#scream ficlet

[dopeasspancake]

Can't stop thinking about the concept of post-Scream (1996) and Billy and Stu's spirits being tied to Sidney for whatever reason. Maybe it's penance. Maybe it's unfinished business. Maybe they never figure it out. But they're just kind of stuck following her.

And maybe it takes her a while to notice. Maybe it takes Billy and Stu a while to become proficient enough at haunting for her to see/hear them and for them to be able to interact with objects or the living. At first they're not even sure they want Sid to know they're there.

But it eventually happens. And NONE of them are thrilled about the situation. For a long while. Maybe Stu finds it kind of funny, but Billy and Sid are PISSED. Billy & Stu aren't always around, though. They sometimes disappear for hours or even days at a time, but they always come back. They have no choice.

They follow Sidney to Windsor College, mock her choice in studies, and cannot stand her boyfriend Derek ("He's so corny it's painful, Sid.") And although Billy & Stu love finding out that they've inspired their own horror movie, they DON'T appreciate the new Ghostface(s) targeting Sidney. Sidney was THEIR final girl and she beat them fair and square. This New Guy should be more original, in their opinion.

When Sidney is distraught over Randy's untimely murder, Billy & Stu are actually a little bummed for her. And him. Stu was even rooting for them a bit. Thought Sid & Randy would have been cute together, but oh well.

And maybe Billy still hates Sidney, but he kind of respects her. He was once genuinely in love with her, before everything. Maybe Stu, who only ever got involved for funsies (and because he'd follow Billy to the ends of the earth) is even a little attached to her. So maybe they do their ghostly best to watch out for her (not that they'd actually tell her this, of course).

And when Billy eventually finds out one of the Ghostface killers was his mom, he spirals a bit (because why does she care NOW but not before he died? What right did she even have to be angry? SHE left HIM). And all Sidney can tell him is "Well, she's dead now."

After Sidney escapes death yet again following the Hollywood murders, she has to deal with several weeks of a falling out between her ghosts. Stu was there, he heard what Roman said about giving Billy pointers. About having a partner he could sell out if need be. And that had hurt more than any knife or smashed TV ever could.

(After a few weeks and with mediation from Sid, Billy finally confesses he never planned to sell Stu out. Only liked the idea of a partner, of not being alone, and Stu was the only person in the world Billy trusted with his life. And who Billy knew was unhinged enough to agree to murder for his friend. Getting this information out of Billy is like pulling teeth because not even death has cured his emotional constipation.)

And this just continues on through the franchise. And despite the fact that Sidney will never forgive Billy & Stu for what they did, she gets used to their presence. Even eventually begins to appreciate them, as fucked up as it is. They become a familiar constant in her life.

When they tease or mock her, Sid's not afraid to remind Stu that she dropped a TV on his face. Or that she put a bullet between Billy's eyes and would gladly do it again. But funny enough, she eventually says these things with very little malice. It's almost like a fun little inside joke. And to be fair, Stu can't think of a more ironic way for him to have died. He gets giggly about it sometimes.

They make fun of Sidney when she starts dating her eventual husband. They make fun of her even harder while she's pregnant because she's often tired, sore, and easily irritated. And while neither Billy nor Stu are big fans of kids, they have to admit Sid and Mark make some pretty cute ones.

Sidney is the one to break the news to Billy, "Congratulations, it's a girl" but 25 years late. She also has to break the news that his daughter is the latest target. And that Stu's nephew was already a victim. Both ghosts are left reeling over this information. Stu is weirdly disappointed to find out Billy cheated on Sid.

("Really, Billy? Didn't you plan an entire murder all because your dad cheated on your mom? And then you had the nerve...?!"

"Stu, while I appreciate you coming to my defense, I find it... fascinating that you're fine with murder but infidelity is where you draw the morality line."

"It's the hypocrisy, Sid! And you didn't deserve that."

"You literally both tried to murder me."

"... not the point, Sid."

If Billy wasn't so flabbergasted at the time, he might have felt more ashamed and embarrassed.)

When Sidney realizes what house Sam is at, Billy & Stu stay with her as she rushes headfirst into danger. All 3 of them are a little sick at setting foot back in that house. Billy & Stu are downright disgusted when they realize the killers are once again The Boyfriend and The Friend. ("Have some fucking originality, I am begging these kids.")

Billy later ends up genuinely thanking Sidney for helping save his daughter. They laugh over the irony of it all. Stu thinks about how Sam reminds him a lot of Sid, weirdly enough. But also of Billy, in some ways. He doesn't say these things out loud. But he does feel oddly protective of the young woman.

And I honestly have no idea how or when to end this concept, it could theoretically go on for decades... but I'm def obsessed with the idea obviously. So, if you actually read through all this (thank you and) feel free to expand upon the idea.

Maybe one day I'll get my shit together and write it out in detail myself. But probably not. BUT MAYBE.

UPDATE: after tons of positive feedback and although I am absolutely shitting myself with nerves, I have officially posted the first chapter of The Ghosts of Our Past for anyone interested.

[casdeans-pie]

--- "Angel Erogenous Zones" ---

The middle of an Angel's neck, where their Grace can be extracted from - wouldn't that be a vulnerable, sensitive spot?

--------

It hadn’t been Dean's intention to be kissing Cas against his bedroom door, but as soon as it had slammed shut behind them that’s where they’d ended up.

There had been a desperate mix of gripping and pulling to draw each other in – and then suddenly they were on each other. Dean had both his fists full of trench coat, while Cas's hands had started on his shirt collar and slid up to the back of his head.

Dean had a fuzzy, vague realisation (his blood had far more interesting places to go than his brain) that Cas could be completely immovable if he wanted to be, so the satisfying slam of his back against the door was something that he’d let happen.

God, wasn’t that something.

Dean groaned aloud at that thought and Cas made a high breathy sound in response, like being able to make the other feel good left them in a never ending feedback loop of pleasure.

Their angle changed slightly, their bodies one long tight line of heat, as Dean reluctantly pulled his lips away to desperately breathe some air before he passed out.

Cas tilted his head back, baring the column of his throat, as Dean tasted it with his lips and tongue, while he got his breathing back under control. But Cas flinched violently when his mouth touched the skin below his chin.

“Sorry,” Dean said, freezing immediately. Even he could hear how wrecked and rough he sounded. He pulled back and searched Cas’s face – was he making sure he was okay, or looking for signs of regret?

Dean couldn’t help it when he placed a gentle hand on Cas’s cheek and wiped a thumb gently under his eye. They were both shining brightly with an inner light that seemed to swirl through what Dean could see of his irises (though they were mostly dilated pupil). He wanted to feel smug at the effect he’d had, but concern at the flinch he’d definitely felt overrode everything else.

Cas shook his head slightly and let out a long, shaky breath. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think I would react like that.”

“I- uh- I mean, I get it man, this is uh- kinda new territory for us and-” Dean tensed and went to move away, but Cas held him close.

“No, please... Please don’t think it was a reaction to this. To us. There’s a scar,” Cas explained, voice even lower than usual, “from when my Grace was removed and I became human. It never healed.”

Dean felt his whole body relax again in relief and he pressed in closer, just barely resisting the urge to kiss Cas again, to catch sight of the thin white scar straight across his throat. The lowlight of the bedroom caught the edge of the raised line, making it stand out slightly, and Dean felt a deep pang of sympathy. The hand he’d left still resting on Cas’s cheek slid down to his neck and touched the very edge of it carefully.

“Does it hurt?”

��N-No,” Cas said, his breathing speeding up as his eyes slid closed. Blue light escaped from between his eyelashes.

Dean blinked in surprise. Wait...

“Sensitive,” Cas added, “sensitive place for ah-angels.”

Oh.

Dean had slid a finger over the scar gently while Cas had been talking and now he understood his reaction before.

“Sensitive, huh,” Dean repeated.

The moment that his mouth touched the scar he heard Cas gasp.

He paused, giving Cas the opportunity to tell him to stop, but instead a hand returned to the back of his head and fingers dug deep into his short hair. Dean smiled, knowing Cas would be able to feel it, and added a gentle mouthing of teeth. Cas made a noise in the back of his throat that shot a bolt of want down Dean’s spine.

He bit down harder.

A hand slammed over Dean’s eyes that shielded him from a blindingly bright blue light bursting out into the room.

Dean laughed, his chest full of warmth, as he crushed their bodies even closer together to hide his face in Cas’s shoulder.

“Oh, Angel,” Dean whispered, as a tingling electricity accompanied the light and seemed to slide over and under his skin. He had the strangest thought that it felt like silky feathers.

The light finally faded and Cas thumped his head back against the door.

“So, turns out, angel erogenous zones are a thing,” Dean said, his voice rumbling deeply with affection and warmth.

“I’ll teach you mine if you teach me yours,” Cas said breathlessly.

“I can work with that.”

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[himbosandhardwear]

Slowly, like the way most things occur to Steve, he realizes that the way he and a lot of guys, probably most guys, talk about women is kinda gross. Kinda impersonal and objectable...no wait....objectifying. He loves that he can talk to Robin about chicks but as soon as he starts to say what he loves about them he realizes, though Robin likes girls, she is also a girl, and probably doesn't want to hear locker room talk. Which is when he starts to wonder if what he considers normal guy banter is actually gross douchebag banter.

"They're so warm," he says, which seems like a nice thing to say, neutral.

"I guess?" She frowns. "Guys are warm too though."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I mean, women don't have a monopoly on body heat."

"Right," he agrees. Except what he was really thinking was the heat on the inside. Again, gross. That thought then leads to another thought. A weird, why-am-I-thinking-about-this thought. That guys are probably warm on the inside too. Definitely. Definitely warm on the inside. Shit. That's weird.

He doesn't have anyone to talk this over with anymore. Dustin is too young. Jonathan is currently getting warm with Nancy, so that doesn't seem appropriate. Wait! He can talk to Eddie!

"Is it fucked up to talk about sex stuff with Robin?" He asks Eddie the next time they're alone.

"What?" He responds.

"Like, she feels like a bro, but she's not actually a bro, cause she's a girl. Normally I'd talk about hookups with a bro but she probably doesn't want to hear about that kinda stuff."

"I guess," Eddie agrees.

"I almost said some pretty gross shit to her the other day but I stopped myself, thank god."

"How gross?"

"Just that I like how warm girls are, but, you know, on the inside. Which would be totally fine to say to another dude but she probably doesnt want to hear that from me. And then I started freaking out because it's probably just gross in general to talk about girls like that? Do you and the band talk about shit like that or was it just my asshole friends from school and I'm only just now realizing how fucked up it is?"

"Me? No, I've never talked about girls like that."

"Ah fuck, I knew it."

"But I'm pretty sure they're all virgins, so..."

"Oh. Do you ever talk about girls with anyone?"

"......no."

"I guess that means I'm an asshole."

"You're not an asshole, Steve. Talking about girls seems like a normal thing to talk about with your friends. Maybe not Robin, she might beat your ass."

"We could talk about that kinda stuff though, right?"

"Uh...."

"Never mind. It's stupid."

"No, it's just- I mean. You could tell me whatever. I'm cool."

"Oh, okay."

They stare at their feet.

"Is this weird? It feels weird."

"I'm gay, Steve."

Steve blinks. "Oh! Okay, that's cool." His eyes light up. "Wait! You'd know, are guys as warm inside as I thought?"

Eddie has a small stroke. He has to let his face say the words his mouth can't.

"Shit, it's still weird huh? Damn."

"No. Uh. It's just...why were you thinking about that?"

"Robin said girls don't have a monopoly on being warm and I just thought yeah she's right, so it makes sense that guys are just as warm as girls. It probably feels the same I mean. You don't have to tell me, you know, if it's weird to ask."

"Not weird to ask. It's just...I have no idea."

"Oohhh," Steve says. "You're a virgin too?"

"No."

Steve frowns in confusion.

Eddie wants to bury himself under a slab of concrete but makes himself explain. "You see, when guys fuck, one of thems gotta be the...warm one...as it were."

The line between his eyes doesn't lessen.

"I'm a bottom."

Still, somehow, he doesn't get it.

"Oh my god Steve, I'm the girl!"

His mouth makes a little 'O'.

"Yeah. That's not exactly how I like to describe it but you looked like you weren't visualizing. So."

Steve is having some truly deep thoughts. He's never thought about being the girl before. Like, obviously girls like being the girl. He hopes so anyway. But he's wondering what's the draw of being the girl if you're a guy.

"And you like it?" He blurts out.

Eddie, who's been a deep shade of pink already, turns violently red.

"Yup."

"Huh. Guess it makes sense. Never thought about it before though."

"Well, yeah, why would you?"

"Hey, I'm pretty open minded!"

"Sure. But straight guys don't tend to think about taking it up the ass. You know, as a rule." (A/N Eddie doesn't know wtf he's talking about)

Steve takes this in and realizes a few things, faster than he's ever realized anything before. He's thinking about it. And he's curious. And he wants to ask Eddie what it feels like and why he likes it. And he wants to ask if it hurts and if the pain is part of why he likes it. Because he thinks he might like that.

Fuck.

Okay. He can be normal about this. Eddie said Steve could talk to him about sex. It's normal and fine.

"We should fuck."

[blackwolfstabs]

heh, how would Samantha react when reader is rubbing her arms, feeling her biceps? Saying “babe, you really need to wear tank tops more often”

hmmm... i think this answer would sound better written, so i hope you take this:

WHAT A GIRL LIKE ME WOULD DO FOR SOMEONE LIKE YOU

sam carpenter x g!n reader ficlet

Sam bowed against the countertop, her elbows holding herself steady while her folded hands pressed against the back of her head. Her upper body burned with the amount of exertion she gave during her workout. A complete 45-minute upper body workout didn't just leave her muscles burning... it left them burnt out.

Luckily, you took it upon yourself to help her cool-down. Your way, of course, in which you let your hands slide up and down the upper half of her arm to give her a post-workout massage. You applied the perfect amount of pressure to her biceps, feeling the muscles slide beneath her skin in sync with your pattern. It was your pleasure to do this, because the sight of her in a tank top always made you unable to keep from staring. It was a win-win, the smile on your face growing as Sam gave a gratified groan.

You chuckled as she dropped her hands from her head and went limp against the countertop. "Babe, you really need to wear tank tops more often," you suggested as you travelled down her arm again, generous with the gentle squeezes you gave.

A delighted hum answered your actions, before actual words did your comment. "So, you can do this more often?"

"Hey, don't act like you're not enjoying it," you laughed. "But, yes, I'd be more than happy to do this a lot more, and not just after a workout." You slid your hands all the way down to hold hers and bowed to place a kiss on her bare shoulder. "It's a win-win."

She gave an amused scoff, lifting herself from the counter to turn around and face you. "And then, a few weeks later, you'll be suggesting I go shirtless more often, right?"

A tempting grin pulled at your lips and you raised an eyebrow, "So, now you can see the future?"

She shrugged. "Or I'm a mind-reader," was her counter with the same amount of playfulness.

"What am I thinking right now, then?"

She didn't hesitate. "I love you."

And she was right.

───────────────────────────

i hope you enjoyed this, anon!

thank you for asking! 🩶

[imfinereallyy]

“Who was your first kiss?”

“Depends what you mean.” Steve hits the joint Eddie passed to him. They are sitting on the roof of the trailer, stargazing. It is the first clear night of summer. Steve feels lighter than he has in months.

“I'm not really sure if there is another way to ask that, Harrington.” Eddie laughs around the tip of the joint. “It's a pretty simple question. Besides, I thought this was secret time. No need to get shy on me now.” Eddie spins to his side dramatically, tucking his hands beneath his face. He stares at Steve with joy in his eyes.

Steve takes the joint, pulls, and huff smoke into Eddie’s face. A soft laugh escapes him. “Well, I mean, do you mean like the first real kiss? Or, like, when did I start practicing?”

“Practicing?”

“Yea like, figure out how to, and what its like before the real deal? So it doesn't count.”

“I'm sorry—” Eddie scrunches his eyebrows “—I’m confused. Why wouldn't it count?”

“Cause it was with a guy.” Steve shrugs because he doesn't think it's a big deal. He doesn't understand why Eddie is hung up on it.

But then, Eddie's face does this thing for a second. Like he isn't sure whether to be angry or sad, but then it relaxes. Instead, a look of puzzlement takes over his face. “Steve, it counts. Like—even though you're not attracted to guys, that still counts as a first kiss. It’s like—kinda hurtful you think it doesn't.”

Steve tilts his head and goes over what he said in his mind. He can't recall saying anything ridiculous like he does when he is high. “Okay, now I'm confused.”

Eddie stares and says nothing.

“No! Not like confused as in I don't get why your upset, but more like confused who said I was straight?”

In shock Eddie manages, “What now?”

“Never said I was straight. I just meant that if we're talking about first kisses, usually people mean a girl. So the guy doesn't count. Especially because I didn't know I liked guys then. Think even if I was straight this right here—” Steve waves a hand between the two of them “—is pretty homoerotic so I think straight went out the window.”

Eddie swallows, looks down at Steve’s lips, and looks back into his eyes. “There is so much to unpack there. But first, thank you for telling me. Second, Steve. That is like not how it works. Just cause a kiss is practice doesn't mean you didn't kiss. Like just cause you're hitting balls at practice instead of the game, doesn't mean you're not hitting them.”

Something settles in Steve. “Huh, I guess I never thought of it that way.”

Eddie grabs Steve by the shoulders. “I'm glad you understand, but onto more pressing matters. Who was this boy you practiced with?”

“Oh, it was Tommy Hagan.”

Eddie drops his hands in shock. “Hagan?! C’mon Stevie, I thought you had better taste.”

Steve giggles at Eddie’s antics. He can't help but take in how pretty Eddie is when he gets all worked up. It is unfair in Steve’s eyes. How someone can be so wonderful even when they are losing their mind.

Steve can't resist the urge to finally flirt a little. “He wasn't my type Munson. Like I said, just practice. Wasn't really into it. Pretty sure he liked it more than me. I think if I liked him, I would have figured out the whole bisexual thing a lot sooner. No, my type is definitely more in the dark curly hair nerd department.”

Eddie swallows nervously, “Nancy?”

Steve isn't offended by Eddie’s question. Steve knows he's scrambling, can tell by the blush on his face. Steve feels hope spark within his chest. “No, she's great and all, but I was thinking more masculine. With pretty doe eyes, a deep laugh, a kind soul, and horrible taste in music.”

Eddie sputters, and Steve watches his blush spread, “My music is great!”

“Hmmm, sure.”

“Hey Stevie? Do you feel like you need more practice?” Eddie leans in close brushing his nose against Steve’s with a sudden rush of bravery.

“No, i’ve had enough practice. Think I want the real thing.”

“Okay I want to be smooth but I have to google d response to that so I am going to kiss you now.” Eddie rushes out.

“Sounds perfect.” Eddie closes the gap before Steve can say anything else. Eddie tastes like salted chocolate and weed. It's sweet and musky and so very Eddie. It starts soft, the softest kiss Steve’s had, just plush lips pushed against each other.

It slowly builds to more. Steve’s hands travel up Eddie’s sides and into his hair. He wonders how a wild thing could be so, so soft. Steve gives a gentle tug, and Eddie moans deeply into him. Eddie’s hands grab Steve’s waist and yank him forward. His hands are to cause bruises surely, and the thought leaves Steve giddy. The sounds Eddie makes are getting desperate, which causes Steve to release his own moan.

Eddie doesn't waste a second taking advantage and shoving his tongue inside Steve’s mouth. He’s warm and wet, and oh God, Steve wants more, more, more.

After a few minutes, Eddie pulls back. “Wait, who did you really think was your first kiss?”

Steve rests his forehead on Eddie’s. He can't help but think his answer is a little funny. “Carol Perkins.”

“Wait, wasn't she dating Tommy?”

“Oh yeah. He was there actually. Kinda encouraged it to happen.”

Eddie looks torn between laughing and being disgusted. “Again, so much to unpack, but I don't think I want to touch that with a ten-foot pole. At least not tonight. Can we go back to making out?”

“Yes please.” Steve all but begs, a while releasing into the space between them.

They don't pull apart until their lips are swollen and their throats are raw from moaning. It’s Steve’s best first kiss yet.

---

originally this was more angsty and going to be more reflective on my personally experience of the very popular thought of “if my first kiss is with a girl it doesn't count” that I see a lot of bisexuals like myself (and other sexually fluid people...honestly an experience the whole LGBTQ+ community has) have. Like having that realization made me re-evaluate myself. But it ended up being more light hearted and using another experience of mine which is being out but refusing to count the first kiss because of who it was with. Steve and I...we have regrets. I still might write the other one, we shall see :)

[cod-dump]

John Price who hadn't ever considered the idea of getting married even after figuring out he's bi. In the years he and Nik were together it still held only a dim interest to him, and he knew it wasn't necessarily what Nik would have preferred, but they never butted heads over it. Nik would ask about it every few years or so, but never with much seriousness from what John could tell.

Suddenly, it's been three years since Phillip showed up and wormed his way into their relationship, and John's been... thinking. He's seen how happy Phillip is to have partners in them, and he knows Nik is in second Heaven about it. But he's also still seeing people approach them both when they're out at night, and hell, he's had to fend off advances too. It bothers him.

He caves. Fine, maybe he's still not 100% sure about the whole marriage thing, and it's not like 3 people can get married anywhere they live anyhow. But no one needs to get married just to wear rings, he tells himself as he carefully wraps the pair of small boxes while Nik and Phillip are out of the flat.

He knows it was the right thing to do when he watches Phillip's face light up like Christmas. Nik stares at his gift for a second before shaking his head and muttering something in Russian and disappearing into their bedroom. John has a few seconds to get a little nervous before Nik returns--with a small cardboard box that he puts down firmly in front of John.

Nik folds his arms and gestures for him to open it, so he does. Phillip bursts out laughing, and John puts his head in his hand while Nik explains to Phillip.

"I have been asking this ridiculous man about marriage every few years now for over a DECADE. And he says not interested! Not interested!!"

"How long have you had this?" John asks quietly, staring at the gold and silver band.

"NINE FUCKING YEARS, MY LOVE. Just in case you change your mind, you impossible man! But here! You do this?? Without so much as dropping hints??" He gestures to the gold band sitting in his gift box and the black and silver one already in Phillip's hands. "Unbelievable. Kate will be die laughing at me. Are you happy? She will die, John--"

"I didn't know!"

“It’s been so long…”

“Nik…”

“I’ve waited so long for this- My heart can’t handle this!”

“Nikolai-“

“I knew I’d have to wait for you to make the move but fuck I didn’t think it would take you this long!”

“Stop being dramatic- Phil breathe-“

[artiststarme]

Eddie hated feeling unsettled. He hated surprises and things he couldn’t prepare for. From the death of his mom to the arrest of his dad and every single sucker-punch he’d ever received, he hated all of the surprises he’d experienced.

And so, perhaps unsurprisingly, he had hated nearly every part of the entire week he spent on the run for a set of murders he didn’t commit and the rest of the week in an unfamiliar hell on earth. The worst Spring Break on the planet had shocked him in ways he didn’t think possible. Evil demon bats with a hankering for tattooed human flesh notwithstanding.

When he awoke in the hospital to sounds of beeping and a feeling of warmness from where Steve “the Hair” Harrington was holding his hand, Eddie started to think he might like being surprised after all.

He found that he didn’t hate the surprises that Steve presented him. The flowers left on the living room coffee table always brightened his day, even despite the hay fever. The blindfolds and trails to hidden picnics served to make him feel a love he’d never felt before. The Ozzy Osbourne tickets tucked haphazardly into his leather jacket’s pocket had him beaming for days.

And when Steve gracefully fell to his knee the day gay marriage became legal with a ring in hand and hope in his eyes, Eddie realized that he didn’t really mind surprises at all. As long as he kept seeing the smile on Steve’s face, he wouldn’t mind being surprised every day for the rest of his life.

(Except for the shocking moment Dustin walked in on them on a night they expected to be home alone. Eddie, Steve, and Dustin would much prefer to never experience that shitshow again.)

[feyd-meowtha]

Listen to me!... Gale and John as Billy and Stu from Scream (1996)

Gale who secretly hates his girlfriend Marge because her mother had an affair with his father, leading to Gale's mom leaving him alone with his abusive dad

One day he breaks down and tells John how he feels and they hatch the plan to murder Marge's mom. John does it half because hes into violence but mostly because he'd jump off a cliff to make Gale look at him for 1 second

Gale and John being best friends, John is loud and silly but everyone can sense there's something a little dark under the surface of Gale.

Gale thought that killing Marge's mom would make him feel better but he just keeps getting angrier so they hatch the plan to kill Marge (also to do all the rest of the film)

They fuck whenever they can and it's always, always rough and violent and obsessive

Obligatory weird homophobic 90s tension

John is head over heels in love with Gale. Like totally obsessed and Gale knows it and uses it to get him to do whatever he wants

Gale loves John... in his own twisted way... but he what he loves most is being able to string him along, control him, hurt him and own him. No-one can get in his head like Gale

John who lets Gale cut him and choke him and can't stop himself from staring even when they're at school. John who acts the clown and fools around just to feel Gale's eyes on him

John who sees red whenever Gale talks about Marge or he has to watch them together. Gale who loves to use that to taunt him

STABBING STABBING STABBING

Bonus: Curt as Randy (the movie nerd guy)

[chiliger]

Commander Cody finds himself in a galaxy that is not his own.

(Okay I had to repost this because my dumb butt deleted the original 🥲. If people don’t mind reblogging this post again I would really appreciate it.)

Ficlet under the cut.

The moment he had realized this wasn’t his galaxy, his dimension, Cody knew this meeting was inevitable. He’d hoped to avoid it, but that feeling in his gut always loved to prove him otherwise.

Standing before him was his face. And no, not the face of a brother. This wasn’t just one of the millions he had grown up with.

This was him. He could feel it.

An alternate version of him, with colder eyes and harder expression. But still, he was Cody. Or rather, he was Kote.

Cody swallowed down a dry lump in his throat, not allowing his own gaze to falter under Kote’s scrutiny. “Please,” he started, hoping that his voice didn’t waver. “I’m not supposed to be here. The Jedi… Our brothers are in danger.”

“Your brothers,” Kote shot back, eyes narrowed. The way he spoke the words sent a chill down Cody’s spine, as though being a Vod was something beneath him. “Why should I care what happens to them?”

Cody’s thoughts froze for half a second, then he blinked hard and shook his head to push pass the shock. Never in a millions years would he dream of hearing a clone say anything along those words, much less from himself.

But this was a version of him. This was Kote Fett, and he was obviously raised under the guidance and views of the Prime. Cody briefly wondered if Boba existed in this dimension before forcing his thoughts back on track. He needed to convince Mand’alor Kote, somehow.

“Look,” he half whispered. “You don’t have to help me. I can find my own way back. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Kote slightly tilted his head, and with it, Cody felt a sharp spike of heat in his head. He gasped and dug his nails into his palms, strengthening his mental shields at the same time as throwing back a spike of his own, causing Kote to stagger one step back.

“Kote,” Prime chided from the side wall, unmoving. It was short and clipped, but his tone carried a low warning with it.

Cody bit back a groan, the sudden headache making him lose focus for a moment. He breathed roughly past the mental pain, instead concentrating on the feel of the cuffs holding his arms up, digging into the skin of his wrists. It was something physical. He could deal with physical.

Kote let out a grunt in acknowledgment, making a quick cut sign with his free hand, the other holding his helmet. He gazed back at Cody, a glint of intrigue now in his eyes. “Huh,” he breathed out.

Cody stared right back, blocking out whatever feelings were suddenly directed at him. “Just… just let me go.”

Kote’s brow furrowed, just enough for Cody to notice. He stepped closer, until they were less then an arm’s length away, face-to-face. His eyes rove over Cody’s face, and Cody could feel him prodding at his shields for a weak point. Cody built up another layer, shutting Kote out.

The Mand’alor blinked, a flash of surprise there and gone. His eyes suddenly grew cold. He spoke, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “Now why would I do that?”

[steddiealltheway]

Idk where this came from but anyways

It's May 28th, and it's pouring outside. It's the type of rain that makes the housewives of Hawkins want to curl up and read a book, but instead they're yelling at their children to stop playing in the puddles and come inside. At least that's what Eddie imagines as the rain soaks through his clothes, drops clinging to his eyelashes and falling down his face - he desperately wishes they're not tears.

He doesn't know where he is if he's completely honest. He's been walking for a while now, trying to avoid those puddles but giving up when his socks become soaked just from being out in the storm. He kind of wishes he was home, but simultaneously wants to be anywhere else.

A car drives by him on the backroad and comes to a stop a few meters in front of him. It's almost comedic, the way the car comes to a stop then very slowly starts to reverse, as if the driver is talking themselves into whatever they're about to say to Eddie.

"Need a ride?" the driver asks.

Eddie brushes the wet hair out of his eyes and finds Steve Harrington of all people looking at him in concern. He scoffs. "I'd rather take my chances out here." Which is the exact moment that lightning strikes close enough that Eddie can feel the ground shake. It would be kind of metal if he wasn't shaking.

"Get in the car, Munson," Steve insists reaching over to push open the passenger side door. Eddie keeps walking. With the way the rain is pouring, he's surprised he's able to hear Steve curse under his breath.

The car slowly drives next to him, right window down causing the rain to likely soak the interior of the car. He doesn't know why Harrington cares so much. "I'm not going to leave you alone until you get in."

Munson raises an eyebrow. "That sounds pretty creepy, Harrington. You're not exactly helping your case." He treks on forward, hoping that Steve might take the hint and leave him alone. He hears the car come to a stop, and he's prepared for Steve to turn around and come back from wherever he came from.

Instead, his car door slams shut. Eddie glances to see Steve walking towards him. Eddie backs up. He's not threatened per say, but it's a natural response to whenever he sees a jock stalking towards him.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks.

"If you're not going to take up my offer on a ride, then I'm walking with you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, but he lets Steve walk alongside him. It's... weird, but weird in the way that it doesn't feel weird. It's almost like it feels... right. Eddie shakes his head. "Why are you doing this?" It's not like he knows him. He doesn't think he's exchanged a single word with the man until now.

"Maybe I needed the company, too," Steve replies. Eddie wants to argue that he doesn't want company, and he certain doesn't need it, but saying that feels like a lie even in his head.

They get a few more steps in before Eddie comes to a halt. Steve turns to him and waits. Eddie gives in with a sigh, "Let's go to the car."

When they get in, Steve reaches into his back seat and snatches two towels, handing one to Eddie before he wraps one around himself. Eddie is too afraid to ask why he had them in the first place.

They drive for a couple minutes without talking, but Eddie isn't one who can sit in silence for long so he asks, "Shouldn't you be at Tommy's end of year party or whatever?" He's certain he had heard people talking about it for weeks falling on this particular day.

"He and I aren't exactly friends so no." Steve doesn't give any further explanation, and there's no hint of regret in his tone. Eddie has no idea when that had happened but is glad to be out of the gossip loop of Hawkins High School.

"Okay, so go to Wheeler's place." Eddie wasn't far enough out to not know about the supposed power couple.

"She broke up with me, called our relationship bullshit, so I don't think that's really an option."

Okay, Eddie is officially not in the loop. This time he can hear the tightness in Steve's tone, and he tries not to dwell on the small voice crack that accompanied the word "bullshit." He glances over to see Steve's hand flex on the steering wheel, knuckles white. He feels almost bad for bringing it up, so he changes the subject. "Where are we going?"

Steve shrugs. "Anywhere that's not home." It's a simple statement but the weight of it makes Eddie want to ask a million questions about what could be so bad about the Harrington residence.

But everyone has their own shit they're dealing with, so Eddie agrees, "Anywhere that's not home." But a few minutes later, he knows exactly where he wants to go, was probably walking there without even realizing it. "Turn left here," Eddie requests, and Steve follows without question.

A few turns later and Eddie is asking Steve to park on the curb. He hesitates to glance out the window, the image outside makes his stomach churn. Steve glances to his left and takes his keys out of the ignition. He climbs out of the car to Eddie's surprise and leads their way into the cemetery.

After Eddie finds his ability to accept reality, he leads the way to the tombstone he tries not think about. Steve takes in a sharp intake of breath next to him as Eddie freezes and stares at the grave.

Elizabeth Munson January 13, 1947 - May 28, 1973

"I don't know why I wanted to come here," Eddie says honestly staring at the name and thinking about how his Uncle Wayne has been locked up in his room like he is on this day every year - flooded with the thoughts of his baby sister. "It's not like I can talk to her," Eddie mumbles out.

Steve asks, "If you could talk to her what would you say?"

Eddie freezes at the thought. What would he say? He speaks without thinking. "I'd say I miss her. That I love her even though I've nearly forgotten what her voice sounds like. That I stole her bottle of perfume after they found her, and I need to ask her what scent it is because it's nearly run out." Eddie chokes on a sob, not realizing he had even started crying.

Steve reaches out and laces his fingers between Eddie's as he continues. "I'd apologize for flunking my senior year but insist that I'm trying not to be like Dad. I'm really trying. I'm trying so hard, but I feel like I fail every day. I'd tell her that Uncle Wayne misses her and was a wreck without her but still managed to raise me. I'd probably scream at her though. Ask her why she ever went back when she promised she would stay sober for me. She'd promised..." he trails off with a sob, and the next thing he knows is Steve Harrington is pulling him into his chest, cradling him as he cries.

It's fucking embarrassing or it should be, but Eddie needs this more than anything in the world.

"I remember her," Steve says softly, voice straining. "She used to read at the library before..." Before she went back to Eddie's dad once he got out of jail, and he gotten her hooked again. Before she broke the promise she had kept for years to stay sober. Before her body was found by her own brother after a young Eddie had told him she had been sleeping all day.

"She was so kind to me," Steve says breaking Eddie out of his spiraling thoughts, hand running through his hair and gently untangling the wet curls. "She would sneak an extra candy for me any time I saw her. And I would always beg my mom to stay longer because Ms. Munson was the only one who did all the voices right. And she would get so loud while jumping on the reading chairs with the biggest smile on her face, not caring that the librarian was shooting her the most annoyed faces... You remind me of her, really."

Eddie's stuttering breath evens out as he remembers being in that same library proudly watching his mom and her theatrics. She had always been so unapologetically herself, and Eddie has wanted more than anything to be just like her. He squeezes Steve tighter and chokes out, "Thank you."

They stay like that for a while, Steve holding Eddie while he cries until he can't anymore. Both of them reciting the tales of the great Ms. Munson recalling the time she had accidentally knocked over a bookshelf when imitating a ballerina in the children's book she was reading. Eddie had never known that Steve had been there almost the whole time, but it's nice to finally meet someone whose memories of his mom aren't from the last months of her life.

It has stopped raining when Eddie pulls away from the embrace. He's sure his eyes are puffy and red and there's definitely some of his snot on Steve's polo soaked in water and tears. But Eddie finds that Steve's eyes are similarly glossy and pink, and for some reason it's endlessly comforting.

Steve asks Eddie if he's ready to go, and Eddie looks at the grave one last time before nodding. Steve intertwines their fingers and leads the way back to his car. The drive back is relatively quiet, but Eddie relaxes in the silence. Steve reaches over and holds his hand again which makes Eddie's chest tighten.

He wonders what's back at home for him, and what happened to change King Steve and make him so overwhelmingly kind and caring. But he doesn't ask, not wanting to stir up the memories of what he's trying to run away from.

As Steve pulls into the trailer park, Eddie easily directs him in front of his home. Steve parks the car and gets out before Eddie can say goodbye and pretend like this never happened for Steve's sake. Instead, Steve pulls him into another hug, but he buries his head into Eddie's neck, and it feels like he needs this more than Eddie does.

So, Eddie takes his turn holding him. Running a hand through his extremely soft hair which has him relaxing further against him. He pulls back reluctantly after a few moments and says, "Thank you."

Eddie isn't entirely sure what he's thanking him for when Eddie should be thanking him, so he replies, "Thank you."

Steve lingers in his space for a few seconds longer before squeezing his arm and giving him a smile. Eddie waves goodbye and walks back to his trailer, finding Steve waiting to make sure he gets inside okay. As he hears the car drive off, he wonders if maybe his mother sent Steve Harrington for him that day.

[quin-ns]

hey ! may i request some fluff with ethan landry where he thinks she’s asleep so he whispers i love you to her but she was actually awake? (can either be established relationship or not) you can decide how she reacts :))

im so glad i found your blog because you write for many of the things that i like and it honestly felt like i hit jackpot seeing your masterlist. feel free to turn down this request/change it up !!hope u are having a good day/night <3

aw well I’m happy you found me! 🫶

writing this as a quick drabble/ficlet bc I like the idea but can’t think of a whole fic lol- enjoy!

Whispers (Ethan Landry x Reader)

You weren’t going to the party at first, but all of your friends were going and you didn’t wanna feel left out.

Getting drunk wasn’t exactly the plan either. However, you were already getting your ass kicked by classes and you wanted to let loose.

Your friends encouraged you as they did the same, all of you keeping an eye on each other.

Except, you got a bit too far ahead and ended up having to leave your friends Tara and Mindy behind on the dance floor (aka, the frat house living room floor). You ended up on a couch nearby and closed your eyes, trying to zone out and not focus on the headache-inducing music.

Did it have to be so loud?

You felt someone sit down next to you and you heard a familiar voice ask you a question.

“You alright?”

You didn’t have to look to know it was your friend Ethan. You could tell his voice anywhere, the two of you were pretty close. You and Ethan liked a lot of the same stuff and it was easy to talk to him about pretty much anything.

You met him a while ago and coincidentally, his roommate was the brother to your friend Mindy. You all ended up hanging out in a group after realizing that.

“A little too drunk,” you admitted, your head lolling to the side. You opened yours eyes and found him watching you curiously. “And very tired.”

“If you’re tired I can walk you back to your place.”

You made a noise of disapproval.

“It’s so far off campus, I’d rather just sleep here.”

Sinking into the couch felt like a really good idea.

“My dorm isn’t that far,” Ethan suggested with a shy smile. “Chad won’t care and it’s a weekend so you don’t gotta worry about class.”

You did take him up on that offer.

“You’re so sweet,” you told him as the two of you entered his apartment. You laughed to yourself, feeling quite lightheaded. “And cute.”

Ethan smiled at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but it’s a secret, so shhh,” you told him. You had a pretty huge crush on him, but you’d tried to keep it under wraps in order to maintain your friendship. But your words were coming out before you could stop them.

God, you were tired.

“Well, you’re pretty cute too,” Ethan said, then quickly changed topics when you didn’t respond right away. “You can take my bed, I’ll crash in the chair.”

He pointed towards a sad little beat up recliner.

You snorted. “No way, we can share.”

Ethan and Chad didn’t have bunk beds, so it was easy to kick off your shoes and climb into his bed. Another day you might’ve been more graceful, but it looked so comfortable and you couldn’t resist. Ethan did the same, not even changing into pajamas.

The two of you laid side by side and you tried to bite back a smile at the thought of being in bed with Ethan.

You rolled to the side, facing the wall, and closed your eyes. You were insanely exhausted and drunk, and really, really wanted to sleep.

“Goodnight, Ethan,” you mumbled to him. “And thanks for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responded. There was a moment of silence where you thought he was going to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he just said, “Goodnight.”

You started to drift off to sleep, getting comfortable. Maybe ten minutes passed and you should’ve been asleep, but you weren’t.

“Are you awake?” Ethan asked softly.

You were right on the edge of falling asleep finally and you knew if you started talking, that would never happen. Whatever he had to say, you two could talk about it tomorrow.

“I guess you are asleep… and now I’m just talking to myself.” Ethan laughed a little and you tried not to smile. “That’s okay, you need sleep. I just wanted to say… I’m glad you trust me and that I can be here for you. I like being your friend, and I—I like you, y’know?”

It was quiet for a long moment. Your breathing remained steady and you thought maybe he’d closed his eyes and drifted off.

Instead, he rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm over your body.

“I really like you, actually. Like I lot… as more than just a friend,” Ethan continued in a whisper. You could feel his heart racing against your back and you tried to not let on that you were awake. “Maybe even love you, but that’s crazy, right? We’re not even dating and I think I’m in love with you…

You really wanted to open your eyes, but you didn’t want to embarrass him. He’d just poured his heart out, it didn’t seem like the right move to surprise him.

“I’ll tell you for real someday, if I can ever get the courage to ask you out.”

You hoped that was a promise that Ethan could keep. You liked him too—a lot—and hopefully that day he’d ask you out would come soon. You really wanted to see how things would go because you had a feeling that you could be in love him too.

[sapphic-bats]

How fucking bold can you be?

I mean, that was the question of the night, wasn’t it? Billy and Stu, pulling off a massacre. Billy and Stu, cornering Ms. Final Girl, Ms. Surviving Non-Virgin. The only one who makes it out of a horror movie, but wouldn’t this time. Billy and Stu, spitting free their motives — rather, motive — to the last living bastards in the house.

And yet, Billy was standing here, blanking at how bold Stu could possibly be. Besides all of the slaughtering that just occurred.

Sure, one moment he’s speaking to Sidney, the moment he’s been fuckin’ yearning to glean. The day he’s rued with wide eyes and set teeth forming an ugly-pretty smile.

And then, Stu comes up behind him.

It’s normal, actually. Nothin’ special. I mean, if you wanna get technical, they knew each other very well, on many levels. Among these levels included carnal, which- honestly, it didn’t take a genius to decipher. But hey, people weren’t usually on the hungry lookout for queers to disdainfully sniff at and pass by, were they?

So what, as Stu sidles up to him, the heat radiating off of him and right onto Billy? What’s the big bleeding fuss, as they’re ratting themselves out to a proclaimed dead-woman? Not that she sees, or cares.

But then, Stu presses forward, and oh, god.

It’s not something dirty, no, not exactly. It’s not outright lewd. But it is. It so is.

Because Stu’s leaning his whole self into Billy, front to back, cupping him in this upright-spoon. He’s pressing close, fitting to Billy like a lanky glove, and his body heat’s now flaring straight from within Stu, and soaking right into Billy.

It’s sick, and twisted, and downright fucking hot.

He notices it in the back of his mind, but it’s too damn right to be a coherent thought. Billy grins.

“Tell that to Cotton Weary.”

Stu’s got his chin rest on the back of Billy’s shoulder, on the mothering muscle of his scapula, so Billy can feel when his expression changes, roughly when Billy’s does. Now they’re both grinning like the madmen they are.

Large, soft hands slip up overtop his white shirt; grazing Billy’s waist, then stomach, then sweeping surely over his ribs, his pectorals. It feels fuckin’ great.

“You wouldn’t believe how easy he was to frame.”

Stu laughs, and it’s a rumble that buzzes against Billy’s back, like they’re some married couple stood standing straight up out of their domestic morning scene in bed.

Sidney hasn’t noticed any of this public shit, the acts of lustiness, of mutual pride in one another and themselves, respectively. Can’t believe he ever had to fake like he liked her. Thank the fading stars it’s over, it felt like forever that he had to keep up the act.

Stu caresses Billy, hands rubbing circles into his chest.

“Watch a few movies, take a few notes,” he tilts his chin down, nose gently ghosting against the base of Billy’s neck. He laughs again. “It was fun.”

As Sidney begins to lament the foolishness that she and her fallen friends had followed, Stu leans forwards — not much, because he doesn’t really have to lean far — and presses his lips into Billy’s skin.

He kisses Billy’s neck, and the boy almost falters. He almost turns his head to give Stu a better angle, so he can maneuver his mouth against the other’s. He doesn’t, but it takes a village to swallow back his urge.

He wasn’t quite sure what genre of a movie this made his life, but it was a movie he would fuckin’ watch.

[dudesrysly]

It’s a crazy theory but Bear with me. What if Buck is having a near-death experience with the kidnapping (assuming he’s the one getting kidnapped) and he’s just all alone in a basement somewhere and thinks this is it? This is how I die. No one’s here to help me anymore. I’ve always been alone and now I’m dying alone. He’s experiencing his worst fear and he’s hopeless.

Until, well, the 118 comes and rescues him, of course.

But what if he goes through it for just a short while? What if he thinks he has no one now? WHAT HAPPENS THEN?!

[wiseatom]

it's the first kiss, it's flawless, it's really something. it's fearless.

ok i am feeling fearless tonight, and thea byler first kisses are The Byler First Kisses so i am politely requesting a first kiss in the rain!

this was a VILE prompt to send in that i am so emotional about fearless (taylor's version) and byler and byler first kisses. i hate you so much. i hope you love it.

“Probably shouldn’t have taken our bikes, huh?” 

Will looks over at Mike, blinking rainwater out of his eyes – they’re standing under the awning of the entrance to the only bank in town, closed for the afternoon and completely free of any other miserable, rain-drenched suckers. The bikes in question are lying on their sides on the pavement, abandoned in their haste to get under cover. And Mike is completely soaked, dark hair plastered to his forehead and shirt clinging to hm probably just as uncomfortably as Will’s is sticking to his own skin, and he’s got this sheepish, guilty grin on his face. It had been his idea to take their bikes, hadn’t it? Something about we only have a few weeks left of this weather, Will and let’s enjoy the summer sun, Will and it’s only a twenty percent chance of rain, Will, we’ll be fine. 

Famous last words. 

“Well, it was only a twenty percent chance of rain,” Will points out, doing a bad job of suppressing a smile of his own. This one, though, is less in the realm of guilty, and more in the realm of, I told you so, idiot. "How could we have known?"

Mike shoves at him, a playful brush of wet skin on wet skin, and Will laughs. “Shut up,” Mike says, but he’s still smiling. He reaches a hand up, tangling his fingers in his hair as he brushes it up and off of his forehead, and Will immediately looks away, biting his lip – he shouldn’t think Mike looks cool right now. In actuality, Mike looks like a drowned rat; in actuality, Mike is the reason that they’re stranded here, soaked from the rain; in actuality, none of that makes Will want to kiss him any less.

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Mike is asking now, somehow heard over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the sound of all the blood in Will’s body rushing all at once to his ears. He crosses his arms over his chest, resolutely staring at the empty office building across the street, at the trees in boxed planters swaying in the wind – anywhere but Mike, willing his heart rate to go back to normal.

“Check your phone,” Will suggests, doing a very good job of keeping his voice even and steady. “Hot tip: if there’s a little rain cloud under the number, that means it’s still going to rain.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Mike is rolling his eyes. “Really living up to your name, o’ Will the Wise,” he says, and then presumably turns his attention to digging his phone out of the wet, gross pocket of his jeans – or at least, that’s what Will guesses he’s doing. He still won’t look at him, so he wouldn’t really know, but there’s a lapse in conversation that Will can only attribute to looking at the weather app. “It’s only going to last for another half hour,” Mike declares, affirming Will’s assumptions. 

Will lets out a scoff. “Let me see,” he says, more aggressive than he intends to be, but he doesn’t trust Mike’s assessment of the weather at the moment, thank you very much. Good thing Mike has no interest in meteorology, because Will would have way too much fun bursting that bubble. 

In a feat that has taken years of a mixture of natural talent and diligent practice, Will manages to avoid looking at Mike directly, instead just looking at the raindrop-smeared screen of his phone.  Fortunately for Will, Mike is actually right – the app does show that the rain is going to clear in thirty minutes, the forecast free of tiny thunderclouds for the rest of the evening. Unfortunately for Will, his herculean efforts of not looking at Mike are thwarted completely by standing so close to Mike that he can feel the body heat radiating off of him, and he literally jumps back, cheeks burning.

Smooth. He still won’t look at Mike, but he can tell Mike is looking at him, now. Great.

“You’re jumpy,” Mike comments, sounding amused. 

“I’m not jumpy,” Will barks back, rocking back and forth on his heels, which is almost jumping. He plants his feet to the ground instantly, standing as still as possible. 

“You are,” Mike says, taking a step closer to Will, who immediately steps away from him in – well, in a jumpy way. Damn it. “You’re like a little rabbit.” 

Will flushes something violent, his cheeks burning with it, and this is not what he had in mind when he was urging his respiratory system to act normally around Mike Wheeler, please, for once in our pathetic life. 

“I am not,” he says haughtily, still refusing to look at him. 

“You are,” Mike insists, reaching out to grab at Will by the waist. Will yelps and hops away from him, out from under the cover of the awning and nearly tripping over a nearby parking block. Mike laughs at him. “See?” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket and taking another step towards Will, who hops backwards out of his reach, involuntarily proving Mike’s point. “Bunny rabbit behavior.” 

“Because you’re trying to grab me,” Will seethes, no real heat to it, taking several steps back as Mike steps out into the rain after him. “Go away.” 

Mike only smiles wider, lunging for Will again with his arms stretched out. His fingers brush the wet fabric of Will’s soaked t-shirt, but on account of it being wet and Will once again jumping away from him, he doesn’t quite get a hold on him. 

“Bunny behavior,” Mike repeats, a gleeful sing-song, and Will flips him off. 

“I hate you,” Will spits out, dodging another grab attempt. 

“You don’t,” Mike says. 

“I do,” Will insists, letting out another yelp as Mike comes after him again. He does more than jump away this time, trying to beat the bunny allegations, and instead turns to run towards the other side of the parking lot. 

Mike makes a noise of protest, and Will glances over his shoulder to see Mike start after him. “Come back!” he calls out, following Will’s path through the parking lot, “I’m not agile enough for this!” 

“Not my fault!” Will yells back, though he’s not having much luck, either, the oil from the asphalt of the parking lot working together with the rain to make him slip and slide all over the place. Mike is working against the same conditions, but even with Will’s head start, Mike and his stupid long legs make the distance between them a lot closer than Will would like. “Oh my God,” he screams, jumping away from yet another close call, “get away from me, you freak!” 

“You’re just mad that I caught up to you,” Mike laughs, and then immediately slips in a puddle. It would be funny, except it sends him sliding forward, and his momentum is too quick for Will to react on time – which lets Mike crash right into him, grabbing at the clinging fabric of Will’s t-shirt for dear life. 

“Yes,” Will grits out, trying to squirm out of his grip, but Mike’s hold is firm, “I’m very, very mad. Let go.” 

“Nah,” Mike says, pulling Will closer and spinning them around, their sneakers sloshing with every step. Will grips onto Mike’s biceps, fingernails digging in for some sort of purchase on his wet skin, desperately trying not to topple over backwards and take Mike with him. “I like you right here.” 

They’re close – so, so close �� but Will won’t look up, fixing his gaze on Mike’s bony shoulder and the way his shirt clings to it, almost transparent. The rain beats down on them, flattening Will’s hair against his forehead and sending a cascade of water dripping into his eyes, but he doesn’t care. It beats the alternative. 

“You’re an idiot,” he accuses Mike’s shoulder, furiously blinking against the onslaught of rainwater. 

“You like me, anyway,” Mike answers easily, fondly, hopefully. “You like me so much.” 

Despite himself, this makes Will tip his head back to look up at Mike, rain be damned, because that’s not the way a friend says those words. And that’s certainly not the way a friend looks at a friend, either. 

Will blinks, and the entire day restructures itself in Will’s head: Mike, calling him at noon, insisting he find his bike, because he’d be over in twenty; Mike, almost crashing into a fire hydrant, because he’d been too busy looking at Will to pay attention to where he was going; Mike, paying for his meal at the burger joint they’d gone to for lunch, a normal occurrence; Mike, constantly tapping his foot against Will’s beneath the table, brushing Will’s ankle with his toe, something that’s never happened before. 

And then there was Mike, insisting they go grab ice cream and share it, so that they could get the most bang for their buck; and there was Mike, offering his same spoon to Will, waving off Will’s halfhearted concern about germs; and there was Mike, lying back in the grass with him, his body angled towards Will as he let Will ramble about the portfolio he’s preparing for his college admissions; and there was Mike, who offered to bike back with Will all the way to his house, even though it was in the wrong direction from Mike’s own. 

This entire day has been a date. He payed for Will’s food, and played footsie with him, and shared his ice cream, and happily listened to Will rant, and chased him in the rain, and, and – Mike took Will on a date, and Will didn’t even notice until right now. 

Maybe they’re both idiots.

“I do,” Will says now, squinting up at Mike through the rain. He lifts one of his hands from Mike’s bicep to Mike’s hair, ignoring the way that it shakes in favor of pushing Mike’s hair back off of his forehead again. He lets his fingers card through the wet strands, traveling from Mike’s hairline all the way around his scalp so that his hand is resting at the nape of Mike’s neck, its tremor slight, but still there. His voice is steady, though. Braver than he feels. “I do like you so much.”

Mike’s hold on him tightens, pulling Will forward so that their torsos are pressed up against each other, and any and all nerves get washed away with the rain. Holding tight onto that courage and running with it, he uses his grip as leverage to pull Mike’s face down to his, stands on his tiptoes, and brings Mike’s mouth to his.

The first thing Will registers is that wet, the rainwater catching between them, but as Mike’s mouth moves against his, gently pressing for something beyond the static stack of lips on top of lips, the kiss bursts with new sensation. Mike’s mouth is warm, stark but welcome against the chill of the rain, and the strawberry flavor from his ice cream from earlier makes itself known in the next brush of their lips, bringing a sweetness Will hadn’t expected. It’s soft, slick, sweet, and somehow – shy yet fearless, all at once. 

Will lowers himself back to the ground, breaking the contact but bringing Mike down with him. He holds his face close and just breathes him in, all sweet strawberry breath and the fresh muskiness of petrichor and somewhere beneath them both, that same generic bath soap Mike’s mom has been buying for him as long as Will has known him. It’s a mix of old and new and Mike, Mike, Mike, and best of all, it’s his. It’s his. 

“For the record,” Mike says, his breath fanning out across Will’s face, and through the haze, Will wonders why he was trynig to get away from Mike earlier when this is so much better, “I like you so much, too.” 

Will smiles, big and wide and bright enough to banish the storm clouds, but he doesn’t want them to leave. He’s not ready to give this moment up, not yet.

“Good,” he says, bringing his other arm up to wrap around Mike’s neck. Mike’s thumbs brush at his hips through the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, and Will shudders, the feeling soaking him to the bone in a way the rain could never hope to manage. “Kiss me about it.”

And as certain as the rain falling down all around them – Mike does, and does, and does. 

[riality-check]

It starts, as always, with the bees.

They’re what the locals talk about. If you go into town, especially in the summertime when the air is dry and the sun is hot and any scrap of shade or breeze feels like a five star hotel, the locals talk about the bees. The swarms, the droning, the lazy flutters in the gardens and near the porches. 

If you see bees in Hawkins, Indiana, they say, they’re from the Lab.

The Lab isn’t actually a lab. It’s a derisive nickname for a community five miles outside of town; through the woods, near the woods, in the woods, they’re not really sure. No one from Hawkins goes further than the little sign on the dirt road to and from.

Honey Haven. An experimental community founded on trust, cooperation, and the goodness in all men’s hearts. Est. 1966. Population: 565. Settlement: five miles east.

“Experimental” was all it took for the locals to come up with the nickname. They’re a practical group - farmers, workmen, store owners - and not a creative one.

Steve nods politely and gently shoos a bee away from his face as he listens to the chief of police complain, for the fourth time in the two days they’ve been here, about being barred entry and denied warrants, about nearly being arrested himself when he tried to sneak in.

“Something is wrong about that place,” he insists.

“We know that, chief,” Robin says. “That's why we’re here.”

Well, it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is that they’ve been asking enthusiastic locals for nearly six months now for help. They’ve asked the mailman for what mail he delivers there (beekeeping supplies and letters in, but few letters out), the garbage collector for what they throw out (wood, clothes, a whole lot of paper), and some bored housewives to root through the phone book and call the main line (a cheerful voice answers and promptly starts asking what got them interested).

All in all, it’s fishy. Maybe not as concerning as their client made it out to be, but worth paying a visit. Worth seeing what the deal is.

Worth meeting Eddie Munson, whose worried uncle hired Steve and Robin to investigate his whereabouts after not hearing from him for a year.

“They limit communication,” the chief - Hopper, his name tag says - “but they’ll let you come and go at first. We’ll be able to get more letters in than out.”

“We know,” Steve says, shooing another bee off of Robin. “We got this.”

“I really hope so.”

They say their polite goodbyes and start walking down the road. No cars in the settlement, they’ve learned. Too much noise, too much pollution. They hurt the bees.

Steve and Robin walk five miles down the dirt road in the middle of the afternoon in July. They’d speak, ordinarily, fill the silence with jokes and stories and laughter, but silence is nowhere to be found.

The droning of bees from swarms unseen fills the air, and Steve thinks, while fanning himself with his hands, that the sound could swallow him whole.

Part 2. Part 3 (background lore)