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shark vs the universe

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@disasteriffickaz
Build hype for this EPIC New RPG! Train your Totem, Recruit Allies, Write YOUR story & be legendary! #LoveWitanlore http://thndr.me/SMNLWf
Hi! Just curious, in BYC Verse are Sam and Dean gonna pursue a poly relationship with Joe n Steve? Cause tbh the foursomes squick me out a bit. But I 100% totally respect your decision! I love your writing btw.
Lol only in so much as they occasionally get together and have some fun. They're not going to like, settle down and be normal. Dean would get bored WAY too fast. Ha!
I'M CRYING I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD A TUMBLR!!! You are my fave author EVER, I'm absolutely FANGIRLING right now XD Your writing is absolutely amazing <3
Lmao well half the time I forget to tumble but I try to remember. Thank you! You're reviews always make me grin! Loves to you too!
Itâs your counsel I need. Itâs yours. Now and always.
Therapy chat brought on by a Facebook meme. I believe in talking about the hell. I believe keeping the silence only hurts us more. Warning for triggery stuff in here, guys. Don't read this if you aren't feeling safe today. *huggles* <3
I have one of 'those' exes. He suckered me in for six months with his act of being the perfect man. And it was an act, a damn good one. After six months of the romance novel, I agreed to move in with him. We packed up mine and my roommates stuff, dropped her off at her new apartment, and on the way to our new home he changed. As though someone had flipped a switch. This man who I had never seen lose his temper, the picture of calm self-control, became someone else that night. A very angry, mean someone else. I made excuses; it was late, he was tired, he had a cold, he didn't mean it... I did all the things women do to rationalize in the face of fear because we love someone. I let it go, hoping it would get better, that it had been a fluke. It wasn't.
He was a consummate actor. Everyone who knew him loved him. I was suddenly the only person who knew there was another side to him that no one but me got to see. He was angry and vindictive. He systematically cut me off from my family and friends and he did it so quietly that I didn't even realize it was happening; that I allowed this to happen. I wanted to leave him but the complex we lived in refused to let me out of the lease and put it in his name because I made more. I could have asked him to leave. Maybe I should have, but at that point I was afraid. The thought of confronting him used to make me physically ill. I was not allowed to say 'no' to this man. If he wanted something, including sex, he got it even if I was crying or violently ill. The worst 'mind-fuck' our society perpetrates on women is the belief that it can't be rape if you're in a relationship together. I spent years learning to accept that for what it was, reeducating my brain to accept what actually happened.
I toughed it out. I waited for our lease to end in misery. I spent every night I could with my best friend. I found a new apartment and I left the first day I could.
The worst part was that no one ever believed me. They were all taken in by the facade he put up. "Oh, he's so sweet and kind and gentle and soft spoken! He would never do that." I was painted as the psycho girlfriend. I felt completely alone. Even my best friend believed him over me and we had known each other since high school. It's why we're not as close as we once were. He would go to her for information on me after I left him and she always gave it, gossiping with my stalker about me because she believed his lies.
He stalked me for over a year. There were hang up phone calls at all hours of the day and night. I used to cringe every time my phone rang, wondering if it was going to be him again; cower in my apartment each time I heard slow footsteps in the hall outside my door. He would park his car in the lot across the street and watch my apartment, day and night. It was years before I could comfortably open a curtain. I had a balcony I rarely used because I felt exposed, like I was being watched.
It all came to a head when he tried to attack me in my apartment building. It was a secured building but one of my neighbors had let him in. I ran to the office. I called the police. They told me there was nothing they could do unless he actually hurt me. I was fucking terrified. I had to fight myself to leave my apartment for work after that. And the only reason I did it was because I didn't want to end up homeless.
But I stopped seeing him after that. I thought he stopped, that he finally lost interest and let me go and moved on. For ten damn years I slowly became more confident, though each relationship I had, man or woman, always ended badly until I met someone else. I convinced myself to trust him. We moved in together. It eventually became a train wreck too because he developed a problem with drugs and alcohol. I left him because I couldn't watch him slowly kill himself anymore. It was amicable. We didn't hate each other. We were still talking. Two months after I moved, he called me. He had gone out to go to work and my supposedly former stalker was waiting for him. He wanted to know where I had gone and if I was coming back.
Turns out he didn't stop stalking me for that ten years, he simply stopped letting me see him at it. And honestly, somehow that's even more terrifying. Now I live in that constant fear state again. It's there every day. I will always wonder if he knows where I am, if he's watching me, if I'm going to turn around and see him. Every convention I go to, I can't help but search every face for any sign of his. It took me years to work through the fear he instilled in me and with one simple phone call, all that work was gone.
It affects every aspect of my life, even my relationship with a woman I fucking adore. I'm more distant than I should be. I know that. I have intimacy issues in spades that are not helped by the memory of that man. I feel a little like a failure every day, both for being taken in by him in the first place, and for still allowing him to affect me as much as he does. I'm unsure how to change that. I fight it by trying to not push away this woman who loves me anyway. I don't always succeed. Sometimes I simply hide and don't speak to anyone who isn't physically here. She rolls with it. She gives me my space to be a mess and is content to just let me know she's there. I know that on some level, she thinks I don't love her like she loves me. But I do. I love her so much it frightens me because I've felt this much love before and it has never ended well. I try not to 'punish' her for the wrongs of other people but it's very hard not to listen to that voice in the back of my head that screams 'protect yourself!'. That voice also says she would be better off without me in her life, that she'd be safer and happier if she didn't have my mess to deal with.
I've been hiding for a couple days; lurking really. I saw this meme thing on Facebook earlier making light of 'crazy exes' and I thought... that's not funny. Why do people think this is funny? It's fucking terrifying and attitudes like this are why mine got away with it and why no one believed me, why they believed him when he labeled me one of his 'psycho exes'.
I'm sorry I push you away sometimes, gorgeous girl. It's not because I don't love you. It's because I do and I don't always know what to do with that. You are the bright spot in my day. You make me smile and laugh and you are my reminder that I don't have to live in that past nightmare and that I am allowed to feel safe and happy now.
-Kurrie HoytâȘ
Tonightâs Supernatural. THING OF FUCKING BEAUTY. I canât even. It was amazing. The whole episode, the acting, the special effects, my lovely Lucifer back to screw with my lovely Sammy again OMG *dies* Be still my heart! From the moment in the car when young John said âhe never could foolâ Sam, I KNEW it was Lucifer and not God talking to him. And that reveal was AWESOME tonight. The emotion on Samâs face, the determination, the fear, the loss of hope... just wow.
Dean and his impromptu meeting with Amara was wonderful. Love how the teenage angst has matured into adult âwantâ. And the fact that she cared enough to send him to safety was wonderful.
Rowena that wonderful BITCH she set that up. I know it. She deliberately created the wards to fail. Sheâs after Lucifer. I mean, why try to suck up to her asshole of a son when she can have Luci? Hero worship. Definitely.
Sam is in such wonderful deep shit now. Trapped with Luci again. I kept wondering how the title was going to come into it, at first I thought it was Dean and Amara but nope; itâs Sam vanishing into the cage with his worst nightmare and isnât Dean going to HATE himself for skipping THAT call for Amara when he finds out?Â
Itâs going to be a long six weeks but DAMN what a way to cliffie. That was a stupendous episode! Well done, Supernatural! Well fucking done! LOLÂ
Not without you...
Ok no naughty here really but I've had a piece of a scene in my notes for months, since the last time I watched 6x11 'Appointment in Samarra' and I had this Wincesty mental image of Dean praying to Sam rather than God before he does the whole temporary death and deal with Death thing. Lol So I wrote it up. Angsty as fuck. Clearly.
************************ "Gimme a minute before we do this." Dean watched the doctor nod silently and leave the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He sat on the edge of the exam table and looked out the grimy window to the world outside. He took a couple deep, steadying breaths and then reached into his jacket, into a small pocket he'd sewn inside of the larger pocket.
His fingers nimbly caught on black cord and he pulled out the little bronze amulet he had so carelessly discarded a long time ago. He rolled the heavy amulet in his hand, remembering how he'd found it in Sam's bag shortly after discovering his brother was minus one all-important soul; the way Sam had shrugged it off saying he didn't really see a reason to keep the silly thing but obviously the rest of him had at some point. Dean had taken it then, not wanting it anywhere the husk of Sam. Because that's all he was; a shell. It was Sam's body and Sam's voice but nothing more.
Dean rolled his eyes in disgust at the memory of the one time Sam's soulless self had offered to continue their, as he called it, illicit and incestuous relationship.
"It's just sex, Dean." Sam had shrugged and given him a wide, fake smile. "Although, I'm not as interested in bottoming as your Sam was." He'd brushed the pads of his fingers over Dean's scruffy jaw and chuckled when his older brother had jerked his head away.
Dean shuddered. Just the thought of sex with him, with that version of Sam was repugnant but damn he missed his brother... his lover.
"I know you're gonna be pissed at me, Sammy," Dean said softly into the quiet room. His voice was gravelly with emotion and he cleared his throat, looking steadily down at the amulet. "But I'm gonna find Death and he's gonna deal with me. I ain't takin' no for an answer. I can't..." Dean stopped and blew out a breath, closing his fist around the amulet and looked out the window again.
"I can't just keep living with that soulless bastard 'cause I know." Dean swallowed. "I know, Sammy. Sooner or later I'm gonna have to put him down like a rabid dog and I swear the moment that happens, the next bullet's mine. And if God is even paying attention he'll let me follow that ride to the cage right down to you. I'd rather be screaming in hell with you, little brother, that spend the rest of my life up here alone."
Dean sniffed and scrubbed a hand over his wet cheeks, rubbing moisture out of his eyes while the horns of the amulet dug into his palm. "I know you can't hear me down there." He smiled. "Hell, maybe you can. You've always been my heart and soul so maybe, just maybe, there's some little piece of me down there with you and little brother... I'm coming. I know what you told me. And I know what I promised." Dean stood and leaned an arm onto the window with a soft, angry thump. "Can't believe you though I'd just let this happen. You really think there's anything I wouldn't do to save you? The world can fuck itself, Sam, if you're not in it."
The wind rattled the pane against Dean's hand and he leaned back against the table again. He opened his hand to look at the amulet once more and the red marks in his skin from how tightly he had squeezed it. "I'm only whole when you're around. Even if you're livin' a slice of apple pie normal without me. Even if I know there's someone else's lips where mine belong... someone else's hands on skin that belongs to me."
Dean growled softly at those thoughts and closed his eyes. "Fuck. You're gone, Sammy. You're gone and you left me again and I can't. I just can't."
"Dean?"
Dean turned and saw the crazy, quack of a doctor sticking his head in the door. He wiped off his face again and quickly put the amulet back in his pocket. "Yeah. Yeah. Let's do this," Dean said gruffly. He pushed up and sat on the exam table, swinging his legs up so he could lay down.
"It's worth it," Dean muttered and smiled. One way or another, he was going to see his Sammy again.
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The End.
Iâmâa go cuddle my fleet. Enjoy and use to your heartâs content. <3
Demon Dean and Soulless Sam in a coin op photo booth in Hell. Deanmon just has no idea what heâs getting into. ROFL
Filling the Glass
I'm gonna get heavy here for a minute. The last few months, certain events involving a popular show, one of its stars, and its fandom have prompted a widespread discussion about depression, how those living with it interact with each other, and what is acceptable in terms of sharing your stories in a public forum. For the most part, the discussion has been constructive and healthy and that impresses the hell out of me. The trolls are few and far and thankfully not too loud. That doesn't happen often in this lovely internet of ours. Lol At any rate, I want to take a moment here and try to explain why sharing our stories can be both a healing and such a problematic thing and we need to be responsible about when and where we share them.
How survivors of abuse/depression/anxiety interact:
I am a survivor. Without going into details, I was abused. My childhood was a nightmare, there have been abusive boyfriends since, my mother's cancer and her recent death. To put it another way that will set up this analogy nicely, my cup brimmeth over with depression, grief and anxiety.
Because I have survived all these things and am still here to talk about it, I do my best to be there for other survivors. When someone wants to tell me their pain, their trauma, I listen. I can give them that; an understanding ear to listen to what they feel safe enough to share. It's a big deal when someone like us trusts another person enough to open up.
There's a cost though, and a responsibility. I AM a survivor and we all have, metaphorically speaking, a glass of water in our minds. Picture it like this:
I have a glass of water. It's full, but there's still a little room left at the top. You have your own glass of water. When you tell me, or any other survivor your story, you begin to pour water from your glass into mine. The more you share with me, the more water pours from your glass to mine and eventually, my glass overflows. It's messy and frustrating and if it happens a lot, if people are constantly overflowing my glass, it can be physically and emotionally exhausting having to constantly clean up that mess.
Now, if I know that I'm going to be in a place where people are going to want to add water to my glass, I can prepare. I can ready myself; figuratively make some extra room in my glass for you. When I don't know and it's a surprise, there's no time to prepare and it's like you dumped a pile of ice cubes into my nearly full glass and now I'm chasing them around the floor, hopelessly trying to catch all the pieces and keep the mess from getting even worse.
None of this means you should never share. Always share. Always find a safe place to share responsibly whether in a group or on a forum, in person or through the safe anonymity of the internet. Sharing is important for us. It's cathartic and healthy to be able to tell someone the things that happened to us. So much of abuse and depression is shrouded in misplaced guilt; in the way society tells us we should be quiet, the way the ones who hurt us made us keep the secrets, and the way so many people treat survivors as though we have somehow failed at life by not 'getting over it'.
We need to share and talk and just be there for each other. And we need to help others understand, at least in some small part, the way these things stay with us always. We become more adept at dealing with the memories of them, at balancing our glass, but those things remain in the glass just the same. This is the essence of trauma; you never forget. You learn to live alongside it and not allow it to destroy your life, but you can never forget.
There are good days and bad days. On the good days, the glass is bigger and there's more room. On bad days, the glass seems so full it's hard to move for fear of spilling it. The problem is, you can never tell just by looking at someone what sort of day they're having; you can't tell if their glass has room for you or if it's ready to overflow. Sometimes, we don't even know ourselves until we're mopping up the mess.
Every survivor should know the phrase 'share safely'. It's meant to protect you as well as whomever you're sharing with. Sharing safely means never surprising someone with your trauma. If someone asks you about it, odds are they feel like they have enough room in their glass for you that day at that moment. That could change and we should never assume that because someone was able to listen to us once, they can do so every time. Just the way we can't always handle hearing or reading the trauma of others. Some days we need to take care of ourselves first and there is no shame and no guilt for saying 'no'. We must always remember to share safely and be responsible about where and when we choose to share. The things that hurt us can hurt others.
I'll end by saying; Share safely, my friends. And may you have a glass-half-empty kind of day.
I went to go see Jurassic World again, this time with my family. And as I was driving my little brother back to his house, he expressed disappointment that the original cast (bar the scientist and the t-rex) didnât make appearances. Then he said something that set me off in a Jurassic Wonderland of wasted possibility.
âWhat I want to know is why the two kids werenât running the place. Why was some strange lady in charge of the park, instead of Lex? Why was some navy guy in charge of the raptors instead of Tim?â
And I just⊠can you imagine what the movie would have been if that had been the case instead?
Lex in charge of the park- the computer system isnât just something she uses- she fucking designed it. She designed it and worked on programming it. She was the one who designed the tracking system they use with all the dinosaurs because she needs to be able to assure herself of where every single one of them is at any time, and she carries a tablet with her that does just that- taps into the network and shows dino locations. She fights the board on every new carnivore they want to create; Itâs a bad idea, she tells them. Carnivores eat meat which in case you have not noticed, humans happen to coincidentally be made of meat. She also doesnât just track the dinosaurs- thereâs no way anyone will ever suffer through what she and Tim and Grant did. Every visitor to the island has a wristband that talks to the mainframe and gives their location at all times.
And Tim, head of the animal care and behavior department. He doesnât know anything about the dinosaurs; he knows EVERYTHING about these dinosaurs. He has Hammondâs hearteyes wonder mentality partnered with Grantâs thirst for knowledge and fueled by his own curiosity and experiences. Heâs there for every birth, and has his hands in the raising and care of all the dinosaurs. Like Grant, he has a soft spot for the raptors, and they have a soft spot for him as well.
Imagine the look on their faces when InGen admits that a dinosaur was created behind their backs, a hybrid of several species, because someone wanted to create more âwowâ for the park. Only what they created wasnât what they meant to create. This new dino is smarter than anything theyâve ever made before. Bigger than the T-Rex. Stronger. It surprises everyone with itâs ability to mask its heat and change its skin color. Itâs a mistake but ohhh what a mistake- the InGen folks have hearts in their eyes thinking about how they could apply these changes to raptors.
Imagine Lexâs utter outrage at being lied to, but now that the life has been created she canât just take it. The animal didnât ask to be born, but now that it has been, she ensures that it has what amounts to a bomb-proof enclosure in a remote section of the island. She forbids opening it as an attraction, this is for containment only. And the would-be social creature, deprived of social interaction with humans or its own kind or with anyone really, becomes the Indominus Rex we see in the actual movie; she does not understand boundaries or dominance or good behavior.
But the movie dynamics are now shifted. Instead of the park destroying itself from within, it is under attack from without. It isnât because Lex was careless about security. There is no tension between Lex and Tim outside of normal brother/sister banter. Imagine that InGen wants those raptors badly enough to force a field test of them- imagine they purposefully release Indominus, thinking Timâs raptor squad can beat it.
Imagine Tim and Lexa gearing up to go into the wilds of their park because there are people stranded at the far end. Imagine a movie where the wholesale destruction and terror are not because everyone is ill-equipped to handle the situation (because Lex and Tim? Theyâve made fucking preparations for this shit, they have thought of everything for this kind of situation) but instead a story about how all of those preparations mean shit against this superdino. She outsmarts them like the Clever Girl she is, avoiding traps, clawing out her tracker, taking out their electricity, setting free the other dinosaurs.
Imagine half the movie following two young girls, strangers, who got put together on the rolly ball ride. One is a mechanicâs daughter who can disassemble and reassemble whole cars if she wanted, who fiddles with the ride to let them free-roll anywhere they want. Imagine she does it because the other girl has spent her whole life admiring Dr. Ellie Satler and wanting to be a paleobotanist but the ride doesnât get close enough to the plants for her to see them well. Imagine that they escape Indominus by ducking under a plant that is basically a giant ancient fucking nettle plant and Indominus takes one faceplant into it before deciding WOW NOT WORTH IT BYE. And the two girls stick together until they meet up with Lex and Tim who are out trying to find the rolly ball inhabitants that went off road because they are the last two left, and Lex has been following their wristband signals.
Indominus finds the InGen beach camp and attacks with her new raptor compatriots. Lex and Tim, after seeing all the civilians safely to boats, come to the rescue. Tim wins back his raptor clan while Lex comes charging down the beach in the original Jeep the mechanicâs daughter fixed, road flares tied to the roll bars and madam Queen-of-All T-Rex chasing after her to start the final showdown.
No giant seamonster needed- T-Rex + Raptor Squad + InGen army + Lex and Tim are enough to bring down Indominus. Barely, but they win. And T-Rex is there, but sheâs had quite enough fighting against raptors after the first movie, and so she leaves, heading into the jungle to let the humans recover.
Lex fires everyone at InGen. They go get ice cream from the cafeteria and Tim eats an entire chocolate pie by himself. They call Grant the next day and say âYou are possibly the only person who will believe the day we just had.â
This. This just blew my damn mind. Son of a bitch. I didnât even realize I hadnât gotten the movie I deserved until I read this and now... son of a bitch! Iâm head-canoning this immediately.
A is for Assault Rifle
   Now I Know My ABC's  Â
Disasteriffic_Kaz
           Summary:      Â
A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.
         Notes:  Â
This chapter is loosely set in Season 1. No particular time reference other than that because our boys were wonderfully uncomplicated back then and it seemed like a good place to start. And on with the alphabet of Hurt/Comfort we go!
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :Dâ Friend and Muse's co-conspirator. **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat! ~Reviews are Love~
Chapter 1
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 A is for Assault Rifle -
"We should really think about this, Dean." Sam followed his brother across the huge parking lot toward Wal-Mart and sighed when Dean's stride didn't falter. "What if this guy's bad news? There are civilians in there."
"No one's dead, Sammy," Dean said easily and shrugged. "I don't think the dude even knows what he's doing. Look, we'll find him in here, pull him into one of the service hallways or somethin', and have a nice friendly chat and ask him to please give us the cursed pendant and have a nice day."
Sam shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Ok, Han. Chill out." Dean chuckled and slowed at the wide, glass doors as they slid open for them. "It's two in the morning. There's like ten people in the whole store. Everything's gonna be fine."
"Famous last words," Sam muttered and followed him inside. "You remember what he looks like?"
Dean sneered over his shoulder at his little brother and rolled his eyes as he walked past a row of empty registers and then stopped, looking at them. "Shouldn't there be somebody up here?"
"Hello?" Sam called and ducked the swing Dean took at his shoulder.
"Shuddup! You wanna announce to the bad guy that we're here?"
Sam snorted. "We're just customers looking for a cashier. How is he going to know any different?"
"Because he's a bad guy and they always know." Dean rolled his eyes as if that should be obvious and strode further into the store. "You wanna announce us any louder or can we get on with the stealthy hunting now?"
Sam chuckled and followed behind his brother. "You know you're not a ninja, right?"
"Ninjas are lame, Sammy. I'm Batman." Dean plucked a Barbie off the shelf beside him and turned, giving it a toss to his brother. "You, on the other hand..."
"Shut up, Jerk."
"Bitch." Dean grinned and rolled out his shoulders. He took a deep breath and heard Sam blow out a long breath behind him, in sync as they quieted and turned their senses into the massive store for any sign of their quarry. It was quiet. There were no sounds of people talking anywhere, which wasn't completely unusual at that hour of the night. What was unusual was the total silence; the music that should have been playing and making Dean's teeth itch was nowhere to be heard. You could have heard a pin drop.
"Too quiet," Sam whispered and even that sounded too loud to him.
Dean gave a nod and stepped cautiously out into a wide aisle that ran the length of the store from front to back. "Ok, I'm with you. I don't like thi..." The sound of a woman's short, sharp cry came from somewhere in the store and Dean froze.
Sam tapped his brother's shoulder and pointed off to their left. He quirked a brow, got a nod in response, and started off to the left, angling at a diagonal toward the back corner of the store. He drew his gun and released the safety and knew without looking that Dean was doing the same. Whatever they had planned to do, the man they were after had just upped the ante if he was hurting civilians.
Dean snapped a hand out and pulled Sam to a halt in front of him before he could step out into a new aisle. He put his head close to his brother's and frowned. "He knew before we even came in here. This asshole knew we were coming in here for him." His voice was a harsh whisper and just loud enough for his brother to hear.
Sam gave a firm nod of agreement. He couldn't understand how Malcolm knew they were after him, but Sam's sixth sense assured him that Dean was right. "How you wanna play this?"
Dean shook his head, thinking furiously. Thanks to the scream, they had a rough idea where Malcolm was but little else. He pulled Sam around and then tapped his own chest, flicking his fingers out to the left towards where they had heard the scream, then tapped Sam and pointed to the right. Sam shook his head with a scowl, and Dean rolled his eyes before shoving Sam off to the right.
Sam inwardly growled as Dean moved away from him and out of sight. He had a bad feeling that splitting up on this job was a mistake. He opened his mouth to call his brother back, snapped it closed, and started off to the right under silent protest. The store was once again eerily quiet and it made Sam's skin crawl. He moved around a display taller than himself and eased out to a narrow aisle. His eyes scanned the racks of clothes and shelves of cheap knick-knacks for any sign of movement but could spot nothing. Still, the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up and insisted there was something he wasn't seeing.
He swallowed down his nerves, brought up his gun again and stepped out into the aisle. Sam froze as Malcolm suddenly appeared, standing up from where he had been hidden behind racks of clothes. "Shit," Sam groaned and took aim at the man. "Malcolm, you don't want to..." Sam's words trailed off as another man and then another rose into view, and Sam's eyes blew wide. Each of them was Malcolm, or a damn perfect copy of the man. He took an involuntary step back as three more appeared and felt his heart thump in his chest as all six men leveled assault rifles at him.
"Oh, crap. DEAN!" Sam bellowed his brother's name and dove out of the aisle as gunfire erupted and echoed through the store. Bullets whizzed past him, hitting shelves and knocking clothes from racks. Sam ran hunched down to keep his head out of sight and went toward the last place he'd seen his brother. He broke out into another aisle and slid onto his back as another Malcolm stepped over him and lowered the muzzle of his assault rifle into his face.
Sam grabbed the man's hand and pulled the gun to the side as it went off. He yelped when he felt the hot metal of the round go into and through his arm. He heard the bullet thunk into the floor behind him, felt chips of tile from the impact slam into his back with sharp, burning pains, and then there was another shot. Malcolm's hand went loose in Sam's grip and the man toppled to the side.
"Sammy." Dean jogged up the aisle and kept his gun trained on Malcolm as his eyes shifted to his brother, narrowing when they saw the blood on Sam's shirt and spreading on the floor. "You alright?"
Sam sat up and slumped forward in relief. "Holy crap, Dean."
"Hey, come on." Satisfied that his brother hadn't received immediately life-threatening wounds,Dean reached down and grabbed Sam's uninjured arm, dragging him to his feet. "We're too exposed here. You see the freakin' pod people? I mean, what the hell?"
"Guess we know what the amulet actually does now," Sam gasped as they moved quickly across the aisle and back among the racks. He let Dean tug him down to the floor as more shots rang out.
"Shit." Dean jerked reflexively. He caught the corner of a counter beside them and overturned it to give them more substantial cover. He flicked his eyes around the jungle of clothing racks and resisted the urge to shoot uselessly each time he saw a hint of movement.
Sam slid his right hand over his lower back and sighed, feeling blood, pain, and the unmistakable sensation of little bits of tile stuck into his skin. "Well, this was a bad idea," he said softly.
"Gee, ya think?" Dean rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to slap his brother for the massive understatement. "We gotta get outta here."
It was Sam's turn to snort. "Why didn't I think of that? Oh, right. I did! Ten minutes before this went to hell!"
"Not helping!" Dean did slap Sam's shoulder then, careful to hit the uninjured one, and smirked at the grunt of pain. He knelt up and peered around the edge of their cover, the overturned counter. "Why'd that Malcolm asshole have to run into friggin' Wally World at two in the damn morning?"
Sam chuckled and reached out to the clothing rack across from them. He caught an elastic strap, jerked it down and flung the lacy, pink bra into his brother's face. "Try a disguise. Maybe you can make it to the front of the store."
"Knock it off." Dean yanked the bra out of his face and smirked as he tossed it aside. He looked back over at Sam and frowned. "How you doin'?"
"Fine," Sam said dismissively and glanced down at his left arm. He was still bleeding and the little holes in the left sleeve of his jacket let him know he was going to be feeling it as soon as the adrenaline wore off. "Bullet went through. It's not that bad."
"Right, 'cause being shot is totally normal." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just let me know if you're gonna pass out or something." He ignored the bitchface Sam shot him and glanced around again, still seeing no sign of any activity. "Alright, I'm tired of this crap." He jerked his head up at the sound of screams from somewhere further back in the store. "Dammit. Come on."
"We need to get the pendant off of Malcolm." Sam followed Dean out into the aisle, steadying himself on a display rack when his head swam, evidence that he'd lost more blood than he thought. He shook his head and drew his gun. "As long as he's wearing it..."
"We're screwed. Yeah, I got that." Dean snorted and kept his own gun up and ready. It was bad enough that some unsuspecting guy had stumbled onto a cursed object, but in typical Winchester fashion, that unsuspecting guy had also been one sick bastard who took way too much pleasure in using it. Dean stiffened when he heard a footstep on the tile at the end of the aisle ahead of them. He waited and fired when the man appeared. The shot took him between the eyes but, rather than topple to the floor and die like a person, the man burst into a cloud of shadows and vanished. "How many of these damn clones can he make?"
Sam shook his head. "No idea; but there's no way he didn't hear that shot."
"In this place?" Dean waved a hand around the massive store. "He'll never pinpoint that with the way it echoed." He scowled and rather than staying in the aisle, he angled in among the racks of clothes and ducked lower. "Probably."
"Reassuring," Sam grumbled and followed along. He had to bend nearly in half to even attempt to keep himself hidden between the racks as they moved. It made his back burn and the bullet holes in his arm pound with renewed pain. It wasn't every day they ran into a guy that could create copies of himself solid enough to hold a damn machine gun. "Where are we going?"
"Last time I saw that jackass, he was heading that-a-way." Dean flung a hand toward the other side of the store, toward the back. "Don't know why he didn't just stay in the damn gun department."
Sam ducked and pulled Dean down with him as gunfire erupted and bullets sprayed over their heads. Screams of terrified shoppers rang out from somewhere in the store. Several displays shattered with the impacts, and clothes and bits of wood and metal rained down on their heads. "'Cause they're already armed?"
"Shuddup. Come on, move." Dean got back to his feet and stuck his head up for a look. He didn't see any of the clones. "Must have been random fire."
Sam picked up the pace, moving past his brother and narrowed his eyes when he heard the heavy tromp of booted feet heading away from them. He reached an aisle and cautiously ducked his head from behind a display for a look. He frowned to find it clear. "Huh."
"Where'd they go?" Dean whispered as he came up alongside Sam and saw no one.
"I don't like this." Sam stepped out into the aisle, started across and ran for it as bullets began to fly. "Crap!" he shouted as chunks of dirty, scuffed linoleum flew up at his feet and ran for the opposite side.
"Go! Go! Go!" Dean followed Sam across the open space and jerked to the side when he felt the sensation of hot metal brush the side of his left ear. He dove between a rack of clothes with his brother and rolled back to his knees with his gun drawn, putting himself between Sam and the aisle. "You good, little brother?"
"No new holes," Sam groaned and rolled up to his own knees. "Few new bruises though. They set a trap for us?"
"This guy is pissin' me off," Dean snarled softly. His head jerked around at the sound of muted laughter from somewhere behind them. "Ok; I am done playin' around. Come on."
"Dean..." Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as Dean took off in a crouch toward the sound of voices. He climbed back to his feet and followed Dean as they moved toward the back of the store. His arm burned with pain, but he pushed it from his mind with their father's voice in his ears. "Put the pain away, Sammy. You can worry about it later when it won't get you dead." That had been one of the louder arguments they had had with Sam demanding to know how being forced to hold two buckets of water out at shoulder height for two damn hours could possibly be a useful skill. Sam smirked to himself as he and Dean moved soundlessly through the forest of clothing racks.
Dean ducked low behind a display and kept moving. His knees and back were starting to complain about the hunched over walking and he refused to consider that he might be getting old. He reached a ceiling-height panel and cautiously stood, using it to hide his presence as he peeked around the side. He narrowed his eyes and ducked back to look at Sam as his brother reached him. "Sporting goods ahead. I can see the fishing rods."
Sam groaned softly. "Awesome. Try not to get a lure stuck in your ass. I'm not pulling it out."
Dean snorted and gave his brother a lopsided grin. "You so would."
"Just... ew. Can we go get the bad guy now?" Despite the pain, Sam couldn't help the smile.
"Stay low," Dean warned his brother unnecessarily and moved away and back among the racks. He reached the edge of another wide aisle and paused, wary of stepping out in the open and making targets of them again.
"We'll move fast," Sam whispered at Dean's back. "Couple seconds to cross..."
Dean scowled but there was little choice. He nodded and stepped out into the aisle. Every hair on his body felt like it stood on end as he moved with quick steps across the six-foot aisle. He reached the other side, turned to check on his brother, and four of the copies of Malcolm popped into view. "Sam!" Dean reached out for him even as the assault rifles began blaring. Bullets whizzed over and around him, tearing through the clothes next to him, and Dean saw Sam throw himself to the side and into the racks as Dean rolled away on his own. He came up in a tangle of track suits and hangers and jerked to his feet. He put two rounds in the nearest copy and ducked away as another hail of gunfire sounded.
"Sammy?" Dean called, seeing little point in trying to sneak up on their target now. He stopped and looked back, glaring at all the clothing racks around him as though they would vanish and show him his brother because he demanded it of them. "Sam!"
"Sporting goods! Aisle five," a man's voice echoed from nearby. "Better come quick or we may need a clean-up here."
Dean flinched and dropped his head. Somehow, Malcolm's goon squad had gotten a hold of Sam during the firefight. Dean could only hope his brother was still alive. "Son of a bitch," Dean ground the words out and started moving again.
"Tick, tock, Winchester!"
"Dean, don't..."
Dean heard the snarl that left his mouth at the sound of something heavy hitting flesh and his little brother's bitten off cry of pain. He rolled out the tension in his shoulders and did his best to swallow back the protective, murderous rage that rose up in him. He straightened and stood and wasn't surprised to find four of the goon-copies waiting for him. He fired at each of them, moving his pistol in precise motions and watched as they burst apart into shadows before he started forward again.
The narrow path between shelves of fishing reels gave way to an open area, and Dean stopped. Sam was on his knees on the other side. Blood trickled from Sam's hairline down the right side of his face, and Malcolm - the real Malcolm Dean guessed-stood behind him with the muzzle of a .45 caliber handgun pressed to the back of his brother's head.
Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he brought his own weapon up to sight between Malcolm's eyes. "Let him go."
"Soon as he does," Malcolm said with a dark look.
Dean frowned in confusion and looked at his brother again. Sam's left arm was raised up over his right shoulder like he was holding on to something. Malcolm was bent slightly forward and Dean caught on. He met Sam's eyes and gave him a small nod before looking back to Malcolm. "Got a death grip on your lucky charm, doesn't he? Attaboy, Sammy."
"You have to make it sound dirty?" Sam said in a deadpan voice and managed a smirk over the spinning going on his head. Malcolm had come damn close to knocking him out, but Sam knew his grip on the cursed charm was the only thing keeping him alive. Malcolm couldn't afford to lose it while he was using it.
"Shut up." Malcolm nudged the back of Sam's head with his gun and looked over at the other man. "Tell him to let go of the amulet or I will put a bullet in his brain."
Dean shook his head. "Nope. You shoot him, he yanks that thing off your neck as he goes down, so I know you're not gonna shoot him. Let him go and maybe I don't kill you." He watched Malcolm's face darken angrily and then flinched as Malcolm's clones suddenly stood and strode out of the racks to surround him. Dean turned his head and did a quick count; there were nine of the bastards, all with assault rifles pointed at his chest. Dean took a slow, deep breath and knew he'd never survive it if they fired.
Sam's eyes widened in fear as his brother was surrounded, and he tightened his fingers around the amulet in his hand. He felt the muzzle of the gun behind him dig painfully into the base of his skull. "No."
"Let go of the amulet, and you and your brother can walk out of here." Malcolm spoke softly and calmly as a smile spread across his face. "Or you can watch my boys shred him into a red cloud right here. Let go."
"Don't you do it, Sammy," Dean said fiercely and watched Sam's eyes rise up to meet his. He frowned when he saw the look on his brother's face, in Sam's eyes. Dean started to shake his head, half in denial and half in terror. "Sam." He could see exactly what Sam was going to do. "Sam, give it to him!" Dean's voice was pleading. He couldn't watch his genius little brother's brains be blown out. "Sam!"
Dean could do nothing but watch helplessly as Sam suddenly jerked his arm forward. He heard the the movement of the clones as they tensed, ready to shoot, around him, saw the chain of the amulet snap from around Malcolm's neck, and then in the strange silence, Dean heard the obscenely loud strike of the hammer on Malcolm's gun. "Sammy!"
The gunshot never came. Dean watched Sam flinch in expectation of the bullet tearing through his head, and then Sam was turning, pulling away. Dean stared for a moment in shock. Malcolm's gun had jammed. It hadn't fired. Sam was alive. He let that knowledge burn through him for only a second before he dropped to his knees and spun to try and save his own life from the clones. Dean fired into the first and was aiming at the second when all at once, all of the clones burst apart in the now familiar cloud of dark mist before vanishing altogether, the rifles clattering harmlessly to the ground.
"Nice," Dean muttered and jerked back to his feet. He spun around in time to see Malcolm slam the butt of his gun into Sam's head once and then again. Sam toppled to the side and Dean leveled his own gun. He fired and took Malcolm in the shoulder. He took some small satisfaction as the man howled in pain and dropped to the floor.
"Sammy." Dean ran across the open area and slid to his knees beside his brother. He picked up Sam's bloody head and cradled it in his hands. "Come on, Sam." Dean spared a glance for Malcolm, still curled around his bleeding shoulder and looked back down at his brother when he groaned softly. "That's it, Sam. Come on. Wake up now."
Sam followed the sound of Dean's voice and slowly blinked his eyes open. He looked up blearily at his brother and frowned. "M'I dead?"
"What?" Dean asked in a horrified voice and then forced a grin. "Hell no, dude. The idiot's gun jammed." He slid an arm behind his brother's shoulders and slowly hoisted him up so he was sitting. "Easy. Easy. There you go. See? All those times I yelled at you about gun maintenance, I was right."
Sam snorted a soft laugh and then winced, bringing a hand up to his pounding head. He startled to feel blood covering the side of his face. "You sure he didn' shoot me?"
"Yeah. Tried hard to crack your skull open, though." Dean ran his fingers through the slick blood and found the open gash at Sam's hairline. "Doesn't look too bad." He glanced down and nodded. "You wanna do something with that?"
Sam followed his gaze and realized he was still holding on to the cursed amulet. "Shatter it."
"Got it." Dean plucked the amulet from his brother's hand and turned away. He set it on the floor and took his gun back up.
"No! Don't!" Malcolm cried out suddenly.
"You got all the mercy you're gonna get from me, asshole," Dean said angrily, aimed, and fired. The bullet slammed into the amulet and broke it apart in a spray of wood and crystal. Dean's eyes jerked over to Malcolm when the man screamed. He seized on the floor for several moments and then went still. "What the hell?"
"Oh, God," Sam breathed and forced his abused body to move. He crawled to Malcolm and put his fingers to the man's throat. "He's... He's dead."
Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head for just a moment. "It's not your fault, Sam."
"I should have thought." Sam shook his head and stared sadly down at the dead man. "We should have... we could have put it in a curse box or..."
"Sam, you didn't know destroying the amulet was gonna kill him." Dean went to his brother and took Sam's good arm, levering his brother to his feet. "This ain't on you." He tugged Sam's arm over his shoulder and started them away toward the front of the store. "Now, you wanna talk about somethin', how about you pullin' that suicidal hero bullshit?" Dean's voice rose as they walked and he couldn't seem to stop it. He tugged Sam to a halt, letting him stagger for a second as he turned and glared into his face. "He could have killed you! The only reason your brains aren't paintin' the damn floor back there is because his gun jammed!"
Sam watched Dean's face and the fear flitting across it in complete understanding. He gave a wan smile and a one-armed shrug with his good shoulder. "Couldn't watch them kill you, Dean."
Dean opened his mouth to say something and closed it in the face of the pure conviction on his brother's face. He stared a moment longer and then pulled Sam's good arm over his shoulders again. "Never do that to me again."
Sam nodded but said nothing, not wanting to give voice to something they both knew would be a lie. Instead he closed his eyes and allowed Dean to lead him out of the store. He cracked his open when they reached the front and found a small group of panicked shoppers and employees. "Dean."
"Yeah, I got it." Dean tightened his grip around Sam when his brother swayed and smiled at the civilians as they went through them. "Nothin' to worry about folks. Just some crazy redneck shootin' himself back in sporting goods. Probably oughta call the cops or something."
"He's dead?" One woman said in a terrified voice and looked up at them through her long, brown hair. She put a hand over her mouth and trembled. "What about the others? There were... there were so many of him!"
"Only saw one guy lady," Dean said and did his best to look innocent. "Fear'll make you see crazy shit."
"Wow. Way to clear that up, Dean." Sam chuckled softly as they stepped out into the night air. He swayed again as the ground seemed to roll beneath him. "Cra... crap."
"Just keep it together until we get to the car." Dean half-carried Sam across the parking lot to the Impala's gleaming back form and poured him into the passenger seat. He knelt beside Sam in the passenger door and looked him over critically before meeting his eyes. "There's a clinic a few miles down the road. We're goin'."
"What? Dean, no." Sam sat up straighter and then slumped back as his head continued to spin from the blows he had taken and the blood loss. "Can't. Police..."
"Aren't gonna be lookin' for us," Dean said firmly. "You've been shot and that asshole damn near cracked your head. Suck it up. We're goin'."
Sam blew out an aggrieved breath as his brother stood and closed his door with a squeal of metal on metal. Sam's eyes slammed closed in response to the sound and he settled back further into the seat. "Fine."
Dean climbed behind the wheel, started the car and smiled at the familiar growl of her engine. He glanced over at his brother's face and snorted. "Don't gimme that look." He grinned and pulled out of the parking lot. "Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean smiled and stretched an arm across the seat to rest on his brother's shoulder as Sam started to list toward him over the seat. It settled his lingering nerves, but he knew he would be seeing that moment in his head for many nights to come, hearing the fall of the hammer of that gun at his brother's head. "I gotcha, Sammy."
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 The End.
 Next Chapter: B is for Baseball Bat
Creation has enacted a new policy for conventions, one which is, regrettably, needed now. I support it completely and I do so because I am a survivor of abuse and grief and I know how strong the pull is to tell the boys or anyone really about the things Iâve lived through and have that moment of personal connection with them. I also know thereâs a time and a place for it and the convention is not it. So with that in mind, here are my thoughts on the subject, as a survivor and a member of the fandom family:
Ok, look. This is the problem with all the deep, over-sharing taking place at conventions: itâs fairly clear that few or all of the people detailing their horrific experiences, depression, suicidal ideation and attempts, and other dark moments have never been a part of a healthy forum for sharing such things. There are unwritten rules, hell sometimes they ARE written down, but there are rules.
Never trigger someone with your experiences. Those of us who HAVE been part of a group or forum or message board designed for sharing these things understand that you always, ALWAYS warn for what you are about to share and you ALWAYS give those listening/reading the choice to opt out if they donât feel theyâre in a healthy place to hear it/see it right then.
The people sharing these stories in the auto lines and on the stage are forcing those nightmares on the boys, on Jared, and all of us. They are giving him NO CHOICE to say please, I canât hear this today. Heâs in front of a room of a thousand people and the peer pressure alone is guaranteed to keep him from telling them no. Which leaves him to deal with the emotional aftermath and as weâve learned, that can have him forced to skip conventions and take recovery time for himself with his family away from our fandom. I canât even begin to explain just how much that should hurt us all, nor should I have to.
There is a time and a place to share your stories. They SHOULD be shared. They should be talked about. Not only is it healthy and cathartic for us to get it out, but it can be healthy for others whoâve lived through similar to know absolutely that they are not alone. But the convention stage, the autograph line, the photo op room; these are not places to share them. It shows a complete lack of care for whether or not Jared is in a place to hear them safely. It is selfish.
I know you want to share your pain and your joy at surviving it. Share your joy, by all means but keep the details to yourself in those settings. If you truly wish him or anyone to know the details, write a letter, post it to his facebook, send it to him care of the show. Give him the CHOICE to decide when heâs ready to hear the pain along with the joy.
And hereâs the other thing that all these people seem to keep missing; when youâre crying and telling these stories at a panel, when the sound system is making sure your nightmare carries out to the entire audience, you are forcing that pain on to the entire audience! Who knows how many survivors you have triggered out there in the dark, who have to leave suddenly to try and put away the remembered horror you forced on them just so YOU could have your moment of attention?
SHARE SAFELY. These are words those of us who HAVE experienced safe and balanced sharing understand. Never force onto another what you wouldnât want forced on you. SHARE SAFELY. Stop ambushing Jared and whole audiences with your stories. Stop forcing him to listen and suffer with you. Stop taking away his choice and all of our choices.
Youâre hurting him. Youâre hurting us. You have no right to trigger a star or a room full of unsuspecting people to make yourself feel better. And god help the next person who says âwell he asked for itâ. No. He has become one of the voices for a charity that gives survivors a SAFE PLACE to share and heal and in return, you are all doing the exact opposite. Youâve left him no safe place at conventions. I imagine at this point, heâs beginning to feel nervous; is the next person going to break me? Is the next question going to leave me in tears? Is the next person in the line going to force me to walk away to try and collect myself?
Stop it. Please. Share safely. Donât trigger others to make yourself feel better. Remember that Jared is a person and a survivor just like you and deserves the same level of respect and care and protection. Remember that so many of your fellow fans are also survivors and need that as well. There are safer, more respectful ways, to share your pain with him that will allow him to do so at a time when HE feels can do so safely. These ways donât allow for a captive audience or a tearful, stage-side hug, but they allow you to SHARE SAFELY.
TL/DR version: Jared is not our therapist.
UPDATE BELOW:Â
Weâve been getting pings and @âs all morning about ebooks-tree.com who seem to be scraping/taking stories off of AO3 and hosting them as PDFs and mobi downloads on their site; the site seems to be pulling from UrBookLibrary as well. Theyâre not reading your âdo not copy/duplicateâ notes on your AO3 fic; their bots are pulling things directly from AO3, without AO3âČs authorization or assent. It looks like they are pulling from Wattpad too, again without authorization or assent.Â
While the Ebooks-Tree DMCA page seems to imply that you need a lawyer or other âauthorized personâ to submit a takedown notice, you donât; you can do it yourself.Â
As weâve posted before, fanfic writers hold copyright in their stories, although not in lines/quotes from the works theyâve been inspired by, and because of that, fanfic writers can submit DMCA takedown notices, or have someone do it on their behalf. While this post isnât legal advice (none of our posts on FYC are), you might want to consider using this template (well, the bolded bits) in telling ebooks-tree to take down your content:Â
Your Name and/or Pseudonym as an e-signature (or the name of the person youâve authorized to submit this request, with a slash before it and after it): Link(s) to the unauthorized works (link to the pdf, the mobi and the page hosting all of it): Link(s) to an authorized version of your work (whether on AO3, tumblr, LJ or somewhere else): An email address of the submitter (include it again even if itâs in the header): This statement: I have good faith belief that use of the material in the manner complained of is not authorized by the copyright owner, its agent, or the law. This statement: The information in the notification is accurate, and under penalty of perjury, that the complaining party is authorized to act on behalf of the owner of an exclusive right that is allegedly infringed.
Thatâs it - thatâs all they need to know - you can submit all the info via http://www.ebooks-tree.com/info.php?contacts with DMCA Complaint in the subject; you may wish to submit the same content to Google via this page, or to BING via this page.Â
ETA: If you try to read  your own fics, they require you to sign up via a site called http://www.lazygame.net/ (lazygamenet on Twitter, corporate name is KH Media LLC of Delaware, their phone number is listed as the contact number for a bunch of different companies) and give your credit card info; we think thatâs probably a very bad idea. You can send the same DMCA info to them at [email protected] but itâs unclear whether they have the ability to remove anything from the ebooks-tree site. We called LazyGame directly and they said they are not affiliated with ebooks-tree but they are affiliated with TzarMedia, which seems to be some sort of back-end for ebooks-tree. Fwiw, TzarMedia isnât doing well on the whole âtrustworthy siteâ thing.Â
TzarMedia claims that âAll TzarMedia content is licensed and legal for distribution and use.â We wonder what the FTC would say about that kind of false advertising.Â
This is way bigger than someone using a bot to pull fics; this is infringement in so many different ways.Â
(Fwiw, even though ebooks-tree claims that they comply with the Copyright Act, they arenât compliant with the DMCA Safe Harbor rules, as they arenât listed on the copyright.gov list of agents.)
You can also submit a complaint about ebooks-tree to CloudFlare, who hosts the site. Their DMCA page is at https://www.cloudflare.com/abuse/form - as a matter of law you do not need to include the legal name of the copyright claimant/the fanfic writer, but  you should include the pseudonym that the fic was posted under if you donât want to include a legal name or address. Â
Not only do they have some of my fan fiction, they also have one of my books. NO ONE ASKED ME. Iâm betting my works stays right where it is. These assholes donât give a crap about ownership.
Can you please write more?
Lol I am. I've added a couple new reward chapters in the last few weeks, working on another one and I'm starting a new case fic right now. Should be some naughty coming soon as well. Check my Fanfiction.net or A03 accounts.
#InsticatorSpn Having a go at winning some tickets!
Hey when you gonna write more?? I've been waiting months! Miss your fics
I've been putting out roughly a chapter a week! LOL Where've you been? Check my fan fiction.net account. Granted I took a couple weeks off while I was healing from an emergency appendectomy. HA!