were one of my best friends,” Aaliyah said, getting an amused cough from Amanda. “Yeah, I know. But it’s true. I’m gonna miss you, Amanda.”

“Same … here. Give me a Hunter’s Funeral. Keep what I left in the room.”

Aaliyah shifted around to look Amanda in her eyes to see that little spark of life fade away. The bathroom grew cold, but she didn’t move. Either Amanda was there as a ghost or a reaper decided to visit to take Amanda. Aaliyah wiped away a tear before she collapsed back into the corner and cried. It wasn’t fair that her first friend had been killed by a wendigo. The one person that hadn’t judged Aaliyah when she first started digging after the werewolf on campus near three and a half years ago.

Aaliyah wasn’t sure when the tears finally stopped, or how long she was curled up in the corner with Amanda’s corpse in the tub behind her. She eased up to her feet and left the motel room, after a quick search for the key. There were things to do before night fell, and she was on her own.

***

Several hours passed before Aaliyah found a place out in the woods of upstate New York. Armed with an axe she bought from one of the hardware stores in town and a few six packs, Aaliyah worked until nightfall on a pyre. She helped the boys with the pyre for John, but then it was the three of them. For Amanda, it was just her. With the last log in place just as the sky took on the last hues of night blue, Aaliyah stepped back and wiped the sweet off her face. The pyre certainly wasn’t the best she had seen, but it would do. With a catching breath, Aaliyah walked over to where she had put Amanda. She had wrapped up her friend in the same way John had been; the white fitted bed sheet with the top sheet ripped up to tie up the body.

Aaliyah struggled a little with the dead weight but managed to get Amanda’s body onto the pyre. She poured some gasoline in a line on the wood and struck a match, dropping it onto the gasoline soaked wood. It went up in a burst of fire, sending Aaliyah back a few steps. She stood there for a minute before grabbing a beer and opening it. Her cell rang at one point, breaking the silence, but Aaliyah ignored it. It vibrated in her pocket. When the pyre burned half way down, and Amanda’s body had turned to mostly ash, Aaliyah picked up what remained of the two six packs and started back toward the motel.

***

Dawn found Aaliyah passed out on the unstripped bed on her stomach and one arm hanging off the edge, beer on the nightstand within her reach. Her cell started ringing, startling her awake. She moaned in her motions to grab the phone and answered it.

“This better be important,” Aaliyah snapped. “I’m not in the mood for talking.”

“Nissa called, saying that you took off a few days ago,” Sam said. “Said that you had a call while at the hospital.”

“Amanda died,” Aaliyah said, keeping her eyes closed. “A wendigo nearly gutted her.”

“I’m sorry, Aaliyah,” Sam said, his voice soft. “Really. Dean told me about her. What did you do?”

Aaliyah moaned as her head started to throb a little from the beginnings of a hangover. “Hunter’s Funeral is what she wanted. What’s up?”

“We found one of dad’s storage units had been broken into,” he said.

“And something was taken. How important is it?”

“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

Aaliyah rolled onto her back. “Do you blame me?”

“I guess not. I’ll send you where we’re at,” Sam said. “Drink plenty of water and take some pain meds.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Aaliyah hung up and laid there on her back, unsure if she wanted to move or lay there and sleep off the hangover. Sleep would be nice; and would provide a nice escape from the pain. But it would be temporary. She eased herself up to sitting on the edge of the bed before fumbling over to where she had dumped her bag for the bottle of Advil.

A seed of a thought sprouted in her mind as Aaliyah got a couple pills into an open hand. What was to stop her from swallowing the whole bottle? She had attempted to kill the pain with alcohol the night before and all it got her was the hangover. Yeah, it hurt losing a friend; but Aaliyah knew if she swallowed more than the two pills in her hand, she’d never hear the end of it. Washing the pills down with flat beer,

Aaliyah pushed past the discomfort of the hangover and worked through the papers and Amanda’s belongings. It took a few hours, but it had been done. The food she had dumped into the trash before making sure she had everything packed. With her and Amanda’s gear bags in hand, Aaliyah left the room. She settled the account for the room in the office before heading off to meet Sam and Dean.

#supernatural spn fanfic

[isaidhay]

This morning, after learning work was cancelled after what felt like a too-long-holiday with too-much-time spent alone, with myself, to think ... I stumbled on the article “When An Ex Dies” (http://www.nextavenue.org/no-place-grief-ex-dies/) in my FB feed, detailing the unexpected death of an ex-husband - father of her children - remarried with a teenage son - and her place in the grieving process. They were no longer friends, didn't talk much, but their lives were intimately intertwined for longer than not. A google search also uncovered a Hello Giggles piece on the death of an ex-boyfriend, hospitalized for 28 days before dying of heart failure, and the strange space that occupies.  Once inseparable, but never married. Close with family, but that was 2 years ago. What is her place? Would he have wanted her there? Was she allowed the proximity to actively grieve? She had a month as he declined to tackle these questions. It made me think about what happens when we’re socially denied the right to our feelings. our experiences. What happens when we’re alone with our pain and not allowed to grieve.  Because more than what happens when an ex dies, I wonder. What happens if an ex dies, and no one knows you exist.  I used to joke “boyfriend” was a strong word, though that’s what I call him today. It’s easier. Feels true. But in the moment before Facebook, there was no “it’s complicated” to point to. Did we date? We did go “out” once or twice. Whispering in halls after class, a subtle graze on the shoulder, little secret pinch at our mutual work. After visits . We knew what the other looked like without any clothes, but mostly we knew how the other one thought. Mostly, we wrote. Corresponded like old-fashioned pen-pals in an emerging digital age. Livejournal, Xanga, Myspace, Deviant Art, OkCupid, AIM. He was a beautiful writer, photographer, creator. He could turn a phrase in the way that sparked my heart and ignited my brain, activating my desire to create that had waned in this dead, ill-matched place. He inspired me to write as much and as well as he did. I’d churn out content in hopes for a comment. Experiment. Try to impress him. We’d chat for hours in our separate rooms on our separate giant desktop computers about how isolating being somewhere we didn’t feel like we belonged felt, and why we stayed, our plans to get out. His brain worked the same way my brain did. Neither of us had a southern accent. We liked the same films, music, politics. In any other city or timeline - in a healthy world - this would sound eye-rollingly mundane. But in my accidental religious college I felt trapped in, landlocked in a rural corner of a rural state that was so far from what I wanted and where I wanted to be ... it felt like magic to have found him. And to have found him by accident. At the last possible second. It was a psychic, emotional, intellectual connection. Bobby meant the world to me. But we didn’t date. I wasn’t his girlfriend. His friends didn’t get it, and were kept out of the loop. No one knew what I thought I knew. That Bobby was the love of my life. But I was not the love of his.  He had a crush on a gentle British soccer player named Jenny, who he told me about ... later. His blog posts, vague odes to love ... we’re not actually about me, as I had thought. But that didn’t stop the sleepovers. Pinches. Hours on AIM. We met on a media-arts trip to Dallas. I had seen him, but we’d never spoken. He was classically handsome - over 6ft tall, blonde, huge blue eyes, awkward and hunchy. A recently nerdy chubby boy who had no idea what he was about to be able to do to women. In Georgia ... at that school ... I naturally assumed the worst about my peers, more because I didn’t want to be there and I assumed they all did. Everyone was conservative, Baptist, liked hunting, sports, and the other things that didn’t impress my bitterly equally stereotypical 90s-Daria-gothy-art heart. But we’d moved into the aughts, and the Iraq War was underway, and I’d given up on finding anyone who made me feel anything other than invisible, hated, fundamentally wrong. So in Dallas, i wagered I was 1/2 way to L.A. And I started driving west, away. But I got a call that some of the year book kids wanted to go with me to see Margaret Cho, a show nearby I’d found. And traffic was bad. And I’d left all my clothes at the hotel. So I figured we’d go, THEN I’d run away. Just in time, I picked them up. And Bobby was there.  My CD case was filled with bizarre mixes from the dying gasp of Napster’s bastard child, Limewire, and film soundtracks. And usually Cats, if I felt mean to my passengers. One attempt at college friendship led to a girl I was driving up the mountain to aggressively mock a really dumb song by an awful about pinball (and the wizards who sure could play it) while I tried not to beat myself to death on the steering wheel. Like, she couldn’t believe it was a song or a band existed that would play it, then requested some Creed or DC Talk. I couldn’t believe I was in a place so wrong-for-me I had to defend that ‘The Who’ existed. So I fired up a “weirder” CD - Kill Bill soundtrack I think - to defiantly be me in front of these strangers I was sure were about to offend me. But Bobby knew what it was. Excited. Agreed. We talked about the movie enthusiastically, the first person I got to discuss it with, the whole drive there. The rest of the car was offended by Cho - half the audience walked out when she spoke out against Iraq - but Bobby and I agreed with her. It didn’t matter it wasn’t funny. It seemed important. And it was really hard to offend us. We parted that night with a little smile. A plan to see a movie the next night while everyone else watched a football game.  I didn’t run away to LA. The next night, during the final Matrix film, our pinkies teased each others, curious, creeping back and forth around excuses to pass popcorn and fake scares, until we finally held hands. After, in the hotel, I wanted to show him something in another room. I’d never felt that kind of clean attraction, never felt it so confidently, boldly. We talked close. Then forehead to forehead. Then we kissed. And we didn’t stop.  Until a yearbook kid (I was newspaper, you see) barged in and told Bobby they had all decided they were leaving that night instead, so pack up, he was driving. I could come, too, but they wouldn’t wait. I had driven 4 other members of newspaper, so I ran to their rooms and desperately tried to convince them to leave, too. But they didn’t. I offered to leave my car. They called me selfish. Bobby left. I stayed and cried.  Our time together was short. 3 months. We saw each other a lot, touched a lot, he took me to the homecoming dance as my first, proper date. He was an early adopter of the White Stripes, such a relief from a sea of Creed, and we’d talk, kiss, listen. But for the crush I had on him, he didn’t have the same on me, despite our obvious mental connection, and as I slowly (very slowly) let that settle in ... I didn’t take it very well. I took it really quite very poorly. It got really dark. And please understand how dire it had gotten right before he appeared. Sometimes I think the universe sent him to me to keep me safe, from running away, to finish out the semester at school in one piece.  The last night before winter break he said he was going to come over, then said he was coming with friends. I bought a bunch of beer, because I’d been 21 a solid 6 weeks and COULD. Also picked up a party platter, so they’d like me. And waited. He didn’t come. I texted, he stopped answering. But at 2:30am the doorbell rang and I bounded to receive him ... only it wasn’t him, it was a strung out stranger who started hitting me, tried to barge in. I fought him off and locked the door. My parents got me the next day and loaded me up.  I started a new school in January. No one knew I was leaving, but I was relieved to never come back ... except I was still in love with Bobby. We kept talking, blogging, AIM’ing. I was lonely and would photograph my new campus and scan the pictures to him, for critiques. He was impressed. We’d set concert dates that fell apart last minute. I shipped him t-shirts I thought he’d like, but he never admitted receiving. I visited with a box of gifts, $100 of books and tschotskes that I individually wrapped and carefully decorated with quotes from his favorite books, films, songs. I delivered it, but he said he never got it. He said it was stolen, and i was an idiot for leaving it at his door. He had told me he’d be there, so I sat outside awhile and called, waited, asked his hallmates where he was. He said I made him look like an asshole, a bad guy, and he was done. I still believe he had it, maybe threw it away without opening it, but something always felt wrong. Later I learned he had fallen in love with a girl he later followed to Honduras, and was at a concert with her that day. It was all over a then secret blog. I was at a new school and met new people. Hurt, changing, our connection faded out. In person, I never saw him again, though sometimes I’d check in. My birthday 2006, he messaged me. First time in a long time. He apologized, said he thought of me often, and hoped i was well. I cautiously wished the same. He had decided to stay in town a year after graduation to stay with his friends, I was a super-senior due to the transfer and in no rush to get out, now that I could do-over college right. He got his first job as an AD on a small feature shooting in town and was writing again. I ran my school film committee, and was wrapping up a degree with a minor in screenwriting and cinema theory. I saw a future where we’d reunite, as collaborators, in LA. We chatted on FB and joked about cylons. Facebook used to email you when you got a wall post or comment, but it just would say to go check them out, not what they said.  In late January 2007, I received a series of these emails saying Bobby had commented on a photo, posted on my wall. But he must have deleted them, I never saw what he said. It drove me batty. But I was newly embroiled in a tumultuous, confusing relationship and didn’t reach out to ask. It was probably nothing. He also seemed to be in a new relationship he was pretty excited about. He posted on Valentines Weekend 2007 that he was fixing something he had long longed to. To do it right, finally, put everything right. The same Valentines Weekend of 2007, I was to go to a protest in Washington D.C., but I pulled out last second. I lied and said I had a funeral to attend on Tuesday. I felt weird, dark, scared. I was convinced something bad was going to happen -- it was icy, maybe there was going to be a wreck? I was low on money, I said. They were mad, and left me. I saw it immediately, but it took me 3 days to “see” it. His post had a lot of comments on it, I saw it and speculated. I talked to my co-worker (who I ALSO had had a huge crush on) about him, told him about Bobby, how I had loved him. That they were both talented. Maybe we’d all work together some day. This was Friday. There were an unusual number of pictures on FB about Bobby. I smiled. I loved Bobby. These were great pictures.  An unusual amount of comments about Bobby being a good guy. I smiled. Bobby was a great guy. Not even weird, everyone knew it. We’d had our pain, and troubles, but I loved Bobby dearly. This was Saturday. Then in the early AM ... all my friends in Washington DC ... I saw the “was.” My eyes let me see the “was.” Bobby ‘was’ a great guy. Even then, I was like “what did Bobby do? Did he get in trouble?” “Bobby was a great guy, I’m shocked and horrified by the news.”  WHAT NEWS. “Bobby was so kind, he didn’t deserve this.”  Bobby had died over Valentines Weekend, 2007. Bobby didn’t just die. He died badly. Very badly.  And Bobby didn’t die in an accident, though that is what they told his elderly father.  Bobby was murdered. Murdered running for his life after his girlfriend, who he was naked in bed with the morning after Valentines day, was also murdered. Murdered her ex, who found them in her home when he showed up unannounced, and went to his car, got a gun, and shot them both an insane number of times in cold blood. She was in the bedroom. Bobby made it to the front lawn. I couldn’t breathe. A memorial group was set up, and a girl from the car that night in Dallas kindly added me. There was a funeral. It was Tuesday. I hadn’t lied. ---- I had no one to talk to. And no real mutual friends with Bobby. The only friends who knew who I was only remembered the drama, or I assumed they would. I reached out with . They didn’t want or need me in their grief. But there was no place to put mine.  I put on a shirt of his he had left at my house. A ringer T with Mr. Rogers face, smiling. It said “You’re Special.” I’d wear it under my clothes everyday like secret underwear for the next several weeks. I couldn’t figure out how it happened, but I needed to know. What I saw in my head, the placement, the timeline, didn’t make sense. That week I’d have a dream as if I was watching it in real time. I understand now. I saw how it happened. It was horrible. I attended the funeral, saw some old teachers, friends, but I was alone in it. They didn’t know how I knew Bobby, just that we had some classes together. It was nice I came, they thought. I should sit in back, the front was reserved for his close friends. It was an open casket. I tried to get near, to look at him, but I fell down. I couldn’t get near. I kept buckling. I held onto an old newspaper co-worker, from behind, and looked around her to hold myself up. She commented I was always quirky. I flashed back to him sleeping in my bed. I thought of him sleeping, naked. He looked like he was sleeping. I felt ashamed. Ashamed to see that. I couldn’t tell anyone that. Even that I knew what he looked like asleep. He was buried with a t-shirt I had bought him. It was one of his favorites. I saw new pictures of him in it. He was buried along with photos he had displayed in his room. Including the first gift I ever gave him ... I blew up a picture he took and framed it. It was with him at the end. No one new that was also a part of me, either. I don't know why he had both. If he just really liked them. Or if he also liked them because there was also something good of me. I’ll never know, and probably not, but it helps me to believe. Over 300 people attended the funeral. Everyone loved Bobby. But it was a terrible funeral - a preacher who never met him excited to scare a bunch of young faces about drugs, adultery, hell. Hymns instead of White Stripes. Cold. It had nothing to do with Bobby. His friends would later have their own memorial. I wasn't invited ... they didn’t know me, didn’t know they should. A week later, i got a heavy fever and went into a hard dream, and the pain sort of lifted. Like I was in a warm bear hug. I felt like Bobby visited me, and apologized he had to wait so long to get to me, the list was long, and that he didn’t know it would hit me like it did.  But his death did hit me. It still hits me. He was my highest OKCupid match in the whole southeast for years after. When we met, we were 84%. And the thing about OkCupid was ... they didn’t delete his profile. It stayed up almost 10 years. This year, 2016, was the year it finally disappeared. And this year ... we matched at 99%. I know that is who I am with who he was, but still. 99%. I live in LA now ... and I think I live here for Bobby. He would’ve been so much more successful than me, so much more easily. But I think I fight for him. I need to make something for him, because he couldn’t. I need to be something, someone. Because he never will. And I think of Bobby everytime I hear Jack White. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes it hurts too much. I had a White Stripes song in my head just last night. I guess that’s part of what triggered this today.  What do you do when you loved someone who died, and you’re not allowed to?  I don’t know if Bobby wants my love, or appreciates it, or it matters to him in death. If he’d want me to keep talking about him, or pretending like I have a right to a piece of him. But based on the last time we really talked, i hope he would understand. And appreciate. And that this love ... though not a reciprocated romantic love ... was still a valuable love.  Because I will always deeply love Bobby. And in 6 weeks, he’ll have been gone 10 years. I don't want to be trapped by the past. Caught up in pain. This year I want to honor Bobby in a positive way ... by making something for him. To honor him. I hope I can do him justice.