#The Loneliest Highway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachesofteal · 4 months

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The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel.

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable.

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive.

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles.

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod.

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.”

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts.

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.”

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights.

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse.

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one.

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind.

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area.

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment.

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding.

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.

Sleep.

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel.

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember?

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate?

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no.

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye.

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip.

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?�� You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down.

Still…

Didn’t Johnny kiss you?

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed.

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?” You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones.

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience.

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

“Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

#peaches writes #dub con #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #Ghoap #soap x reader

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patrick-jennings · 2 years

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Shadow Selfie

I have to admit there are an overabundance of road pics in my catalogue, photographs in which various streets, highways, byways and gravel tracks from my travels serve as the primary subject of a landscape. Mind you, I’m not apologizing for that. We photograph and write about what we know and love, and I love few things more than being behind the wheel of a car (or pedaling a bicycle) through…

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#fisheye #highway #journey #Loneliest Road in America #Nevada #photography #postaday #roadtrip #the road #travel #United States of America

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

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Death Becomes Us Part 4: I Love the Darkness in You

vampire!Eddie x supernatural!fem!Reader

Part 3 was a smut extra and you can find it here

Summary: Several new ST characters are introduced in this part, as you come to terms with the fact that you're living next to a cold-blooded killer. We learn more about what Eddie does for a living, and just when you think you're the loneliest person on earth---he comes to your rescue again. Word count: 5.7k

Series Masterlist

18+Only, Pls no minors, mature themes, there are some dark themes in this part (this whole series in general) including addiction, previously inflicted wounds, and mention of child neglect. Mention of a murder, grand theft auto, smoking, loneliness, please read warnings for each part.

A/N: For the sake of this series, all of the characters are the same as the show, but some have different backstories. The Upside Down is a place, but everyone exists as if the events of the show never happened. You do not have to be acquainted with True Blood to enjoy this, but those who are will notice some familiar terminology and situations pop up.

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Part 4: I Love the Darkness in You

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The next morning while you were at the kitchen window, watering the one house plant you had managed to keep alive while you lived in your hearse, the news on the TV mentioned something about the Klemp family. Needless to say, you almost broke your neck trying to dart across the dark orange carpet in your bare feet to turn the sound up.

The news anchor woman with a bob of dark hair looked into the camera as images of the three people in question appeared in the right-hand corner of the screen. “...the remains of Angela Klemp, along with her stepbrothers Doyle and Clyde, were found unresponsive at the bottom of Burns Ravine this morning. Police speculate that they were driving on Highway 96 near Dead Man’s Turn, when their vehicle lost control and went off the edge of the cliff: none of them survived. In other news, Police are asking questions about the…”

You backed up so far, you kicked the coffee table and spilled your cup of soda and ice, cursing as you did so. Sopping up the mess with a few paper towel before it could get on the carpet, your mind returned to the night before when you’d watched vampire Eddie end each one of their lives in a blink of an eye. A blink of an eye, a twist of the wrist; movements that seemed to take no more effort than for a regular human to dial numbers on a phone.

Eddie was a killer.

But then you remembered how vulnerable he’d been while at the mercy of nothing but thin, silver chains that pinned him to the ground and sapped his strength. Angie Klemp and her brothers had obviously been very skilled at trapping and draining vampires, but the risk was huge, and so the payoff must’ve been worth it. You had a flashback of the man you called father; the sound of rattling of pills in his desk drawer, and how he would stay up for days on end. And then there were the other pills in a locked cabinet in his bedroom for when he needed to sleep. He had his own laboratory in the basement and that is where you could find him if you ever really needed anything---but it had to be an emergency. You’d spent many a birthday and holiday alone in your room, reading your books, until your father finally rushed up the stairs, flustered, begging for your forgiveness, and ready to take you out for pizza or whatever; but by then, it was already too late.

He was always very sorry, and you always forgave him. It had just been you and him for as long as you could remember, and there were a few warm, happy memories that you clung to in those lonely days.

With the wad of wet paper towels in your fist, you found yourself staring over the back of your TV, through the far window, at the daytime silence of Eddie’s trailer. If not for the vehicles and motorcycles parked near some of the homes, you’d think that it was an abandoned lot; no sign of life anywhere. But, you could hear the soft lilt of a Neil Diamond song, letting you know that Dolores had her radio out on the porch while she got a suntan on her face with the aid of an aluminum shield braced under her chin.

You didn’t have to work that night, but you had a few things to cross off your list, so you jumped in the shower. This was your second shower since the run-in with the Klemp family the night before, and you were having hard time feeling clean enough. You wrapped a white terrycloth towel around you at the end, dripping onto the bile-green tile, continuing to forget you needed a bathmat, and tried not to slip as you dried off. When you were finished, you dropped the towel on the floor to soak up the water and put your foot up on the toilet to begin the standard ritual of tending to your scars with vitamin E.

You had arrived at a point in your life when you didn’t think about the fact that your body looked like it had once been cut into pieces as often, but in the bright, artificial light of the bathroom, the long scar that crisscrossed over your left knee and went all the way up your thigh to your hip bone, felt so hideous that you had to look away. Wishing the bottle of thick, sticky liquid in your hand was magic and would erase the marking on your flesh forever, you flipped the top and squirted some onto your finger, massaging it along the gnarled fissure with care. You’d been tending to them all this way for a few years, and you had only noticed a small difference, but at least it was something.

The last one you always took care of was the one on your cheek from the corner of your mouth to your ear, and as you were applying the ointment, there was a knock at your door.

You’d been so caught up in your thoughts that you jumped. You were naked, so you quickly snatched the towel off the floor and wrapped yourself in it.

“Who is it?” You called down the hall.

“Chief Hopper,” a deep voice returned. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

-----------

Earlier that day, at the crack of dawn, Jim Hopper sat at the end of his bed, shirtless, in a pair of unbuttoned jeans, and rolled his neck from side to side. There were empty beer cans on the dresser, and a small glass vile of dark red liquid in the ashtray next to a smashed out butt with lipstick on it. He groaned as he stood, fastening his jeans, snatching his pack of cigarettes off the bedside table as he went.

A smoke and some coffee first, maybe some aspirin, and then a shower and shave. There was gray coming in his beard stubble now and he was reminding himself too much of his old man to just let it grow out, even though he knew a beard would help to disguise the double chin he had going on as he entered his 50’s.

“Age is just a number,” is something Joyce would say, and to that he would reply: “Yeah, well why do I feel so fucking old, then?”

Joyce Byers hadn’t aged in a decade; that’s the one gift vampirism bestowed upon its victims. Being immortal? Living forever? Jim couldn’t imagine a worse fate. If someone turned him against his will, he’d give himself over to the sun immediately.

Joyce had chosen the vampire life, though, and for that—a part of him would never be able to forgive her. Sure, their fling was long over, and she’d been with Bob for a while now, but goddamn—he used to be able to daydream about growing old with her later in life, and now he couldn’t even do that.

He cursed as something fell out of his pocket while he was searching for his lighter. It was another small glass vial full of dark liquid—but this one was almost empty---and he held his cigarette between his teeth as he bent to catch it before it rolled under the bed. Picking up the vial, he regarded it between thumb and forefinger so he could get a good look at how many drops were left.

God, he hated this about himself. He hated the way he measured the days of his week around how much he had left in the vials. Every morning, he promised himself that he’d quit, as soon as work wasn’t so stressful and he had some time to himself to stomach the withdrawals.

The kitchen was cold, and it sent a pang through his heart, making him wish there was someone there to make a pot of coffee and sit with him for a few minutes before he left for work. He’d give anything to hear bacon sizzling in the pan and smell fresh squeezed orange juice again while cartoons played on the television. Those days were so long gone, but he could feel both his wife and daughter there as if it were happening in that moment.

He felt the emotions rise in his throat and choke there, making him dig for the vial in his pocket. He knew there was another full one in the ashtray in his bedroom, but he had to make them both last until next week, and it already wasn’t looking good. He tore a tiny corner off of a paper towel, and then bent to unscrew the cap and tap two drops onto the paper, watching the dark red liquid bleed into the fibers. He then placed the square of paper on his tongue and let it dissolve with a hard swallow and some sink water to wash it down.

He squeezed his eyes closed, knowing that relief would be coming soon, if only for a few hours.

----------

The Chief?

You mouthed it to yourself, panic prickling your hair follicles.

“Um, just a second,” you gushed, scrambling to your bedroom to find something to throw on.

You couldn't help but think this had something to do with the Klemp family, and your mind raced to think of what you would say if he did ask. A pair of loose, worn jeans and a t-shirt were the first two things you grabbed, and you were halfway to the door when you realized that the shirt was inside-out and backwards with the tag sticking in your chin, but the Chief was already knocking again, and you decided to leave it.

Standing tall and broad on your porch, Chief Hopper was handsome and road-weary; brown hair slicked back with gray at the temples and a few strands of gray in his mustache. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were sad. He took his hat off as you answered the door, brushed his hair back, and then settled it back in place at the crown. He looked like he hadn’t slept well in years.

He asked your name, and introduced himself properly with a firm handshake.

Dolores was standing a few yards away on the dead grass of your yard with her arms crossed, watching the interaction with a frown; probably wishing you’d invite her up on the porch so she could hear every word.

Hopper had a small notepad in his hand that he squinted at before lifting his gaze back to you. “Does the name Angie Klemp ring a bell to you?”

Your voice came out as a squeak, but then you cleared your throat. “Yeah, I just saw on the news that they were….that they didn’t…”

“But, you met her yesterday, correct? At the bar where you work?” He pretended to need to check his notes as if he wasn’t sure of the name. “At Main Vein?”

You hadn’t been the one who killed them, but still your nerves were twitching. “I waited on their table, yes,” you admitted, trying to act nonchalant by putting your hand in the front pocket of your jeans and bracing your forearm on the door frame. “But, what is there to investigate? I thought their truck went off the road?”

You knew maybe that last bit was too much, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Well,” he let out a huff, flipping his notebook closed. “A witness said they saw them draining a vampire in your parking lot. Do you know anything about that?”

Your bottom teeth gnawed on your top lip thoughtfully, as if that was a scenario you would easily forget. “No, I’m sorry,” you blinked a few times, innocently. “They paid and left, but then I went back to work and I never saw them again.”

Hopper’s poker face was set. No one had confessed to seeing the Klemp’s try to drain a vampire in the Main Vein parking lot---but he knew that was a crime they were rumored to participate in. A vampire scorned easily had the strength to snap their necks and send their car off a cliff with its bare hands. Plus, Angie’s body had bite marks on her throat, and most of her blood had been drained. Sure, a fatal crash off a cliff could snap some necks, but how had her blood miraculously been drained to the bone without a drop of it anywhere at the crash?

“What about your neighbor?” Hopper lifted his chin in the direction of Eddie’s place. “He was there last night too, did you happen to see him interact with them at all?”

“No,” the answer was possibly a bit too quick, but you followed it with. “He was there, but he left before they did.”

You wondered how this line of questioning would go if Eddie’s blood hadn’t done the magic work of healing you so quickly. You’d have a rope burn around your neck, a black eye, a broken skull, and a few crushed internal organs.

He asked a few standard questions after that, like how long had you lived there, and a phone number to reach you if he had more questions. He took another long look at Eddie’s trailer before reaching in the front pocket of his shirt to pinch a cigarette out of the soft pack.

He slid the cigarette to the side of his mouth and snapped the pocket closed. “Okay if I ask a personal question?”

“Depends on what it is, I guess,” you answered, convinced he was about to bring up your scars, or perhaps ask if you knew your shirt was on inside out and backwards.

He inclined his head to the rest of the trailer park. “What the hell made a nice girl like you move to a place like this?”

You stepped back into the trailer, about to shut the door, but then you paused. “Maybe I’m not a nice girl, Chief Hopper.”

---------

Later that day, once you were back from running errands, you took out the stack of Polaroid’s you’d taken so far and spread them out on the walnut coffee table in front of the orange and brown wagon wheel sofa. There was Argyle giving the peace sign in one, offering a no-teeth smile with his eyes closed, the sleeping beige dog at Robin’s bookstore, a stone frog in front of a row of red tulips, an extreme closeup of Bob’s face when he tried to take a photo of himself, and a green Buick with the bumper sticker that said: “God Hates Fangs”.

You smiled to yourself as you looked at the others, lining them up in two rows, realizing it was time to put new film in. Your eyes stopped on the one at Robin’s bookstore, at the ass end and tail of the dog that slept on a large pillow behind the cash register. Was that the same dog who had come to your rescue in the alley way?

You’d gone by there again that day, because you liked bookstores, and found the smell of books comforting, but you were also starting to like Robin. Besides Bob, she had the friendliest face in town, and you felt oddly comforted in her presence.

She was up on a ladder when you walked into the store, putting some hardbacks away on a top shelf. She had on a thin white shirt with buttons all the way up to the neck, a long, fitted chocolate corduroy skirt passed her knees and slouchy leather boots that went up to mid-calf. Her glasses fell off her nose when she turned to look at who had just come in, but the beaded chain around her neck caught them as they flopped to her chest.

“It’s you,” she beamed, tucking hair behind each ear, descending the ladder. “I was hoping I’d see you again soon. I have something for you.”

“For me?” You couldn’t contain the shock in your voice. You’d barely just met her and you weren’t used to strangers being so generous and open-handed with you.

She stepped over the dog to get behind the cash register, and you bent down to get a better look at the dog’s face. Its eyes were closed, chin resting on its paw, but it was definitely the pit bull terrier that had rescued you the night before. You squatted down to pet the animals head.

“Have I introduced you to Lucy?” Robin asked, referring to the dog.

“I think we met by accident last night,” feeling the warm, velvet of her soft fur. “She came to my rescue, I guess you could say.”

You stood straight to find that Robin had been watching you pet Lucy, but then her gaze shifted away quickly.

“Lucy gets off her leash sometimes,” she told you. “But here, I found this tucked away in one of the used book boxes.”

You watched the long, graceful fingers of her hand, adorned in silver rings, slide a book across the top of the desk to you. It was the third installment of the series you’d been looking for. You picked it up and ran your thumb down the image of a woman in a hooded cloak on the front, flanked by two wolves.

You decided to browse around, and at one point, Robin came up next to you as she organized books on a shelf. “Did you hear about what happened to Angie Klemp and her bothers? The whole town’s been talking about it.”

You held your breath on an inhale for a beat and then, “Yeah, I heard about it on the news this morning. I just waited on their table last night and now this.”

Robin walked around to the other side of you, brushing into you a little with her arm as she went, her intense body heat blazing you like a flash of 90 degree heat. “I know you’re new here,” she began keeping her eyes to the books. “But I feel like I wouldn’t be a decent friend if I didn’t warn you to keep your distance from the vampires around here. I know a lot of them are nice, and are trying to do their best to integrate, but they’ll always be dangerous.”

You didn’t say anything in return, and so she continued. “I know I’m basically a stranger, and you have no reason to trust me, but I just want you to be safe.”

“Thank you,” you responded in a whisper. “I generally keep everyone at arms length be it vampire or human, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” You chuckled a bit self-consciously at the end, and Robin continued down the isle with her armful of books, wondering what she could say to make you stay and talk for a bit longer.

-------

Back in your trailer, with the Polaroids spread out in front of you while you put new film in your camera and watched an episode of Forensic Files, you hadn’t noticed the sun set until you heard the door to the trailer next door open and slam shut.

Vampire Eddie was up and about.

Not that you cared.

But you stood up and moved like you were going to the kitchen to see if you could get a glimpse of him anyway.

Of course, he was looking up at your window as he took a pull on his cigarette, and your eyes met. He bucked his chin at you, grinning, knowing that you’d probably had a dream about him already, and he wondered if you’d enjoyed it.

You went to the kitchen to slap together some cheese and crackers because you didn’t have much food in the house, but then you realized you probably should let Eddie know that the police had come around asking questions so that he wasn’t caught off guard. You went out on the porch, but didn’t see him anywhere. Had he gone back inside? He’d just been standing there 3 seconds ago.

“Eddie?” It was barely a whisper, a sigh on a stolen breath.

In a flash, he appeared; standing below your raised porch balcony, tilting his head back to look up at you, hands in his pockets. “Yes, madame? You called?”

“How did you---oh, never mind,” you shook your head. “Do you want to come up?”

He squeezed one eye closed, tilting his head. “Are you inviting me in?”

“No,” you clarified quickly. “I’m inviting you up, to this porch, so that I don’t have to shout at you for the whole trailer court to hear.”

He made his way up the steps like a normal human would, sauntering over to perch his elbow on the railing. You weren’t afraid of him, not like most humans were, and it made him feel like he could relax around you in a way he hadn’t felt in a decade. Like the two of you were just a couple of humans neighbors, having a chat about the weather.

“Chief Hopper came by to ask me some questions earlier,” you rested your back on the side of the trailer, across from him.

Eddie rolled his shoulders under his leather jacket. “Yeah, I figured he might. What did you tell him?”

“I told him…” you were whispering and glancing from side to side to make sure no one was around. “...the truth. That I was their server, but then I never saw them again that night.”

“Good girl,” Eddie praised, pulling the pack of cigarettes out from inside his leather jacket. He tapped it on the palm of his hand. “I told you not to worry about it.”

You licked your teeth. “Well, I’m not worrying because I have no idea what they did after they left the bar.”

“Damn,” he smiled around his cigarette. “You catch on quick, and I didn’t even have to Glamour you.”

Your forehead pinched. “Glamour me?” You asked, not understanding the phrase.

“Yeah,” he flicked his fancy silver lighter and ignited the tip. “Haven’t you heard of it? It’s a vampire thing. We can wipe out a part of a human memory to make them forget things.”

You considered that, wondering if you’d been Glamoured already and just didn’t know it.

He lowered his chin and looked up at you from under hooded eyes. “Do you want me to Glamour some parts of that night away from you?”

“How do you do it?” You didn’t want him to do it to you, but you were curious.

“Like this,” in a millisecond, he had bridged the distance and was inches from you; full, soft lips parted, golden-flecked brown eyes landing with purpose onto yours. You took in the lines of his face, his long lashes, the slope of his nose, the smell of nicotine and cinnamon on his breath. Without blinking, he seemed to be trying to stare into your soul, but then he clenched his forehead after a few seconds, confused.

He took a step back. “That’s weird,” he mumbled.

“What’s weird?” You blinked a few times. “Did you do it?”

He dropped back against the railing, frowning at you. “I couldn’t Glamour you for some reason. It usually always works with humans.”

You turned your head away at his words, wishing you could just be normal for once, and to your surprise, he let the topic go and didn’t ask any questions.

“I gotta jet,” he said, clearing his throat and flicking his smoke. “Duty calls.”

He was trotting down the steps, wallet chain jangling at his hip, when you called out to him. “Duty? What duty? What is it you do, anyway?”

He lifted his arm in a backwards wave, and that was when you noticed a different car parked at his trailer. It was dark red, and you couldn’t see exactly which make it was...an Audi, maybe? He got in behind the wheel, and after a few minutes of him bent over the column of the wheel, the engine sparked to life, and he sped off, kicking up a dust cloud behind him. You also notice that there were no identifying plates on the vehicle.

------

With his cig held between his lips, Eddie hot-wired the car that was very much stolen and on it’s way to the chop shop, and then he sat up and adjusted the rear view mirror so that he could get a look back at you standing on the porch.

He couldn’t figure you out.

He was starting to resent the fact that you were neighbors now because it seemed he’d never be free of the curiosity hold you had on him. He didn’t know a single human who would’ve risked their life trying to rescue him like you had. Partially because everyone assumed vampires could always take care of themselves, and also, Eddie had pushed everyone away who ever tried to stay close to him. Especially since he was turned.

The people he cared about were better off without him in their life.

--------

A few days went by of you adjusting to your new place, your new job, and figuring out where everything was in town, but you didn’t see hide nor hair of Eddie. You figured he was waking up when you were going to sleep, and back in his trailer before you got out of bed, but one night you noticed he never came home at all. You visited with Robin again at Nightshade Bookstore and on your way to grab something from your vehicle before you went into work, there was a guy cupping his hands to look into the windows, inspecting it.

“Can I help you?” You asked from the sidewalk.

He was tall with broad, with muscular shoulders and arms; white tee under his black and red flannel just a tad too tight so that you could see the outline of his pecs. Worn jeans, work boots, and a thick head of caramel brown hair, and it was slicked back, just long enough to tuck behind his ears.

“Sorry,” his generous mouth spread in a smile as he came around the front toward you. “Is this yours?” He gestured at the hearse.

You nodded without saying anything, waiting for him to explain what he was doing.

“’79 Cadillac, yeah?” He asked it like he was familiar with cars, but you had to correct him.

“76.”

He had a disarming way about him and you started to relax as he backed up to look at the front grille. “My grandpa loved Caddy’s,” he mused aloud. “And I’ve never seen a hearse up close before.”

“You’ve never been to a funeral?”

He turned his head and looked you up and down, dark lashes rimming cherrywood eyes. “Sweetheart, surely you know that not everyone gets buried the same way when they die,” he dislodged the piece of gum that was in his cheek and began to chew it again. “We deal with death a bit differently where I’m from.”

You took the bait. “Yeah, where are you from?”

That was when he turned with his hands on his hips, inclining his head up the street, in the direction of the mountains. “My family are all up in the hills. Private people, we stick to our own. Names Steve,” he winked at you. “Steve Harrington.”

You told him your name, and there was a polite exchange before you you moved to unlock your door and he headed down the side walk in the opposite direction. You both turned back to peak over your shoulders at each other at the same time, just before Steve disappeared into the bookstore.

--------

That night at Main Vein, a family of four tourists came in with hopes of seeing a vampire, but Argyle was the only one in the building, so Bob begged him to show his fangs and take a picture with them. You took the photo while Erica shook her head in the background.

Erica mentioned being frustrated that she couldn’t meet up with her friends at the movie theater, and since it wasn’t busy, you offered to finish up and take her tables.

“You’d do that for me?” She asked with a squint, waiting for you to have some reciprocity in mind.

“Of course,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t have a life, remember?”

“Well, I’ll try not to make fun of you for it next time,” she reached around to untie her apron and gave you the glimmer of a smile.

Things got so quiet after midnight that Bob gave you and Argyle the okay to close up early.

“Where are you off to tonight?” You asked as you wiped down tables. “Hot date?”

Argyle always looked stylish, but he was particularly flawless that night.

“Nah,” he pulled a joint out of his front pocket and stuffed it behind his ear. “My buddy Jonathan is in town. We’re gonna get blitzed and watch Mystery Science Theater.”

“Is Jonathan a---”

“Vampire?” Argyle finished. “No way. He’d make a good one though. He loves the hours we keep.”

“Let me know if this is too personal,” you went over to the bar where his was. “But how did you become a vampire in the first place?”

As far as you knew, there were only two ways people turned: either they were forced via some brutal attack, or they chose it willingly; there really wasn’t any in between. You didn’t just accidentally wake up a vampire one day.

He folded his cash tips from the night and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. “The how and the why are the same, I guess,” he admitted. “And neither one of them matter anymore,” he added on a sigh. “But, why does a fool do anything? I did it for love.”

---------

Argyle walked you to your car, but you waved him off a bit too soon, because by the time he was already in his orange VW Beetle and buzzing down the street, you realized with a burst of panic that you’d locked your keys inside the hearse when you went out on your break earlier.

“Shit,” you cursed, dropping your head, hands balling into frustrated fists, trying to decide what your options were as you stood alone on the shadowy side of the already dark street. Just a half a block down the sidewalk is where you were attacked by the Klemp family, and it made your hand move reflexively to your throat at the visceral memory.

Argyle had the keys to Main Vein, so you couldn’t use the phone in there. Even if you could, who would you call? The fact that you couldn’t think of a single person you could count on at the drop of a hat made the bell of loneliness ring louder than ever before in your ears.

You stepped back to get an idea of the street, and see if maybe there was something you could break a window with. You’d didn’t have the money to get your window fixed, but you’d seen people who drove around with a piece of cardboard sealed with duct tape to make up for broken glass, and maybe that’s the type of person you’d need to be for a while.

You had no idea where the nearest payphone was, and you weren’t about to start knocking on doors to ask a vampire if you could use their landline. Reluctantly, you started looking for a rock or brick heavy enough to bust the back window out. You were just about to bend over and grab a piece of metal pipe near the parking lot when the sound of approaching music made you freeze.

The sound had a dark, heavy beat, and it was getting closer. Pretty soon, you watched a black Pontiac GTO muscle car swing around the block at high speed and than jerk to a stop in front of you; big engine purring, windows open, music blaring.

It was Eddie.

“Need a ride?” He called out to you.

You looked down at the pipe you were about to grab. “How did you know I locked my keys in my hearse?”

“I didn’t,” he said, turning the music down, leaning over to make eye contact with you through the passenger window. “I just felt the bat signal. I could tell you needed help.”

Well, okay, I guess this ingesting Eddie’s blood thing had some benefits.

“Get in,” he told you, stretching over to unlock the door. “I’ll take you home. I know a guy who can get your keys out tomorrow.”

Eddie had the tools and the skill to get your door unlocked for you in that moment, and it would only take him a couple seconds, but you didn’t know that about him yet, and he’d decided that he wanted some company that evening.

From the looks of it, he was a lunatic behind the wheel, and you had no idea where he was getting these cars from, and for what---but you really didn’t have any other decent options.

You slid into the soft leather seat next to him, and you felt like you were in an episode of Night Rider. The inside smelled like strawberry air freshener, nicotine, and the pleasant spicy whiff of Eddie’s cologne. His hand was cupped over the gear shift, metal rings gleaming, and some type of skull design on the back of his hand.

“I was just on my way to do this one work thing, but then I’ll take you right home after,” he had waited to tell you this until the car was in motion, tearing onto the main street. “It’s on the way.”

You clutched your bag to your lap. “A work thing?”

“You’ll see,” he assured you. “Have you ever heard of Sacrament? It’s a real vampire bar.”

“No,” you swallowed, watching the scenery whiz by, thinking that a broken car window really wouldn’t have been so bad. “But why do I have a feeling that’s about to change?”

“Yes, Princess,” he took his eyes off the road for what you considered to be way too long to look over at you. “That’s all about to change. Some of the vampires at this place are old fuckers. Been around forever.”

He turned the music back up a bit, brought his hand down to shift, and then turned the music back down again.

“Hey, but no one will fuck with you, okay? I promise,” he kept his eyes on the road this time. “You’re with me tonight.”

Part 5

----

Thank you so much for reading!

#eddiemunsonseries #eddiemunsonfic #vampire eddie au #vampire!eddie #vampires #stranger things au #eddiemunsonsmut #steve harrington #Spotify

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candycandy00 · 7 months

Text

Pick Me Up - A Gojo x Reader x Geto Halloween Fanfic Part 1

Gojo and Geto are two serial killers who enjoy seducing their victims before killing them. Every year on Halloween they have a friendly competition, and this year the target they both choose is you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The first two parts will be fairly short and just serve to set up the way these two operate. The third part starts the “main part”. Any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated! Divider by @violetbudd

Smut. 18+. Fem Readers. Implied death/blood/gore (“offscreen” for now). Consensual sex. Gojo and Geto are both bisexual. First part is Gojo x Reader only. Geto will be the focus of part 2.

Unbelievable. You left your house with nearly a full tank of gas. Now, just thirty minutes later, your car is running on fumes on the darkest, loneliest highway in the area. You even double checked when you stopped at that gas station just outside of town to grab snacks.

You’re on your way to one of several Halloween parties taking place this weekend in the days leading up to the actual holiday. This one was supposed to be one of the best, out on the old Johnson farm.

But now you find yourself forced to pull over on the side of the road because your stupid car is out of gas. Must be a leak, you figure as you cut the engine and grab your phone from the passenger seat. You groan when you realize there’s no service. Of course not. You’re out in the boonies.

With an annoyed sigh you climb out of your car and hold your phone in the air, trying to catch a bar or two. No luck. Glancing at your car, you wonder if you could actually see gas leaking from the bottom if you look. But you don’t want to ruin your sexy Little Red Riding Hood costume. The skirt is so short and so tight that you don’t think it’s physically possible to squat down in it.

You walk a few steps away, still holding your phone up, still hoping for a signal. This is the last place you want to be stranded. Over the past two weeks, four different women close to your age have been found murdered along this road. Their deaths were gruesome, violent, and bloody. Two of them had their guts ripped completely out. The other two had apparently been skinned alive. Someone leaked a crime scene photo online and you saw it without meaning to. You couldn’t eat for two days after that.

So when you hear the sound of an approaching vehicle slowing down, you feel a mix of fear and relief. It could be someone who could help you. It could be a crazed serial killer.

You turn to look back toward your car, and your heart feels like it freezes in place when you see the rusty white van with blacked out windows pulling over. It might as well have had a huge sign on the side that said “Axe Murderer Inside!”

The thought crosses your mind to just run. But then you remember you’re wearing stiletto heels and an outfit that would be practically impossible to run in. Plus, whoever this is obviously saw you and are in a working vehicle. Running would do you absolutely no good.

You walk slowly back to your car, and as you start to pass by the van, the window rolls down on the passenger side. You nervously glance inside. Leaning across from the driver’s seat is a man wearing dark sunglasses. His hair is snowy white, styled in that way that looks slightly messy but was clearly done on purpose. He has a young, incredibly handsome face, and when he pulls his sunglasses down to look at you, he has the most breathtaking blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

You can’t help blushing a little as you notice those gorgeous eyes moving up and down your figure. Your skimpy costume covers very little, and definitely enhances what it does cover.

“I ran out of gas,” you tell him. “I think I have a leak.”

“Want me to take a look?” he asks, a friendly smile on his face.

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

He cuts the van’s engine and gets out. When he walks around to your side of the van and you get a full view of him, you feel yourself clamping your thighs together.

Oh fuck, he’s hot. Like, really really hot.

He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his loose black jacket does little to conceal how his toned body moves under his clothes. When he steps closer, you can smell expensive cologne, and when he squats down beside your car, his thighs spreading apart, you have to fight the urge to insert yourself right between his legs.

The man bends his head down and looks under your car, holding his shades in his hand. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure you didn’t forget to gas up?”

“I’m sure,” you tell him.

He stands back up and comes to stand right in front of you, his height dwarfing yours. “I can give you a lift. Where are you headed?”

“Oh, could I just borrow your phone?” you ask with a smile. “I can get a friend to pick me up.”

“No service out here, sweetheart, but I’d be happy to take you wherever you want.”

You stare at him, weighing your options. You know it’s dangerous to get in a vehicle with a strange man at night. Especially one in a van like this, on a road where women are turning up murdered. But hot damn he’s gorgeous! The thought of being in an enclosed space with him is soaking your tiny thong panties.

Fuck it. I’m taking my chances.

“Do you know where the old Johnson farm is?” you ask him.

He grins. “Sure do. Hop in.”

He opens the passenger side door for you and even helps you climb in. Like a gentleman. You wonder if this gentleman knows how badly you want to suck his dick as you slide into the seat.

As the two of you drive toward the Johnson farm, your mind races for ideas on how you could get him to join you at the party. Your friends will be so jealous if you show up with a snack like him on your arm. You watch him as he drives, admiring his large but elegant looking hands on the steering wheel, imagining them grabbing your ass.

He glances sideways at you. “So what’s going on at the farm tonight?”

“A Halloween party,” you answer.

“That explains the outfit then,” he says with a laugh, his eyes roaming over you again.

You cross and uncross your legs, trying to draw attention to your bare thighs. “You can come too if you want. It’s open invitation.”

He gives you a look that makes you melt, a knowing look, as if he can read your mind. “I’ll think about it,” he says, his eyes torn between the road and your legs.

You settle into the seat, subtly letting your legs spread slightly apart. There’s enough room for him to put his hand up your skirt. You hope he’s thinking about that.

The night outside the van window zips past you, and as you look out, you realize he’s missed the turn off to get to the farm. “Hey,” you say suddenly, “you missed the turn.”

He doesn’t slow down at all, but glances at you and asks, “I did? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it was back there on the right.”

He doesn’t reply to you. Instead, he pulls off the road and drives down a dirt path, lined on either side with trees. You feel your heart pounding when he stops the van in a dark and empty place.

He gives you a sultry sidelong look, his beautiful eyes seeming to glow in the darkness of the van. “Do you really wanna go to some stupid Halloween party?” he asks. “Or do you wanna get fucked in the back of my van?”

The brief spike of fear you felt when he parked instantly vanishes. You suddenly lean forward and kiss him, practically crawling across the seat. He kisses you back, his lips soft but crushing, his tongue in your mouth, the taste of him sweet.

After a moment he pulls away and looks you in the eyes. “Want me to rearrange your insides?”

“Fuck, yes, please!” you breathe out. “I want you inside me!”

He runs his tongue across your lips and grins. “Oh I’ll be inside you alright.”

Minutes later, you’re in the back of his van, your micro mini skirt hiked up around your waist and your corset style top untied halfway down, allowing your breasts to spill out. The back of the van is big enough for you to stand up straight, but the insanely sexy stranger has to hunker down a bit to fit.

You watch with almost unbearable anticipation as he opens his black pants and pulls his cock out. It’s rock hard, and fucking enormous. You’ve had plenty of dick in your life, but this one might be a challenge.

A challenge you’re excited to accept.

Soon enough he has you pinned underneath him, the two of you on the floor of the van, his mouth on your neck, one hand in your hair and the other bracing himself as he thrusts into you with wild abandon.

He’s good. Almost too good. You’ve never been fucked so hard or so deep in your life, and you wonder how the hell you’re supposed to be satisfied with any other guy from now on.

You don’t even know this man’s name, but you think you’re in love.

He draws back to sit up on his knees, pulling your hips into his lap and fucking you from a slightly different angle, one that lets him go even deeper. You moan loudly, arching your back as his thumb strokes your clit. You’ve never felt more incredible than you do right now, cumming on a stranger’s massive cock in the back of a van.

A few more thrusts later, you feel his grip on your hips tighten as his cock twitches inside you.

You look up at him sharply. “Hey, don’t cum inside-“

“Too late,” he says as you feel him shoot a huge load directly into you. It feels fucking fantastic, but you’re not looking to get pregnant, and you wish he would have asked first. Oh well. What’s done is done.

He slowly pulls out, and you lie back, catching your breath and giving him a perfect view of his cum leaking out of your pussy. Guys love that sort of thing, or so you’ve heard. You raise your head slightly to look a him, and those crystal blue eyes are indeed staring at your body. But there’s a strange look on his face. It’s not the expected desire or lust, but something else. Something frightening.

He turns and begins rummaging through a box near the back. When he faces you again, he’s holding a rough-looking rope in one hand and a large shiny knife in the other.

He grins at you. “I satisfied your hunger. Now you can satisfy mine.”

You start to get up, even though your legs are numb, but he quickly jumps down and uses his knees to press you to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you scream, struggling against his weight.

He’s already wrapping the rope around your wrists, pulled above your head. “We’re gonna have fun all night long, Little Red Riding Hood,” he says with a devious, slightly unhinged smile. “The big bad wolf is here to gobble you up!”

The knife in his hand glints in the dim interior light of the van as he brings it closer to your body, then uses it to cut away the clothing that had bunched up around your waist. His hand rubs over your stomach, pressing slightly into the soft flesh.

“I’m gonna dig around a bit in here,” he says, and all you can do is scream incoherently as he begins his grisly work.

Tag List:

@loyal-to-my-dilf @unearthlydream @noodlejitsu @itzmeme

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please comment to let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged!

#Gojo x reader #gojo x reader x geto #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #Gojo smut #Geto x reader #tw: death

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chvoswxtch · 8 months

Note

congrats on 3k!!! 🎉🥂

I would like to get midnights with frank castle with song 'The Loneliest' by Mäneskin, I was thinking this lyrics:

'Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes'

but you can choose different ones, thank you 💕

thank you so much!!

I wasn't sure if you wanted angst...but that's immediately where my head went when I read these lyrics

but, there is a slightly nice ending :)

blurb below the cut

the loneliest (frank's version)

I see your face when I close my eyes

Frank wasn’t sure what city he was in tonight. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what state he was in. Every highway seemed to stretch on endlessly into the infinite horizon, and the scenery flying past all started to look the same, like a condensed blur of muted colors and fuzzy shapes. He didn’t pay attention to the towns he passed through, and when he eventually made it to his next destination, he couldn’t even remember fully how he had gotten there. It was like he was stuck on auto-pilot until it was time to get the job done, and even then, he wasn’t fully present.

Because in the back of his mind he was with you.

He couldn’t feel the cheap motel sheets scratching against his raw, wounded body. He couldn’t taste the metallic tang of copper from blood that had dripped from his broken nose and past his lips. He couldn’t smell the sterile sting of alcohol he had used to sanitize fresh gashes that pierced what his vest couldn’t protect. He couldn’t hear the dull roar of live music coming from the seedy dive bar the street over.

But when he closed his eyes, he could see you.

Frank could still see the crestfallen tears shimmering on your cheeks in the moonlight the night he left. The night he lied to you for the first time, giving you the half-assed excuse that it was too dangerous to be with him, and that it was safer for you if he disappeared. The night he couldn’t confess that he had fallen in love with you and that meant he had something to be afraid of again. Because he knew deep down that if you were ripped away from him because of what he was, then it would all be over for him.

Frank couldn’t survive that kind of hell twice.

As much as he tried to convince himself that he was doing right by you, his heart didn’t agree. And every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the sight of your dejected face in his rearview mirror, illuminated by the crimson glow of his tail lights. From the night he left you, there was this pit of unease that was constantly falling in his stomach, like a boulder passing through a void that had no bottom to reach. Frank couldn’t bear the dread that he had made a grave mistake.

Even as Frank laid in the motel bed alone, he swore he could feel the tenderness of your phantom touch caressing his bruised jaw. He could faintly taste the strawberry chapstick that was always coated on your soft lips. He could just barely smell the aroma of your green apple scented shampoo tickling his nose. And as delicate as a whisper, he could hear your angelic voice in his ear, begging him to come home.

Frank had been running away his entire life. He ran away to join the Marines to escape his small town life. He ran away to other continents so he didn’t have to face his shortcomings as a husband and a father. He ran head first through every layer of hell seeking vengeance and ignored his own nightmares by creating them for those that owed him a debt in blood. And now he was running away from you.

Letting out a heavy exhale, Frank reached for the burner phone on the nightstand, wincing slightly at the stress it caused on a rib that was most likely broken. With his thumb, he flipped the phone open and typed in the number that he knew by heart.

Yours.

Pressing the call button, Frank closed his eyes while he listened to the line start to ring, sending a silent prayer up to a God he hadn’t believed in for years that it wasn’t too late to stop running.

#court's 3k followers celebration #court's 3k friends celebration #the eras tour (court's version)#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle request #frank castle blurb #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher blurb

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wincestation · 9 months

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All It Took Was Your Spark - fic playlist ✨

click here to listen! here are the songs, with their placement in the fic:

Fire Meet Gasoline - Sia (general inspo for the fic)

I Can't Be Your Friend - Aidan Bissett (chapter 6 - band's first performance)

Feel - Maneskin (chapter 6 - band's first performance)

Higher - The Score (chapter 7 - band's first performance)

Disaster - Conan Gray (chapter 9 - Tyler's pov inspo)

The Perfect Girl - Mareux (general inspo for the fic)

Dick - Starboi3 feat. Doja Cat (chapter 11)

Freak - Doja Cat (chapter 11)

Explosive - Bond (chapter 12 - Wednesday's and Ajax's duet)

Jenny - Studio Killers feat. Kim Petras (chapter 12)

Make You Mine - Public (chapter 13 - band competition)

Irresistible - Fall Out Boy feat. Demi Lovato (chapter 13 - band competition)

I Don't Dance (Without You) - Enrique Iglesias feat. Konshens & Matoma (chapter 15 - Halloween)

I Want U - Allison Wonderland (chapter 15 - Halloween)

Schizophrenic - Night Club (chapter 15 - Halloween)

Deeper - Saint Cava (chapter 16 - kiss scene inspo)

Little Lion Man - Tonight Alive (chapters 17+18 inspo)

Vivaldi's Storm - 2Cellos (chapter 19)

A Love Like War - All Time Low feat. Vic Fuentes (chapter 20 - band competition)

Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer (chapter 20 - band competition)

Deep - Marian Hill (chapters 21+22 inspo)

Sacrifice - Black Atlass feat. Jessie Reyez (chapter 24)

Seven Nation Army - 2Cellos (chapter 26)

Thunderstruck - 2Cellos (chapter 26)

Highway to Hell - 2Cellos (chapter 26)

Whole Lotta Love - 2Cellos (chapter 26)

Do Ya Think I'm Sexy - Rod Stewart, DNCE (chapter 27)

Guys My Age - Hey Violet (chapter 27)

Great One - Jessie Reyez (chapter 27)

The Sky Is A Neighborhood - Foo Fighters (chapter 27)

Timezone - Maneskin (chapter 27)

Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85: I. Adagio - Moderato - Edward Elgar (chapter 27)

People You Know - Selena Gomez (chapter 28 inspo)

Sex & Candy - Marcy Playground (chapter 29)

The Loneliest - Maneskin (chapter 29)

The Sick Doll - Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (chapter 30)

More Than Friends - Isabel LaRosa (chapter 31 - the song on the radio)

Tripping Over Air (Acoustic) - Aidan Bissett (chapter 31)

Backseat Serenade (Acoustic) - All Time Low (chapter 31)

Breathe Into Me - Marian Hill (chapter 32 inspo)

Error - ROMANTICA (chapter 38)

Supercell - Varien ft. Veela (chapter 38)

Fire On Fire - Sam Smith (chapter 39)

For Your Love - Maneskin (chapter 39)

Deeper - Valerie Broussard & Lindsey Stirling (inspo for final chapter)

**this playlist will be updated with each chapter update!

#my writing #aitwys #all it took was your spark #fic playlist #wednesday x tyler #wyler fanfiction #wyler #weyler fic #weyler #weyler fanfiction #wyler fic #wyler smut #weyler smut #moodboard #fic moodboard #songfic

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williammarksommer · 8 months

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The Open Road

The Loneliest Highway series

Lincoln Highway (Nevada)

Hasselblad 500c/m

Kodak Tmax 400iso

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

Photo

Clouds (No. 920)

Millard County, UT

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geocycle2010 · 7 months

Text

Loneliest Highway

#us50 #cental nevada

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thechembow · 6 months

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The Loneliest Road

Oct. 16, 2023

From Carson City to Salina, Utah, we completed our gifting of US Highway 50 today, the loneliest road in America.

There was only light DOR in the morning which was transmuting quickly. There were very few "planes" all day on the entire drive and they were all struggling, with short trails, some curving and breaking. There were areas where there had been recent rain in Nevada, and even green grass in some places.

As we got closer to Utah, we saw very defined stumps of ancient silicon trees. The destruction was very complete here. The land was open and desolate this whole trip. There were few towns and they were over an hour apart at times. There were also few cell towers, but what there were are gifted now, and many more towerbusters were thrown in between.

The road was relentless, with one summit and wide valley after another and the several hundred miles seeming to last forever. The towns we passed through were weathered old west towns which maintained their history in the bleak landscape. The land will transform and re-green this winter and spring, with snow and new lakes forming following this gifting.

#orgone #orgone energy #orgonite #orgonite gifting #geo-restoration #nevada #utah #carson city #salina #highway 50 #travel #desert #planetary healing

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peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

Who wants to read the first like 1.4k of the winter ghoap fic even though it has absolutely no ghoap in it?

Winter in the mountains can be cruel.

Although, there are some who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter. There are predators who thrive.

“I am.” She casts the one window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod.

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new baby this weekend.”

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with ski traffic and the tourists in their rental cars.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. Weekend traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts.

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained road, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse.

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It travels perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, slamming the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away as you’re jostled around, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and lights spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, black pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.

Sleep. You could just close your eyes. Close your eyes, and sleep.

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding.

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black pool, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.

Sleep.

#peaches writes

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