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bvtbxtch · 7 months

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On The Line | Eddie Munson

Day Seven of Kinktober

Summary: Pumpkin Pie is back on the menu at Hank's Diner. What happens when the new waitress needs to stay with the Jaded line cook to prepare for fall festivities?

wc: ~4.3k

Pairings: Linecook!Eddie Munson x Waitress!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! This is porn with a plot. Thigh riding, public sex, sloppy sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), fingering, dry humping, overstimulation if you squint, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap the willy), sex in a kitchen (if you work at a food establishment please don't do this ever), this is taking place in an AU where the events of ST4 didn't happen

In collaboration with the lovely @darknesseddiem! Please keep an eye out for their prompts starting Oct 16!

A/N: my apologies this is a day late. I had to work all day and then had a wedding to go to! So you'll have two posts to look forward to today!!

You wish that you had a different life. You had lived in the quiet town of Salem, Indiana. You wanted to move to the big city but the closest you could get was sleepy Hawkins, Indiana, a mere 60 minutes out of the Indianapolis city limits, but the exact same font as your southern Indiana town. The only job you could manage to get was at the highway diner leaving town. You had friends, sure, but you had dreams and aspirations bigger than Hawkins; maybe that’s why you had such animosity towards your job. You always had the overnight shifts, as others that worked there had kids or other commitments. The only respite to these “Red Eye” shifts ( as your boss Murray had called them) was the cook you often found yourself working with. He didn’t talk to you much, and the most he had offered was a tight lipped smile and a “hi” to your nightly greetings or a "you're welcome when you thank him for putting your orders up as soon as he could . You had heard of Eddie Munson before, but from what you could tell, most things you heard weren’t true. You had worked with him on and off for almost a year and never thought he was an alcoholic satanist who may or may not have murdered someone. He was effortlessly handsome: his curly brown hair was always tied back in a low bun. His pale skin was highlighted with a soft sheen of sweat and a rosy blush. You often saw his lower arms adorned with black blotches of ink and he rarely went to work in his cook whites - opting for a pair of relaxed black jeans, a band tee and a white apron. You were intrigued, getting to know Eddie Munson was going to be the excitement you needed.

The blazing sun of September had cooled off and the crisp breeze of October was a warm welcome. You put your sheer black tights on underneath your pale yellow dress. You straightened your skirt out and patted some rose pink lipstick on your lips. You were ready for another slow shift at the diner, but you weren’t complaining. You had made some progress with your growing infatuation with Eddie Munson. He had put your order up under the heat lamps and you thanked him by name last week. You saw his cheeks grow redder than normal and he nodded at you shyly. A couple days later, Eddie had taken your order for your own dinner: pancakes with some syrup and whipped cream. He had put it under the heat lamp and backed away to his flat top. To your surprise, you picked up your plate to see strawberries and whipped cream fastened into a smiley face on your stack of flapjacks. You felt your heart drop to your stomach in appreciation. You leaned over the heatlamp to yell a thank you to the boy, he had retorted with a “you’re most welcome, Y/N.” He knew your name! Between then and now, there had been fleeting looks, some lingering touches at the window and a really great conversation about the town’s record shop when the two of you took your smoke break. You were excited and hopeful for your interactions tonight. The diner had been slowing down and there had been more and more opportunities to chat. For your sake, you wanted there to be no customers at all.

You swung the diner doors open and the smile faded from your lips when you saw Murray sitting at the front counter, no one else in the restaurant.

“Good news, doll!” Murray sang to you. “You’re off the clock tonight. Diner’s closing because we gotta revamp the new fall menu. Pumpkin pie for everyone!” Murray declared as he spun himself off the stool and past you to the door. Eddie pushed through the swinging doors and behind the bar.

“Yeah, smarty pants over here ordered 20 boxes of pie shell mix for this week, not 2… So I have 60 pies to make before this shit goes bad.” Eddie grumbled.

“So Eddie is taking the lead and you get the night off.” You were wracked with disappointment. You hated to admit the hold that the metalhead had on you - especially to him and your boss. But a night alone at the diner with him might be what you need to get him on your good side.

“I’ll stay and help!” You offered. Eddie’s glowing brown eyes met yours and both of you instantly looked at the floor. “My grandma and I used to make pies all the time. Plus if I’m in the way, I can get other prep or cleaning done.” Eddie ran his hands through his hair, a soft smile appeared on his face.

“I mean…. Usually when I offer a day off it's taken with a ‘thank you, Murray’ but whatever… if you wanna work, it’s your funeral.” With that, Murray had strutted out of the diner and to his convertible in the parking lot. You locked the door behind him and turned to Eddie with a shy smile.

“It’s crazy that he still drives a convertible in this weather.” You offered. Eddie responded with a small chuckle.

“Have you ever been in the back before?” Eddie asked as he turned to retreat back into the kitchen, encouraging you cautiously to follow him. You pushed through the stark white swinging doors after him.

“Ah, no actually. Only stuff I’ve seen is through the bay window and the heat lamp.” You admitted. Eddie spun around to look at you. It was the first time you were in his space and you felt vulnerable. His chocolate brown eyes studied your face. His stare was intense, you couldn’t help but look down to the floor. Little did you know, his stare was full of wonder and admiration at his beautiful invader of his space. Eddie cleared his throat and turned away from you again, leading you further into the stainless steel kitchen.

“So… I have all the boxes of the dough mix in the walk-in” Eddie gestures to the small oven sitting under the flat top. “And this… is what we’re working with tonight. So, it’ll take a while for all of our shit to bake.” Your eyes widened at the tiny apparatus before you. It really was going to be a long night of work. You were excited to be in close contact with the man before you. The back kitchen was like an alley, long but skinny. You now understood why they only had one cook on the line at a time.

“Do you want me to help you get everything mixed up?” your confidence was dwindling quicker than you would have liked to admit. “Or I can just restock stuff and do other prep-”

“No! No- ahem. A hand would be really great. Then I can help you out while the pies bake.” Help you out, you wish he would. Your heart was in your butt as you nodded at him.

You spent the next hour helping Eddie unload and divide the dough mix into servings, he insisted that he lift the boxes to you because they were heavy. You didn’t mind though, getting to sneak peeks at his lightly toned biceps flex under the weight of the boxes. You felt the room getting warmer and warmer each time you secretly raked your eyes over the book. You worked mostly in silence, until Eddie worked up the bravery to ask you a question while he brought in the last box.

“So… you’re obviously not from around here.” He said.

“Obviously? What makes it so obvious?” You giggled.

“Well the fact that I didn’t see you in school at all… and the fact that there’s just something different about you.” You looked up from the bowl you were currently sifting the last bit of mix into. Eddie’s cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in his eyes. You didn’t miss how his eyes flitted to your lips briefly. He smiled back at you and turned to the fridge to grab eggs and butter.

“What about you? You've been in Hawkins for a while? I don’t see you at any parties or anything” You implored. You knew that answer already. Your neighbor across the hall warned you about one Eddie Munson when you told her about your new job. "The Freak of Hawkins High” had followed him, even after 3 years of being graduated. You prodded her for more information. She had been a year ahead of him, but told you about how he had a reputation for sleeping with girls who couldn’t get off with their boyfriends. One party Chirssy Cunningam’s boyfriend had walked in on her fucking Eddie in the bathroom and Jason made Eddie’s life a living hell after that. After graduation he flipped his principal the bird and told the rest of the kids in his class to fuck themselves. No one really saw him out after that, keeping his life in recluse. After Eddie had been shut out, apparently girls would flock to his house to have their escapades and brag about how weird and dangerous he was. You had heard your fair share of rumors in your own small town, but you were smarter than you were then. You knew not to trust anything flying around until you could make your own opinions.

“Ummm.. yeah. Unfortunately I have.” The mop of curls let out a dry laugh. “Hawkins hasn’t been too nice to me, I just don’t have the funds to get out of here, you know? That’s why I work almost every day of the week, haha. I have nothing else to do with my time.” You can sense that Eddie was retreating into his own world, feeling comfortable enough to share secrets and sighs with you, things that he hasn’t told anyone. He caught himself though. He looked up at you like a deer caught in headlights, expecting you to turn your nose up at him, but you looked at him with genuine sympathy and understanding.

“I get it. This was as close as I could get to the big city. It took me forever to leave Painted Hills.” Eddie probed you for a reaction. Your eyes clouded over as the lifetime of sour memories flashed in front of your eyes. You and Eddie both knew that you were treading into dangerous territory.

“Alright, enough serious talk, this is supposed to be fun” he winked at you. You both traded stories of your childhood and interviewed the other about favorite music and foods and books. Eddie didn’t necessarily look it, but he was intelligent, and a natural conversationalist. You peered up at the clock after what seemed like 10 minutes of talking. The clock read 10:46pm. You looked down and realized that the two of you had almost completely finished kneading the dough and filling it into trays.

“Holy hell, it’s already been 4 hours?!” You chuckled.

“Seems like time flies when you’re having fun.” You stared in bewilderment at the boy’s blooming confidence. Earlier he wouldn’t say anything but two words to you. You and Eddie mixed and filled the pies and began putting your first rounds in the oven.

Eddie had nudged your arm with his elbow as he grabbed two more pies to bake, he walked back to the oven, his eyes not leaving yours. You looked down at the floor with a smitten smile. When you looked back up at the boy on the other side of the kitchen from you, his smile was replaced with a nervous frown. You held your breath in anticipation. Did you do something wrong? Eddie took a few steps towards you, close enough to touch him, but he was sure not to invade your space. What a gentleman.

“You… umm.. You have some dough on your face…” Eddie gestured softly to your cheek that had been smeared with a small swipe of pie dough. You gasped with a small ‘oh’ and swiped the back of your hand over your cheek. Eddie let out a short laugh.

“You made it worse.” You giggled at him with a small ‘oops’. Your smile was contagious to Eddie. He saw your bright eyes crinkle as you smile and he couldn’t help but copy you. He bit down on his lip to stop him from laughing.

“Can… can I get it for you?” Eddie’s smile faded quickly. He took one more step towards you. You could smell the faint remnants of his musky cologne he had put on before work. You nodded your head slowly. Eddie studied your face, desperate to remember every detail of your face in case he never got the chance to be this close to you again. He sheepishly raised his hand to your cheek and swiped the residue away with his thumb. You felt your skin erupt in goosebumps at his touch. You felt electric shocks where Eddie’s skin connected with yours. Eddie’s eyes glued themselves to your lips as he moved himself closer. His breath fanned over your face and you thought you could faint.

“I’ve heard what they’ve said about you,” you whispered. Eddie froze. His eyes met his, they were full of panic. He began to back away from you but you placed your hands on the sides of his neck and pulled him back to you.

“What-”

“And I don’t care. I don’t give a shit what anyone says about you.” You ghosted your lips over his, giving him an opportunity to push you away. He snaked his hand to your cheek and pulled his lips to yours. You quickly moved together and the kiss sent molten heat to your core. Eddie was beautiful, sure, but he seemed unobtainable. Now that he let you in, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back. Luckily for you, Eddie was in the same predicament.

Eddie’s hands quickly found purchase at your hips, pulling you into him like he was attempting to intertwine your bodies into one. You moaned into Eddie’s mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Your tongues danced together seamlessly, both of your chests heaving for breath. You pulled away to look at the boy in front of you. His eyes had turned from a golden brown to almost black, clouded with need and lust. Eddie pinned you up against the wall kissing you until you felt silly. He lifted your leg around his waist, giving him better access to feel you on him. You were a moaning mess from the friction Eddie’s jeans were giving your clothed pussy.

“Eddie” you hissed. The sensation left your body begging for more. More. More.

“That feel good?” Eddie cooed. You looked like a piece of art against him - a mewling masterpiece. God, he wanted to hold you like this forever. All of his invisible pining for you, the longing looks, the sleepless nights longing for you; everything had bubbled up in this moment and Eddie needed to restrain himself from devouring you whole. He had hoped he would have you literally anywhere but his kitchen, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Eddie” you gasped. You needed more of him - all of him. You bucked your hips against his, pushing moans out of both of your mouths. Eddie trailed his kisses down your cheeks to your neck. You moaned bashfully as Eddie bit down on your pulse point. He pulled away from you and looked into your eyes with a smirk.

“Don’t be quiet for me, doll. It’s just us. I wanna hear how good you feel.” Eddie’s purrs sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He pulled himself onto the counter, pushing himself up to sit on it, while he pulled you into him, slotting his thigh against your needy core.

“Come on, babe. Show me how good you feel. Make yourself feel good.”

You tentatively ground your hips down on the lanky boy’s thigh. The friction you felt was delicious, addictive. You couldn’t help but grind down harder on him, your melodic sighs and moans were music to Eddie’s ears. He felt like he could cum in his jeans if he didn’t focus on holding himself back. His hands migrated to your hips, guiding you harder and faster onto him. He could feel your warmth through his jeans. He was so ready to hear you come undone for him. Your noises got louder and higher pitched.

“E-eddie” you whined. God, his name sounded like a prayer falling out of your mouth, his new favorite song.

“What is it, honey, you gonna cum for me?” Eddie teased you. You violently shook your head. Eddie’s grip became bruising as he stopped your movements. You cried out in desperation, you could feel the beginning waves of your orgasm on the peak of arrival. You looked at Eddie with a confused huff. Before you could register what was happening, Eddie had switched your spots. His strong arms wrapped around you and your uniform’s skirt now hiked up around your waist. Eddie slid down the counter to his knees. His eyes were dark and pleading.

“I need to taste you. Please” His hands hovered over your thighs, desperately waiting for your response.

“Please, Eds. Please.” You squirmed in your seat. If you weren’t so fucked out already, you might be embarassed for your desperation. But you felt so good, you were so entangled in the moment you didn’t care. All you could think of was Eddie.

Eddie’s hands trailed up the tops of your thighs and trailed over your core. He hastily dug his fingers into your fishnets and tore, making a remark about your ‘fucking tights’. His strength only sent more waves of heat to your pussy, more than ready to meet Eddie’s embrace. Eddie could see how excited you were through your purple lacy panties that were stained with a deep wet patch.

“Fuck… so wet, this all f’me?” Eddie smirked up at you. You bit your lip and tried to close your legs with no avail. Eddie kept his large hands on your inner thighs, preventing you from closing me out. He let out a small tsk. Eddie hooked his fingers into the offending garment and pushed them to the side, putting your pussy on display for him. Eddie let out an animalistic moan; it was getting harder for him to control himself. He took a long lick up your slit, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands flew to Eddie’s hair to ground yourself. Eddie flicked expertly at your clit sending you hurling close to orgasm yet again. Eddie thought you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He explored every part of you, moaning into you, making your thighs shake. He could tell you were close. He stuck his middle finger into your weeping hole and curled. Your eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, your orgasm was threatening to boil over and the only thing you could manage to do was scream out Eddie’s name. Eddie found your G-spot with ease and rubbed against it, throwing you over the edge. You saw stars as waves of hot pleasure took over your body. You had no control over the tremors that rushed through your limbs. Eddie moaned into you as he worked you through your high. You had to pull Eddie by his hair to get him off of you, the overstimulation pushing past the boundary of pain from pleasure. Eddie rose to his feet and took you in: you had a light sheen of sweat beading on your forehead, your mascara had smudged slightly under your eyes, your lips were swollen from his kisses and your neck was a constellation of hickeys. He needed you fully. He had no idea what he would do if the two of you walked away from your shift tonight and never saw each other again.

“Y/N I…. I need you.” Eddie’s voice softened. His eyes clouded with lust still, but longing and desire glared back at you.

“Take me, Eddie.”

Eddie’s mouth was back on yours, the tang of your essence still on his tongue. It made you moan into Eddie's mouth. The metalhead fiddled with his belt, never leaving his mouth from yours. It was your turn to turn primal. You gnawed at Eddie’s bottom lip and mashed your tongue with his. You both felt like you might pass out from lack of oxygen, but thought it would be much worse to not be on each other. Eddie shoved his jeans past his hips and free’d his achingly hard cock with a sigh. He grabbed your hip with one hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He rubbed his tip through your sensitive folds, eliciting moans from both of you.

“Fuck, babe….” Eddie clenched his jaw, determined to ride out this high for as long as he could. He slid himself into you slowly. He was large, larger than you had ever been with and the stretch made you feel so unbelievably full.

Eddie pushed gently until he was fully sheathed. He could feel himself growing overwhelmingly hot. His cheeks had turned from his usual shade of light pink to red. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He had been white knuckling your hip and the counter.

“Move Eddie, please, god move.” You encouraged. You wanted - needed Eddie’s cool to break. You wanted him to ruin you. Eddie slowly pulled himself all the way out and pushed himself back into your needy hole. You cried out in pleasure; his pace was slow, but ruthless. Every thrust hit your cervix encouraging your second orgasm of the night. Eddie was biting his lips so hard that it looked like it was going to split and start bleeding. His eyes were transfixed on where the two of you met. You cupped Eddie’s face to bring his gaze back to yours. You felt so good, and didn’t know how well you could take him, but you could tell he was still holding back. You pulled your lips to his ears and whispered gently to him:

“Give me everything, Eddie. I want you to give it to me.” You heard Eddie’s breath hitch and get caught in his throat. He pulled back and studied your face. There was zero hesitation in your stare, only devotion and encouragement. Eddie’s brain short circuited. Eddie grabbed your neck and squeezed as his brutal pace picked up. You felt light headed - the only thing you could see was Eddie’s determined visage and the only thing you could hear was the pornographic sounds of Eddie’s balls hitting your ass. You closed your eyes in pleasure, but Eddie shook you back to him.

“Look at me. Eyes on me.” He growled. His face twisted in animalistic pleasure. You let the small rasps of your breath escape around Eddie’s vice. Eddie pulled out of you completely, making you whine at the loss of contact. Eddie pulled you off the counter by the neck and turned you around so your back was against his toned chest. Eddie pushed your head down so you were bent over the cool counter. Eddie’s large hands slapped down on the curves of your ass before filling you back up. You couldn’t help but yell an ‘oh my god’ as Eddie began pounding into you.

“Not god, doll, just me.” he huffed with a laugh. Your body was on display for Eddie and the more he watched himself disappear and reappear into you, the closer his own release got. He could feel you clenching down on him; you must be close.

“Can you give me another one, sweet? I want you to cum with me okay?” Eddie could barely get the words out of his mouth without the knot in his abdomen snapping.

“Eddie… I-I can’t” You were so fucked out and overstimulated you had no idea if your body could handle any more sensation. To your surprise, Eddie’s arm snaked under your hips to meet your sore clit. He rubbed soft circles into you in rhythm with his intense thrusts. You grabbed onto the edge of the counter and began to hyperventilate. You thought you were going to combust.

“Come on, babe. You can do it. Cum for me,” Eddie wanted his commands to sound encouraging, but he was desperate. However, with his permission your second orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train. You couldn’t feel your legs. You screamed out, unable to feel the difference between pain and indulgence - but you didn’t want it to stop. Your pussy had Eddie in capture, squeezing down on him unthinkably hard. His hips stuttered but he kept on his assault, desperate to cum just as hard as he made you. Like you, Eddie’s orgasm hit him with little lead up. He grabbed your chest to pull you up to him. Eddie whimpered into your ear as you milked him for everything that was in him.

In a flurry of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, you and Eddie stood in silence, basking within each other’s embrace. Begrudgingly, Eddie pulled out of you and pulled his pants back around his slender hips. You straightened yourself out and tucked your underwear back into their normal spot, preventing the remnants of Eddie’s orgasm from leaking down your leg. You guess you still have some work to do. You turn around and look at Eddie as he finishes buckling his belt. He met your glowing complexion with a lovesick grin. You felt like you could stay like this forever, basking in his glow; and he felt the same for you.

The smell of smoke and burnt pumpkin snapped the two of you out of your trances.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie yelps. You both rush to the other side of the kitchen to the small oven now leaking gray smoke. Eddie threw open the oven door and was greeted by a billow of smoke. You grabbed at some rags to wave the smoldering cloud away. Eddie the remnants of two very charred pumpkin pies. He looked at you with a bellowing laugh.

“Guess we’ll be down a couple of pies.”

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roosterm3attrash · 2 months

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101 ways to kill Barney Calhoun

I ended up making this list by going through multiple servers and people so here cuz I found it in my phone notes

Anyway the brilliant minds of the half-life fandom

1.) Waited pressure plate with tnt under it

2.) im going to leave mines under his mattress

3.) i’m setting a rake on his floor so he steps on it and whacks his face

4.) I'm giving him a bomb disguised as a cigar

5.) barney death 3: he ate what elvis presley ate….

6.) I would kill Barney Calhoun by slapping him so hard on the ass that it gives him cardiac arrest

7.) I drop him onto a pit of venomous snakes

8.) Im going to give Barney a beer but instead of beer it will be filled with deadly neurotoxin

9.) “now gordon, ive been keepin an eye out on this combine hideout for a while. they seem to walk in a certain pattern when crossing over to the entrance, which makes me think theyve buried mines all over the place. now, ive memorized the pattern, so im just gonna sneak on over, and you follow my lead, alright? dont worry, i know exactly where all the mines are.” and then he explodes

10.) that one episode of sponge bob where he eats the exploding pie and explodes

11.) set up tripwire then he falls into a tiger pit

12.) I type kill npc_barney into console

13.) slap the boobies off his chest so hard them fly around the world and hit the side of his head like water balloons

14.) i could marry him and slowly feed him mercury over a span for 3 years until he dies of mercury poisoning

15.) He tries to become a wwe wrestler but gets killed in a freak accident mid match

16.) I would kill him by making him a pizza but it’s covered in big chunks of lead but it’s hidden in the sauce and it’s a Chicago style pizza

17.) bring him to a highway and kiss him so hard he gets knocked onto the road and gets ran over

18.) Peeling him apart by the dna strand and eating it like spaghetti

19.) barney gets trampled by a stampede of horses

20.) giving him under the counter off brand viagra

21.) put him in a washing machine and turn it on

22.) shark attack

23.) pit of sharks

24.) barney gets criticized so badly he dies

25.) barney sits in an uncomfortable chair for too long

26.) He gets his arm caught in a bear trap w a beer used as a lure

27.) HE BECOMES THE CAT THAT TRAUMATIZED HIM. HE….YKNOW…..

28.) he gets stuck in a swimming pool like hes in the sims and dies from getting exhausted and drowning

29.) barney roasting marshmallows but his stick ignites into flames and he burns to death

30.) ATTACH SO MANY BALLOONS TO BARNEY HE FLOATS AWAY INTO THE SKY NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN

31.) barney gets rejected by gordon and he gets so sad his body shuts down

32.) I kiss him so tenderly on the lips that he melts into a puddle and dies

33.) i throw him in to a volcano so that he melt into a puddle and dies

34.) "I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives…I’ll smash it with a hammer!"

35.) stick a bottle of beer into his throat, the whole bottle

36.) give Barney Calhoun a beer can full of poison

37.) hang a piano over the toilet and wait

38.) i think barney should have his spine ripped out through his mouth

39.) he goes to a bar and tries flirting with the bartender and the bartender takes out a shotgun and kills him on the spot

40.) punch him so hard in the penis that he shatters like a brittle glass

41.) bite him in half

42.) I'm grinding him in a giant shredder

43.) bro took a bath in hot mac 'n cheese

44.) i put him ina giant caldron full of water and i begin boiling him down to gelatin and broth

45.) barney accompanies the crew to the borealis and he steps over thin ice and gets dunked into the below zero water and freezes to death

46.) barney calhoun gets carried away by a tornado

47.) took barney on a vacation to Hawai’i and pushed him into a volcano

48.) He dies and he's never mentioned again and nobody cares

49.) died of tummy ache

50.) Stepped on by a strider

51.) shrinked until he disappeared completely

52.) blasted into the sun

53.) Stab him with 300 pencils made with real lead

54.) slip and falls and dies

55.) put him into a Minecraft furnace

56.) Barney ignores the wet floor sign and slips and cracks his head

57.) while swimming in the swimming pool he swims to fast and smashes his face against the pool's wall

58.) he gets a concussion and drowns

59.) i want to put him through a lunchmeat slicer

60.) He falls off a dumb huge cliff

61.) he lives his life to the fullest and at his deathbed at age 93, June 29th, 6:12 am he passes away

62.) he eats a burgie with too much grease and gets a heart attack

63.) testicular cancer

64.) He should get sucked into a fan while trying to fix it at Black Mesa and literally no one comes looking for him

65.) The Pita Bread Room

66.) slipped on a Banana peel

67.) ran over by a crap ton of shopping carts rolling down the hill

68.) barney overheats in a fursuit

69.) he has sex so bad that he dies

70.) Barney dies because i fucking kill him with a shovel 🖕

71.) barney eats the gas station sushi

72.) barney faints via twirling around and holding his hand in front of his forehead, and then slowly lying down with a flower in his hands to indicate death

73.) When they turn off the suppression fields he just blows up

74.) barney gets crushed by a giant boulder thats all i got son

75.) barney goes to the beach that makes you old

76.) His head spontaneously combusts and pops like corn

77.) erectile dysfunction

78.) we should also have him get carbon monoxide poisoning

79.) barney gets gaussian blurred into nothingness

80.) he eats 20 year old expired mcdonalds burger and contracts the worst case of food poisoning youve ever seen

81.) Have we done tying him to a train track like a damsel

82.) he dies in a glue trap

83.) barney develops lactose intolerance over the years of combine occupation and he drink milk and then dies from shitting hinself to death

84.) he should chocke on his favourite food

85.) barney gets lead poisoning from a 1990s garfield glass mug

86.) he chokes on plastic

87.) barney gets thrown throw a glass window from a 15 story building

88.) gordon gives barney a wedgie so bad that he splits in half and dies

89.) gordon and barney divorce and barney dies from heartbreak

90.) alyx and gordon have enough of barney’s snoring so they smother him in his sleep with a pillow

91.) he trips while walking with gordon and impales himself on gordons crowbar face

92.) if he were the size of an ant he'd be ok instead he blows up like a watermelon and his remains are fed to lamarr by a very delighted kleiner. he fucking hated barney

93.) dog roughhouses with barney and accidentally obliterates his spinal cord

94.) barney gets poisoned to death by his own chumtoad

95.) coats him in eggs and flour and fries him

96.) snatched by a hawk and eten alive

97.) barney gets to participate in a danganronpa killing game and gets executed

98.) barney opens the love-letter-for-you.txt.vbs file and it kills him

99.) elaborate rube goldberg machine to drop an anvil on barney

100.) barney dies in an Iron Maiden

101.) we should put barney under those old timey stone tablets meant to squish and torture people and make them talk

#half life #barney calhoun #half life 2 #hl

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sapphic-september · 9 months

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Welcome to Sapphic September 2023!

These prompts are open to any fandom and any medium as long as the works center sapphic, WLW/NBLW, F/F+, or femslash ship(s). There are no other rules — you can use all, some, or only one of the prompts; do one or more a day or spread them out; begin late or post them after September; or mix ‘n’ match prompts; it’s up to you!

Make sure to tag your work(s) with #sapphicsept2023 or #Sapphic September 2023 so that others can find your contributions and to spread the word!

Prompts: {Day 1: parallel worlds; || Day 2: holographic; || Day 3: 3 AM; || Day 4: chrome; || Day 5: kitchen; || Day 6: experiment; || Day 7: flight; || Day 8: gravity; || Day 9: time warp; || Day 10: body mod; || Day 11: letters; || Day 12: virtual reality; || Day 13: consciousness; || Day 14: space opera; || Day 15: vacation; || Day 16: anniversary; || Day 17: magnetic; || Day 18: life on Mars; || Day 19: highway; || Day 20: morning after; || Day 21: utopia; || Day 22: dystopia; || Day 23: phone call; || Day 24: hotel; || Day 25: dreamscape; || Day 26: gears; || Day 27: atomic; || Day 28: bad ideas; || Day 29: replica; || Day 30: robot/AI.}

#sapphicsept2023 #sapphic september 2023 #sapphic september #prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #femslash #wlw #nblw #f/f #f/f+#sapphic

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eyeballsoup7310 · 5 months

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Favorite thing about Rolan is that he seems to be very well liked and in his element in Chicago but the second he steps foot in Galloway he reverts to, like, 16-and-unsure-about-life. He’ll go double the speed limit on the highway but he breaks down sobbing after eating 1 (one) completely normal mushroom. Iconic

#just talking #jrwi bitb #bitb #rolan deep

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avastrasposts · 10 months

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The Pilot and his girl - ch. 16

Frankie and his girl make their way towards the nearest QZ in attempt to get to safety after being attacked. Less angst, more fluff now but you're not off the hook yet 😋

As always, all comments and reblogs are very welcome! I love hearing your thoughts on what I write! (and my asks are open if you wanna be anonymous)

Series master list if you want to start from the beginning

Chapter 17

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings have their own post and contain spoilers

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @welcometothepedroverse

Franklin isn’t far and when you start to see the suburbs of the town it’s still dark, Frankie slows down the car and pulls over to the side of the road. When it stops he cracks the windows and you both listen intently for any noise. In the distance you can hear wailing, inhuman sounding screams that can’t come from any other creature than the infected that are still in the city.

You hold your breath as Frankie’s hand hovers over the ignition, prepared to start up and drive, but the screams fade away, moving away from you.

“We’ll wait for morning, I don’t want to drive blind through the city in the dark,” Frankie says eventually, “You should get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.” you say, keeping your voice low as you look out over the buildings spreading out in front of the car. Frankie looks over at you and in the corner of your eye you see him reach out for you, his warm, large hand enveloping yours.

“You should try, cariño, you need to sleep,” his thumb is rubbing small circles into your skin and it feels so good. It’s the first time in months he’s done more than just cling to you in desperation and the small, gentle touch makes you want to cry again, but with relief this time. You blink back your tears, and give Frankie a small smile, tilting your head to look over at him. He smiles back at you, it’s small, and a far cry from his usual bright, warm smiles, but it’s a proper smile. It’s calming in some way, despite sitting in a car on a dark highway with the black city around you, filled with dangers, his smile is calm and more Frankie than you’ve seen in months. His hand leaves yours and caresses your cheek, his thumb leaving a warm pattern where it slides across the soft skin and you lean into it, closing your eyes. You hear him shift in his seat and then his warm lips are pressed against yours in a delicate kiss. You dare hardly kiss him back, afraid he’ll pull back and close down again, but he moves his lips against yours, the delicate tip of his pink tongue coming out to touch your bottom lip with a small lick. You feel a breath leave your mouth as you part your lips to him, an exhale you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and his tongue slips against yours. His hand is still on your cheek, his fingers tangling into the hairs at the back of your neck, holding you close to him. It doesn’t last long, a noise from the outside making you both jump and Frankie turns to scan your surroundings. But it was there, a small piece of softness from him that’s been missing for months. You thought it might’ve been lost but something shifted in Frankie tonight.

Everything is still as bleak in his mind as it has been since he lost Lucìa, but instead of feeling numb, he feels needed. You need him and it’s as if he'd forgotten that in the past months. You don’t just need him to keep you safe, you need him, Frankie. And as that realization slips back into his mind he remembers that he needs you just as much. So he kisses you gently, feeling a small part of himself come back to life as he tastes your mouth again.

Frankie’s parked the car on a small rise on the highway and you can see buildings around you, on a lower level. Clouds are drifting over the sky and a pale moon appears between them, casting a dim light over the city. Around you the buildings look normal, you can see glinting dark windows, neon signs that would’ve illuminated the streets before the outbreak, now they just look black and white under the eerie moonlight. Further up ahead the city’s small center of high rises look broken and shattered and you wonder if it’s an illusion or if something happened to make them look crumbled.

“The buildings look strange,” Frankie says, apparently having the same thought as you, “it looks like a warzone.” He points at the tallest building, “it looks as if it’s been bombed, I’ve seen it before.” He squints through the windscreen at the dim landscape, picking out more tell tale signs of the destruction left behind by heavy bombs. “There’s a crater over there,” he points off to the left, the water filled hole glinting as the clouds part and let the moon shine through.

“But why would they bomb Franklin?” you quiz, confusion on your face as you spot more water filled craters. “To stop the infection?”

“Maybe,” Frankie says, his voice suddenly low and dark, “or to stop the infected.”

You look over at him with horror, “To kill the infected people? That’s crazy, Frankie, they couldn’t do that, they have to treat them, find a cure.”

“I don’t know, cariño, maybe things got a lot worse than we thought? It was pretty bad when we left the apartment.” He takes hold of your hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of it, “We’ll know more when we get to the quarantine zone, it’ll be good to have some more information.”

You nod, gratefully holding on to his hand, as you look over the broken city scape. You think about the hopes you had that things would’ve calmed down, gone back to normal a bit, when you left the cabin. Now it seems worse than ever and you suddenly think about all your friends, and Frankie’s friends, Pope, Will and Hannah, Benny and his girlfriend, Denny, Lizzie, Sophia and Carys.

“I wonder if we can find out what happened to everyone else when we get to Franklin,” you say, “maybe the Red Cross has some sort of information center set up. They usually do that in disaster areas, where you can leave your information and your family and friends can come and look for you.”

You hear Frankie sigh from his spot behind the wheel, “Yeah, I really hope so. I wanna know what happened to the guys. Maybe…” his voice drifts off into silence and then a deep sigh, “I just hope they made it out, got to safety,” his voice is quiet and tense and you squeeze his hand, sending a quiet prayer to something you don’t even believe in anymore, that your friends are safe.

Silence falls between you as the moon slowly moves over the sky, dipping low behind the broken high rises and the sky behind you begins to lighten. You’ve drifted off into an uneasy sleep and eventually Frankie gives you a gentle shake.

“I’m gonna start driving again, cariño,” he says as you blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up straighter in your seat. The destruction of the city is clearly visible in the emerging daylight, the bombed out buildings stark against the pale blue sky. The car hums to life and picks up speed along the highway. It’s been cleared of cars and rubble, making the drive fairly straightforward, but anxious, as the buildings draw in closer. At one point a handful of infected come rushing out of a building towards the car and Frankie speeds up, losing them a few miles down the road. In the distance you can see a large sign that reads Franklin Quarantine Zone and Frankie takes the car off the highway and follows the only cleared road towards the wall that’s slowly coming into view. Ahead you can see that a large zone in front of the wall has been cleared of any buildings, a sort of no man's land between the bombed out city and the quarantine zone. Guard towers are set up along the top of the wall at regular intervals and even at this distance you can see the soldiers with rifles trained at the car. Frankie slows down as he drives the last block and as he passes a burnt out laundromat that inhuman screech goes up and five infected in ragged clothes come running out of the building at the driver’s side. One of them is fast enough to throw herself, you can still see that she is, or was, a woman, at Frankie's door as he floors the accelerator and speeds off towards the wall. The infected are running flat out behind the car and you feel panic rising. The wall has a large gate but it’s closed tight, when you reach it, there will be nowhere to go.

“Frankie, what do we do?!” you call out, twisting in your seat to look at the infected that are still barreling after the car. “They’re not opening the gate!”

“Let’s hope they’ve got good aim,” he grits out between his teeth as he swerves to avoid a big pothole in the road.

The wall draws closer and just as Frankie is forced to hammer the brakes, throwing the car into a fast three point turn to face the infected, the soldiers open fire. You watch as they flounder and fall as they are hit by a hailstorm of bullets just out of the car’s reach. The shooting stops and you wait, nothing else moves and the gate behind you remains closed. Frankie cautiously opens the car door and gets out, looking up at the closest guard tower. Shielding his eyes with his hand he looks up at the tower, he can’t see the soldiers any longer, they’ve stepped back from the edge, but he calls up anyway.

“We were attacked by looters last night, we lost all our supplies. We’re not infected and we need shelter.” He’s met by silence and he calls up at the tower again. “Hey, anyone? We need shelter, my fiance and me.” Again there’s no response and Frankie looks back at you. You’ve scooted over to the driver’s seat and you’re looking between Frankie and the road you just came down, fearing more infected are going to turn up. Your forehead is furrowed, a worried look on your face as you turn to Frankie again. He glances up at the tower and shouts, “Hey! Anyone?”

Finally someone leans over the tower wall and looks down at the two of you. You can’t make out the details but they’re wearing army fatigues and a ball cap pulled down low.

“How many?” they ask, it’s a woman’s voice, calling down to Frankie, “How many of you?”

“Two, my fiance and myself,” Frankie calls back up.

“You have two choices,” the woman says, “spend two weeks in our quarantine enclosure inside the wall or stay out there. We can’t guarantee that you can stay in Franklin after your quarantine is up, we have limited space. You may be transferred to another quarantine zone.” Frankie looks back at you and you nod at him, you have no choice, without supplies or ammo for the guns your survival is very uncertain, even if you could make it back to the cabin for the few supplies you left there.

“We’ll quarantine,” he calls back up.

“Drive the car through the gate,” the woman calls back down at Frankie and he steps back, getting into the car as you scoot back to the passenger seat.

Behind the gate is another no man’s land boxed off with tall chain link fences, barbed wire on top, and guard stations set up to oversee the quarantine procedure. The chain link fences form enclosed corridors that wind their way across no man’s land up to a second smaller wall. From the guard tower you’re directed to park the car and when you get out of it, you stop and look at the scene in front of you. Up ahead, by the second wall, you can see people, civilians, enclosed in holding areas with soldiers in guard towers watching them, rifles aimed at the people. There are about a hundred people, all lining up, while waiting to reach what looks like a checkpoint. You can’t see what’s happening at the checkpoint but the tension in the line of people is palpable even at this distance. Frankie comes round the car and steps in front of you, blocking your view of the line.

“We’ll be fine, cariño,” he whispers, reassuring, “We’re not infected, we’ll just get through the quarantine and then we’re ok. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He cups your cheek and then takes your hand, leading you over to the gate that opens up to the first part of the chain link fence corridor. Walking through it you soon realize it’s made up of several sections, designed to hold groups of people, locked gates separating each section from the next. The soldiers overseeing your walk through the winding corridor open up each gate as you reach it. Soon you’re at the section next to the end of the long line of people waiting. The gate in front of you remains closed as the people in the next section trickle through to the one in front of them. Eventually the gate opens for you and you can move into the next section. This continues for hours as the day drags on, interrupted only by the pleading cries when someone is deemed infected and put in restraints to be dragged away out of sight. At one point someone in the enclosure in front of you turns, the other people screaming in terror as the infected man tears into a young woman who’s been standing by his side all day. The soldiers in the guard tower let a volley of bullets rain down over the two and both crumple to the ground. The bodies stay on the ground until the rest of the people can move into the next enclosure, then four soldiers in protective gear appear and drag away the bodies. When the gate opens for you to walk into the next section of the corridor, you’re mindful to not step in the blood that stained the gravel dark, trying not to look at it. Frankie’s hold on your hand is tight and you lean into him as you wait by the next gate, your backs turned against the spot where the man and woman had just died.

Water bottles are tossed into the enclosures as the day passes, but no food, and your stomach is grumbling loudly. The last food you had was breakfast the day before and as the adrenaline and shock of the past twenty fours fade, you’re left with hunger pains. Frankie tries asking the soldiers for food but they just ignore him, pretending to not hear, until one of them tosses another water bottle into the enclosure you’re currently waiting in and tells you they don’t waste food on potentially infected.

There are more people behind you now, there seems to be a small but steady stream of survivors throughout the day. Several times you hear the infected shriek and scream behind the wall, out in the city, and the rifle fire from the guard towers as they take them out and assess if the survivors can come in. At one point a group of survivors are deemed already infected and they are told to wait outside the gate with the soldiers watching them from above. After a couple of hours you hear screams from outside the gate and gunshots. When a soldier comes to pass out more water Frankie asks what happened and the soldier just holds up his arms as if he was holding a rifle, pulling the imaginary trigger.

Finally you get to the checkpoint, and the last door in the fence opens to let you into a small enclosure. What happens in the next enclosure is hidden from view by movable screens. Only one person is let in at a time and Frankie motions for you to wait while he goes first, giving you a quick kiss before he pulls his hand out of yours. Your pulse races as you strain your ears to hear what’s going on behind the walls but you can’t make anything out. As with almost everyone else, about five minutes pass and then you’re called forward. You step through the gate and into the enclosure, it’s small and empty, only a small bench on one side. At the far end, behind the sturdy chain link fence are two soldiers with their guns trained at you, and a woman in military uniform with a red cross on her arm.

“We will be doing an ocular exam of your body for any bite marks and then a scan,” she says, pointing to the bench. “Take off all your clothes except your underwear.”

You quickly do as she says, eager to get through to whatever area Frankie is being held in, putting your clothes on the bench and stepping up to the fence when she waves you forward. You stand with your arms spread wide as she examines both your front and back, finishing by asking you to put your neck close to a small opening in the fence. A handheld scanner is held up to your skin and after a few seconds it beeps.

“You’re clear,” the woman says, “put your arm through the hole.” You do as she says and a green cable tie is loosely put around your wrist, tight enough so that you can’t take it off without breaking it. “Put your clothes back on and proceed through the next gate.”

You get dressed and go through the gate as it’s beeped open by someone you can’t see. On the other side is another, larger enclosure, with more survivors. Frankie is waiting on the edge of the group, stepping forward the second you come through the gate, you can see the green cable tie on his wrist too. He envelopes you in a big hug as soon as you reach him and you bury your face in his soft flannel shirt, feeling his fingers tangle into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

“First step done, cariño,” he mumbles softly, before pulling you with him, away from the gate and towards the line that’s formed in the enclosure. Again you’re made to wait at a checkpoint and this time the line moves slower and when you finally get to the front, the sky above is dark. This time you’re both let into the army barrack that’s been set up. On the inside a row of what looks like prison bars have been installed, closing off two thirds of the barrack. Frankie and you step through the door into the smallest third, closed off from two soldiers and what looks like a commanding officer. Frankie spots the two silver bars on the man’s uniform, signaling that he’s a captain in the army.

“Please state your name and occupation before the outbreak,” the captain says with a bored voice, a pen poised to take down your details. You go first, wincing at the way the man puts an X on your form instead of writing down your profession. Not even important enough to record you think.

Frankie gives his full name and his civilian occupation as helicopter pilot and then hesitates, you feel it in the way he shifts his stance beside you, your hand still in his as you stand in front of the iron bars. Drawing a deep breath and exhaling he speaks up again.

“But I served in the air force for thirteen years, Delta Force, as senior pilot, sir.” The captain, busy writing down Frankie's civilian occupation, stops and looks up at him with interest.

“That so, special ops?” he queries, tilting his head to the left, “can you prove it?”

Frankie gives the man a level look and draws a breath, letting go of your hand, then he rattles off his rank and training, his commanding officer, his battalion and missions he’s participated in, all while the captain’s eyes grow wider. You look on in stunned silence. Frankie told you parts of his military background, some when you first met, some when he needed to unload, when the flashbacks and memories became too hard to hold on to by himself. But you’ve never seen him like this, he’s standing straight, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, full attention, sounding and looking more like a soldier than you’ve ever seen him. Even in his jeans, t-shirt and dirty flannel shirt, his hair in disarray, dark bruises from the beating he took yesterday, he looks every bit like a soldier, and you can tell the captain behind the bars sees it too, because he looks very pleased.

“This is good news for both you and me, soldier,” he grins. “We need every able bodied man and woman we can find to keep this quarantine zone safe. We’ll put you through the two week quarantine, make sure you get extra rations to get your strength back, and then you’ll have a posting when you’re cleared for duty.”

“And my fiancée?” Frankie asks, “We were told you send the people you don’t have room for to other quarantine zones, but she has to stay here with me.”

The captain looks down at the X he’s just put in your occupation box and sighs, “I’m afraid she doesn’t have a skill useful for us in this QZ, we have all the menial workers we need. She’ll have to transfer to another QZ for now and when we have a need for extra workers, she can apply for a transfer back here.”

Frankie shakes his head immediately, before the captain has stopped speaking and interjects, “If she can’t stay here, then I’m not staying either, I’ll go with her to another quarantine zone. If you want my skills then you have to make room for her too, I’m not leaving her.”

The captain looks annoyed as he glances over at you and then back at Frankie before finally settling his eyes on the list of skills he’s jotted down next to Frankie’s name. He taps his pen a few times on the table, seemingly considering his options, before he finally looks up at you both again.

“Ok, I’ll make an exception seeing as we really could use someone with your skills, Morales. She can stay and I’ll make room for her on the menial workforce.” You see him putting a check mark next to your name and Frankie’s before he looks up at you again. “Two weeks' quarantine, then you’ll be assigned lodgings, ration cards and a workforce position.” He points to a door opposite the one you came in through and only waves his hand in the air as you both thank him before walking out.

As the door closes behind you, you draw a deep breath and Frankie puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, “I said I’m not leaving you and I’m keeping that promise, cariño,” he says in a low voice as you move to another gate in a chain link fence. This gate leads to the quarantine area and you see multiple army tents set up along the perimeter of the second wall. This wall is not as big and looks less permanent, heavy concrete slabs put together with rounded concrete pipes set on top to make it harder to grip onto. The wall looks about thirteen feet tall but with a ladder you could scale it easily, but as you turn your head you realize the soldiers in the guard towers have their rifles trained on the quarantine zone too.

A woman on the other side of the fence assigns you to tent number five and slides two boxes of supplies, including food, through a small latch in the fence, explaining where the communal bathrooms are. Frankie grabs both of the boxes and leads you over to the tent marked with a large number five on the canvas ceiling. The light in the tent is dim, only a small oil lantern is lit next to one of the eight bunk beds where a man is reading by the faint light. He gives you both a small nod as you walk in and Frankie puts down the boxes next to the only unoccupied bunk bed in the tent, up against one of the back corners. Sitting down on the lower bed Frankie pulls you down beside him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he rubs his warm hand up and down your side.

“Two weeks, cariño, we’ll be fine. Then we can start figuring out what we’re gonna do next, ok?” You hear the nerves in his voice, it sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you and you look over at him. He’s scanning the military tent, the bunk beds pushed up against the canvas walls, and his eyebrows are knotted tight, his fingers starting to dig into your shoulder.

“Frankie,” you whisper, putting your hand on his cheek and pulling him to face you, “stay with me.” You lean your forehead against his and his eyes close as he exhales quietly, his warm breath ghosts against your skin.

“Too many memories,” he mumbles.

“I understand my love, but just stay with me, I’m here too.” You caress his scruffy beard, running your thumb over his plush lip as his breathing slows down.

Putting your hand over your mouth to hide a big yawn as your stomach grumbles, Frankie opens his eyes, looking a bit calmer. You’re hungry enough to eat anything but also tired enough to fall asleep leaning against Frankie’s shoulder right here. He bends down and digs through the first box, finding a can of ravioli that he cracks open and gives to you, along with a spoon.

“Eat this while I make our beds,” he says, nudging the can into your tired grip and you’re too exhausted to protest. Sitting on the wooden slats that make up the floor, you eat the ravioli cold as Frankie pulls out a few blankets from your boxes and make up the two bunk beds. There are no pillows but at least the blankets look warm and clean. You hand Frankie the second half of the ravioli and he scarfs it down as you rinse your mouth with water, there’s no toothbrush or toothpaste in the boxes. Kicking off your boots you start climbing to the top bunk but Frankie stops you.

“Sleep next to me, cariño,” he whispers, pulling you close, “I need you close,” his eyebrows are drawn tight and you see anxiety in his dark eyes again even in the dim light and you nod. You wait until he’s removed his boots and slipped under the blanket of the narrow bunk bed. Then you lie down next to him, your back against his chest as he holds up the blanket. He tucks it in around you both and his nose is pressed against the back of your neck, his arm circling your waist. You seek out his hand and lace your fingers through his, holding it pressed against your chest and close your eyes. Frankie’s steady breaths at your neck helps sooth you to sleep even in the narrow bunk bed.

You have your own nightmares now, startling you awake, but as Frankie’s nightmares make him cry out in his sleep, you wriggle around and rouse him from them, cupping his face in your hands. Gently stroking his cheeks you whisper sweet words to him in the dark tent, your voice barely a whisper, and he calms down. Circling you with his arms he buries his face against the crook of your neck and you lean your check against the soft flannel of his shirt and you drift off to sleep again.

Frankie wakes up early the next day, you’re still pressed against his chest when another nightmare pulls him out of his sleep. Hazy images of a damp jungle through the window of a chopper, heavy machine gun fire and shouting rattles him enough to force his eyes open as something slams outside the tent. For a few seconds his heart races as he sees the dark green canvas wall and the bunk beds opposite, he can’t decide if he’s still dreaming or if he’s actually back in one of the endless military tents he’s slept in over the years. Then you move, pressing your face closer to his chest and he tightens his arms around you, the memories flooding back, both the good and the bad. Daylight is filtering through the open tent flap but he can see that several of the bunks are still occupied in the tent, a few of the inhabitants still sleeping.

The arm he’s got under your head is uncomfortable and numb, gently he pulls it out from under you and watches as you wrinkle your nose and settle back to sleep. He lets his fingertips trail across your temple, pushing back a loose strand of hair and caressing your head, running his fingers through the soft locks. You don’t stir, only a soft mumble in your sleep, and he carefully climbs over you and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots on. Tucking you in he goes in search of the toilets and some information, coming back just as you’re sitting up in the bunk.

“Morning, cariño lindo,” he says in a low voice, sitting down on the edge and passing you a mug of coffee, “I found the cantina,” he smiles, “thought you might appreciate this.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” you hum, taking the warm mug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “How did you sleep in the end?”

“Not great,” he sighs, “I kept waking up, losing my bearings when I opened my eyes, I’d dream about the army stuff and then I’d wake up and see army stuff and I’d panic until I saw you.” You move yourself in the bed so that you can wrap your free arm around his waist and pull him closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’ll squeeze in with you in the bottom bunk for as long as you want me too,” you say, giving him a small smile, “as long as it helps with the nightmares.”

“It does,” he smiles back, “I know it’s a bit cramped though.”

“They’re gonna put you on military duty when we get out of here,” you say, looking up at him, “do you think you’ll be ok? I’m worried it’ll make your nightmares worse.”

“I don’t think anything can make my nightmares worse now, cariño,” Frankie sighs, rubbing his hand over his face before his hand goes up to tug at his cap in his usual manner but grasping at thin air before he lowers his hand, remembering he no longer has it and you suddenly realize it’s been missing for a while.

“When did you lose the cap, Frankie?” you ask, running your hand over his uncovered curls. “I forgot to ask.”

“When those assholes attacked us, I woke up without it in the barn.” He shoves his hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp, “I feel weird without it, and the sun kept getting in my eyes yesterday.”

“We’ll find you a new one, maybe we can trade for one somehow,” you say, looping your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck and Frankie hums, leaning towards your hand as his eyes close. “They’ll have me in army fatigues soon enough,” he says, his eyes still closed, “won’t be able to wear one then anyway.” He scoffs, “Haven’t been in actual uniform in so long, in Delta Force we wore civilian clothes to blend with the locals. I’m gonna feel like a cadet again.”

“Promise me something, Frankie,” you say, still running your fingers through his curls.

“Anything,” he mumbles, half gone back to sleep with your ministrations along his scalp.

“I’m serious,” you stop moving your fingers and he opens his eyes, meeting your worried look. “If your PTSD gets worse, if you start spiraling because you’re back in the army, you’ve got to tell me, and you’ve got to leave, do something else in here. Or we leave this QZ.” You’ve got your hand around his neck, looking at him with your eyebrows knitted together and he leans forward, his forehead against yours.

“It’s already bad, cariño,” he sighs, “ever since this whole shitshow started, getting back to you in the apartment, leaving the city, getting to…” he hesitates and you see his throat bob as he swallows, “ever since Lucía, I’ve already spiraled, the nightmares,” his hand finds your hand and he’s rubbing tight little circles into your skin, “I’m hardly sleeping, I get panic attacks when I wake up, and I know I’ve been distant with you, not talking to you, not touching you, not…” he hesitates again, his anxious brown eyes finding yours only inches away, looking at him without flinching, not pulling back. “Not having sex with you, not even trying,” he sighs, “and that shit I pulled when we left the assholes at the ranch…” He brings up his hand to cup your cheek, letting a deep sigh escape, “I’m such a fucking idiot, I know I need to be with you and I know you don’t want me to leave, but sometimes…” he lets the sentence hang between you, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that’s escaped from your lashes.

“I know, Frankie,” you whisper as you feel his warm palm skate across your jawline. “I know you’re not yourself after all that’s happened. And I wanna help you but I don’t know, I don’t-”

“You’re helping just by being here,” he interrupts, “you’re helping just by not giving up on me.” He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips softly against yours, gently taking your bottom lip in between his before he pulls away a fraction. “Please don’t give up on me, mi vida,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours again.

“You know I won’t, Frankie,” you mumble against his lips, “I’m gonna marry you, and then you’ll be stuck with me forever.” You can feel his small smile against your mouth as the corners of his lips pull up. “Is that a promise, prometida?” he whispers, and you nod, “You know it is, Frankie.”

Chapter 17

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #frankie morales angst #francisco frankie morales #francisco catfish morales fanfiction #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #the pilot and his girl

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f1version · 11 months

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LIGHTNING MCUTE ★ CL16

pairing: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader (she/her)

summary: You are still obsessed with Charles as Lightning Mcqueen, Charles is still obsessed with you. Here’s how that goes.

note: this is so chaotic, sometimes full crack and sometimes pure fluff

part two of the life is a highway series ★ next part

joris__trouche’s insta story

yourusername’s insta story

yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 835,826

yourusername baby photo dump ❤️🩵

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landonorris the pics were not loading and I THOUGHT YOU HAD A BABY?????

yourusername WTF LANDO

charles_leclerc YEAH WTF LANDO I WISH

yourusername CHARLES DON’T PUSH HIM

yourusername’s insta story

charles_leclerc

Liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 1,245,018

charles_leclerc Got a new car before Barcelona! ⚡️

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pierregasly pretty cool charles

landonorris 💍💍💍????

charles_leclerc Please stop

carlossainz55 CABRÓN‼️

yourusername It was the best day of my life

yourusername Family car ✅

yourusername’s insta story

joris__trouche’s insta story

yourusername • Barcelona, Spain

Liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 976,825 others

yourusername Ferrari red? This is KACHOW-red (sorry scuderiaferrari)

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scuderiaferrari Ferrari red? Who is that? I just know KACHOW-red! ❤️

charles_leclerc KACHOW-ingly cute

yourusername in the 5 years of our relationship, that is the best thing you have ever said to me.

charles_leclerc it’s not but whatever you say mon amour

carlossainz55 How has Ferrari not banned you?

yourusername extortion.

yourusername’s insta story

INTERVIEW — SPANISH GP

charles_leclerc and yourusername

Like by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari and 2,752,917 others

charles_leclerc Forever ❤️

tagged. yourusername, joris__trouche

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yourusername Forever 🩵🩵🩵

yourusername guys the box WAS the lightning mcqueen one, just saying

charles_leclerc AND it was custom

yourusername And it was custom, with our names engraved on the inside (he’s very proud of it)

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charmingsoa · 2 months

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✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Prequel ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

When I look back on my life – I often wonder if I made the right choices when I was younger. I obviously got to my place in life because of what happened all those years ago in California. Hell, there were times when I didn’t even think I would make it out alive. Growing up, my parents were very strict – almost authoritarian. My father had fought for his country in WWII and my mother was your typical housewife. The picture-perfect look was what they strived for – putting my brothers and I in whatever activities they could. There were structured rules that were drilled into our heads from day one.

No elbows on the table Respect your parents and your elders Girls and woman are to bow down to menfolk and do what they’re told. Women are forbidden to wear pants or short skirts. Girls can attend secondary school but will not be allowed to attend college. Marriage, motherhood, and the act of obeying your husband is the most important role in a woman’s life.

I distinctly remember my father telling me that if I wanted to dress like a whore, I can plant myself on the side of the highway and start making a living for myself. I spent most of my childhood bowing down to everything my father said. He instilled that fear in me as a young girl – always being on the back end of his belt or switch if I was “bad” enough. I was the only daughter – I needed to be picture perfect and like a doll. My mother would stand idly by as he inflicted his abuse on me – only doing so because he loved and cared about me.

Total bullshit if you ask me.

I guess you can say with all the structure and ruling that fell at the hand of my father – you wouldn’t be surprised to hear that I rebelled. Starting at the early age of 13, I snuck out of the house to meet the boys from the wrong sides of the tracks. We would listen to the devil’s music as my father called it – getting high as kites. My flower-patterned dress would be hiked up above my waist – my legs wrapped tightly around the guy’s hips – as they pounded into me. My mother always preached that a girl should stay pure until the night of their wedding -giving the gift of virginity to their awaiting husband.

I lost that gift behind the First Methodist Church to a kid three grades ahead of me. It was meaningless and hurt like hell, but after that I couldn’t get enough.

By the time I hit 16, I had fucked half the senior class. I gained a reputation as the 10th grade slut – willing to do anything and anyone. Now, was this true – partially. I didn’t care if you were the ugliest guy in class – if you had a dick then I was ready and willing. I was never one to seek the guys out first. They would come to me and a couple minutes later they would be making me cum. There were rumors that I was a child prostitute – my parents were less than thrilled to hear that be brought up during a meeting with the principal.

At that point, I was pulled out of the school and sent to an all-girls catholic school about 45 minutes from home. My father made sure to drive me every day and would stay on the premises until school was over. Even if I wanted to ditch class and run away, Roy Landry was watching like a fucking hawk. I managed to mellow out a little once I graduated high school – I guess being locked up like Rapunzel will do that to people. I wasn’t allowed to go to prom – parties thrown by the other girls - I was isolated in my room. While my brothers were living their lives, I was stuck watching Walter Cronkite on the CBS Evening News with Brenda and Roy ever night.

I’m sure you’re trying to figure out where I’m going with all this information – I swear it’s important given the truth you’re about to hear.

A girl who hitchhiked all the way to California- fell in love with two brothers who despised each other – watching as they both fell into the pits of hell by creating the most dangerous motorcycle gang in Northern Cali – my story has to start somewhere, right?

#jax teller imagine #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler #benny the bikeriders #the bikeriders imagine #the bikeriders #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #1960s #Spotify

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 days

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A Gentle Answer Turns Away Wrath

1 A gentle answer turns away wrath, But a harsh word stirs up anger. 2 The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, But the mouth of fools gush out folly. 3 The LORD's eyes are everywhere, Keeping watch on the evil and the good. 4 A gentle tongue is a tree of life, But deceit in it crushes the spirit. 5 A fool despises his father's correction, But he who heeds reproof shows prudence. 6 In the house of the righteous is much treasure, But the income of the wicked brings trouble. 7 The lips of the wise spread knowledge; Not so with the heart of fools. 8 The sacrifice made by the wicked is an abomination to the LORD, But the prayer of the upright is his delight. 9 The way of the wicked is an abomination to the LORD, But he loves him who follows after righteousness. 10 There is stern discipline for one who forsakes the way: Whoever hates reproof shall die. 11 She'ol and Avaddon are before the LORD -- How much more then the hearts of the children of men!

12 A scoffer doesn't love to be reproved; He will not go to the wise. 13 A glad heart makes a cheerful face; But an aching heart breaks the spirit. 14 The heart of one who has understanding seeks knowledge, But the mouths of fools feed on folly. 15 All the days of the afflicted are wretched, But one who has a cheerful heart enjoys a continual feast. 16 Better is little, with the fear of the LORD, Than great treasure with trouble. 17 Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, Than a fattened calf with hatred. 18 A wrathful man stirs up contention, But one who is slow to anger appeases strife. 19 The way of the sluggard is like a thorn patch, But the path of the upright is a highway. 20 A wise son makes a father glad, But a foolish man despises his mother. 21 Folly is joy to one who is void of wisdom, But a man of understanding keeps his way straight. 22 Where there is no counsel, plans fail; But in a multitude of counselors they are established. 23 Joy comes to a man with the reply of his mouth. How good is a word at the right time! 24 The path of life leads upward for the wise, To keep him from going downward to She'ol.

25 The LORD will uproot the house of the proud, But he will keep the widow's borders intact. 26 The LORD detests the thoughts of the wicked, But the thoughts of the pure are pleasing. 27 He who is greedy for gain troubles his own house, But he who hates bribes will live. 28 The heart of the righteous weighs answers, But the mouth of the wicked gushes out evil. 29 The LORD is far from the wicked, But he hears the prayer of the righteous. 30 The light of the eyes rejoices the heart. Good news gives health to the bones. 31 The ear that listens to the reproof lives, And will be at home among the wise. 32 He who refuses correction despises his own soul, But he who listens to reproof gets understanding. 33 The fear of the LORD teaches wisdom. Before honor is humility. — Proverbs 15 | Hebrew Names Version (HNV) The Hebrew Names Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Genesis 13:8; Leviticus 7:18; Deuteronomy 19:14; Deuteronomy 32:22; Judges 8:1; 1 Kings 1:12; Nehemiah 2:2; Psalm 59:7; Proverbs 1:2; Proverbs 1:7; Proverbs 1:25; Proverbs 8:21; Proverbs 9:7; Proverbs 10:1; Proverbs 12:14; Proverbs 13:18; Proverbs 16:24; Proverbs 17:1; Proverbs 18:15; Proverbs 22:5; Proverbs 25:25; Ecclesiastes 4:6; Ecclesiastes 7:5; John 9:31; Acts 1:24; Ephesians 5:15; 1 Timothy 6:9; 1 Timothy 6:11; Hebrews 4:13; 1 Peter 3:15; Revelation 2:7

#righteousness #wisdom #self-control #life #guidance #discretion #Proverbs 15 #Book of Proverbs #Old Testament #HNV #Hebrew Names Version bible

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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When you're commuting, it's easy to forget all the little details about it. You're bored, and you don't remember. Your mind just shuts off and you autopilot your ass right to work. All of that time in your life is just compressed into "that was boring" and is completely inaccessible in your memories. What if I told you that's what the aliens wanted you to think?

That's right. Whenever you can't remember your trip to or from work, it's because you were abducted by aliens. They do it a lot. And they figured that when they dropped your ass back off, you would simply chalk the mind erasure up to "must not have been very memorable." A boring day. Snoozefest.

Remember a couple years ago, when everyone started getting dashcams because the Russians made it look fashionable? Yeah, that was a big problem for these aliens. Suddenly there's now an incontrovertible evidence of your capture in MPEG format encoded onto the storage card, and it just so happens to look a lot like slowly swerving onto the curb because you were checking your phone or dropped your 7-Eleven Monterey Jack® Prison-Grade® Taquito.

So they had to figure out another solution. "Self-driving cars." Perfect. Now you won't even look up when you're being probed. That's just the rough part of this highway, you'll tell yourself, and on your deathbed you'll wonder where approximately 16 to 20 hours a week went from your memory. Into the artificially-intelligent Tesla cornholer run by aliens, that's where.

How are we going to stop the aliens? By driving way more recklessly. If you're riding the razor's edge during your commute, operating a recklessly-operated vehicle at extralegal speeds, you'll be paying attention the entire time. And if you're paying attention, you probably won't get scooped up by the UFOs. They'd rather have the folks who are happy to just put it in "drive" and forget about their entire lives, one commute at a time.

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cprimetober · 8 months

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The c!Primetober prompt list is now officially uploaded!

Below the cut will be a list of all the prompts separate from the image.

N.1 It’s not kidnapping if you make the rules Kidnapping | Gaslighting | “You’ll do what I say”

N.2 Smiley Face Scars | Physical abuse | Body dysmorphia

N.3 Stalker’s Tango Stalking | “You’re like a little bug” | Scopophobia

N.4 With friends like this… Verbal abuse | Fighting | Destruction of property

N.5 Life by the Sea Drowning | Puking | Sick fic

N.6 You are an Obsession “I am your Possession” | Obsession | Intrusive thoughts

N.7 Alone in the universe Autophobia | Isolation | Weaponizing abandonment issues

N.8 Highway to Hell Staring at lava | Hyperthermia | Standing on a ledge

N.9 Slumber Party Watching someone sleep | Possessiveness | Murder fantasy

N.10 I always feel like somebody’s watching me… Hallucinations | “Who’s playing tricks on me?” | Ghosts

N.11 Once upon a Dreamon Demonic possession | Rituals | Deal with the Devil

N.12 Epistolary Exchange Letters | Old friends | Sabotage

N.13 Stop twisting the knife in the wound! Blood | Crying | Axe wounds

N.14 Hide and Seek Chase | Taunting | “You can’t run forever”

N.15 It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to Cake | Broken promises | Party of two

N.16 Death is not the end “We could be immortal together” | Death | Revival

N.17 Teach them the true meaning of Obedience Cult | Worship | Brainwashing

N.18 Face your Fears Exposure therapy | Phobias | Trap

N.19 Every Color of the Rainbow Blood loss | Bruises | Chocking

N.20 A fate worse than dying�� Torture | Grief | Chronic pain

N.21 Confession Booth Religious guilt | Sacrifice | Low reputation

N.22 Glory through Toil Insomnia | Day and night | Square one

N.23 Nature’s Boon Infection | Poisonous plant | Steep cliff

N.24 Diseased Heart Lying | Palpitations | Lost cause

N.25 Gift from Below Pit | Broken bone | Bugs and worms N.26 What is precious Hostage | Unfair trade | Life on the line

N.27 Unwelcome Gifts Writing on the walls | Audio recording | Body part

N.28 Spiderweb Restraints | Spiders | “I’m playing with my food”

N.29 Another one bites the dust Murder | Fainting | Loss of hope

N.30 Let’s go out with a Bang Explosives | Secrets | “Why don’t you get in the hole too?”

N.31 Theseus come down, won’t you get up off the roof? Suicidal thoughts | Dirt pillar | Breaking free of conditioning

#cprimetober #discduo #primeboys #c!primeboys #c!discduo #c!tommy #c!dream #original posts

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bizaar · 9 months

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Cruel Summer - Part 16

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 9.5k

warnings: angst, swearing, horror descriptors, TW: violence/blood, major character death (f o r g i v e m e)

A.N.: here we go kids...

Eddie lies to himself that he knows what he’s doing, that this is all still part of the plan, and that things are not as well and truly fucked as they actually are.

A bigger part of him than he is willing to acknowledge is screaming at him to turn back, to do the smart thing for once, and save his miserable hide, but there is only one clear path for him, as suicidal as it may be.

You’d told him this wasn’t the type of thing he was going to be able to save you from if things took a turn for the worse, and part of him agreed with you – that’s the part of him that he’s imagining is ringing the alarm bells right now, but self-preservation be damned, he’s never been the kind of person to make “smart choices” and he’s not about to start now.

He’s going to get you out of here and back through to the other side, even if it kills him.

The bats are stuck to the outside of the trailer like so many screeching winged barnacles when Eddie bursts through the door, flying down the steps and across the lawn toward where the Wheeler’s bikes are still laying in a jumble on the front lawn.

It’s something that on the other side of the world would be so banal – the indication of a gathering of friends, everyone piled into someone’s living room to play Atari or watch tv, the tell-tale sign of a camaraderie that Eddie has been denied his whole life.

Here and now, it’s just a means to an end. When he gets the bike, he’ll whip out to the highway where the van is parked on the shoulder, where you’ll be tucked safely away, waiting for him, despite how the horrendous cacophony they’d sat listening to tells him otherwise.

He tells himself you’re going to be there because you have to be. You’ll be there and you’ll be okay, you’re going to make it through this no matter what.

No matter what.

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do once he finds you, but that’s not important right now. Right now, he’s just got to get to the bikes in one piece.

Eddie was never really the kind of kid who rode bikes.

He was the kid who sat in his room all summer, teaching himself to play guitar, teaching himself to draw, trying to mold himself into the type of person he thought the kids on his block would want to be friends with, not the shape of the social pariah they were steadily forcing him into.

Eddie wasn’t the kind of kid who rode bikes growing up because, beyond the fact that all the other kids in his neighborhood went around treating him like he was diseased, he didn’t learn how to ride one until he was ten years old, which had been a starkly humiliating experience he doesn’t relish in reliving.

The wheels feel shaky and untrustworthy as Eddie pulls the bike up and swings his leg over, but sticky pedals and screeching gears are nothing compared to the cloud of teeth whirling overhead in a morbid murmuration.

He tries not to think about that or scraped knees and elbows as he wipes at the blood still oozing from the gash in his forehead – it stings unpleasantly as the motion pulls at the torn flesh there.

Eddie didn’t feel the bat’s teeth when they pierced his flesh, but he sure as hell felt them scrape along the ridge of his skull – worse than that, he heard it. He knows he’s going to need stitches, that it’s gonna leave a scar and he’s gonna have to grow his hair longer to cover it up – he doesn’t have time to be worried about that, because the bats were always going to get through into the trailer.

The same old fatalist part of himself he’s never been able to tune out always knew that the same way it always knew you were going to end up in the van – always expect the worst to happen and you’ll never be disappointed when it does.

Still, he’s bleeding a lot, and he knows he should probably be concerned about that, but if there’s one useless thing Eddie learned in the brief time Al Munson spent single parenting him – and most everything he ever learned from that man has been more or less useless – it’s that “head wounds bleed,”. He’d told him as much in a rare moment of fatherly clarity while tending to his cuts and bruises after breaking up a fight between Eddie and another boy.

It made him angry at the time, mostly because there was never a time in those handful of years when he wasn’t violently angry at his father, and any advice he was sure to give him was tantamount to bullshit, but here and now that almost seems like wisdom.

Maybe it’s because he’s scared shitless and ever so slightly concussed, but Eddie repeats the words like a mantra as he drops down over a curb and pedals like a shaky, uncoordinated madman.

He pedals and tries not to become overwhelmed with the sudden memory of flowery training wheels and iridescent tassels and the monstrously pink bicycle his mother had borrowed from their six-year-old neighbor in an effort to teach him to ride that Saturday afternoon in the spring of ‘76, when his reputation went it’s grave.

Word travels fast in Hawkins, and by 2 pm that day, all the neighborhood boys had turned out to watch Eddie Munson attempt to ride a little girl’s bike with his mother tailing after him, fruitlessly shouting instructions on how not to crash.

Easier said than done — that endeavor cost him two teeth and what meager savings they had in dentist’s bills.

Two years later, she was dead, and those same shitty boys took advantage of the open wound of Eddie’s grief, luring him out of the house with the promise of the summertime camaraderie he so desired.

Naturally, it was nothing but a great big joke to them, and it ended spectacularly with the lot of them riding out to the plant to throw things into the industrial crusher – rocks, cans, a basketball one of them had managed to balance on their handlebars the whole way, and Eddie’s bike – the one he’d received for his birthday only a few months earlier.

It was a rusty old Schwinn that Wayne had paid twenty bucks for at a garage sale in Bloomington, and decidedly uncool compared to the tricked-out BMX bikes all the other boys rode, but that didn’t make it hurt any less to lose it.

Eddie vividly remembers the sickening sensation that settled over him as he stood there, helplessly watching the angry metal teeth crunch the last of its spokes into oblivion – his prized possession, gone in one instant of shocking violence.

Of course, looking back now, it’s painfully obvious that this was those boys’ intention all along, to take something precious from him, scare him, and force him further from their ranks into the fringes where he exists now.

Eddie doesn’t last long on the bike before one of the bats kamikazes itself in the spokes, sending him flipping headfirst over the handlebars. He lands hard on his shoulder and feels something pop – that’s never a good sign – but he doesn’t stay down, because he’s got seconds before the bats descend, and he’s not sure you have even that much time.

Eddie runs the rest of the way, quickly shucking off his spear and shield because it’s hard enough to run in combat boots when you haven’t been chain-smoking since you were fourteen, and they’re only slowing him down.

He’ll worry about protecting himself later, right now he needs all the help and speed he can get.

That night, after losing his bike to the crusher, Eddie lay in bed crying an endless tide of silent tears over it. Little pearls of young desperation streaked down into his ears as he did his best to stifle his sniffles – not because of the loss of the bike or the hell he caught over it when he ended up having to call his father to come and pick him up, or even because he had been stupid enough to think those boys really wanted to be friends with him.

It was because he had nothing, and somehow, they still managed to take something from him.

Eddie’s never had a lot of things that are expressly his, and what he does have he’s had to work for. A helluva lot of blood sweat and tears earned him the van, his guitar, and you – the van is gone, Sweetheart too for all he knows, but you…?

He’s not going to let this place take you from him, not while he’s still standing.

Eddie crashes through the trees and into the underbrush, not giving a damn where he sets his feet down or whether Vecna knows he’s there — because if the Dark Lord Fucker isn’t wise to something funky going on in his domain by now, then they’ve got bigger problems than the bats or the hivemind.

These woods feel different, darker, denser — dangerous. It’s not the same as they were when he was walking along, having his silly little heart-to-heart with Steve.

Maybe it’s because this is a different patch of woodland, or maybe just because the urgency to get through them is through the roof, but it leaves him feeling like he’s running in place, treading water, that the road is getting further away with every step he takes and he’s never going to make it to you.

Eddie’s always been decent with direction – living your whole life in the same town comes with the benefit of basically always knowing where you are but crashing through the woods like this, he’s operating on dead reckoning. He’s running on a hope and prayer, which is a dangerous game considering that God’s never liked him much.

He runs until he begins to feel a deep and existential paranoia that he’s gone too far, or worse, that he’s headed in the wrong direction. It causes his inner compass to spin erratically with woeful doubt, and just as he starts to ask himself whether he ought to double back, the trees break, and there stands that same lonely stretch of road, sky wheeling overhead.

Everything is more or less exactly as it had been back on the other side, including the stark absence of the van.

Eddie’s heart drops into his ass as he comes to a skidding halt on the cracked and ruined asphalt.

He spins in wild desperate circles looking for any sign of what happened here, where you could have possibly gone, because it’s not that the van is missing altogether — there is in fact a great deal of evidence scattered across the road to suggest that, up until very recently, it was exactly where he’d left it in November of 1983 when time came to a screeching halt.

That evidence comes in the form of broken glass, smashed vines and debris, bits of twitching little bodies, since crushed and torn asunder beneath the mass of something roughly the size of an eight-thousand-pound Chevrolet Beauville Sportvan.

Somehow, that is worse than if it had never been here in the first place, because of what it suggests: that you ran for safety only to find yourself headed straight for a metal death trap.

It makes his blood run cold.

The debris trails heavily across the road, easily followed from one side to the other, over the asphalt, through the trees, and down a steep embankment.

There at the bottom lies the van, crushed and misshapen on its side, spattered in the results of its quick and violent departure from the road.

Eddie feels his legs go wobbly and his guts seize as a cold sweat breaks out across his brow. Suddenly he’s torn between hoping with every fiber of his being that you aren’t inside and praying irrationally to any deity who might be listening that you’re down there.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do if you’re not — he can’t imagine trailing back to the gate empty-handed.

If you’re not down there, he’s not leaving this place until he finds you, that’s for damn sure.

Slowly, a sound reaches him and Eddie realizes with a start that he can hear something coming from the van – the faint and broken tinge of a voice, someone calling out.

He slips and stumbles in the underbrush as he goes down the embankment at a pace, following the path the van carved into the earth when it evidently rolled.

The windows are all blown out, and in their absence, the voice continues to eke out into the still, heady air, growing louder as Eddie gets closer.

It’s something out of a recurring nightmare he thinks he’s had, some variation of you being thrust into a terrible danger he’s powerless to save you from — it feels like losing you at a party in a sea of people who have nothing but the worst intentions for him — for you.

Eddie shouts your name on instinct, cringing at the sound of his own desperate voice bouncing back at him – and then, terrifyingly, something mimics him, and shouts your name right back, crunchy and chewed up through static, like a voice being fed through a paper shredder.

It doesn’t take him long to recognize it.

It’s Dustin, calling you over the walkie-talkie, desperately crying your name and trying to get you to answer him.

“—Eddie didn’t follow me through the gate!” He wails, speaking so quickly and frantically Eddie can barely understand him, “H-he cut the rope – I don’t know where he’s going! Oh, God, oh, Jesus! – If you’re there, pick up! Please–”

Little fucking narc. Eddie thinks, gritting his teeth against the twinge of annoyance that blooms in him over being told on.

He swallows the feeling in favor of shouting your name again, long and loud, stretching it almost past the point of recognition.

This time, you answer.

“...I’m here…” You call weakly from somewhere behind him – inside the van, Eddie realizes with a start.

He can’t decide if he’s relieved, considering how weak the sound is.

He’s at the back doors before you finish speaking, and his heart jumps up into his throat when no amount of tugging garners any sort of movement, smashed and bent out of shape as the doors are.

Even pulling as hard as he can, Eddie can’t get them to budge.

It takes him far too long to remember that the doors at the back are not the only point of entry to the vehicle, and when he does, he scrambles around to the side, heart spasming erratically against his ribs as you call out to him again.

Your voice is tiny and fragile, and suddenly you sound like you’re about to break into a hundred tiny pieces.

“Eddie…?”

“I’m coming!” He chokes, bracing himself on his hands to hoist up onto the side of the van tilted up to the sky.

He tries to think light thoughts as he sits on his toes, perched on the runner and fumbling with the handle of the side panel door.

“I’m coming, Baby, just – just gimme a second to get this door–”

He tugs on it with the same force he’d exerted to no use at the back and cuts himself off with a startled yelp as it slides open with no resistance. Eddie very nearly topples over backward into the dirt, narrowly avoiding the door as it snaps off its hinges and whips past him, crashing down into the underbrush with a thunderous cacophony.

He grits his teeth against the sound and watches as it bounces and rolls off to disappear into the brush with a heavy thud.

Something is bound to have heard that, and if he wasn’t on a ticking clock before, he certainly is now. He’s got to get you and get out of here, figure out what his next move is before anything can come circling back around to finish the job.

When Eddie turns his attention back to the belly of the van, there you are, pushing up from where you lay on your side in a bed of broken glass and twisted metal – he’s never been happier to see you, considering the circumstances.

He drops down into the carcass of the van and lands beside you as softly as he can manage in steel-toed combat boots.

“Hey–” Eddie says, resting a tentative hand on your hip as you push up from the crumpled heap you’re lying in. “Baby... Sweetheart, are you okay? Come on, talk to me.”

You shake your head like you’re trying to clear a fog that has descended over your senses and press the heel of your palm against your forehead, making a pitiful sound as you do.

“Okay – I changed my mind,” You groan. “I don’t wanna be bait anymore.”

His hands migrate up to brace against your arms, trying in vain to steady you as you rock back into a seated position. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it, eyes screwed shut as you work through something – pain? Confusion? He can’t tell, and he can’t express how much that scares him.

“So, I guess this is the part where you tell me you told me so,”

Eddie surprises himself by laughing – a short wet bark that is just a little too loud in this enclosed space.

“You bet your ass I did.” He says, trying his best to sound easy, like maybe if he can laugh about this it won’t seem so bad.

It’s your turn to laugh then, a shaky exhale through the nose tinged ever so slightly with your typical mirth. And then you just sit there for a long moment, breathing in, breathing out, like you’re trying to center yourself or come back to yourself, or something, before you finally heave a sigh.

It takes you a moment longer to open your eyes, and when you do, your gaze flits up to meet his.

Your eyes immediately go wide, and it’s only then that Eddie remembers he doesn’t look so hot himself.

“Eddie – Oh, my God!” You gasp, reaching up to push his bandana back. “What happened?”

The material shifts with a gritty drag that sends a shiver of discomfort rocking through Eddie’s body.

“Nah, I’m okay.” Eddie says quickly, catching your hand and squeezing your fingers in a way he hopes is reassuring, “You oughta see the other guy.”

Then, just to show you it’s okay, he wipes the back of his hand across the cut on his forehead, growing sticky as the blood finally begins to coagulate. Eddie’s not willing to admit that he’s relieved about that, or that he’d seriously started to worry that these bats have some kind of anticoagulant in their saliva, like normal vampire bats only turned up to eleven.

How stupid would it have been to bleed out before he could even get you out of here?

You eye him warily, seemingly unsatisfied with the display, but unwilling to argue.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here – can you stand, Sweetheart?”

“I think so…” You say, bracing yourself against the way Eddie snakes his hands under your arms and gently eases you up onto your feet. “Ah– shit!”

You flinch and tense under his touch, causing Eddie’s insides to tighten with the fear of hurting you. He has to remind himself not to immediately release you, lest he drop you back among the broken glass and debris.

“Sorry!” Eddie says immediately, but you’re already shaking your head, refusing any sort of apology he might offer.

He knows he ought to be treating you with kid gloves especially if you were in this thing when it crashed and rolled like he highly suspects you were. He doesn’t know what's wrong with you, where you’re hurt, and he doesn't want to do something to inadvertently make a bad situation worse.

“What hurts, Babes? Your arm? Your ribs…?”

“My leg.” You hiss, craning your neck to look down at the thing – Eddie follows your gaze and notices the blood too late.

Big thick rivulets of it, streaking down to slick the inside of your thighs a bright and sticky crimson. It’s a lot of blood – too much blood, he might say if he was allowing himself to think about that, which he isn’t. Still, it takes him a panicky moment to find the source of the bleeding, and when he does his breath catches in his throat.

There, tied off around your upper thigh, is what he can only imagine is a piece of your shirt, torn off and fashioned into a tourniquet. The flesh below it is split into a long, jagged slice, lazily oozing over the expanse of your exposed skin. Eddie feels his stomach heave as he realizes he can see the faintest hint of muscle and sinew there.

He can’t get the words out to properly ask you what happened, but he sees the source of the wound before he has the time to really get worried about that. A thick, jagged piece of glass sits at your feet, at least four inches in length, and two of those inches are coated in a slick layer of blood – your blood.

Oh… shit.

He swallows hard in a lame attempt at regaining a bit of composure.

“What – uh – what do you need me to do here?” Eddie asks uselessly, feeling his mouth go dry.

The long and short of it? You need his belt to tie a better tourniquet, and while Eddie has never thought twice about unbuckling his belt for you, his fingers are trembling so badly as he fumbles with getting it unnotched and pulling it from his jeans that he nearly drops it twice before he gets it free.

He hates himself for the way you hiss out in pain when he slips the belt up over your thigh and pulls it tight – tighter even when you tell him to.

Eddie does as he’s told, despite his reluctance to hurt you, because you clearly know better than he does.

“How’s that–how’s it feel?” He asks once the belt is notched and looped, tight enough to cause your skin to discolor in places.

He’s on his knees in front of you now, eyes flitting back and forth between his work and your face, hands hovering aimlessly over the spot like he half expects it to spring a leak like some kind of rusty pipe.

“Tight.” You say through gritted teeth, and when Eddie feels his brows come together in concern, you shake your head and assure him that “Tight is good.”

After that, working together you manage to coax the back doors to fall open with a thunderous crash that has Eddie sucking in a tense breath. Your ticking clock is steadily running out, and he’s only thankful that you can more or less stand on your own two feet and walk yourself out of there.

Still, he has to carry you up the embankment, bridal style with your legs tucked over his arm – he’s hyper-aware of every one of his movements as he goes, suddenly so paranoid that any wrong step is going to tear something and set you to bleeding again.

Over the black river of pavement and through the woods, back toward home, you go – slowly, step after agonizing step you lean heavily on Eddie and hobble to safety. One foot in front of the other, baby steps one might even say – it’s agonizingly slow going, but it’s distance all the same.

The further you go, the more Eddie can’t help but start to fool himself that things are going to be okay – you’re going to make it.

He should know better than to hope for something like that.

Eddie doesn’t notice the bats at first, he’s too busy watching you for any sign of distress, and as a result, he only realizes something is wrong when he sees you stop short and recoil. Your eyes widen in fear and you gasp through your teeth, then he follows your gaze and sees them.

Like they knew he was going to eventually have to come back this way, like they’d just been waiting for him, there they are. Hundreds of bats, maybe even thousands, swirling and ducking and diving, a cloud of teeth and claws and winged screeching death swirling overhead.

“Eddie–” You gasp, fisting your hands in the side of his vest and trying your damnedest to tuck yourself in behind him.

“It’s okay – it’s gonna be okay.” He says, doing his best to swallow his own fear because how can that be expressly true when you can’t run?

How are you supposed to make it out of this one? The sobering truth settles in the pit of his stomach, cold and heavy like a rock, threatening to pull him down into the depths of sickening realization: you’re not.

Holy, shit. He can’t help but think. We’re going to die down here.

Strangely, Eddie can’t stop thinking about that moment back in the boat house with danger bearing down on the pair of you – he’d stressed that you had to get the fuck out of there, right now, and you’d more or less agreed … only, not the both of you.

There will be no more running for Eddie the Banished…

If he can buy you some time, find a way to lure the bats away from you, maybe you can make it back to the gate – but there lies the problem with your being unable to walk without his support. It’s a terrible conundrum, how to give his life to save yours when you need to use him as a crutch? He’ll burn that bridge when he comes to it.

“What are we gonna do … Eddie?”

Eddie twists to face you then, taking your face in both hands.

“Hey, look at me – we’re gonna be fine, we're gonna walk—”

“We’re not gonna make it!” you say in a clipped, panicked tone, eyes wide and reeling in their sockets as he holds you firmly to the spot and forces you to look at him.

“Doesn’t matter.” He says immediately, shaking his head, “We gotta try. So, we’re just gonna walk, okay? One foot in front of the other.”

You shake your head.

“They’re gonna see us.”

Eddie nods slowly.

“Yeah— yeah, they’re gonna see us, but it’s gonna be okay. Listen to me. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay ... you trust me right?"

"I trust you." You say slowly.

He rolls his shoulders in a shrug he hopes is half as calm and casual as it feels.

"So let's just walk, see what happens."

“...Okay.”

If he thought your pace before was slow, this is like trudging through wet cement. One foot after the other, just like he said, you make your way out into the open.

Eddie does his best not to breathe and he squeezes you tight against him, doing his best to sync your steps and hold as much of your weight as he can take without outright carrying you.

You get barely half a minute of peace out in the open before razor-sharp claws come flying down to rake the side of your face and send you staggering with a strangled scream.

Eddie manages to keep you upright, but only just, and he barely has time to decide where to go let alone process what the hell just happened before you’re hit again, this time from the right.

It’s actually astounding the way he’s already doing such a bad job at this – he came out here to protect you, didn’t he? Save you?

Maddeningly, no amount of thrashing or shouting seems to draw the bats' attention to him, like he’s not even there. He tries to put himself in front of you to act as some sort of a buffer against the attack as they swarm, but the bats just keep coming, and in the end, all he can do is pull you along at a staggering pace to try and keep the bats off of you.

In the distance, Eddie suddenly spies the discarded spear and shield lying in a heap and he feels the tips of his fingers sting with adrenaline. Suddenly, there’s a chance.

Forget the gate, if he can just get you to that shield, maybe he can protect you.

He turns to tell you the new plan just in time to see you enveloped in a pair of wings, and in a moment, your fingers slip from his.

“Shit– no–!”

“Eddie!”

Before he can grab you, something grips Eddie’s ankle and wrenches him off of his feet. He hits the ground and scrambles to try and find purchase on the pavement, blunt fingernails splintering in the earth as he’s dragged backward, away from you.

You’re wide-eyed, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as you reach for him – fingers just miss each other, and then you’re gone as Eddie is wrenched away and you disappear into a cloud of flapping wings.

Oh, my God — Jesus fucking Christ, this can’t be happening, he thinks watching the frantic thrashing heap where you had been only a moment before.

That’s supposed to be him getting swarmed, not you… you’re supposed to make it… he’s supposed to save you — he’s got to save you.

Eddie kicks out and thrashes until his boots come away and he is free of whatever it is that has a hold of him. He scrambles to get his socked feet underneath him, but before he can straighten up he is hit again, hard enough in the back to send him sprawling forward.

His chin strikes the pavement, and stars burst across his vision. Eddie tastes copper as his mouth begins to fill with blood, but all of that is immediately secondary to the way his lungs have flattened in his chest and no amount of effort will inflate them again – he can’t breathe.

He can count the number of fights he’s been in on one hand, and most of those ended with him on the ground getting kicked in the ribs— this feels a lot like that.

In a slow, jerky motion, Eddie tries to curl in on himself, to protect the softer, more fragile parts of his body from any sort of real damage.

He’s too stunned from having the wind knocked out of him, and before he can tuck in and bring his knees up to his chest, he’s wrenched over onto his back by that same violent force that pulls him off his feet moments before.

In an instant, he’s spread taught like a pinned moth, arms and legs pulled nearly to the point of hyperextension, facing the sky as the bats lay him out.

There’s nothing he can do, no amount of kicking and thrashing to try and free himself this time. He’d barely held his own against one of these monstrous little fuckers back in the hall outside of his bedroom, there is nothing Eddie can do when half a dozen descends.

His mind begins spinning in desperately frantic circles, trying to work its way out of this – somebody’s coming to his rescue, right? Any second Steve or somebody much braver than him is going to come riding in to save his ass and pull him out of the fire. Somebody is coming – he’s not going to die like this, he’s not going to be eaten…

It takes them a moment to get through the padding of the army-grade vest, long enough that Eddie’s lungs finally inflate again, and gasping in a greedy intake of air, he manages to get one arm free enough to wrench his elbow down toward his midsection. The motion dislodges the bat tearing at him, preventing it from getting at his insides, but it leaves his throat exposed in the process.

The bats take no time to jump at the opportunity he has opened for them.

Time slows to a screeching halt, and this time Eddie feels the teeth breaking his skin. Every little puncture sinking deep into the tendons of his neck and pulling pieces of him away is amplified and, for half a second all he feels is a sting, then a series of pops and snaps before the warm wet gush of something flooding up into his hair and down over the expanse of his chest – blood, he realizes, his blood.

What had you called them? Giant vampire bats?

Paralyzed by the shock of having a literal bite taken out of his neck, Eddie’s body goes momentarily slack, and then he begins to feel the other points of pain as the bats make it through his armor and begin to tear into him.

Christ, they’re gonna eat him alive, and nobody is coming to save him.

The horror of such a statement is too much, it cracks Eddie’s brain open and he feels a part of himself slip away. He doesn’t shut down like he always imagined must happen to people in moments of great mortal peril, however, he stays tragically conscious, he stays lucid, and the bats keep eating at him.

Eddie shuts his eyes against it and fails to suppress a scream, as much as in pain as terror.

This can’t be the end, can it? Is this really how he’s going to die? Held down and eaten alive like some kind of Promethean cautionary tale – like something out of one of his campaigns?

What a stupid fucking way to die.

Then, inexplicably, just as it becomes too much to bear, it ends with a tremor. Small at first, enough to startle the bats away from their meal. Little faces slick with bright red blood pop up to look around, chitter curiously at each other, and then the world begins to shake, rattling Eddie’s bones as the earth quakes beneath him with a strange and deafening roar.

There is the rush of something being swung over him, a desperate shout and the bats screech and lift off like they mean to escape it – whatever it is – leaving Eddie lying where they left him. He watches them wink off into the dark with hazy eyes as the world endeavors to come to an end.

Things go dark then, and Eddie wonders with a stark burst of potent fear if this is the end and if he’s finally begun to die, but he’s still far too painfully aware of everything – of the rumbling, the fleeing bats, the burning and stinging and bleeding across the expanse of his body. Of the other body pressed against him, curling tight over him to try and shield him from whatever is happening, screaming in competition with the sound as it amplifies to a deafening roar.

And then it’s over, as quickly as it started, with a whimper rather than a fiery bang.

The rumbling silence that follows is punctuated by the sudden wet smacking of the stone-dead weight of a hundred bats dropping out of the air, like terrible, heavy rain. They hit the space above Eddie with heavy metallic thumps and he wonders briefly why he doesn’t feel their impact as they fall – he doesn’t really care; everything hurts too much.

Despite everything he’s still here… at least for now.

Even when the world grows still, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His body still screams in the absence of the assault where he feels every abrasion, even tear in his flesh, every bruised bone in his body all crying out at once.

It occurs to Eddie that he’ll die if he doesn’t get up, but that thought is lost under the pain, the way he can feel his life leaking out of him from several key points in his body with every panicked thump of his erratic heart. He knows he’s got to stop himself bleeding, but his limbs are heavy and sluggish — he can’t move – it hurts too bad to move.

Then stop moving, Stupid. Just lay there and die like you’re supposed to.

Something shifts above him, and the darkness is suddenly gone. He can see the sky as he begins to die, that terrible crimson flashing of lightning, and nothing else.

Eddie’s life doesn’t flash before his eyes – he isn't imbued with sepia-toned home movies of his first steps, scraped knees, and birthday parties.

When Eddie dies, all he thinks about is you.

You— crouched in the student parking lot in the first moment he ever really noticed you, gathering the contents of your spilled backpack, cracking a self-deprecating joke, and apologizing for bumping into him - treating him with the most basic human kindness where no one else ever extended the courtesy.

You — sitting on his bed with your knees pulled up, pouring over some homework assignment that isn’t due for at least another week, and ignoring the nonsense song he’s making up on the spot to try and distract you.

You— belly laughing at a joke that isn’t funny with your eyes squeezed shut and your nose wrinkled in the way that made him fall in love with you – You, blasting Duran Duran and jumping on your bed trying in vain to get him to dance with you – You, illuminated by some terrible slasher and shoveling tense fistfuls of popcorn into your mouth while you sit waiting for the impending jump-scare.

You – kneeling over him in this terrible place, battered and bruised, looking like the prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen – an honest to Goddamn angel – still clutching the slapdash spear and shield you’d used to save him.

Wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around?

You cast the trashcan lid away from where you’d held it propped above the both of you with a grunt, gasping out the effort and flinching against the harsh sound it makes when it strikes the pavement.

You’re hurt, more than you already were – blood is flecked across your face and oozing from various cuts, blossoming across the heathered grey of your shirt where it isn’t already drying black from before. It’s on your hands, leaving cold smears across Eddie’s skin as you frame his face, forcing him to look at you the same as he had done before.

“Eddie? Eddie.” You say, frantically looking him over, “Look at me – hey, you’re okay –”

Your voice is strange and lilting as you tell him again and again that he’s okay, but your face betrays any affected facade of calm you may have been trying to hold.

You’ve never been a good liar, especially when you’re scared. Not that Eddie needs to take a cue from you – he already knows he’s fucked.

It’s one of those existential feelings that settles in his bones, something he doesn’t need to be told to know, like when he knew he wasn’t going to graduate his first senior year, only worse.

“Bad, huh?” He grinds out, eyes rolling in his sockets as he tries to keep himself focused on you.

He can feel himself slipping and it’s terrifying. He searches you face, focusing on your features and trying to commit them to memory like maybe if he can just keep his eyes on you, he’ll be okay.

Maybe he’ll still make it.

You give a quick shake of your head that feels decidedly more ominous than it should.

“No – no, you’re okay,” You say again, “Can you-can you sit up? Try and sit up for me, Eds.”

He can’t imagine how he’s meant to do that, considering as far as Eddie can tell the bats have stripped him clean and he doesn’t have anything left between his ribs and his hips but empty spine.

Then again, you seem optimistic, and he can feel a sharp stab of pain in his belly when your hand comes down to rest over it, so he’s willing to try… or at least he’s willing to let you try.

“Let’s sit up, okay?” You say again, gently trying to guide him into a sitting position. “We’re gonna sit up and catch our breath, and then we’ll get out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie mumbles.

Slowly, he lets you coax him up, but then his waist begins to bend and Eddie’s body lights up in a hundred different points of agony.

Suddenly he’s on fire.

He screams out the agony, startling you with the sound, and you release him immediately, hands jerking back as fast as if the touch of his body had burned you.

He hears you swear hearshly from somewhere to his left — he can’t see where you’ve gone, he’s too busy laying there, trying to make himself breathe and waiting for the pain to pass.

It doesn’t – all he feels is the white-hot burning of half a dozen points where he’s busy bleeding his life away.

“Shit –” You say with a trembling voice, reappearing at his side, “Okay, on second thought, don’t try to move.”

He wasn’t planning on it.

Eddie’s only vaguely aware of you moving, putting that first aide certificate you’d once proudly shown off to good use. You gently try to coax him to lift his head, and he complies, whimpering and choking as it puts pressure on the wound in his neck – yeah, that’s the bad one — that’s the one that kills him.

“I know, I know it hurts —I’m sorry—”, you’re babbling as you press something to his throat and do your best to navigate the problem of applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding without choking him out.

Slowly, Eddie becomes aware of the way his hand has come up, trembling violently as he stares back at his fingers and tries to make his eyes focus on them. If he can just stay conscious, he’ll be fine. In the intermittent flashes of light, he sees the slick wetness of the blood coating his digits, rolling down his wrist into his sleeve in thick rivulets. He realizes with a start that one of those little fuckers took a bite out of his hand.

“Oh, shit…” he huffs, “…S-Sweetheart…?”

“You’re okay.” You say again, reaching out quickly to curl his hand in on itself and bring it back down to rest over his heart.

You keep saying that, but Eddie knows better. It’s too much blood — he’s only got so much of that stuff, and he’s fairly certain he’s lying in a good deal of it, pooling beneath him.

Still, it doesn’t seem to deter you as you maneuver him so that you’ve got your hands hooked under his arms.

“Listen to me, Eds,” you start, sounding winded as you speak, “We gotta get you to a hospital, so you gotta get up.”

“You said don’t move.” He whimpers, gritting his teeth and bracing himself for more pain.

You ignore his whining.

“I’m gonna count to three and you’re gonna stand up, okay? I’m gonna help you.”

“Okay,” he says weakly, wincing when you shift beneath him, one leg tucked under yourself, the other bent, ready to push up.

The subtle movement alone is enough to send a sharp and lancing pain screaming through his body, and Eddie imagines for a moment that even if his wounds don’t kill him, your attempts at trying to save his life will.

There’s no good choice here. Everything hurts, and it’s not going to stop hurting, no matter what he does. not if he gets up, and not if he just lays there until he dies.

“Ready?”

“No.” Eddie pants.

Your fingers tighten against him and Eddie braces himself for what’s about to happen. He’s not sure how you expect to do this, but the only certainty here is that if he doesn’t get up, he’s going to die, and more than anything, Eddie doesn’t want to die, not down here in the dark.

“You start,”

He takes a series of quick breaths, one right after the other, then holds it — this is really gonna hurt.

“—One.”

You don’t wait for the rest of the count, and Eddie doesn’t know why he’s so surprised about that when he’s the one who taught you that kind of behavior.

You push up and pull with all your limited strength to try and move him with you. Pull him up onto his feet, and Eddie feels like you may as well have dropped him into a vat of acid, it’s the worst pain he’s ever experienced, and he’s fully convinced that he’s breaking into dozen of little pieces as you drag him up — there’s nothing he can do to stifle the screams that wrench themselves out of him as you go.

His voice is a strange, hollow sound against the flat air, and you almost instantly collapse under the combination of his dead weight and your own weakened state.

Eddie gasps out in relief when you fall backward, having done little more than wrenched him up into your lap. He lays back against your chest with his head resting on your collarbone and waits for the pain to pass… and waits… and waits… it’s not going to stop hurting, he’s going to die before it stops.

He can feel your heart hammering against your ribs like a subtle tapping at the back of his neck. You’re both gasping for air, gritting your teeth against your own individual pain, and speaking at the same time.

“Oh, God— oh Christ, don't-don’t do that again,” Eddie pleads, “Please don’t—”

“Sorry – I’m sorry – that wasn’t nice,” You say, “Give me a second and we’ll try again, okay?”

He shakes his head.

“No,”

“Eddie, I can’t do anything for you down here.” you stress, “We have to get you to the hospital right now. Come on, let’s try again.”

“I’m not—” he starts weakly, gritting his teeth and swallowing hard before forcing out a breathless chuckle, “I’m not gonna make it, Sweetheart.”

He hates to say it, but it’s nothing if not entirely on brand — he is, after all, the pessimist between the two of you. It doesn’t make the statement any less startling, like the clanging of a bell that rings out in the hollow silence that blooms between you.

“No,” you say with a potent tinge of panic, “No, don’t—don’t be silly, of course you are. You’re gonna be okay, you just have to—” your voice breaks as a sob forces itself up into your throat. “—Y-you just have to get up. Please get up…”

It breaks his heart to do it, but there’s no sense in pretending like you both don’t know he’s a goner. Eddie slowly shakes his head and watches your features crumple.

“Not this time.” he croaks, only just managing to get the sound out through the lump in his throat.

Your face contorts into a twisted mask of grief and you heave out a strangled breath, slumping forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck. For a moment, it’s all you can do but heave under the duress of trying not to cry.

It doesn’t work.

After a moment of silence, you push up again, sniffling and wiping in vain at the tears that refuse to stop falling from your lashes.

Eddie forces himself to look at you and face the finality of this moment. He watches the big fat tears defy all your attempts to stifle them, dripping down to collect at the point of your chin.

He hates himself for making you cry like that, but there’s nothing he can do — it’s just another one of those inevitabilities that some fatalist part of him always knew: the bats were always going to get through, you were always going to end up in the van, and he was never going to leave this place.

Eddie reaches up to brush the tears away, smearing blood across your face as he does. He would feel bad about that if he could make himself, but a strange calm has washed over him, and suddenly everything doesn’t hurt as badly as it did a second ago.

In the back of his rational mind, he knows that’s a bad sign, that it’s the beginning of the end, but he doesn’t care about that — all he cares about is you.

“It’s okay,” he hums, “Baby— it’s okay … but you gotta— you gotta go now, go to the gate – Dustin’s waiting–”

“No, not without you.” You sniffle, violently shaking your head, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Eddie’s heart leaps in panic as his vision wells up and goes blurry as tears begin to collect at the corners of his lashes. You can’t stay down here, but he knows there’s nothing he can do or say to make you go – nothing he’s willing to say, at least.

Suddenly, Eddie is struck with the thought that these are the last minutes of his life, there are no do-overs after this, no second chances. When he closes his eyes, he’s going to die, and this is the last time he’s ever going to see you — what a terrible thing that is.

You’re gonna go on, keep on living your life, hit all those milestones you’d planned together, and he’s gonna be so sorry to miss it. How terrible a thing it is that you could love something death can touch – he would tell himself that he’s happy to die so that you can live, but somehow he can’t muster the feeling.

“At least I didn’t run away this time, huh?”

Eddie tries to smile like he’s laughing at himself for being so stupid, but all he manages is a pained grimace, a horizontal stretch pulling his lips into a tight line — his mouth is full of blood.

You smile, a weak and wilting mirror image of the look he’s sure he just gave you, and you shake your head.

“No,” you sniffle, brushing back his hair in a helpless attempt at soothing him, “You ran toward the danger, like a big dumb brave idiot… you saved me.”

Eddie heaves out a stuttering sigh, a desperately melancholy thing, and shuts his eyes tight against the feeling welling up inside of him.

Grief? That’s for certain, because you’re both going to die down here if you stay, but he can’t bear the thought of being parted from you, not here when he needs you most.

Suddenly, he’s that eleven-year-old boy standing on his uncle’s front steps, only this time he’s begging himself not to go.

“Stay with me, Eds…” You tell him.

“F-fuck,” he stutters, “I’m so— God, I’m sorry. I really tried this time, Sweetheart… I tried to stay, but I–” He breathes out harshly because he'd rather waste a breath than time choking on the sob welling in his throat, “–I don’t – I don’t want to go… I don’t wanna go.”

You shake your head and shush him, gently caressing the apple of his cheek with your knuckles.

“...I know, Baby.” you murmur, “Look at me … I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The words strike him one after the other, harsh and potent stabs of fear pincushioning him and holding him there where he lays in your arms.

You have to go, he wants to tell you, if you stay you’ll die. But he can’t get the words out fast enough. His speech is sluggish and slurred, clumsy on his tongue.

“You can’t—”

You don’t let him finish.

“I made a promise, Eddie.” You press, “I said I wouldn’t leave you. So, if you’re staying, I’m staying.” And then you bring his hand up to draw a shaky x over the left side of your chest, “Cross my heart.”

It’s simultaneously the worst and best thing he’s ever heard. Maybe there is something poetic about it, spending eternity down here together, your bodies decaying and intertwining, falling together until you’re nothing but a jumbled heap of bones, yours indiscernible for his — together is better.

People are eventually going to forget about him … but you? No one will know what happened to you, not your friends, your parents, not Wayne – oh, fuck … Wayne.

Eddie’s heart thumps a slow and heavy rhythm in his chest as images of his uncle’s face swim before his eyes.

It’ll be hardest for Wayne, the not knowing.

He’s going to spend the rest of his life searching, wondering what happened to him, waiting for a sign that he’s okay, that he made it – or some sign that he didn’t – and it’s never going to come.

He’s going to die not knowing what happened, and somehow that’s the worst part of all of this.

Suddenly, Eddie can’t stop thinking of all the people he’ll never see again, everyone he’s letting down, dying like this. Gareth and the band, everyone in Hellfire —Dustin, God, Dustin’s gonna be crushed.

He feels his face contort into a mask of terrible sadness before he draws in a sharp, pained breath and holds it. Hot tears well up and spill out from his lashes, streaking down over the side of his face to collect in the shell of his ear.

“It’s okay, Eddie, I’m here…” You say gently, “I’m right here.”

“I love you,” He says shakily, desperately.

You nod.

“I know, Honey – I love you too… so much.”

You continue stroking the side of his face as he feels himself begin to fade, his limbs growing slack, his aches and pains easing away.

Finally, it’s like he can breathe again, and the air is cool and sweet. If he really wanted to, Eddie thinks he could delude himself into imagining that you’re lying out in a field somewhere, hundreds of miles from Hawkins and the Upsidedown and everything that means him harm, that means you harm.

It’s just the two of you, in this peaceful place, the grass is soft, the birds are chirping — he’s back home in the Shire, Mordor long removed from the horizon.

It’s hard to force the words out through the way his teeth are chattering – he’s suddenly so goddamn cold, he’s surprised he can’t see his breath clouding in front of his face – but he tries.

God, does he try.

“For the quest is achieved–” Eddie stutters, “And now all is over,” He opens his eyes, and the illusion is gone as the crushing darkness of this place comes rushing back in.

He’s so cold, he can barely feel your hands anymore and he has to look to make sure you’re still there, smiling sweetly, tears cutting thick rivulets through the dirt and grime caking face.

Eddie heaves out a sigh as he finishes the quote.

“I’m glad you’re here with me –“ He tells you, “Here, at the end of all things.”

Everything is muffled now. Eddie doesn’t hear the voice calling his name in the distance, calling yours – he watches your head snap to attention, watches the expression on your face change, and then change again.

Shadows are creeping in on the edges of his vision when you look back down at him, your features are growing fuzzy, but he can see your brows suddenly pinched tightly over your eyes as a newfound urgency etches itself across your face – God, he’s so damn lucky he gets to see your face one last time.

He tries to commit you to memory, but suddenly you’re nothing more than a blown-out silhouette of yourself, working your mouth, curling your fingers in tighter around him.

You’re saying something, but Eddie can’t understand you, the words are garbled, like being spoken underwater.

He would be sad about that if he were able.

He wants to tell you he loves you again, one last time before he goes, make sure you know for certain before it’s too late, but he’s already slipped beneath the surface by the time the thought crosses his mind.

Somewhere, he thinks he can hear you talking to him, still stroking his face in that lovely way you always do. He imagines you asking him to stay stay stay… he would if he could.

#cruel summer fic #cruel summer #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn eddie munson #joseph quinn fic

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