#sam does pause challenge

[alexandenigtscreations]

Did a art Pause Challenge and I think I love her. She looks dangerious XD

that is where you can find the pause challenge if you want. It is #SamDoesPauseChallenge

The results were, curly hair, yellow eyes, rich skintone, flashy long stripe coat pants and buckle shoes, and armed to the teeth. I don't like cigarettes so I replaced it with a lit match for unhinged reasons. She also got a 'suprised' look so I wanted to give her something to be supised about.

I think I'll keep her XD But I'm not sure which of my five stories she would fit best in? Like, would work with Allen Rail, Razen Thrain and Alexande Hexaba. But that's three options XD

Art by AlexandeNight

[blackbirdie1234]

Jealousy

Paring-Paul Lahote! x Fem!Reader

A/N: A short one shot. You know the boys are werewolves in this btw, you just don't know that Paul imprinted. Not proof read!

Summary: Paul imprints on reader. Reader does not know. Paul does not tell reader and a comment from Jared pushes him over the edge.

Readers POV

" Hey Em, do you think this is a good consistency?" I ask looking over at Emily who was kneading dough in her hands. I hold up the bowl for her to look at.

"That's perfect!" she exclaims happily.

I smile back at her and then pour the mixture into the pan.

"The boys better worship the ground we walk on for this," I say humorously as we share a laugh.

We both look up at each other suddenly when we hear the sound of shuffling outside and then the sound of the front door being slammed.

"Calm down Paul!" Sam's loud voice echoes through the house as he and Paul walk through the door. Well, Sam was walking, Paul was storming.

The anger coming off of Paul was obvious, when Paul gets upset it's like you can physically see the steam coming off of his body. Sam continued behind Paul gaining speed and grabbing his arm forcing Paul to look at him.

"I'm not going to say it again Paul," Sam said with a stern look on his face. The kind of look of a true alpha, which he was.

Paul whips around and gives Sam a challenging look.

"You heard what he said!" Paul quipped as Sam, expressing his irritation.

Sam pauses, they share a look, and Paul trudges to his room without a word.

"What was that about?" Emily asked questioningly at her lover.

Sam walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, you could see his body relax as he sunk into the touch.

"Just Paul being Paul," Sam said heaving a sigh.

"It seemed like more than that," I pointed. Trying to get more information.

Sam and I had a brother-and-sister-type dynamic. He did his best to keep me out of things but I was just as stubborn as he is, so he knew I wouldn't give this up easily.

"Jared made a comment, in his mind, and Paul didn't take it too well," Sam said begrudgingly, obviously not wanting to bring attention to the issue.

"What was the comment?" I asked wiping my hands clean of some batter and flour.

I look up and see how tense Sam is now, avoiding eye contact with me he takes a muffin from the rack on the counter and sits down, starting to eat.

"It's nothing to worry about it's all been handled" Sam mumbles into the muffin "This muffin is delicious babe" Sam smiled up at Emily.

"Wow smooth change of subject, Sam" Emily says laughing a bit.

I think for a moment and start walking over to Paul's door.

"That might not be the best idea Y/N," Sam says from behind me.

I ignore him and continue walking. I reach the door and knock quietly. I hear a grumble coming from the other side of the door, and I open it to find Paul lying on his bed arm over his face.

"Are you okay Paul?" I ask, concern laced in my voice.

When he realizes it is you he perks his head up and starts to sits up. You walk over and sit at the end of his bed facing him.

“I don’t want to talk right now Y/N” he looks at you with defeat on his face.

“I understand Paul, but it might make you feel better. Just tell me what happened. Maybe I can help” I tell him putting my hand atop of his comfortingly. He looks at my hand on his for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think you’ll understand” he says breathing out.

“Then help me understand” I say eagerly

He looks up at me and there’s something in his eyes that I can’t describe. He stares at me for awhile, just looking me.

“Jared made a comment” I could feel the heat in his body radiating off of him as he continued talking I squeezed his hand to show him that I’m listening.

“He made a comment about you” He started shaking thinking about it.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay calm down” I say taking his face in my hands and making him look at me.“I don’t care about whatever he thought, it doesn’t bother me Paul” I said trying to calm him down.

“It may not bother you but it bothers me!” Paul said cooling off a bit at my touch but still upset.

“What did he say that’s so bad?” I question

Paul sighs and looks down at his hands. “He was thinking about you, about how you are pretty, about how perfect you are, about how if he was your imprint he would tell you immediately.” Paul paused for a minute before taking your hands in his and fully facing you. “You’re my imprint Y/N, that’s why I’m so upset, that’s why it bothers me so much, that’s why he thought it, and that’s also why I smashed his face in the ground.” Paul said with a satisfying smirk at the last comment. “I know that you’re probably disappointed that it’s me but I can’t hide it from you any longer, I’m in love with you Y/N”

As soon as he finished talking and looked at you nervously you smashed your lips against his. The kiss was deep, hungry, you were a woman starved and Paul was a five course meal. The kiss lasted until both of you pulled away for air, Paul smiled widely at you and you shared the expression.

“ I could never, ever be disappointed by that” you told him genuinely “I’ve been in love with you since we were ten” Paul laughed with relief.

“Y/N will you be my girlfriend” Paul asked placing his hand on your check and rubbing gently.

“Of course I will Paul” you share another kiss, when you pull away you put your hand on his chest to stop him from continuing.

“What?” Paul asked looking like a kicked puppy, as you withhold your kisses.

“I love you but you better apologize to Jared, or no muffins for a week” you quipped jokingly giving him a smirk.

“No fair! he started it” He yells chasing after you as you walk out the door laughing.

[shirefantasies]

How would the fellowship, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Haldir, Arwen and Eomer react to someone they like who always calls everyone by cute names like ‘love’, ‘babe’, ‘hon’, ‘darling’ etc.

Oooh, good question! I’m going to split this up into LoTR & The Hobbit imagines for the whole casts if that’s all right 😄

LoTR Characters When You Call Everyone Pet Names

Aragorn

His favorite part of your habit, in all honesty, is other people’s reactions. The first time you do it to him he sort of quirks up a brow, but others take it more extremely, offense or otherwise. He gets protective, though, if those others respond taking it too far. He’ll step in front of you if they start flirting with you or try to touch you unbidden even if you’re just friends at that point. No matter who in his group that is, unacceptable. At the use of a regular name slid into the flows of your conversation, something akin to "Oh, honey, you have no idea", his lips quirk up and privately he wonders if you’ve ever meant it.

Legolas

Your first meeting is you brushing past him at Rivendell with an "Excuse me, darling". Needless to say he stares after you with wide eyes because you must know him, but from where? Then you greet Elrond with an enthusiastic "Sweetheart, how I have missed you", and while the Lord of Imladris appears aware of the affront, he is also amused. Clearly this is simply your manner. Because of this, he accepts it without much overthought, though your pet names never fail to bring a smile to the elf prince's lips.

Boromir

The kindness you show him almost breaks him- is he worthy of your honeyed words? "Easy, dear heart, the troubles you carry are not even your own, are they?" The part of him tempted to lash out almost wins, but at the end of the day, you are right. All he can do is shake his head. He's heard you say call such sweet names before, but alongside your other words they pierce his heart like nothing before. He bids you sit by his side. "Wish me to speak or to listen?" You ask, and that is when Boromir knows he has fallen for you.

Gimli

"Who are you calling sweetheart, darling?" Offended as he may be, Gimli also takes it as a challenge of sorts, leaning in closer with smug satisfaction. It becomes a sort of tension for you both, an odd banter of affectionate nicknames tossed out even with the bloodiest challenges. "Cut his head off, Gimli darling!" "Wouldn't dream of doing any less, dear!" Gimli begins getting offended as your habit pops out with others, asking you pointedly what you think you're doing calling the elf sweetheart. "What's he done to earn that, eh?" Leaning in, your noses almost brushing, you give him a smile dripping with smug mock-sweetness. "I thought you didn't enjoy being called that." "Well," he crosses his arms stubbornly, eyes falling away from yours, "I suppose I've gotten used to it now."

Frodo

"Frodo, my sweet, please eat just a bit more for me, I worry so." Frodo's heart does a somersault- he's made sure notice of your habit by now, heard you speak your darlings and sweethearts aplenty. You often said it to tease the others when spirits were light or when you cared for them, but that was not all. The words my sweet were reserved for him. Everyone else got a plethora, it seemed, but him, and it vexed him in the best way possible, twisting his heart like nothing else. The sound of it was like a balm to Frodo, and he dared hope it held the meaning he dearly wished it to, for he was too shy to ask it of you just yet.

Sam

“Sam, love, pass me the ladle, if you please.” Samwise, thinking his heart might burst from his chest and run right up to you, pauses, speaks carefully. “What was that?” He asks, your name falling softly, almost delicately, from his lips. He’d heard the way you tease people before, usually addressing them as ‘my dear’. This was something else. The smile you gave him in response, too, was practically enough to kill him- could you tell? “I just asked if I might borrow the ladle, love.” Yep, the jig was up now.

Merry

“It’s got to be some sort of custom.” “That or you’ll be very, very wrong.” You arched a private brow over Merry and Pippin’s back-and-forth whispering, but thought nothing more of it until your next interaction with the blonde hobbit. “Merry, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Looking up from his knife, he held up a small chunk of wood with a strangely cocky grin. “Just a bit of whittling, dear.” Something about the roguish look he gave you, the confidence with which he adopted your habit, had your heart fluttering; you faltered a bit in your response before you sat at his side. Unbeknownst to you, he was elbowing Pippin triumphantly on the other side.

Pippin

His heart soars the first time he hears you call him honey. No matter what attacks you or what happens that day, day made. Then he hears you saying "No put that down, Merry sweetheart" and it all comes crashing to the ground because he’d gotten it into his head that he was special- was he wrong? He had to have been. When the words so easily pass between your lips again, this time in the form of '"Gimli dear, let me see that", hurt mingles with realization of your manner- that is just how you are. Moments pass, thoughts drifting by as clouds deciding whether or not to storm, before Pippin makes up his mind: he'll make known his interest, try everything he can until he truly does stand out.

Faramir

Publicly he barely humors it, trying to keep a tough face when his seniors or especially his father are present. Privately? It amuses him. Pleases his heart to see one with light spirits in the face of everything. Your ways make you something of an anchor, a reminder why he does the things that he does. You make Faramir laugh and he knows Boromir enjoys your company too- the three of you together form an escape that reminds Faramir of his younger days. And perhaps that happiness you always brings him has slowly metamorphosed, glimmering with hope every time you call him dear.

Eomer

This man, a military leader, and you call him honey? Eomer is shaken up honestly. He can’t even be annoyed because he’s too busy freezing with a slight frown upon his face. Wits coming back about him, he opens his mouth to question you, ask in his blunt way why you address him so... then you turn around and call his sister my dearest and oh, perhaps he was truly overthinking it. He laughs it off, swears to put it out of his head...but the mental image of you calling him a name of endearment plays over and over again whether he wills it or not.

Haldir

“And what has our precious jewel brought to us now?” Since discovering Haldir bristled a bit at your little names, you had decided to find the most ridiculous ones possible for the marchwarden. It worked every time, too, judging by the furrow of his brow. “They go to the Lady of Lórien,” he replied simply, not to be goaded so easily. The man he seemed to know the best, the ranger, exchanged looks of amusement with you. “And what do you have to say for yourself, my dear?” You asked the man. Just as you suspected, Haldir’s expression darkened a bit further- perhaps he had gotten a bit more used to his names than he let on. At that, you couldn’t help a chuckle and a smirk.

Eowyn

Though she may not voice it, she is questioning of your ways at first because she has firsthand experience of people using words as weapons, saying whatever they can to influence others’ will. So sure, call her dear but you will get nothing of her she does not want to give. The day this changes is actually when you call her brother a pet name and he’s shocked and the wide look in her eyes has both of you laughing in a way you usually do not. She envies your carefree ways and from that moment on enjoys basking in them. It is impossible to help the way her heart gives a little flutter whenever a 'dear' or 'my darling' is directed her way, however...

Arwen

The surprise she fixes you with upon playfully addressing her as ‘my pretty’ encourages you, if you are being honest. It’s a pleasant look, flattered and floored, that you think a lady like Arwen deserves to make again and again. As a result, while everyone else gets a casual darling or dear, you make it your mission to fluster Arwen as much as possible. “Ah, treasure, how has this day treated you so far?” She flushes. “…Well, I say. Thank you. And I wish you to know that you are no less than you say I am. The way you speak to me? It can also be said of yourself.”

Elrond

You are caring. Parental. As a father of three, Elrond appreciates the way you speak gently and warmly. Assist his healed patients with soft whispers of be free of your pain, dear heart. As he granted you leave to use his name rather than My Lord you still slip up at times…until it becomes quite the opposite and a good night, dear slips from your lips upon parting for the evening. Elrond accepts and assures your every apology with an affectionate smile, shocking himself with the realization that his feelings for you are much stronger than he had allowed himself awareness of.

[deludedfantasy]

"Shoot" Scene Mirrors and the Flaws in Vash's Ideology 

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this for two weeks now so let’s see if I can put this into words. The main point being: when Vash kills Legato, it’s a mirror of the “shoot” scene with Wolfwood. 

Visually, they’re stunningly similar, the only difference is Vash willingly points his gun at Legato while Wolfwood forces it to his forehead.

But you know what really gets me? It’s the conversations surrounding these moments.

The scenes are mirrors in that Wolfwood predicted this would happen, and he was right. Wolfwood challenged him because he wanted to know that Vash would be able to make the hard choice and get his hands dirty, that he wouldn’t hesitate. Because in a situation like this, hesitation can get you or someone else killed. But what does Vash do just as he finally decides to kill Legato? He hesitates, putting Livio in danger. Legato even says that if Vash hadn’t paused, hadn’t taunted him, he wouldn’t have done that. 

What gets Vash to finally pull the trigger? It’s not fear for his own life or even Livio’s. It’s the memory of Wolfwood’s sacrifice. Wolfwood said he was willing to lay down his life if he could get Vash to pull the trigger. “I’d trade my life for it,” he says. In a way, he did. It took Wolfwood dying for Vash to finally be able to kill. 

Another thing I’d argue is that hesitating can be cruel. Legato doesn’t read Vash’s pause as a moment of moral conflict but as a taunt, because that’s what he would do. If he paused like that, it would be to toy with his opponent and make them suffer. While that certainly isn’t what Vash intends, that’s how it comes off, especially in Legato’s twisted worldview. It reminds me of something Sam Vimes says in Men at Arms. “Something Vimes had learned as a young guard drifted up from memory. If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you entirely at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man. Because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you're going to die. So they'll talk. They'll gloat.

They'll watch you squirm. They'll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar.

So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.” 

Now, to be clear, I’m not saying that Vash is evil for hesitating. He’s fighting against ideals he’s been carrying for 150 years. But that’s not how it reads to the person on the business end of his revolver. Vash basically lives on that moment of hesitation, the second chance, and he paints Wolfwood’s instant reaction as the work of the devil. And as we see that isn’t necessarily true. Not only can hesitating get you killed, it’s just cruel. It can easily be read as toying with someone. And isn’t the first rule of gun safety to not point your weapon if you aren’t willing to shoot?  

So not only is the “shoot” scene a fundamental part of Vash and Wolfwood’s relationship, it’s an incredible bit of foreshadowing that also directly challenges Vash’s pacifism and ideals. 

[deepdisireslonging]

No Cum November Part 1: The Proposition

A rough case with a fulfilling ending….

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings/Promises: canon-level mentions of violence, cw blood, needy shower SMUT, dirty talk

Word Count: 1270

Note: Here’s my next series! Feel free to participate with the reader in November, if you’d like a challenge. But here’s a freeby chapter to get us all started. As the chapters/ficlets come out, two a week, let me know how you’re enjoying the series with comments and reblogs. Happy reading!

It had been a rough case.

When the Impala finally pulled into the bunker, you were all bruised, bloody, and in desperate need of sleep.

One small family of vampires had turned into a nest. You understood the inherent need to defend their home, and the need to survive with their way of life. But not the torturing of victims before feeding. According to their alpha, it made the blood sweeter and more nutrient. It would have been your fate. Your bait set-up was before the boys knew about the other families. Before they knew about the “process.” But your “host” knew you were a hunter right off the bat. There wasn’t even a conversation on whether to turn you or not.

You shuddered as Sam gently took your wrist and led you out of the car. For a second, his gentle grip was an iron shackle. You took several deep breaths while you followed him into the bunker.

You were home. You were safe.

***

The boys made sure you had first dibs on the shower while they unloaded the car. It made you relax to know they’d join you soon. It made your body ache to remove your shredded clothes. Then came the hard decision: hot water to wash away the pain, or cold water to freeze away the memories.

Dean answered it for you. He reached past your paused shoulder for the red knob. Steam filled the bathroom while he and Sam shed their clothes and joined you under the stream. With them on either side, the memories were pushed out by the overwhelming feeling of safety. They took turns lathering soap over your body. Massaging soap into your hair. Their large, warm hands guided the flow of water over your bumps and cuts. You returned the favor, despite their hums of disagreement.

Despite the wear of the case, and despite the exhaustion in all your bodies, hands eventually began to wander.

Sam’s hands spread wide over your chest and stomach, his strong torso pressing into your back. Dean’s lips kissed from one side of your face to the other, over each purpling bruise, and gently across each scratch. With your eyes closed, you could deeply experience their care for you and your body. They took turns massaging out your aches. You did the same, even when they switched positions. Your fingertips drifting over Sam’s cock made him grunt. Arching back into Dean’s chest pressed your ass into his growing length. Sam drew a long finger through your slick, sharing a look with his brother. Dean helped your stance to widen. He whispered encouraging words while he speared you.

The hot water continued to flow. With the steam in the air and the boys on either side, you panted for air. Dean worked deeply into you, even as you held onto Sam to stay on your feet. He kissed your forehead, gripping your shoulders. That grip tightened when your hands wrapped around his cock, stroking and twirling your thumb around the tip.

This was all you needed right now. Them. Holding you. You holding them.

Sam shared another look with Dean. “Does this feel good, Baby?”

You whimpered into his chest as a reply.

“How would you like to have this all month. Just this? Just the high. Without the sleepiness that follows, or the-”

Dean reached past you to smack his brother’s shoulder. “Not now. Can she have a few hours to recover before we suggest all that?”

With a shrug, Sam slid two of his fingers into your mouth. “But look how much she needs us. She doesn’t need to cum, do you, Baby? You just want our cocks, don’t you?” Enraptured, he watched as your mouth desperate sucked his fingers. In your hand, his cock jumped.

“Need to feel her cum first.” Dean started to thrust faster.

Your grip faltered on Sam. Reaching back, you grasped Dean’s hip, urging him on. You were so close. The bright spots were already dancing behind your eyelids. Filled with pleasure, you barely heard what they were suggesting. Sam laid it out, guiding your hand on his length while his other hand kneaded your breasts. They wanted you to try not cumming for a month. No Cum November is what Dean called it. You could say no. But the things they murmured into your skin and into your hair, the acts they promised… it sounded wonderful. They would get to cum, of course. Wouldn’t be a challenge for you, Sam said, if they had to hold off too. None of you would make it if they participated the whole time. They would join you at the end.

Dean reached forward for your clit. “Does that sound like something you’d like to try, sweetheart?”

Everything sparking in your system reached a crescendo. You came hard, gripping his cock tight. With a grunt, he leaned into the back wall of the shower to keep from filling you.

“Sounds like she’s interested.” Sam stroked your eyes until they opened. He watched you try to recover while still impaled on Dean.

“You’ve got a choice, Sweetheart.” Dean nuzzled his nose behind your ear. “Give us three more, and then you can have a good long break. Or, if you don’t want to, or just want to think about it, just the one and we’ll really take care of you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow sounded good. But you were floating. Needy. Just like Sam said. You wanted more. Now. And it wasn’t like they wouldn’t touch you for a month. The high and the passion would still be there. You’d just have to wait for one thing. Maybe it was the hot steam. Maybe it was the human walls on either side.

You accepted the challenge.

The three orgasms followed in rapid succession. Dean took advantage of your sensitivity, moving at a brutal pace until you went rigid in their arms. Dean filled you, pressing his open mouth to your shoulder as he groaned your name. He gently pulled you back into his chest, gripping your forearms with a slight tug that made you arch your chest towards Sam. The taller brother looked down at you with heat simmering in his eyes. He re-guided his fingers into your mouth for a moment, before bringing them down to your sex. The curling and scissoring worked in several ways: gently working up your arousal again, readying your channel for his cock, and moving his brother’s cum out of the way.

When you shuddered with the release that took your breath away, Sam quickly stepped forward. He slowly filled you, reveling in the way your stomach contracted, and your breath came out in sharp bursts. Behind you, Dean sucked hickies into your shoulder blades. He reached around for your breasts, kneading them as Sam filled you to the hilt. Neither of you needed much. You surrendered to the pleasure as Sam filled you and Dean caught you.

You three were finally sated. Guiding the water over your body, the boys gave you one more rinse before turning off the water. They dried you off. And dressed you in your pajamas, which consisted of a pair of Sam’s boxers and one of Dean’s t-shirts. There were so many rooms in the bunker. You’d each chosen one. But they took you to the fourth, the one with the largest bed. They placed you in the middle. Then slid into the bed on either side of you, pulling up the sheets. You began to drift off. Their voices followed into your dreams.

“We’re gonna rest for a few days.”

“And then… the fun can begin.”

***

Part 2: Study Session Number 1

[kerryweaverlesbian]

The Bunker kitchen is always cold, but it's at its coldest at the crack of dawn. Staring down into his creamed coffee, Dean wonders if 45 is old enough to slough off the habit of a lifetime and start sleeping in til at least 8, but then he remembers the nightmares he got the last time he tried messing with his sleep cycle. Maybe what he really needs is an extra pair of socks.

"I have something for you."

Dean looks up from his cup and smiles sleepily at Cas, who'd paused to get dressed when Dean had slumped directly to the kitchen in his pjs. He still wears his suit, tie and trench coat ensemble, thoroughly overdressed for 6.30 in the morning, but he still hadn't bothered to brush his hair. Mr Contrarian. He's adorable.

"I thought gifts were later," Dean says, instead of fawning. He has some dignity left. Somewhere.

"Big ones are."

"2 o' clock? No surprises?" Dean challenges - after his 40th, when he'd knocked Sam out thinking he'd been possessed with how shifty he'd been acting trying to hide the big party, Dean's (quite reasonably, he thinks) insisted on a strict birthday itinerary of his own devising.

"No surprises," Cas promises. He pulls his hand out of his coat pocket and puts a tape down on the table, flat, and slides it across to Dean with two fingers.

It's simply labeled in Cas’s looping cursive: For Dean. Dean picks it up and flips it over, no more information on the back.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it," Cas explains needlessly, and Dean can see him fidgeting in his periphery. Cute. "I know you like to 'pick the music' but I thought you might appreciate knowing some that make me think of you."

"I like it," Dean assures him, glancing up to grin at him, and he's glad to see Cas’s shoulders relax.

"Good. It would have been very awkward if you didn't."

"Yeah, and you're never awkward," Dean teases, and gets a suspicious squint for it that pivots quickly into a fond eyeroll. "Can I play it now?"

"Oh," Cas says, sounding surprised, "Yes."

He vanishes for a second and then blinks back with one of their cassette players, one of those flat, black, functional things that star in 70s cop shows. There was a little puffy sticker of a stegosaurus on it from Jack's sticker phase.

"Ever heard of goodbye?" Dean complains unseriously, and happily accepts the sweet kiss Cas offers as he passes the player over.

Cas doesn't dignify him with a response, but he does stay close, hovering over Dean’s like a warm shadow as he sets the tape in and hits Play. There's a few seconds of staticky silence, and then, surprisingly, a recording of Cas’s voice comes rumbling out of the speaker.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Adiuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas-"

"Cas," Dean says, hitting Pause, "why am I listening to you doing an exorcism? Where's the rock'n'roll?"

"You like things that are practical. You're welcome." He says it with such sincere, smug certainty that he'd gotten it completely right that Dean can't help but laugh.

"So you made me an exorcism mix-tape?"

"It's helpful."

"Sentimentality, thy name is Castiel." Dean kisses Cas’s knuckles, delighted with him, "I thought you said there were songs on here."

"They're on the other side."

"This whole side is just you chanting?"

"Not all of it," Cas says, and leans over Dean's shoulder to skim through with the fast-forward. He lands expertly near the end, which should not be as sexy to Dean as it is. The Cas recording finishes his latin, then there's a long pause, and then:

"I expect you saved them by now. Or they died." A smaller pause, then Cas adds, at an afterthought, "Hopefully the former. Dean, I love you."

Click. End of the tape. It's only when Cas’s hand comes up gently to his cheek that he realises he'd shed a tear.

"Dean," Cas says, with his infinite tenderness, half wonder, half exasperation.

"Just caught me off guard," Dean protests weakly, swiping under his eye roughly (but careful not to dislodge Cas’s hand).

For around the first 6 months after Cas’s return, Dean couldn't hear an "I love you" without bursting into tears. He'd gotten better with it in the years following, but but sometimes it still hit. Like now. Cas knew that he'd only be using this side of the tape in an all the way fucked up situation, and he'd given him a small, unnecessary kindness. Another one - a charming little kiss is pressed to his forehead.

"What'd I do to get you, Cas?" Dean marvels out loud, and Cas leans back to frown at him, still holding his face in his wide hands.

"Quite a lot," Cas deadpans, and that sets Dean off laughing again.

He grabs Cas’s wrist to smack a kiss to his palm, and then to pull himself upright, his other hand blindly flipping the tape over and starting up the music side. As the opening Auoooghs of Gin Wigmore's Black Sheep starts up, Dean tugs Cas to dance with him to it, uncoordinated and unrestrained.

"Dancing wasn't in the plan" Cas notes dryly, but he lets Dean sing to his tie like it's a microphone anyway, and Dean can tell he's biting back a smile.

"Screw the plan! It's my birthday!"

"It's your birthday plan."

"Exactly, so I get to change it." Dean stops Cas arguing back by kissing him, which only works about 40% of the time, but this, it seems, is one of those times. "I love you, man."

"I love you too. Happy birthday, Dean."

The affection in Cas’s gaze warms Dean all the way down to the very tips of his toes. It is a happy birthday. Almost as good as all the ones after it.

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn.

Word count: +6,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Iris winced, hissing softly as the antiseptic stung against her busted lip. Mindy was gentle as she dabbed the cotton against the wound, her brow furrowed in concern.

"This fucking hurts," Iris muttered, unable to mask the discomfort.

"I know it does," Mindy replied, her voice soothing yet firm. "But look at the bright side: that guy probably has a broken nose because of you."

Iris couldn't help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. "That made me feel strangely better."

"As proud as I am of you for punching that asshole, maybe next time you could avoid the whole bleeding thing."

"He deserved it,"

"Totally, but you've got to stop acting like a rabid dog. You can't fight everyone that annoys you" Mindy said, setting the used cotton aside and crossing her arms.

"Yes, I can,"

"Jesus, Iris," Mindy replied, exasperated. "We really need to talk about your anger issues."

After a moment of silence, Iris finally broke it, her voice filled with worry. "Do you think Tara is pissed at me?"

"Oh, definitely," Mindy replied, her tone teasing. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I'm not apologizing for punching him," Iris declared, crossing her arms.

"You definitely shouldn't," Mindy said, nodding vigorously. "That bitch deserved it! But maybe you two could talk about what happened before?".

"Before?" Iris's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure she's more upset that you left her dancing alone than about you fighting that guy," Mindy explained, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Knowing Tara, she probably thought it was hot,".

"What?" Iris exclaimed, her mouth agape.

"Not you acting surprised". Mindy snorted. "Are you having a stroke right now, Ris?"

"I'm just... confused," Iris admitted, shaking her head as if that might clear her thoughts.

"Want me to clarify the situation?" Mindy offered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about when you two were dancing, definitely not thinking about sleeping with each other!"

"What? We weren't looking at each other like we wanted to do that. Don't be stupid!" Iris shot back, but she couldn't help the flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Then stop eye fucking each other for one second."

"What the fuck? That's ridiculous. We don't do that."

"So you never thought about it?" Mindy pressed, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

"No," Iris replied defiantly, but her tone wavered slightly.

"Oh, come on! You fucking liar, Fifteen-year-old you has a lot of things to say right now,".

"Shut up, Mindy, you're really pissing me off," Iris snapped, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Can't handle the truth?" Mindy teased, winking.

"We are friends," Iris insisted, her voice firm.

"Are you though?" Mindy countered, leaning closer. "I'm your friend, and you definitely don't look at me like that. Thank God, by the way!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Iris opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sam in the doorway. She paused, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion as she took in the scene: Iris with a look of disbelief and Mindy with her signature smug smile.

"Mmm, what is going on here?" Sam asked, her head tilting slightly as she crossed her arms.

"I was just telling Iris how she should talk to your sister so they can stop eye fucking each other," Mindy declared, her tone cheeky.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Mindy just laughed and winked at them as she left the room, her job clearly done.

A moment of awkward silence settled between Iris and Sam before Sam finally spoke up, breaking the tension. "So..."

"Don't listen to Mindy," Iris quickly interjected, trying to wave away the earlier conversation. "She's on crack"

Sam chuckled softly, stepping closer to her friend. "I just wanted to thank you for today. Seriously, what you did for Tara..."

"It's nothing," Iris replied, shrugging it off.

"Yes, it is! Who knows what could have happened to her if you weren't there?"

"I'll always be there,"

"I know." Sam paused, biting her lip nervously. "But do you think she's right about... you know, the things she said?"

"I mean, Sam..." Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I can't blame you for wanting to protect your sister. God knows I'm just as paranoid. But Tara has a point, at least to some extent."

Sam looked down, nodding in agreement. "I just want her to be safe. She means everything to me."

"I know, but you have to let her live, too," Iris replied gently.

"You think she hates me for being so overprotective?" The vulnerability in Sam's voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You're her sister; she loves you. You two just need to talk it out," Iris reassured her, pulling her into a warm hug. Sam hugged back tightly, grateful for Iris's support. When they finally released each other, Sam turned to leave.

"Oh, and you should also talk to her," Sam added, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Iris said with a sigh.

"Because you know Mindy was right," Sam said playfully, a smirk spreading across her face. "You two are tiring me out with all this will they, won't they."

"WAIT, WHAT?"

Iris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as she prepared to talk to Tara.  The tension in the air had been palpable all night, as things had taken a weird turn between them and she knew she had to address it, even if it made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out Mindy and Sam's words; they weren't helping her anxiety at all.

Knowing Tara had likely sobered up but would soon be grappling with a headache, Iris grabbed a bottle of pain relievers from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward Tara's room, her heart racing with each step.

As she reached the door, she knocked lightly, announcing her presence. Tara was reclining on her bed, half-propped up on one elbow, deeply engaged in a conversation with Quinn. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Tara's features, casting a warm glow on her expression, but Iris could see the fatigue lurking beneath her surface. When they both turned to her at the sound of the knock, Tara's surprise was evident, and Quinn, sensing the shift, quickly rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go, let you guys... chat," Quinn said, her voice soft as she headed for the door. As she passed Iris, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Tara, a silent communication that Iris couldn't see before the door clicked shut behind her.

"Figured you would need these," Iris said, holding out the bottle of pills and giving it a gentle shake. She stepped into the room, placing the bottle on the small table in front of the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.

"Thank you," Tara replied, managing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can go back to your room. I'm pretty sure the fighting is done for the day."

Iris couldn't resist a playful retort. "That's a shame; I was ready to throw some more punches." She flexed her arms dramatically, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting next to Tara in the bed.

"Oh yeah? Everyone better start fearing for their lives then,"

"What can I say? I'm just too cool,". They exchanged a silly smile, the kind that made the world around them feel a little brighter. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, both of them trying to find the right words.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, her gaze drifting down to her feet, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "For not letting me go up those stairs."

Iris shifted closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from Tara, and it gave her a sense of comfort. "It's no problem really. I would gladly punch him again if you asked me,"

"Yeah, but then you got hurt," Tara replied, tilting her head to study Iris's face more closely. Her eyes dropped to the small bruise on Iris's lip, a reminder of the confrontation.

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was just my lip," Iris said with a shrug, trying to brush off the concern. But there was something deeper in Tara's gaze that made her heart race, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. The air felt charged, as if the silence between them was waiting for the right moment to spark into something more.

Tara glanced down at her white shirt, noticing the faint, dark stains that marred the fabric now that she had gotten rid of her tie and suit jacket. A hint of panic crept into her voice as she asked, "Is that blood?" It seemed the mess wasn't limited to just the cut on Iris's lip.

Iris's eyes widened for a moment. "No?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"You're not supposed to answer with a question, Ris," Tara teased, a grin tugging at her lips. Iris laughed quietly, and Tara felt a rush of warmth at the sound. There was something magical about being the reason behind Iris's smile, a feeling that made her heart swell.

"I think I was more messed up than I realized," The shorter girl admitted, the weight of her words sinking in.

"What happened? You don't usually drink like this," Iris probed, concern threading through her voice.

Tara looked away, unable to meet Iris's gaze. It felt as if the truth was etched across her face—how she had drowned her worries in drinks, all to forget the sight of Iris leaving with that boy, Damon. The memory stung, and she forced herself to swallow hard. "I just... had a lot of things on my mind,"

"Anything you wanna share?" Iris nudged her gently in the shoulder, her touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Tara's spine.

"Not yet, if that's okay," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I respect that," Iris said, her understanding evident. "I have a lot on my mind too." The air between them shifted, Tara felt the walls she'd built around her emotions start to crack, and for the first time, she considered sharing the weight of her feelings with Iris. But for now, she simply held on to the fleeting connection they shared, hoping it would be enough.

"Did you have fun?" Tara asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

"I did, especially when I got to dance with you." Iris locked her gaze onto Tara's, the sincerity in her eyes making Tara's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah? You weren't that bad,"

"Maybe we can do that again sometime. I think I still need some practice." Iris wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Tara couldn't help but nudge her playfully, a warm laugh escaping her.

"You didn't dance with Damon?" Tara inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Damon?" Iris laughed, shaking her head. "He would rather die than dance with me. Not even his boyfriend gets him to do it."

"Boyfriend? Oh," Tara said, her surprise evident.

"Yeah, why?" Iris asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I thought... maybe you two..." Tara trailed off, her voice softening.

"What? No way! He's just my friend, and besides, he is gay,"

"Sorry, that's embarrassing." Tara instinctively put her hands around her head, trying to shield her blush, but before she could hide, Iris gently grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers in a warm clasp.

Iris looked down at their joined hands, the softness of Tara's skin grounding her. "Besides, even if he were into women, I wouldn't go for him either," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Too picky?" Tara asked, her heart racing with an unexplainable thrill.

"Maybe," Iris replied with a slight shrug. "I guess I'm more into brunettes."

Tara's heart raced so fast she thought she might faint. The implication of Iris's words washed over her like a wave, leaving her breathless. "Good choice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

After a moment of silence, where the only sound in the room was the rhythm of their breaths, Iris finally spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. "You know, don't be mad at your sister. She loves you and she's just trying to protect you."

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but still, sometimes it feels like too much." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

"Maybe," Iris replied, rubbing soothing circles on Tara's hand. "But she's just trying to keep you safe. So am I." The warmth of Iris's touch sent a shiver of comfort through Tara. "Even if we both still live with the fears of the past."

"I'm sorry for that," Tara muttered apologetically "I didn't want to be rude. I know how much better you got after therapy."

"It's okay," Iris assured her, a soft smile breaking through. "And yeah, I did. Perhaps you should consider it too." At the look on Tara's face, Iris snorted softly, the sound lightening the mood. "Geez, I'm not saying now, but maybe in the future if you ever need it."

"Is Iris the psychologist talking or Iris my friend?"

"Both?" They both laughed, the tension easing further. "I didn't want to go either, but now I see how much I've improved."

"I see it too," Tara replied, sincerity in her tone.

"Before, I would've never gone to that party," Iris continued, her gaze turning introspective. "I remember being constantly on edge, like someone or something was out there just waiting to attack me." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like that, and I think it had become a part of me. But I've learned to embrace it."

"I never told you this, but I'm really proud of you," Tara said, her voice steady.

Iris took a deep breath. "It also helped me not to be scared of love or feelings anymore," she admitted, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "It's funny; I almost thought I would never be able to feel again."

"And do you?" Tara asked, leaning in slightly. "I mean, feel again? Are you still scared of it?"

"I haven't been scared for a while," Iris said, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was hard to ignore. "Not when it's the most beautiful feeling." They locked eyes, unable to look away, and the moment felt charged, almost electric. Tara had to look away, her heart pounding, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"So should I be worried about the line of people that are probably waiting to date you?" Tara teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

"I highly doubt anyone would wait," Iris replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"You'd be surprised," Tara shot back, her heart skipping a beat as she realized they were moving closer to each other, the space between them shrinking without conscious thought.

"It's more probable that I should be the one worried about the people waiting to date you," Iris countered, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Believe me," Tara said, her eyes tracing every movement Iris made, captivated by her "There's nothing to worry about."

"Good, because you can do so much better than date that perv Frankie,"

"You think so?" Tara whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to disturb the delicate moment they were sharing.

"Tara..." She breathed out, struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. "You're—" She paused, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, making it difficult to articulate just how much Tara meant to her. "Everything."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Iris finished, her voice filled with sincerity. The words hung in the air, causing Tara to hitch her breath, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest. She took her time looking at Iris, the warmth radiating between them making the world outside seem irrelevant. Her gaze slowly shifted to Iris's lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in. Gently, Tara brought the hand that wasn't holding Iris's to brush against her wounded lip, her fingertips caressing it with a tenderness that made Iris suppress a whimper. The soft touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, both feeling the intensity of the moment.

"Does it hurt?" Tara asked, her eyes searching Iris's for an answer, only to find Iris staring intently at her lips, mirroring her own longing.

"Not really," Iris breathed out, the words escaping in a whisper that felt charged with meaning.

Their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling as they both tried to steady their breaths, the air thick with anticipation. "I'm not messed up anymore," Tara whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Just to let you know."

"Okay," Iris replied, her heart fluttering in response. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into nothingness. Just as they were about to bridge the gap between them, the door swung open.

"I forgot... my phone," Quinn said, her voice cutting through the moment. But then she stopped short, taking in the scene before her. The two girls, so close together, made Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. She grimaced in apology, Iris and Tara pulled back quickly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Shit sorry, um—did I cockblock you?" Quinn questioned, her voice cutting through the charged air, making both girls look at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" Tara blurted out, her tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "God," they both exclaimed simultaneously, the embarrassment radiating off Iris as she pressed her hand against her forehead, while Tara's expression shifted to irritation.

"I cockblocked you" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she assessed the situation.

"No," Iris insisted, shaking her head vigorously, desperate to stop Quinn from digging herself into a deeper hole.

"I cockblocked you, didn't I?" Quinn pressed on, oblivious to Iris's attempts to ease the tension.

"Quinn if you continue saying cock im going to kill myself".

"Immediate no," Tara interjected, her voice firm, but Iris stood there uncomfortably, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Quinn," Tara sighed, looking down at the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What did... what did you need?" Her brows furrowed in disbelief; she couldn't fathom how her day had taken such a turn.

"My phone," Quinn replied, her tone casual as she bent down to pick it up from Tara's desk.

"Don't ever enter a room like that," Tara told her seriously, her voice low but laced with anger.

"I won't," Quinn promised, shaking her head earnestly, though a hint of sheepishness crept into her expression.

"It was rude," Tara continued, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm gonna go," Iris said awkwardly, signaling toward the door as if she were trying to escape the situation. "I think I left my... um, window open." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to leave but paused for a moment. "Talk to your sister, okay? She heard what you said," Iris said, her voice softening just a bit before she slipped out the door.

"Okay," Tara smiled at her, but the moment Iris left, that smile vanished. She turned to Quinn, a steely resolve settling in. "I'm going to kill you."

Quinn's eyes widened in panic. "I'm so sorry, sorry!" she mouthed as she hurried out of the room, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara sighed in disbelief, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and lingering hope. As the door clicked shut behind Quinn, she couldn't help but lay back on her bed, a smile creeping onto her face. She let out a giggle, the warmth of the earlier moment with Iris still tingling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on the verge of getting what she had always wanted.

Iris and Tara were sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm light across the cozy living room, mingling with the faint hum of conversation from their group of friends nearby. Laughter bubbled up now and then, a lighthearted soundtrack to their evening as everyone made an effort to enjoy themselves, if only for a little while.

Iris leaned back against the cushions, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Tara, who was curled up beside her with a playful grin. Tara's hair fell in soft waves around her face, and Iris couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the low light.

Tara leaned back against the cushions, "What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"Let's just see what's on the news," Iris suggested, reaching for the remote. She clicked through a few channels until the familiar logo of the news station appeared on the screen.

As the reporter started talking, Tara settled down next to Iris, their shoulders brushing together. Iris could feel a familiar warmth spread through her, a reminder of how comforting it was just to be near her. They exchanged a quick smile, but that moment of serenity shattered when the news reporter appeared, his face serious and his voice steady.

"And in other news, a recent investigation has uncovered troubling details related to the events of last year's incident of Woodsboro," the reporter said, his tone grave. Iris's heart felt like it skipped a beat, her stomach twisting as memories flooded back, memories they had tried to put behind.

Tara stiffened beside her, the color draining from her face as she listened intently. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Iris's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the reporter continued to speak. "I'm standing in front of the apartment building where the mutilated bodies of two students..." They heard the sound of Chad's footsteps thundering after the door, his desperation palpable as he raced to catch up with Sam. Just a few moments later, Sam and Danny walked in, their expressions full of concern as they approached.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the room, her eyes wide and searching, with Danny trailing closely behind her, a look of confusion etched on his face.

Quinn, with a sly smile, couldn't help but comment, "Cute boy. Nice," pointing up at Danny, a playful glint in her eye.

But the levity was short-lived as the news turned grim. "Were discovered. Their names have just been released by police. Jason Garvey and Greg Bruckner".

"No," Iris heard Tara whisper in disbelief. In an instinctive gesture, Iris quickly grabbed Tara's hand, squeezing it tightly to offer comfort in the midst of the unfolding chaos.

"Holy shit, that's that chode from our film studies class!" Mindy exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the TV where the breaking news report was streaming. "The ones obsessed with Argento!"

The atmosphere thickened as the report continued. "Also found at the scene were various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise".

"No way," Iris whispered, her heart racing. Deep down, she had sensed something was off about Jason with his weird interest on Sam going to that party, she didn't want to imagine what was his plan. She could feel Tara's gaze burning into her, a silent acknowledgment that they are both thinking the same thing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Pack a bag. We leave in ten," she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the silence in the room.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara yelled, springing up from her seat to chase after her sister.

"We're getting out of the city," Sam replied, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm not getting stabbed in the name of these fucking movies again!" Iris interjected, standing up with determination. "I'm buying the tickets." The fierce resolve in her eyes made it clear she was serious.

"What?" Danny blurted, confusion and concern mingling on his face.

Chad turned to Danny, gently but insistently pushing him backwards. "Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but we got it from here," he said, waving him off with a quick flick of his wrist. "Have a good night. Get home safe. Go, go, go." His tone was urgent, he needed to protect their little group.

As Tara sprinted after her older sister, she watched as Sam headed straight for the knife stash, her hands deftly pulling knives from the holder. The glint of steel caught the light, and Tara felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what Sam was preparing for.

"Sam, just wait a minute here—" Tara exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety. She could already sense where this was heading, and she hated it. "Let's just talk about this!"

"Sam, bring me one!" Iris shouted, her resolve unyielding.

"On it," Sam replied tersely, her focus unwavering.

"No, wait, Iris, not you too!" Tara pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, we are leaving," Sam hissed, storming past Tara with two knives in her hands, she handed one to Iris, who accepted it without a question.

"No, wait, let's talk about this for a second!" Tara tried to reason with Sam, her voice softening as she attempted to pull her sister back from the edge of impulsive decisions. "This attack might not have anything to do with us!" Tara's words hung in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps they could find a different way out of this nightmare.

Sam spun around, the sudden movement stopping Tara in her tracks. "Are you serious?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"It's Halloween! Everybody's wearing masks!" Tara countered, her tone defensive as she tried to make sense of the chaos spiraling around them. "You don't know"

"Tara, this isn't a coincidence!" Sam snapped, exasperation spilling over. "You knew those guys!"

"Barely," Tara shot back, her voice heavy with shadows of doubt and fear.

"You guys looked really friendly," Iris interjected, only adding fuel to the fire.

"Not helping, Iris!" Tara retorted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"There's no way you think that it's just a coincidence that the guy you met and got close to you, was found dead with a stash of Ghostface costumes" Iris pressed, her tone fierce, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Thank you," Sam said, shooting Iris a grateful glance "Chad, Mindy, back me up."

Chad hesitated, glancing at the floor as he searched for the right words. "It's a little bit..."

"Close to home," Mindy finished for him, still perched on the couch with Anika, who looked equally troubled by the unfolding drama.

"See?" Sam exclaimed, her frustration beginning to morph into a desperate plea for understanding.

"It's better to prevent than die in the process," Iris added, her voice firm.

Tara turned to Iris, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why can't you be on my side for once?"

"I'm always going to be on your side," Iris replied, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "But not if it ends with you dead."

Tara turned around, her eyes landing on the ginger-haired woman perched on the couch. Quinn sat there, her expression a clear reflection of fear and confusion as she absorbed the tension radiating through the room.

"Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Tara asked hurriedly,desperation creeping into her tone.

"Can you call him and find out what's going on?"

She turned around once again to shout at her sister and Iris "Before you two make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm calling him now," she said carefully, raising her phone to her ear.

"Thank you," Tara replied, her voice softer now, though the underlying anxiety remained.

Just then, the phone rang, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Everyone seemed to freeze, wide-eyed and tense as they exchanged anxious glances, the ominous sound amplifying the dread hanging in the air. Iris reached for Sam's phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Gale Weathers," Iris read aloud, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I think the fuck not."

With that, she hung up abruptly, placing the phone back on the table with a decisive clatter. Gale had turned their tragic story from the previous year into a sensationalized tale, cashing in on their traumas, and it got on Iris's nerves. She remembered how Gale had twisted their experiences into a narrative that painted Sam as a "natural killer" and Iris as a "naive lover." None of them held the older woman in high regard at that moment.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika replied, her tone dripping with incredulity as she shook her head at him like he was a dumb child.

"You've never watched the Stab movies?" Iris turned to Ethan, an inquisitive glare piercing through the boy. As he shook his head in denial, she stared at him for a moment longer, watching him struggle to maintain her gaze, his discomfort palpable.

"Sam," Quinn called out, worry etched across her features. "My dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, her expression shifting from frustration to concern as she took the phone from Quinn. "Mr. Bailey, hi"

"Hey, Sam. I was actually just about to call you," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with urgency.

"Well, my sister thinks I'm probably overreacting," Sam told him, a hint of frustration seeping through.

"No, unfortunately, you're not," he said, the gravity of his words settling heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam questioned, confusion etching lines on her forehead.

"I'm afraid I need you to come down to the station," he said, his voice firm with concern.

"Alright," Sam replied, her mind racing as she processed the sudden shift in the conversation.

Hanging up the phone, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Without saying a word to anyone, she moved towards the door, her pace brisk and determined.

Tara and Iris exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In an instant, they moved to follow Sam, urgency propelling them forward. "You guys stay here. We'll go with Sam," Tara called out. They didn't wait for a reply; they were already at the door, Sam poised on the threshold, ready to step into the night.

"Tara? No, get back inside. Lock the door," Sam called out, turning to face them, her expression unable to hide her frustration. "Iris, go with her and keep her safe."

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together?" Tara shot back, disbelief lacing her words as she crossed her arms defiantly.

"She's right, Sam. You're insane if you think we're leaving you alone," Iris chimed in, her voice resolute as she stepped closer to Tara.

Sam hesitated, glancing between her sister and Iris, her resolve wavering under the weight of their insistence. "I just—" she began, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

With a reluctant sigh, she finally relented. "Fine. Let's go." Together, they started walking towards the station, each step heavy with unspoken fears.

As The three of them walked down the street, Sam's phone began ringing once again. She instinctively glanced at the screen, and her heart dropped. The sight of the caller ID made her freeze in place, rooted to the pavement.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Iris asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the shock written all over Sam's face.

Tara, too, stopped walking, her eyes darting between Sam and the phone, a look of disbelief crossing her features. "What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. They all could see the name glaring back at them: "Richie Kirsch."

"I...I never deleted his contact," Sam confessed, her voice shaky. "This is coming from his number."

A chill ran down Iris's spine, her instincts kicking in. "Don't pick that up," she warned, urgency rising in her tone.

"Yeah, just let it ring," Tara echoed, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

But Sam, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, ignored their pleas. With a deep breath, she pressed the green button, accepting the call against her better judgment.

"Who is this?" Sam demanded as she gripped the phone tightly.

"Hello, Samantha. Did you miss me?" The voice was unmistakable, distorted by the sinister quality of a voice changer, sending shivers down their spines.

"Oh God, I hate this motherfucker". Iris muttered, burying her face in her hands in frustration. Sam, determined to face this threat head-on, switched the call to speaker mode so Tara and Iris could hear as well.

"I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead" Sam growled into the phone, her voice low but steady.

"You should be thanking me, Sam. Jason and Greg were gonna kill you, your sister and all of your friends" Ghostface replied, his tone mocking and sinister. Just then, the three girls caught sight of a suspicious figure approaching them from down the street, a hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

Instinctively, Iris stepped in front of Sam and Tara, her body tense as she faced the stranger. The man walked past them, his gait slow and deliberate, yet he didn't make eye contact. Iris's heart raced as she glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions while keeping her eyes on the hooded figure. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, each of them acutely aware that this was far from over. "I gutted them before they had the chance"

"Thanks dude for murdering people in our name".

"Hello to you too, Iris. I can't wait to formally meet you," Ghostface mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I can't wait to meet you either," Iris retorted, her voice steady despite the quaking fear in her stomach. "So you can personally meet my knife" Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she spoke.

Sam sensed the tension building and quickly interjected, hoping to redirect the focus. "So what? You're protecting us now?" she questioned. She wanted to pull Iris back from the brink of confrontation, fearing that provoking him further might escalate the situation.

"Not quite," Ghostface replied, his tone icy and calculated. "I'm going to show the whole world who you really are. A liar and a killer. I'm going to punish you". Each word dripped with a chilling certainty, as though he relished the thought of punish them.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole" Sam shot back, her anger boiling over.

"Don't be cute. You're gonna pay for what you did. And I'm not gonna stop until I butcher you. You and anyone who gets between us. You and Tara better watch your backs" Ghostface said. "As for you Iris? I'm going to have so much fun watching you beg to end you once I force you to watch the final moments of everyone else".

"You want me dead? Get in line motherfucker"

"You better watch your backs."

"You better watch yours." Sam snapped, her voice laced with venom.

"Tara, behind you!" Iris shouted, her voice slicing through the night air with urgency. The adrenaline surged through her veins as she realized the danger. She had been so consumed by the call that she hadn't noticed Ghostface stealthily approaching.

Before she could even process the situation, a gloved hand clamped around Tara's neck, getting ready to stab her right in the chest. Panic gripped Iris, but there was no time for fear—only action.

"No!" Tara screamed, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the presence of the killer. Iris lunged at Ghostface, her small frame colliding with his. The force of her impact sent them both tumbling into the nearby bushes, leaves and branches scattering in all directions.

"Run!" Sam shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She grasped Tara's arm, yanking her forward with a desperate urgency. The street stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they had no choice. They had to escape.

"In there!" Sam pointed towards a convenience store glowing dimly in the distance, its neon lights flickering like a beacon of hope. The three of them sprinted down the empty street, their hearts pounding in rhythm with their frantic footsteps.

"He's coming!" Iris yelled.

"Help! Somebody!" they cried out, desperation lacing their voices as they dashed for the store. Ghostface was close behind, his presence a looming shadow, ready to strike at any moment.

"Please help us!" Tara shouted once they were inside. They tried to get to the front of the line in order to talk to the owner.

"There's a fucking line here, girls" someone snapped.

"Someone is trying to kill us" Iris yelled defiantly, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "You think I give a fuck?" Just as the words left her mouth, the store door swung open with a jarring creak, revealing Ghostface, who entered with an unsettling calm, his dark figure cutting through the fluorescent lights like a shadow.

"You got a problem here" The guy who snapped at them bravely said as he approached the killer, who in response just tilted his head, the mask obscuring any trace of emotion, before stabbing him in the gut multiple times. Gasps of horror erupted from the other costumers, their panic palpable as they rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the unfolding nightmare. Another guy tried to stop him but that just resulted in him getting stabbed in the neck.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances, their eyes wide as they gasped in shock, instinctively backing away from the scene. The air felt charged with fear as Ghostface began to advance towards them, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"Hey!" The store owner yelled, popping up from behind the counter with a shotgun. He pulled the trigger but it wasn't fast enough as Ghostface dodge it just in time. The man looked appalled as he walked through his store to approach the killer only to find that he disappeared.

"Go out the back!" He shouted at them.

"Thank you!" Tara yelled in response, the three of them not wasting another moment before rushing towards the door.

"Fuck, it's locked," Sam cursed out as she and Iris continued to force the lock in order to open it.

"Keys!" Tara called to the man. "We need your keys!"

The man began searching for the keys and just when he finally found them, Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and used the fact that he was distracted to stab him in the chest. The owner fell into the floor grumbling in pain as he tried to escape the store but it was no use as Ghostface grabbed the shotgun that was on the floor and shoot the man in the head making all the blood splutter into the fridges.

Sam pushed both girls down onto the ground signaling them to keep quiet as they crawled to another aisle.

They could hear Ghostface's footsteps as he fired at the freezer behind them, glass shattering everywhere. He squeezed off a few more shots, but a quick glance told Iris that he was getting closer. Sam seized a can and hurled it to the far end of the store, hoping to divert his attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't buy them much time. They managed to get to another aisle in silence, but then Ghostface turned, locking eyes with Iris for a brief, chilling moment.

Before Ghostface could pull the trigger again, the three girls acted on impulse, shoving the shelves of food onto him with all their strength. Cans and boxes tumbled down, creating a chaotic barrier as they scrambled to escape the scene.

"Run, go!" Sam shouted, her voice laced with panic. The urgency in her tone snapped Iris into action. She grabbed Tara's hand, feeling the tremor in her friend's grip, and urged her forward.

"Tara, we have to move!" Iris cried, noticing how her friend stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Sam was already darting ahead, glancing back to ensure they were following.

They sprinted toward the door, hearts pounding, Iris let out a sigh of relief when they were finally outside and they could hear Police sirens getting closer to them.The relief didn't last long as once they turned around to look back at the scene, they found the Ghostface mask laying on the ground, which could only mean one thing. He had escaped.

[fivie]

I keep thinking about how well grantaire and anna would get along (before she gets re-brainwashed)... i know you've moved away from spn canon with UMW but do you have thoughts on how your characters would theoretically interact with spn characters?

ah yes, the re-brainwashing was very unfortunate 😔

my main headcanon re. UMW characters meeting SPN characters is that if Enjolras and Grantaire met Sam and Dean, based on Enjolras's personality and him having the sword, they would absolutely assume he was the angel of the pair 😂 Dean would probably commiserate with Grantaire about the challenges of hanging out with a socially challenged angel, and Grantaire would absolutely go along with it. Then Cas would show up and be like 'hello brother 😐' and spoil his fun.

I think Enjolras and Dean would butt heads, but Sam and Combeferre would probably get along quite well. I hope the spirit of Victor Hugo can't see me typing this.

Ages ago I actually started writing a little crossover story just for fun but I found it really weird 😂 I don't know if I'll ever write any more of it so I'll put what I have under a cut here if anyone wants to read it lol

(it is definitely not UMW canon 😂)

Grantaire is in a long-abandoned barn in rural Belgium, idly sweeping up the ashy remains of the shapeshifter that had been terrorising the nearby village in the guise of a local cryptid legend, when Combeferre pops into his mind with a bemusing prayer:

Don't come back to my apartment right now.

Grantaire pauses, awaiting further details. If Combeferre were in danger, he's sure he wouldn't bother beating around the bush, so Grantaire isn't overly worried, but Combeferre has never told him to stay away before and so he waits, curious. A minute or so later, an even more bemusing continuation:

Or if you do, make sure you come in through the front door like a human would.

Sometimes Grantaire desperately wishes that the prayer communication line went both ways. Combeferre feels distracted, like there are many other things demanding his attention and he is snatching at quiet moments to send Grantaire fragmented intel. Finally:

Other hunters here.

With that, the pieces slot together. Grantaire personally thinks it would be kind of funny for him to drop in on a room full of Musain hunters, especially the ones who'd written him off as a drunken waste of space years ago, and he could always erase their memories after if it was going to cause problems, but he supposes that Combeferre's solution of just keeping him away for a while is simpler. He finishes his clean up and is just about to return to Jehan's house when Combeferre reaches out again.

Could use your expertise for this. Come back if you're able? But please be discreet.

Grantaire snorts. He thinks he'll enjoy having a conversation with Combeferre later about why it's okay to pretend that he's human to other hunters, but not to Enjolras or Combeferre himself. He's well aware of the difference and the reasoning, of course, but he does like watching Combeferre wrestle with a moral quandary.

Enjolras is here, too.

This last part sounds like a warning, and Grantaire supposes it is, and one he should be thankful for. He braces himself before flying back to Combeferre's building, going up the stairs with pointed emphasis and hoping everyone in the apartment can hear his very normal, very human footsteps approaching. He opens the apartment door, calling out a greeting, and he steps inside and the world stops.

The other angel in Combeferre's living room stares at him, his human face registering only mild surprise even as his luminous true form roils and sparks in shock and alarm and, of course, horrifyingly, recognition. Grantaire stares back for a wild, world-tilting moment, and then he flies in a mad flurry, grabbing Enjolras and Combeferre and taking them to the furthest side of the room, pushing them behind him. Combeferre, who had just expressly told Grantaire to be on his best and most human behaviour, calls his name in confused dismay, and Enjolras is saying something too, demanding to know what he's doing, and there are two other humans here too, making their own noise, but then—

"Hello, brother," Castiel says, and all the humans in the room fall deathly silent.

Grantaire doesn't answer. His hand instinctively twitches to curl around the handle of a blade not currently in his possession. He can feel the presence of his sword burning in Enjolras's coat pocket and he wonders if the split second it would take for him to get to it will mean fiery death for all of them.

Three thousand years, he thinks. Three thousand years he successfully kept his head down, and then Combeferre goes and invites another angel into his living room—!

"Aw no, brother?" one of the new humans repeats. Grantaire doesn't dare take his eyes off Castiel, but the human sounds exasperated. He also sounds American, which raises many questions but also answers the one of why they are all here and not at the Musain. Grantaire can only imagine the Musain hunters' reaction to Americans descending upon their home base. "Cas, are you serious?"

"He's pretty clearly serious." The other human puts himself in Grantaire's line of vision, stepping between him and Castiel with one hand raised placatingly. He's uncommonly tall and more than broad enough in the shoulders to be considered physically imposing by human standards, but his posture and expression are currently extremely non-confrontational—he looks nervous, and sort of concerned. He looks at Grantaire first but then, clearly finding no invitation in his stony face, tilts his head to look past him at Enjolras and Combeferre instead. "So, uh. Got yourselves an angel."

"As do you, it would seem," Combeferre says with measured calm. It's strange to hear him speak English. Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire sees him take half a step forward and hisses back at him, "Don't."

"Hey, who are you? Do we know you?" the first human says suddenly. "Are you an old douchebag in a new meat-suit?"

"Dean," Castiel says in quiet admonishment.

"What? It's not like we can tell."

"You don't know him," Castiel tells him before turning back to Grantaire. "This isn't necessary. I'm not going to harm you or these humans. You should calm yourself."

"And if you want to harm Cas then we're going to have a problem," the tall human says.

Grantaire makes no attempt to calm himself. "Are you alone?" he demands of Castiel, whose vessel affects a faintly puzzled expression.

"I'm here with Sam and Dean," he says slowly, and Grantaire scowls.

"I mean," he says, "where is your garrison?"

"I no longer serve Heaven, Rachmiel," Castiel says in oddly gentle tones, as if he's just realised why Grantaire would be so horrified to see him.

"Do not call me that," Grantaire snaps with a sharp shake of his head. "You—what do you mean?"

"I am...fallen." There's a strange mixture of pride and shame in Castiel's voice as he says it. "My loyalties were tested and I found them to lie more with humanity than with our brothers and sisters."

"You…" Grantaire's mind, emerging from the initial shock, starts to piece things together, starts to remember. "I saw you. Last year. You were killing angels and humans. Hundreds of them."

"Hey, that wasn't Cas," one of the humans, Dean, starts to protest, while Grantaire hears twin sharp intakes of breath from Combeferre and Enjolras as they apparently make the connection between the God-Monster they'd seen on screen all those months ago and the mild-mannered man standing before them now.

"Look, okay, let's...We didn't come here to fight," says the other human, whom Grantaire assumes, through elimination, to be Sam. "It's complicated, okay? But Castiel is with us. He's not the bad guy. He's saved our lives more times than I can count and—hell, he helped us stop the apocalypse."

"Did he say the apocalypse?" Grantaire hears Enjolras mutter behind him.

"What did you two have to do with the…?" Grantaire looks at the two strangers properly for the first time and feels a fresh wave of hysteria. There is a lot to be read from their souls that he will unpack later, but most pressingly, he can see who they are—what they are. "You're the vessels." His undoubtedly wild-eyed gaze swings back to Castiel. "You're walking around with Michael and Lucifer's vessels? You brought them here?"

"Michael and Lucifer are both in the cage," Castiel says. "I do not expect they will be coming looking for their vessels."

"And they already know that they do not have consent to take either of us for a ride," Dean says with a grimly sardonic smile.

Grantaire's head feels like it's going to explode, which wouldn't kill him but would undoubtedly be very distressing for Enjolras and Combeferre to witness. He wills his vessel to hold it together.

"Grantaire," Combeferre says quietly—even that makes him jump. Combeferre speaks to him in soft, rapid-fire French that the Americans clearly do not understand and that Castiel politely pretends not to hear. "If he's really broken with Heaven, isn't that a good thing? For you to not be the only one?"

Grantaire casts a somewhat tortured glance back at him, not anywhere near ready to accept the idea that running into anyone from his family could ever be good, before looking inevitably back to Castiel, unable to keep his eyes from returning to the perceived threat in the room.

"It is good to see you," Castiel says, horribly earnest. "I believed you dead."

"Yeah, that was the idea," Grantaire snaps. Castiel tilts his head to one side like a confused puppy, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"You've been in hiding," he hazards finally.

"Pretty successfully, up until now," Grantaire says.

"Hey, just like Gabriel," Dean remarks. "You gotta wonder how many other angels flew the coop."

"Gabriel," Combeferre repeats in tones of disbelief that match Grantaire's own feelings. "The archangel? He also…?"

"Gabriel is dead," Grantaire says bluntly.

"Yeah, but he had a good run hanging out down here pretending to be a trickster god," Dean says with a smile that suggests not-so-fond remembrance. "What've you been hiding out as? Some other deity?"

There's an agonising sort of pause, and then it's Enjolras who says, not without bitterness, "A human."

Dean whistles. "That's a bold choice."

"Rachmiel," Castiel says, and Grantaire wants to scream. "Heaven will not hear of any of this from me. You and your humans are safe. Please. I—Here."

He puts one hand up as if in surrender while his blade falls from the sleeve of his coat into his other hand. He holds it up, slowly and demonstratively, before setting it down on Combeferre's coffee table and stepping back.

There is a very strange, very awkward moment where Castiel and his two humans look at Grantaire expectantly, waiting for him to return the gesture and disarm. Finally, Enjolras steps forward. He catches Grantaire's eye questioningly and, at his nod, takes Grantaire's blade out of his own coat and lays it next to Castiel's. Dean and Sam's eyebrows shoot up and Castiel gives a slow, considered blink, but mercifully all three of them refrain from saying anything about the matter.

[fandomchokehold]

Origin Characters as Streamers

Shadowheart

Stardew Valley ✨QUEEN✨ (1000% romances either Haley, Abigail, or Sam)

Plays Minecraft on creative mode, she’s just here to make a cute house, have every animal, and frolic in a cherry blossom forest

Also enjoys cozy games like Spirit Farer, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Cozy Grove, etc.

Her and Karlach sometimes play co-op horror games like Panicore, Phasmophobia, Escape the Backrooms because everything makes her scream and Karlach laughs at her (affectionately)

Gale

Absolutely DESTROYS old men in online chess

Plays Minecraft on hard mode and also BODIES Mario Maker (he has created the most sinister, infuriating, maddening levels)

Was definitely a Sonic kid, he knows the games are terrible but they’re so nostalgic and he loves making fun of them

Always tries to have a nice time playing Mario Party with Wyll, Karlach, & Astarion and they always end up screaming at each other

On the other hand he also does relaxing Pokémon card opening streams and cooking streams with Tara (he’s totally unaware of the tiktok thirst edits of him in his apron)

Karlach

Queen of first person shooters like Fortnite and Apex Legends, her and Wyll are unbeatable in DOOM (2016)

She more so likes cute cozy games that she can sip hot cocoa and snuggle up with a teddy bear while playing

Plays old shitty ps2 games based on media that chat requests like Bratz: Forever Diamondz, Barbie Horse Adventures, and Monsters, Inc.

Loves racing games (she’s terrible at them)

Loves fucking around in GTA 5 (she’s so good at it)

Every now and then does ghost hunting streams with whoever’s available (Shadowheart’s clinging to her the whole time, Gale is giving a thorough breakdown of the history of the location, Astarion is covering up his fear by saying everything’s the wind while also clinging to her, Lae’zel is actually looking for a living person in the building to fight, Wyll is cracking jokes and isn’t scared at all until he sees a door move and him and Astarion are in the car in 0.02 seconds)

Astarion

Loves visual novel romance games like Dream Daddy, Monster Prom, Raptor Boyfriend, etc.

Like Karlach he loves cozy games that let him get in his white girl autumn mode (lights off, candles lit, snuggled under a blanket, pumpkin spice latte and apple cider donuts nearby)

Definitely DOESNT CRY when he plays emotionally charged games especially where a beloved character dies, especially if it’s an animal, no he’s not pausing the stream to cry he just has to go pee-!

His most popular stream was playing A Way Out with Gale (he’d go from threatening Gale’s life for not being in sync to making jokes about the characters being them and also gay)

Does cosplay making streams, sews all of his costumes himself

Lae’zel

Queen of survival games like Subnautica, Rust, DayZ, Raft

Loves hand to hand and melee combat games like Bloodborne, Dark Souls, Elden Ring, Dragon’s Dogma; specifically medieval setting games cuz she gets fully immersed and dives deep into character as a knight

She’s bad at racing games; Mario Kart with Wyll, Astarion, & Karlach usually ends with her threatening to dox Astarion

⚔️BLACKSMITHING STREAMS⚔️ most of her viewers for these streams are old men who deeply fear and respect her

Wyll

KING of first person shooters and racing games; Fortnite, Overwatch, PUBG, and Call of Duty ✨champion✨

Slays at Nascar Rumble for the ps2 he’s always got the chicken truck

Is a speed runner for sure and loves doing funky challenges like beating Zelda: BOTW without clothes or breaking the game to take Sidon to Gerudo Town (think PointCrow type challenge videos)

Also likes games with emotional plots like SOMA, Alan Wake, The First Tree, What Remains of Edith Finch, etc. and he will cry on camera

Loves playing two player games with Astarion like Shovel Knight, Snipperclips, Portal 2, and Overcooked

Does late night bedtime story streams, makes his room look super cozy and uses a special ASMR microphone to read stories; takes requests from chat and doesn’t make anyone feel bad for what they want to hear unless it’s smut

All of them at least once a week either get together for a D&D stream or do a multiplayer stream and play:

Lethal Company

Among Us

Content Warning

Super Smash Bros. Ultimate

Dead by Daylight

Red Dead Online

Fall Guys: Ultimate Knockout

[kboo1999]

911 LS 5x08 The Quiet Ones Episode Recap

that omelette looks nasty as hell

not wyatt encouraging this man to harm people 😂

the poor cute way that TK said look at him

yes miss nancy with the organization of the meal train!!

not or nancy is going to kill me

not the next round of torture Tommy

how tf…how has tommy not thrown up since the twins were born

awww, carlos reaching out for tk immediately

carlos does not seem like it bothers him

wow. carlos. wow.

right tk. right.

oh no. not tk saying he’s done living his life on pause

it’s like carlos doesn’t even see that he is legitimately about to lose HIS WHOLE ASS HUSBAND that he fought tooth and nail for

a lost cause???

oh fucking lord. i always knew they knew more than they ever told Carlos…

soup. oh soup. you knew all a fucking longggggg!!!

you can tell Sam is so awkward

right carlos, rightt

intriguing theory? fuck you sir.

right — foolish enough

i wouldn't trust campbell as far as i could throw him

is it carlos’ homegirl??

oh maybe not. he said he...ugh.

the crazy thing about this is, carlos is about to use his connections that HIS HUSBAND has, so by proxy he has himself gained, YET!, he truly is probably killing tk slowly little by little on the inside

the crazy thing to me is that, if anyone, i would think carlos would get it — between hearing about tk’s childhood and KNOWING (because tk has said it more than one time) that Jonah is the LAST connection he has to his mom, yet you think he would be okay with letting him just go off to boarding school in a whole other country? no family? no connection to his late mother’s family? no connection or easy accss to his ONE SINGLE brother? — his brother who has a whole fucking gigantic, loving, and caring support system and family behind him

carlos doesn't even seem like he’s alarmed, caught off guard, or maybe all that caring that he could lose tk at this point right now

not it’s funny…i don’t see you

yeah, wyatt, wyatt who you ONLY KNOW & ONLY RECOGNIZES BECAUSE OF YOUR HUSBAND, YOUR HUSBAND WHO YOU ARE HURTING, TK

oh and looky fucking here

yes nancy, with the tude and hip pop out — yes ma’am, yes ma’am

okay marjan, okayyyy, i see the hand handed toss & flip

yes…they do believe as such

side thought: he said the chief was the one who kept him from making the biggest mistake, but NO. it was actually tk getting his dad, with all owen’s connections he was able to get the chief, so NO. NO. NO. not the chief. tk.

oh nah — don’t tell owen strand it's a lost cause, that's like challenging him

ooop. ooop.

seriously, carlos, yummm…his voice is soooo delicious

captain nancy gillian!!

okayyyy now then — carlos does the hand signals now

well that’s ✨awkward✨

👀...😅

that brother & sister love. nancy was NOT going to throw tk under the bus, letting carlos know it was HIS HUSBAND’s choice if he choose to talk to him or not

sassy tk 🤏🏾

awww.

yeah, tk is def right. carlos was the one who left

not the attic is bleeding!! 😂

not good looking paramedic

oooooo carlos’ smile and getting all cheesy when thinking about tk

sam? what??? 4 kids?!?!?!

yes. the 126 coming in, in full fucking force.

sir. who tf is lauhging?!?! — not one single damn person

yes juddy, yes!!

oh damn. tree killer.

your word means nothing.

tanks. lol. tanks. not one.

is that a threat?!?!

ahhhh!! not marjan coming with her followers again

yes. the kiss my ass. i love love love!!!

yes!!! the standing in solidarity! i was def not ready for that one!!

oh mateo. oh.

tommy ma’am what???

oh hot fucking damn. yes tommy. yassss!!

the mayor actually went against the board 👏🏾

aw. this is sad for them.

the way that carlos is looking at the pictures of tk when he was with jonah 🥺 👉🏾 👈🏾

5 rangers?

holy hell…

fuckkkk. not Campbell

oh my fucking gosh. carlossssss!!!!

[sebastienlelivre]

i found peace in your violence | lestat/louis | 3.1k words

There's bad dreams and long distance phone calls and Louis tries to protect what's most important while Lestat does the same. Each in their own way, each to varying degrees of success.

It's three forty-six in the afternoon when Louis is torn out of a dead sleep, the taste of blood (human) and ashes (inhuman) in his mouth. He still keeps to the same day-night schedule, even in the skyscraper, even though the modified coffin means he doesn't really need to, but the dreams...the dreams have been haunting him, tearing him out of a deeper sleep faster than even his own nightmares of Claudia's face in bright sunlight. He has just turned, putting his feet flat on the floor as he rubs his hands over his face when Louis' cell phone lights up with a text message.

It's from an unknown number, but the area code is from New Orleans, and Louis knows without even really thinking about it who it is. It's not just one message, but four of them in quick succession, like the mind typing them is moving too fast for his fingers.

the album is out

have you listened yet

only on digital

i can get a vinyl for you special edition

The lack of capitalization and punctuation and basic grammar make Louis smile, a bead of warmth flowing through him and chasing away the last bit of cold from the dream, but he turns his attention from the phone to listen, reaching out to eavesdrop on the other vampires again. He keeps them blocked out most of the time, knowing that their threats are empty, knowing that Daniel is listening and keeping track in case someone does get brave and stupid, and there's only been one who has even accepted Louis' challenge and shown up on his balcony (beautiful, blonde, tall, familiar blue eyes, but the woman hadn't said a word, only hummed, then disappeared as fast as she had arrived), but as he listens now, their attention isn't turned to him.

It's not even on Lestat's brand new musical career.

They're talking about...about... …burst into flames right there... ...full view of everyone, it was a protest... The voices are a cacophony, loud and jumbled, talking over each other in their panic, confused and scared, a mix of sentences that it takes Louis far too long to catch enough to piece the story together. They're not even talking about the dream, not really, but something has kept the vampires awake even when they shouldn't be.

Instead, their fear is about something else.

Something immediate and worse.

A vampire catching fire on the streets of Jakarta, the press were framing it as a act of self-immolation, a suicide to draw attention to some conflict somewhere, but Louis knows vampires.

And vampires are not so socially conscious.

His phone chimes, and the fifth text makes him laugh out loud.

this is lestat

It knocks Louis from the worry of other vampires, of dreams and fire, and right back into his own drama. He doesn't type back a response, though, clicking the number instead and calling. He says the second the connection clicks, "You type like you speak, Lestat." Louis hates how fond he sounds when he adds, "I don't recall giving you this number." There's other things that he should say, like asking how Lestat even got a phone or a record deal or why it sounds like he is in the middle of a party in the middle of the day.

"Yes, well, the vampire Sam is good for some things," and Lestat pauses before he raises his voice to be heard above the crowd even though it isn't like Sam, even if he isn't actually in the room, needs the added volume, "...beyond being obnoxious about song lyrics!" Louis opens his mouth to ask about that, but there's the sound of a scuffle like the phone is being wrestled out of Lestat's hand which is clearly just a performance and nothing more because Sam's answer comes in Louis' mind and likely Lestat's too.

Tell him all of his songs cannot be about you or.... Sam trails off, like he's second guessing what he's about to say, and Louis can see in his mind that he's probably making eye contact with Lestat before he adds, ...or the mademoiselle, not anymore, the audience has no appetite for tragedy, not now, not after a fucking pandemic!

"Do not be ridiculous, Samuel, I have listened to modern music, it is all tragedy and heartbreak, it sells, you of al-..." and the laborious sigh that Louis can hear both in his head and over the phone makes him laugh and that stops Lestat's voice in mid-sentence, "Do not laugh at me, cher.”

"Then stop being funny, Lestat," and Louis can hear all the bluster leave Lestat as he hears the furniture creak as if he is slouching in an overly stuffed armchair. "Do you...are you really writing songs about her?" Decades and years and months after her death and the revelations about it, and Louis still can't say her name. Lestat doesn't respond, but Louis can hear him stand and walk across the room, and he's practically holding his own breath until he hears a heavy door close.

"She deserves songs, no?" Lestat finally replies, the noise of the party a dim murmur now.

"She'd think modern music is too loud, too nonsensical, you know she would, no one tells stories in their songs anymore," Louis says, walking out of is bedroom and into the meditation room, sitting down on the bench and looking up at Paul's picture for a moment as he presses his feet into the peebles to ground himself.

"I am a storyteller, though, she would like my songs," Lestat replies, but his voice is hushed, barely a whisper, and Louis smiles.

"She would hate your songs in particular, on purpose, on principle," he says, but his voice isn't unkind, even when Lestat makes a hurt sound, and Louis can imagine the dramatic way he's clutching his chest.

"You wound me, my love," Lestat says, and there's a moment that Louis can pretend he can see the smile, soft and loving, that Lestat is giving the phone, but it's not an expression that Louis actually remembers on Lestat's face, not really. "Why did you call? You didn't have to."

"It's late, maybe I shouldn't have."

"It's early actually. Summer in New York, and the sun has been up for hours." His voice is soft when he continues, "It's the city that never sleeps, you know, even for us." And there is a drag to Lestat's voice, an exhaustion that tells Louis Lestat is hiding something, and he thinks (knows) maybe the dreams are haunting Lestat as much as him. "Why aren't you sleeping, cher, your sunset is hours away." Louis waves the question away, and he knows Lestat can't see it, but he still seems to react to it when he says, "Do not avoid my question."

"Dreams," he says, just one word, simple, and not inviting exploration. If Lestat is, if the dreams are hitting more than just Louis, he doesn't need to explain. Lestat makes a sound on the other end of the line, but before he can argue, Louis asks, "You're in New York now?" as he forces a smile as he finds the thought of Lestat in Times Square or on Broadway particularly amusing.

There is silence for a long moment, and he almost thinks Lestat won't answer, won't appreciate the change in subject. Eventually, though, Louis gets a quiet, "Oui," in response. "The tour starts in a week. We have rehearsals, Sam is very strict about that." Lestat huffs out something that could have been a laugh. "You remember."

"Hmm," Louis hums, "He's reporting on you to the Talamasca, you know."

"I'm a fascinating subject, Louis, my life is a rollercoaster of adventure."

"Have you ever even been on a rollercoaster?"

Lestat doesn't answer that question as he replies, "I may even contact your Mister Molloy. Perhaps he'd like to interview me." Louis can hear the grin in his voice, and he even imagines it with a flash of fang. "We could make another bestseller."

"You will leave him be, Lestat," Louis says, his voice clear that it is an order.

"I would make a good story."

"Lestat." Lestat laughs again, but he doesn't argue. "Tell me about this tour." He's changing the subject again, he knows it and Lestat knows it, but as he remains silent, not answering at first, Louis wonders if he pushed too much, ignored the topic that Lestat wants to talk about too many times, and Louis almost can't handle it, not right then. He can practically feel Lestat's manic energy and annoyance over the phone. "You playin' or just singin'?" Louis asks, playing up the accent slightly. It's comforting and comfortable, and he can almost hear Lestat relax a little more at the sound of it.

Lestat huffs again though, an annoyed sound. "Vampire Sam only wants me to sing, he says my playing is desecrating his masterpieces. Which is ridiculous, no? It's my music, I wrote it, I should get to play it before the world," and his monologue is interrupted by a sputtering in both their minds that Louis can only assume is Sam preparing his own monologue.

"You might wanna stop broadcastin' your annoyance before Sam starts airin' grievances of his own," Louis says, the laughter plain in his voice.

"Let him," Lestat replies, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. It feels sharp and pointed at Sam, but it warms Louis, little bubbles of happiness, and it makes him slightly giddy. The silence settles and stretches, comfortable and warm. "Why aren't you sleeping, cher?" Well. That's a mood killer.

"I told you. Bad dreams."

"You didn't say bad." There is a flash then, the taste of blood and ash heavy in his mouth again, enough to make him gag, but something else too...red, and he's not sure if it's hair or more blood, but it's only half remembered, and it only makes the nausea worse.

"Didn't I?" Louis coughs, the words thick in his mouth, and he knows the answer, and judging from the sound Lestat makes, he knows too. They fall into silence again, but this time it is a loaded silence, all of the unspoken things just at the back of their throats. He coughs again, waiting for Lestat to say something, to continue his interrogation, but his only answer is Lestat's breathing.

Clam and patient, this is the vampire who spent decades in a ruined hovel in New Orleans waiting for Louis to remember. Louis exhales finally, and says, "Just a U.S. tour? Or are you taking it world-wide?" This is not what either one of them was expecting, and Lestat laughs, the sharp bark of sound makes Louis flinch.

"Oh," but before Lestat can finish his answer, the other vampires, distant and indistinct, the cacophony, stirs again. Another one.... ...flames in Padang... ....it will be noticed now.... "Oh."

"Lestat."

"They're moving." Lestat sounds awed.

And terrified.

"Lestat." Cold settles in Louis' belly then, a kind of dread he couldn't really place. For a second he is back in the dream, blood and ash heavy on his tongue, choking him. Vampires burning is nothing new, but the fear of the other voices, the ones who had been so certain of how they would tear Louis limb from limb, that is cold and certain and it makes Louis' hands tremble.

"After New Orleans, after....after the first time," after Louis and Claudia had tried to kill him, Louis remembers and he nods for Lestat to continue even though he can't see him, "Rats were not enough, but I could move, when I could move, I stumbled my way to them, I played for them, for her, and she....her blood brought me back."

"Lestat."

"She bit me, then of course, I bit her, what else was I supposed to do, and...a-and...." Lestat trails off, and Louis can hear him breathing, the soft, unnecessary huffs of air coming quicker than they should. "The first of us, I found them, I played my music for her, p-...played Nicky's own violin, and she woke up, her head turning and her eyes finding mine, and it shouldn't have worked, I shouldn't have been able to, I am nothing, but she gave me life again." Lous could hear Lestat trembling, the little taps of his body as it moved involuntarily. "It shouldn't have worked." He is trying to convince someone of this truth, but Louis wonders if it's him.

Or her.

"Lestat."

"I don't know if it's the music or the book or whatever it is you said to them, the others, but they are....she is moving." Lestat is distracted, and Louis doesn't know who exactly he is speaking to.

"Lestat." Louis can hear him breathing, slow and shallow, and Louis pushes, "She?"

"Akasha."

And Louis remembers now, the name said in Magnus's lair years ago, he remembers tasting the confusion on Armand's lips. He hadn't recognized the name, neither had Louis, of course not.

"She's the first of us, Louis."

Louis's breath is shaking as he exhales. "You need to come to Dubai." He doesn't know what inspires him to say that, to offer sanctuary, but Lestat is afraid, and Louis has never known the man, in over a hundred years, to be afraid. Not really.

Lestat laughs, but Louis knows him well enough to know it's not a genuine sound. "Don't be ridiculous. The tour starts next week, we'll be visiting cities all over the world, it would be impossible for me to take time off to travel to you." Meaning it will be impossible for an ancient vampire to find him, and Louis can hear the lie in those words.

"Come to Dubai."

"Come to Paris."

"Lestat." Louis blinks. Paris catches him off-guard, but there is no malice in the words. "You will be safe here."

"Safe?" The word is a scoff, and Louis knows it comes with an eye roll.

"Apparently half the vampires in the South China Sea are being set on fire with no obvious source."

"So the two of us can burn together and take down a skyscraper at the same time?" There is panic in his voice, just an undercurrent, but it's there and it makes Louis stand up. "If I am with you, my love, and she finds us, she will kill you too, and I cannot....I have limits of what I am willing to watch."

"I don't know. I'm a charming guy, maybe she'll like me better than you," Louis says as he walks from his meditation room, across the sitting room, and over to the balcony doors. He pulls the door open and lets the wind hit him for a moment before he steps out. "What's your plan, Lestat? Lead the oldest vampire alive on a merry chase around the world?"

"I am captivating, my love, my music has already distracted the others from their quest to destroy you."

"Think that was the vampires burnin', but sure," Louis replies, a smile that is half a smirk playing across his lips.

"Wounded, Louis, wounded." Lestat exhales then, and Louis hears a creak of furniture like he's flopped back into a chair again. "When have you ever known me to have a plan, cher? I am just...." Lestat trails off and Louis holds his breath as he waits for him to continue.

When he doesn't, Louis finishes, "You are simply savin' lives?"

Lestat laughs at that, loudly and joyously, and it almost sounds real. Louis's lips quirk just a little. "Yours, perhaps, the others...." Louis imagines the elegant little shrug Lestat perfected centuries ago. "Does that sound like me?"

Louis sighs. "No." He leans on the railing, shaking his head. "Are you sure it's your girl doing this?"

"She is not 'my girl'," Lestat replies, and Louis imagines he is shaking his head. He hears the chair creak again, and now Louis imagines him standing and pacing the room as he speaks even though Louis can't hear the movement. "People are burning. Unless humanity has suddenly grown wise to our existence, unless your Mister Molloy's book is not being excused as plain fiction anymore, what else do you think is going on, my love?"

"Big leap to ancient vampire gods, that's all," Louis says, and Lestat makes a sound like he agrees, but he says nothing else, not at first.

"Perhaps I am just reacting to the fear of the others," Lestat finally says, and it would be easy to simply agree and let everything lay there, never to be picked up again.

Instead, Louis says, "When is your show in Paris?"

"A month, at least, I'll send you the dates. We start in New York, then Ireland, then London, then....then, finally Paris," Lestat doesn't sound scared anymore, but the undercurrent is still there, a faint trembling of his words that no one but Louis would be able to pick up.

"I will meet you there, and I will drag you back to Dubai." Lestat makes a noise like he is about to argue, and Louis holds up a hand to quell the argument. "If vampires keep burning, I will drag you back to Dubai. If this was just...two vampires throwing themselves into the fire, then we'll...we'll meet in Paris, share the night, and go our separate ways. That's all."

But the terror in the other voices has stuck with Louis, and he is not sure this is all coincidence, and Louis's first concern is to save what matters most.

Lestat.

Maybe Daniel too, distantly, but still family. Maybe Armand too in some weird fucked up way. Maybe...maybe some of the others too.

Finally Lestat exhales.

"We will meet in Paris." Before Louis can respond, Sam cuts in again, telling Lestat in both their minds about lighting tests and sound checks. "The stage calls, cher."

"Hmm, it always does," and he can hear Lestat making his way to the door, pulling it open, and Louis says, orders really, "Lestat. If it gets worse, you will come to me."

"And you will protect me, Louis?"

"Strength in numbers is all."

Lestat hums in agreement. "One month, Louis. Paris."

Louis nods. "Paris." They both hang up without saying goodbye, and it's not even a minute later before another text comes through.

are you having the dreams

Is that why you are not sleeping

Louis doesn't respond, and after several minutes the dots to indicate Lestat is typing pop back up. Then the Paris dates. And then....

listen to the album louis

Louis laughs before clicking over to buy the album, letting it download as he prepares to return to his bed.

He'll listen just as soon as he finishes Daniel's book.

[notinthislife50]

Chapter 25

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

"Ready to go home?" Natasha's question caught you off guard.

"Home?" Confusion lingered in your expression.

"Yeah, to Stark Tower. It's where most of the Avengers live," she explained. "Plus, Stark's throwing a party in a few days."

"What's the occasion?" you asked.

"Stark doesn't need a reason for a party, but he thought it'd be a 'welcome back' for you and Bucky," she grinned. "Although, Bucky has no clue you'll be there. It's a surprise. Is that alright with you?"

"Sounds like fun! But I don't have anything to wear," you sighed. "And, it's been a year since I got anything done."

"Bucky doesn't care about that," Nat explained.

"Yeah, but I do," you said sadly.

"Don't worry, We'll go shopping tomorrow," Natasha assured you.

"And how do I stay incognito until the party?" you questioned.

"You'll stay in my room," Natasha shrugged, confidence evident in her plan.

You walked into the bustling party with Natasha and Wanda, scanning the room for Bucky, who he was nowhere in sight.

"Relax, he's here," Natasha reassured, squeezing your arm. "Remember the plan." she smiled at you.

The three of you settled at the bar, ordering drinks. As you began to relax, a familiar voice caught your attention from behind.

"Y/N, hi!" A young kid stood in front of you.

"Hi," you nervously responded. "Do I know you?"

"Yeah, sorry, not in the suit, it's Peter," he beamed.

"Peter!" You squealed and hugged him. "Nice to finally meet the real you."

Meanwhile, across the room, Bucky heard the joyful squeal. The sound struck a chord of familiarity, causing him to pause momentarily before shaking off the sensation. Steve and Sam exchanged knowing smirks.

Back at your spot, Scott pulled you up to dance, and both of you made fools of yourselves, the laughter echoing across the room.

Bucky was certain he hadn't misheard this time. His gaze swept the room until it landed on you, twirling with Scott.

"Surprise," Steve grinned, appearing beside Bucky.

"You knew she would be here?" Bucky questioned.

"We all did, but we wanted to surprise you," Steve confirmed. "Does she know?"

"She knows, she only returned two days ago," Steve replied. "But we all asked her to help with the plan."

Bucky tuned out Steve as his attention fixed solely on you. He watched as you sat back down beside Natasha and Wanda, flipping your hair over your shoulder, and revealing the back of your dress. He couldn't help but feel the overwhelming rush of missing you.

As he moved toward you, Wanda leaned in. "Here he comes."

Your breath quickened, your heart racing, as you felt his breath against your ear.

"You know, doll, if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just come over," he whispered.

Spinning in your chair, you stretched your arms along the bar. "Oh really? I wasn't aware I was vying for your attention, Mr. Barnes," you smirked up at him.

Before you could say another word, he gently grasped the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss.

When you both parted, you smirked up at him, and Bucky's gaze softened. "Oh, trust me, doll, you've had my attention since the moment you walked in."

Natasha and Wanda exchanged knowing glances, letting you and Bucky have your moment. The atmosphere crackled with a mix of tension and familiarity, the air thick with unspoken words.

You leaned in closer, matching his playful tone. "Well, Mr. Barnes, I might need a little more convincing of that."

Bucky chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Challenge accepted."

He pulled you out of your chair and threw you over his shoulder. You waved at Nat and Wanda as he exited the room with you, heading to the lift, causing the women to laugh.

@cjand10 @vicmc624 @deans-spinster-witch @mothcelestial @makayla-666 @kandis-mom @ladysparkles78 @msesther19 @selenestar78 @fraidoftedark

[steddiebang]

the freaks who could never love anyone (October 10) author:  dima (ao3/bsky/tumblr/twitter) / artist:  robin (tumblr / twitter) Hawkins High School’s show choir group, the Treble Tigers, is in desperate need of new members. Eddie Munson, the group’s de facto student leader, is well aware that they need to do anything they can to be in contention for Nationals.

But Eddie immediately finds himself at odds with one of their latest members, Steve Harrington. A prototypical pompous jock that has no place in a group that’s meant for misfits. But when Steve starts opening up about the many secrets he’s carrying, Eddie realizes that he might need the Treble Tigers to go to Nationals as much as Eddie does.

Tell Me Then Would You Lend A Hand (October 13) Author: funeralbeldam / Artist: rrrrraatt An exploration of Steve’s trauma. How it affects his everyday life, opens him up to Vecna, and sends him on a path of self discovery as the world is ending. His relationships with his friends - most notably one Eddie Munson - and how he views his own self worth. How one man will tear down Steve’s curtain to reveal the truth inside, through the power of music. Who says metalheads and jocks -turning-punks can’t get along?

scheming on a thing (October 14) Author: greatunionic (ao3 / tumblr) / Artist: daysarestranger / singinginmay It’s 1994, and Eddie’s been a guest of Uncle Sam at Pelican Bay since it opened in ‘89, when his public defender stopped defending and he resigned himself to the sixth to life bag the Spring Break of ‘86 had left him holding. Sure, the series of frantic transfers that made Wayne and the party lose track of him (and cost him his unlikely prison penpal, Steve Harrington) truly were a bummer, but life’s actually not too bad, in the long run: he’d got three hots and a cot, ya know, and sometimes a few of the other inmates actually believe him when he tells them he’s innocent. Still — the new lawyer and paralegal shaped suspiciously like one Erica Sinclair is starting to give him pause, and make him wonder if the story’s not quite over yet…

Or: a story about seven letters, the worst love song ever written, and a heist.

Of Space and Time (October 15) Author: @appledagger / Artist: @Ahhrenata / Additional Art: @appledagger, @betwixtandbetweenn In 2073, the world is still moving forward despite arid climates and the quick relay race between man and machine. Within the walls of the hospital center at Vecna Labs, Steve Harrington has just woken up after an accident inside the depths of the classified sections of the lab. Stricken with amnesia, he is brought to Edward Munson’s home to recover and to be observed during his recovery after experimental treatments had brought him back from the brink of death. In Edward’s home, Steve finds question after question. Why does Eddie seem to hate him so much? What do all the observations have to do with his accident? What exactly is going on with his malfunctioning mind, and what does this all have to do with Creel and Vecna’s tech monopoly? All the while, Steve struggles with the feeling that there was something more to his relationship with Eddie that he can’t quite understand.

Road to Nowhere (October 14) Author: @sharpbutsoft / Artist: @patternscolorsflowers Eddie Munson isn’t dead, and he’s trying not to make it everyone’s problem. After the horrorshow that was Spring Break, he’s been keeping to himself, attending his “legally you cannot call this a bribe but, yes, obviously it’s a bribe” physical therapy sessions, and trying to recover from his brief but violent death. Enter Steve Harrington, and his compulsive need to be useful, who’s volunteered to taxi him to and from these sessions (with minimal bitching.) This newfound friendship isn’t without its challenges though. Steve, not the best with his words, struggles to define his feelings for Eddie, who has it in his head that the only reason they’re not together yet, is because he’s not better yet. When an argument threatens to snuff out the sparks flying between them, Eddie has to learn that better is a journey, not a destination, and one he doesn’t have to take alone…

The Ones Who Know (October 15) Author: @tacticat / @hereforthesteddie / Artist: @miloboiwonder / @milotheboywonder / Artist: @donttellunclesam “Robs, Eddie’s mad at me. I did something wrong, I think. I don’t really know.“ 

"Can you tell me what happened?" 

"We were watching movies last night and we-” his throat closes up on him and he struggles to take in a deep breath. “We kissed." 

"What!?” The unlucky customers waiting on them can probably hear her, she reacts so loudly.

“I know! I wasn’t expecting it." 

 A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Wait but Steve, you’re-”

“Straight? I know!”

Does he, though? She gives him a curious look that seems to ask the same question. 

Steve didn’t used to like being someone who knows, when that meant keeping secrets about horrifying and heartbreaking things. But now that he’s learning beautiful and precious secrets about the people who are important to him, he’s starting to learn that being one of the ones who know doesn’t have to be so bad.

change your mind (October 16) Author: helix_stomper / Artist: horsegirleddiemunson  After his breakup with Nancy, Steve Harrington keeps it a secret that he hasn’t made an effort to meet his soulmate. When he accidentally wakes up next to them a few days after his 18th birthday, he’s surprised to find that it’s not only another guy, but somebody else in Hawkins. Between losing all his old friends, learning how not to be an asshole, and balancing his newfound sexuality in a closed-minded town, Steve has his work cut out for him. Eddie Munson doesn’t believe in soulmates, but that doesn’t stop him from waiting in the dreamscape every night for his. Balancing life as an openly queer, drug-dealing super senior in Hawkins, Indiana is no cakewalk, especially with Billy Hargrove on his ass. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to that whole soulmate thing after all.

Drowning In Your Love (October 20) Author: @steveshairychest / steveshairychest /Artist: parasite_z (twitter) / @parasite-z

There’s something so enticing about forbidden love, about yearning for someone that you know you can’t have. Eddie knows he’s breaking every oath he took on the day of his knighting, but he can’t help but be drawn to the golden prince that beckons him with a sharp tooth smile. It’s forbidden to speak with the merfolk that occupy the ocean around the city but Eddie has never been very good at following the rules, especially when he’s got his hands tangled in a beautiful merman’s soft hair. Each day, he finds himself with his toes in the sand and with his heart in the hands of Steve Harrington, the heir to the merkingdom. They meet in secret at the rockpools, and the more Eddie learns about the prince, the harder it becomes to keep away. His knights oath to never take a lover gnaws at the back of his mind the first time he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. Things become difficult when the Queen of the merkingdom starts to pressure Steve to take the necessary steps required of him to become King, the first being to choose a bride. But Steve doesn’t want any of the maidens that his mother forces him to meet. He wants the knight in clunky armor that brings him treasures from the human world, the knight that he shared his first kiss with under the light of the moon. Forbidden love is never easy. It hurts and bares its teeth just when you thought things were going well. Will Steve and Eddie be able to make it through unscathed?

Nobody’s Baby (October 22) Author: ArtaxLivs / Artist: LexPlexDraws It’s Dirty Dancing but Steddie Style. Steve is a privileged young college graduate who is supposed to spend one last summer with the family at an upscale resort but stumbles in unexpected friendships with some of the resort’s employees. Eddie is the dance instructor with a chip on his shoulder. An impossible situation makes them unwilling dance partners but maybe the possibility of trust will make them more than that.

it’s a lonely world when everyone knows your name (October 23) Author: @whataboutthefish / Artist: @hawkinsleather and on Twitter Steve Harrington had a nemesis, Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson. The only thing was, Eddie didn’t know. Eddie Munson was the face of the decade and fashion’s darling, but his hard partying ways and lack of professionalism- in Steve’s opinion- had him seething. When Steve was paired with Eddie for a photo shoot he was already anticipating hating the whole ordeal. What he didn’t expect was Eddie being more than just his persona.

Or

Hottest Alpha Model Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington just might be wrong about Omega Supermodel Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson.

My Dad, Your Papa, Our Father (October 25) Author: @strangerthingssteddiebrainrot / Artist: @waldos-art Steve thought a memorial for the fallen if Hawkins lab was pretentious and insincere. He wasn’t the only one. But if he hadn’t come, he probably wouldn’t have found out about, this. So really, it could be argued, understood even, that he was completely taken off guard when a picture of one of the deceased scientists was placed on the memorial table and he couldn’t control what came out of his mouth, loud enough that there was no way everybody didn’t hear it. “Dad!?”

A Haunted House With A Picket Fence (October 25) author: Quinn (ao3/tumblr/twitter) / artist: AtlasMoth666 (twitter) Eddie Munson is no stranger to bad choices. It’s how he ended up a single father selling drugs to keep him and his kid clothed and fed. Dumb choices have him fleeing Chicago in the middle of the night and renting a place in his shitty hometown in Indiana while he plans his next move.

It’s also how he ends up asking his stupidly hot neighbor to babysit his daughter while he goes on a last-minute job interview, and much to his surprise, stupid-hot neighbor agrees. And it turns out he’s not just handsome, but funny, a great cook, he loves Eddie’s weirdo kid, and may just be the love of Eddie’s life.

If only starting over and escaping his past was that easy.

after all this time (i’m still into you) (October 26) Author: oriscribes  / Artist: unspcfiedfigure / Artist: @hellfireloserclub Steve just wanted to keep working on his TV show, but due to some clauses buried in his contract he’d been coerced into a fake dating scheme. Which was especially stupid because Munson didn’t even like him. Steve should know, Munson had already rejected him years ago. Eddie just wanted to keep his head down until his contract ran out so he could get back to writing with Corroded Coffin instead of doing this idol shit. He wasn’t counting on getting outed and having to do damage control… by pretending to date someone who he maybe sorta had (has?) a huge crush on. OR: Steve pretends that if he keeps calling Eddie by his last name then he won’t develop any feelings to go with that crush he’d been trying to forget about. Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure out what went wrong years ago and if this time could be different. 

how greedy my heart (October 27) Author: @matchingbatbites / Artist: @amethyst-crowns After his first encounter with the Upside Down, Steve needs something to help him relax. He gets more than he expects from drug dealer Eddie Munson, who pulls him into a world of gentle care, good feelings, and calm that he’s never experienced before.

All Eyes on Me in the Center of the Ring (October 28) Author: a_lil_a_lot  - twitter / tiktok / bsky / tumblr / Artist:  bienmoreau - twitter Ex-Olympic gymnast, Steve Harrington, is politely asked to not return to college after the summer - upon his return to his hometown, he’s not expecting a trip to the circus with his best friend to have such an impact on him. Just when he thinks he’s run out of options, he takes a chance in following the Munson Family Circus and finds not only something he enjoys, but a place where he belongs.

(he’s) a runaway foal that doesn’t know where to go (October 31) Author: @patti_cake08 (twitter)/ @moltenchocolatelavacake  Steve Harrington has always loved too much, he knows this. And yet he’s never been enough for anybody. It’s why relationships never work out for him. But he tried again because of course he did. Always too stupid for his own good, his feelings were bullshit. A week after having his heart broken by a man he believed he’d meant more to than flirty phone calls and occasional fucks, Steve ends up at Forest Hills Trailer Park. He’d gone looking for a reprieve, a comfort, a way out of his grief. Instead he finds a pair of pale arms and a yearning heart eager to help him heal and, maybe, show him his love is enough.

[zalaznyart]

more random characters for Sam Does Art's pause challenge

[motownfiction]

thin light

There’s a thin light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Steph sees it when she walks toward the kitchen to get a drink of water at four in the morning.

Of course, she knew Sam wasn’t in bed with her anymore. It’s hard to mistake empty blankets and sheets for a six-foot-two man who was there before. When she discovered he was missing, she figured he must have snuck out and gone home again. That’s what Sam’s always done since they broke up, only meeting for an irregular series of one-night stands and silent apologies. He can’t face her, and it’s just as well. She’s not sure she could face him.

But when she sees that thin light pouring out from under the bathroom, she pauses. She gets as quiet as she can, which, for Steph, has always been a challenge. She nearly presses her ear to the door, thinking she can hear the faint whirring of an electric razor. Does she own an electric razor? Surely not. There aren’t enough men in and out of the Armstrong house for either woman to keep them around. Sam must have brought his own.

Did that mean he wanted to stay? Did that mean he wanted to leave it there, for future nights they could spend together? Steph’s heart flies a little. Just because they can’t spend every night in the same room, in the same bed, doesn’t mean they can’t be together. She knew that before she ever moved away to college. Didn’t he know it, too? It’s been over two years since she moved to Mount Pleasant, and it’s been over two years they’ve denied still loving each other.

After all, Steph still loves him.

Doesn’t he still love her, too?

Steph thinks love never really runs out. It doesn’t matter how strong the love was to begin with. Once it’s there, nobody can ever take it out. A part of her will always love Jill, her freshman roommate, because of everything she taught. A smaller part of her will always love Kevin Sheehan because he was there when no one else would even try to be. There’s even a part of her that will always love Daniel, too, even though she knew they were doomed before they ever even kissed. Love has no time limits. You don’t have to do much to earn it. Sometimes, you’re just somebody who knows how to give it.

And Steph is giving it to Sam, right here on the other side of this bathroom door.

She doesn’t want him to catch her listening and staring at nothing. So, she swallows hard and quietly makes her way to the kitchen for that drink of water.

But she swears she can still feel that thin light from the bathroom following her around, lighting up her ankles.

It shows no signs of stopping.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 4! i know i'm already hideously behind, but i've been traveling)

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

I’m laying on my bed in pain and just so tired of the pain. At least laying down helps the pain go away, eventually. I hear a knock on my door and say, “Come in.” Wondering who is visiting me. Castiel walks in with a small smile in one of Dean’s faded band shirts and sweatpants with socks and slippers on.

“Hey, Castiel,” I greet.

“Hello, Alexandria.” He pauses and stops at the foot of my bed, “May I join you?”

I nod into my comforter trying to look at him but when you’ve made a nest of your bed because the softness makes you feel better. Well, you might be visited by the “blanket monster” later (AKA Dean “Cuddleslut” Winchester).

Castiel sits down next to me on the bed. “How are you?”

I hum non-commitally.

“Anything I can do to help?”

I smile and scoot back towards my pillows, rearranging them a bit so I don’t bend so much. “Your company is always a help, blue eyes.” I can see Castiel’s cheeks pinken and it’s adorable. I grin. “You’re so cute.” I reach my hand out to him. “Come here, angel.”

He takes off his slippers and scoots closer then takes my hand. I pull him next to me. “Hugs and cuddles are always appreciated. Don’t tell Dean. He thinks he’s the only one I like to cuddle with.”

“Ahh.” Castiel understands. “You don’t want to hurt Dean’s feelings, so you lie.” I thought a minute about that. “I would say a partial lie because I admit he is my favorite to cuddle with because he is a great Cuddler, but I like cuddling with everyone.” I turn to the angel. “You, sweetie, are my favorite hugger.”

Castiel mimics me and I get a small smile. It means a lot I say that.

“I learned from Dean.”

I chuckle. “You learned from Jody and Claire. Dean and Sam do this haphazard hug and just fling their arms around you. It can hurt. Those guys are strong.”

I get the dreaded and loved Dom brow of Castiel’s challenging my words.

“Yes, Claire does hug differently.”

“She doesn’t want to let go even if she won’t admit it.” This made Castiel think as he thought on that.

I scoot up close and place an arm over Castiel’s torso. Placing my head in his arm, he places his arm over my shoulders.

“How can I be a better Cuddler, Alex?”

I grin into his chest. “Everyone has preferences but cuddling for me is like a full body hug that you don’t let go, you remain so it becomes cuddling. In this case, we’d need to entangle legs, so either I’d have a leg over your leg or between your legs, something like that.”

“Like this?” He asks as he proceeds to place his legs between my pj-cladded ones. I can feel my face heat up. I didn’t tell him how intimate it can be viewed but I get a full on cuddle with the angel and despite my embarrassment, I’m staying. Shhh.

I looked down and nod. “Yeah.”

“Put your leg over mine,” he gently commands.

I look at his face surprised. I can feel how big my eyes have gotten and eyebrows are probably in my hairline. “Oh, ok.”

Castiel tilts his head looking at me as I look down and put my leg over his. He intertwines feet so we can relax without worrying to come untangled. I just grin and nuzzle into his shoulder with my eyes closed.

He rubs my back up and down along my spine, relaxing me.

“Thank you, Castiel,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome, Alex.” He kisses the top of my head and his lips stay there for a few seconds.

Inside, I’m screaming because he’s never done that and this whole position is intimate. I’m dying from embarrassment and loving it at the same time.