#bledlose

𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫   𝐡𝐚𝐝   𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝                 eddie   in   charge   of   looking   after   a   bunch   of   kids   didn’t   know   him   well   enough .        the   designated   responsible   adult .       responsible ?      absolutely   not .      adult ?      that   hit   him   like   a   ton   of   bricks .           every   now   and   again   he   would   slip   his   proper   demeanour ,      squeaking   in   his   fright   until   lips   press   thin   and   posture   straightens .      he’s   got   this ,     it’s   all   fine .      

darkness   struck   something   within   him   that   set   him   back   a   good   ten   years ,     he   hated   it   more   than   ever   now   eddie   knew   something   was   in   fact   lurking   in   the   shadows .       sneakers   inch   across   uneven   ground ,     feet   hesitant   to   press   on   while   legs   desperately   wanted   to   break   into   a   run   and   get   out .     it’s   not   the   dull   thud   behind   them   that   really   panics   him ,    but   the   hand   wrapping   around   his   own .                    ❝  jesus   christ ! ❞                 he   throws   @bledlose​’s   hand   away   with   far   too   much   force ,      and   jumps   back   with   hands   raised   towards   the   supposed   threat .       heart   hammers   so   ferociously   that   he   can   barely   hear   lucas’s   bewildered   comments   and   profuse   apology ,     but   its   his   wide   eyed   fright   that   sinks   his   heart   and   drops   his   hands   to   his   sides .                    ❝  shit ,   sinclair  .   .   .    sorry   man .     you   good ? ❞               

 ❝  𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫   𝐡𝐚𝐬   𝐢𝐭           you’ve   joined   up   with   the   sports   nuts .     bit   of   a   stab   in   the   back ,     huh ?  ❞      

it happens within moments. viktor, quiet as he always is, initially walking just past the doorway, only to reappear in it a moment later. ❛  oh,  luther,  there  you  are-  ❜  he hardly gets through the sentence before he's crossed the room, wrapped his arms around his brother's middle. it's almost tragic how small he is compared to luther, but viktor nudges his brow against him in his hug anyway.  ❛  sorry,  ❜  he says, muffled,  ❛  i  just,  i'd  been  -  i  couldn't  remember  the  last  time  we  did,  is  all.  ❜

he doesn’t notice him the first time,  which means he really has no time to react once his brother is walking through the door,  towards him.  he smiles,  barely getting a greeting out before he’s cut off with a feeling he isn’t used to  --  a hug?  despite the warmth it gives him,  despite the comfort he feels because of it --- he hesitates.  he always does when anyone gets this close.  his body is a sacred thing,  a weapon with no way to turn off or on,  meaning every move he makes has to be perfectly calculated  ---  nothing too tight, but no amount of love held back, either. 

❝  --- oh.  oh. ❞  it’s a barely audible revelation at his reasoning. 

he soon melts into his touch,  his own large arms clumsily wrapping around viktor’s shoulders.  he hunches and bends his knees, a way to even their height, but it’s only half successful.  ❝  no--  no sorry needed.  ❞   it’s nice.  there’s not a lot of warmth to go around in their family,  but in rare moments like these,  he cherishes it all.  he waits a beat,  and then his arms carefully lift his brother off the floor,  only for a brief moment before he’s setting him back down and pulling back just enough to look down at him.   

he hates that it almost feels like a request, like he wouldn’t be welcome.  there’s a hint of fantasy here, staying in this hotel  —- almost a chance to behave as a real family, to find joy in their mere existence no longer linked to their father, all of them finally here living their lives  (  and luther getting to be part of it this time.  )  that fantasy faded all too quickly, too much happening around them with too many questions and not enough answers,  yet again running around chasing a problem they don’t yet know how to fix.  but here in this room where he shares with his other brothers,  he can almost pretend that a little bit of that fantasy can still exist:  he has his family, and he’s not wasting that this time around.  he’s not turning anyone away —- especially him. 

luther shakes his head, a warm smile tugging at his lips — one that’s coming a lot easier these days, even despite whatever’s going on now.  he sits up,  nods to the couch in the room,  and clears his throat.  this is one of those moments he’s thought about for years,  the chance to be the ‘ big ‘ brother he always wanted to be  (  all too often overshadowed by the leader he had to be.  )   ❝  you know, you’re always welcome here.  ❞   he doesn’t mean just this room;  he means with him.   he’s aware that he wasn’t always the best brother to any of them, and especially viktor, but that’s never who he wanted to be  ---  if he needs him or anyone,  then luther’s here. 

     Travis had always preferred not listening to rumours, gossip, and even less when it came from further afield -- cryptids supposedly sighted somewhere across the country; tragedies in Canada -- preferring instead to focus on what was closest to home, something solid and real. Explainable. Tangible. Something he can actually put his eyes on and confirm for himself.

     Since Silas, however... well, he still wasn’t keen on listening to rumours, but having to keep an ear to the ground and an eye out for a flash of white, bloodied fur, he had to listen. And morbid curiosity grew, of course. So yes, he’d heard -- and dug into, a little -- about the tragic incidents (plural) at Blackwood Mountain.

     Never thought he’d be talking to one of the survivors of it, though.

❛  everyone’s fucked and they don’t even know it.  ❜

flint  eyes,  brittle  grin,  you  know  this  feeling  well.     worn like a second skin,  a layer of blood from the inside - out,  sticky and warm and  𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃,  as if running from his very veins.     they were never supposed to know it too.     a low mumble clogs the back of his throat,  formless,  ambiguous agreement,  washed down with a quick swallow of liquid fire.     grimace,  teeth bared,  and it lingers longer than he intends it to  ;  a glimpse of an animal.     at times he wishes he were one,  haplessly happy,  grazing green in a field one day only to be swallowed by fire and brimstone in the next.

[  lean  ]  sender  leans  on  receiver

old  bones  creak,  tired  tree  limbs  knocked  against  a  stiff  breeze,  or  however  the  saying  goes.     stomach churns at the contact,  sandpaper slip,  or maybe it’s the coffee without the donut he had earlier.     swallow  /  sway  /  a smile tugs at chapped lips.     he glances at the mop of hair landed on his shoulder,  razor - edged gaze softened to something even older than these bones—     the weight of his siblings had never felt so light.     there’s a heaviness,  still,  a sick  𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙶  strummed across his ribs at the sight of him  ;  hollowed eyes,  skinny limbs,  and he always had been,  but it’s something more,  these days.     days for you,  years for him,  remember ?     never forget.     even still,  nothing compared to the dead weight of four corpses in the concrete.     he never did find viktor’s.

the  mention  of  scary  found  footage  was  enough  to  have  stan  press  his  lips  together  and  he  just  stared  at  mike  as  if  he  grew  another  head.  as  if  they  hadn't  had  enough  horror  in  their  lives  up  until  this  point.  he  swallowed  hard  and  reached  up  and  drew  fingers  back  through  his  messy  curls.  "you  know  what.  i  would  love  to  but  --"  brown  eyes  shifted  around  their  shared  dorm.  "i  got  class!  yeah.  class."  yeah,  it  was  like  9pm.  "you  know  i  love  you,  though."