#the whole side of the trunk got crunched in

[icehot13]

a chapter earlier than expected!!!! this is The Chapter i wrote the fic for, because of course there always is one

also please enjoy this visual for the chapter, this is what the area above a hard-lid ceiling looks like! It’s not tall enough to stand in, the only light is what you bring up yourself, and you can only put weight on the metal frames going across it because the space between is just drywall. 

[skyrigel]

“Come back, be here ...”

Pairing: fancast! Benji blackwood x Bracken!reader

Benji masterlist

“ You and Benji meet when sky goes blaze and sun comes up, by the woods. But this time somthing hits different.

Nsfw 18 +, sexual content ahead ( blow job ) and hinted sex, enemies with benefits, smug! Benji, gn! Bracken! Reader, choking, physical shoving and rough reader, Benji being adorable, fluff, sprinkle of fairy dust ( angst ) some team black vs green dispute.

“ What are you doing here ? ”

The twigs crunched by your soles echoed in ten empty woods, the sun was coming up from the horizon where land met sky.

“ You're late.” Benji said, rubbing his eye like he had fallen asleep, bones cracking as he got up from the bottom the trunk where he was sitting, a leather pouch discarded.

“ This wasn't even meant to be.” You spat, eyeing him as he grinned at your anger, already making his way towards you.

“ Why ? ” He said nonchalantly, knowing how much you hated that tone, slurring the ends, “ Because your coward king—”

“ Shut your mouth.” You shoved him, his back hitting the nearest bark, wrapping your fingers around his throat, his eyes locked in yours.

“ or what ? ” He challenged, every sound resonating back in your skin, waves shooting up and down, rippling your heart, he was very much amused when you had no answer.

“ Go, before I kill you traitor. ” You loosened your grip, satisfied to see the four red marks clinging to his cartilage rings, adam apple bobbling when he swallowed hard.

“ Why are we doing this ? ” He pulled you by the back of your neck, his face turning to a scowl.

“ Doing what ? ”

Benji shaked his head like you were being an idiot, “ This.” he said, with more urgency and you huffed before he caught you off guard.

He kissed you, not the first time and as you hoped, not the very last.

But it was different, like all your kisses were more crashing and shearing and reaching for each other while this, this— it was everything the rest weren't. Soft and sweet, a breeze on your mouth, slow and musical, like you had all the time, it was how lovers kissed, so close that his heart was beating in your ribs, so close that sides didn't matter and he was all along in you, with you.

“......” You pulled away when your chest ached for breath, his face was beaming with the crimson patches and lips swollen by you.

“ Do you...” He started, biting his lower lip, you looked away, “ ...you happen to have time.”

“ Not much.” you grabbed at his tunic, pulling it away while his face only heated up like the sun itself.

The moment you took him in your mouth was the moment you changed what has changed, ofcourse, Benji slipped into another person while you were at it, sometimes he would call you ‘darling’, ‘love’ and all those sweet names lovers had the luxury of, but it was forgotten as soon as both of you were in your clothes and senses.

But when he tugged at your hair, whispering sweet nothings with moans only you could make him gasp, or you hoped ( you wished ).

He was praising and guiding as your mouth devoured him whole, sniffing in his musky scent and drowning in his thick juices, he came with cursing “ oh love...” so loud that neither of you could forget it didn't happen.

There was hardly any talking, speaking meant acknowledge of what you were doing and in that case — you both were clueless. You hardly remember how and when this became something that was meant to be.

To meet by the horizon and fuck daylights out of each other wasn't the most fierce rivalry, to speak ill and crude before pulling each other for a kiss that could last lifetimes.

To hold hands as one reached heaven, or presumably hell, each thrust driven with hate, passion and anger and most of all — hope.

Benji and you never kissed after, it was only the initialisation, the ‘ hey, let's fuck.’ and a glare or pathetic attempt to insult was used as ‘ now get the fuck out of my territory ’ with an unsaid, ‘ but be back to me, soon’

So when Benji helped you up your knees, his head leaning against the bark as he show stars in morning blazing sky, before his eyes met you, flushed and pink lips pressed in warm summer sun, softly and sweetly.

“ You are getting good.” and here it was, his pathetic attempt but you were so wrong because that smile, which reached his eyes could never be an insult, and he was still clasping your hand.

You swallowed hard, the sun came up and he was looking at you, his gaze was softer when you looked back, was it today or was it all this time and you never saw, too afraid to fall in those devastingly beautiful eyes, lighting up like mischief.

“ Now get out.”

He chuckled as you pulled, clutching your wrist near your heart, arching your brows because that made you feral — another useless fact Benji had told you.

“ Don't be late—” he bent down, picking his leather pouch along with cloak, displaying his fine ass, shit “ — next time, there's more I want to do. ”

Despite you struggled, keeping the blush under control, or to blame the sun, you felt your whole body stiffening with the mere thought, arousal lurching in your stomach.

“ If you really want to do something,” you took three step back, facing his forward, the sun almost in the sky, blazing his whole face, “ then you could tell your troops on the western front to calm the fuck down, it's annoying.”

“ You didn't answer my question.” He pouted to himself, waving you off.

“ which question ? ” you blinked.

“ Nevermind, next time.” He smirked, you nodded, so there's going to be next time, you held the smile clutched in your cheeks.

“ Right.” you said, nodding while he bobbled in chin in courtesy and walked out of the woods to the blackwood fields.

--------------------------------------------------

“ My leige” A beaded man came rushing, his hand waving a parchment that was crumbled around the edges.

“ Make sure the mother is provided good care —” you turned to him, “ yes ? ”

“ The Blackwood troops dreaded the west aisles... there's been no dispute.”

Something inside you soared high, like bird's first flight and dropped like a free fall, no certainly just a hope.

“...” The said man stared at you, that's when you realised you were smiling your brightest.

“ that's... that's very nice.” You stood up, the woods awaited you.

[trickster-jpeg]

Cracked At The Line In The Air, I feel safe.

Summary: Steven accidentally breaks his childhood teddy and it triggers a meltdown.

Warnings: Steven hits himself as a stim during his meltdown. Not sure of that warrants a warning but just in case.

Word Count: 1607 It's On AO3 -> Here

A/N: 'Ricitos' is just a term of endearment (usually for a partner, up to you how you interpret it) that means curly hair/small curls.

It’s broken. It’s broken. Oh my god, it’s broken.

Steven was laying in bed. It was the middle of the night and he was just settling down to sleep. It had been a good day. Nothing bad had happened, he’d been rather at ease, enjoying going about his day with minimal interference. He’d rolled over to lay down on his side and seen his childhood teddy tipped over, having fallen onto the floor. It was a fuzzy small elephant called Nellie. The stuffing distributed unevenly and one of the ears slightly worse for wear than the other due to constant chewing as a child, but it was still whole. It had small black beads for eyes, a stubby little trunk, and two tiny white mounds either side of its face for tusks. Not wanting her to be lonely, because he still had a tendency to anthropomorphize things, he went to pick her up and place her back on her spot on the bed.

Despite having had it for decades, it was still in relatively solid condition. He’d put effort into maintaining its state and was rather chuffed with himself at having had her for so long with minimal incidents. Which is why it was all the more heartbreaking when one of the seams on its neck had stuck out and gotten caught in the floorboards. He had no idea how, but it did, and when he grabbed her to pull her upwards it started to tug. Something he had realised far too late to stop it from happening.

The seam had stayed wedged firmly in the crack and as soon as the force of pulling the toy was applied, it started to unravel. In an instant, the body started to separate from the head, the old stuffing starting to tip and pile out onto the floor beneath itself. The stitches snapped as the neck stayed stuck to the ground, disconnecting from the main body and tugging a front arm off along with it.

His brain stopped dead in its tracks, physically incapable of processing what had just happened. It was almost as if time had slowed as Steven watched the events unfold in absolute horror. He froze instantly, eyes bulging as his mouth hung open with shock. A tremble immediately started to zap through his hand as his fingers loosened from a firm clasp around the worn but soft body of the toy, to a lax and limp claw that was just barely holding it. It was only as it tumbled out of his grip to lay with the rest of itself, surrounded by the stuffing that was once inside, that Steven lunged at the broken object, his heart pounding out of his chest as he frantically tried to gather all of the pieces together in his arms.

“No. No, no, no, no- NO- NO!”

His lungs constricted as his breathing instantly got caught, fractured breaths intermingling with the rising nausea and swirled around like the ocean in a storm. Broken sounding words flooded from his mouth as he stuttered to get them out in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the crushing pressure growing like a lump in his throat. They got muddled and stuck, his tongue getting in the way as he tried to stammer anything new, but was unable to get them out in a way that felt right. His mouth quickly flooded with the crimson metallic taste of blood as he bit down on his cheek, his jaw crunching down in a moment of shock as he tried to process what just happened.

Fat globules of tears poured down his face as he desperately willed the pieces to form back together, to undo it all and fix itself. His breaths heaved as he continued to work himself up, bawling harder and harder as he grasped the pieces impossibly closer to him. The sudden heartbreak was painful, physically painful and even more so psychologically. He felt the disparaging familiarity of dissociation grip him, his brain disconnecting from his body as he started to heave strangled sobs, whimpering pleas for the elephant to be okay. For his Nellie to be all better again.

He couldn’t lose her, she’d been there for him since he was a kid. She was the only thing that could calm him down when things got too bad, something not even his headmates could fully manage to do. Meltdowns, flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks. Even just giving him something to cry into when a character he liked in a film died, or just something to fall asleep with when he needed to. He didn’t care that people might see it as childish, after everything the system had been through when they were supposed to have been a child, he thought they should almost be owed it to make up for lost time. But Nellie was something from his childhood. Their childhood. Which is why it was all the more painful that she was now broken apart and torn in his arms.

Gradually, he felt his body begin to rock back and forwards, his breathing trying to match the motions frantically at the sudden awareness he really wasn’t breathing right. How could he have been so careless? How stupid could he have been to just destroy one of his most treasured items? One of the only truly, wholly good things they had from their parents, from their little brother, and he’d gone and broken it. Bringing the main body of the teddy to his face, he pressed it against his skin and started to muffle his cries, the pain steadily shifting into a burning anger. Anger that he could blame no one for but himself.

His brows furrowed in irritation as a swelling burning flashed in his chest, his grip tightened around the material painfully as the rage towards himself grew. The feeling began to burst through his limbs as he clenched his jaw almost painfully, grinding his teeth in annoyance as tears kept trickling down his face. Through huffed breaths, a guttural rumble rose in his oesophagus and tore up his throat in a furious roar.

“FUCK! HOW COULD I BE SO FUCKING STUPID? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? FUCKING STUPID- USELESS- WORTHLESS FUCKING- FUCK-”

In an instant, he raised his arms up with fists balled and started to bash them against the side of his head. The motion was repetitive and a bit painful, but soothing in a way. He carried on letting random, frustrated words and whines fumble out of his lips as his body took over. Tears and snot dripped down his face as he continued to hit his temples, sobbing in bitterness as a crash of self-hatred pooled in his chest. Briefly, he thought he heard someone speaking to him but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

There was a new resistance in his arms, something that pulled them back and made them feel not quite right. That made him almost struggle to do the thing that was soothing him. That was helping. Made it feel like it wasn’t helping. Like it was almost worse. He didn’t like it, it felt restraining. So instead moved them away and sat on his hands, trying to mitigate the uncomfortable feeling that stopped them with pressure. Continued to rock back and forth, to make the noises that climbed up his throat.

“Steven. It’s going to be okay. We can fix it. It’s alright.”

He shook his head disparagingly at the words, too overwhelmed to be able to form anything comprehensible. His legs bounced rhythmically as he tried to convey what he wanted to say, tried desperately to grasp at words and throw them out in a way that made sense. That helped him explain that it wasn’t alright and that it couldn’t be fixed. That he couldn’t fix it and it was too late for anything to be saved. But in some way he felt as though the speaker understood his thoughts regardless of whether or not they were spoken, and the gravelled voice spoke again. Accompanied by someone else.

“It might not feel like it, but this’ll pass and we can stitch her up. She’ll be fine, it was an accident, Steven. You’re not stupid or useless, it was a mistake.”

“He’s right, ricitos. We can fix our fluffy friend. Maybe even get her some new stuffing and fill it out properly again.”

As the voices spoke, they projected feelings of warmth. There was a contrast between their comfort and the gradual dimming of the burning that had been exploding in his chest. Whatever it was, it was nice. It was kind. Caring. And they said they could fix it. They could fix Nellie. He just needed to try and calm down so that they could. Gently, he felt himself move off of sitting on his hands. Felt them start to lift and snake up to wrap around him and hold him in a way that felt good. That felt safe. Protected. It felt like he could just let go.

He didn’t want to feel this way anymore. Didn’t want to feel any of it. And somehow he knew they would be able to help him stop feeling that way. They’d be able to fix it for him, they could fix Nellie. Stop him from causing more damage to their belongings and their body. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he never meant to hurt them, never meant to hurt himself. But he just couldn’t help it. So, that’s what he did. He let the pair take his place, and went into the back.

[alulaspeaks]

Better things

for @wincestwednesdays​ week 1: americana (never mind it being a week+ late)

They drive out at midday, down an old logging road bordered by No Trespassing signs faded to a papery yellow and pock-marked with bird shot. They pass a pull off, and Dean catches a glimpse of a gravel beach on the edge of a glistening lake as they head deeper into the woods. It’s hot out for September in the Northwoods, and humid, too. Dean’s got sweat beading down the back of his neck by the time they're rummaging through the trunk for their gear.

“Should have brought the last couple beers,” he grumbles, swatting at the mosquito probing at his shoulder. He can picture them sitting in the motel’s mini fridge and half wishes he could go back and crawl in with them.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s a hunt, not a party.” Which is dumb, given the number of times they’ve pulled beers from the cooler while they were both still bloody. Sam swings his backpack over his shoulder, and it clinks suspiciously, but Dean doesn’t say anything, just makes a note and pulls out the map.

Dean hates these doghair forests that pop up after logging--young trees growing so thick together you can’t see through them for shit--but they stick to the map and Sam’s compass and soon enough it opens up into older forest and then to a clearing. One side borded by reeds, a break opening to the water’s edge on the far side of the lake Dean glimpsed earlier, and in the shadows of the trees on the other side, the remnants of an old log cabin slouch in the shade.

He catches Sam’s eye, pulls out the EMF reader, and they get to work. 

It goes as quick and easy as it can when you have to locate and dig up an unmarked grave. It’s getting dark by the time Sam dodges a flying tree branch and drops the lit book of matches into the grave. There’s the satisfying fwoosh of the gasoline catching and then the even more satisfying burst of light as the ghost flames out, stringy white hair falling in burning clumps and disappearing before they hit the ground.

“Never gets old,” Dean says, and grins at Sam as they catch their breath. He stands from where he's crouched and his lower back twinges. He groans and rubs his knuckles in to the worst of it.

"Well, somethings get old," Sam says, flashing Dean a smug little grin as if he isn't graying at the temples, as if they weren’t both bitching when they were knee deep in the grave. It’s rude is what it is and Dean is not letting Sam score this point uncontested.

"Shut up and give me my beer," Dean says and grins when Sam freezes, caught out, and then breaks into that dorky, sheepish smile he gets sometimes. But he heads over to his bag and pulls out a motel towel wrapped loosely around the beers Dean heard clinking around. He loves being right.

The distant crunch of gravel and the slamming of car doors snags Dean's attention. The grave is still burning, making them way more visible than he'd like, the last thing they need is someone getting curious.

He walks over to the shore and sees a car pulled up on the gravel beach he spotted earlier. The doors are wide open, headlights on, lighting up the water’s edge in the evening gloom. Someone crosses through the beams, dragging what must be a whole damn stump behind them. And if Dean had to hazard a guess, theirs won't be the only fire burning for long. Which means they've got nothing to worry about.

The breeze has died down since the sun set, which means there’s nothing to keep the mosquitos away. One buzzes past Dean’s ear and he tries to swat at it discretely. He can handle almost anything, but he’s got zero tolerance for itching, and no desire to give Sam--who pretends to be unbothered by mosquitos even though he hates them as much as Dean--another in to poke fun at him.

Sam comes over, hands Dean an open beer and they settle in to watch the wood pile grow. There's three guys and they’ve got to be teenagers, judging by the sheer size of the branches they drag over and the truly frightening amount of lighter fuel they douse the pile with.

"Too much," Sam says, shaking his head.

"Gonna lose an eyebrow."

Another car pulls up beside the first and three girls pile out. "Ladies!" one of the boys calls, voice carrying across the lake. "Your bonfire awaits."

He lights a match with a flourish and drops it, and just like Dean knew it would, the whole pile explodes into flame with a roar. It sends the boys diving for cover. Everyone turning back to stare at the jumping flames. The shocked silence soon turns into giddy laughter, as the fire settles into a steady blaze.

"Hey," Sam says and the half-buried humor in his voice sets Dean's alarm bells blaring, "remember that time--"

"No. Nope. No idea what you're talking about. Drink your beer." Dean absolutely remembers the first time he used too much lighter fluid. Only he wasn't lighting up a bonfire, and it wasn't a girl he was trying to impress.

Dean can hear Sam’s quiet laughter gusting across the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Sam," Dean warns, but Sam grins bigger, and tucking it behind the lip of his beer isn't doing a thing to hide it.

"What? I'm just drinking my beer."

“Right,” Dean says, pursing his lips to hide the way he wants to laugh, too.

Across the lake, there's a high-pitched squeal as one of the guys throws a girl over his shoulder and marches into the shallow water. The squeal turns into a shout as he tips her in, but a second later he goes down, taken out at the ankles.

“Ah, young love,” Dean says and elbows Sam who just huffs and shakes his head.

“What, you too good for a little end of summer fling?” Dean turns to look at Sam, catches him picking at the edge of the label where its gone soggy with condensation.

“Nah,” Sam says with a shrug, “guess, I’ve just outgrown it.” Then he looks at Dean, and he's still got a smile hanging around the corner of his mouth but it's different now. It's the kind that makes the world go a little quiet, makes Dean wonder how the hell they got here, after everything. "There's better things.”

Maybe there’s a world out there, in all of Chuck’s failed drafts, where Sam looking at him like that doesn’t make Dean feel like he could never want anything else, but it isn’t this one.

“Yeah, I'll drink to that,” Dean says after a moment. And if he has to clear his throat, Sam doesn’t say anything, just holds his bottle out for Dean’s to clink against.

Laughter drifts across the lake. The fuzzy sound of Tom Petty playing on a distant car radio, hot summer air turning cool in the moonlight, and everything is right as it should be.

“Gonna run down the battery,” Dean says as he steps up into Sam’s space, watches Sam’s smile go fond.

“Amateurs,” Sam says and lays a heavy hand on his waist. 

Dean loves the way Sam’s eyes darken, loves the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his neck he leans--wait a damn minute. There’s a mosquito on Sam’s neck, right by the collar of his shirt.

Dean acts on instinct, smacks him, hard. Sam jolts in surprise, stepping back and covering his neck.

“Mosquito,” Dean says by way of explanation and turns his bloody palm to Sam. “You’re welcome.” 

Sam pulls a face, dodges back when Dean tries to rub his bloody palm clean on his shoulder.

But that’s not the end of it. They’ve clearly been discovered by a whole damn swarm of mosquitos because suddenly they’re everywhere. There’s a prick on the back of his hand and Dean smacks at it with side of his beer bottle, perfectly good beer fizzing over his fingers and splattering across the ground.

“Frigging mosquitos!” Dean says, a little louder than he should while Sam is busy swatting inelegantly at the air around his face. Sam catches his eye and they both freeze for a second.

“Wanna get the out of here?” Sam asks.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, and downs the last of his beer. 

If they grab their gear and sprint for the Impala, no one needs to know. It’s just them after all.

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Something Stupid

Just a one shot coda to Red Meat (11x17) that I'm not sure how to tag. It's not explicitly wincest but it's also not not wincest, you know? Weirdly close, boundaries what boundaries sort of thing.

Sam/Dean, but also maybe more Sam&Dean, idek, they do kiss but it's not that kind of kiss, except maybe it kinda is??? Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.

words: 2765

read it on AO3

~~~

It was a nineteen hour drive back to the Bunker, they did it in seventeen. Dean insisted on driving the whole way, with only the fewest necessary pit stops to piss and refuel. And even with long hours of sleep to the soothing rumble of the Impala, better than any skeezy Magic Fingers bed as far as Sam was concerned, he gave a groaning sigh of relief when he unfolded himself from the passenger seat and stood, carefully stretching, in the Men of Letters garage. 

“How’s the side?” Dean asked, eyes on Sam’s stomach, where he’d had to dig a bullet out of him less than two days ago, as he opened the trunk and grabbed out their duffles.

“Sore, but, uh, the meds are still doing their thing, so, not too bad.”

Dean quietly grunted and gave a nod. 

Sam knew, before he offered, that Dean wouldn’t let him carry his own bag, so he wasn’t surprised by the gruff, “I got it,” as his brother shut the trunk and started around towards him and the stairs down into the rest of the Bunker.

He still didn’t know what Dean had done while they’d been separated back in Grangeville, but he knew him and couldn’t help but see the extra weight he was carrying that was affecting him way more than a couple of duffle bags. He turned and fell into step beside him.

“You okay?” he asked.

A rapid flash of emotion played over Dean’s face before it settled into a weary smile. 

Huh, his faking it smile used to be so much brighter, and the thought rolled over Sam in a wave of loss.

“We’re home, I’m good.” Dean said through the smile that was still miles away from his eyes. The emphasis on the first word wasn’t lost on Sam.

They both took the stairs a little slow, stiff and sore. Dean’s left knee audibly crunching as he bent it, something that had started up a couple of years ago. He insisted it didn’t hurt, that it sounded worse than it felt, but on days like today Sam silently doubted him.

Dean set both bags down on the map table and rested his hands on them for a moment. Normally, when they returned from a hunt, they’d both sort their stuff, throw a load of the grossest clothes into the washing machine, and put their gear away before crashing. Sometimes though, the crashing came first and Sam definitely felt like this was one of those times. He started to move off towards the hallway that led to his room.

“You hungry?” Dean asked suddenly, pulling Sam up short. “We’ve barely eaten in days. Come on, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Sam wasn’t hungry, not even remotely, and he was fairly certain that Dean wasn’t either.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good,” he said anyway.

Dean tilted his head towards the doorway that led to the kitchen and started to walk the long way around the map table ensuring that Sam would be ahead of him, where he could see him. Something clicked, even when his eyes had been on the road, driving back to the bunker, Dean hadn’t really looked away from Sam, always keeping him in his periphery, his gaze flicking over to verify that his brother was actually there and still breathing. And he was still doing it, still keeping Sam where he could see him, like he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of him for more than a moment, Sam would somehow vanish.

They’d both had so many (too many) close calls, brushes with death, some of which were painted in fast, broad, vague strokes, an impression of the end. While some were full, layered, oil paintings with photo-realistic detailing, way too real to just shrug off. Sam got it, he understood the struggle to settle and accept that they’d managed to slip past Death one more time, that they were both still here, still together.

So he wandered into the kitchen, Dean right on his heels. And as Dean busied himself throwing together a couple of sandwiches, Sam pulled two beers from the fridge, because even though he had no idea what time it actually was, they’d been up for so long, so fucking long, and the beer would help wash down the sandwiches. Sam ate his without tasting anything, mechanically, methodically consuming it simply to make Dean happy. They ate in companionable silence.

Still, the worry about what Dean may have done (definitely did) was beginning to loom up around them again, awkward and ominous. He found he didn’t have the energy to deal with it right then. He cleared his throat.

“Iron Maiden’s playing in Chicago next week, think we could still get tickets?”

Dean nodded, thinking about that, “Yeah, worth a try, and, uh, Scorpions is gonna be in St. Louis in May. 50th anniversary tour. That’d be cool to see.”

It was Sam’s turn to nod. “Wow, fifty years. That’s, that’s a long run.”

Dean lifted his beer, “To old guys who still rock.”

Sam huffed out a laugh and clicked his bottle against Dean’s, but as he drained the rest of his beer, his thoughts were on how impossibly exhausting forty more years of their own brand of rocking felt.

When they were done and had cleaned up, Dean looked at him. “How’re you doing?”

“Tired.”

“Yeah, me too. Come on, off to bed with you.”

Sam wandered towards his room, Dean right beside him still. When they got to the point where they’d have to separate to go to their rooms, Dean asked, “You good to get that bandage changed before you crash?”

“I, uh, I forgot to grab the kit, would you mind...”

“Yep. Get changed, I’ll be right back.”

In his room, Sam stripped out of his jeans and underwear, replacing them with a clean pair of shorts and sweatpants. Dean strolled in as Sam was pulling his tee shirt over his head, packs of gauze pads, medical tape, and a tube of antibiotic ointment in hand.

“Whoa, look at you. You’re basically one big bruise.”

Sam grimaces as he lowers his left arm back down. “Yep. That’ll happen when you get thrown through a table by a werewolf and then shot.”

Dean began carefully peeling off the old gauze. “Yeah, but then you took down three of them after being mostly dead all night.” 

Sam sucked a sharp breath through his teeth as the part of the bandage that was stuck to the scabbed over wound pulled free. “After I killed that first one.”

Dean dabs at Sam’s stitched up bullet wound with the ointment and then peels open a fresh, sterile gauze pad

“So that’s four for me and…”

Dean places the gauze against Sam’s side, grabs his left hand and places it over the gauze, holding it in place while he rips a piece of tape.

“... and, uh, one for you.”

Instead of getting annoyed at Sam’s competitive tone, Dean just grins proudly up at him. “Yeah, you did good, Sammy.”

He finished taping the gauze and then tidied up as Sam tugged a clean shirt over his head.

“Think fast.”

Despite feeling like he’d been thrown through a table, shot, and then came dangerously close to bleeding out, Sam managed to catch the pill bottle that Dean had tossed at him. He sat down on the side of his bed and twisted off the cap. Dean got him a glass of water from the sink and he washed down a pill and handed the glass back to Dean, who sat it back by the sink and then turned and leaned back against the porcelain.

Sam pulled the covers down and carefully laid down on his right side, which put his back towards Dean. The fact that Dean hadn’t excused himself from the room, Sam could tell he was still leaning against the sink, confirmed Sam’s suspicions from earlier that his brother wasn’t ready to be alone. 

“Quite lurking by the door.” He patted the mattress. 

Dean didn’t move.

“Dean?”

“Hmm.”

“Just sit down and talk to me for a bit.”

“What do you want me to talk about?” he asked, but he walked around the bed and sat down against the headboard. He still had his boots on, so he kept his right foot on the floor and bent his left leg so that his foot hung off the side of the bed, he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Anything. Uh, you still want to go see Batman vs. Superman?”

“Pfft! Yeah.”

“Even with Affleck as Batman?”

Sam didn’t care about the movie, but he knew that Dean had thoughts about it so that was all it took to get his brother talking. Sam just mmhmm’ed and uh-huh’ed along until Dean lapsed back into silence. Sam would have been asleep by then, but there was that worrying little thought he still couldn’t quite shake.

“What did you do? Seriously, I know you. You know I know you. And I know that had to be… I know what it feels like, Dean.” He waited, this was the moment, Dean was either going to leave or he’d start talking.

Finally, his brother nodded his head, just a little, and started picking at a hangnail.

“Nothing good. It’s never anything good. It’s like I… I can’t… like all the good choices are just gone and only the stupid ones are left.”

When it became clear that Dean wasn’t going to say anything more, Sam gently asked, “You gonna tell me about it?”

“No. No, I don’t think I am. I just, you’re all I’ve… ”

Sam waited again to see if he’d finish. After a few long moments he sighed and softly said, “I know. You too, you know? For me. Things are, uh, they’re harder when you’re… when you’re gone. They, uh, they get…”

“Bleak.” 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed and pushed his hand a little closer to Dean, stopping an inch or two from his leg, just letting his hand rest on top of the covers.

“So what do we do?”

Dean cut his eyes to the side and looked at Sam. “About what?”

“Well, we, uh, we either need to stop dying, which…”

Dean scoffed, “What’re the odds of that happening?”

“Right? Or… or we need to figure out how to make better choices when… when things get bleak.”

“Sam, I… I can’t.” There was a finality to his voice that broke something in Sam, another crack in his foundation that caused him to cant a little bit more towards his brother. Some days it felt like all he was was sloppily patched and cobbled together frame-work that should, by all rights, have collapsed by now. 

“Dear boy, you're all duct tape and safety pins inside. How are you alive?” 

He had lost count of all the times Vesta’s words had echoed through his thoughts over the years. But the fact of the matter was that he was still alive because Dean was alive, because his brother wouldn’t, couldn’t let him be dead.

The silence stretched on. He knew that the way things were going, the way their lives went, one or both of them was bound to get killed again, and there was never a guarantee of another resurrection, or of getting yet another do-over. At some point their story would end and the thought that he was going to lose his brother made it hard to breathe.

Dean shifted and for a moment Sam thought he was going to get up and go. But instead, Dean relaxed his arms so that his left hand came to rest beside his leg, his pinky brushing feather-light against the tips of Sam’s fingers.

“I should let you get some rest.”

Before he’d even finished talking, Sam had curled his fingers around Dean’s. 

“Stay.” His heart lurched and he softly added. “I don’t want to be alone.” And he meant there in the room and right then and there, he did, but he was also speaking to his fears for the future. But he wasn’t ready to talk about that, didn’t know if he ever would be.

A tremor ran through his brother’s hand before he gave Sam’s fingers a squeeze. And Sam didn’t think he’d imagined the catch in Dean’s voice as he said, “Yeah, okay. Until you fall asleep.” So maybe Dean had heard the deeper meaning anyway.

Exhaustion took him almost immediately and for the first time in a long, long time he slept soundly, unbothered by dreams or nightmares.

When he woke up, he was still on his side, he hadn’t moved at all, which confirmed how soundly he’d slept. Usually, he tossed and turned, waking up enough to note the passing time every two hours or so. 

He moved his hand to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth and found that his fingers were still entwined with Dean’s. He blinked his eyes open and was met with his brother’s eyes, already open and looking at him from where he was curled up under the covers on the other side of the bed.

“Please tell me you haven’t just been laying there watching me sleep.” He joked as his eyes shut and he yawned.

“I can’t lose you.” Dean’s voice was quiet and low, rough with too much emotion and Sam was surprised to see tears welling up when he opened his eyes again. 

Before he could react though, Dean reached up and wiped the corner of Sam’s mouth, catching the remnants of drool with his thumb and giving a small fond smile that broke through the sadness like the sun shining through gaps in a cloud filled sky. His eyes flicked down to watch as he rubbed his fingertips together. When they were dry he looked back at Sam, his eyes tracing along the features of his face, and he brushed Sam’s hair back, his fingers curling around the back of his head. Dean pulled Sam forward as he leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. It was a slow press that lingered for a long moment. Sam’s heart caught in his throat. When Dean pulled back, it was only far enough to tip his own head down until their foreheads and noses were touching and they were breathing each other’s air. 

Dean’s thumb rubbed gently, back and forth, against Sam’s cheek. His eyes were moving, too close to focus but like he was trying to take in every detail anyway. He smoothed Sam’s hair back from his face again and then started to pull him even closer.

“What? What’re you…” Sam started.

“Something stupid.” Dean whispered as he let his eyes fall shut and pressed their lips together.

Sam’s heart was pounding, his mind reeling. 

He knew that Dean must have kissed him at some point when they were kids. Kisses goodnight, that was a thing that little kids did, right? So surely it must have happened. But he couldn’t remember a single occurrence, not once in his memory. And now, in the span of just a moment, his brother had kissed him twice. He was kissing him. Right then, Dean was kissing him. It was a simple, closed mouth kiss, that may have been chaste and innocent if, you know, they were the type of family that kissed, at all. But even then, Dean was shaking. He was shaking and he hitched a breath in as he parted his lips just as he started to pull away.

“I’m sorry.” Dean said as the shaking increased, a clear note of panic creeping into his voice.

All at once, the shock that had frozen Sam in place was gone and he grabbed Dean’s head with both hands, holding him in place.

“Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry.” He said as he pulled him back into another kiss. It wasn’t open mouthed or anything but there was an undeniable desperation to it, a fevered pitch of longing and need that Sam wasn’t even trying to wrap his head around. And when he broke away he didn’t pull away. Instead he burrowed down and tucked himself under Dean’s chin and held him even tighter. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re both still here, okay?”

Dean choked out a laugh. “We are so fucked up.” But he wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him closer.

There was bound to be at least a moment of awkwardness when they untangled, Sam decided he wasn’t going to worry about that, not yet.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

um, I was on a walk

A/N: hi, i love him. that's it, that's the plot. thank you and goodnight. (also that gif in the moodboard? first of all, not to be super horny, but brrrrr, and second of all, that is peak farmer!Steve energy. that whole end of that episode? farmer!Steve all the way baby)

summary: when you got lost on your walk through the woods, you accidentally walked into Steve's apple orchard

warnings: Steve Harrington x reader, farmer!Steve, neighbours, nothing but fluff as far as the eye can see

word count: 619

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | farmer!steve au masterlist

You didn’t even truly realise that you’d wandered out of the forest till you looked up and saw the numerous colourful apples in the trees above. 

Too busy staring at the fruit, you didn’t manage to catch sight of the unexpected figure you suddenly bumped into. 

“Oof,” got pushed out of your lungs.

Blinking up, you half expected it to be a tree trunk, but no, it was in fact not a tree. It was a man. More specifically, it was your neighbour, Steve. Now, that would explain the apples…

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, damn nearly dropping the picked apple in his palm before it reached its destination of the crate in the dew-covered grass, “what are you doing here?”

“Hi! Um, I was on a walk,” you explained nervously, feeling like a deer in headlights, “thought it was about time that I explored the forest a bit and I must have turned right when I should have turned left,” then cursed, fighting the urge to hit yourself over the head, “god, I knew I shouldn’t have left the trail! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just wander onto your property. I swear, I’m not on some mischievous mission to steal your apples or anything like that.”

“Oh,” he slowly bent down to place the blushing apple in the flush wooden crate, “well, I wasn’t thinking that, but good to know, thanks.” 

Feeling yourself calm a bit under his surprisingly relaxed demeanour, your eyes rested long enough for them to really drink his visage in. Just the smallest beads of sweat were visible on his brow as the back of his hands came to wipe it off, yet the hair was still flawless. After probably a whole day’s work, it was still perfect. Realising that you were now properly staring, you forced your vision back down to your boots and muttered a bit awkwardly, “well, I should probably head back…”

He simply flashed you a smile and said, “sure.”

Offering him a stiff nod, you whirled around and confidently started walking away. That confidence didn’t last very long though as you promptly stopped after just four steps with no clue what direction to go in. 

Turning around slowly, you saw that he was still just standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know what direction my home is in?”

Breathing out just the hint of a chuckle, he glanced to the side and waved you towards him, “here, I’ll walk you home.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I was done anyway for today, so your timing is perfect,” his long legs started to move, and you scurried to catch up.

Passing one of the numerous trees, Steve’s feet didn’t even slow down as he reached up and plucked an apple to snack on.

Taking a bite, he asked you, mouth still crunching, “you want one?”

“Sure,” you stuffed your chilled hands deep within your coat pockets. 

Reaching up once more, the apple that his fingers found was a deep maroon shade, with tiny speckles of green just around the stem. Tossing it your way, you stumbled a bit but luckily still caught it, even if you didn’t look like a ballerina doing it. 

“Wow,” you took a bite, the crisp flavour zinging out your ears, “this is really good.” 

“Thanks,” he flashed a smile in your direction. 

“Have you ever thought about selling these?” you jested, trying your darndest not to simply burst out laughing at your own terrible joke, “because I really think they’d be a hit. People would pay you the big bucks for even just the smallest of nibbles.” 

“You know,” he played along with a big grin, “never really crossed my mind.” 

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[raisindave]

[Chapter 9] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence and death.

Your legs didn’t even have time to connect with your nervous system. Like the unsympathetic cold had sucked the use of them from your body, leaving stumbling, loose trunks of dead weight under you. However, muscle memory and the stern grip of your lieutenant on your back compelled you to break into a fumbling walk toward the snowmobile. Vision narrows, forming blackness at its edges as if your body was debating if it should go limp. There was no time to think about that; it was time to join the fray.

Ghost parked the snowmobile beside the hangar, efficiently swinging his legs over the side of his ride, leaving you to heave your limbs in pursuit. 

“Stay here.” 

“No, I’m coming. I have combat training too, y’know.” 

“I promised Laswell you couldn’t see combat.”

“Well, you’ve already failed that pretty spectacularly so far, so I might as we-”

“That’s an order, corporal.”

Just like that, your hope was snuffed. It’s like he doesn’t understand that you have been in combat situations before and had weapons training and thorough tactical awareness scrimmages. With all the thermal gear you had on, you wouldn’t be surprised if it could stop a bullet, too. Sure, you weren’t on the same skill level as these SAS supersoldiers who’ve dedicated their whole lives to being at the peak of fitness. That didn’t mean you couldn’t recall at least half a dozen times when you’ve navigated your way through nearly impossible situations, squeezing the trigger if need be. 

I don't need to be babysat. 

Agitation simmered, and your skeletal companion crouched on his haunches, pistol in hand, waiting to spring around the corner. You could hear a commotion inside, rustling and shouting just beside your head through the sheet metal walls. Ghost had since disappeared around the corner of the hangar, whispers of featherlight footsteps on concrete disappearing from your perception. The blinding floodlights ahead of you illuminated only a fraction of the casualties of this encounter. Bodies, at least four from this angle. They almost looked like mannequins, dropped off and discarded. That would’ve almost been enough to shield your conscience from the mental anguish if it weren't for a singular pair of steely blue eyes facing in your direction. Some poor fucker had taken a clean shot to the side of the head, definitely the handiwork of one of your comrades. A loose cigarette, half-smoked, sat about two feet away. 

I wonder if that’s Smokey. Poor fucker. At least he got one last ciggy before he kicked the bucket. 

Your head swung around before you even properly registered what you heard. A slamming metal door nearly knocked off the hinges, echoed from behind you. The hangar must have a back door, and someone just blew out of it. Clumsy fingers numb from frost had already clamped around your 9 mm. Turning on the pads of your feet, you angled yourself to fire, rolling back your shoulders and steadying ragged breaths. By the lighting in the area, you had the advantage of being out of direct light and the additional bonus of a snowmobile for cover. Every instinct ran an analysis of your circumstance, simulations wracking through your mind as precious seconds slowed to a halt. Low, crunching footsteps came toward your location from just around the corner. One last deep breath, and they’d be in your view. Crunch, crunch.

Pop.

Red mist and a thump. Only at an unexpected angle. Price’s hatted head whipped around the corner, flickering the pistol in your direction, then swinging to turn his back to you, clicking another magazine into place. Your potential killer lay limp on the ground, and your eyes settled on the rifle across his chest that would’ve undoubtedly been the murder weapon. There wasn’t any room for complacency in your mind, only analysis of every sound, every shadow, every breath in your chest. Who’s coming next? 

“Clear. Two WIA. One S-i, one Triple-i. Executing emergency medical procedures.” Price’s voice came with a wave of relief through your radio, then a brick wall of panic. 

You didn’t even hear Laswell or Grave’s reply, the only sound was your pounding heartbeat in your ears and crunching snow under you. One serious injury and one incapacitating illness or injury. Winding around the corner of the hangar, you saw your teammates. Gaz lay on the ground as Price wound a tourniquet around his thigh, a medical kit strewn beside him. White shock hit you as you approached, mindlessly stowing your pistol back in its harness. A slice through his thermal pants Price had made showed a 4-inch gash into Gaz’s thigh, deep and oozing blood, his face contorting in anguish. Sucking air past your teeth, you hovered in the void of the vast compound. 

Eyes flicker up, seeing Soap doubled over. More shock. Ghost standing in wait, craning his head over him. No blood at his feet, save for the blood from the bodies of dead combatants littering the concrete. Just then, muffled murmurs around you transformed into audible language. Unwinding from the chaos, you began to understand your circumstances properly. Soap was saying something about a bruised rib, shucking off his jacket to reveal a crater in his bulletproof armour, dead center in his chest. Though it undoubtedly stopped the bullet that would’ve unquestionably been lethal, it still came with the punishment of delivering devastating force across your body. Bone-splitting pressure; unquestionably painful. 

Numb to your surroundings, though still on high alert, your eyes dragged around the harshly lit compound. A sucking gasp from Gaz snapped you out of your observations, spinning over to see Price pulling thick medical tape to pinch shut Gaz’s thigh, a band-aid solution. It’ll have to do. Soap had caught his breath, now zipping up his jacket to preserve precious body heat, face rippling with agony. Your wandering gaze landed on the next target: The steel, monstrous cargo container labelled “Amylco LLC” that sat just barely within the doors of the hangar. Glancing back, you saw four pairs of expectant eyes meeting yours. 

Wordlessly, you and Price stood to meet the bolted doors of the container. Place your hand on the iron lock, from which the frigid cold from you felt through your thick gloves, straightening its position. You stepped back, letting Price utilize the perfect angle to smash the lock with his portable sledgehammer, sending the metal lock shambling across the concrete. Drawing your pistols for good measure, with a nod, you swung the squealing doors open. 

Eager eyes washed over colours and textures that sparked recognition in your eyes, but not for the right reasons. Inside the container was kitchen-grade cooking equipment, including stacks of canned rice pilaf, tightly sealed frozen meats, and unmistakable boxes of plastic single-use dinnerware. A humiliating CAT forklift sat in the back, yellow paint smirking back at you triumphantly. Price rolled one of the cans through his hand, testing his boot against the side of a sturdy box of rice and loose tea. Clicking your firearm back into place, you waded through the foodstuffs, desperate for any sign. 

“Grant, it’s fucking cooking supplies.” Price barked, his gaze now locked on a sagging burlap sack filled with almonds. 

“I don’t understand, the signifiers were textbook… I-it -it was-”

“We just shot up a bunch of Russian civilians, thanks to the help of translations I could have done myself.” Price snapped back hotly, raising his radio to transmit the gathered information back to overwatch. 

“Then why were they so heavily armed?”

“Because it’s the fucking boonies, Lua, and I’m sure there are plenty of thieves and grizzly bears.” Soap spoke up, leaning on the side of the swinging door. 

“You know full well they weren’t hunting grizzly bears.” You spat. 

Price spun on his boots with wild rage in his eyes, slamming the can of pilaf into one of the crates. 

“Captain, I-”

“One of my men took a bullet because of this, another took a gash half a centimetre from his femoral artery,” He whirled, his icy eyes boring into yours. 

White hot shame wafted across your face, petrifying and excruciating. The padding, the odd dialogue, the armed mercenary posing as a trucker. Maybe he wasn’t even a mercenary after all, and sifting through the cargo despairing, it seemed more and more likely that these were just civilians. Just like you promised yourself not to do when you first laid eyes on Laswell at that cafe, you went and fucked it up. Eagerness to prove your worth and ignorant pride made you loose and sloppy. The first shot in the big leagues, and you swung and missed. No, not even that. You threw the baseball back at the pitcher, and now they’re laying cold and dead on the asphalt, half-smoked cigarette only inches away. They were all right to look at you like a slab of meat. You weren’t cut out for this. 

“Let’s exfil our injured before more show,” Ghost spoke. You were thankful for his mask for once, as you couldn’t tolerate whatever spiteful expression he was sporting. 

You cursed the CAT forklift and its arrogant yellow paint. Yes, it surely would’ve done a fantastic job clearing out whatever was burdening them in their backyard, but now these seventeen lives have been extinguished because of your hubris. 

“Wait…” you breathed, tearing off your glove and sliding pale fingers over the forklift.

You angled your fingertips over the tires of the forklift. Something wasn’t right here. The tires were thin, smooth and pristine. Summer tires in rural Russia. No, this doesn’t work. Your hands running along the tires must have caught Price’s attention, halting his status update to overwatch to observe. The world around you stilled, all sound, all smell, your aching joints from hours in the cold silence. Thinking aloud, your mind worked over the context. 

“Uniforms… Uniforms at two thirty-five. Uniform 235. U-235… Oh my God, Uranium 235… there’s a nuclear bomb inside,” you blurted with hysteric urgency. 

Frantic, scrambling fingers now alight with energy tore across the cold biting metal, eyes flashing over the rivets. Rustling fabric and the familiar arm patch of the British flag caught in the corner of your eye, catching a glance at Price as he gingerly helped you heave the engine plate free. Tossing aside the painted panel with the deafening sound of metal slamming onto metal, a sharp gasp slipped from his lips. Inside the cavity of the forklift, draped in shadow, were the unmistakable conical shapes of three nuclear warheads.

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Master List

[alexagirlie]

The Latest Plague - Chapter 3

Chapter one: The Break

Chapter two: The Traitor

Chapter three: The Hunt

Fandom: The Last Kingdom

Pairing: (Main) Finan/Osferth/Sihtric, (Secondary) Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred, (Side/Implied) Finan/Osferth/Sihtric/Uhtred, Finan/Uhtred, Uhtred/Sihtric

Rating: E

Warnings/Tags (for whole story, not just this chapter): Vampires AU. Minor Character Death. Hunting. Death Threats. Blood Drinking. Blood Kink. Betrayal. Punishment. Oral Sex. Anal Sex. Dom/Sub Undertones. Threesomes.

Summary: They could hear him, his feet crunching through dead leaves, his gasping breaths as he pushed his body as hard as he could. His heart was beating like a drum, pounding and thundering, leading them straight towards him.

It didn't take Finan, Sihtric and Osferth much deliberation before they decided that a hunt was in order. Aethelwold's life was forfeit and they were out for blood. As night fell the next day he was bathed and dressed and they led Aethelwold out of the fort and away into the nearby forest. His hands were bound and his head covered so he cannot see who he was with or where he was being led. It didn't stop Aethelwold from struggling but his attempts were absolutely worthless in the face of Finan's strength.

Finan's years as a warrior meant he was no stranger to killing and he would have no guilt over killing Aethelwold that night. His plot against Uhtred and his brother being the final nail in his coffin and Finan was done feeling like a villain.

Osferth, being the youngest vampire in their clan, was always the most hesitant to hunt. His instincts were constantly at war with his upbringing as a good christian boy in the monastery but once the hunt got underway he always gave in.

Sihtric's childhood as a slave meant that he had only ever had the dredges before he joined Uhtred's clan but he still never had any shame or hesitancy regarding the instincts caused by his vampire nature. Him, more than that others relished in the thrill of a hunt, in taking a life and he often walked away from a battlefield covered in blood and gore. Tonight would be no exception, Finan could see the barely constrained brutality in his lover waiting to be set free.

Once Finan had deemed them far enough into the woods he shoved Aethelwold against the trunk of a tree and ripped off the cloth which covered his face. Beady blue eyes looked back at him in confusion before they widened in fear as the man realized the reality of his situation.

"Fi-Fi-Finan!" Fear caused Aethelwold to stutter and his gaze jumped from Finan to Sihtric then to Osferth. "Sihtric! Cousin! Ho-How are we do-doing this evening?"

Finan's hand connected to Aethelwold's cheek hard enough to snap his head to the side and the human yelped in pain. He felt no guilt for the traitorous bastard.

He grabbed Aethelwold by the collar of his tunic and slammed him against the tree. "Look into my eyes." Finan felt the presence of his two companions pressed close as Aethelwold turned his fear-filled gaze back to the Irish vampire. His gaze didn't waiver and Sihtric stepped forward and with a quick jerk of his dagger the ropes binding the human's hands fell to the dirt. "Run."

Aethelwold proved his intelligence for once and scrambled away from the three vampires and took off at a sprint without looking back. Unluckily for him it was in the opposite direction from Dunholm and deeper into the wood. Not that escaping back to Dunholm would have spared him.

Finan felt his fangs drop in anticipation and he turned to grin at his companions when a jolt of arousal shot right to his gut at what he saw. 

Sihtric had pulled Osferth close, back to chest and was nuzzling into the crook of Osferth's neck. Finan can see Sihtric's mouth moving and he just knew from the mischievous grin on his face and the dark look in Osferth's eyes that whatever Sihtric was saying to their mate was meant to get him riled up and ready to hunt. 

It was working.

He stepped close enough to steal a kiss, first from Osferth, then one from Sihtric as well over the younger vampire's shoulder. "Ready?" He asked as he stepped away.

Twin fangy grins met his question. "Ready."

They moved out, starting in the direction Aethelwold ran off in. They could have moved through the trees completely silent but instead chose to make no effort to hide their coming. Letting the snap of twigs under foot and hungry snarling and growling fill the night air. It would only serve to make Aethelwold more afraid and that was something Finan very much wished to have happen.

They called out threats and taunts as they got closer, Finan and Sihtric all but howling at the moon as they gave chase but even a little encouragement and teasing had the more timid Osferth joining in. "There is no place to hide, cousin!" 

They could hear him, his feet crunching through dead leaves, his gasping breaths as he pushed his body as hard as he could. His heart was beating like a drum, pounding and thundering, leading them straight towards him.

Surprisingly Osferth got to Aethelwold first and knocked his cousin clear off his feet in a tackle, they crashed to the ground with Osferth straddling his chest and snarling down at him. Aethelwold was blubbering, sobbing with fear, begging for them not to kill him.

They did not listen. 

Finan rocked back on his heels, eagerly awaiting his chance to give the traitor what he deserved but Osferth got to him first. He got to take the first bite. Still, they share as well here as they do everywhere else and Osferth looked to Finan for permission first, and only once that was obtained did he waste no time in sinking his fangs into a now screaming Aethelwold's jugular. The scream cut off with a wet gurgle and Aethelwold grasped at his cousin's tunic, trying to pull him off, to no avail.

The sharp copper tang of his blood in the night air made saliva pool in Finan's mouth and he could no longer wait his turn. He moved to crouch in the dirt next to Osferth, detached one of Aethelwold's arms from its desperate hold and sank his fangs into the human's wrist. Hot blood flooded his mouth and he drank greedily, the red liquid spilling out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Sihtric knelt at Osferths other side, his own fangs sinking into the other side of Aethelwold's neck. 

The human's eyes were wide with fear and his mouth opened and closed like he was still trying to form words but couldn't. With three of them feeding it didn't take long before he finally stopped struggling and fell still underneath them. His heartbeat slowed and slowed then stopped.

Sihtric was the first to pull away and Finan watched as he sat back on his heels and grinned up towards the sky, his mouth, chin and all down the front of his tunic smeared with blood. The dane tilted his head and their eyes met over Osferth's head. Sihtrics' eyes still looked half starved and Finan knew that a hunt of a different sort would happen that night. 

Watching any of his lovers feed triggered something in Sihtric, especially when it was Finan and Osferth, and it always led to some of the best sex they ever had. Finan had never asked what exactly it was, the adrenaline from the hunt, seeing his lovers give in to their instincts combined with what the sight and taste of fresh blood did to him.

It was messy business after all, feeding. 

Finan's hands are caked in red up to the wrist, his fingers had ripped long lines into the flesh of Aethelwold's arm in his fervor, made all the worse by how Aethelwold had struggled in the beginning. 

He could see and smell the blood which had sprayed and soaked into the front of his companions' tunics, leaving them wet and stained with red.

Osferth was the last to pull away and he grinned over at Finan, his face also smeared with red. He licked his lips and teeth clean then stood up, reached down and helped Sihtric up and then Finan.

Punishment enacted, they dragged Aethelwold's body back to the fortress and left the rapidly cooling corpse front and center in the courtyard for all to see. They would send his remains back to his uncle as a declaration. No one was safe.

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[the-trickster-exe]

Cracked At The Line In The Air, I feel safe. || Whumptober: Day 5

Fandom/Characters: Moon Knight. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley.

Summary: Steven's childhood teddy breaks and it triggers a meltdown.

Warnings: Steven hits himself as a stim during his meltdown. Want sure of this warrants a warning but just in case.

Word Count: 1607

A/N: Jake calls Steven ‘ricitos’ which is basically a term of endearment (for a partner, take that as you will) that basically just means curly hair/small curls.

AO3:

It’s broken. It’s broken. Oh my god, it’s broken.

Steven was laying in bed. It was the middle of the night and he was just settling down to sleep. It had been a good day. Nothing bad had happened, he’d been rather at ease, enjoying going about his day with minimal interference. He’d rolled over to lay down on his side and seen his childhood teddy tipped over, having fallen onto the floor. It was a fuzzy small elephant called Nellie. The stuffing distributed unevenly and one of the ears slightly worse for wear than the other due to constant chewing as a child, but it was still whole. It had small black beads for eyes, a stubby little trunk, and two tiny white mounds either side of its face for tusks. Not wanting her to be lonely, because he still had a tendency to anthropomorphize things, he went to pick her up and place her back on her spot on the bed.

Despite having had it for decades, it was still in relatively solid condition. He’d put effort into maintaining its state and was rather chuffed with himself at having had her for so long with minimal incidents. Which is why it was all the more heartbreaking when one of the seams on its neck had stuck out and gotten caught in the floorboards. He had no idea how, but it did, and when he grabbed her to pull her upwards it started to tug. Something he had realised far too late to stop it from happening.

The seam had stayed wedged firmly in the crack and as soon as the force of pulling the toy was applied, it started to unravel. In an instant, the body started to separate from the head, the old stuffing starting to tip and pile out onto the floor beneath itself. The stitches snapped as the neck stayed stuck to the ground, disconnecting from the main body and tugging a front arm off along with it.

His brain stopped dead in its tracks, physically incapable of processing what had just happened. It was almost as if time had slowed as Steven watched the events unfold in absolute horror. He froze instantly, eyes bulging as his mouth hung open with shock. A tremble immediately started to zap through his hand as his fingers loosened from a firm clasp around the worn but soft body of the toy, to a lax and limp claw that was just barely holding it. It was only as it tumbled out of his grip to lay with the rest of itself, surrounded by the stuffing that was once inside, that Steven lunged at the broken object, his heart pounding out of his chest as he frantically tried to gather all of the pieces together in his arms.

“No. No, no, no, no- NO- NO!”

His lungs constricted as his breathing instantly got caught, fractured breaths intermingling with the rising nausea and swirled around like the ocean in a storm. Broken sounding words flooded from his mouth as he stuttered to get them out in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the crushing pressure growing like a lump in his throat. They got muddled and stuck, his tongue getting in the way as he tried to stammer anything new, but was unable to get them out in a way that felt right. His mouth quickly flooded with the crimson metallic taste of blood as he bit down on his cheek, his jaw crunching down in a moment of shock as he tried to process what just happened.

Fat globules of tears poured down his face as he desperately willed the pieces to form back together, to undo it all and fix itself. His breaths heaved as he continued to work himself up, bawling harder and harder as he grasped the pieces impossibly closer to him. The sudden heartbreak was painful, physically painful and even more so psychologically. He felt the disparaging familiarity of dissociation grip him, his brain disconnecting from his body as he started to heave strangled sobs, whimpering pleas for the elephant to be okay. For his Nellie to be all better again.

He couldn’t lose her, she’d been there for him since he was a kid. She was the only thing that could calm him down when things got too bad, something not even his headmates could fully manage to do. Meltdowns, flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks. Even just giving him something to cry into when a character he liked in a film died, or just something to fall asleep with when he needed to. He didn’t care that people might see it as childish, after everything the system had been through when they were supposed to have been a child, he thought they should almost be owed it to make up for lost time. But Nellie was something from his childhood. Their childhood. Which is why it was all the more painful that she was now broken apart and torn in his arms.

Gradually, he felt his body begin to rock back and forwards, his breathing trying to match the motions frantically at the sudden awareness he really wasn’t breathing right. How could he have been so careless? How stupid could he have been to just destroy one of his most treasured items? One of the only truly, wholly good things they had from their parents, from their little brother, and he’d gone and broken it. Bringing the main body of the teddy to his face, he pressed it against his skin and started to muffle his cries, the pain steadily shifting into a burning anger. Anger that he could blame no one for but himself.

His brows furrowed in irritation as a swelling burning flashed in his chest, his grip tightened around the material painfully as the rage towards himself grew. The feeling began to burst through his limbs as he clenched his jaw almost painfully, grinding his teeth in annoyance as tears kept trickling down his face. Through huffed breaths, a guttural rumble rose in his oesophagus and tore up his throat in a furious roar.

“FUCK! HOW COULD I BE SO FUCKING STUPID? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? FUCKING STUPID- USELESS- WORTHLESS FUCKING- FUCK-”

In an instant, he raised his arms up with fists balled and started to bash them against the side of his head. The motion was repetitive and a bit painful, but soothing in a way. He carried on letting random, frustrated words and whines fumble out of his lips as his body took over. Tears and snot dripped down his face as he continued to hit his temples, sobbing in bitterness as a crash of self-hatred pooled in his chest. Briefly, he thought he heard someone speaking to him but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

There was a new resistance in his arms, something that pulled them back and made them feel not quite right. That made him almost struggle to do the thing that was soothing him. That was helping. Made it feel like it wasn’t helping. Like it was almost worse. He didn’t like it, it felt restraining. So instead moved them away and sat on his hands, trying to mitigate the uncomfortable feeling that stopped them with pressure. Continued to rock back and forth, to make the noises that climbed up his throat.

“Steven. It’s going to be okay. We can fix it. It’s alright.”

He shook his head disparagingly at the words, too overwhelmed to be able to form anything comprehensible. His legs bounced rhythmically as he tried to convey what he wanted to say, tried desperately to grasp at words and throw them out in a way that made sense. That helped him explain that it wasn’t alright and that it couldn’t be fixed. That he couldn’t fix it and it was too late for anything to be saved. But in some way he felt as though the speaker understood his thoughts regardless of whether or not they were spoken, and the gravelled voice spoke again. Accompanied by someone else.

“It might not feel like it, but this’ll pass and we can stitch her up. She’ll be fine, it was an accident, Steven. You’re not stupid or useless, it was a mistake.”

“He’s right, ricitos. We can fix our fluffy friend. Maybe even get her some new stuffing and fill it out properly again.”

As the voices spoke, they projected feelings of warmth. There was a contrast between their comfort and the gradual dimming of the burning that had been exploding in his chest. Whatever it was, it was nice. It was kind. Caring. And they said they could fix it. They could fix Nellie. He just needed to try and calm down so that they could. Gently, he felt himself move off of sitting on his hands. Felt them start to lift and snake up to wrap around him and hold him in a way that felt good. That felt safe. Protected. It felt like he could just let go.

He didn’t want to feel this way anymore. Didn’t want to feel any of it. And somehow he knew they would be able to help him stop feeling that way. They’d be able to fix it for him, they could fix Nellie. Stop him from causing more damage to their belongings and their body. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he never meant to hurt them, never meant to hurt himself. But he just couldn’t help it. So, that’s what he did. He let the pair take his place, and went into the back.

[i-llbedammned]

Beach Adventure

Miles for years hated the summer.  He  and his sister weren’t allowed to go to the beach, both because going to the beach was for plebeians and they should be studying, but also because he had no real friends to go with.  Oh sure he was good looking enough.  

He could show up and get attention.  Certainly not drink on the beach or do anything that might spill something filthy on him.  But sunbathing might be allowed.  That was easy enough.  But he didn’t really want people ogling his half-naked body most days.  And it just felt hot and itchy sitting there by himself.

The best he settled for was going to the shore line and staring at the ocean, after his adopted father was imprisoned, letting his thoughts wander as he gazed off of a pier with the smell of fish everywhere.  No one noticed him, not really, especially if he wore a t-shirt and jeans rather than a suit.  It was nice to not be noticed and hear the ocean.

“Edgeworth?”  came the sound of an all too familiar voice to his left.  He turned and there was that man, Phoenix Wright himself in bright blue trunks with giant orange hibiscus on them and a bright blue striped button down shirt.  

 “Wright,” he replied with a courteous nod of his head, “I see you look as ridiculous as ever.”

“Ridiculous? I’m not the one wearing jeans when it’s 90 out.”  Phoenix laughed, “You waiting for someone?”

Edgeworth shook his head, silver hair flying slightly in the ever-present wind.  “No.  Not today.”

“You want to join me then? Got extra room on the towel.”  He motioned to a giant monstrosity with the Steel Samurai on it, “Maya gave it to me specifically so that I could share it with someone special and then left.”

“Mmm,” Miles gave an indeterminate sound, “I should probably get back to work anyway.  I’m sure Maya would want that spot on your towel.”

Phoenix looked confused, “She’s gone for the whole summer.  Won’t be back til fall at the earliest.   No one else to use it with really.”  That man sidled up to him, nudging him with his elbow, “Come on, a little break won’t kill you.”

“Maybe they won’t kill you, Wright, but I take more than one case every few months.”

“Suit yourself then.” Phoenix shrugged and began to walk away.

He was getting away.  No, wait,  was he actually feeling disappointed that Wright was walking away? Before he could get too far Miles called out, “Actually Wright—“

That man, that awful man. He turned around with the biggest grin on his face, “Knew you couldn’t resist!  Must be my charming personality.”

For a moment Miles was taken aback by how suddenly he was happy, “Don’t flatter yourself, Wright. It’s just that studies have said that you work better after you have taken a break.”

Phoenix nodded, not bothering to correct him but there was still a sly grin on his face.  Together they walked forward on to the crunching sand that burned both of their feet.  Both abandoned their sandals and let their toes comb through the sand.

This was ridiculous of course.  What would dear Manfred say if he saw his son, adopted as he loved to point out, traipsing through the sand?  Probably something like “Disgusting.  You should know better than to be caught with the enemy.  This is behavior thoroughly unbefitting of someone of your stature.”  The voice, deep and resonant, sounded off in his ears though he was miles away in prison.

Miles blinked and found Phoenix looking back at him with concerned blue eyes, once more under the bright sun.  “Where’d you end up going?”

“Huh?”

“You were staring for a while, not really looking at anything.  Where’d you end up going?”

Miles looked to the side, “Somewhere I’d rather not be.  Let’s leave it at that.”

Phoenix gave him a thumbs up and put down the beach towel for them to sit on.  “So you gonna go in the water in your jeans then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no intention of going in the water.  It is filled with people and screaming children.”  Miles looked at the water all the same, wondering if he could allow himself that.  These jeans would dry after all and it was a hot day.  Likely have to take the shirt off, which might be weird for Wright.

His grey eyes wandered to the side and saw Phoenix already slipping out of his button down.  And damn, the man looked far better than he had any right to without even trying.  All toned muscle, which shouldn’t be surprising considering how he once kicked in a door and fought off assassins.  In fact the dork was currently trying to catch a small crab that was skittering on the side of the towel rather than paying Miles any attention.

Catching the crab Phoenix held it up victoriously over his head, “Check this out-“

The crab escaped his clutches, falling on to the defense attorney’s head.  “Oh come on!” he cried out as it pinched his ear.  With one hand he tried to pull it off, but the blue claws held tight.

“Wright, hold still.” Miles leaned in close and placed his hand on the side of the other man’s head, gently flipping the crab upside down. The crab quickly fell unconscious and the claw was easily plucked off.  With a gentle toss, he returned it to the sand.

When he looked up again at Phoenix, there was a light blush across his nose, “I had that!  But, uh, thanks.  That was nice.”

Miles softly chuckled. Oh this was going to be a good day after all if he was already that easily embarrassed.  After all it was no shame to lose control of a crab.

The day went on and they lay next to each other.  Blue sky flowed over head with the sound of Frisbees being thrown nearby.  The sun beat down upon them, feeling like a small laser in the sky and making their skin feel fiery.  

Phoenix sat up first, “Alright.  I’m going in the water before I spontaneously combust.”

Miles sat up, feeling uncomfortably hot himself, especially with his shirt still on, “Wouldn’t be the strangest thing that has happened to either of us if you did.”

“Come on.” Wright climbed to his feet and extended his hand down to Miles, “Let’s get in there before low tide.”

Normally he would argue but today the sun made the decision for him.  Off came the shirt, the cellphone, the pager, all of it piled under the towel to prevent it from being stolen.  What fool would steal from two of the best lawyers and expect to get away with it though?

Phoenix grabbed his arm and ran with him down the beach.  It was silly, absolutely ridiculous the sight of the two of them running.  And yet it was also kind of fun?  Yeah, the wind was nice, pleasant on his sweat and it was comforting to hold his hand. Not that the great Miles Edgeworth was at all worried about being pulled into the ocean or anything.

The waves hit them both with a hard, cold shock.  Phoenix cried out and clung just a little tighter to Miles’ hand.  Then it was like he realized what he was doing.  “Sorry.  Forgot how cold it is.”  Their hands let go.

“It’s, uh, quite alright. I don’t mind.  That is- I don’t think it’s that cold.”  Smooth as always, Miles.

They stood there for a few moments.  The world turned around them and somewhere someone was excitedly smashing open a water melon, but for the two of them they simply stood and looked at each other. Both suddenly aware of just how close they both were, how very shirtless, and the fact that they were just holding hands.

“Maybe we should keep holding on to each other.  The waves look quite strong and I would hate to see either of us pulled out.” Miles opened, feeling the touch of blush brush across his own cheeks as he extended out his hand.

“Yeah, sounds reasonable to me.” Phoenix grabbed back on a bit too eagerly and his pulse was racing already.  That was far better than expected.

“You afraid, Wright?” Miles leaned in close, feeding off the bright red that was around Phoenix’s ears and creeping forward, “Your pulse is going awful fast.”

“Fine!  I’m fine!” Phoenix rushed to get out, “Just the heat is a bit much, that’s all.”

Miles chuckled, losing his self-consciousness in the face of another, more pronounced self-consciousness. This could be a little game that they played.

[travelingcentaur]

Genetic Brutes

TRIGGER WARNING: Genetically modified animals, hybrid cocks, and non-sexual relieving of a person bladder. You have been warned

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn't believe your eyes, you honestly can't believe them. Rumors were fucking true after all... military really is creating super soldiers! Took you sneaking onto what was suppose to be a military base, armory according to the documents your hacker friend managed to get you. But no, its a massive field with a whole lot of muscle bound genetic soldiers roaming about what looks to be a bunker entrance.

None of them human in appearance other than the humanoid shape each has. Putting your binoculars aside, you fish out the laminated documents you paid good and well for. Reading over how they took animal embryo's and altered them into literal multi-ton behemoth soldiers! Lightest one according to the documents is a dog one and it's last weigh in registered it at a staggering 150 tons, tons!

Apparently the modifications were for making humanoid soldiers, not for making humanoid soldiers that have hyper dense muscles and bones. And their is apparently dozens of them here, among them being horses, rhinos, deer, wolves, dogs, bulls, and elephants! By the holy divines that watches us all, how fucking much do the elephants weigh!

And according to the documents, they are all males and are genetically incapable of growing even a gram of fat with the unintended altera-...

The ground trembles and quakes in rapid order, the trees around you rocking heavily side to side. Roots tearing up from the ground as a group of twelve dogs, horses, and bulls come walking past. Wearing what looks to be light kevlar armor and helmets. All looking bored as can be as they each tower over you, easily 12ft tall to the shortest one of them. Carrying around rifles that would be mounted to vehicles in hand and on their backs.

"I gotta piss.", one of the bulls huffs out.

"Hurry it up, another lap and we can head back down.", one of the horses snorts out.

"Yeah, yeah.", the bull says as it breaks away from the group.

Its cloven hooves crushing rocks and fallen tree branches alike. Simply stepping down and flattening them as if they were paper to a falling anvil. No resistance other than a noisy crunch that puts fear into your heart as it is walking right towards you. Feeling the ground crumble with each step it takes before mercifully missing your shoulder with its right hoof. And missing your chest with its left hoof, leaving you staring up as you stay stone still.

Watching it unbutton its pants and pull out a pillar of a cock. Flesh pink and brown in pattern and easily thicker than your shoulder. Its sack sliding out and hanging down to show off the bowling ball size nuts its got packing as it aims at a small sapling a few steps away from you. Letting out a heavy sigh as it starts pissing, the stream is near perfect with no drop. Literally cutting through the sapling as with a idle twitch of its hand, it cuts it in half with the stream. Leaving you feeling utterly terrified as it empties its bladder for a full minute.

Then tucking itself away and giving a idle punch to a tree next to it. Shattering the two foot thick trunk from the idle motion before turning and hurrying along to join the rest of its team. Leaving you feeling incredibly pale as you press yourself down into the tall grass. Refusing to acknowledge what the fuck you just witnessed till you watch the group enter into the bunker.

Staying in this spot for the remaining hours of daylight before you risk crawling away and heading for the fence. Having forgotten to take any pictures or videos but that doesn't matter, you get to leave here with your life and limbs intact.

[shoshiwrites]

Prompt from this (very NSFW) list: "while at the drive in theater, [characters] forego watching the movie to have sex" + my choice (Jo/Frankie) Additional prompts: “slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere" + "friends with benefits" Requested by: @junojelli

Frankie’s buying way too much candy for someone who has no intention of watching the movie. 

Jo eyes the box of Milk Duds, and the Raisinets, and the Good & Plenty with a raised eyebrow. “You got someone else in the trunk?”

It’s not like Frankie to spend this much money, anyway, and Jo’s hardly someone she needs to impress. Frankie gives her a look while gesturing with one of the candies, the pieces rattling inside. “Clara likes Milk Duds.”

I’m sure she’ll love when they all melt and stick together, Jo thinks, and bites her tongue. She taps nonexistent nails on the side of her box of Red Hots. This isn’t the corner of the girl’s locker room after a newspaper meeting. This isn’t their favorite smoke spot, or the grassy berm behind the shopping center. This is…private. Well. About as private as a car in a sea of other cars can get. 

Frankie had parked her cousin’s station wagon at the far corner of the field, and let Jo hook up the sound. “It was either this or Jaws 2,” Jo says, as the glass breaks in Bullitt’s opening sequence.

She doesn’t even get to her candy before Frankie’s eyeing the backseat. It’s practically the size of a bed with the seat pushed down, and they’d packed a couple of blankets and a sheet in case it got really cold. It’s not, not yet, but the air is starting to chill. The crickets are still chirping outside, and there’s the buzz of the drive-in machinery, and the crunch of tires on gravel. 

Frankie tastes like sugar and vanilla bean ice cream Chapstick, and maybe this isn’t the worst place to be, snuggled under an old top sheet, low down and hidden from the other moviegoers. Jo gets a few smacks when she pokes her head up to see what’s happening, her mouth leaving Frankie’s neck in the process, her fingers grazing the softness of her inner thigh. 

They don’t usually get farther than hands, aside from a couple times they’d been lucky enough to have an apartment to themselves. Though they’d been too nervous to do much more then anyways. It’s hard to shake that feeling.

When she dives for Frankie’s stomach Frankie has to stop her, hey, slow down, I’m not going anywhere, and it’s embarrassing, the way Jo’s cheeks instantly go even hotter.

Frankie doesn’t seem to notice, or if she doesn’t she doesn’t care. She pushes her chest up a little, and Jo gets the hint. She pulls down the strap of Frankie’s sundress, and Frankie’s eyes fall closed as Jo’s mouth finds her again. “That’s it, baby,” she says, and Jo feels like she’s in some other kind of movie altogether.

Soon enough though, Frankie’s hand is guiding hers. She can hear the sound of tires screeching on screen, dialogue in one ear and then out the other, as Frankie thrusts around her fingers.

Well, it’s an old sheet anyway.

“You’re good at this,” Frankie breathes after a minute, as Jo inspects her hand. 

She swallows, her whole body heavy with want, and something in her chest still fluttering. “Don’t sound so surprised.” Frankie smiles then, all wide and goofy, and Jo’s heart melts like a box of Milk Duds. 

“Well,” she says, and sits up, blonde curls bouncing. “The movie’s still on so why don’t we watch?”

Jo fist lingers between her own legs, and her hips immediately react to Frankie’s question. Her head’s still in a fog, replaying the moment when Frankie couldn’t hold herself in anymore. “What?”

“C’mon, get in the front.”

For reasons she can’t explain, Jo gets in the front. Frankie pulls her dress up and snuggles up on the driver’s side with a blanket around her shoulders. Jo sits there in the cold and chews a Red Hot angrily on her back teeth, mouth soon smarting with cinnamon flavoring.

The movie ends, and they wait to get out of the parking lot. Frankie keeps shooting her glances on the way home, some kind of a smile on her lips. 

When they get to Frankie’s house, Jo doesn’t move from her seat. “Come on,” Frankie says, gesturing her inside, her elbows on the windowsill of the passenger side. 

Jo rolls the rest of the candy around at the bottom of the box, her voice bathed in sarcasm. “Thought you were only using me for my smokin’ hot bod.”

Frankie’s eyes go soft, and maybe it would be easier to imagine pity in them. There’s not. “C’mon,” she says. Jo suddenly notices that none of the lights are on. “I was waiting for my aunt to leave. She always heads down the shore like three hours after she says she-”

“Oh,” Jo says.

“Bed might be a little comfier.”

Now it’s Jo’s turn to smile like a loon. It’s a good thing there’s only the driveway lights, and the bulb in one of them is broken. “Might be.”

[khozmoh]

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳     —     𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . ↳↳     —     𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 ,  𝚔𝚎𝚢𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  @nightmarecountry​​​

💀   //   kidnap  my  muse .

he  came  to  in  the  trunk  of  a  car,  something  tied  around  his  head  and  mouth  to  gag  him,  wrists  zip  tied  behind  his  back,  folded  and  crammed  into  the  small  space  like  a  sardine.  pain  flared  across  his  neck,  two  burning  spots  the  only  memory  he  had  of  the  taser.  he  didn't  remember  the  guy  pulling  it  out,  couldn't  remember  seeing  him  move  at  all.  somewhere  behind  him  he  could  hear  the  car  radio  playing,  feel  the  engine  rumble  and  the  road  pass  by  beneath  him.  he  couldn't  be  sure  how  long  he  had  been  out  or  how  long  they  had  been  driving,  but  he  knew  that  letting  the  stranger  get  him  to  a  secondary  location  was  asking  for  a  slow  a  painful  death.

          cosmo  cried  out,  an  angry  muffled  shout  as  he  twisted  and  turned,  kicking  at  whatever  corners  he  could  reach.  he  scrambled  as  best  he  could,  rolling  and  curling,  twisting  and  turning,  trying  to  feel  his  way  around  the  space  to  find  a  weakness  or  vulnerability.  there  was  nothing  useful  in  the  trunk  with  him,  and  his  abductor  had  been  smart  enough  to  pat  him  down  and  take  the  two  knives  he  carried  on  his  person.  he  kicked  the  inside  of  the  trunk  again,  another  frustrated  cry  muffled  around  the  gag  in  his  mouth.

          the  car  skidded  to  an  unceremonious  stop  and  cosmo  narrowly  avoided  cracking  his  head  against  the  wall.  his  heartbeat  leaped  into  his  throat  and  he  shoved  himself  backwards  as  far  from  the  trunks  door  as  he  could,  which  wasn't  that  far.  he  listened  to  the  drivers  side  door  open  then  slam  shut,  listened  to  the  crunch  of  footsteps  over  gravel  road,  panic  quickly  threatening  to  swallow  him  whole  as  cosmo  watched  the  trunk  top  open.

          he  flinched  as  sunlight  split  across  his  field  of  vision,  his  abductor  silhouetted  in  gold  above  him.  two  hands  grabbed  the  front  of  his  hoodie  and  cosmo  was  hoisted  out  of  the  trunk  as  easily  as  if  he  were  a  bag  of  groceries.  cosmo  stumbled  when  his  feet  it  the  ground,  almost  toppling  sideways  if  not  for  the  man's  strong  grip  on  him  but  his  panic  quickly  dissolved  into  anger.

          cosmo  rocked  back  on  his  heels,  and  snapped  forward  with  as  much  momentum  as  he  could,  smashing  his  forehead  into  his  abductors  face.  he  heard  the  crack  of  something  plastic,  a  grunt  of  what  he  hoped  was  pain,  and  then  he  hit  the  ground.  hard.  cosmo  scrambled  again,  using  his  feet  to  push  himself  backwards  and  upright  where  his  back  collided  with  the  car.  looking  up  through  the  light,  cosmo  finally  got  a  good  look  at  his  abductors  face.

          blonde  hair,  pale  skin,  soft  lips  pressed  into  a  hard  line,  but  it  was  his  eyes  that  cosmo  stared  at,  or  where  his  eyes  should  have  been.  cosmo  had  broken  a  pair  of  black  lenses  and  what  lay  under  them  instead  of  eyes  were  a  pair  of  small  mouths,  teeth  gritted  in  what  cosmo  could  only  guess  to  be  anger.  the  fear  returned  in  spades,  his  heart  pounded  deafeningly  against  his  ears  as  he  hyperventilated  through  the  gag  in  his  mouth.

[aspenmissing]

𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 (𝙿𝚝 𝟸)

Y/N is leaving a message on John's voicemail. While she is talking, Sam and Dean enter the room with bags full of weapons.

"We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can" She hangs up.

"Voicemail?" Sam asks.

"Yeah" She gestures to the bags "Jesus, what'd you get?" Sam and Dean chuckle.

"We ransacked that trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything" Dean says and Y/N nods, and they begin loading their guns silently "Big night."

"Yeah, You nervous?" Sam asks.

"No. Why, are you?"

"No. No way" They are silent for a few seconds "God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, all right?" Y/N says.

"I know. I'm just sayin', what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Guys, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school—be a person again."

"You wanna go back to school?"

"Yeah, once we're done huntin' the thing."

"Huh."

"Why, is there somethin' wrong with that?"

"No. No, it's uh, great. Good for you."

"We're proud of you," Y/N says.

"I mean, what are you two gonna do when it's all over?" Y/N and Dean look at each other.

"It's never gonna be over. There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be somethin' to hunt."

"But there's got to be somethin' that you want for yourselves—"

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam," Dean says and walks over to the dresser.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Dean is silent for a while, then turns back to Sam and Y/N.

"Why do you think we drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think we came and got you at Stanford in the first place?" Dean says and Y/N looks away shamefully.

"'Cause Dad was in trouble. 'Cause you two wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."

"Yes, that, but it's more than that, Man." He returns to the dresser and is silent again, then once more turns to Sam and Y/N. "You, Me, Y/N and Dad—I mean, I want us...I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again."

"Dean, Y/N, we are a family. I'd do anything for you two. But things will never be the way they were before."

"Could be," Y/N mutters sadly.

"I don't want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Guys, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way." Dean and Sam share a look and Y/N looks down, fighting tears.

==

Sam, Dean, and Y/N climb the elevator gate and reach the top room. Meg is standing at the altar, speaking in an ancient language. Quietly, the three squeeze through the space between the gate and the wall. They draw their guns and move to the other side of the room, hiding behind some crates.

"Guys." The three look at each other, stunned. "Hiding's a little childish, don't you think?"

"Well, that didn't work out like I planned." Meg turns around to face them.

"Why don't you come out?" Sam, Y/N, and Dean come out from behind the crates. "Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"So, where's your little Daeva friend?" Y/N asks.

"Around. You know, that shotgun's not gonna do much good."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. The shotgun's not for the demon."

"So, who is it, Meg? Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

"You." The shadow demon begins to form on the wall. It knocks Sam to the ground, throws Dean into the crate, and throws Y/N into the wall, landing with a sickening crunch. A claw-like scratch appears on Sam's face.

==

Y/N, Dean, and Sam are tied to three separate posts. Sam comes to and sees Meg sitting before him.

"Hey, Sam? Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend...is a bitch," Y/N says, moaning from the pain in her arm.

"This, the whole thing, was a trap. Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearing what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn't it?" Meg laughs. "And that the victims were from Lawrence?"

"It doesn't mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"You killed those two people for nothing."

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less."

"You trapped us. Good for you. It's Miller time." Dean smiles. "But why don't you kill us already?"

"Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" She leans in closer. "This trap isn't for you." Dean and Y/N are puzzled. Sam thinks for a second, then realizes something.

"Dad. It's a trap for Dad." Dean looks at Meg, who smiles at him.

"Oh, sweetheart—you're dumber than you look. 'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn't walk into something like that. He's too good."

"He is pretty good. I'll give you that." She walks over to him and sits down, straddling his legs. "But you see, he has one weakness."

"What's that?" Y/N asks. Meg looks at her, and she gets off Dean and walks over to Y/N, she crouches down beside Y/N and grabs her arm, which makes her scrunch her nose in pain.

"You. He lets his guard down around his children, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he'll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody—nice and slow and messy."

"Well, I've got news for ya. It's gonna take a lot more than some...shadow to kill him," Y/N says.

"Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they're invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see."

"Why you doin' this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?" Sam asks.

"I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do—loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy—and Jess."

"Go to hell," Sam says.

"Baby, I'm already there." She smiles and slides over to Sam. "Come on, Sam. There's no need to be nasty." She leans in to whisper in his ear. "I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me—changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn't it?"

"Get a room, you two," Dean says. Y/N looks away.

"I didn't mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun." She begins kissing his neck.

"You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I'm a little tied up right now." She smiles and continues to kiss him. A noise on Dean and Y/N's side of the room makes her stop. She gets up and walks behind Dean's post. She sees he has a knife in his hand. She takes it away and tosses it into a corner. Meg swings around to the other side of the post, and smiles at Dean, who chuckles guiltily. She slides back over to Sam.

"Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?"

"No. No. That's because I have a knife of my own." Meg is confused. Sam breaks free from his ropes and grabs Meg's shoulders, then knocks his head against hers. She falls to the floor while he groans in pain.

"Sam! Get the altar," Y/N says. Sam walks over to the altar and overturns it. Suddenly, the shadow demon appears and grabs Meg. She is dragged across the floor and crashes through the window, falling down to the street below. Sam grabs his knife and cuts Dean and Y/N free from the ropes.

"I think my arms dislocated," Y/N says, as she's helped by the brothers.

"I'll need to reset it. On the count of 3." Dean puts his hand on her arm. "1...2-" He sets Y/N's arm back in place.

"Bitch! You said 3!"

"I lied," Dean says, sheepishly smiling at her. They walk over to the window and see Meg sprawled on the sidewalk, dead.

"So, I guess those Daevas didn't like being bossed around."

"Yeah, I guess not. Hey, Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that's not so buckets-o'-crazy, huh?" Dean smiles and walks away. Sam turns to Y/N.

"How's your arm?"

"It's sore, but bearable." Sam finds goes over to the table and finds a cloth, he ties the two ends and makes a sling. He puts it round Y/N's head and puts her arm through. He smiles, her returning it.

"How's your cheek?" She asks, placing her non-injured hand on his face.

"Stings, but I'll live." The two laugh and they follow Dean.

==

The three arrive back to their room, all battered, bruised, and slightly bloody.

"Why didn't you just leave that stuff in the car?" Y/N asks.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again—better safe than sorry." Dean unlocks the door and they enter the room. They see the outline of a man standing by the window.

"Hey!" Sam turns on the light. The man turns around, revealing it to be John Winchester. Sam, Y/N, and Dean are stunned. "Dad?"

"Hey, guys." Dean and John walk towards each other and share a long, emotional hug. Sam watches sadly. Dean and John pull apart a few seconds later. "Hi, Y/N." Y/N rushes forwards into John's open arms and share a loving hug. "What happened to your arm?" He asks, looking down at her arm with a slight frown. Y/N smiles sheepishly.

"Just fighting some assholes, Dad," Y/N replies, smiling sheepishly. John returns the smile and they pull away.

"Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Dad," Sam says softly. The two don't hug, but look at each other. Sam places the bag full of weapons on the floor.

"Dad, it was a trap. I didn't know, I'm sorry," Dean says.

"It's all right. I thought it might've been."

"Were you there?" Y/N asks.

"Yeah, I got there just in time to see that girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?"

"Yes, sir," Y/N, Sam, and Dean say in unison.

"Good. Well, it doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before."

"The demon has?"

"I know I'm close. It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell—actually kill it."

"How?" Dean asks and John smiles.

"I'm workin' on that."

"Let us come with you. We'll help," Dean gives Sam a warning look.

"No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don't want you caught in a crossfire. I don't want you hurt."

"Dad, you don't have to worry about us."

"Of course, I do. I'm your father," John smiles. "Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

"Yes, sir."

"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

"Too long," Sam and John embrace, crying. A minute later, they pull apart. The four of them look around tearfully. Suddenly, the shadow demon attacks John. He is thrown into a set of cabinets and falls to the ground. Sam also falls.

"No!" Dean shouts but he and Y/N are thrown to the floor as well. Outside, Meg is watching the apartment. She looks at the building while holding a pendant around her neck, which features the Zoroastrian symbol.

==

Sam, Dean, Y/N, and John are being attacked by the shadow demon. They groan and scream in pain as they are flung around the room. Fresh scratches appear on their faces. Y/N makes her way to the bag of weapons on the floor, and ignoring the pain in her arm, she removes a flare from the gun.

"Shut your eyes! These things are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!" She lights the flare, and the room is instantly filled with smoke and a brilliant white light. The shadow demon vanishes. The four of them try to feel their way around the room, coughing and sputtering.

"Dad!" Dean shouts.

"Over here!" Dean makes his way to John and helps him up. Sam goes over to Y/N and also helps her up, and the two follow John and Dean out of the room, Sam carrying the bag of weapons. When they exit the building, they walk down an alley to the car. Sam puts the bag in the backseat of the car.

"All right, come on. We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back."

"Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait. Dad, you can't come with us," Dean says.

"What? What are you talkin' about?" Sam asks.

"You three—you're beat to hell."

"We'll be all right," Y/N says.

"Y/N, Dean, we should stick together. We'll go after those demons—"

"Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop. They're gonna try again. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He—he's stronger without us around."

"Dad—no," Sam puts a hand on his father's shoulder. Dean and Y/N watch sadly. "After everything—after all the time we spent lookin' for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight."

"Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you've got to trust me, son," Sam shakes his head no. "Okay, you've gotta let me go." All four of them are silent for a moment, close to tears. Finally, Sam looks at his hand on his dad's shoulder, and then pats his father's shoulder once, then let's go. John, Dean, and Y/N share a look, then John walks to his truck. Once there, he looks back at them one more time. "Be careful, guys," he gets in his truck and drives away.

"Come on," Y/N says. The three get into the car and watch as their father's truck turns the corner. Dean, Sam, and Y/N look at each other knowingly. Without a word, Dean starts the car. He backs into the street, then speeds down the road and around the corner. Meg comes onto the street from a flight of stairs. She turns and watches the three leave.

[sibyl-the-bookkeeper-blog]

The Girl and The Tree

There once was a tree that stood on the far outskirts of my village near the edge of a cliff. The tree was old and decrypted, and yet, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. With its many twists and turns of its branches. The different shades of bark along the trunk and various branches. To its towering presence and its many green and brown leaves that sway with every soft blow of the wind. Sending its loose pink flower petals that grew in the spring, and its leaves to the mercy of the breeze. And sending them wherever the wind may take them.

From my point of view, the tree was absolutely beautiful even when it lay bare in the winter. Nothing I had ever seen in my entire 15 years of life has grasped me in a way that this tree had. Its beauty lay far beyond the surface. But my admiration for this tree only grew from afar. I was not allowed near the tree because it was too close to the edge and mother said that I could fall. But I could not stand to look at that tree from a distance any longer, I wanted to get a closer look. I wanted to touch the tree with my own two hands, climb up its many branches, and feel the touch of its flower petals against my skin. I wanted so badly to get a closer look. And one day I got my wish. 

The sun was high and my village was silent. Not a sound was made and no one was present. At first, I thought it was strange but then, when my eyes landed upon the tree all I saw was an opportunity for me to get my wish. The tree called out to me and I felt my village in a hurry, running over to the tree as fast as my legs could carry me. Upon reaching the tree I slowed down and gently placed my hands on the tree. The bark was rough, dry, and cracked. Almost like sandpaper. My hands left the trunk of the tree, but only to reach up, grab one of its branches. I pulled myself up into the tree and began to climb. The branches felt rough yet smooth against my bare feet and hands. The green leaves were soft and the brown ones crackled and crunched when I touched them. And the flowers. They smelled sweeter than I had ever imagined they would. And the petals felt like silk between my fingers. It was so wondrous and breathtaking. Never had I thought that I would ever get to be anywhere near this tree in my whole life and now I stand at the very top of it, looking out over the canyon that stood beneath the tree. 

A soft breeze hit the side of my face blowing my hair with it and taking the loose leaves and petals away from the tree. The petals called to me, asking me to join them as they rode the breeze to their next journey. I slowly shut my eyes and slowly began to walk toward the edge of the branch where I stood. As I approached my final step I spread my arms out wide and let myself slip from the tree. I felt the rush of the wind as I fell through the air and you might think that I hit the ground and am now speaking to you from beyond the grave, but that is not the case. For I never once hit the ground, but rather, I instead grew wings made of silky pink petals that glowed sunset orange in the light. And with one large flap of my wings, I was sent flying high into the sky. High up into the clouds and close enough to where I thought I would be taken in by the sun itself. From first glance, you may have thought I could not do such a thing or that this tree was beautiful. But one's surface is only the beginning of their story. For so much more lies within.    

[eddie-sweetheart]

Dream Blunt Rotation

Eddie Munson sells weed. Occasionally, he consumes it too - and, when he does, he makes sure to find the best blunt rotation companions that Hawkins can offer.

Or, your boyfriend Eddie is hiding at Hopper’s cabin and you find him getting high with Jonathan and Argyle.

Tropes: Eddie x female reader, smoking weed, Eddie being high.

Warnings: Drug use (duh), swearing, fluffiness. Minors DNI!

Word count: 4.2 k

Author’s notes: This was surprisingly hard to write - I had the concept very clear in my mind, so it all came down to figuring out how to write the interactions, reactions and personalities of the characters and I was afraid to fuck it up lol but here it is! Hope you like it!!

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

August, 1986. Indiana is scorched by one of the most intense heatwaves of the decade. People are spending most of the time locked inside their houses, half-dressed in front of electric fans set on full speed, or soaking their sweaty bodies in large suburban pools, whose water is never fresh or clean enough, but it really doesn’t matter. Anything is better than enduring the unusual heat that’s been plaguing the whole state for weeks now. 

And that’s good news. With everyone finding refuge from the hot weather either inside or near any body of water they can find, all the streets are mostly empty, except for the occasional car driving towards the nearest ice seller in the neighborhood - and the same is true for the small town of Hawkins. Sure, no one’s really been casually going out and about since spring break and the strange earthquake that has ripped the ground open, but the heatwave has managed to discourage anyone who hasn’t left or moved somewhere else from venturing outside and risking a bad case of insolation. 

With the streets empty and deserted, you and Nancy Wheeler can easily take the road that leads to the woods without being seen or recognized. Keeping Nancy’s Station Wagon windows rolled down doesn’t help much - whatever slow, summer breeze is blowing outside, it doesn’t cool down the inside of the car, which feels like a burning oven. However, with the AC broken and no mechanic left in Hawkins to fix it, feeling the air blow it’s an illusion of freshness worth keeping.

The car finally slows down as you reach the beginning of the path leading into the trees, the roaring engine falling silent after some mechanical sputtering. You and Nancy get out and around the vehicle, shiny rivulets of sweat running down the sides of your reddened cheeks as you lift the trunk cover. 

Two big, brown paper bags are crumpled up in the small space. They feel heavy as you both lift them up, holding them close to your chests so that they won’t break under the weight of their content.

“Got it, Nance?” You ask your friend as she slams the trunk closed with one hand, balancing the bag in her other arm.

“Sure, thanks” Nancy smiles, throwing one last look at the empty road behind you to make sure no one’s seeing you. “Shall we go?”

You nod happily, and you both head into the woods. The first fallen leaves that are scattered on the earthy ground crunch under your shoes as you walk along the path, the hot sun rays filtering through the branches of the trees above you. It’s cooler here, in the shade of the forest, but the weight of the bags and the long walk makes you sweat anyways - as soon as you’ll reach Hopper’s cabin, you think, you’re going to get rid of the button-down shirt you’ve so stupidly worn over your top. 

You and Nancy keep walking for another ten minutes or so, exchanging only a few, almost-whispered words in order not to attract any eventual passer-by’s attention and to stay alert to your surroundings, each crack or movement making your head snap around. 

Once you get off the beaten trail, tall, wild weeds start caressing the skin of your naked legs, the occasional spiky branch grazing the hem of your tennis skirt. Luckily, no harm comes to you (except one little scratch on your left thigh) by the time you finally catch a glimpse of the small wooden cabin through the thick trunks. 

“About time” Nancy groans as you make your way up the short set of rotting stairs - the only part of the building that you and your friends still haven’t fixed despite your efforts to make the place livable once again. “I’m literally melting here”. 

She waits patiently behind you as you fumble with the door handle. Once you manage to get a hold of it without letting anything spill from the bag, you fling the wooden door open - and a gust of a strong, herbal scent hits your nostrils as soon as you step foot into the room.

Hopper’s Cabin has undergone a lot of changes in the past few years. From a barely livable shed mostly used to store boxes full of old, random things, to a small, two-room home where Eleven spent most of her time watching tv and eating Eggos, to an abandoned building with a few holes in the ceiling after the mind flayer attack, it transformed and adapted to what you and your friends needed, without ever losing its main function: being a safe space.

And it was exactly the safety of it that made Hopper’s cabin the most reasonable choice when it came to deciding where to hide Eddie Munson.

Resident metalhead and guitarist, super senior, soft drugs dealer, Dungeon Master, alleged murderer and most wanted man in Hawkins, Eddie sure had a lot on his plate after the whole Vecna thing, whose unexpected and terrifying events (cue Chrissy’s murder, the satanic panic frenzy, the double trip to the Upside-Down, the earthquake) still haunt you and your friends to this day. Thankfully, now that Jim Hopper is back from the dead and working with the authorities, the chances of Eddie being able to prove his innocence in the matter of the Spring Break killings have drastically improved - but you all agreed that in this case an angry, unknowing mob could be more dangerous than a special forces squad that has been informed about what’s really going on beneath Hawkins’ surface.

This means that Eddie has spent the last few months surrounded by the same four wooden walls, which yes, is totally boring and “fucking exhausting”, as he usually says - but it also means that for a while he doesn’t have to worry about the plethora of labels that have been stuck to him. Except for one, which luckily happens to be his favorite: your boyfriend.

You and Eddie love each other to bits. It started long before Vecna, in the Hawkins High corridors and noisy cafeteria, in the woods behind the school and on long walks at sunset in the suburbs. It was a love that bloomed naturally and intensely, a love that was blind to prejudice and the cruel social conventions that ruled the microcosm that is high school - a love that the latest events have only made stronger and more resilient. Sure, you have your differences and arguments like any other healthy couple, but yours is a special bond that inevitably makes butterflies flutter in your stomach every time you’re about to see him - just as it’s happening right now.

You’ve been meeting Eddie at the cabin every day since he moved there, sometimes with one or two of your friends to help you with the groceries refill - this week, it was Nancy who offered to come. These daily visits have turned out to be a great excuse to have some alone quality time together, in spite of it being a forced stay; your company and weed are the only things keeping Eddie sane right now, as he likes to remind you almost all the time, and judging by the strong smell and faint layer of smoke that are pervading the living room as you and Nancy step inside, today is a lucky day, as he’s getting them both.

However, you soon realize that the company might actually be already covered.

“Eddie, we’re here!” You call out as Nancy closes the door behind you, but your eyes widen in surprise once you notice that, indeed, he’s not alone. 

“Argyle?”

“Yoooo y/n, ‘sup?” Argyle replies with a wide, red-eyed smile from the old, tattered sofa, where he’s sprawled next to a definitely stoned Eddie.

Eddie turns his head around and once his gaze meets yours, a loved-up grin slowly creeps up on his lips. If his pupils were dilated before you entered his vision, now they have turned to two dark pools the size of coat buttons.

“Sweetheart” he says, throwing one arm over the backrest of the sofa, his metal rings catching the sunlight that’s peering through the curtains as he moves his hand towards you, “c’mere. I missed you”.

Even if Argyle’s presence definitely took you by surprise, you can’t help doing a double take at Eddie, a faint blush arising on your cheeks as you catch a glimpse of him from behind the sofa. The fan that’s moving back and forth in the corner of the room doesn’t help much with the high temperatures of late summer, which are making Eddie’s skin glisten with a faint layer of perspiration, somehow defining the muscles of his arms and torso exposed by his favorite Metallica t-shirt - whose sleeves have been replaced by two giant holes cut by Eddie himself, just as he did with the short sweatpants he’s wearing. 

His hair is slightly damp, probably from a recent shower, and it tickles your cheek lightly as you lean down to him to plant a soft kiss on his open lips, briefly tasting and smelling the weed - which brings your focus back on Argyle, your mind trying to do the math: if today is Tuesday, wasn’t he supposed to take the flight back to California with-

“Jonathan?” Nancy echoes you as soon as she notices her own boyfriend emerging from the kitchen on your right, barely balancing a small plate filled with chips and a bowl of eerily brownish guacamole.

“Nance!” He exclaims, almost losing his balance as he stumbles towards her and clumsily places a soft kiss on her cheek over the grocery bag she’s still holding. “Surprise! I’m still here!”

You and Nancy exchange a stunned, speechless look before she snaps back to reality and starts throwing a million questions at Jonathan, who has now taken his place back on the sofa, next to Argyle.

“Why aren’t you at the airport?” Nancy interrogates him as she places the paper bag on the kitchen counter before standing in front of the three of them, hands on her hips as she blocks the sight of whatever TV program they were watching. “You’re going to be late, and you’re going to miss the flight, and then what will Joyce-“

“Dude” Argyle warmly interrupts her, palms up as he keeps smiling at her, “you can totally chill. My man here is not catching any planes aaaany time soon”.

You place your own bag on the kitchen counter and get rid of the sweaty button-down on top of your t-shirt in silence as you and Nancy try to make sense of what Argyle has just said - while you also wonder why he’s just referred to Nancy as “dude”. 

“Nance” Jonathan intervenes, throwing a mouthful of chips and guacamole in his mouth, “we’re staying. My mom doesn’t want to leave Hopper, and El and Will hate the school in Lenora, plus there’s the whole earthquake thing… so, yeah, we’re staying”. 

Nancy looks bewildered for a second, then her expression finally relaxes and warms up. “Really?”

“Really” Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan exclaim in unison as rivulets of thick smoke curl up in the air from a huge joint sitting in the ashtray on the coffee table.

“I, uh- that’s great” Nancy says with an unexpectedly timid smile, taking a few steps towards Jonathan and leaning down to carefully kiss him back on the cheek, trying to avoid all the chip crumbles that are scattered on his lips. “I was kind of hoping for it”.

“And guess what, Wheeler” Eddie adds, slapping his palms on his naked thighs and interrupting the fond gaze between Jonathan and Nancy, “our friend Argyle here is staying, too” he declares, placing one hand on Argyle’s shoulder, an unhinged grin plastered on his lips as he shakes the long-haired guy back and forth. 

“Sure I am” Argyle confirms, nodding just a few too many times as he grabs the joint from the ashtray and takes a long drag, “My mission is to convince my boss to open a Surfer Boy Pizza here in Hawkins”.

“Good luck with that” Nancy replies, heading back towards the kitchen to help you put away the groceries; by now you’ve both realized that it’d be useless to ask the others to collaborate.

“What’s the difference between this Surfer Boy Pizza and normal pizza?” Eddie asks, gesturing wildly with one hand while he grabs the blunt Argyle is offering him with the other.

“Dude, are you kidding?” Jonathan replies, passing his weird-looking snacks over to Argyle, “you’ve never had a Surfer Boy Pizza?”

“Never been to California, man” Eddie states, his voice a little hoarse as he puffs out some smoke. 

“They have it in Nevada too, my dude. You’re welcome to any state, just say your old friend Argyle sent you - I’m sure there must be a discount or shit. And be ready to taste the most amazing pineapple pizza you’ve ever had in your life” Argyle explains, “and if you want it at home, we deliver it hot to your door”. 

Eddie nods enchanted, his curly and now almost completely dry hair bobbing up and down as he passes the joint over to Jonathan. 

“And the vans, man” Jonathan adds with a dream-like tone, “the vans are incredible. They are so big inside, and run faster than you think. And the surfboard on top? You can see it coming from a mile away”.

Back in the kitchen, you and Nancy exchange a startled look.

“Guys” you exclaim, unintentionally slamming the cupboard closed with a bang, “how exactly did you get here?”

Three heads spin around and three pairs of reddened eyes look at you two with wonder. 

“We drove” Argyle replies, his wide smile still glued to his lips. 

“We walked” Jonathan says at the same time, throwing a confused look at his friend. 

“Multitasking. Shit, that’s crazy” Eddie absentmindedly exclaims, crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back on the couch, his shirt slightly riding up and exposing his happy trail. 

You take your eyes off of him (not without some degree of difficulty) and you address the other two with a worried look, mirrored by Nancy. 

“Guys” you slowly begin, making sure that they understand your every word, “did you drive here with the pizza van? Because if you did and someone saw you, we might be compromised”. 

Eddie almost jumps up from his seat then, going from a relaxed resting moment to hissing a million “shit shit shit” as he frantically looks back and forth between Jonathan and Argyle - but Argyle himself interrupts him immediately. 

“Chill, dude” he explains, adjusting his baseball cap backward, “we obviously thought of that, so I came up with a great idea”

Jonathan nods enthusiastically, a single drop of sweat glistening on his forehead - whether it’s from the tension or the summer heat, you will never know. “Great idea, yes. Genius, really” he chips in, apologetically smiling at Nancy. 

“We drove the van into the woods” Argyle explains, now directing his grin at you, “then left it among the trees, veeeery well hidden, and we walked the rest of the way”. 

Silence fills the cabin once again as you quizzically look at the stoned trio. Eddie slumps back into the sofa with a relieved sigh, accepting the blunt Jonathan is handing back to him and taking another long drag, while Argyle is still smiling at an undefined spot somewhere between you and Nancy. 

“You better hope it worked” Nancy finally states, pointing a finger at the boys before turning around and going back to the groceries, shaking her head in amusement and surrender. 

“Jesus” you sigh, grabbing the last items from your bag and putting them in the old fridge, “those three together are a real menace”. 

“You bet” Nancy replies, “but there’s not much we can do except keep them as they are. And minimize the damage, of course” she concludes with a smile, neatly folding the two paper bags and putting them away in a drawer. 

“Got to agree here” you reply, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter after grabbing a round carton box you’ve left out on the table and two big spoons. “Ice cream?”

Nancy flashes a big smile at you, taking one of the spoons you’re offering and leaning against the counter beside you. “Yes, please” she exclaims as you open up the box. You both start eating, occasionally eavesdropping on the conversation that’s being held a few feet away. 

“I’ve just had an idea” Eddie exclaims, dropping the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray and sitting up straight as if he’s about to make a whole speech. “If you leave the pizza van here in the woods, we could be… neighbors” he tells Argyle, who slowly nods in appreciation.

“Yeah, dude, that’d be so cool” Argyle replies in awe, “we could renovate the whole thing, put on some fairy lights…”.

You and Nancy hold back your giggle at the thought of Argyle setting up twinkling lights in his pizza van. 

“And we could put the old sofa we have in our garage out in the front” Jonathan adds, stealing the last chips from the bowl still sitting in Argyle’s lap.

“Shit, that’s perfect” Eddie exclaims, his mischievous smirk back on his lips as he looks at the other two with a gaze full of complicity, “we could spend the nights out in the woods, with a fire and shit. Smoke, maybe, and play D&D”.

“When did you become such an outdoor person?” You call out at Eddie with a smirk after a spoonful of ice cream. 

Eddie slaps one hand on his chest, right over his heart, looking at you with a wounded grimace from the couch. “You wound me, princess” he exclaims with a pout, “you know I miss the fresh air”. 

“Fair point, sweetheart” you concede, and his smile immediately comes back to light up his face at the nickname you used. 

“What’s D&D?” Argyle asks, and you, Nancy and Jonathan immediately roll your eyes. 

“Heeere we go” you mutter, going back to your ice cream, but you can’t help a smile from creeping up on your lips as you catch a glimpse of Eddie’s passionate and excited gaze at the mention of his favorite game. 

“It’s like, the best game ever, man” Eddie states before solemnly clearing his voice. “Dungeons and Dragons. A game for brave adventurers, for those with unbounded imagination, a world of fantasy and magic that will turn you into a heroical knight, or a cunning thief, or an evil wizard”.

Argyle stares at him in awe, his eyes dreamily following each movement of Eddie’s hands. Even Jonathan has stopped eating, his mouth agape and his attention completely grabbed by Eddie’s theatrical recounting of the game’s rules. 

“Shit, dude” Argyle eventually exclaims, elbowing Jonathan in the side once Eddie’s finished explaining how a campaign works with a satisfied final declaration of D&D’s many qualities, “you’ve never told me about this stuff. It’s sick as fuck, dude”. 

“That’s because I don’t play” Jonathan simply replies, “but Will and Mike do”. 

Argyle shakes his head in disbelief before addressing Eddie again. “Dude, we have to play” he eagerly proposes, “when the van is set. It’s perfect, man, and we could set the mood with some of my special Purple Palm Tree Delight. Shit, that would be so incredibly cool.”

“I’m in, man” Eddie agrees, offering his hand and grabbing Argyle’s in a tight shake. “We need to start thinking about the campaign”. 

“You could go for aliens this time” Nancy jokingly suggests as she places her spoon in the sink, “change it up a bit”. 

“Woooah” Argyle laughs in surprise, “aliens? We can do that?”

Eddie solemnly nods. “Sure as hell. We can do whatever we like. We can have aliens, or dragons, or ghosts even. Maybe” he continues, standing up and starting to pace around the room, making you almost see the little gears in his brain running and working, “we could have a village that needs to be saved from monsters coming from the sky. Nobody knows what they are, or why they are there, and maybe there’s a princess hidden in a tower that knows the secret to fight them” he explains, and slowly his gaze moves in your direction as he continues the story he’s creating.  

“A princess whose hair catches all the sunlight and the moonshine, whose eyes are the color of the forest, whose voice is heard singing every day at sunset, and whose heart is made of all things sweet and golden”. 

He utters and mumbles all those words with his reddened, watery eyes locked on yours, and once he stops talking everyone is looking at you as well. You blush lightly and try to casually look away as you climb down the counter and wash the ice cream stickiness off of your hands in the sink. 

“Dude” Argyle says, his brows furrowed as he moves his gaze back and forth between you and Eddie, “did you just describe your girlfriend?”

Eddie’s face suddenly turns purple, and as you try to hold back a chuckle - the result of a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment - he starts stammering with no sense whatsoever. 

“No!” he exclaims, but he bites the word back as soon as it’s out. “No, I mean, yes, but uh, not really - like, shit, yeah she might be a little similar to y/n but uuuuh… god, okay!” He finally admits, surrendering to Nancy’s unimpressed stare, “okay, yes, y/n is my muse. I admit it. She’s beautiful, and inspiring, and I love her very fucking much.” He admits, and his unease slowly turns into… pride? 

“I mean” Eddie adds, moving slowly across the room towards you, wavering a bit as he walks, “have you guys seen her?”

You blush timidly as he leans against the counter beside you, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, for this little one right here” Eddie states, his loved-up, big eyes staring down at you, “I could plan a thousand campaigns and write a million stories”.

In spite of the summer heat that’s pervading the cabin, you shiver at the touch of Eddie’s skin on yours. Feeling his body beside you never fails to make your own feel a certain kind of way, and you try your best to hide it behind a casual expression - without much success, however, as you can't help but stare back at Eddie and get lost in his eyes, the strong scent of weed now close, intoxicating and… exciting. 

“Okay, guys” Jonathan awkwardly intervenes with a cough as he, not without difficulty, stands up from the couch, “I think it’s best if we go now”. 

“Yeah, uh, right” Argyle echoes him, getting up as well and making his way towards the door while mumbling his goodbyes. 

“Not so fast” Nancy interjects, quickly putting herself between them and the door. “Keys, please. I’m driving you two home”.

Argyle looks at her, confusion clouding his face. “But isn’t the van home? Like, next door?”

You chuckle out loud this time, and even if Nancy is trying to stay as serious as she can, you can spot the same laughter behind the curve of her lips. 

“Not yet, dude, sorry” she replies, extending her hand and flexing it twice, motioning to Jonathan to hand her the keys to the pizza van. 

After a few tries, as he first hands her his headphones and then a battered lighter, she finally gets a hold of them and turns towards you for one last time. 

“Behave, you two” she half-jokingly states as she points a menacing finger at you, but the flicker in her eyes and her soft smile easily chase away whatever seriousness is left in her for today. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n?”

“Sure. Thanks for helping me with the groceries, Nance” you reply with a single nod and a grin, leaning just a little more into Eddie’s side. 

With a final goodbye, your friends leave the cabin, Argyle throwing one last wink in your direction as he closes the door behind him - and now, you’re left alone with Eddie. Finally, you might even say. 

“Sooo” he begins, cornering you as he turns to face you, his arms at your sides with his hands flat on the warm surface of the counter, “we should behave, huh?” He asks you with a smirk, his long hair tickling your neck as he leans down to kiss your exposed collarbone. 

“Yeah, I think so” you reply, your voice already strained as his lips move up to meet yours in another sweet, sloppy kiss.

“I guess that Wheeler won’t mind us not wasting the good stuff then, right?” He then continues, almost in a low whisper as he nods to the now smaller joint that’s been left in the ashtray. 

“I think that’s quite responsible, yes” you nod in agreement, matching his mischievous smile as he scoops you up with a swift motion and brings you to the couch, ready to spend the rest of the day with his dream blunt rotation - you. 

—♥︎—

Hope you enjoyed this one shot :) Feedback is always welcome!