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lostfirefly · 3 months

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Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.6)

This is my gift to the world for International Women's Day :) The world didn't ask me to, but I don't care :) Pain continues leading me to art :)

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy and Catherine continue searching for parts of the scepter.

Warnings: Fun, fluff, adventure, Buggy's inappropriate jokes, swearing (as always). Shitty shit again:)

Words: 5728 (sorry, this chapter is long again)

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk, @yujo-nishimura (I hope you still like it!)

The title is taken from “Life Must Have It's Mysteries” by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

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“Jesus Christ, Buggy, fuck off.” Catherine ran out of the bath, holding a towel in her hands and pulling on her underwear.

“Why are you angry? It was so-o-o good, baby! I'm glad your Buggy Bear can make you moan his name out loud. Geez, it's like music to my ears!” He followed her out, smiling happily.

“Screw you!” She threw the towel at him. “Hate you! Do you even know how to control yourself?” She stood next to the bed and put on a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Of course I know, I'm not an animal. Don’t be mad and come to me.” Buggy separated his hands, grabbed Catherine with them, and pulled her towards him.

“Fuck you and your chop chop shit! Let me go!!” She tried to pry his hands off.

“Nope.” He hugged her from behind.

“What you did to me is unforgivable.” She was blushing.

“Calm down, cotton candy, no one heard us.” He kissed her temple.

“Actually, I heard you!” A male voice came from behind the wall.

“Oh, my god!” Catherine covered her face with her hands.

“Sorry! But that was hot! I was hap..” The voice wanted to continue the conversation.

“Shut up, or I'll cut your throat!” Buggy barked at the man. “Do you want me to go and kill him, my little pie?” He whispered quietly in her ear and buried his face in her hair.

“No-o! Let him live.” Catherine removed her hands from her face, placed them on his hands and started chortling.

“What's so funny?”

“God, I never thought I'd start a relationship with a clown with whom I'd have hot sex in a shower in a motel in the middle of the desert. And there will be a man lying in the next room who'd hear how you are fucking me.” She shook with laughter. “My mom and sister would be shocked. How did their little decent Catherine come to this?”

“I don’t even know if I should be offended now or not. I’ll never ever force you to do anything against your will.” She heard the sadness in his voice. He was clearly upset.

“Oh, come on, my silly clown.” Catherine turned to Buggy, wrapped her arm around his neck, and ran her other hand through his loose wet hair. “I know that. Don't worry about it, okay?”

“I’ll never hurt you.” Buggy looked at her with a frightened stare.

“I know!” Catherine stroked his chest.

“So, you're not angry at me, right? Because I…”

“Shush!” She put her finger to his lips. “Everything is fine. But do me a favor.”

“Anything you want, Cathie-pie.” Buggy took her hand and kissed it.

“Please get dressed. You've been naked since the moment you ran out of the bath after me, and our curtains are open.” She pointed with her gaze to the window behind which stood a family with a small child with their jaws dropped.

Catherine turned to the window and went to close the curtains, not knowing whether to be ashamed of the whole situation or proud.

She smiled, waved to the people outside, closed the curtains and turned to Buggy, who was sitting on the bed. “My blue-haired love, please. Underpants. I see your... well…Buggy Balls.” She flushed.

He detached his hand, grabbed Catherine's wrist and pulled her sharply towards him, sitting her on his lap. “So? We can do something more interesting while I'm like this.” Buggy hugged her, clucked his tongue and smashed his lips into hers. His kiss was a little sloppy at first, but became deeper.

Catherine instantly cupped his face and pressed herself against him. She began to moan through the kiss, feeling his hand slide up her thigh.

“No, no!” She struggled but broke the kiss. “Get away from me, fucking clown!” Catherine slapped his hands. “That’s it. I'm getting up now and gonna make us breakfast. You get dressed and come to me, okay?”

Buggy pouted and sighed heavily. “Okay.”

Catherine smiled and pecked him on his nose. “I love you.”

She got up from his lap and quickly ran to the kitchen. She made his favorite breakfast and brewed coffee.

“Are you coming? Everything's ready.” Catherine was putting the plates on the table when Buggy came to the table and plopped into a chair.

“You know, when I told you to get dressed, I didn't mean to go out in just a pair of very short underpants. You could at least wear boxers, otherwise you look like a stripper.” She poured him coffee, put it on the table and kissed him on the cheek.

“You like what you see, don't you?” He smiled slyly.

“Oh my god.” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Eat up. Your favorite fried eggs with lots of bacon and five sausages.”

Buggy happily stuck his fork into the sausage and took a big bite. “Yummy! Thank you!” He mumbled with his mouth full.

“Buggy, chew first, then talk. We've discussed this more than once.”

Catherine checked the drawers in the kitchen. “Sugar. There's no sugar in here. Oh, wait, I grabbed some at the diner. Otherwise, I will be visited by a whining Buggy who will begin suffering because he cannot drink coffee without sugar. And then I’ll definitely kill you.”

Catherine went to her bag and pulled out a couple of packets. “I think we'll eat and cont-- Why are you wearing just one sock?” She looked at him, pointing her fingers at his feet.

Buggy shrugged and bit the sausage. “I couldn't find the other one.”

“Jesus Christ! If you couldn't find the second one, take the pair that has two socks. I can't believe it, Buggy. You drove me crazy today.”

“Just today? I thought I could do this almost every night. And twice this morning. If you know what I mean.” He chuckled idiotically and started imitating her voice. “Hate you, Buggy, Oh, fuck me, Buggy. Please, Buggy, don't stop, yes, more. Geez, I love hearing that.” He took a bite of the sausage.

“Shut up! You're pissing me off!!” She hit him on the head, threw the sugar packets on the table, and went back to the bags. “Honestly, you're like a big baby sometimes. Although why sometimes. You're always like a big baby.” Catherine found a clean pair of socks in her bag and walked back to him. “How did you even live before me? I wouldn't be surprised if, before you met me, you could have been lying drunk in an alley somewhere.”

Buggy looked at her, chewing the bacon, and smiled strangely.

“Oh, my God! You were lying drunk in an alley somewhere?” She threw socks at him.

“So what?” He asked, stuffing three pieces of bacon into his mouth.

“So what? Well, I don’t know. You could have been hurt. You could have been beaten or robbed.”

“Meh..”

Catherine poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on the chair. She sipped her coffee, watched Buggy happily spooning bacon onto a sausage, and started laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” He asked, dipping the sausage in the yolk.

“God, I went to a good university. My parents would be shocked at who their daughter fell in love with.” Catherine brought the mug up to her nose and squinted her eyes.

Buggy raised one eyebrow in the silent question.

She giggled. “Eat your breakfast, idiot!”

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“I'm telling you, you read the map wrong!”

“Stop grumbling, Buggy! I couldn't read it wrong. See, in the copies it was written to go on the Long Ring Long Land highway. Shit. Another stupid name.” Catherine mumbled.

They were standing in the middle of a part of the desert that was covered with few plants. The place seemed lifeless.

“I'm telling you, we're lost!”

“Jesus, will you stop whining?” She lightly punched the navigator in the car a few times. “The damn thing sometimes malfunctions from the heat.”

“We're standing in the middle of nowhere, and we don't know where to go.” Buggy picked up a bottle of water and took a small sip.

“Don’t be nervous.” Catherine put her hand on his wrist and gently ran her fingers over it. He immediately fell silent. “Hm. I think I've found my way to calm you down.” She said quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She ran her hand over his ponytail. “Oh, look! There's some kind of caravan out there. Wait a second!” Catherine got out of the car and ran forward.

“Catherine, wait!” Buggy quickly looked out the side window and slapped his hands on the steering wheel. “Fuck!” And quickly went after her.

Catherine ran across the sand towards the caravan. It was a big group of people, some of whom were sitting on camels, some of them walked on the ground, carrying the bags. Almost all were wrapped in clothes of fine rose-colored silk.

“Sir, sir!” Catherine ran up to the man sitting on the first camel. “Excuse me!”

The man made a motion with his hand and the caravan stopped. He jumped off the camel and approached Catherine.

“What can I do for you?” The man asked with a low voice.

“Another one without a t-shirt.” She thought in her head.

It was a very tall, light blond-haired, very lean and muscular man with tan skin. He was dressed in a green belt, and orange pants with white stripes, his light pink feather coat and wore thin white sunglasses with red lenses. He walked with an odd, bow-legged waddle.

Catherine looked at him, blinking rapidly, and all she could say was, “Aren't you hot in your pink coat?”

“Did you stop me asking that question?” Asked the man. Catherine looked at him more closely.

“What? Oh, no! I'm sorry! Would you mind...” Catherine felt Buggy's hand on her arm.

“I've told you a million times not to do that!” He hissed through gritted teeth and glared at the man in the pink coat. Buggy instinctively pulled Catherine a little closer to him.

She pulled her hand from his arm and took two steps forward, walking over to the man in the fur coat, and showed him the notebook. “Look, we’re looking for this place.” Catherine pointed her finger somewhere on the sheet. “We were on the right road, but either we got lost or something else.”

“Why would such a beautiful girl go to those godforsaken lands?” The man asked. “I'm Doflamingo, by the way.”

“Your parents were cruel to name you that.” She shook her head. “Never mind. We're just tourists from Loguetown. My boyfriend and I came to Egypt to see the ancient beauties. So here we are, traveling back and forth, seeing all sorts of ancient stuff.”

Catherine noticed Doflamingo shift his gaze to the clown as soon as she said the word “boyfriend”.

“Weird.” He took two steps toward Catherine, stood behind her back, and put his finger in his notebook, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “You see this road right here.”

“Uh-huh.” She took a small step forward.

“So he can go that way.” He whispered in her ear, glancing at the clown. “And you, you can join my caravan.”

Catherine turned her head and looked at him questioningly. Doflamingo winked at her.

“Why do men in Egypt talk to me like that?” She threw his arm off of her. “Listen, DogDingo or whatever your name is.”

“Doflamingo, actually.”

“Whatever. I can break your back if you don’t tell me where to go.” Catherine looked at him angrily.

“Okay. This is where you need to go. Now you're going to take this road right here.” He put his elbow on her shoulder and pointed in the direction with his finger. You'll see a foxy-shaped cactus and turn right. Drive about another hour or so, and you'll get to the right place.”

Catherine slammed the notebook shut, threw Doflamingo's arm off again, and replied “thank you” sharply.

She took two steps towards Buggy, who was already getting redder than his nose from either heat or anger, took his hand and ran her fingers over his palm.

“My little bear, get me away from this strange man.” Buggy hugged her around her shoulder and led Catherine toward the car. She got in, took another easy swipe at the navigator and punched in the coordinates from her notepad.

Buggy was silent the whole way and clearly not in the mood as Catherine stroked his back.

“You know, when that man said fox-shaped cactus, I didn't think it would be a man-shaped cactus with his hair split into two spikes. There's even a sign here. Foxy City - 500 kilometers from here.” Catherine staring at the plant with interest.

“Yeah. For all I know, he organized his community and now lives somewhere in the desert.” Buggy replied rather dryly, stepping closer to her.

“Are you alright? You've been so quiet the whole way. And that's very unusual for my clown.” She ran her hand over his arm.

“What? Yeah. I'm fine.”

Catherine walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his chest.

“What are you doing?” He asked surprised.

“I love you and want to give you a hug. I thought you seemed upset after seeing that flamingo-man.”

“I'm not upset. Big deal that every man on our journey considers it a right to flirt with you.” Buggy placed his hands on her back.

“Hah, I knew you were jealous!” She squeezed him in her arms.

“I’m not! Better tell me where do we go from here?”

Catherine, without removing her head from his chest, simply pointed her finger in the right direction.

They walked along the very light and very faintly saturated reddish-yellow colored sand for about half an hour. Catherine kept looking at her notepad, orienting herself to the notes on the coordinates, while Buggy was silent the entire time. Catherine looked ahead, then at her notes, then ahead again.

“Oh my God! Fuck me!! It can’t be!” She started squealing, kicking her legs and threw herself at Buggy with a hug.

“Geez! What’s wrong, cotton candy?” He stopped pouting and laughed.

“Do you know what a pyramid is?!” She waved him from side to side and pointed a finger in its direction.

“I have no idea!”

Catherine flopped to the ground and grabbed her head. She looked at a smooth-sided pyramid made of limestone. She lay down on the ground and started kicking her legs again. Catherine rolled from her back to her buttocks and looked at Buggy. She smiled broadly, joyfully clenched her hands into fists and jumped up to him with a squeal again.

“Love.” Smack. “Love.” Smack. Smack. “Love, love, love you.” Smack. Smack. Smack.

“I’m certainly delighted by your reaction, but maybe you can enlighten me?” Buggy flicked her on the nose.

“Ouch!” She scratched her nose. “This’s Nefer Asut Unas. The pyramid of Unas!”

“First of all, I didn't understand the first three words. And U.. Who?”

“The pyramid of Unas, he’s the last ruler of the Fifth Dynasty. All walls in this pyramid are covered with texts. These texts are prayers, spells, and incantations to help the deceased king ascend to his place among the gods in the sky and to resurrect. They are considered to be one of the oldest religious texts in the history of Ancient Egypt.”

“Cathie-pie, I love it when you share your knowledge, but seriously, I didn’t understand half of what you said. So. This’s… This's... What?”

“This’s the ancient necropolis. Let me see my notes. Not this one, not this one. No, no, no.” Catherine ran her fingers over the sheets and felt Buggy rest his chin on her shoulder. She reached out and scratched his head with her fingers. “Here! Look. The entrance to the pyramid is located on its north side, and from there, a descending passage leads to a series of chambers and passages. We need to find this room.” She pointed her finger at the drawing. “This’s our goal on the southern side. The largest chamber is the burial chamber, where the pharaoh's sarcophagus is placed. So I suggest not to lose time. We pack our things and set out on a search.”

While Catherine was checking the flashlights, she looked at Buggy, who was changing his t-shirt. She glanced at his naked torso and blue hair on his chest.

“I hate you.”

Buggy looked at her in confusion. “This is your fourth “I hate you” in the last two hours, Cathie-pie. Could you please tell me what did I do?”

“Screw you!” She wrinkled her nose, took extra batteries and a hatchet with her, just in case.

They approached the main entrance to the complex. The whole complex was made of the main pyramid, a valley temple, a mortuary temple, a causeway, and the main pyramid which are all enclosed by a perimeter wall. They got to the entrance to the pyramid. Catherine examined the wall and stairs. Some of the casing on the lowest steps of it has remained intact.

“Now where do we go?” Asked Buggy, flopping down on the sand.

“Okay, look. Firstly, we have to be careful again. This pyramid is also on the tourist route. It's not as popular as the others, of course. But there are some people hanging around there.” Catherine glanced at a small group of tourists. She shifted her gaze to Buggy, put her hand to his face, and pulled a bottle of water out of her bag. “Here, you need some water.”

He looked at her with confusion, but took the bottle from her hands and took a sip. “Thanks.”

She put the bottle back down, ruffled his hair and pulled out the map again. “Now there will be some kind of corridor, and then we'll enter a spacious hallway that we'll follow to the tomb we need.”

He picked up the ground, took the flashlight from her, and shined it down the path. “Well, this looks good. Let’s go?”

They looked at another group of tourists at the same time and walked into the entrance. Descending an easy passage that drops about five meters, they entered a narrow horizontal tunnel that was well-illuminated, leading to the main hall.

“So beautiful!” Catherine could barely contain her squeals as they entered the central hall. “Some of the best hieroglyphs I've seen. Look! They’re very clear and some still have a bit of color.” She approached one of the walls and slightly ran her fingers over the drawings.

Buggy walked up to her, put his hand on her back and looked carefully at her satisfied face.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Catherine noticed him staring at her.

“Me? I'm not looking.” He cleared his throat. “So. Where do we go next?”

“Oh, yes. We're straight ahead and to the east and then to the west.”

“Then let's go. If those people from the street follow us, it will be difficult for us to find anything.”

They walked through the long horizontal passage following a level path to the antechamber, which was guarded by three granite slab portcullises in succession. The passage ended at a room located under the center axis of the pyramid. All the walls and the ceiling were covered with hieroglyphs, drawings and various signs.

“Amazing!!” Catherine whispered, moving her flashlight along the walls. “Okay! Now to the east. Wow! Buggy! You see those letters?” She pointed with her hand at the wall.

“Yeah.”

“These are ancient texts which are said to mark the beginning of the afterlife.” Catherine didn’t notice how she took Buggy's hand. “Wow! It’s like a voyage through time, right? You know, my dad and I once dreamed of going to Egypt and seeing the pyramids. He would have loved it.” She felt Buggy stroke her arm with his fingers. “I'm sorry, a little flashback came over me.”

“Hey! Don't be sorry, my cotton candy.” Buggy hugged Catherine’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“I wish he could... “ She felt how Buggy hugged her tightly. “You know. Nevermind. We’re losing our time. Let's go.” Catherine dragged Buggy to the next room.

They turned in the right direction to the east and saw a small room with 3 recesses.

“This’s the antechamber! Now to the west!”

They turned to the west and reached the Burial chamber. The ceiling of the room was painted with golden stars in a dark blue sky. The decoration in every spare inch of the part of the walls consisted of vertical columns of meticulously carved hieroglyphs painted in blue. The saw basalt sarcophagus, surrounded by white alabaster walls.

“What’s this?” Buggy asked, shining his flashlight at the ceiling, which had starfish and hieroglyphics painted on it.

“Oh! These drawings represent Unas aspiring to become a star in order to ascend to the heavens. “We are now in the land of Osiris, the first resurrected king, where Unas was expected to spend time before he could go up to the sky.”

“Where are we?” Buggy rounded his eyes. “It seems to me that we encountered this in the past... that one.. Okiris.”

“He’s Osiris, Buggy. Osiris and Anubis are the central characters of Egyptian mythology. No wonder they are everywhere. ”

She ran the flashlight along the wall and carefully traced the hieroglyphs with her hands. She started reading quietly.

“Wow. Listen.

May you cross the sky united in dark. May you rise in light land, the place in which you shine. Set, Nephthys, go proclaim to Upper Egypt's gods and their spirits. This Unas comes, a spirit indestructible. If he wishes you to die, you will die. If he wishes you to live, you will live.

And these writings on the walls are a kind of Book of the Dead.”

“And these things are probably expensive. Let’s take one?”

Catherine heard Buggy’s voice and shifted her gaze at him. She saw the canopic chest standing in the wall and Buggy, who had almost taken one of the figurines in his hands.

“Don't touch! How did you... How did you find them?”

“I don't know. I just did what you usually do. Slid my hand along the wall and the thing opened. Cool stuff, yeah? Let's take it?” Buggy pointed to the vessels with his eyes and extended his hand.

“I said no!” She slapped his hands. “I already told you, don’t touch anything!”

“But why?”

“Do you know who it is?” Catherine pointed her finger at the four vessels.

“I don't know.” Buggy shrugged. “A dog, a baboon, a bird, and a guy with hair.” He pointed the flashlight at each thing.

“It's not the dog, the baboon, the bird, and the guy. It's the four sons of Horus. They assist the king in his ascent to heaven with the help of ladders. I told you about Horus, remember?”

“If you were naked then..” Buggy got lost in thoughts. “Then no.”

“No, idiot!! When we were on our first adventure.”

“No, either. Then I imagined you naked.” He giggled idiotically.

“Oh god!” Catherine rolled her eyes.

“So why can't I take them? Are you afraid that these nice guys can somehow harm me?” He stared at the vessels, hoping that Catherine would allow him to take one.

“I don't want to check, to be honest. We're in foreign territory. And we don't need to steal things from the Egyptian pyramids. God knows what curses are on them.”

“You're too late for curses, cotton candy. We stole part of the scepter from the last pyramid.” Buggy ran the flashlight over the heads of the creatures and squinted one eye.

“Stealing a scepter from the wall or a thing that's meant to hold the entrails is different. Please, Buggy, don't touch it.” She glanced at him with sad eyes.

He scowled, looking at her worried face, sighed sadly and stepped aside. Catherine approached the sarcophagus and began to examine it.

“You know, Cathie-pie, I wouldn't have gotten this far without you and your knowledge of all Egyptian things.” He said, scratching his head.

“What? What happened to you? You've been acting strange these last few days. You look at me all the time and say nice things.”

“I always say nice things to you! Just.. I don't know. Sometimes I think what would I do without you?” Buggy said quietly.

“Oh, you'd probably be drinking beer, sitting in bars or on the couch, and taking girls home to do to them what you're doing to me, little pervert.” Catherine let out a little blush and felt him come closer.

“Oh, believe me, I've never done that to anyone.” He chuckled, rested his chin on her shoulder and pinched her ass.

“I hate you! Don't you dare grab my ass in front of dead pharaohs.”

“You just called me a pervert in front of that pharaoh.” Buggy squeezed her buttocks.

“You like pissing me off, right?” Catherine narrowed her eyes and glanced at him.

“Ugh, my cotton candy gets angry, and we have sexual tension right next to the dead dude lying in the sarcophagus. How did you come to this, baby?” He wrapped his hands around her waist.

“You're disg.. Hush!” Catherine covered his mouth with her hand. “There's someone walking around out there.” She carefully removed her hand.

“Maybe it's a mummy that's risen and come to take you with it?” Buggy pinched her side slightly.

“Are you an idiot? No. It's probably those people we saw outside. Hell, why did everyone go to Egypt?” Catherine rolled her eyes and slapped his hands. “Get your clingy arms off!”

They heard voices and footsteps begin to move away.

“Okay, we need to find the clues and get out of here.” Catherine started snapping her fingers. “The clues. The clues.”

She sat down on her knees and scrutinized the walls. “I don't understand. I don't get it. What's the connection?”

“Maybe it has something to do with that man in the coffin?” Buggy asked, pointing the flashlights at the sarcophagus. “You said we're in the realm of this one. What's-his-name...”

“Osiris!” Catherine ran her fingers over her temple. “That's right! You're right!” She huffed and raised her hands above her.

“I'm right?!” There was surprise on his face.

“Yes! If we're in the realm of Osiris, and there's something like the book of the dead on the wall, do you know where we are?” Catherine stared with a pleased face.

“Are you expecting an answer from me?” Buggy bulged his eyes.

“We're on trial!”

“Yeah, that made it clearer.” He answered sarcastically.

“Shh, clown! Look for scales or a drawing of scales. Something like that.” Catherine started running from wall to wall.

“I didn't get anything, but okay.” Buggy started shining the flashlight on the wall. “Cotton candy, isn't that it?” He looked at the drawing behind the sarcophagus.

“Where? Where?” Catherine ran up to the sarcophagus and pushed Buggy away.

“For God's sake, woman!”

“Yes!! You're doing great!” She ran to him and pecked him on the cheek. “It is the Judgment of Osiris!”

“What?”

“Oh my god, Buggy! It's one of the most famous myths! The soul would embark on a dangerous journey through the afterlife to reach paradise. Once the journey through the underworld is complete, the deceased reach the Hall of Final Judgment. Do you know what the most important trial was according to Egyptian mythology? The Judgment of Osiris. Let me check.” Catherine climbed onto the sarcophagus.

“Cotton candy, what are you doing? You're trampling on a dead man.”

“Look! There’s a door behind the sarcophagus under the drawing with scales. Come here. Help me.” Catherine called Buggy with her hand.

He walked up to her and stood between the sarcophagus and the massive stone door.

“Try to move it!” She lightly spanked his back.

“Fuck, calm down, woman!” Buggy put his hand on the door and tried to move it. “Shit! It's heavy!”

“Quiet!” Catherine gently slapped his hands. “Do you hear that? Someone's coming.”

Buggy plopped down behind the sarcophagus and pulled Catherine's hand. She collapsed onto him and sat right on his lap, so that his legs were between hers.

“I should mention that I like the position you're sitting in, cotton candy.” He winked at her and growled slightly.

“Holy Gosh!!” Catherine looked out from behind the sarcophagus. “Quiet. They’re close!”

A small group of tourists entered the room.

Catherine peeked out from behind the sarcophagus and hid again. She pressed her face to Buggy's face.

“Ooh, too much, Cathie-pie, you're so sexy right now.” Buggy whispered and reached his hand towards her ass.

“You're nuts?” She grabbed his hand and covered his month with her other hand. “Quiet!”

They heard the group walking around the hall and after a while the sounds of footsteps began to drift away.

Catherine looked out and saw an empty room. “Finally! They’re gone.”

She stood up from Buggy and helped him up. “Let’s try to open this door.”

Buggy tried again to move the door. “It doesn’t work out. Fuck!”

“Wait! You see? The drawing! The scarab on the wall!” Catherine pressed her hands on the drawing. “Oh! I know! I know! We need to open the sarcophagus.” Catherine whispered and started hitting Buggy's hand.

“Excuse me?” He stared at her.

“There should be a decoration in the shape of a scarab inside. According to myth, the scarab came out of the eyes of Osiris, and was also a kind of guide to the afterlife. Help me!” Catherine slapped her hand over the sarcophagus.

“I’m really sorry. Weren't you the one who told me not to take any weird stuff?” Buggy indignantly whispered.

“Don't be a baby! Do you want the second part of the scepter or not? Help me!”

“Fine! Geez!”

They leaned on the lid of the sarcophagus and tried to push it aside. Catherine remembered about the hatchet in her bag. She took it out and gave it to Buggy. He struck the hatchet several times between the lid and the base of the sarcophagus, and they managed to open it.

“Shit. There are the remains of mummies and bandages!” Catherine squealed. “Where is the scarab? Where are you... There it is! Buggy! Under his hand. More precisely, what is left of it. Get it, please.”

Buggy reached into the sarcophagus and suddenly fell into it.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” Catherine whispered with worry in her voice.

“Yeah. Shit, this thing stinks. Is that what you asked for?” He showed the scarab in his hand.

“Yeah!” She squealed. “Wait. Why didn't you use your chop chop thing?”

Buggy looked at her, not knowing what to answer.

“Idiot and hero! But you smell like mummy now.” Catherine quickly kissed him on the cheek and helped him out. “Oh my God, I'm robbing graves.” She shook her head.

“You’ll have mental suffering later. What's next?” Buggy dusted his hands off.

Catherine placed the scarab on the drawing and quickly took out her notebook. “Okay. Now you just have to swipe it right three times and left four times and then press it.”

Buggy put his hands on the scarab and, at Catherine's command, rotated it in the right directions.

“And now what?” He asked at glanced at her.

The scarab's wings glowed a light turquoise color, and a narrow passage opened into a small corridor.

“Baby, if we find the second part of the scepter there now, I will buy the most expensive bottle of wine for you today.” Buggy rubbed his hands.

They entered the corridor and looked around.

“Look!!” She pointed to the drawing. “This is an allusion to the scales of Osiris. The transition to another world consisted of two parts. During the first part was when the soul stood between 42 judges. Here they are!” She patted Buggy on the shoulder and pointed to the drawings. “The second part was weighing the heart. Here is the drawing!” Catherine started jumping and kicking her legs. “The heart was weighed against the feather. If the heart was found to be heavier than the feather, it was fed to Ammut, a beast associated with the time of judgment. If the scales were balanced, the deceased had passed the test and was taken before Osiris, who welcomed them into the afterlife.”

“Cathie-pie, I love your lectures about Ancient Egypt, but how will this help us find the scepter?”

“Look! There are stones in the shape of a feather and a heart. And here is something similar to a scale. Buggy! I need your help again. Take the heart-shaped stone and put it on the left bowl, and the feather-shaped stone on the right.”

Buggy took the stones and put them where Catherine pointed.

“So, what is next?” He looked at her questioningly.

“I don’t know.. Oh, wait, there’s an inscription here! Wait… King.. Die.. Setting sun. Wait! Listen!

The king did not die, He became the one who rises like the morning sun on the horizon. He rests from life like the setting sun in the west, but he will rise again in the east. O, king, you did not leave dead, you left alive! Did you say he would die? No, he won't die. This king lives forever. He escaped the day of his death. O, high among the eternal stars! You will never die.”

As soon as Catherine finished reading the poem, the scales tipped towards the heart-shaped stone.

“Fuck!” Catherine sat down on the floor and buried her face in her knees.

“What happened?” Buggy asked with incomprehension in his voice.

“I don't know. If it's like a myth, I think...” Catherine mumbled in her knees.

“Um, cotton candy. Look!” Buggy lightly tapped her head with his finger. “Is it supposed to happen like this?”

Catherine raised her head. They saw the scales swung in the opposite direction and the heart appeared on the same level with the feather.

“It can't be! If this is all for real this means that Unis's soul had passed the test!” Catherine grabbed her head.

At that moment, the stones in the wall moved. Catherine jumped up and ran towards them. She reached into the opened space.

“Fuck, you see that?” She felt Buggy looking over her shoulder.

“Cotton candy, I think, we're having a party tonight!”

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casbutt67lue · 12 days

Text

[BICU]My discord is Lue#9108 in which I use mostly for rp. If you don't have discord I can chat with you here or on Skype.

[B] please be as active as much as possible as I'm online a lot.

[BU]TO START THIS OFF. NO OCs AS MAIN CHARACTERS. SHIPS COME FIRST AND OCs CAN BE IN THE BACKROUND. THEY MUST NOT BE TO INVOLVED WITH PLOT UNLESS ITS CHILD OR FRIEND OF CHARACTER OR SHIP. THANK YOU.

This is for my rp availability. I'm in college and temporarily out of work so schedule will eventually change. (American central time)

TBD= To Be Determined

M- TBD

T- TBD

W- TBD

TH- TBD

F- TBD

SA- TBD

SU- TBD

I am an owl. I'm likely to respond even if it's past midnight.

I understand you have a life.

Just let me know ok?

[BIU] I need to know if your 16+, triggers, and your Timezone before we start the rp. Plz and thx

[BIU] SHIPS I WILL RP IS SABRIEL AND DESTIEL see rest of rules fore more details

[B]Some up front rules

In all honesty I perfer Sabriel with destiel as a background ship

I strongly perfer Gabriel

Plz no one under 16 though... I'm awkward around those younger than 16

I have no triggers so please tell me yours

I like to rp with trauma and mental illness and abuse(s) but have it as a back-story thing or mention it happening if were doing a 'save me' rp so if that bothers you please tell me up front.

I perfer AUs if you are not up to date with the show. Less risk of spoiling.

I'm not fond of real scene or play by play season episode rp and will steer clear of it but like I will be happy to do a non related to a season hunter in the Bunker or travel from motel to motel hunt style if you insist to not have an AU.

Feel free to drop a suggestion for an AU or plot.

I have a theory I like to use in rps for Gabe and if your interested ask me and I'll send it.

If OCs are asked about I'd rather be comfortable roleplaying with you before I allow them. If I like your style in character I'll give you the green light and I'll be comfortable to introduce mine. But I'll of course ask you first.

Out of character use () // to talk to me

Don't use ** for action this is not a script

Defining between paragraphs/scenes/characters just double shift or use ~ or ** between paragraphs. Nothing to fancy. I'm pretty basic.

I'll try and mirror your replys but my starters are almost always longer than the rest of my replies.

[B]RULES IN DEPTH

1. What is your Timezone- Country and State or city (mine is central and live in America in the state of Alabama)

2. What is your Age (I'm 21) (just say 16+ if your uncomfortable saying but again I perfer you to at least be 16) but I normally do 18+ rps unless your under 18.

3. Literate or Semi lit, 3rd person only, I write like a book, no less than 3-5 sentences as a reply

4. I allow OCs but not to fond of ocxmain-character... Sorry. I'll allow it on certain occasions as long as we can have one of my main ships.

5. I can play any spn character good or bad

6. I will play John if we do a Johnlock crossover with spn (currently not looking)

7. I will play Crowley if we do a Good Omens ship crossover with spn and can also merge the Sherlock ship

8. Nothing sexual if your a minor

9. I have AU's planned if you don't have rp ideas.

10. I mainly ship Sabriel and Destiel but accept certain ones... see ships wiki and non insest lgbt+ ships (perfer gxg, nbxany, poly, gxb as a backround ship and mainly bxb as the main though)

11. None of my OC's are straight (but straight is ok)

12. I will allow main characters and OC's to have a romantic FLING NOT PERMANENT relationship if only needed for drama or a non main character and OC can be together.

13. No dating yourself. If two characters are both played by you they can't date unless you give me one of the characters to play

14. Straight characters and relationships are allowed but I perfer bxb or gxg or poly of a mix if needed

15. I can play your OC if needed and you can play mine if needed

16. I'm open for suggestions like topic change

17. Loki from Marvel is allowed and usally given to you, the other roleplayer, use him as you please but must have a relationship good or bad with Gabriel (I rather love Loki tbh. Not spn version much but mcu Loki. And I love it if you know Norse Myth version of Loki and combine him/her/them) NGL I usually turn Loki into a tired soccer mom or Gabe's best friend who keeps trying to get into his or his partners pants if we're not using my OCs I have for Loki specifically.

18. What season of spn are you on? cuz I've seen them all

19. I do time skips just tell me before doing a timeskip

20. If a rp gets boring say it is and we can change it, or I will if it gets dull

21. I perfer Gabriel and he will be involved in any way possible (unless you want him telling me ahead of time)

22. I ship Destiel, Sabriel mainly and will allow Crobby, megstiel occasionally, and others, just read the ships wiki, and never wincest. Ever.

23. What season are you on? I'm up to date.

24. I mainly rp with AUs and plots which I also have a wiki to

#roleplay #supernatural #destiel #sabriel #johnlock #good omens #innefable husbands #bbc sherlock #lgbtq community #ocs #semi literate roleplay #lit rp #discord rp #night owl

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leatafandom · 1 year

Note

1, 14, 40 & 65 ❤️❤️❤️

Hello my dear! ❤️

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Mm. I think I prefer writing series more than anything. I love a big timeline and slowly filling it with world building and character/relationship development. Whether it's with one shots or multi-chapter fics. I guess between the two I would say one-shots cause they give me a faster feeling of completion of a tale in my head but I normally miss that development when I write one-shots.

14. How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

Typically when I write a scene that has a certain vibe I try to write that all in one go, to keep those waves and to make sure it hits properly. I think the thing I draw on and focus on the most when I write emotional scenes is what I physically feel when I think about that emotion. I do tend to think of an event or media that made me feel that way and describe it or if I'm writing a scene where Sam gets pissed or upset I try to remember what that looks like.

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

God, any fan art would be so cool! I'd love to see some of Niikko and Gabriel from my Learn au because I love them. Maybe that one moment in Learn at the motel with Sam and Gabriel where Ruby comes to try to tempt Sam and Gabriel's the chair he and Niikko made. That would be a fun one to see.

65. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Ahh I have so many wips open right now. I think currently I'm most excited to finish editing the new Jumpsuits Chapter, but I'm no longer writing for jumpsuits just editing. So I think it would be all the new Cannibal Sam stuff I've been working on. I currently have a line up of 6 new works (some multi-chapters, some one shots) in various stages of writing. They all sit, timeline wise, between the end of Hunger Games and Old Secrets Die Hard. I'm super excited about what I've got planned for character development, relationship development, plot points, and to feature some more pagans. It's been a blast to bounce around the time gap.

Thank you so much for the ask, love! It is always a pleasure ♥️♥️♥️

#asks and answers #fanfic asks #spn #the wips #thank you so much for the ask

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andy-clutterbuck · 4 years

Photo

“Why?” | 7x16

#WHY DO YOU SNARL CALM DOWN RICHARD #please snarl at me #Rick Grimes #*#rg #S7 #stare and snarl and point things at me #i didn't say what you were pointing #*wants him to snarl and growl and be commanding* *wants to cuddle and baby him*#the endless quandary #where's that little girl from the taco commercial 'why not both'#D_DDY #Pat I'd like to solve the puzzle #[redacted] inside me #like give me babies and protect and provide for them #staying barefoot and pregnant was never appealing until now #jerk your chin up at me #i'd be like Motel 6 i'm always open

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caranfindel · 3 years

Text

Fic: You don’t know how it feels (to be me)

gen, s6 | about 3600 words | pg for language | characters: soulless sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: Soulless Sam tries to deal with his brother's feelings about, well, everything. Including his hair. Set in season 6, before "You Can't Handle the Truth."

An idea I had a long time ago, resuscitated by Jared's Walker haircut. The title is from "You Don't Know How It Feels" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

. . . . . .

It's a stupid case.

The manager of the county fairgrounds is a stooped, gnarled old man wearing one of those ball caps veterans wear sometimes. Gold embroidery on the dark blue hat proudly displays the name of his ship or submarine or whatever. Sam doesn't care about his ship or submarine or whatever. He doesn't care about this guy's service at all. Most days, old Blue Hat here got three meals a day and a warm, dry place to sleep in exchange for whatever he gave up. He got a pension when he was done fighting. Sam gets to scrounge for cheap food and sleep in crappy hotels when he's lucky enough to actually land someplace other than the back seat of the Impala. Sam's service to his country earned him a trip to Hell. Sam will get to stop fighting when he's dead. His only pension will be a pyre.

Sam doesn't even get to sleep any more.

(This should bother him. But the truth is, it doesn't.)

Blue Hat frowns at Sam's ID and snorts derisively. "You don't look like a Fed. You look like a goddamn hippie."

He rolls his eyes at the old man, even though he knows Dean hates it when he does that. It's something he didn't do Before, no matter how annoying or insipid the witness. Sam doesn't give a good goddamn what this guy thinks about his hair, but apparently his brother does. "He's been doing some undercover work," Dean says. "Sometimes you've got to look like a goddamn hippie to blend in."

Blue Hat sniffs his disapproval and ignores Sam for the rest of the interview, directing all of his answers to Dean. Which is fine. The old guy doesn't seem to have anything useful to add anyway. Sam leaves his brother to the pointless interview about the stupid case and wanders around the building, taking pictures of the unexplained runes that brought them here. He's bored. The sudden appearance of mysterious runes on the bland metal exterior of a county fairgrounds building feels witchy, and Sam really doesn't care about witches. Two measly deaths, quite possibly from natural causes, and now he's out here standing in cow shit. Or goat shit or pig shit. This entire day has been shit, literally and figuratively.

Dean joins him after a couple of minutes, apparently done with Blue Hat. "What do you think?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "Too early to tell. If these runes are what Bobby thinks they are, they'll change under moonlight, but moonrise isn't until 9:05 pm."

“Jesus," Dean moans. "I can't stay awake that long. I've already gone almost two days. Let's go back to the motel and crash, and we'll hit this place again tonight."

Or not, Sam wants to say. I think you jumped on this paper-thin excuse for a job just because the alternative was sitting in a motel room with me waiting for an actual case to come up, Sam wants to say. But neither of these are things he would have said Before, and Dean is so goddamn twitchy about Sam being different than Before.

As they turn back to the Impala, Dean glances at Sam with a slight smile. "Dude's not wrong, you know."

“What?"

“You do look like a goddamn hippie." Dean's hand twitches toward Sam, like he's going to smack him on the back of the head or ruffle his hair, but he pulls back without touching him. Because they don't do that now. Casual, good-natured, brotherly contact isn't a thing now. Dean doesn't touch him unless there are injuries involved.

(This is another thing that should bother Sam. It would have, Before.)

. . .

Dean hangs his suit in the closet, sets an alarm, and collapses on top of the covers. Sam stares at his own bed. The threat of spending hours pretending to be asleep makes his skin crawl. If Dean falls asleep quickly enough, he can skip the whole charade.

“Hey, I think I'm gonna shower first," he says.

Dean doesn't open his eyes. "Just don't wake me up when you get out."

In the bathroom, Sam turns on the water but doesn't get undressed. He stands at the mirror, staring at his too-long hair. Why has he bothered to hold onto it? He remembers caring about his hair. He remembers it being a small fuck you to John, the one area in his life where he was able to cling to some autonomy. It's not that he's forgotten about that; he just doesn't give a shit any more.

And like Dean said, Blue Hat wasn't wrong. He does look like a hippie. The hair is a hazard, and it does clash with any kind of law enforcement disguise. Maybe it's time to do something about it. He has time to kill anyway, while Dean sleeps.

(Sam should care that he doesn't need to sleep any more. Dean would definitely care, if he found out. Dean cares so much about any aspect of Sam that is less normal than he thinks it ought to be. Even if it's something that makes him a better hunter. Dean didn't appreciate it when Sam could exorcise demons without killing the host, and Dean wouldn't appreciate that Sam can get so much done when he's not sleeping. He could never understand why this version of Sam is so much better than the way he was Before. It's a shame Dean hasn't discovered the option of Not Caring.)

(Sometimes Sam wonders if getting back with Dean is worth the trouble.)

(And that should bother him too.)

Sam shuts off the shower and pulls out his phone. He needs to find a barber shop in walking distance. Dean will get all pissy if he wakes up and the car is gone; less so if only Sam is missing. Luckily, there's a shop that might still be open. It's one of those ridiculous sports-themed places that presumes men are fussy toddlers who need to be distracted from the ignominy of a hair cut. At least they tend to be staffed by women, and those women tend to be prettier than average. With any luck, he can kill two birds with one stone.

When he opens the bathroom door, Dean is either asleep, or pretending to be. Sam scrawls couldn't sleep, back soon on the motel notepad and closes the door behind him as silently as possible.

(He misses his car. He didn't have an emotional attachment to it, like Dean and the Impala, but it was convenient and it suited him.)

(He doesn't actually have an emotional attachment to anything. That should bother him.)

. . .

Two stylists, both predictably prettier than average, look up when he walks in. The redhead says "sorry, sir, we're just about to close up," and continues sweeping up hair trimmings. But the brunette looks him up and down and smiles. And Sam's partial to brunettes anyway.

He gives her a once-over in return and smiles back. "Do you have time for just a quick cut? I'd be eternally grateful."

She stares at him for a minute, appraising. "Well, how could I turn down an offer of eternal gratefulness?" she says with a wink. She turns to the redhead. "Why don't you go on home. I've got this."

The redhead dumps her clippings into a trash can. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. You mind locking the door behind you? I don't want any more last-minute customers walking in."

The redhead raises her eyebrows, but gathers her purse and jacket and makes her escape as Sam settles into the brunette's chair.

“I'm Marianne," she says, as she starts to drape a cape over his shoulders.

“I'm Sam. But listen. I get too hot under those capes. Would it be okay if we skip it? And I just take my shirt off so I don't get hair all over it?"

Marianne smiles like the cat who caught the canary. "Not a problem, sweetheart."

Sam slips out of his dress shirt and drapes it over the empty chair next to him. Marianne watches him the whole time, eyes roving over the muscles exposed by his snug white undershirt. It's like shooting fish in a barrel.

He sits back in the chair and Marianne stands behind him. Her chest brushes against his shoulders. "So," she asks, "what are we doing today?"

“Shorter. Off my collar, above my ears."

She slips her fingers through his hair, measuring its length. "You sure? This length looks pretty good on you. Just needs to be cleaned up a bit."

“It's for a job. The long hair doesn't fly any more."

“Aw, that's a shame." Marianne's still running her fingers through his hair. "If you've got a lady in your life, I bet she'll miss it. A girl likes something to hold onto."

Well. The best lies are based on a kernel of truth. Sam looks into his lap and lets his smile go sad and soft. "That's kind of why I'm here. My girlfriend died and I thought I'd try to start over. New place, new job, new life. But yeah, that's always been one of my favorite things. A girl grabbing my hair in the heat of the moment. I should have tried to find someone to do that one more time before I had to cut it off."

Marianne leans forward, pressing her breasts harder against him. When he looks up, she meets his eyes in the mirror, then flicks a glance toward a door marked Employees Only. “You know," she says, "that could probably be arranged."

Seriously. Fish in a goddamn barrel.

. . .

Dean's awake when Sam gets back to the motel room, but he doesn't look up from the laptop. "Couldn't sleep?"

“I guess I napped a little in the car on the way down here," Sam lies. "And then, you know, a lot of caffeine this morning."

“Whatever. I'm not the sleep police. I hope you brought food, cause I could —" Dean looks at Sam and stops mid-sentence, mouth still open. "You cut your hair?"

“Yeah."

“Why?"

“What do you mean, why? Like old what's-his-face said, I looked like a hippie, not an FBI agent. And you've been telling me to cut it for years."

“Yeah, I have. I've been saying that for years and you've been ignoring me for years. Now some random witness calls you a hippie and you go running to Supercuts?"

Sam sighs. Dean may not be the sleep police, but he's awfully eager to step in as the hair police, enforcing his own set of laws about Sam's hair. "Why does it matter? You wanted me to cut it. Everyone wanted me to cut it. And I cut it. Can we move on now?"

It's a statement almost guaranteed to make Dean bow up in anger, but instead, he deflates. "It's just… nothing. Fine. Moving on." He closes the laptop and pulls his keys out of his coat pocket. "We've still got an hour or so before moonrise. I'm gonna go run through McDonald's. You want a chicken sandwich, or is that something else you're not interested in any more?"

Jesus Christ. This is what passes for moving on. But Sam needs that shower now, and none of this is worth arguing about.

(Few things are any more. That seems like it should matter.)

“Yeah, that sounds great, thanks."

By the time Dean gets back, the sandwich is cold and the ice in Sam's drink is mostly melted. He pretends to enjoy it anyway.

. . .

Their drive back to the fairgrounds is quiet. Dean occasionally steals an unhappy glance at Sam's hair, but doesn't say anything. Sam ignores it.

They pull into the parking lot in front of the marked building. Without even getting out of the car, they can see that the runes have changed. The broad strokes are softly luminescent, glowing a pale blue in the moonlight.

“Okay, so that answers that question," Sam says. Thank God. Now they can leave without wandering around the grounds, soaking up the barnyard smell again. Wrap this up and start working on something more important. But Dean gets out of the car and looks at Sam expectantly. Well, crap. Sam dutifully follows him closer to the building and tries to think of how he would have felt about this development Before.

“Cool," he says. Dean narrows his eyes at him. "I mean, cool that our theory was right. Not, you know, cool that someone is using this kind of spellwork to make sure their pig wins a blue ribbon at the fair. That part's… pretty awful." But Dean's still looking at him funny, so he probably overcorrected on that one. It's just hard, any more.

Dean rubs the back of his neck as he examines the glowing runes. "If that's all they're doing, more power to them. I couldn't care less. But we need to make sure that's all they're doing. I mean, people died, Sam. We need to figure out if this is why." He pulls out his phone. "Gonna take some pictures to send Bobby." There's no reason to remind him they already have pictures. If Dean thinks additional pictures are more effective and efficient than "just like this, but glowing blue," that's up to him. Sam will most likely solve the damn case later tonight anyway, while Dean sleeps.

And he almost does. Dean knocks back a couple of glasses of whiskey when they get back to the motel, and falls asleep pretty soon after that. Sam doesn't bother to feign sleep — Dean doesn't seem to care, right now, whether his brother gets any sleep or not. But when Sam realizes his own photos missed a crucial corner of the building, he opens his brother's phone and finds his last text to Bobby. There's only one picture, and it's not glowing runes. It's him. Just a dark, slightly blurry picture of Sam, obviously taken earlier that night at the fairgrounds. And a text conversation.

See, I told you, it's short. I don't know what's going on. I swear he's just different.

Yeah, I get it. It's different. He's different. But what'd you expect? Of course he's not the same as he was. Hell changed him.

It didn't change me this much.

His Hell wasn't the same as yours. I know it didn't last very long, but remember, he was in the cage with the devil. We don't know what happened to him in there. Give him some time.

Well. Fuck. Dean's talking about him behind his back. Dean doesn't trust him. Dean thinks, once again, that something is wrong with him.

(That would have hurt, Before. Now it's just an annoyance. A distraction. Something to be dealt with.)

Yes, Hell changed him. Hell burned away all the crap, all the useless feelings, the guilt and shame and fear of failure. Hell purified him. Hell carved out the weakness and left nothing but pure, strong hunter. Dean, of all people, should appreciate the result. But Dean does not, and now Sam has to cater to his tiresome attachment to everything Sam was Before.

Fine. He can make that work.

Sam quietly puts Dean's phone back on the nightstand. He strips down to boxers and his t-shirt, sets an alarm, and crawls into bed. Pretending to sleep is tedious, but a couple of hours of boredom right now might spare him weeks of Dean's moodiness about him being different.

(As if Hell could leave you untouched. As if anyone in their right mind would expect that. As if Dean himself didn't know this first hand, for fuck's sake.)

. . .

Sam spends the next day focusing on acting the way he did Before. When his alarm goes off he stretches, yawns, and pretends he had a good night's sleep. He goes for a run, brings back coffee, showers quickly, and rolls his eyes when Dean makes a crack about him being able to spend less time in the shower now. At breakfast, he smiles at the (cute, definitely worth a bang) waitress, but doesn't flirt or even check her out as she walks away. He's figured out that Dean wants Sam to want to get laid (but not too much; he's definitely not supposed to want it as much as Dean wants it) but for some reason doesn't want him to actually get lucky. And he definitely would have gotten lucky. He spends the day looking empathetic, acting like this whole thing hasn't been a colossal waste of time. Like he cares about everything. About anything.

(God, it's exhausting.)

It turns out the deaths probably don't have anything to do with the witch at all. They return to the fairgrounds one last time, where Sam plants hex bags and paints runes on the corners of the building that will block the witch's simple spells - not that he cares whether the witch achieves anything or not, just on principle. His own runes are small and subtle enough that this novice witch (they must be a novice; no one with any experience would be naive enough to make their work so noticeable) won't even know they're in place. And if the witch escalates, well, that's not exactly Sam's problem.

When he's finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and says "We should get Chinese for dinner. When's the last time you ate a vegetable?" Because monitoring everyone's vegetable intake is something he did Before.

They're finishing Chinese takeout in their motel room (beef with broccoli for Dean, eggplant in garlic sauce for Sam, because occasional bouts of vegetarianism were also a thing he did Before) when he catches Dean looking at his hair, very clearly wanting to say something.

So. It's go time.

Sam tries to make his eyes big and sad. The puppy dog look, Dean always called it. It was never intentional Before, but now he has to work at it. "Listen," he says. "I owe you an apology. I haven't been telling you the whole truth."

“No shit," Dean says. He's trying to sound nonchalant, but his body language screams that he's bracing for something. "So, spill it. What's your big confession?"

(That I don't care about any of this. This piddly little case. My hair. You. Nothing. And you can't imagine, Dean, you cannot even begin to imagine the incredible freedom of not caring. I wish you could, but you just can't.)

No, he can't say any of that. But the best lies are built on a kernel of truth.

Sam takes a deep, anxious breath and looks at Dean. No, wait. Look away. "You know, I told you I don't remember Hell. And I really don't. Not consciously, anyway. But when we were fighting those demons a couple of weeks ago, one of them grabbed me by the hair, and I felt something… it was a sense memory, I guess. It felt like Hell, for some reason. Like it was something that happened to me in Hell, someone grabbing my hair and pulling my head back and getting ready to cut my throat or… whatever."

He doesn't have to elaborate on whatever. Dean knows the whatevers of Hell better than anyone. He's probably dealing with a little sense memory of his own right now, of clutching someone's hair and pulling their head back in preparation for whatever. And now Sam does look at his brother, who is staring at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“Ever since then," Sam continues, "I just feel like I've been on the verge of remembering something. Something I don't want to remember. And I'm tired of worrying that I'm gonna have a Hell flashback every time I wash my hair."

Dean looks like he's going to vomit. Perfect.

“I'm sorry," Sam says. "It threw me, and I just didn't want to talk about it. But I shouldn't have kept it from you."

For a second, he's sure he has gone too far. Dean is going to say what's this bullshit, Sam, you would never apologize for something like that, so tell me what's really going on. But he doesn't. He stares at Sam for a minute, then looks away and wipes a hand down his face.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. You, ah. You good now? Is it working?"

Sam shrugs. "Hard to say. It hasn't been very long. But yeah, I feel a little more… stable, I guess."

And then it’s time to go for the kill.

Sam gives him the sad smile. (He never used to think of it as a sad smile; never used to think of it as anything at all. It was just what his face did. Every expression requires so much thought now.) "Listen. I know things are weird. I know I'm weird. Different. I know it's hard for you. If this is all more than you want to deal with right now, I understand."

Dean frowns. "What are you saying?"

“Just, I can go back with Samuel and his crew if you don't want to do this any more. You and me, I mean. No hard feelings, I promise."

Dean's face crumples. "What? No, fuck, no, Sam. I don't. You and me, we're good. I'm just getting used to things. That's all."

“Okay." Sam gives his best approximation of a grateful smile.

“So. Uh." Dean looks around the room nervously, like he's waiting for the other shoe to fall, then stands. "I think I'm gonna go get a drink. You wanna come with, or…"

Even if Sam believed Dean really wanted him to come along — and he doesn't; this is obviously Dean's way of retreating from a situation he doesn't want to think about — pretending to sleep when Dean's gone is one of the easier ways of making it look like he actually does sleep sometimes. "No. I'm beat," he says. "I think I'll just go to bed."

“Okay. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea." Dean takes his keys out of his pocket and anxiously tosses them in his hand. When he finally does turn to Sam, he looks at his hair, not his eyes. "Hey, you know, it does. It does look good on you."

Sam ducks his head shyly, like someone who's not used to praise. Who doesn't think he deserves it. "Thanks." When he looks up, Dean is already halfway out the door, putting as much space between himself and his little brother's hellscape as possible.

(Seriously. Fish in a fucking barrel.)

#my fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #soulless sam is my spirit animal #spn #season 6

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evr0ck17 · 2 years

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My Favorite Phish Show (08-01-2003)

I don't know how many Phish shows I've been to, more than some less than others. I think I've been to enough. I spent years totally obsessed with the band, on message boards and bit torrent sites, acquiring hundreds of gigabytes of concert tapes (before streaming was a thing). I'd analyze every note of big jams, always looking for the best improvisational moments.

I started finally seeing the band in 2003 at the Worcester centrum, when I was 17. They delivered the goods right out of the gate, with the fairly rare "You enjoy myself" opener, after Trey played a "charge!" tease. 2-26-03 is a great show, often overshadowed by the next show at Nassau collesium.

I love how the band sounded that year, I don't think they rehearsed as much as they did in the 90's because they likely didn't need to. Things were a little sloppy on the heavily charted stuff, but the jams were really strong.

I think my favorite phish show that I saw was the first night of the It festival. Being 17 and driving to the tip top of Maine to Limestone was this huge adventure for me and all the kids I went with. There I was with all my friends on this decommissioned air force base with 80 thousand other longhaired freaks that looked just like me... and stunk just like me.

The whole thing was amazing even before the band took the stage, I remember listening to the show they were playing in New Jersey on the site's temporary radio station "the bunny" with so much anticipation. I hung on the fence to the stage area listening to the 60 minute jam that served as the soundcheck. I had spent the last few years watching their film "Bittersweet Motel" just wishing I could see the band (they weren't touring when I started listening to them). I had massive expectations for the actual 6 sets they were going to start on the Saturday afternoon of the festival.

One pre show thing that sticks out is seeing 4 horn playing musicians come together from all different directions and break into "Jungle Boogie" by Kool and The Gang, right on the runway, in the middle of the tent city. Phish would hire artists and musicians to do all kinds of things all over the festival, and I suspect the horn gang was one of those things.

I'm not going to tell the whole road trip young adventure story here, I'm really trying to get at what a good show the first night is. I'll get to the adventure story another time. I'll say this, I'm bonded for life with those companions I went to the festival with.

Beyond the actual music was the adventurous experience of a 17 year old on ecstasy. I think that's part of why my 2nd Phish Show Is my favorite one, but that doesn't mean that the music wasn't stellar.

I remember yelling at all the people i camped that it was time for the first set, the only person that joined me was my friend Dan, who had never seen the band. We took mdma and parked ourself pretty close to the giant stage.

It was minutes into the first set when my lofty expectations were blown sky high. Dan and I had to sit down in some meditative state during Reba, we were rolling our faces off at the event of a life time and the band was killing it. Dan and I have been friends since. The rarely jammed "ya mar" (only the 2nd song of the set) stretched out for 17 minutes into uncharted territory, setting the tone for the weekend. I thought I could go scare up some dinner between sets, when I heard the beginning of "down with deseaae" from the campsite. I ran with my hotdog back toward the stage and ran into 5 or 6 friends from school as we watched the rest of the show. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs during the peak of the shorter yet consise "David bowie" that closed the 2nd set. Full on arena rock energy in the middle of nowhere.

I know Sunday night is the big "ghost" glowstick war spectacle, but Saturday is my favorite, it could stand on the first set alone. Even if I wasn't there I'd think it was an amazing show.

So if you're inclined to listen to phish today, let me recommend 8-2-2003. When I listen to phish I skip the "song" part and just fast forward to the jams, "ya mar" being one of my favorite long phish jams of all time. To do that as the 2nd song of the first set is both atypical and amazing. The 3rd set was all weird ambient sounds that were more of a Brian Eno background to all the wild psychedelic things that were going on all around me.

The band played an ambient set on the top of the air traffic control tower. I can't even get into that, I thought I had imagined it until I saw photos on phish.com when I got home.

The first night of it could take the Pepsi challenge with any of the notable "legendary, epic" tapes out there.

youtube

#phish #music #jams #youth #festivals #art #Youtube

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aimee-does-things · 4 years

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The Big Easy Decision

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." - Ferris Bueller

The whole world can change in a week. We've seen it happen over and over again in 2020. We started the year with the devastating loss of our cat Soggy. He was a stray who showed up at my doorstep when I moved into my last apartment in mid-2019. He would greet me whenever I got home, rolling over to show his belly. He was always happy, and because of the constant rain in Florida, always wet, thus the name, Soggy. When Hurricane Dorian was on the way, I got worried about the little cat that seemed to live on my front porch. I took him in, bathed him, treated him for fleas, and let him ride out the storm in my apartment. Once the storm had passed, my boyfriend George and I took him to the vet to get his shots. He stayed with us for three months. One fateful day in January of this year, I walked into the hallway and noticed a trail of feces. "These damn cats!" My first thought was to grab the paper towels and bleach. But why would they have pooped all over the floor?

I looked toward the bedroom and saw Soggy's tail twitching. "Soggy?" I said nervously as I peeked behind the door. There, curled on the floor, was Soggy. Mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes fogged over, twitching. We were immediately in the car driving down the street to the vet. We were too late. The vet said she thought it was a stroke. We buried him in the back yard and spent the next week in tears. We had lost our baby, and the year had just started. It was devastating, but we were optimistic; it was January, and we had plenty of time to make happy memories for 2020. February and early March were sprinkled with good and bad. George lost an old friend to depression, but we got to see one of his best friends get married, and we took a trip with his Nephews and my son to the NBA Experience in Orlando, Florida, and had a fantastic time.

In mid-march, COVID-19 had become a worldwide pandemic, and we were in lockdown. George is an actor, so he was entirely out of work, and I was worried that I'd soon lose my job. The bad of 2020 certainly seemed to be taking over. In June, I tested positive for COVID-19; even though I hadn't gone out (I had even been having my groceries delivered), I was supposed to paint a sign for The Riverside Children's Arts Center, where I work. I had been delaying it because I didn't want to go to the hardware store to buy the supplies I needed. On June 24th, I decided to wear a mask and get the stuff. I walked in, stealthily dodging people, staying ten feet away from everyone I saw, went straight to the lumber section, grabbed my piece of wood, and did self-check-out. I got back to my car, doused myself in hand sanitizer, and went straight home. Later that day, I realized that I couldn't smell anything. I was hesitant to tell George because I didn't want to be locked up in a room by myself for 14 days. But I did the right thing. I quarantined myself and got tested. It took ten days for my results to get back to me, but I was sure I had it. I was coughing, had shortness of breath, going to the bathroom made me feel like I had run a marathon. I had so much resentment for that stupid sign. 2020 was totally sucking, but I am happy to say I have made a full recovery, including regaining my sense of smell.

It's been a prolonged year. It's August, and losing Soggy seems like something that happened ten years ago. Since March, George and I have started a nightly routine of drinking hot tea on the front porch in the evenings before bed. This past Friday, during our porch time, we came up with a crazy idea. What if we went on a road trip out to California and back? We talked for over an hour; I gushed about my love for California; it's my home. The next morning when I opened my eyes, George was already awake, he greeted me with his bright blue eyes and sparkling smile, "So, are we doing this?" I knew exactly what he was talking about, "Yes!"

At breakfast, we had a more serious discussion about it. Could we actually travel across the country with only a few day's notice? More importantly, could we travel across the country during a pandemic? I guess the even more important question was actually, should we travel across the country during a pandemic? I know that the most obvious answer is no, we shouldn't. But I had spent most of 2020 indoors, and our recent venture out to Americus, Georgia, had me aching to travel again. So I justified it like this: we want to go. That's it. Now, I'm not thinking that I'm immune to COVID just because I already had it, and I don't believe that a mask is going to protect me from everything, and I'm not one of those people that's like, "Fuck the coronavirus, I do what I want." But I am someone who wants to enjoy life, and see the world. So we decided that we would go, and we would be as careful as possible. As someone that's done a decent amount of traveling, I was very uncertain about how exactly we'd have a fulfilling vacation with so many things being different. So we packed our things, and plenty of hand sanitizer and face masks, and we headed out on the road.

Our first stop was New Orleans, Louisiana. While I had been to Louisiana many times, I had never been to New Orleans, and George visited last when he was eight years old. So it would be a new experience for both of us. The first day of the trip included driving through Alabama and Mississippi. When I was younger, I looked really young. I mean, when I was in 7th grade, I could have passed for seven years old. I spent nearly all junior high feeling insecure, and like I was being judged for what I was wearing because my mom would dress me in matching short sets meant for 7-year-olds. I thought those feelings had long been forgotten until I wore a face mask in Alabama. At one of our restroom stops, there was even a man that looked at me, smirked, and stood so close he was touching my shoulder as he browsed the donut case. He let out a light chuckle as I immediately stepped away, not just because of COVID, but because, ew!

We arrived in New Orleans around 3 pm, and checked into our Hotel. We had a goal to try to spend no more than $50 per night on hotels and had managed to find a Motel 6 for $47 per night taxes included. I love staying at fancy 4-star hotels, which probably goes without saying, because who really is against luxury? That said, I'm not above staying somewhere cheap, especially if it means more money for my favorite part of travel; the food. It was everything you'd expect a $47 per night motel to be, no-frills, and pretty shabby. The room itself was okay; they provided us with two towels, a tiny soap, and sheets that looked clean, minus the cigarette burns. We wiped everything in the room down with disinfectant wipes (just to make sure.) After resting awhile and getting cleaned up, we headed out to check out the French Quarter about which we'd heard so much. I was delighted with the Creole townhouses and cottages that lined the streets, New Orleans Square was always my favorite area of Disneyland as a kid, and seeing the real-life version was very exciting. We decided to go for a walk down Canal Street and Bourbon street because as tourists, that was our job. It wasn't terribly crowded, but there were still plenty of street performers out filling the air with music and a sense that everything was fine, and life is entirely normal, which is everything I would expect from Louisiana in general. The city's downside was a massive homeless population and panhandlers that ask for money seemingly every few feet. We decided to risk going inside a restaurant for dinner; we ate at Olde Nola Cookery, which we found based on online reviews. We both had catfish, which was terrific, and the restaurant staff took extra care to keep germ free. They wore masks properly, gloves when serving food, and even had digital menus so that we didn't have to touch a menu used by anyone else. After dinner, we were exhausted from our trip and returned to our rented rat's nest to sleep.

We awoke the next morning at 7 am, and by eight we were out at breakfast. We chose Two Chicks Cafe because it was highly rated for breakfast, and it didn't disappoint. We had their special eggs Benedict, with a cajun hollandaise sauce, and a croissant instead of an English muffin. The croissant was decent, not the delicate thousand-layer dream you'd get from an authentic French Bakery, but far from a Pillsbury recent roll. It was a respectable croissant. The poached eggs were really poached eggs; they didn't use any kind of egg-poaching device, someone actually poached this egg with expert skill.

After breakfast we stopped by the Metairie Cemetery, these beautiful old cemeteries are something I've always wanted to see, and I was so happy that we got to stop. We're now on our way to Dallas Texas!

#neworleans frenchquarter NOLA Cemetery roadtrip travel vacation

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