#except mike who's like. all in and is prepared to fall

[muzzleroars]

Ik it's basically canon that god is sort of(?) Dead but do any of the angels,machines,demons,husks etc. Ever worry about His return? Sort of like a lingering worry if He (hypothetically) comes back and sees what they have done and his ensuing punishments for them

it's a sliding scale of fear, a thought that sometimes catches gabriel off-guard despite believing it has little chance of happening (a product, he supposes, of so many eons of surveillance) to now know the extent of god's tyranny, to consider how he could be driven into the shadows the way all fallen angels are...frightens him somewhere. v1 is soothingly unconcerned, with gabriel almost amused by its insistence that the world just boils down to better or worse combatants, and god would simply be another one (sure, it would probably lose, but it's almost lost to plenty of things in hell) overall it doesn't worry about the hypothetical, it takes things as they come, and doesn't even entertain eternal torment. v2 is shockingly similar, he finds, though it conceptualizes god as a force of nature really - they could all just be struck by lightning one day, but what good does it do them to worry when the chance is this remote? it simply doesn't believe anything can last forever anyway (michael beside it is different, of course, he prays each day that god will return and he would rejoice at his just punishment - v2 clearly doesn't want this discussion again, and gives gabriel a look for bringing it up)

the husks think little about it, though theirs is a learned helplessness - they believed their punishment to be unending, so what more could he do? minos seems to be the only one that considers the idea beyond its surface implications, though he doesn't wish for hypotheticals to get in the way of his stewardship to the few that have survived (his subjects are right in some way after all - god has always punished them, worrying about any possible retribution is a privilege they are not afforded). the demons, stoic as ever, may not even know he's gone - gabriel has wondered at them through living here, now, though he swears they are more and more active than they once were. somehow, he thinks it wouldn't affect them either way. "wouldn't it be wonderful" raphael would tell him, though he hears the tremor that's barely there - the multitude of heaven yearns for it in the way michael does, but the higher angels, those that understood god well, know how displeased he would be in all their actions. the council, their neglect of hell, their freedom, raphael and the old angels know there would be a massacre waiting if god came home. uriel almost fears waking up again to divine inspiration and knowing just what to write - gabriel can see it, how conflicted they are, and he decides not to ask any more

#like i think all the angels DO hope on some level he'll return #but they are absolutely terrified of how they would be judged #that's something they don't even admit to themselves tho #except mike who's like. all in and is prepared to fall #(but really his position affords it much more) #cake answers

[mentalpolaroids]

Sounds of sleep

[gif creds @steverobin]

Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!Reader

Summary: Reader and Steve spend a Friday night “babysitting” and they all end up falling asleep in the living room, only, nobody can get any sleep because Steve is snoring incredibly loud... Except for reader, who's completely used to it 

Warnings: swearing, implied smut (but not really) 

“For fucks sake Dustin, you’re supposed to share the chips!”

“Can you not curse in front of my brother?” 

“You’re aware your brother curses more than I do, right?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes even knowing Steve was right. 

“Just don’t tell my mom that, she thinks he’s a saint.”

“Copy that.” 

It was Friday night, and after a lot of begging from Dustin, who insisted on having the party’s casual sleepover at his house that week, (y/n) was a spilled soda away from regretting not saying no to their mom. Ms. Henderson went to spend the night at a friend’s house and although she was okay with having her son’s friends over, she was paranoid about them being left alone, and the poor sweet woman didn’t have the heart to say no to Dustin’s innocent toothless smile so the only way to put her mind at ease was to ask her oldest child to stay home and take care of them. It wasn’t worth it trying to fight the woman on that, (y/n) was mad about having to cancel her plans with Robin and Nancy, a girls night they had been planning for so long because the three girls were always busy and their schedules very rarely conjugated with each other, but she had the next best thing to make her night less sufferable: Steve Harrington, her best friend and now apparently also Dustin’s best friend, a fact she was still trying to accept. 

Not that (y/n) despised how her little brother could so easily steal Steve’s attention from her, she honestly thought it was adorable to see the lady’s man show his soft spot for the kids, she was just still getting used to the fact she no longer could have him all to herself when he was over. But what enraged her the most, in a nice but painful way,  was how all of that just added to (y/n)’s growing romantic feelings for Steve. 

So, aside the chaos Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will installed in the house while Max and El looked at them probably wondering how and why they were friends with them, (y/n) was happy to have Steve there with her and for getting to spend time with him, dismissing the fact she would end up sharing him after all. 

“Alright, guys, the snacks have to last all night, okay?” (y/n) tried her best to put authority in her voice but the only people who seemed to listen to her were Will, El and Max, “Dustin, you heard me?” 

“Yeah, I did, but you could’ve bought more chips, you know?” 

“Yeah, well, eight bags was the best I could do.”

“Steve bought ten last time.” Lucas pointed out, earning a non threatening death glare from (y/n). 

“(y/n)’s in charge this time so if you shitheads could please do as she says that would be great.” Steve intervened, even though he knew the boys appreciated the effort the older Henderson was putting into their movie night, he knew there was so much his best friend could take from their jokes and teasing before she snapped. He felt bad already for her for canceling her girls night, so he would do his best to make sure she had the best time possible. 

(y/n) thanked Steve, a ping of annoyance in her tone, and turned around to go get another bag of chips and prepare the popcorn bowls. The boy followed her to the kitchen to help her. 

“You okay?” he asked, studying her unreadable features.

Without looking at Steve, (y/n) answered, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know, maybe because you had to play babysitter on your only day off this week when you already had plans?” 

“You make it sound like it’s torture to look after my little brother.” she chuckled.

“I’m not saying that,” he squeezed her shoulders in comfort and he had to hold back a curse when he felt the built up tension in her muscles, “you were so excited to finally have some free time to be with your friends and fuck, you deserve to have fun and rest once in a while too, you know?” 

“And I get to rest tonight, we’re watching a movie.” 

“Okay, fine, whatever.” defeated, Steve’s hands kept moving over (y/n)’s shoulders and when he heard her groan, he moved his movements to the back of her neck, “I’m just saying, you don’t have to pretend you’re not tired as hell. I’m here, I can look after the kids for you, I do that pretty much everyday already, it’s no big deal.” he kissed the top of her head, “You can go rest.” 

(y/n) sighed. She knew he was right. She had been anticipating that night for so long and now she couldn’t have it. But what Steve didn’t know, and (y/n) wasn’t exactly planning on telling him that, was that his company, just him being there and, oh God, him touching her like that was almost as good, if not better, than her canceled plans. 

“You just want the popcorn all to yourself, admit it.” she joked, turning around and pinching his belly. Steve smiled and pinched her back.

“Yup, you got me.”

“Come on,” (y/n) grabbed the bag of chips with one hand and two cans of Coke with the other and waited for Steve to get the bowls of popcorn, “let’s crash their party.”

..

“Okay so,” Max started, removing the pillow from her head that she was using to cover her ears, “any volunteer to suffocate Steve with this pillow or can I go?” 

“He’s annoying even when he’s sleeping.” Mike added, rubbing his sleepy eyes. 

“How is (y/n) sleeping so peacefully?” Lucas pointed at the girl serving as a pillow to the owner of the loud snoring that, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t seem to be bothering (y/n) one bit. 

They had gotten their sleeping bags, pillows and a ridiculous amount of blankets (y/n) insisted were not necessary ready before starting the movies, agreeing that someone would probably end up falling asleep earlier and it was easier if they all just crashed together in the living room. (y/n) and Steve weren’t planning on going all the way to the end of the movie marathon so they took the couch, but apparently it ended up being way too comfortable, especially with how tired (y/n) was, because the pair were the first ones to get knocked out. And if there was any doubt if they were actually sleeping or not, Steve’s loud snores gave away the answer. 

“They sleep together all the time, she’s probably used to it.” Dustin explained with his eyes closed, almost as if he was forcing himself to fall asleep. Silence followed after what he said which led him to open one eye to see why everybody went quiet.

“I don’t remember Steve mentioning he and (y/n) were dating.” Max spoke, “I mean, I always expected to go deaf from hearing him talk about his girlfriend whenever he finally got one.”

“He already talks about her all the time though.” Will added and the others nodded in agreement. 

“Oh they’re not dating.” Dustin clarified, but he was well aware both his sister and his friend were dying to get together. Their pining over each other was noticeable to everyone, even the kids, except for the both of them, “Steve just sleeps over all the time and he sleeps in (y/n)’s room.” 

“And your mom lets him?” Mike asked, impressed that Ms. Henderson would allow a boy to stay over, and in the same room as her daughter, when he had witnessed his mom flip so many times when she suspected a male presence in Nancy’s room. And he couldn’t forget all the threats he received from Hopper everytime he went to see El. 

“(y/n) can be very persuasive, and my mom,” he kissed his fingers and pointed them to the roof, “bless her innocent soul, falls for it every time. And come on, we all know the effect this bastard”, he pointed at Steve, “somehow has on women and I guess my mom is no exception. Like I said, bless her innocent soul.” 

“I think they’re cute.” El commented, smiling in admiration as she looked at the way Steve had his head on (y/n)’s shoulder and cradled her arm like a plushie, and her head rested on top of his and her hand was resting on his tight. 

“It would be even cuter if Steve wasn’t shaking the roof with those pig noises.” Max complained and layed back down, this time using two pillows to cover her ears. 

“Just wake him up.” Lucas told Dustin, who immediately refused. 

“No way I’m risking my life waking him up.”

“Then wake up your sister and she’ll do it.” Mike suggested before letting out a long yawn. 

Dustin sighed and crawled to his sister. He shook her knee in an urgent way, as if desperate to end the torture that was Steve’s sleeping sounds. (y/n) stirred a bit and snuggled more against her best friend while letting out a lazy What?.

“Steve’s snoring.” 

“I know.” she replied, not bothering to open her eyes. 

“Wake him up!”

“Why?” 

“Because we want to sleep and we can’t!”

(y/n) groaned in annoyance and finally opened her eyes in a roll at her brother. 

She carefully lifted Steve’s head from her shoulder and pinched his cheek.

“Hey, idiot.” she called, “Wake up.” 

The boy groaned and, like (y/n) did earlier, the only movement he did was snuggle more into her. 

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” she patted his tight the best she could considering Steve was still holding onto her arm. 

He replied something along the lines of Fine, at least it was what (y/n) could make out from his muffled voice against her shoulder.  

The two got up, one a bit less tired than the other, and made their way to (y/n)’s room. 

“Goodnight children.” she said with her back turned to them, a tired Steve following her as he waved to the kids, more asleep than awake. 

As (y/n) closed the door to her room, she almost jumped at the sound of Steve plopping down on her bed, who groaned with the impact. 

“Hey, don’t be taking up the whole bed.” she complained with a smile on her face. 

“As if you wouldn’t totally sleep on top of me.” 

(y/n) wasn’t sure in what way he meant that, but she wouldn’t deny either option. Not out loud, of course, if there was something she refused to do around her best friend was build up his ego even more. And, of course, let him know that he did have an effect on her. The Steve Harrington effect. But what was so special about her situation was that she knew she got to see a side of him no other girl in Hawkins had, and there was a very specific type of charm Steve had reserved just for (y/n), because no other girl in that cursed town had the same effect on him that she had. They shared a mutual fixation for each other, and whether they acknowledged it or not, it was undeniable. 

“I think it’s the other way around, Harrington.”

“I won’t deny that.” Steve turned on his back and finally made some space over the sheets for (y/n) to lay down. But not that much, because he was serious about wanting her on top of him, and he made it known by opening and stretching his arms so she could crawl between them. 

(y/n) did so with no hesitation or remark, it wasn’t known if it was her sleepy brain or her tingling heart that made her lay down on his chest with such ease, like it was routine. Which it was. The sensation of Steve’s arms holding her tight, their chests pressed against one another with their breathing in sync, their legs getting more tangled the more time passed, the more they couldn’t get enough of the proximity that always felt too much even when not even a breeze could pass between their bodies. 

“Thank you for coming tonight.” (y/n) spoke after a few long minutes in silence. 

“You don’t ever have to thank me for coming to the rescue.” Steve readjusted himself a bit so he could turn on his side and face her, “And you sure don’t have to thank me for coming to hang out with you, that’s like, the best part of my days.” he smiled. 

“You’re so corny when you’re sleepy.” 

“Actually I’m corny all the time,” he kissed her forehead, “and it’s all your fault just so you know.”  

“Oh really now?” (y/n) chuckled, hiding her face in the confined space between his neck and shoulder. 

“Yeah, really.” Steve smiled widely at the way her breath tickled his skin and he couldn’t help but squeeze her body impossibly closer to his and he felt this urge to kiss her all over. So he started with moving his head down to kiss her on the cheek, then her jaw, neck, until he reached the collar of her sweater and moved back up to her temple, allowing his lips to linger there. For a second he second guessed if that was okay, if maybe he was crossing a line, but then (y/n)’s hand crawled up from between their bodies and held his jaw, her thumb caressing his cheekbone. Steve pressed his face closer to her touch, which led to his other cheek to press against hers and he felt a fiery chill in his chest when he realized how close their mouths were. 

They stayed like that for a minute, both waiting to see who would make the move first. (y/n) did, the only thing going through her mind being fuck it, I need him. But before she closed the only inch separating their lips, she met his gaze, confident but nervous enough to not want to ruin anything, so she asked the silent question and a tug at her waist and the way Steve’s dilated pupils stared back at her was the answer she needed.

The kiss started slowly, a testing of the waters, a reality check. Then Steve gently pushed (y/n) on her back and his hands started to explore her hips and waist under her sweater at the same time his tongue passed through their lips. At a bite of his bottom lip, (y/n) caressed his back as she lifted Steve’s shirt and a groan left his lips. Taking a much needed break from the kiss to remove the piece of clothing, the boy looked down at his best friend and did the same to her sweater. 

“Is this… okay? Like, should we be doing this?” he asked, his uncertain question not being a match to his actions. His lips attached to her collarbone and his hands crawling under her to reach her back making it hard for (y/n) to concentrate on what he was saying. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I want to. Fuck, I want to, just…” Steve looked at her. 

“We can talk about it later.” (y/n) suggested, not too worried about the aftermath of what was about to happen. It was something both knew was going to happen sooner or later.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Just…” she pushed him a bit, indicating for him to lay down, “stay quiet, you don’t wanna wake up the kids again.”

(y/n) positioned herself on top of him, leaning down to go back to kissing him while her fingers followed the trail of hair from his chest to his stomach. 

“I’ll do my best.”

................................................................................

author’s note: So, this is my debut writing for Stranger Thing, so please go easy on me. I hope I did Steve Harrington justice, I haven’t written in a long time, this is my comeback (and with a new fandom) so this isn’t my best work but I had so much fun writing this and I hope you had fun reading it! Any feedback and (nice) constructive criticism is welcome 🥰

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #friends to lovers

[sawyerconfort]

dancing with the devil | verna x reader

I'm back!!!

this one is just a spooky season special, as I've been away for all these days and haven't done one yet, I thought it would be cool to do it now!

this oneshot comes a lot from my obsession with Mike Flanagan's work, which even led me to watch The Fall of the House of Usher recently.

and, of course, it also comes from my obsession with Carla Gugino.

so, I hope you like it!

late requests coming out soon, so stay tuned!

enjoy!

requests open, but please be patient with me.

---------------------

PROMPT: It's New Year's Eve, and you find yourself in a bar, completely alone, with no one to give you the good luck's kiss. But a mysterious new barista catches your eye, and she could be your salvation, if only she didn't hide so many secrets.

***

You weren't one to complain, but it had been a pretty horrible year.

People generally await the New Year with a lot of ambition, full of resolutions, glamorous plans and self-centered achievements. But you do not.

You just wanted the next one to be better.

As if the miserable conditions you were experiencing at Fortunato were not enough, not being paid enough for the effort you made, sitting at the reception desk at the behest of the great Rufus Griswold - who did nothing except try to harass you in every way -, in a routine exhausting where you could never sleep properly, you still had your parents, and the terrible relationship you had with them.

So, when you sat at that bar, at the lonely counter, all you thought about was stuffing yourself until you pass out, hoping for a counting miracle. Some people were getting along well when you arrived, and others were giving you side-eye, but with the thought that you were less attractive to them, you decided that the counter would be the best option.

Suddenly, those eyes that looked yellow from afar fell on you, and the figure that carried them turned around, with a subtle smile.

"I see someone needs a drink, hm?"

You looked at her, and shrugged, before answering. "Just today. I can't drink, I still have work tomorrow."

She continued to smile, and you had the slight impression that her eyes had returned to their normal color. Clear, deep and very eye-catching. But it could just be the impression, because you were too exhausted to make sense.

"Ah, I understand. Just a minute, I'll prepare something relaxing for you, miss…"

"(Y\N)."

She nodded, turning away and concentrating on preparing whatever the drink was. Like I said before, you were too tired to care about what drink you were going to drink. If you could just get to New Year with something in your throat, that would be a good idea.

After minutes that felt like seconds of waiting, the barista turned to you, two shiny glass cups in her hands. She was still smiling subtly as she slid your glass and turned hers in her other hand.

She served you with the same smile, and then looked at you. "It's funny, I can see there's something wrong with you... Something that's stopping you from celebrating tonight."

You looked back at her, frowning, and sighing afterwards.

"It's true, it was... It wasn't a very good year", you commented, feeling terrible for venting to a stranger. "But the year ahead will be better, I know that."

"And why is that? Why was it so bad?"

"My boss, my work... everything makes me exhausted... and not having anyone to talk to is really bad at these moments...", You took a sip. "Um, that's great, is it Merlot?"

"It's Merlot, but it's not one of the best...", the barista said, tapping her glass still. "I've seen and experienced better, around the world."

"Have you been around the world?", you asked, unable to resist your curiosity. She smiled and nodded. "Where did you go? On that expedition?"

"I've been there too, but not just on this occasion", she said, and suddenly stopped, as if she were saying too much. "You know, it's interesting, being on the other side. Sometimes it's tiring, it breaks my heart, but... It's good, there are things there that are worth the effort."

You were more intrigued. She didn't look like the type of person who would travel around the world, wearing black clothes and a gothic look, as if she wanted to hide on purpose. Generally, these trips are made for people who want to be seen, above all else in the world.

"What are you talking about, exactly?"

"Have you ever had a dream... a desire... a deep, hidden desire that no one has ever fulfilled, and that you yourself didn't imagine you could achieve?", she looked at you with the same curiosity as you. "I'm like... A dream maker. I go on these trips just for that..."

You frowned, still not understanding, but took another sip to hide it, nodding.

"Are you the personification of the genie in the lamp?"

She laughed. "Ah, I would like to, but no. It would be a lot of ego on my part, but I would say that I'm better than him", she laughed. "Verna is my name, but the name never makes that much of a difference to me."

“Different name, never heard it before,” you said, drinking again. "Are you from here?"

"I'm from nowhere. I'm everywhere, at all times... it's strange, I know, but it makes sense to me."

You nodded, finding it strange. And then, he found it even stranger when she helped herself to the Merlot on the counter and drank some. She smiled at you, still tapping the glass.

"But what about you, (Y/N)? Do you have any desires that you thought would be unrealizable, unattainable? Please be honest with me."

You opened your mouth, and then thought a little. "No. I think I'm happy this way. Except for a few little things that I would change here and there..."

She softened her gaze and took a sip, her clear eyes suddenly yellowed again and wide, fixed on you. "What kind?"

“Like, my boss giving me the justice I deserve, and stop hitting on me,” you laughed, drinking the last sip and pouring yourself again. "Not much."

"Your boss is too terrible for you, (Y/N)," Verna replied, smiling. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I do. One day someone will show him what's really good, don't worry."

You frowned. "You seem so sure, are you some kind of psychic?"

She laughed. "No. I would like to be, but no. I... I see people's possibilities. And that's it. I help them based on the possibilities."

She stared at you again, and looked away at the TV, where the ball was falling on the screen in Times Square.

"Oh, it looks like it's almost time," she whispered, laughing. "Your year is going to be great, (Y/N), I'll make sure of that."

“You…” you started, but she shushed you, smiling.

"You just have to make a deal with me."

"What kind of deal?"

Verna thought for a while, and then smiled. "Wow, you seem so sure..."

She was mocking you, of course, you realized right away, and with a muffled laugh, you glanced back at the TV, hearing people echoing a countdown. The ball finally reached its destination, and you turned around, seeing Verna's yellow eyes glued to yours again. She suddenly leaned over and stole a peck from you, taking a little too long to pull away.

“Was that your deal?”, you whispered, smiling mischievously. Verna took a moment to open her eyes and then tilted her head, as if agreeing.

She thought for a while and then finally said, her voice low, slowly close to your ear, as if she wanted to seduce or bewitch you. She had one of the softest voices you'd ever heard, and apparently she knew how to use it.

"Actually, it was a plan to find out if you were trustworthy, if you were innocent enough to accept my deal…", she whispered. "And because I know, deep down, that what you wanted most was to be kissed on New Year's Eve, my sweet client."

You trailed off, looking at her, getting lost in the soft expression on her pale face. Suddenly, an impulsive idea occurred to you, and you leaned in again, kissing her, this time with more intensity. When you touched her hair, behind the back of her head, you had the impression that it melted at the touch, as if Verna were just an illusion, as if she were the literal cosmic dust from which human beings possibly emerged.

However, the kiss didn't last long. She pushed you away with her feather-light hands, and to the naked eye, it looked like it was just a breeze of wind stopping you both. She touched your face, running her fingers lightly across your cheek as she whispered:

"We can't do that right now, (Y\N). I'm afraid you're not sober enough, and it wouldn't be wise for me to take advantage of this."

You looked at it for a moment and realized it made sense. But she had kissed you first, so it was clearly just an excuse, as always happened. You started to wonder if your kiss was that bad.

"But, Verna…"

"Please, darling. I'm trying to be reasonable. Like I said, I work with possibilities, and the possibility of us working out is less than zero. Don't get me wrong, it's just in case…", she hesitated. "Condemning pure-souled humans to my cruel and inevitable fate wouldn't be extremely political of me."

You sighed, and gave her the space she needed, even though you couldn't take your eyes off her. Verna was the same, and you could feel that, despite what it seemed like, that moment you shared wasn't just fun, much less just a New Year's kiss.

Verna poured you the rest of the Merlot and, with the same soft expression, touched your face again. This time, her voice was clear, and in a moment of vulnerability, she made it more than explicit that she wasn't lying when she said:

"But we'll still meet, (Y\N)," she whispered, her fingers again like soft feathers touching his skin. "Our deal may not have been sealed, but you've proven enough innocence and courage to convince me that you're capable of this. You'll have a great new job, I promise, and your boss will never bother you again."

She nodded, and you allowed yourself to nod too, so confused that you definitely didn't know what to believe anymore. There was a little devil on your shoulder urging you to try again, and there was another devil, right in front of you, who would be harder to convince than you expected.

"And of course, you will have my full protection," Verna whispered, smiling. "I'm not going to promise you eternal life, because that would be impossible even for someone like me. But I promise, and I need you to believe me on this one, I promise that I will move mountains so no one will hurt you again."

You smiled, and drank the last sip. Suddenly, another impulse. This time, a question, instead of an action.

"What are you? An angel? A genie without a lamp? A tempting devil who seeks souls and deals?"

Verna smiled, and simply looked away at her glass again, magically empty. "I already told you. I'm nothing, I don't have a life. I'm just what your mind wants me to be."

You were confused, but suddenly, a memory hit you hard. When you looked at Verna, it was as if she already knew.

"I really need to go. My mom will be furious if I get home late, even on New Year's..."

She nodded. "Please don't take any chances. This part, I won't be able to protect you."

You laughed, stood up and slid out the only dollar bill you had. Verna looked at the ballot, he turned it around and handed it back to you, denying it.

"No need. The bill is already paid."

"What?"

"Please don't insist. I insist."

You looked at her, shrugged, and frowned, suddenly realizing that maybe it was for the best. She kept watching you, until you left, and as soon as you turned outside, on the street, you noticed who had just walked through a solid wall.

The bar was gone.

And she was gone too.

Even more confused - and blaming the drink -, you put your hands in your pockets to protect yourself, and walked back home, into the daylight. As soon as you crossed the street, however, another very curious thing caught your attention.

There was a raven, standing still, resting on a post. It was just any raven, but it was a raven, and it looked down at you. Suddenly, you had the impression that he had winked at you.

"What nonsense. Ravens don't blink," you whispered to yourself, looking at the raven again. He remained there, standing still, as if he hadn't even noticed you. Deciding to ignore that crazy night, you turned around.

As you disappeared down the street, you whispered to yourself once again.

"Ravens don't blink."

Oh, but if you only knew that they do more than blink... If you only knew...

#lgbt #romance #oneshot #imagine #fluff #angst #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou x reader #carla gugino #carla gugino x reader #verna x reader #I love verna I would make deals with her for sure #this year's spooky season is finally out! #yes I'm back who cheered #requests coming soon

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 11: We Prepare For the Big Boss Battle

Things are definitely starting to pop off now, and also oh god this fic is already so long and the chapters ahead aren't going to be any shorter...we'll be breezing right past that 100k mark, huh?! Anyway, in this one the party witnesses some horrors, gets caught in a snow storm, and then Mike has his heart broken :)

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

Lucas and Hop spend breakfast arguing with that part of Kali’s group about the best path up the mountain and then lead them out of town through the northernmost gate. The Prince falls back towards the two Sorceresses once they’ve left Blackhollow behind, joining the discussion that had broken out between them, Max and Funshine about how to best approach their homicidal brother. Somehow, despite the topic the conversation seems almost boisterous as laughter and delighted squeals make their way to the back of their now even longer procession, where Mike is shuffling along.

Jonathan joins his stepfather in the front, falling into easy conversation. His mother has to try a little harder as she and Dustin try to connect with the rest of Kali’s group, who have taken up post just behind their leader. Eric and Max flit in and out of sight as they scout ahead, leaving the guarding of the rear to Will and Mike. Considering his state of exhaustion it’s not a bad place to be in. He’d rather walk in silence with Will than try to have a conversation with a woman he’d seen murder someone last night – and besides they’ll be rethinking and overthrowing their plans more than a dozen times on their trek up the mountain. There’s time for Mike to join that conversation, maybe even be invited to it, later.

For now he sticks to Will, although the Cleric is more quiet than usual. Mike doesn’t mind, though. They talk for a bit as they set off, small talk about where they’re headed and how soon they can expect to reach the top of the mountain, and then fall into a semi-comfortable silence. Will seems deeply stuck in his head, likely just as exhausted as Mike and unsettled by last nights events, and as the silence stretches on Mike follows, his thoughts drifting.

He spends the first day’s walk trying to connect to the magic around him, focusing on channeling its energy into this sword to create a smiting effect. Having taken his oath he should be at level 3, in game terms, and that should allow him to create more magical effects, including dealing elemental damage with his weapon attacks. But only in theory. He half considers snapping Will out of his reverie to ask him for help, but stubbornly decides against it because none of the smiting spells are on the Cleric spell list and besides, being a Paladin the magic of his oath should allow him to create these magical effects intuitively. He just needs to practice more, is all.

Not that things go any better when he gets the chance to do that.

They make early camp just outside the next village, sending Dustin and Jonathan in to gather some more supplies and otherwise fanning out around their camp to practice, just like Mike had predicted. Hop already gets on his case during warm ups, which Mike supposes is fair because he is distracted by their new allies training around them. Which doesn’t mean it doesn’t still piss him off – and it doesn’t get better when they finally move on to practicing his stances and sparring. Mike’s not much more than a training dummy for Hop to practice his own swordsmanship on, is still only helplessly hacking and slashing at the other Paladin, barely able to parry strikes that would cut him to pieces in seconds, while apparently not just everyone in this party but everyone in the god damn world is better than him at fighting. And Hop seems to be solely capable of criticizing and yelling at him.

So, it’s almost a relief when Hop kicks him to the floor, sword hovering dangerously close to Mike’s neck, and announces they’re done unless Mike can stop acting like a damn Barbarian.

It only makes him wonder if he’s in too deep with his Paladin oath to switch classes over to Barbarian instead. The anger boiling in his chest sure feels easier than trying to harness magic, that’s for sure.

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my posts about this fic, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @foodiewithdahoodie @doggozzy @gardenfairie @beelikesbirds @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @generalstorecashier @snixx @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @mid13s @goldentrunks @bunnybylerfangirl @willbyersenthusiast @letterstomichelangelo @drowninginideas @fluffyfangirl @artsyna @absolutelynotyouidiot @bymarara @unknowmiau @are-you-reddie @elherself134 @longtallglasses @kennahjune @easilyentertained99 @bylerschapter @eli-being-silly @bylerina

#kingslayer fic #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler fic #stranger things

[andiwriteordie]

prompts um . um ! may i suggest a little piece with one of the boys having bird/angel wings

wibble!!!! ok i was a little nervous for this one at first because i've never done any wing fics, but this was such a fun prompt! so thank you for indulging my two current loves: 1) fantasy-esque byler aus and 2) some good ole fashioned mike angst :)

—

take these broken wings 

People always say that right before you die, your life will flash before your eyes—memories and images of the moments you lived, your worst failures and greatest successes, the highest highs and lowest lows, and every moment in between. Some people who have had brushes with death and lived to tell the tale claim that life flashes before your eyes in the same way that lightning strikes—there, one moment, and full of crackling energy which calls all of your attention, then gone the next. 

Mike’s had a lot of close calls with near-death experiences. After all, it just comes with the territory of knowing about the Upside Down and all its monsters, what with their faces literally made out of teeth and their creepily evocation of actual, less terrifying animals. Death’s not exactly something new to him, which is sorta sad, as a seventeen year old.

But in the five years since this shit all started, he’s never, ever had a “lightning strike, life flash before his eyes” kinda moment.

At least not for himself.

It’s funny, in like the world’s least funny and most morbid kinda way. Is it possible to have someone else’s life flash before your eyes? Only if you know them well enough, Mike would venture to guess. Only if you’ve been part of so many key moments in their life, only if your life is so deeply intertwined with theirs, and only if they are the one brushing hands with death and preparing to meet their end. 

Yeah. That would be Mike’s guess.

Except that it isn’t a guess anymore. It’s actually something that’s happening, right here, right now in front of him, playing out like the world’s worst movie written by a screenwriter with a personal vendetta against Mike Wheeler himself. Lightning strikes—figuratively and literally—and Will’s life flashes before Mike’s eyes, right as his best friend pushes him out of the way and puts his own body in between Mike and a rabid, snarling demodog.

We killed it, a voice in the back of Mike’s mind protests, and that voice isn’t wrong. Mike could have sworn that thing was already dead, that its snarls had been reduced to mere whimpers, that the threat had already been neutralized by a stroke of sheer luck and some unfortunate How To Fight In the Apocalypse 101 training they’ve picked up on over the last few years.

Clearly, the thing’s not dead though. Clearly, it’s alive, and in the slow motion moment when it lunges at Mike and Will pushes Mike out of the way and the demodog makes contact with Will’s back, Will Byers’ entire life as Mike Wheeler knows it flashes before his eyes.

Kindergarten and the swing set. Becoming best friends.

First grade and meeting Lucas. Their party of two becomes a party of three.

Second, third, fourth grade and running around on the playground together. Late nights spent talking back and forth about their favorite comic books. Dreaming of worlds together.

Fifth, sixth, seventh grade. Dustin joins their party. DnD is discovered by the four of them, and Will the Wise, as well as all their other characters, is born. Mike’s basement is the safest place in the world.

November 6, 1983. The nightmare begins.

Halloween 1984. It continues.

Summer 1985. It keeps on going and going and going.

Fall 1985. The Byers move away, far, far, far from Mike, and Mike doesn’t know what happens after that—in the in-between months, because he wasn’t part of Will’s life back then. He did that to himself.

Spring 1986. The worst fucking road trip ever and the start of the literal fucking apocalypse.

1986, 1987, 1988. 

Every. Single. Moment. 

And now.

Thunder rumbles above them, and with it echoes Will’s cry of pain as the demodog sinks its teeth into his back—into his wings, Mike thinks, vaguely, somewhere in the haze of his mind. He hasn’t heard Will scream like that in years. Not since the Mind Flayer incident, that night at the lab. 

The scream’s enough to kick him back into action. 

Well-thought out action? 

… 

Not exactly. 

See, there are actually no logical thoughts running through Mike’s mind when he throws—quite literally throws—his entire body weight against the snarling demodog. The sheer impact does succeed in his intended, vague plan of getting the dog off Will, but it does, unfortunately, come with the unintended (and very obvious, now that Mike thinks of it) consequence of having said demodog on top of him now. 

That’s a lot of teeth, Mike thinks. That thought is quickly followed by a barrage of curse words, Shit, fuck, shit, shit shit, holy fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, as pure survival instincts kick in, and Mike tousles with the demodog. The thing’s growling at him, its entire face full of teeth and spit and blood—Will’s blood and honestly probably some of Mike’s too—snapping at him and trying its best to maul his arm, and holy fucking shit, there’s no lightning strike, but Mike’s going to die, Mike’s going to die, Mike is going to die—

A single gunshot rings out above the silence. Mike’s pretty sure his own heart stops.

Then, barely a split second later, a pained yelp follows the gunshot, and suddenly, sixty something pounds of pure monstrous muscle and evil collapses onto Mike, complete deadweight. Something warm and sticky presses against Mike’s old jacket, and he winces, doing his best to squirm away from the now dead demodog. 

Once upon a time, he remembers Mrs. Blackburn from across the street used to complain about how difficult it was to get up when the family’s golden retriever used to make a bed out of her lap. Growing up, Mike had never really understood that, having never owned a dog in his life.

He gets it now.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes, right as he manages to pull himself out from under the dog. His heart somehow must’ve restarted, because now it’s beating faster than it ever has before, and adrenaline courses through his veins, making him feel jittery and out of breath. There’s blood on his clothes and on his arms, so God knows he’ll wake up feeling like hell tomorrow.

But he’s alive. He’s alive. That’s all that matters. Mike’s alive, and so is Will, and—

Suddenly, a pained groan interrupts Mike’s thoughts, and he whips his head around, eyes widening as he catches sight of his best friend. 

Lightning strikes above the two of them. Will looks pale in the dim light, his eyes drooping and his legs swaying. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but he never quite gets to. 

Will’s body hits the ground before either of them are able to say or do anything.

“Will!” 

The strangled cry tears itself from Mike’s throat, and once again, his body moves on pure instinct as Mike throws himself down onto the pavement beside Will. Up close, it’s easier to see just how bad Will has been hurt—the ever darkening color of his fabric as the blood continues to flow, staining his shirt and the jacket he’s wearing over it, the open gashes and bite marks underneath torn pieces of fabric, the unsteady rise and fall of his best friend’s chest as Will tries desperately to stay conscious, and—

Bile rises, burning the back of Mike’s throat. His hands, which had been moving with a mind of their own, panicked and full of a desperation and need to help Will, save him, make sure he’s okay, oh God, he has to be okay, now freeze. His heart damn near comes to a stop, and it’s probably a miracle Mike’s still alive with how much his heart has been pounding, then suddenly stopping, then pounding again this evening. 

And worst of all, his eyes… his eyes take in a sight Mike had never wanted to see—the familiar, white feathers of his best friend’s wings, now mauled and stained with red. With Will’s wings still folded under his shirt, kept close to himself, it’s difficult to see the full extent of the damage, but Mike knows it’s bad. 

This is your fault, the harsh, critical voice in the back of Mike’s mind whispers. This is your fault.

Those words feel like a knife in the heart, and Mike falters, his hands still lingered on Will’s broken and mangled wings. Your fault, that voice taunts again. This is all your—

“M-Mike,” Will wheezes, and Mike can’t help but flinch, looking down to see Will straining to look at him. His face is still pale; his eyes are still barely open. But worst of all, there’s a fear in his eyes—one that Mike has only seen a few other times. 

It’s that fear that kicks Mike back into action. His trembling hands, now covered in blood that’s probably Will’s but also Mike’s but also the demodog’s, reach for Will, and Mike squeezes his best friend’s hand as tightly as he can.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mike reassures, even though he has no business saying that. “Just stay with me, Will, okay? Just stay with me; please don’t leave me, okay? Okay, just hold on, just hold on—”

Those words continue to tumble out of Mike’s mouth, mixed in with desperate, snotty sobs, even after Will’s eyes flutter close. He’s still breathing in small shallow gasps, and his hand is slack in Mike’s own, and he’s hurt, Will’s hurt, it’s your fault, your fault, YOUR FAULT—

Please don’t go, Mike thinks. The thought feels far away, lost somewhere in the loud cacophony of anxious thoughts. Please, please, please don’t go; stay with me, please, Will; please don’t go; please.

And then:

I love you.

Truthfully, Mike doesn’t really know what happens after that. He doesn’t know how much time passes or how the others manage to find them or how his body becomes unfrozen from its place, keeping watch over Will. Everything else becomes a blur of rainwater and blood—so much blood—staining the ground and Mike’s hands and Will’s clothes and Will’s wings that awful scarlet red. 

This is your fault, that voice whispers to him, the entire ride back to their makeshift home. This is all your fault.

**

It takes a scary amount of time for Will to wake up.

Time’s a really fucking strange thing, you know? Mike still remembers being six or seven years old and how the weeks between the first day of school and picture day in the first week of October always felt so long. That month stretched on for forever and ever to his little six year old brain, but slowly, as he got older, the month seemed to become a little bit shorter. Then, even shorter the next year and shorter again the next. Growing up, it was as if the older he’d get, the faster time would fly right past him.

But apparently, time has decided it wants to do a complete one-eighty on Mike while he’s down for the count. Apparently, time no longer wants to fly; no, it wants to move at a fucking snail’s speed, dragging on until every second that passes by feels like a minute and each minute feels like an hour and each hour feels like a day.

Time’s really fucking strange. 

And so, by the time Will wakes up, Mike honestly doesn’t know how long it’s been since the two of them were attacked. He knows a few things though—some that are helpful and some that aren’t.

Mike knows he hasn’t slept since then, choosing instead to sit by Will’s bedside and watch over him, as if that might do any good. 

He knows practically everyone in their little group of Upside Down survivors has tried to convince him to leave, and he knows that, in response, he’d turned into a creature about as vicious as the one who did this to Will. 

He knows that the fucking demodog that had attacked Will deserved a far crueler ending than a well-aimed bullet in the heart. He knows that it’s maybe a little sick and twisted for thinking that, and he knows he doesn’t really care right now.

He knows that Will’s wings are broken and torn, feathers brutally ripped off, bones broken underneath, damage near irreparable. He knows that Joyce cried when she saw her son, and he knows that she then picked herself back up and did everything she, with Hopper and Jonathan’s help, did everything she possibly could to mend Will’s broken wings and ease his pain.

And Mike knows that all of this is his fault.

So, when Will wakes up, eyes fluttering open and searching the dimly lit room, relief and guilt go to war inside Mike’s heart and mind. Relief wins out the initial battle, because Will is finally awake, and Mike doesn’t even care that Joyce and Hopper are in the room and can see him cry. But it’s guilt that ultimately wins the war, taking its place as the victor when Will sits up and immediately cries out, instinctively curling his wings around himself and only making things worse.

Bile rises in the back of Mike’s throat, and he feels frozen—just as frozen as he did in that moment when Will had stared up at him, terrified and bleeding out on the pavement. Joyce and Hopper are quick to jump to action, and Joyce’s soothing words fill the quietness in the room, “It’s okay, baby; you’re okay. Just relax, okay? Just breathe for me; that’s good; you’re doing so good, baby.” 

Mike can barely hear the words over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. 

Get out, something in the back of his mind pleads. Get out, get out, get out— 

He would get out, if he could. But instead, Mike’s stuck here. Completely frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch in horror and try not to throw up as Joyce and Hopper slowly unwrap the bandages around Will’s wings. 

Red is the first color Mike sees as the bandages come off. Blood, sticky and dark red, has stained the bandages, and Mike’s eyes wander from that gauze to the wounded appendages. Massive gashes, still a bright, painful shade of maroon, marr Will’s normally white wings, and there are chunks of feathers missing from where the demodog had attacked him. More than that, with Will now awake and able to stretch his wings out more, it’s easier to see the awkward, painful angles his wings are twisted at. 

Every single moment and every single touch seems to hurt Will, even if he doesn’t say it.

And all Mike can do is watch. He’s breathing. He has to be. But at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. His chest is burning; his lungs don’t feel like they’re getting any oxygen. Will’s bandages are discarded to the side—red, red, red replacing white, blooming, spreading, overtaking, and—

“Mike, sweetie?” 

Mike flinches sharply, and finally, his body feels unfrozen. He’s able to look somewhere other than the blood-stained bandages and the bloody gashes on Will’s wings, and instead, he turns his attention to Joyce, who’d just called his name. 

“S-sorry.” Mike swallows the lump in his throat and tries to remember how to breathe. “Did you, um… did you say something?”

A sad smile forms on Joyce’s face. “I didn’t,” she reassures gently. “But I, ah… I think maybe it would be best if you stepped outside for a bit. Maybe… go get some rest now that Will’s awake.”

Mike’s gut reaction is to protest, but the words die in the back of his throat as Joyce’s gaze flickers to Will’s face. Mike follows her line of sight, and—

Oh.

Red colors Will’s cheeks too, and he’s hiding his face from Mike, like he’s ashamed to be seen crying. It’s hard to see, but Mike can feel the heartbreak and the pain his best friend is experiencing right now. All he wants to do is make it better—to help Will, to somehow make this up to him, to let Will know that he’s here and that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. 

Protest rises again, clawing its way up Mike’s throat, but he manages to bite his tongue and stop himself from yelling, It’s okay; please, it’s okay; you don’t have to hide, not from me. Please don’t hide. It’s okay; I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, and you’re my best friend, and I love you—

Warmth rushes to Mike’s face, and for just a moment, he feels frozen again. There it is again—that thought that keeps sneaking up on him, more and more with each passing day. It’s the confession that Mike’s too much of a coward to say out loud, but he’s no idiot. There’s no denying the implications of those three words.

Not when he couldn’t even write the damn words in a letter to his own girlfriend.

Not when the words sneak up on him, in the most mundane and the most insane moments of his life, like they’re something as natural as breathing.

Not when it’s Will.

I love you, Mike lets himself think again. 

Unfreeze.

Mike takes a step forward, ignoring the way his heart pounds inside his chest and the skeptical looks both Hopper and Joyce give him. Instead, he just sits down as carefully as possible as he can onto the bed, and he reaches for Will’s hands, pulling them away from his face so the two of them are looking at one another again.

This is your fault, that voice in the back of Mike’s mind whispers as Will tentatively looks at him, eyes full of grief and shame and embarrassment. It’s all your fault.

Maybe, Mike thinks. But Will needs me. 

So, without giving it another thought, Mike scoots close, and he wraps his arms around his best friend, being careful to not exacerbate Will’s injuries. Like two puzzle pieces slotting into place, Will falls easily into his arms, and Mike hugs him close, running his hand up and down Will’s bare arm. 

“You’re okay,” Mike whispers. It’s a reassurance and a reminder wrapped up all in two simple words and meant for both of them. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this. I promise. I promise.”

Maybe that’s not a promise he should be making, but it’s one that Mike is going to try and do everything to keep.

**

Eventually, Will begins to get better.

His wings will never be the same again. That much is clear. Wings are already sensitive appendages—something that both Will and El can attest to—but it doesn’t help that they’re in the middle of the apocalypse with limited medical supplies. Hopper and Joyce do their best, and Will does slowly begin to heal from his injuries.

But his wings will never be the same again.

He doesn’t like talking about it, and that’s fine. Mike doesn’t like thinking about it, much less talking about it, so instead, he pours all of his energy into making sure Will knows he isn’t alone and also into keeping Will’s mind off the current reality of their situation. It’s no easy task, but if there’s one thing Mike’s gotten good at over the last twelve years of their friendship, it’s making Will Byers smile.

It’s… strange, actually. These past couple of months have objectively been some of the worst months of Will’s life—and Mike’s too, if he’s being completely honest. Will has spent these months recovering from a severely traumatic ordeal, both physically and emotionally. They’re living in the middle of the apocalypse, and One could literally return any day now to try and… destroy everything or whatever the fuck he wants to do.

And yet somehow, even in spite of how shitty things have been, the two of them have been able to find a little bit of light in the middle of the darkness. 

It’s different, and it’s maybe too soon to say this, but also not soon enough. They’ve been walking down this path for years now, and only in these past couple months has that walk turned into a sprint towards… something – something remarkable and exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Something Mike doesn’t dare name yet, but that he wants to name, every single time those three words, I love you, come to mind.

It’s an ordinary day when he finally finds the courage to.

“Okay, so I was thinking,” Mike announces as the door to Will’s room flings open, and he walks in, the way he’s done dozens of times, “we should—” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. Before he can, Will turns around quickly, arms wrapped around himself, and he yelps, “Mike! Jesus, knock next time!” 

His face is bright red, his eyes are wide, and his expression is caught somewhere between embarrassed and actually mortified. Part of Mike wants to point out the fact that he’s done this multiple times and Will’s never seemed to care, but the words die in the back of his throat as he takes in the sight of his best friend.

For starters, Will is shirtless, and that – that’s totally fine. That’s fine. Mike doesn’t feel like his face is on fire or anything. Pfft, no. He’s seen Will shirtless hundreds of times, so this situation? Right here? Totally normal. Completely.

…

Anyways.

Beyond that, Will is… clearly trying to hide his wings. Despite the fact that Mike knows it hurts him to not stretch his wings out, he’s folded them down, so that Mike can just barely see the tips of his wings not hidden behind Will’s back. His eyes dart back and forth around the room anxiously, and a pang of hurt and guilt forms in Mike’s heart.

“Will,” Mike whispers, and he takes a step towards his best friend, unable to help himself. “Hey, it – it’s just me. It’s okay.”

Those words, apparently, aren’t the right ones to say, because Will’s face falls. He looks away quickly, wraps his arms around himself, and mutters, “It’s not okay. Just… please… can you go?”

His voice breaks on those last few words, and though he doesn’t say it aloud, Mike hears Will regardless. There’s no one in the world he knows better than Will, just like there’s no one in the world who knows Mike better than Will does. The two of them get each other.

“If you really want me to go, I will,” Mike says quietly and takes another step, holding out his hand for Will to take. “But if not…” 

He lets his voice trail off, waiting for Will’s reaction. It takes a few moments, but then finally, Will looks up, eyes watery and heartbroken. He doesn’t say anything; instead, he just slowly unfolds his wings and takes a step backwards, sitting down onto his bed and keeping his arms wrapped around himself. 

The invitation goes unspoken but not unsaid, so Mike takes another few steps forward, sitting down beside his best friend. Not a moment later, Will rests his head on Mike’s shoulder, and Mike responds by wrapping his arms around his best friend and holding him close. Neither one of them says a word, but Mike can feel the way the tension dissolves from the room, the way Will’s walls begin to crumble, the way both of them walk hand in hand back towards who they used to be. 

There was a point in their lives when things were too confusing. Too messy and too big to figure out. There was a time when this didn’t feel right, even though all Mike wanted to do was keep Will as close to him as possible. He didn’t understand it back then, but he gets it now. 

It’s pretty simple, actually. Mike is in love with Will, and he has been for a long, long time. Maybe since before he even met El, but definitely during the extent of their relationship. And while the feelings for El were there, they were never as strong as the ones he felt for Will.

…

The ones he still feels for Will.

So, it’s easy. It’s the most natural thing in the world for Mike to hold his best friend close, to let the rest of the world fall away, to think back to the very same thoughts that had flooded his mind on the rainy night all of this first began. Please don’t leave me, and You’ve gotta be okay; you’re gonna be okay, and even I love you, I love you, I love you. Please don’t go. 

Eventually, the tears stop falling, and the room grows quiet once more. The two of them sit there, arms still wrapped around each other, with Will’s head resting against Mike’s chest lightly. He’s shifted a little bit now, wings wrapped around the two of them as best as he can, and it reminds Mike of when they were little, back when Will’s wings were the secret Mike was lucky enough to know and back when the world seemed just a little bit smaller and less overwhelming.

As carefully as he can, Mike adjusts ever so slightly, and he lifts one of his hands, running it across one of the long, jagged scars on Will’s wings. He feels his best friend shiver under the touch, and hesitantly, both of them turn their gazes towards one another. 

There’s hesitancy written all over Will’s face, and his gaze flickers to Mike’s hand for just a brief moment, before returning back to Mike’s eyes once more. He looks like he wants to say a million different things, but finally, he settles on quietly saying, “They’ll never be the same again.”

He doesn’t say it aloud, but the words don’t go unsaid. 

I’ll never be the same again.

And there – there is the root of all of this, the grief that Mike knows Will has been feeling this whole time. Hell, it’s the same old grief and confusion and pain that’s been around since Will was first rescued from the Upside Down. It’s the same grief that appeared again the year after, and it’s the same grief that keeps on coming back, manifesting itself in new ways, and always posing the same question. 

Will I ever be the same person again?

Will any of us?

“Maybe not,” Mike says quietly. The words don’t feel nearly big enough to even begin to say what he truly means and how he truly feels. All he can do is hope that Will understands what he’s trying to say—that the words he can manage right now are enough until he musters up enough courage to truly tell Will everything Mike needs to say to him. “But they’re still beautiful.”

You’re still beautiful, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, Mike just runs his hand delicately down the broken, scarred wing, never once taking his eyes off Will. And I love you.

Will takes a shuddered breath, and despite the watery look still in his eyes, he manages to smile. “You really mean that?” 

“Yeah,” Mike whispers back, and he scoots closer, one arm still wrapped around Will and the other still gently stroking the patches of white feathers on Will’s wings. In return, Will wraps his wings around the two of them even tighter, and the smile on his face grows. He seems more relaxed. More at home. “I really do.”

The words still aren’t everything that Mike wants to say, but Will gets it. He always does. And one day, hopefully soon, the two of them will be able to talk about this, and Mike will be able to speak the words that have been echoing through his mind and that he’s kept close to his heart ever since the moment he came to this realization. 

Someday.

#byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies #andi's asks #ok sorry the ending was rushed #truthfully i probably could've written like 2k more words #but i was like oh this is getting Long #wing ficlet! #woohooo!!!

[chaigirly]

Mike Schmidt

I keep forgetting I should let you go

Link ⤴️

Preview ⤵️

Mike stares up at his ceiling, the Nebraska poster being the only thing he can focus on.

Life just kept getting stressful; he lost his job, his aunt is trying to take Abby out of his care, and he’s still haunted by nightmares of Garrett’s abduction.

He just wanted it all to be over, to fall asleep and not have to worry about anything.

Exhaling slowly, he rolls over on his bed and downs two of the pills that were supposed to “help” him sleep but ended up making his dreams extra vivid.

It was like he was back at that dreadful moment;

“Mike, please keep an eye on your brother,” his mother had told him, his father sitting next to her as she prepared their campfire lunch.

“I will mom!” he replies, running off with his airplane in his hand.

He wasn’t careful enough.

SLAM

The haunting sound of a car door closing fills his ears, the image of his little brother in the back seat of a random man’s car while staring straight at Mike plagues him to this day.

He couldn’t forget about that day no matter how hard he tried to move on, accepting the fact that Garrett was gone and that there was nothing he could’ve done to save him.

Yet, in the back of his mind, he thinks he knows who took him.

He had to have seen the man’s face right?

It was something that he tried desperately to recall but could never reach.

He sighs and sits up in his bed, rubbing his stubbled chin as he thinks.

Everybody would think he’s crazy if he told them about his dreams.

Except…maybe not everyone…

His eyes flicker over to his landline phone connected to the kitchen wall.

Stumbling, he rolls out of bed and makes his way over to the phone to make a call to the one person who may not see him as a psycho, you.

#character ai #c ai #ai #story #story prompt #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddys movie #mike schmidt #mike x you #mike x reader #mike x y/n #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt fanfic

[hawkyon-days]

Some fic recs from my bookmarks

(Max is my favourite character and blind!max is one of my favourite tropes, which is why it's mentioned fairly often here)

light will prevail by mreads22: max-centric, blind!max (the first st fic I read, even before watching the show itself)

Pull Myself Together, You Could Watch It Happen by UniversallyEcho: complete, max-centric, not vol2 compliant (very little plot, but great characterization and one of my all time favourites)

the kids aren't alright by MaryPSue: complete, gen (season 1 au where all the Hawkins born kids realise they have powers, one of the best st fics out there)

We Will Be (Invincible) by HaneleHaralue: SIOC, chrissy&oc, eddie&oc (WAIT before you go away bc this is self-insert, I promise it's really good. There's no romance so far, and the mc isn't obnoxious)

Scientifically Proven by Unproductive_Fangirl: complete, post s4, elumax, blind!max (YES. a complete, elumax-centric fic. It exists!)

if being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side by Claire10: complete, post s4, max&mike, blind!max (watch these two wrecks have four emotional breakdowns in like an hour)

the few things he thinks he knows by endlesslytea: complete, post s4, byler, blind!max (lighthearted, not focused on the supernatural stuff)

let our walls cave in by andiwriteordie, kidovna: complete, post s4, byler, blind!max (party go to college together)

(anything by andiwriteordie if you like byler)

falling like the stars (falling in love) by bookinit: complete, post s4, elmax, blind!max

do not cry by givehimthemedicine: complete, s4 au, pre elmax (despite what the title says, prepare to cry)

Be My Eyes by givehimthemedicine: complete, post s4, elmax, blind!max (bit of angst and then pure fluff at the end)

And Who Are We At The End Of It All? by Caseys_Crying: post s4, steddie, ronance (lots of stuff ongoing, only about 1/3 done, parents find out)

more recs under the cut:

(it's you and me) won't be unhappy by nnegan13: complete, post s4, not vol2 compliant, lumax

you can't lose me by providing_leverage: complete, s4 au, gen (there should be more 'the parents find out' fics)

we can see the flipside by maxmayfield: complete, post s3, written pre s4, max&mike, lumax

The Party (+ Others) Watches Stranger Things by BewitchingNotes: complete, mileven (an actual complete and well written 'characters watching the show fic')

All We Do Is Drive by ShadeNeverMadeAnyoneLessGay: complete, steve&robin&max, blind!max

Goodbye Rocketship by OrangeChickenPillow: complete, not vol2 compliant, max&eddie friendship

she glows for everyone but herself by BackyardOwl: complete, jonathan&max, blind!max

deserving and not deserving by vissers: complete, post s4, will&max, blind!max (part of a 'will comes out to the party' series)

years and years by inblue: complete, lucas&erica

find a new place to be from by burnthatbridgewhenwegetthere: complete, post s4, will&el&max

hellfire (save my soul) by pholilomendron: pre s4, steddie

windowsill by MissAntlers: complete, post s4, steddie, max-centric

did I drive you away? by blvewcters: complete, pre s4, during s4, max&everyone (pain and suffering and tears)

Max Watch by geckohead: complete, during s4, max&everyone

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin: complete, post s4, steddie (one of those "eddie is not actually dead and needs to find his way back" fics)

there’s blood in my ears (and a fool in the mirror) by fastcardotmp3: complete, pre s4 and post s4, steddie, eddie&max, blind!max (one of those "eddie is not actually dead and needs to find his way back" fics)

The Upside by harpiaharpyja: complete, post s4, hellcheer, eddie&max (one of those "eddie is not actually dead and needs to find his way back" fics)

(Not All) Those Who Wander Are Lost by Kedreeva: complete, post s4, eddie&max (one of those "eddie is not actually dead and needs to find his way back" fics, except it's more about the upside down as its own world)

standing up the dead by heartofwinterfell: complete, post s4, eddie&max (one of those "eddie is not actually dead and needs to find his way back" fics, but mostly max-centric)

The Fruity Four Beat 1983 To Death With A Nail Bat by TheKidReadingInTheCorner: complete, steddie, ronance (unserious time travel shenanigans)

took you for a working boy by pukner: complete, post s4, pre steddie (kinda humourly written)

#stranger things #max mayfield #eddie munson #steve harrington #mike wheeler #el hopper #byler #will byers #lucas sinclair #ronance #blind!max #stranger things fanfiction #fic rec #my post

[mercurygray]

Happy Tuesday friend! For the ‘Things You Said’ prompts, what do you think about #17- ‘when we were in danger’ for Daphne and Mike?

I'm trying keeping this to five sentences so I can work through my box a bit, and I'm pretty pleased with how these are turning out!

It was a mistake to bring him here.

He's just too good, at all of it, too good at easy laughs and toasts and the whirl of a party, looking every inch the part in her father's spare tuxedo, too good at making the world love him, because that's just who he is, and it's so easy to see him like this after the war, if they ever make it to after the war, that is.

Everything all right? He asks, and she fixes her face, nods, smiles, prepares to go back into the dance.

Everything's fine, Mike, except that I think I'm in danger of falling in love with you.

#i have written a thing #daphne markham-reed #mercurygraypresents

[poisonedprose]

The Vampire King 4 ♰˚‧

chapter 4 !

warnings: cursing, character death

masterlist - @thefailcollection @riffcrusader

prolouge // chap 1 // chap 2 // chap 3 // chap 5

 "I'm not Eddie? I'm not fucking Eddie?!" The supposed Eddie look alike shouted, making everyone raise their guards. "You know, if I wasn't Eddie," He slowly turned towards Steve. "I wouldn't know your secret." Manic laughs erupted from his mouth as he watched the fear take over Steve's face. He took slow steps, making his walk over to Steve dramatic. "I know how much you want to hide it. How much you've cried over it. How much you loathe it. How much you're enamored by it." Steve swallowed harshly, feeling all eyes on him. "Please don't do this." Steve whispered. "Huh? What was that?" Eddie put his hand to his ear, waiting for Steve to repeat his sentence. "Leave him alone." Robin chimed up, attempting to free Steve of his living nightmare.

"C'mon Stevie." Eddie whispered as he drew closer to Steve. "If... If you're the real Eddie, you wouldn't do this to us." Steve firmly spoke. "Us? There is no us. There never was. You really thought this was real?" Each of Eddie's words was like a gunshot through Steve's heart. He stood frozen, the words ringing in his ears. The dreadful truth now on full display. "Oh." Steve let the words fall from his lips, not even attempting to hide his disappointment. "You were never anything more to me than a quick fuck." Eddie let his anger flow out of his body. "I never fucking liked you." Eddie waited for a response but was only met with complete silence. "You hear me?! I never fucking liked you!" He screamed at Steve who was now on the verge of tears.

His every fear was coming true, having Eddie turn his back on him. The one thing that made him physically sick to think about, and here he is facing everything he tried so hard to deny. "You're an asshole!" Lucas shouted, causing Eddie to break his attention away from Steve. "Oh." He laughed in an eerily way. "I'm an asshole? For having a little fun with Stevie boy?" Eddie asked Lucas in a belittling manner. Lucas hesitantly nodded. Will lifted his hand towards the back of his neck, which Mike was quick to notice. "Then, you're really about to hate what's gonna happen next." Almost as if on cue the ground began to shake beneath them and low, grumbling laughs began to fill their ears. "I warned you that your world would fall." A deep, gurgling voice sent chills down the entirety of the group's spines.

"Vecna..." Lucas whispered. They quickly began to search for the crazed demon like creature, all except one. One whose eyes couldn't bare to look away from the maniac he once loved, that he still loves. "You pitful humans. Always having optimism and... hope." A dreadful laugh rumbled that seemed to encase them. "Come out, coward!" Jonathan called out into the void, but to no avail the creature did not bring himself forward. "Your world is now mine." Bats began swarming around the group. "Uhhh, I'm not liking this, brochachos." Argyle spun in a circle, looking at the bats that have now trapped them.

Nancy was the first to take action. She quickly grabbed one of the gallons of gasoline and poured it out recklessly, hoping it would fall onto the vines. Robin and Jonathan quickly took after her, mimicking her frantic behavior. "It's too late. Give up." His silhouette appeared visible as he slowly walked toward the group. "Hurry!" Mike shouted. Nancy quickly lit the lighter and tossed it into the gasoline.

The fire started quickly and the bats began dropping one by one. El kept her eyes on Vecna. He seemed to be unaffected by the raging fire. She walked forward and prepared herself for a battle she knew she would never be ready for. "Don't do this, Eleven." The voice almost sounded robotic, as if he were a toy with a sound box that was melting. "We can be one in the same." He stopped walking just before he became visible. "No." El raised her hand, starting to use her powers. She stepped forward as she used her powers to keep him in a telekinetic chokehold. The rest of the group spread apart, trying to avoid the fire, whereas Steve just continued to stare at Eddie who looked unsure of himself.

Steve studied Eddies every feature. Trying anything and everything to prove that wasn't the real Eddie, but eventually all he could find was nothing. Soon, Eddie picked up on the fact Steve was staring at him. He could sense Steve's eyes on him but refused to look towards him. It hurt. To hear Steve say that he never loved him was a pain that was unbearable, even for the undead.

"Steve! Look out!" Robin called out for Steve as the fire approached him, but he didn't move a muscle. The warmth of the fire formed beads of sweat all over his body. He was focused on Eddie. "Why aren't you moving? Do you have a death wish?" Eddie spoke with uncertainty in his voice. "What is there to live for if you aren't even alive." Eddie finally met Steve's gaze, immediately regretting it. Nancy carefully avoided the fire as she pulled Steve away from it, causing Eddie and Steve staring match to come to an end. "What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't you see the fire? Or feel the fire?!" Robin swatted Steve's arm. "Sorry." Steve spoke with a dead voice.

El continued to use her powers on Vecna, seemingly winning. Though, they should have known better than to turn their backs on someone they left to die. Eddie pulled Dustin back, holding him tightly so that he couldn't escape his grasp. "What are you doing!?" Dustin tried to squirm out of Eddie's grasp, which grabbed the attention of several people. "I'm getting my revenge, Henderson." He smirked before biting Dustin's neck, letting blood pour out. Dustin screamed as it happened, causing everyone to refocus towards the sound, including El. Steve looked at the boy, who now was dropped onto the ground, in disbelief. "Whoever said 'revenge is a dish best served cold' obviously never had it served hot." Eddie laughed as he licked Dustin's blood off his lips.

#! 🗡₊˚✧ all hail vampire king #steddie fic #steddie angst #steddie #steve and eddie #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things 4 volume 1 #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #eddie kas theory #vampire eddie munson

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

fic snippet!

Martin CANNOT be deterred, yo.

Also, Kayne is a dick.

Fic 7/8ths done! I even know the title now: I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, taken from D.H. Lawrence.

P.S. "For the love of Mike" is one of those sayings that always amused me, and there are so many Michaels in TMA, and Mike Crew/Vast/Simon Fairchild... never mind. I am a dork.

--------

Martin was not prepared.

He thought he was prepared. Armed with a knife, ready to face off against giant tentacle monsters, ready to grab Jon and cliff-dive or whatever they had to do to get away.

He wasn’t prepared to plunge right into the Lonely as if it had been waiting for him.

Maybe it had. Funny enough, it saved their lives.

They landed in full sight of the King and Jon, full sight of the threat, but they also landed in the mist, in the isolation, in the invisible, and like riding a bicycle, Martin adjusted at once to keep them unseen.

Arthur froze as if in carbonite, and it took a moment to drag him back and out of the way (Martin had no desire to risk detection through proximity), but it worked.

Then came a horrifying conversation, and Martin was furious.

Jon was… being empathetic to that thing? 

It somehow wasn’t surprising (he’d defended Simon Fairchild, for the love of Mike), but still! Now? After torture? During his own rescue operation?

Did Jon have to pack-bond with every fucking thing he met that didn’t actively try to eat him?

Martin tried to focus. He followed Arthur’s unseen talking compass. Kept them in the Lonely, cold, hopefully unseen.

And then Kayne appeared and took Arthur away like plucking a flea off a dog, so that worked out just great.

Martin isn’t shivering anymore. He’s adjusted very quickly.

But it’s not like the eyepocalypse. Not like being swallowed. He knows who he is, who he loves, that he is loved. He cares enough to be concerned that Arthur was taken by Kayne so suddenly, presumably for whatever that distraction was.

He’s himself. He’s okay. He doesn’t have to fight to remember things. So though it’s worse, the Lonely isn’t here here.

But it sure is lipping all over the back of his neck like some unwanted molestor.

Alone, he walks.

Alone, he walks, and pushes back against the fear that every step is drawing him deeper.

He hadn’t been prepared at all for how familiar it would feel.

Like tailored clothes. No - 

Like an old mattress, dipping in the center to his exact shape. No - 

Like a home he knows so well he could navigate in the dark. No - 

“Like a voice you could follow to the end of the world?” says Kayne.

And Martin can’t feel him, can’t sense the invasion, and it’s like watching a rock fall into water and leaving no ripples.

But it’s Kayne, and Martin doesn’t like him, and instinctively pulls away.

Which means further in, and the palace around him fades.

He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Shit!” Martin says - except no, he didn’t.

“Shit,” Martin actually says, quietly, not a whisper, but hardly a shout.

Calmly, he does a self-check.

He knows who he is.

Knows who loves him.

Knows whom he loves.

He can still find Jon. And like this, he thinks he might be better able. After all, in here, the edge of panic has gone soft and insubstantial, worry for Arthur has disappeared, and even finding Jon doesn’t seem terribly urgent.

He’s still going to do it, of course. He starts to walk.

He sees where Jon is. A blur of light, a weird greenness, distant, yet clear. Looking at it leaves him seeing afterimages.

How does that work? He has no idea, and can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m coming, Jon,” he says, just to make a sound, because he doesn’t want to fall into silence and go further in.

The Lonely doesn’t feel the same.

There’s awareness in it, somehow. It’s no longer inert, waiting as if never to take a breath; it’s still that horrible peace, but it’s… different.

Well, the Beholding changed, so why not the Lonely?

But why would it change? Martin hadn’t been in it. There was no one in it. Was there?

Was it changing in response to Jon, too? Jon is marked, if not as deeply.

“I’m sure there’s a logical reason,” he says quietly, and then he stops caring about it entirely. 

All the world is gray, and soft, and lovely; welcoming, sorrowful, like the dampness after tears.

And it hurts; it does. There is a weight to this sorrow, deep in his heart; like rejection, but lacking its sting.

It’s so familiar - 

“Hey, great news,” says Kayne, dancing in front of him and blocking his view. “I got tricked! We’re not all doomed to some looping human nightmare, after all!”

Martin realizes he’s stopped walking.

Hm. That’s not right.

He frowns. It’s easier to think like this (but is it?), unmoored from the mess of emotions that had swallowed him since Jon was taken.

Which brings him back to the thought: this isn’t the Lonely he knows, so why is it familiar?

“Well, it is, though,” he murmurs. “It’s just more… more…”

Proactive? Does that even make sense for this Dread Power?

More importantly, does it matter whether it makes sense or not?

“It absolutely does not matter,” says Kayne. “They’re all more aware, thanks to your boyfriend.”

Annabelle said it was inevitable they were all coming back. Maybe this was just inevitable, too.

Maybe he was being overwrought. 

“Yep!”

He’s sitting. He doesn’t remember doing that.

“Good move.”

His cheeks sort of itch, and he reaches up and realizes he’s crying.

He stares at the wetness on his fingers as if he’s never seen his hands before.

That isn’t right.

Is it?

It’s not so bad.

Better, actually.

Feels… 

It doesn’t feel.

It’s nice. To not feel.

The next blink, he happens to look up, and he sees where Jon is again.

It’s like a green flame, in the distance, blazing through the fog, impossible to miss.

Martin realizes he’s walking again, and doesn’t remember doing that.

That’s all right. There’s Jon out there. He has to reach him.

“Even though it’s going to hurt?” says Kayne, who doesn’t matter.

“Yes,” says Martin, who hasn’t looked away from that green flame again. There’s some reason he shouldn’t do that.

It probably doesn’t matter, but, well, his mother always told him he was too bullheaded for his own good.

“You don’t even miss her! What’s up with the reference?” says Kayne.

“I don’t,” says Martin. “I don’t miss anybody.”

“Mm, true, true,” says Kayne, keeping pace. “Hey, lookit here!” He claps his hand in front of Martin’s face, hard and sharp.

Martin startles. Blinks.

Stops walking.

Kayne peers at him, not intrusive, though he should be - he’s practically in Martin’s face.

Martin can’t feel him. The Lonely doesn’t care about Kayne. So that’s fine.

It’s all fine. 

“Useful,” murmurs Kayne. “Freaking reset button.”

There’s Jon’s green flame.

Martin is moving again.

“Okay, let’s try this,” says Kayne, and spins him around.

Kayne’s grip is terrible. It’s hot, and hard, and completely out of sync with everything else Martin feels (or doesn’t), and it is such a relief when Kayne lets go that Martin falls to his knees, gasping.

Though it… isn’t as upsetting as it was a moment ago.

Good. That was bad. Feeling that was bad.

It’s better here. Nothing hurts here. Even fear is gentle here.

But - 

(There’s no but.)

Yes, there is. There’s a but. 

“Haha, you said butt,” says Kayne, who doesn’t matter.

Martin is looking at his hands.

Strong hands.

Rough hands.

“Gonna need to fix that, you know,” says Kayne. “Certain presidential types won’t take you seriously with sandpaper fingers.”

Martin ignores him completely.

Jon has never minded his rough, rough hands.

Jon’s skin is… well. It’s not particularly cared for, but it is soft. Softer than Jon thinks.

Martin has had one (1) scary dream in which his hands tore Jon’s skin like tissues.

“Ooh,” says Kayne. “That’s a fun one. We can use that.”

But Jon never minded. 

Where is Jon?

“Not here. It’s better that he’s not here,” says Kayne.

That’s true. It…

Wasn’t, though.

No.

“No,” says Martin, to nobody, and stands, and remembers.

Behind him.

He turns, spots the green flame, and begins walking.

Kayne makes a sound like a sigh and a train engine and a failing dam. “Well, it was nice to hope. Fine, fine, we’ll work around it.” He’s pacing Martin again. “You know, you’re so damn close to perfect. If not for this stupidity.” He waves his hand in Jon’s direction.

Martin doesn’t answer because Kayne doesn’t matter. 

“Do you know how many separate, completely extant Martins there are involved in this decision?” says Kayne, and snaps his fingers.

Then there are more of him. Multiple Martins, standing to the sides like an honor guard, watching him follow that flame.

Martin ignores them.

They don’t ignore him. “I just want him to fix everything and stop being vulnerable,” says one.

“Ouch,” says Kayne.

“I want him to do what I think is best, not what he thinks is best,” says another.

“Eh, everybody wants that,” Kayne comments. “Dull.”

“Why can’t we just be left alone?” says a third. “We love each other so much. We’ve paid our dues. Why can’t it just be us, no monsters or gods or even other people?”

“Whaaat?” says Kayne. “You want him here, in the Lonely, with you, just the two of you? Hahaha! That only completely defeats the point of the place, and I have to wonder just how the universe would react if we pulled that off.” He cackles. “Not well! Pretty sure we’d go cracking reality again. Might just have to do that on a Sunday afternoon.”

“I want to have the power for once,” says a fourth Martin, watching him walk by. “Maybe I just should. Jon would let me. He’d let me do whatever I want.”

“True, true,” says Kayne, nodding wisely. “It is that way, you know. Even if he fully thinks he’s violating his conscience, he’ll give you what you want. Is that particularly healthy, do you think?”

“Maybe I should’ve just gone harder into Annabelle’s offer,” says Martin number five. “I could have stopped him from killing Jonah. I could just fix things now, just a little bit, stop him from beating himself all the time, fix what Jonah did and then everything would be fine.”

“You really hate that he’s depressed, don’t you?” Kayne says with eerie joy. “Gods, you’re giving me ammo here.”

“I just need to get to him,” says Martin number six. “I can fix this. I can love him enough. I know he loves me.”

Kayne makes a nauseated face.

“I made sure he loves me,” says Martin number seven. “He always will.”

That one… almost hurts.

Kayne cackles. “Oh, now that’s just said - and you know why this matters? Do you?” he waves his hand, and the rows of Martins disappear, vanish into the mist. “Because you absolutely believe each of these completely all the time at the same time. It’s fucking amazing. You are just one clever little cupcake, do you know that?”

Martin doesn’t care. He can’t even be annoyed; that would involve investment, and he isn’t invested in anything Kayne does.

He needs to get to Jon.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kayne whistles, hands in his pockets, still pacing. “We’re going to so many places. So many wars to kindle So many stupid family quarrels to restart - ooh, some of them have been quit for, like, a thousand years, but we’re gonna get ‘em going again. We’re even going to start new religions. It’ll be great.”

Martin doesn’t answer.

“And in the history books, they’ll wonder at the perfect storm of circumstances,” says Kayne, and glances at him. “It may be a good reset button, but you know what? You’re kinda boring like this.”

Martin could not care less.

“Literally, am I right? Hey. Why are you chasing after him?” His lips touch Martin’s ear. “Why are you following him?”

Martin has to answer. He doesn't know why, nor does he care; it’s like Kayne reached into his brain and pushed the talk button. “Because I love him.”

“But, you don’t. Right? You don’t feel anything right now.”

“Sure,” says Martin.

“Sure, what? Great answer, by the way, but I’m not looking for easily misinterpreted right now.”

“I love him.”

“You don’t feel a fucking thing.”

“Love isn’t feeling. I mean. It often is. I’ve written about that. But it’s more than that.” 

And Martin is done, apparently.

Kayn narrows his eyes. “I was thinking,” he says. “We could try that tissue-skin-tearing-sexy-times idea. Think he cries pretty? I can tell you think he cries pretty. That’d be fun, wouldn't it? Sure it would. You’d have a grand time.”

Martin ignores him because Kayne doesn’t matter.

Kayne flails like a bored toddler. “Uuughh. Fine. Hastur’ll discard him anyway, once this is all done. We’ll take him along in one of those designer dog purses. Muzzled. You like that idea?”

Martin doesn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.” Kayne continues to whistle.

#tma fic #tma crossover #malevolent fic #malevolent crossover #martin k blackwood #kayne malevolent #the lonely #tma #malevolent podcast #malevolent pod

[marypsue]

Ahh cannot believe we’re nearing the end of the curse reverse fic!! Truly wild the passage of time, and also all the twist you threw in. I for one, am very curious as to how everything will shake out in the s3 rewrite since Things Are Not The Same, But Still a Little Bit The Same. Also I love how you give each group equal emotional weight (Dustin and mike!! Robin and Barb!! Joyce and Hopper and Bob!!) (also I love the way you capture that everyone is messy in their own way and that no one is perfect and also Nancy and Jonathan are an innately messy couple, bc I feel like the fandom does not account for the fact that they absolutely are the drama) Anywho! Very excited for tomorrow’s chapter!! I’m considering it a belated bday surprise and rooting for some fun hijinks. I may even treat myself and reread some road goes ever on bc Monster Steve, my beloved.

The end is too close and I am not prepared! (Well. I'm mostly prepared. Sort of.)

It's funny you should mention All The Twists, because I feel like this second fic (put your curse in reverse) sticks the closest to canon out of the three fics I've got written or planned in the series. It's possible I've just been too close to it for too long. I will say this though (and may have already said it once before, but shhh), I've made some major overhauls to the plot of season 3. I have a plan and I am tapping the pads of my little raccoon fingers against each other in evil glee about eventually getting to share it. Now to finish writing the darn thing...

I'm so, so glad to hear that the groups feel balanced, emotionally! One of the things I hate most in writing is when you have a clear set of "A" Characters, who Matter, and then a clear set of "B" Characters, who Don't Matter As Much And Are Mostly Here To Be A Punchline. I love all of these idiots and I want to give them all the kind of storytelling they deserve. And even if I don't necessarily like every character on this show (*coughcoughMurraycough*), somebody out there does, and thinks one of my very favourite characters is just the worst and wishes they'd drop off the face of the earth.

(And, you know, there have been times when trying to be fair to a character I have no particular feeling toward or even dislike, in my writing, has led to me finding a new appreciation for them. And...also, sometimes, accidentally convincing myself to ship them. You will not find any fic for Murray Bauman/Sam Owens on AO3, I'm sure, because I have not written it yet...but oh my god. You guys. Have you thought about how much potential for both hilarity and angst this pairing could have? Because I have. Against my will.)

Speaking of "A" Characters and "B" Characters, part of that dichotomy that I've noticed is that "A" Characters aren't allowed to fuck up. They're always ultimately proven right. Or, if they do do something wrong, it's always because they were given the wrong information, or intentionally misled, or someone else forced them into it. They never just...make a bad decision, or miss a shot, or act on a negative emotion and do something stupid they'll regret, or just plain trip and fall on their face. And "B" Characters basically can't not fuck up. They're there entirely to cause the problems that the "A" Characters have to solve, and then go 'oh the cleverness of you' at the "A" Characters. This is my least favourite kind of storytelling, and if you want to see a textbook example of it in the wild, just watch Thor: The Dark World. (Except don't actually do that, because I wouldn't intentionally inflict that on anyone.)

The best and easiest way to break down the dichotomy between "A" Characters and "B" Characters and get characters who start to live and breathe and act like Actual Human People, in my experience, is to make sure that every single one of your characters is a bit stupid about something. Something that matters enough to come up, not, like, something that will never affect the story they're part of. And if you've created a character who can't take a pie to the face and continue to be interesting to read about, you're probably not there yet.

Anyway! Thank you for that opportunity to soapbox. That very long rant all to say: yes Jonathan and Nancy are messy as hell, and they're much more interesting that way. Happy belated(?) birthday, enjoy the hijinx, and an enthusiastic hell yes to Monster Steve!

#chatter

[alygatorwrites]

the veterans giving oral (18+)

warnings: explicit content, cunnilingus, nsfw visual links (optional), edging, squirting, overstimulation, female-bodied reader

pairings: erwin x reader, levi x reader, hange x reader, mike x reader

↳ to be added to my taglist, please fill out this ♡form♡

nsfw under the cut

erwin: oral with this man is three words: sultry, tantalizing, and vulgar. honestly, erwin likes many positions, although he has a definite favorite. he loves the feeling of your body against his as he lifts you up onto his desk and lays you down upon the wood, sending paperwork flying through the air. erwin's muscular hands toss your legs over his sturdy shoulders - and fuck - those arctic blue eyes of his focus right onto your cunt, taking in the way you're dripping, its slick sliding down your inner thighs. erwin wastes no time in suctioning onto your swollen clit, a cool expression on his face as licks concentric circles against it. he lifts up the hood to get a better angle, and jesus, it has you trembling. every calculated movement of erwin's mouth and the flex of his jaw makes you rut against him. those calloused fingers press into the pliant flesh of your pelvis all the while, and you scream when his tongue begins to ram in and out of your pussy. the slight prickle of his tastebuds brush against that spongy part of your g-spot, ripping curses from your throat and summoning shocks of pure bliss. it's so loud: the sticky sounds of erwin swallowing your juices and sucking on your vulva always bounces off the walls. he doesn't give a damn though; who cares if his soldiers hear your sloppy wet cunt. when you finally cum right on erwin's mouth, he helps you through your high, buffing his lips along your slit. it spreads your glossy cream all over his nose, and wow, it turns him on so fucking much. if you call him commander the entire time, you better get ready for multiple rounds!!

favorite position (nsfw link): this

levi: HOLY SHIT. levi is an ackerman, and the way he skillfully eats you out reflects this. he likes having your legs completely spread as far as possible so he can get a good view, the grey flecks of his eyes burning with a severity so strong that it has your pussy throbbing. "you're fucking filthy," levi sneers, his blunt fingernails digging into your pubic bone and drawing purple bruises to the surface. he won't do anything until you beg, and once you begin grinding against nothing from arousal, he smashes his lips violently against your open cunt. the black strands of levi's hair falls across his forehead while slurping you up, mercilessly tickling your folds. rule number one: don't ever try to touch yourself as this man devours you. if you reach down to tease your clit while levi's tongue slips in and out of your hole, he'll immediately stop. when you cry out for him to keep going - voice breaking and chest heaving - the corners of his lips drop into a malicious scowl. this is your fucking punishment: levi will refuse to touch you again until you have tears in your eyes from how hard your sex is thrumming. "the lesson you need to learn right now can only be taught by discipline," he scoffs, the words coarse and spiteful. eventually, levi edges you until you're drooling - and when he nips at your labia and flicks his tongue straight into your messy cunt, you squirt all over him. he doesn't like to get dirty, but as long as you're satisfied, he can make an exception. your moans are secretly hot as hell, anyway. don't cross levi again, or else you'll have to prepare yourself to be destroyed by the end of the night.

favorite position (nsfw link): this

hange: energetic and full of spirit, expect hange to consume you raw. their hair is tied up in an unkempt ponytail as they have you in a favorite position; you're stretched along hange's body, calves tossed on their shoulders, and showed off like a display window. hange ADORES playing with your breasts and stroking your torso, making goosebumps blossom along the expanse of your skin. the way hange pushes their glasses up into their hairline and stares at you with those honey-brown eyes - smiling with lustful enthusiasm - makes your breath hitch. you know what's coming: hange is lewd as fuck and has no hesitation when it comes to pleasing you. they wolf down the slippery folds of your pussy, quickly moving their head side to side to rub their lips along your clit. it stimulates your vulva perfectly. pleas tumble from your open mouth every time, and you struggle to keep your sanity as the walls of your cunt contract. hange teases you terribly; much like levi, they love edging you until you can almost orgasm untouched. no mercy whatsoever. once you eventually cum, hange pulls away to observe you, chin shiny and glasses fogged. "good girl," they always whisper, their grin lively before diving right back in.

favorite position (nsfw link): this

mike: this man will treat you right. mike will order you to lay sideways, your legs to be slightly bent at the knees. he grabs a handful of your ass with a brawny hand and massages the flesh, taking a deep whiff of your syrupy pussy - it's fucking pornographic and indecent. "you smell so good," mike mutters, swooping in to lick a broad strip up your middle. his senses have always been remarkable, and he uses them to his advantage. he listens to every single signal you give him: your whines, your twitches, your gasps. with each puff of breath, mike switches his technique to drive you closer to the edge. he enjoys the way you jolt when he slips a nimble finger inside your wet cunt, pinching your folds together and licking your clit up and down. with the flames of desire lapping at your lower abdomen - and the feeling of mike's beard rubbing your perineum - you can't help but cum. mike keeps you pressed against his tongue the entire time, holding you still even after you're finished. think it's over? nope. he attacks your sex again and again and again. overstimulation is a kink of his, you see. get ready for a wild ride that'll have your knees buckling!!

favorite position (nsfw link): this

#WHY DO I LIKE WRITING THESE SO MUCH LMAOO #hopefully its good idk #attack on titan fanfiction #erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader #aot smut #snk smut #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe x reader #hange x reader #miche zacharias #miche x reader #mike zacharias x reader #hanji zoe x reader

[lettersfromjuliet]

i am ash from your fire | riff lorton

summary: catalina torres, anita palacio’s cousin, arrives in new york city for bernardo’s funeral. meeting riff lorton is, admittedly, the worst part of it.

warnings: canon/time period typical racism, cursing, mentions of death & violence (stabbing)

2.8k

a/n: hi y’all! this is the result of falling headfirst into a mike faist rabbit hole lmao. this is first installment of my enemies with benefits to fwbs to lovers riff series, and i’m beyond pumped to get into the characters and the storyline. everything is basically the same as west side story (2021) except riff survives, so this story takes place after the events of the film. i hope you love catalina as much as i do, as well as her and riff’s story, and i’m super excited for this! enjoy!

They buried Tony and Bernardo on the same day. The cemeteries were side by side, close enough to hear the faint strainings of each service.

Anita never stopped crying.

In all her days, Catalina Torres had never seen her cousin so distraught. Her last memory of Anita had been her smiling face, waving a handkerchief as she rode off with Bernardo and Maria, beaming with the light of a thousand suns. The tears that marked her face now fell viciously, carving her pain in clear tracks down her face. This Anita had American scars, and Catalina did not know quite what to make of them yet.

“Maria should be here,” Anita hiccuped, black handkerchief quivering between them.

“I know,” Catalina whispered back, squeezing her hands as hard as she could, “I know.”

Catalina had not imagined her first day in America to be one of such sorrow. Still, she was not naive enough to believe she would have left it in Puerto Rico. Sorrow follows you, stacking stones along your back until you either cast them off and kick to the surface or drown under their weight. One look at Anita told Catalina she was drowning. As she always would, Catalina threw her a life vest.

She took Anita’s face into her hands gently and murmured, “Escúchame bien — Maria volverás soon, okay? She wouldn’t miss her brother's funeral.”

And she didn’t. Maria’s arrival wasn’t heralded by any pomp or circumstance, simply a black veil covering her face and her stumbling headfirst into Anita’s arms. They held each other and cried as Catalina looked on, wondering how all of this could have happened so quickly. The last time she had seen Bernardo, he was holding onto Anita, staring at her like she was the so-called land of dreams they were soon to discover together. Catalina remembered promising Anita and Maria that he would take them to America with him as soon as he figured out a way. Anita went to bat for Catalina, convincing him that she, as her cousin (and truthfully, more of a sister), should come as well. Though it took some time, he eventually agreed. The three of them were to go over first, and when they were settled and prepared, send for Catalina. They set a date – and when her feet touched American soil for the first time, she wondered why Bernardo and Maria were not there to greet her. She thought of Chino, who would have stood in, but she was overjoyed to see Anita nonetheless, even if she was alone. She’d held the woman tighter than she ever had in her entire life, assuming the sobs wracking her body were like hers, a result of this joyous reunion. It wasn’t until they had gone to Anita’s apartment that Catalina learned of Bernardo’s fate and Maria’s sudden disappearance.

Three weeks had passed since Catalina’s arrival, and in them, she had become a full fledged member of the Sharks. With Chino in jail and the Jets leaderless as well, the only thing keeping the two gangs from an all out war was the promise of similar fates to their leaders, or to join their comrades on both sides locked away in a dingy space behind cold iron bars. New York City was ripe for the taking, yet no one had come to claim it. It was as though they were all tiptoeing around a powder keg, waiting for someone to light a match before they scrambled to steer clear of the blast.

“I have to — I have to go see him,” Maria blubbered, looking past Anita to the gates of the other cemetery some yards over. Anita said nothing, stone faced. Naturally, Catalina spoke up.

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

She took Maria’s hand and offered her half a smile, accompanied by a light squeeze. She’d always thought of Maria as a younger sister, the determined little girl chasing after her and Anita. They would find her running up under their feet, and the three of them became inseparable, spending their time daydreaming of what their lives would be once they left the island. The woman standing before her now wasn’t one Catalina entirely recognized. She had never seen her grief hardened shoulders, the dulled glint in her eyes, as though she were a ghost surrounded by the living.

“You two, take Camilo with you,” Anita said, too overwhelmed with emotion to fight the simple request. Maria’s mouth opened to protest until Catalina murmured, “Trust me,” to her under her breath. To Anita, she nodded, allowing Camilo to walk them away from Bernardo’s grave when he appeared. The path was muddy, but her mind was far from how difficult it would be to clean the pile of shoes that would undoubtedly appear in the apartment later. Instead, she focused on Maria, in her simple black lace trimmed dress, hiccuping every other second. She’d heard the story of the rumble recounted from Anita, who was told by Chino. Bernardo had fought valiantly, his quick feet and rapid movements aided by his boxing career. He stabbed the leader of the Jets, Riff Lorton, and the young man had collapsed to the ground. Tony, Maria’s beloved, was overcome by a murderous rage. He killed Bernardo, the sister of the woman he loved, in cold blood. Then he’d run off like the coward he had been, disappearing into the night until he had been about to reunite with Maria and Chino shot him. What Anita had told her, what Chino did not know, was the lie she had told in her own anger and rage, as well as what the Jets had done to her. When Catalina first heard the tale recounted, she had almost been sick. But the more she thought of it, that sickness turned to devastation. And from that devastation rose rage that burned with all the heat of her homes, new and old, combined.

The group’s pause at the gates of the other cemetery forced Catalina from her head. It was nearly identical to the one they had just come from, only there was no carved inscription in Spanish underneath the angel. Chino had done it on his first day here, when one of the Sharks had fallen at the hands of a Jet. In her time in America, she’d begun to understand the dynamics of the two groups. Catalina had gotten a job with Anita, mending other women’s clothes. Maria’s position at the bridal shop and a position at Doc’s had both opened up, but Catalina felt comfort in the familiarity of the routine. She had mended her own clothes and others back in Puerto Rico, and it was rather easy to return to tailoring in this slightly altered context. She had worked on the dress she wore now, a long sleeved knee length black number with red lace hidden underneath the layers of black fabric. She was a Shark now, and this small act of rebellion and remembrance was the least she could do to honor Bernardo’s memory.

Catalina took a quick look past the gates and exhaled in relief upon seeing a general lack of presence around what she assumed was Tony’s grave. Both ceremonies had long ended, leaving only a smattering of mourners in each space. Maria’s body trembled as she stepped forward. Camilo laid a hand on her arm and her eyes flashed, her lips set into a tight twist.

“Camilo,” Catalina said quietly, stepping in between the two, “I forgot my handkerchief. It’s with Anita — can you please go get it? Maria’s is ruined.”

As if cued, Maria held out her soaked square of fabric. Camilo stared at them both for five seconds before he swallowed, nodding twice before darting off.

“Thank you,” Maria whispered, and Catalina nodded, albeit a bit stiffly. It went unsaid (though not misunderstood) that she’d offered her assistance for Maria’s sake and not out of any semblance of respect for Bernardo’s killer. The girl wasted no time, practically sprinting over to the grave. Catalina followed leisurely behind, acting as a lookout. Rather than standing close to Maria, she settled in the shadow of a mausoleum a yard or so away. She had no sympathy for the dead man in the dirt, but her respect for the dead dictated she not observe Maria’s mourning.

The stream of curses from flooding her mouth cared not for her morals.

“That gringo hijo de puta.”

Catalina spat into the dirt, taking out the cigarette she had stashed in her dress and lighting it with Bernardo’s lighter and a prayer for her minor blasphemy.

“Death is too good for him. And to have your sister weep at the sight of his body in the ground – ojala se lo coman los gusanos. And I know – I know – Maria loved him – loves him – pero… a mi no, y a mi nunca. He doesn’t deserve her love, or anyone’s. He’s nothing but a cold blooded murderous bastardo – jodele! Dios, Nardo, if you were here to see this— ”

“Take that back.”

The unfamiliarity of the voice is what paused her. Not the fact that it slurred half the syllables spoken and was dark as the dirt underneath her shoes, weighed down by an emotion far more powerful than grief alone. She noted the fact that it was strange and foreign to her, American, and that was what made it potentially dangerous. She had turned away from Maria’s direction to give her privacy, but she found that the voice’s demand came from that direction, so Catalina pivoted slowly, taking a drag from the cigarette. She blew it out, and when the smoke cleared, found herself looking into eyes colored the brightest blue she had ever seen. They were extremely bloodshot, which, curiously enough, only heightened their coloration. It was as though all the sorrow in the world had swirled into those eyes, every tear, choked sob, murmured gasp. In them she saw a pain she was all too familiar with – the loss of a brother. A skinny frame came into view as her eyes flicked over the new figure, accompanied by light brown hair sticking up in all directions which was slightly offset by their pale skin.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but take it back.”

His voice was low, a bit more controlled but still teetering on the edge of calamity. The wrong breath could have knocked him over, she thought. What refused to brush past her was the strength of his New York accent. He spoke with a certainty she’d found clung to native New Yorkers like blood to white fabric; that no matter who or what came their way, they would claw over anyone and anything to get to the top. Or perhaps that was merely the Jets she’d encountered thus far.

Catalina raised her eyebrows up ever so slightly, inhaling another drag and exhaling it calmly.

“What, are you going to make me? You can barely stand there without falling on your ass.”

The man took a step forward, swaying a little bit. She spotted a paper bag with a bottle neck peeking out of one hand, his own cigarette in the other.

“Tony was better than all of us. Better than me, better than you, better than that walking death certificate crying over his grave right now— ”

“Her name is Maria,” Catalina hissed fiercely, her eyes flashing in warning. No matter her thoughts on Tony, Maria was family. There would be no slander of her or another Shark’s name in her presence. Ever. “And your precious Tony killed Bernardo, so Chino killed him. A life for a life.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, “He didn’t have to die. He should be here right now. Not her.” He took a swig from the bag, a cold gleam entering his eyes. “That broad’s the one that got him killed. His death is on her hands. What the hell is she even doin’ here?”

The words burst from Catalina’s lips before she could stop them. Not that she particularly wanted to. After holding back for so long, she was overdue for an explosion.

“He got himself killed! All Maria did was love him. His fate is his own.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, glaring at her with daggers of fury, a spark away from a rampage, but the floodgates had opened. The water rushed forth, unforgiving.

“Bernardo should be here right now,” Catalina growled, fisting part of her skirt in her hand and stepping up to the man, “And he isn’t. Maria deserves to be here. That gringo does not deserve her tears, or any defense. He deserves to be in the ground.”

They were only three feet from each other, each sixty seconds away from going nuclear. Red had started to bleed into Catalina’s vision, painting the man before her in the scarlet tones of her temper. How dare he speak upon Maria, or Bernardo, or any of them. What could he have possibly known?

“Riff!” a new voice yelled, and another person ran up, short dark black hair and a rock in their step. From behind her, Camilo reappeared at her side silently.

“We got a problem here?” the Jet asked with an icy snear, “What are you PRs doing on our turf anyway?”

“It could be our turf any day now, gringo,” Camilo returned, equally chilled.

Both of them set their hands at their sides, each casting a look to Riff and Catalina.

Maria, still weeping at the foot of Tony’s grave, looked up.

“A friend came to pay her respects,” Catalina said, forcing an evenness into her tone as the red receded. “Now we’re leaving.”

She took Camilo’s arm and subtly tugged him with her, walking past Riff and his Jet.

“Don’t come back,” Riff called, and Catalina’s head whipped over her shoulder at him.

“Vete a la mierda,” she hissed, “And take your pathetic excuse for a gang with you.”

She missed the murmured retaliation in maintaining the confidence in her steps.

“Maria, vamo cariña,” Catalina murmured, gently lifting her friend from the dirt and holding her upright. They returned to the apartment and Anita and Catalina climbed in with Maria, enveloping her between them. The young girl fell asleep first, then her cousin, leaving Catalina alone with her mind and the moonlight shining down through the fire escape. She replayed the events of the day, concentrating until the words, “Cool it, Anybodys, I got a plan,” appeared. In the moment, she hadn’t thought much of him, or his name. But with nothing else to consider, a ferocious scowl painted her face as the pieces clicked together. Riff Lorton, the leader of the Jets, was alive, and already scheming their next movements.

Catalina’s eyes drifted downwards to the two women slumbering beside her. They both looked so young in their sleep, unburdened by the trials and tribulations they had gone through to get here, by the losses they’d endured, the triumphs that had slipped through their fingers. And in that moment, Catalina made a vow. She would not rest until her family was safe, until the Jets were properly dealt with and the Sharks were up on top. She would do whatever it took to secure them all, make the American dreams they’d long been chasing a reality. And no one, especially not a mess of a man somehow recalled to life, would stand in her way.

Catalina fell asleep calmly. In the morning, she could plot and plan. But tonight, she would be with the two people that meant the most to her in the world and pretend that everything would be all right.

—

The next morning, Maria was gone. All that remained of her presence was a note and the promise of living in her heart forever, and maybe the occasional visit or two if she believed she could handle it. New York City was no longer her home, and she could not bear to remain without Tony. Catalina saw the look in her cousin’s eyes change, witnessed the exact moment when the old Anita died. She rose from the kitchen table differently, as though the strings that had been pulling her through her life for the last few weeks had been cut and she was now fully in control of her body.

“Chino is in jail,” Anita said slowly, “Maria left. Bernardo is –” Her hands shook for two seconds before she flexed her fingers and regained control. She continued with an unwavering voice. “Bernardo is dead. The Jets are biding their time, waiting for the opportunity to move. They’ve taken everything from us. They cannot have this, too.”

The steel in her tone drew a spark of pride into Catalina’s eyes.

Anita pushed her shoulders back, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes and exhaling.

“The Sharks need a leader. And because Bernardo and Chino aren’t here, that falls to me. I think I can make them listen, I think I can do this, but not alone. I need you. I need you, Cati.”

She was silent for a moment, letting the weight of Anita’s words truly settle into the space between them. And when she was ready, she spoke.

“I just have one question,” Catalina said, the barest hint of a smirk beginning to cross her face, “When do we start?”

#riff lorton #riff wss #riff west side story #riff #wss riff #riff x oc #riff x afrolatinx!oc #i am ash from your fire #iaafyf #west side story (2021) #wss 2021 #mike faist #AH IT’S FINALLY HERE! #excited excited excited #lmk what y’all think omg #tagging this non canon riff just to be safe since this is technically post ‘come to jesus’ moment so #non canon riff

[memes-saved-me]

Billy Hargrove and implied Queerness

First off this is focusing on his scenes without Steve because we've all seen those and....they're pretty homoerotic to say the least so I will be bringing your attention to the other factors which lead people to believe Billy is gay or interested in men and not so much women. This isn't very indepth but more surface level observations I've made and seen others make.

(TW: Homophobia and slurs discussed)

Season 2

The first scene we get of Billy he is instantly sexualised by those around him. Tina and Vicki taking interest in him based on his looks while Carol watches on rather unamused. This sets a trend for his character and his relationship with his looks and body, but more importantly how he uses it to his own advantage. Of course this was done to play into the 80s bad boy who all the high school girls fall for but what I'll explain later makes it much more interesting.

The next we see of Billy is with Max on their way home. During this scene he insults the looks of the high school girls, referring to them as cows. We then get a very interesting line "Yeah, we're stuck here and who's fault is that?" Which Max replies to with "Yours."

A response that instantly angers Billy to the point he demands she take responsibility for moving to Hawkins. A topic that has clearly been discussed before because Max's reaction implies this has happened before if not multiple times.

In Runaway Max, which isn't confirmed canon and contradicts a lot of stuff but, we are told that the reason they moved was because Billy was completely off the rails to the point he broke her friends arm. Now. Does that make sense in blaming who's fault the move was? If this is the case it is obviously Billy's fault so why does he keep saying it was her who caused this? She clearly liked being in California so why would she do something to make them move. Unless it was unintentional...

This heavily implies that there is an unspoken incident which involves them both. An incident which triggers such anger and recklessness in Billy to the point he almost runs over Mike, Lucas and Dustin because Max wouldn't say it was her fault. Many have then filled in this gap with Max accidentally telling either Neil or Susan about Billy and another boy, which would make sense with the information or lack of information we are given in canon about the reason they moved.

While at Tina's Halloween party we do not see Billy interact with a single girl. He is seen with Tommy and another boy who then approach Steve with him. It would make sense for girls to be drooling over him in this moment, trying to dance with him or following him inside but no. He makes a beeline for Steve and we do not see him for the rest of the party.

Now, I don't know about you but have you ever seen a teenage boy look less interested in his date? Not only is he not interacting with verbally but also physically. He then gets angry when she calls Max his sister and they drive off without a word. It's implied he is taking her home as he they were waiting for Max, meaning he was probably going to hook up with her but if he was wouldn't he act just a little nicer towards her?

I mentioned before that he is the archetype for 80s bad boy and the girls sure are falling, he just isn't catching them. This is the only time we see him interact with a women his age in a romantic way. If you could call this romantic at all.

When in trouble for letting Max run off while watching her, his response is that he doesn't have the time to go looking for her because he has a date, a date we never see or get the name of, this prompts his father to say the line "So that's why you've been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot..."

A line that then prompts Billy to snap and argue back after clearly wanting to get out of this situation as fast and smoothly as possible. Where else have we seen anger brought on by a topic? That's right in the car with Max. There is a trend of Billy reacting with anger to conversations or comments he finds personal or as some sort of attack. This is also when Neil becomes fully angry with Billy as seen in his rather shocked reaction at his response to that line.

This also continues the trend of Billy caring about his looks and using them as a shield of sorts, a shield that doesn't work against his father but everyone else he encounters.

Something to keep in mind, Billy is the only character to be called a homophobic slur by a parental figure other than Will. The character he mirrors in multiple ways including having the same full name William, as well as Will being heavily implied as gay or queer. Both of their father's use homophobic language against them, unlike any of the other characters in the show.

The next we see of him after the incident with Neil is also when we see him interacting with another women in a romantic sense. Karen. This is where his use of his looks and body fully come into play. He uses these assets to get information and affection out of Karen to make his father happy and avoid further punishment.

Now this is my own interpretation but Billy is used to using his body for positive attention and doesn't get that any other way. At no point in the series is he treated like a person other than in S3 by Max and Max only. Everyone else views him in an objectified manner or as a bad guy to avoid.

There is a clear resemblance between Karen and Billy's mother which I'll further discuss in the season 3 section but this leads me to believe he is subconsciously or even consciously wanting positive attention from a motherly figure, he just doesn't know any other way to achieve that.

However, it is very clear that flirting with Karen was an act as seen by the quite jarring juxtaposition of these two frames. The mask fully gone once by himself again. Meaning the only time we see him flirt with a women it isn't genuine at all.

Season 3

Now, continuing off the last point, there is countless girls practically drooling over Billy at the pool but he only accepts this attention from Karen. This exemplifies my theory that he doesn't know how to gain positive affection other than through flirting and well sex, but he only wants this attention from an older women who resembles his mother. Except, again he doesn't know any other way of gaining it. He hasn't had a strong positive female influence in his life since he was 10 years old and by the looks of it every motherly figure has treated him as eye candy and not a teenager crying for help.

He has Heather who is very much his age and flirts with him. Yet, he acts as if she isn't even there and goes straight over to Karen to flirt. The way he acts with Karen should be the way he would act with girls his age, flirting and making advances but we do not see a single example of this.

This part I find extremely interesting because it perfectly mirrors his interaction with Karen in season 2, except instead of dropping the mask he puts it on. The way he looks to his right as if she is sitting there as he practices what he is going to say to her is a clear example of his act coming into play as he prepares to meet up with her. His expression very similar to when he leaves the Wheeler home but it shifts to practice the way he is planning on talking to Karen. A complete reversal from their scene in season 2.

A rather reaching piece of symbolism could be that this also mirrors the way Neil cuts off Billy's date in season 2 as the Mindflayer is a literal representation of him being controlled by his father.

I also find it very interesting that he chooses to flirt with Karen very publicly and this might be reading a little too into it but it comes off as trying to uphold some sort of image. Another example of this is Max saying she hears Billy with girls in his room, something that sure is something he would do but when you put this with everything in this post it also comes off as him trying to prove something.

Another thing I find interesting is the way he acts around Karen, all smiles and friendly is very similar to that of the way he acts at dinner with Heather's parents. An act put on by the Mindflayer, just as he does when flirting with Karen. A mask used for underlying means and not what it shows on the surface.

Conclusion

This is all just my observation and he is not canonically gay or queer but the way he acts around women compared to Steve is a very interesting aspect to his character. If they truly intended for him to be this bad boy ladies man then they failed at presenting that.

One final thing, which I have posted about before is the fact Billy does not use homophobic language towards anyone. Even Steve does in season 1 so it would make sense for a teenage boy trying to upstage another teenage boy to use slurs and such to belittle and bully him. Except he doesn't.

I could write a full dissertation on Billy's implied queerness but a unorganised Tumblr post will have to do. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #theory #not tagging anything else because I cba with antis #this is not canon #so don't attack me #it is just a theory analysis #thank you

[titan-fodder]

Pyroclastic (Mike Zacharias x Reader)

Summary: Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

Rating: E (explicit)

Word Count: ~19.5K

Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Eruri, implied Mobuhan, spelling Miche ‘Mike’, swearing, fighting, lots of nerdy shit, explicit sexual content, breeding kink

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile’s Apocalypse collab. I urge everyone to check out all the pieces on the masterlist. A big thanks to @pleasantanathema​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for being about as excited about this as I was, to @shadowworks​ for always encouraging me when I take on projects too big for my own good, and to @mindninjax​ who volunteered her husband’s expertise on this. I’m pretty proud of this piece and had a blast writing and researching for it. This is by no means scientifically accurate, but I did my best to make it realistic (as in I watched Supervolcano again and spent a lot of time on the USGS website). Also, I have been to Yellowstone exactly one (1) time in my life and was terrified the entire time which is where my fixation with it comes from. 

Enjoy~

GLOSSARY

Caldera - large basin-shaped volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*

Pyroclastic flow - A hot (typically >800 °C), chaotic mixture of rock fragments, gas, and ash that travels rapidly (tens of meters per second) away from a volcanic vent or collapsing flow front.*

Tephra -  pieces of all fragments of rock ejected into the air by an erupting volcano.

VEI - The Volcanic Explosivity Index (VEI) is a relative measure of the explosiveness of volcanic eruptions.*

*definitions taken from USGS website

4  Y E A R S  B E F O R E 

Levi looks pissed when he’s on screen. He looks pissed all the time, but he looks especially pissed when he’s made to stand in front of pointed cameras and outstretched microphones. 

You can’t blame him; it’s not actually his job to deal with the press, but some years ago, Erwin had twisted his arm this way and that and convinced Levi to take over conferences.

“They understand you better,” he’d said. “You enunciate better than me. We can’t have people misunderstanding me and panicking, can we?” The blond had purposely spoken with an accent thicker than usual, and Levi had called him every name under the sun, but in the end, he’d relented, and now…

“Dr. Ackermann! Dr. Ackermann! Is it true that this has been the largest earthquake in Yellowstone since Hebgen Lake?” 

Levi squints, actually cringes at the question, then waves one of his small, bony hands. “Hebgen Lake was a major quake—7.2 on the Richter scale. This was only a 5.3, and yeah, it’s been a while since the park has had a quake larger than a three, but that doesn’t mean—”

“So, should we be worried about a supereruption?” Another reporter asks, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing as the light leaves your colleague’s eyes. 

Levi’s jaw slides, and he pauses, no doubt to think about how to answer because this is a delicate question, one that the general public always reads extremely far into. He’s good at keeping his expression blank, at least, probably another reason Erwin requested he take over interviews. 

“Listen,” he starts off, slate eyes locking onto the largest camera in front of him. “Yellowstone is a hub of seismic energy. It wouldn’t be the park we know and love today if it wasn’t shaking and letting off steam like it usually does, right?” This gains a few relieved chuckles from the crowd of journalists. 

“Was this earthquake bigger than the ones we’re used to? Yes. Are we monitoring each and every tremor that we pick up? Also, yes. So, don’t make yourself sick worryin’ about sh—stuff you can’t control. We’ll let you know if it’s time to worry.” He sucks his teeth for a second, waiting for his advice to wash over everyone, then adds, “Keep a bug-out bag packed, though. Not because of the volcano or anything. Just because… The world is crazy and so are people, and it’s always good to be prepared.”

They take it as a joke, laugh a little louder as Levi steps down from the podium, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know he had made the comment with serious intent. It’s a lot easier to fly out of town at a moment’s notice when you already have the necessities packed, and though he won't tell them all the facts this early on, there’s a chance that they will eventually have to evacuate, yes. 

“I fucking hate that big, blond bastard,” is the first thing Levi tells you when he’s within earshot, much less well-spoken in casual situations than when his face is being broadcasted. “Voht iff they dunt understahnd me, Lebi?” He mimics your boss badly then pantomimes an uppercut with a dramatic grunt. 

“Why’d you make him sound Russian?”

“I was trying to make him sound stupid ‘cause that’s what he is.”

“I have four doctorates,” Erwin states as he falls into step with both of you, finally moving from his little hiding place behind one of the news trucks. “I’m not stupid. And, I do not sound like that.”

“That’s what you think,” Levi grumbles, doing his best to shrug away from the larger man when Erwin slings an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t work, and Levi ends up stumbling to keep up with Erwin’s longer strides, which only serves to irritate him further. 

“You looked good up there. I mean, you sounded good. Sounded sure, comforting…” 

You shake your head at Erwin’s obvious struggle to just not be the big weirdo that he is, but it sure is painful to watch sometimes. 

Governor Zachary takes over the conference, leaving the three of you to make your way inside the lodge that the emergency broadcast was set up outside of. Levi and Erwin bicker through the lobby then through the back doors that lead you to the jeep that you all swing yourselves into. 

The sky is still a little dusty with shaken sediment, and some of the park rangers are setting up barricades at the mouths of a couple hiking trails leading to what is now a moderately large crevasse that’s opened up in the Biscuit Basin. 

Other than that, the park doesn’t feel much different as you ride through it on your way back to the lab. The Summer sun brings with it your favorite 70 degree days, and if it weren’t for Erwin’s questionable driving, you’d be tempted to hang half your body out the window just to feel the warmth better. The faint smell of sulfur in the air is soothing at this point—the smell of activity, the smell of science, the smell of home. Geysers are still shooting boiling water to the skies. The mud pots are still bubbling like ominous cauldrons. That earthquake couldn’t have shaken too much out of place if all the geothermal spots are still behaving as they normally do.

The tires kick up rocks and dust as Erwin brakes dramatically outside of the base, right behind another familiar jeep that makes Levi roll his eyes. 

“Great. The boy scout’s here.” 

“Oh, be nice, you little grump,” Erwin chastises him. “Mike’s been nothing but kind to us since he started working here.”

“Yeah, except for the time he misjudged the depth of that puddle and—”

“Splashed you with mud, yeah, yeah, we know, Levi,” you finish for him as you slide out of the vehicle. “You bring it up every time you see the guy. We know.”

“And, didn’t he apologize afterward?” Erwin prompts.

Levi doesn’t answer, but you respond for him: “Profusely. Drove him back to the lab, offered him his spare change of clothes—”

“Useless,” Levi hisses. “The dude’s a giant.”

“Not his fault he’s…” You try not to sound too giddy when you step through the door and see the man in question. “Enormous.” 

You don’t know Mike very well, one of the newer park rangers but with a background in geology which leads him to your neck of the woods very often. The few conversations you have had with him have all been pleasant. He’s soft-spoken but obviously intelligent with good instincts about both the park’s weather and wildlife. 

He’s also the only ranger you’ve seen actually pull off the dorky park uniform, but that could just be because the different shades of green look good against his tan skin and bring out his light eyes. Even taller than Erwin and a little broader too, M. Zacharias (as his little, metal name tag reads) is a slab of a man, and yet, when he grins, it’s almost boyish. 

“Hey, Mike, what’s up?” You greet.

He turns his head to look at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, then offers one of the soft smiles you were hoping for. “Just came to drop off some samples for Hange.”

“Disgusting,” Levi mutters just for you to hear as he passes, and you shove him hard enough to make him stumble and flip you off. 

“How’d the press conference go?” Hange asks, tossing a small, corked flask of mud from hand to hand—what you assume to be the sample—while twirling in their computer chair. The last member of your team, Moblit Berner, glances away from the holographic model he’s studying to hear the answer. 

“I think it went well,” Erwin says. “Levi handled it like a champion, as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, old man,” the brunet bites out, joining Moblit next to the expensive projection table in the middle of the lab. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

“I’m just running the numbers from today’s quake. The possible effects it had underground.”

“And?”

Moblit is quiet for a beat too long.

“Mobs, what is it?” 

You, Erwin, and Hange make your way over to the table, staring at the laser-lit park model and the chamber underneath it. 

“Well, in most of the scenarios, it’s fine,” Moblit tries. “Nothing to worry about.”

“And, in the others?” 

He looks to Erwin, as everyone does in times of concern. Thick eyebrows pinched together, your boss motions to the hologram. “Show us.”

Moblit punches a few things in on the app he uses to control the model, then takes a deep breath and lets it play out for everyone to see, including Mike who slowly makes his way over, curiosity apparently getting the best of him. 

At first, nothing looks to change, just a living, breathing reenactment of what you were seeing today—every geyser, every fumarole, every little rumble, every minute rise and fall of the ground sped up to be detected with the human eye. 

And then, it stops. 

“Why did it…”

“Just watch,” Moblit shushes you. 

The outline of the ground fractures in several different places, statistics for different earthquakes blinking above. The known vents of the park—every geyser, mudpot, and fumarole—are rendered inactive, and under it all, that massive chamber everyone is always so worried about begins to bulge upward and outward, growing larger and larger until…

The map shorts out, flickering then disappearing entirely, leaving the six of you staring at the space where it was shining just seconds ago. 

“Was that…” 

Erwin inhales deeply through his nose before exhaling the word that will eventually bring the nation to its knees.

"Supereruption."

3  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

Even through the thick headset, the whir of the helicopter blades is loud, a rhythm pulsing through the air strong enough to be felt in your chest right alongside your beating heart. 

Thankfully, Mike’s deep voice is loud and clear when he speaks, nodding his head to the right, “Look down at about two o’clock.”

You follow his command, tilting your head and peering down at an empty field. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.

The microphone hanging in front of his mouth picks up his chuckle, and the sound of it echoes in your ears, making you grin albeit a little confused. 

“Exactly. That’s a big spot for bison this time of year.”

“Then why aren’t they here?”

Mike lets the chopper hover for a while, both hands still on their respective control levers. 

“Ground’s been moving too much,” he says after a few seconds of silent staring. You’d known the answer already but hearing the wildlife expert confirm it fills you with a little more dread than you’d originally harbored. “They feel things we don’t, the tiny quakes, the tremors. Stuff you only think the seismograph picks up—they feel all of it.”

“They know what’s coming,” you say more to yourself than to him. 

Mike offers you one of those charming, close-lipped smiles. “When in doubt, trust the animals.” 

A line you’ve heard him say a few times now. Mike loves everything that lives in the park, from all the common lake trout and sand cranes to the endangered grizzly bears and gray wolves. 

Trust the animals, he says. Because he trusts them. Because he loves them. 

“You wanna fly over the Grand Prismatic?” Mike asks, pulling you from your thoughts, and when you look over, you find your reflection in his mirrored aviators as he stares at you. 

His mouth quirks up at the corners, causing yours to do the same, and you nod. “Yeah, always.”

It’s your favorite view in the park, the colorful spring from up above. Mike had learned that a few months ago, and now whenever you ride in the chopper with him, he makes sure to pass over the beautiful attraction just for you.

Nearly 200° Fahrenheit with a pH of 8.7, the pool, while still dangerous due to its temperature, is one of the more moderate dangers of the national park, tame in comparison to the Norris Geyser Basin with temperatures up to 459° (a thousand meters below the surface, anyway) and a pH of about two. It’s dissolved bones—human bones. And, would claim even more if given the chance. 

You suppose that’s expected for a basin that’s sitting over a chamber of 1,500° molten magma. 

The Grand Prismatic is just as stunning today as it is every other. Its outer orange and yellow rings darken to greens and blues the further inward you look, thick steam rising from all over but more condensed over the middle. 

It was one of the park's biggest attractions, tourists flocking to the spring with their cameras, too stricken by the vivid chromaticism to listen or read about the temperatures and microbials that are responsible for the colors in the first place. 

As you hover above now, just to the side of the steam, your heart aches. There are no ignorant tourists to take pictures of the pool, the boardwalks and trails to these hot spots now blocked off once it became apparent that the earthquake that took place last year was not the last of its kind. Your team as well as the park rangers went to the park board as a unit and suggested that tourists needed to be kept away from as many geothermal features as possible, all of you with the same fear in mind: someone (or many someones) falling in. 

It's always been a risk, but now, with weekly rumblings, that risk has multiplied exponentially. All it takes is someone losing their footing on the boardwalk over the Norris Geyser Basin for serene sightseeing to turn into tragedy, and that's on a good day. Throw a 5.7 earthquake into the mix, and the park could lose an entire tour group to the heat and acid. 

It's just not a risk any of you are willing to take anymore. 

Most of the park remains open. Old Faithful continues to draw people in by the thousands. They sit and watch boiling water shoot into the sky every hour or so, clapping happily at the sight, unaware of the way you and your team hold your breath in wait, hoping for the geyser to go off on its usual schedule. 

One day it will stop. One day they'll all stop. And, then… 

"I can't believe it's all gonna be gone one day," you muse, blinking down at the prismatic pool for as long as Mike will let you. 

"Nah," the man disagrees. "Not gone. Buried, yeah, but not gone."

You snort, turn back to him with a grin and roll your eyes. "Yeah, no big deal. Just miles of pyroclast and ash, probably snow when we get thrust into another ice age 'cause of the crazy climate swing..."

"Alright, alright, I get it. The sun dimeth and the land sinketh."

"Gusheth forth steam and gutting fire," you continue grimly.

Mike turns the helicopter back toward the landing zone, saying nothing else and leaving you to take in the sights below. You're grateful for the silence; it's good for processing, for preparation. 

And, you're grateful for Mike, one of your best friends at this point—soft and kind despite his intimidating stature, smart as a whip, and just as stunning, if not more so, than the Grand Prismatic. 

"Any idea what you'll do afterward?" He asks, holding a hand out to you to help you from your seat in the chopper. 

"Not really. Survive, I guess." 

You land just a little too close to him, your face nearly coming in direct contact with his broad chest, but Mike steps back just in time, making you extend your arm, still connected at the fingers, before he drops your hand. 

"A feat all on its own," he says flatly, but he perks up as you both begin walking to the park ranger base. "Maybe you'll find another team to work on."

"I don't want to find another team," you tell him honestly. "This is my team. This is my home."

Mike hums, an understanding little sound, body warm when he gently bumps into you on the gravel pathway to the lodge. "Yeah, I know."

A geophysics major at UCLA with a specific interest in volcanology, getting to intern with the Erwin Smith at the Yellowstone supervolcano had been a dream come true. You'd expected to gain knowledge and experience—nothing more and nothing less. You'd lived out here for one summer during your graduate program, clocking the field experience you needed to get your degree and taking in everything you could. 

Back then, it felt like all you did was ask questions and get in the way. By the end of that summer, you knew every variation of Levi Ackermann's irritated sighs, every different pitch of Hange Zoe's shouts and how they correlated with their experiments. Moblit had been the newest permanent addition and was even more nervous than he is now, trying and failing to keep up with Hange (which he's much better at doing these days). 

They were all fantastic, but it had been the lead researcher who'd reeled you in. You'd never met anyone as passionate as Dr. Erwin Smith, captivated by the monster underneath the park and thrilled to share his brain with anyone willing to hold their hands out for it. Hell, he'd even helped you with your Master's thesis—hydrothermally altered mineralized systems and their seismic reflections. 

When you graduated, the Yellowstone team was the first you reached out to and the first you heard back from. Erwin said you'd been a perfect fit even as a student (which you hadn't exactly believed but definitely blushed at anyway). Mobs, Hange, and even Levi seemed happy to have you back. It was like you were meant to be here. In this park. With all of them. 

Studying the volcano and all of its properties has always been like breathing to you—natural and necessary. You move when it moves, every shake and tremor a heartbeat in your own chest, every shooting geyser like blood in your veins. The mudpots are your bubbling emotions, the fumaroles, your sense of building pressure and release.

You feel at home in the park because you trust it. Because you love it. 

You don't have room for another team in your heart, but as you walk inside the lodge next to Mike, watching as he takes off his sunglasses and grins at one of the other rangers, you think you at least have room for one more person. 

2  Y E A R S  B E F O R E

The lab has two extra bodies in it—two extra unwelcome bodies who keep getting in your way and touching things as they ask questions that no one has the answers to yet.

“When did you say this was going to happen?” The rotund state governor, Dhalis Zachary, asks for the second time since arriving, picking up a sample test tube that Moblit immediately plucks from his hand with a nervous smile.

“As I said before, it’s difficult to place a concrete timeline on an event like this,” Erwin tells the white-haired man. “We don’t exactly have in depth records of the last three eruptions, so all we have to go off of is the earth itself and our simulations.”

At the edge of the projection table, Nile Dok, FEMA director, cautiously waves a hand through the holographic model displayed in front of him. He obviously doesn’t think anyone is watching him because the slender man jumps in surprise when you snort at your desk, and his angular cheekbones take on a pink tint of embarrassment from having been caught.

He clears his throat, straightens the knot that sits over it, then turns to face Erwin and prompts, “Three eruptions before. One was a lot bigger than the others, though, right?”

Erwin nods. “Huckleberry Ridge. Over two million years ago.”

“We’re hoping—if a supereruption is to occur—it’ll be closer to the size of Mesa Falls,” you pipe up.

“Which one was that?” Zachary asks.

“One-point-three million years ago, two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers of erupted materials…” Levi lists off as he makes his way over to the table with a sanitary wipe in hand. He doesn’t like people in his space, doesn’t like strangers in the lab, even (especially) government officials (“They leave fingerprints, and they breathe on everything, and they waste our fucking time.”).

“Two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers… That’s the best-case scenario?” Zachary looks to Erwin, eyebrows raised high over his wire glasses.

Erwin stares at him for a moment, contemplating the best and easiest way to explain this to someone who has no real experience in the field. Eventually, he settles on, “Moblit, can you run some simulations for me?”

“Of course, sir,” the mousy scientist agrees, phone in hand and pulling up the app before the boss can even finish speaking.

Everyone gathers around the table except for Levi who steps away from it, grumbling under his breath about coming back to clean it later. He at least hits the lights, making the model easier to see as Erwin starts listing off numbers and scenarios.

“The best case, actually, is only one vent opening, maybe two. It would be something comparable to Mount St. Helen’s, though probably a bit bigger, say point-five cubic kilometers of material. It would be necessary to evacuate the park and this region of the state at the very least.”

Zachary hums, “And, how likely is that?”

Erwin shrugs. “Hard to say right now. As the earthquakes increase, though, the likelihood of a small eruption like that, uh, dwindles.”

“Small,” Nile scoffs.

Zachary makes a similar noise, slightly louder, a little more offended, then rattles off, “Mount St. Helen’s killed almost sixty people. The blast, the ash, the lahars—” as if you don’t all already know.

“No one’s discounting the damage of the eruption,” Levi cuts him off. “But, if you’re sweatin’ at those numbers, all due respect, Governor, I don’t know if you’re ready to stomach the rest of this little light show.”

The older man cuts his eyes at Levi who squints right back at him, only turn and shuffle over to his desk when Erwin waves him further away, a silent way of saying ‘keep your smart mouth away from the authority figures’.

“Moving on,” you cough, twirling a finger to get both Erwin and Mobs to continue.

“Yes,” Erwin nods. “So, any eruption is dependent on how much magma in the chamber is eruptible magma. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it will come out.”

Moblit punches in a few numbers to show what a small-scale eruption would look like, first with one vent then with two.

“With just that amount, even with two vents, it isn’t enough to completely destabilize the chamber.”

“And, destabilizing it would be… bad…” Nile states more than asks, brown eyes lit up by the model in front of him.

“No shit,” everyone hears Levi grumble from his desk, and Erwin huffs and looks at you, expression a little exasperated as he jerks a thumb back toward the grumpy man in yet another one of his silent motions— a plea in this case—'go take care of him’ which you do.

Levi is slumped in his computer chair, arms crossed over his chest as he peers over his desktop at the four men gathered around the hologram.

“Should’a just gone with Hange and the boy scout to collect samples when I had the chance,” he mutters.

“You hate collecting samples, especially sulfur samples. Which is what they’re getting now.”

“Yeah, well I hate these guys even more.” He says it quietly enough so that they won’t be able to hear, and even if they could, both Governor Zachary and Nile are too invested in the information that the scientists are giving them to pay attention to anything else.

“What’d they ever do to you?” You push, curious now because sure, Levi has always been the surliest of the team, but it’s rare that he’s surly and loud about it.

“Nothing. They have done nothing because they don’t belong here. They have no idea—no fucking idea—what’s about to happen.” You can hear his frustration even through his whispers. “Best case scenarios? Why are we even going over those? We know damn well that we’re not looking at one or two vents. And, we’re not lookin’ at Mesa Falls either.”

Letting out a long breath, you lean against Levi’s desk, ignoring the way he grunts in protest.

“I know. I’m sure Erwin and Moblit will prep them for the worst case.”

“There’s no prepping for it,” Levi hisses, gray eyes flashing. “We’re talking about—"

“…A nationwide cataclysmic event.” Both of you register Erwin’s voice at the same time and glance at the other group to find them staring at the lit-up simulation of the Huckleberry Ridge eruption.

“Which would pretty quickly turn into a worldwide problem,” Moblit adds quietly.

“Worldwide?” You hear Nile question in a low but very alarmed tone. “Because of the ash?”

“Well, yes, but, it’s not just ash,” Erwin clarifies, diving into his explanation of tephra and how dangerous it is. He reminds the men how far it traveled after the Mount St. Helen’s eruption since they’ve apparently latched onto that one, then challenges, “Now imagine an eruption about… six hundred times that size.”

“Six…” Nile swallows, turning his entire, slender frame toward Erwin and repeating, “Six hundred times bigger? That’s what we’re expecting?”

In his little rolling chair, Levi’s chest puffs a bit, finally satisfied that the gravity of the situation is beginning to set in. “Maybe they aren’t as dumb as they look.”

Erwin is about to say something, right hand lifted with his index finger extended in a very matter-of-fact way, but before he can manage to get anything out, the door to the lab swings open and Hange walks in, Mike just behind them carrying all the collected samples in what almost looks like a lunchbox.

“We’re back—” Hange stops, taking in their surroundings, the lack of lights, the bright projection, the grim energy, then shouts, “Hey, get some Pink Floyd playing! Like a planetarium in here! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…”

“Dr. Zoe,” Moblit clears his throat. “We were just going over the utter devastation a supereruption could wreak on the country.”

“Oh, were you?” Hange pauses, brow rising, lips puckering into a sour expression. “My bad.”

Raising a hand to your forehead, you laugh to yourself for a few seconds before shaking the untimely amusement off and making your way over to Mike to take the sample kit from him.

“Careful,” he warns jokingly as he passes it off. “Got some very fragile gas and mud in there.”

“Yeah?” You tease. “So, I shouldn’t, like, shake it or anything?”

“Definitely should not shake it. Here, here, just—” He takes it back, grinning broadly as he tells you, “I think it’s best if you let a professional handle such dangerous compounds.”

All the doom-and-gloom you had been feeling mere seconds ago evaporates entirely, and you let out a frankly embarrassing giggle as you watch Mike very carefully set the samples down on Hange’s lab table, making a show of securing them and whispering a final, “Stay,” so that you clamp a hand over your mouth.

Levi groans in disgust, and, at the same time, Erwin mutters an apology to Zachary and Nile for, “… employing a team of children.”

Your face heats in embarrassment, but it doesn’t keep you from smiling at Mike when he saunters back over, looking rather sheepish himself.

“Lunchtime soon, right?”

“Yeah, in a bit—”

“Please go now, for the love of God,” Erwin sighs. “And, take Levi and Hange with you.”

None of you need telling twice, quickly grabbing wallets and home-packed meals before rushing from the lab before your boss decides to murder one or all of you.

Levi steers Hange toward his car, leaving you alone with Mike which you don’t mind in the slightest. You take most of your lunches with him anyway, some of your breakfasts and dinners too, so this is simply part of your daily routine.

“I’ve got some sandwiches packed already. Wanna hit Mount Haynes?” He suggests, sliding into the driver’s seat of his jeep.

You point a fingergun at him and nod. “I like the way you think, sir.”

He takes a very specific route, avoiding any damaged areas, having to veer off of the actual road at a certain point to take a safer path he and other rangers have made. You watch the mountains of the park grow closer and closer, what you know to be the ridge of Yellowstone’s caldera looming nearer.

Mike parks at the base of your intended destination then reaches into the backseat to grab the aforementioned lunch. You have no intentions of actually hiking to the top of the mountain—don’t have the time or the will, honestly—but as soon as the two of you have worked up a sweat and are at a decent enough elevation to look out on the park underneath, you drop to the dusty ground and take it all in.

Even from this distance, you can see some of the gases and steam in the air. That’s the only movement there is, though, save for the occasional ranger vehicle zipping along. The land seems almost barren at this point. The grass is still green. The sun is still bright as it is every Summer.

But, there are no animals, no tourists, no real life. Instead, it’s been replaced with cracks and crevasses, with barricades and warning signs.

Trail Closed

Road Closed

Danger: Keep Out

It’s been almost six months since the park decided to shut down to the public, and if you’re being honest, it should have closed its doors long before. It took people dying to bring the board to their senses, an earthquake that shook the ground for minutes, the crust of the earth splitting right under the historical lodge that so many loved.

Fourteen casualties. Twenty-nine injured.

That’s what it took.

You barely recognize the park now, feel like the last endangered species left within its boundaries. It’s just the research team, some of the rangers, and the occasional outside visitor (board members, government officials, or press that gets waved away).

Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.

Not dead; just waking up.

“You look tired.” Mike’s voice may as well be carried by the breeze, light and low, refreshing as it passes over you, and you flash him a smile while nodding.

“Exhausted.”

He grabs a sandwich from the lunchbox, and you fish hand sanitizer from one of the many pockets on your pants, squirting it into your hand first then holding it out to the man beside you.

“Seems like you spend more time here than at your apartment.”

“Oh, most definitely.” You unwrap what looks to be turkey and pepper-jack and try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the fact that it’s your favorite simple-sandwich-combo and that Mike remembered. “Lot to do in the lab. Obviously.” You take a bite—no mustard, only mayo—and feel some of the tension between your shoulder blades begin to unwind.

“Figure you wouldn’t want it any other way, though,” Mike comments before chomping into his own sandwich.

“Right you are. I mean, end of the world, potentially. Scary stuff, but also…” You swallow, lick your lips and stare out at the landscape in front of you as you grapple with words. “It’s like… I’m terrified, but I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. Like…”

This is how I’m supposed to go out, you almost say, but you’re smart to keep it to yourself. That’s a thought for you and you alone, one you haven’t shared with anyone because nobody else would understand except maybe Erwin.

“This is what you’re meant to do,” Mike supplies, and you look over at him. “This is what you love. I get that.”

And, he’s right. But, the park and volcanology—those aren’t the only things you love.

Mike sits there, legs crossed like an overgrown kindergartener, shaggy hair blowing in the wind, light green eyes so, incredibly warm and bright, and it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, like your lungs and throat are already full of ash that hasn’t fallen yet, tight with dying declarations you can’t bring yourself to make.

“Have you ever heard of Katia and Maurice Krafft?” You ask, and yes, your voice does feel somewhat strangled, the space behind your eyes burning just a little hotter than usual.

Mike shakes his head, takes another bite, and gives you his undivided attention.

“They were these French volcanologists who got really famous for the pictures and footage they took of erupting volcanoes. The recordings they got for the community were—I mean, they were pioneers. They changed the game. There’s photos and videos of them just—” you gesture nebulously with both your hands, nearly flinging your sandwich off the side of the mountain and making Mike reach out and catch your wrist before you can.

“Please, no feeding the park’s wildlife, ma’am,” he jokes easily, and you have to shove the sandwich into your mouth to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Mike shows the smallest of satisfied smiles, completely unaware of his own charm, and it’s maddening and intoxicating, and it’s all you can do to keep talking about the brave scientists.

“Anyway,” you continue. “Katia would get, like, within feet of lava flows. Just walkin’ right beside ‘em in her special heat suit. And, they’d wear protective helmets because of, you know—”

“Explosions. Falling rocks.”

 “Yeah, exactly. They were just there, documenting it all happening, nerves of fucking steel. Katia was usually the one gathering samples and stuff while Maurice recorded, but he was right in the thick of it too. This badass couple learning and adventuring together.”

Mike eventually questions, “What happened to them?” but you’re sure he knows the answer when you deflate a bit.

“Mount Unzen eruption—got caught in the pyroclastic flow. Died instantly.”

“At least they were doing what they loved,” he says, and you nod.

You’re silent for a while, neither of you eating but both of you staring. You think about the Kraffts often, especially now with Yellowstone’s imminent eruption. Doing what they loved… They died for their research, and though you never got the chance to meet them or even speak with anyone who has met them, you have a feeling they wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way.

“Just so you know,” Mike gets your attention, and when you look over at him, your heart swells.

The sun is reflected in his eyes, making light green glow with more than just warmth and sincerity, and god, you’re so in love with him, you can feel it in your bone marrow. You ache for him, you pine for him, and you want to live for him, but how…

“I’d film you walking next to a lava flow,” he tells you. Despite the little smile playing at his lips, you know he isn’t kidding.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to look away before any actually fall, but your sniffle definitely gives you away. You swear internally, berating yourself for getting emotional in front of Mike, though you can’t say you’re too surprised. Your stress levels have been through the roof, working non-stop for months now, the government breathing down your neck. People have died and the park is literally fracturing before your eyes, and you’re not ready to see it end—to see everything as you know it come to an end.

“Pretty dusty up here,” Mike comments while nudging you. You find him holding out a handkerchief, letting you take it then turning his gaze forward again to allow you a little privacy to dab at your eyes.

Mike has senses beyond the normal human spectrum. He has a sense for weather unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before, from thunderstorms and tornadoes to record snowfall and, on a few occasions, earthquakes. You can still vividly remember being in the lab the day of the fatal quake that damaged the hotel, seeing Mike suddenly look at the seismogram seconds before it started picking up the first tremors. Levi had called it “freakish”, but you had called him “incredible”.

It’s not just the weather, though. Mike has a way with people and animals too, like he can gauge their emotions and act appropriately. It’s how he knows what days he can push Levi’s buttons and get away with it, how he knows when Hange is too busy and overwhelmed to gather samples themself, so he gathers some for them.

And, it’s how he knows exactly when he needs to pull you into a hug, like when the team realized the chances of a small to moderate eruption were next to nothing, like when he had told you how many of those hotel guests had gotten hurt and died and you’d stared at him with wide, watery eyes, and like right now, as you think about Katia and Maurice Krafft, the fate they met and how yours might not be any different.

Will you die doing what you love? Will you be able to welcome it as bravely as they did?

You rest your head on Mike’s shoulder, letting yourself melt into his side, his arm sturdy and grounding where it wraps around you, and as you look out over the sunlit grounds, one last question plagues your mind:

Does a pyroclastic flow burn as hot as the molten feelings inside of you?

You can’t imagine anything does.

1  Y E A R  B E F O R E

The message is broadcasted straight from the state capitol, Levi's expression grim as he reads off the paper hidden on the podium. 

"I know all of this sounds apocalyptic—the ash and blackouts and probable climate change, and it is scary, but we still have some time, so there's no reason to panic. We just urge that if you haven't already started preparing, now's the time. Please."

A couple steps behind him and a little to the right is Erwin, standing tall and nodding at everything Levi says as if he's providing some kind of credibility. 

"Considering we're looking at a VEI eight, the team of volcanologists at Yellowstone have recommended that all of Wyoming and its neighboring states evacuate, but I'll let Homeland Security go over all that."

As he turns to step back, the crowd of reporters and journalists begin shouting out questions, and Levi grimaces as he moves to stand next to Erwin who places a hand in his shoulder. 

You can't hear everything being asked from where you're watching at the lab, but you can't imagine it's anything good judging by the way Levi's frown just keeps growing. 

Fortunately, the vaguely familiar secretary of Homeland Security, Dot Pixis, takes the stand quickly, holding up wrinkled hands in an attempt to calm the crowd. 

"We have some more very important information to cover in this address, so if you'll allow me…" He clears his throat and straightens a stack of papers on the podium, no doubt a huge list of protocols that the public will only half listen to. 

You swivel back and forth in your chair as you watch the thin man on screen, his voice scratchy but strangely soothing as he outlines rationing, supply storage, and evacuation routes. 

"We're also negotiating with our neighboring countries about opening borders. Now, anyone seeking refuge would still be required to fill out an application for a temporary visa, but—"

"God, you know they gotta love that," you mumble to yourself. 

Hange, tinkering somewhere behind you, laughs and agrees, "Yeah, after decades of treating immigrants like trash, and now we're just knocking on their doors, asking for help. Ridiculous."

"Embarrassing, is what it is." 

It was for whichever government official had to make that call, anyway. You're positive that had been a hard pill to swallow. 

As far as you've heard, the foreign affairs part of this mess is actually going quite well. You'd accompanied Erwin to the big meeting with Canadian officials and watched him and Pixis plead a case for America, emphasizing just how bad the eruption will be "at home", then switched tactics at whiplash speed to go into how countries needed to work together since this wouldn't just be the US's problem in the long run. 

It turned into a rather inspiring speech, if you're being honest, prompted you to text Levi a short, how is E so damn charming all the time? to which he'd responded, Believe me, you're asking the wrong fuckin guy. 

With multiple government agencies now backing the states and setting plans in motion, the impending eruption seems even more real. You thought your stress levels were high before, that your sleep pattern left little to be desired, but oh, you had been wrong. 

Case in point being Mike walking into the lab with a brown paper bag and slightly unpleasant expression as he asks, "Have you eaten today?" 

Your glare has no real meaning as you grumble, "Had a granola bar this morning."

"It's nearly six," he groans, pushing you, chair and all, up to your desk and setting the bag in front of you. "Please eat something before you pass out."

"Okay, okay, Christ. You're more attentive than my mother."

"I met your mom last year, and you and I both know she would be hysterical if she knew how you've been treating yourself lately."

He has a point. In fact, you're glad Mike is naturally quiet and didn't bond too strongly with her, otherwise you have a feeling he would have called her by now to complain. 

The chicken salad sandwich you bite into must be imbued with some kind of magic, because you let out an honest to god moan when you swallow the first bite. 

"Oh my god, what did you put in this?" You ask as you blink up at your best friend. 

Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. "Uh, actual nutrients maybe? Weird how your body needs those."

Hands too busy shoving more food into your mouth, you headbutt him right at the hip, just hard enough to make him grunt and sway. He steadies himself, glances down at you like he's annoyed but ends up breaking into a grin when he catches what you assume to be a piece of chicken salad dotting the corner of your mouth. 

"What am I gonna do with you," he mumbles, wiping it with a gentle thumb. 

Your body warms with both embarrassment and affection, but you can't quite find a response even as your head clears for the first time in about two days. You really do need to start taking better care of yourself. 

The undeniable feeling of being watched makes your neck prickle, and you break Mike's gaze to find Hange staring at both of you, a not-so-subtle smile making their mouth curl mischievously. You have a pretty good idea of what they're thinking, and you're heart starts beating a little faster at the thought of them possibly speaking it out loud, but before they get a chance, Mike's phone rings. 

You catch a glimpse of the name displayed before he picks it up—Gelgar—recognize it and tease, "One of the doomsday preppers, right?" 

Because no matter how much Mike denies it, just like he does now— "They're not doomsday preppers—" you know that his friends are a little odd. Extremely well prepared, but odd. 

"Hey man, what's up?" He answers, stepping away from you. "Isn't it almost two there?" 

You don't try to listen in, just look back to Hange and shake your head when their smile grows. 

"Stop."

"What?" They giggle. "I'm not even doing anything!" 

"You're thinking things, though."

"Well yeah, I'm always thinking things. How else would I have gotten this smart?" They flip their ponytail for emphasis and toss a wink your way, but Hange's voice gets oddly sincere when they tell you, "Seriously, though. You guys should get while the getting's good. I don't know why you haven't jumped each other's bones yet."

You splutter, look around frantically to make sure Mike isn't within earshot, and thank god, he's in the next room over. 

"Hange!" 

"I'm just saying! It's like watching Erwin and Levi from a few years ago. God, that was a nightmare."

"How dare you. I am nothing like—"

"Yeah, yeah. When do they get back in anyway?" 

You both look to the TV that's still playing the live address, easily spotting your missing team members behind Secretary Pixis. 

"Probably not 'til later tonight. Levi's gonna try to talk Erwin into getting a hotel, I bet, but he's gonna wanna come back to the lab and check everything before he goes to bed."

"How do you know he wants to come back?" 

You show a sheepish grin, fishing the chips out of the paper sack Mike brought, then answer, "'Cause that’s what I’d wanna do."

*

It's late. Far too late to be at work, but being at home never feels right these days. It's too quiet, too still, too not the lab. The only time you genuinely enjoy being there is when friends are over for a movie or meal over the weekend. Other than that, you're not at all attached. 

Not the way you are here.

Almost midnight, you move from table to table, working, organizing, just keeping busy. You're very awake, still jittery from the quake that shook the park at around three that day. It lasted for almost three minutes, splitting the ground dangerously close to Old Faithful, and the geyser hasn't gone off since which is troubling. If too many of the geothermal spots stop releasing pressure, the eruption will take place sooner than anticipated. 

It's why you're here so late, pouring over the data, studying the numbers and possible effects. 

You're not alone, though. Erwin is also shuffling around the lab, but he's focused on something else, a project of sorts. 

"Can you come take a look at this?" He calls from the projection table, and you drop what you're doing to join him. 

The model isn't lit up as a hologram, surprisingly. Instead, Erwin has paper blueprints laid, curling at the edges from being rolled up. It takes you a second to realize what you're looking at, but when it comes together, you inhale sharply. 

It's a simple design, a square floorplan with a couple entrances. The only exit looks to lead upward, though, and it's easy to tell that means Erwin wants this to be underground. There are notes scribbled in the blank spaces, 4 meters down, bomb proof top, ventilation, generators, gasoline?, rations < 5yrs, medicine, vitamins, guns. The list goes on, handwriting sloppier and sloppier the more thoughts Erwin had at the time. 

"You think this would be ready in a year?"

Erwin shrugs. "With the right construction team, yes. That one bunker designer…" Erwin snaps, trying to think of the name, but it doesn't come to him. "Whoever—He built ten shelters in two years." 

You stick your hands in your back pockets as you lean over to look closer. It could just be your overworked brain, but it looks like a good design, something someone actually has a chance of surviving in. 

Hearing your name makes you look up again. Erwin has you pinned with one of his serious blue gazes. "No one else will understand, so please keep this plan to yourself."

You nod but venture to ask, "You haven't told Levi?" 

"No," he answers, mouth pulling downward. "It's… Going to be a fight."

"Understandably so. You're basically married to the volcano, though, Erwin."

"So are you."

His eyes are shining as your lips twist into a grimace. He's gotten to know you well over the years. You've always shared a certain bond over Yellowstone, one the other team members just don't have. To them, it's just a job, just science. 

To you and Erwin, though, it's a religion. You're in love with the park, all its secrets and eccentricities. It's your home; it's where you belong. 

"Assuming this does get built," Erwin starts, lifting a thick eyebrow in curiosity. "You would want to stay, right?" 

"You mean, ride out a supereruption? Be the first to see the zone-one damage?" 

Erwin doesn't answer, but he does smile, excitement dancing just below the surface of his stare. 

You feel it too, the urge to throw caution to the wind, to take a chance that could very possibly get you both killed. The Kraffts flash through your mind again, their failed attempt at escape.

A breathless, "Fuck yeah," tumbles from your mouth before you can dwell on the consequences for too long. 

It's time to either live it up or go down in ash and flames. 

6  M O N T H S  B E F O R E 

Yellowstone is unrecognizable. The ground is mostly made up of large crevasses and smaller cracks, debris from fallen buildings left in piles with no one to clean them up. 

The geysers are all inactive at this point, but steam is still rising from the springs, and the mudpots are still bubbling. It's the only thing that's keeping the volcano from erupting. 

The ground shakes multiple times a day, the lab seismographs constantly picking up activity. The little ones don't faze you anymore. You and Mike secure the glass samples to make sure they don't break while Erwin and Levi basically hug their computers. Yours was damaged in the quake that prompted Hange and Moblit to leave—a 6.7 that caused Hange to fall into their desk, breaking their collarbone in the process. After getting Hange pain meds and a sling, the two of them were on a plane to D.C. that same night. 

Every day is another risk taken. Now, it's just you, Erwin, Levi, and Mike. 

The latter two spend most of their days dropping hints about leaving soon as well. Mike has already made plans to fly to Norway and join his not-doomsday prepper friends and brings it up often.

"You should come. See the tulip fields while they're still around."

"Gel and Nana have done a great job setting up the ranch. They wanna let as many people stay as they can." 

"You'd really like them. They bicker like an old married couple, but they're good people."

Levi takes a different approach with Erwin, appeals to the other man's desire to help and protect. 

"We really should head to the homeland security office. They don't know what they're dealing with."

"Dok is an idiot. They need a bigger brain over there for guidance or whatever."

"Your long-term plan will be better than anything those government fucks will come up with anyway."

Every time, you and Erwin gently wave them off with promises of "soon" and "just a little longer." Neither of you breathe a word about staying. Despite the fact that construction on the bunker has not started and you're running out of time, both of you are dead set on the plan: go down with the park. 

You're found out before it can come to fruition, however. 

The remaining team is sitting in the lab, busy with their own little projects, when Mike looks up suddenly, takes a deep breath, then says, "Earthquake," just as the seismogram starts going wild. 

He pulls you from your chair quickly, dropping to the ground and bringing you with him to crawl under your desk. On your knees, your body curls in on itself and you lock your hands over the back of your neck as the floor beneath you starts to rumble violently. 

You can hear Levi cursing from somewhere as the sound of glass shattering rings throughout the lab. You think another computer falls, models and books flying from shelves. 

Mike huddles over you, one hand gripping the leg of the desk while the other protects your ribs. You want to tell him to shield himself, but you know there's no use. Besides, the weight and warmth is comforting even in the face of danger—his chest hot against your back, the epitome of a knight in shining armor. 

It lasts for several minutes. The power cuts off, windows crack, doors swing open only to slam shut again. You know the lab is going to be an absolute wreck when it's over. 

When the shaking finally settles, everyone crawls out of their hiding places. Levi warns, "Be ready for aftershocks," as if you don't know, and Erwin fumbles in his desk until he finds a flashlight. 

The ray of light illuminates the damage. Just as you suspected, the place looks like a tornado blew through. Glass litters the floor along with the far-flung books and park models. Both Levi and Erwin's computers fell and disconnected, and your stomach drops as you think about all the potentially lost information. 

"You okay?" Mike asks, pulling you up to your knees so he can look at your face. 

"I'm fine," you tell him, his hands on your cheeks making you flush, so you distract yourself. "E, Levi, you guys okay?" 

"Yes," Erwin answers first. 

Levi shows his face, a deep frown making his brow furrow, as he looks at his desktop. "I'm pissed but uninjured."

The four of you spend the next couple of hours cleaning up what you can, pausing and taking cover when the aftershocks hit, then starting over as the lab sustains more and more damage. 

Mike sweeps up the glass. Erwin focuses on getting the computers back on the desks safely then goes and checks the projection table. You and Levi collect the bigger items, setting books back on shelves. 

You don't think about the mistake before it's too late, when Levi is already pulling out the blueprints that were hidden behind the stack of encyclopedias. 

As he stills completely, you turn to look at him and find him staring down at the large, uncurled papers. Your instinct is to snatch them from his hands, but it's no use. He's already seen enough. 

"What the fuck is this?" His voice comes out like poison as he immediately looks at Erwin. 

The larger man glances at Levi, eyes trailing to what he's holding, then pales. 

"Levi..."

"Is this a god damn bunker? Are you planning on staying in this hellscape?" 

Erwin strides over to him and reaches for the prints, but Levi tugs them out of reach. 

"Answer me," he spits. "Is that your plan?"

"I—" Erwin swallows thickly before answering, "Yes."

It's silent for a long time, and the more it drags on, the tighter Levi's lips get, gray eyes shiny with quiet rage. 

This is what Erwin was trying to avoid, why he insisted on keeping the bunker a secret. 

But while Levi is glaring at Erwin, you feel another gaze on you. Skin crawling, you chance a glance up at Mike, stomach churning when he looks away quickly and bites his lips. He knows. Somehow without anyone saying anything, Mike knows you’re planning to stay too.

Heavy breathing and the distant sound of rumbling earth is all that can be heard, followed by backup generators roaring to life and restoring the overhead lights. 

"You too?" Mike finally speaks. “You wanna stay too?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unable to answer. He sounds so disappointed—defeated—and it makes you feel sick. 

"Do you guys know," Levi growls, "How fucking insane that is? This is the dumbest, most reckless, selfish fucking thing you could do! And, I know it's all your thinking!" He drops the blueprints in favor of shoving Erwin roughly, making him stumble back. 

"Hey," you step toward him, but the small man just turns to you and accuses, "And, you egged him on, yeah? Did you even think of us? How we would feel? Staying here is suicide!"

"I have a plan, Levi," Erwin says, raising both hands to his head and effectively disheveling his own hair. "If you just look at the plans. I know what we need to survive. I've done the math, I've studied the—"

"Jesus Christ, we're talking about an eight hundred degree pyroclastic flow! Tephra that will suffocate you. You really think being a few meters down during the eruption will be enough?" Levi is screaming now, his voice cracking, and you think you see tears at his waterline. 

It makes the spaces behind your eyes burn, but it’s only partly out of guilt. The other emotion that’s welling up in you is anger, a betrayal you can barely wrap your head around, but it comes tumbling out anyway.

“Do you even know us? You think we can actually leave the park behind?” Your voice rises to match Levi’s, gains his acidic attention once again. “I don’t even understand how you can run away, after everything you’ve put into this place! How can you just—” You let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry as you raise your hands to your face and shove your palms to your eyes. “I get Mike because he doesn’t have anything fucking left here. He’s just been helping out—”

“You think I don’t have anything left here?” He asks quietly from beside you, and when you look at him with a watery stare, you find him wounded. His jaw slides forward as he sucks on his teeth, and fuck, his eyes are getting glossy too. 

“See, this is exactly what I mean,” Levi gestures wildly at the two of you. “Mike and I have stayed because you guys won’t fucking leave, and now it comes out that you were never planning to. When were you gonna tell us? Would you have even given us enough time to get out?”

“Of course!” Erwin takes him by the shoulders, and Levi snarls up at him. “I was working up to it. I wasn’t ready to—to deal with this.”

“I can’t believe this. You really think a whole team of workers is gonna come out here to help build this? You wanna put their lives in jeopardy too?”

“We—”

“You haven’t even thought this through all the way! When did you come up with this? When you hadn’t slept or eaten in forty-eight hours? When your brain wasn’t fucking functioning at full capacity?”

Erwin stays quiet, and so do you because Levi has a point. Taking care of yourselves physically has not been high on either of your lists of priorities, and you’re sure your mental state has suffered for it. All the nights spent at the projection table, mapping out ideas, growing giddy over the idea of staying for the eruption. Was that just two people high off passion, becoming more and more unhinged with each passing day?

Quite possibly. 

You expect the fury to be enough to push Levi away, that he’ll simply give up, drag Mike out with him, and leave you and Erwin to hunker down like you’d planned.

But, that is not the case. 

Instead, he shoves a thin finger into Erwin’s chest, gritting out, “Pack your fucking bags so we can go to D.C. where they need you.”

Erwin takes a breath then slumps in defeat. Now, when faced with the obstacle that is his boyfriend, you figure he’s weighed the pros and cons and made a decision. Between his love for the park and his love for Levi, he’d rather salvage the latter. 

Mike shifts next to you, grumbles out a low, “You too,” that makes the tears finally fall from your eyes. “I’ll take you on one last ride to the springs, but then we’re leaving.”

He stays true to his word, and you cry the entire time you’re in the chopper, headset smushed against one ear as you rest your head on the window and look down at the Grand Prismatic, the steam rising from it. It’s beginning to grow discolored with all the activity, but it’s more stunning now than it’s ever been. 

Soon, it’ll be completely covered. All of it will. And, you could have been too, stuck underground for a couple of years only to be the first to step out into the pure destruction. 

That’s not an option anymore, though, not with Mike looking as grave as he does, not with the way he shadows you in your apartment as you gather the necessities, like he thinks you’re going to bolt and run back to the lab, not when the two of you meet back up with a still-fuming Levi and a despondent Erwin to head to the airport.

The tickets are outrageously priced at such short notice, but that doesn’t stop Levi and Mike from passing their credit cards over.

“Two for Washington D.C.”

“And, two for Bergen, Norway.”

Boarding passes in hand, the four of you walk through the bustling airport together for as long as you can before you have to inevitably split up. Levi glares at you but still pulls you into a tight hug, grunts into your ear, “You’re so stupid,” before letting go and turning to Mike. “Keep her safe, boy scout. I’m trusting you.”

Mike nods, and both of them clasp hands as you turn to look at Erwin. Tears and pathetic sniffles return when you walk into his open arms, clinging to him and mumbling, “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry. I would’ve followed you.”

“I know.” He rubs your back and heaves a sigh. “I know you would have.”

He eventually disentangles you to hold you at arm’s length, wipes the moisture from your face with his thumbs, then shows a sad smile. “See you in a few years, yes?”

“Yeah.”

One more squeeze, and everyone turns away to walk to their respective gate. Mike’s hand splays across your back, warm, guiding you in the right direction, keeping you steady. He’s always kept your feet planted firmly on the ground. You figure, if there’s one person you’d like to experience the downfall of society with—above ground—it’s him. 

S I X  W E E K S  B E F O R E

Norway is kind of incredible. It has a natural beauty that takes your breath away just like Yellowstone used to, but it’s vastly different. Everything is green, including the lights in the sky at night. You’re surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, and you just know it’ll be beautiful under thick layers of snow. 

The once rustic ranch, now restored, is made up of several small houses and a farm full of cows and goats. It’s sad to think about the fate they will eventually meet (slaughter then stomachs), but you know it’s necessary to prepare for the coming years.

And, the owners have definitely prepared. 

Gelgar and Nanaba are everything Mike described and more. Between taking care of the farm and setting up energy sources, they do their best to make you and the other arrivals feel at home. They’ve designed the ranch to house up to about thirty people, a commune of sorts (minus any cult-like vibes). Naturally, everyone pitches in and helps around the place. You find yourself cleaning a lot, but you don’t mind. It’s a nice, mindless task that keeps you from thinking too hard about everything you’ve left behind. 

You also like to join Nana outside, help with the animals and enjoy the sunshine while you still can. Of course, this subjects you to endless teasing especially today when she catches you staring into the distance at Mike who's helping Gelgar fix a solar panel. 

His shirt is starting to stick to his back from sweating, muscles straining under the damp cloth, and good lord, when did he get that broad? Sure, he's always been tall and fit, but working on the homestead has definitely made him more built. That along with the fact that his hair has gotten long enough to tie up in a bun has your mouth going a little dry. 

"Like what you see?" Nanaba asks, accent thick, voice full of amusement. 

You shoot her a look, face all scrunched up when you mumble, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" She sticks her tongue out. "Don't be coy. I see the way you both look at each other."

"Tch." 

"And, how both of you volunteer to cook with the other when it's your turn to. You move around each other like you know exactly where the other is. Two halves of a whole."

You roll your eyes. "We've just worked together for a while. We make a good team."

She's not wrong, though. Since coming to Norway, you and Mike have grown even closer. There was a period of time when you could hardly look at him, too guilty for trying to stay at the park, guilty for hurting him, but eventually the two of you fell back into your normal dynamic—joking, laughing, touching just a little too much, smiling when you think no one's looking. You even spent an afternoon together in a nearby field of flowers, just like he'd promised. With a picnic basket full of food, and a blanket to lay on, you'd admired the clouds overhead while enjoying the rustling grass surrounding you. 

It's been your favorite day since coming here, had reminded you of the lunches you used to share on the mountain. 

You're not brave enough to make any sort of move, though. Mike is just so good. There's a chance his affections are simply based in friendship, and that's something you're scared to ruin. He means too much to you. 

"How long did you work together?"

"Like, four years, give or take a few months."

"And, you're still acting like nothing is there?" Nanaba tsks. "Ridiculous."

"How long did it take you and Gel to get together?" You ask, then quickly backtrack, "Not that that's what I want with Mike necessarily."

"Mhm," she smirks. "Gel and I did it backwards. Got pissed at a bar and fell into bed together. Then we started to get to know each other and found out we just worked."

Sounds about right, you think. The couple has an interesting back-and-forth, half bickering, half innuendo. You can always, always see the love in their eyes, though. That's what you want in life. That’s what you want with Mike. Even if you won't admit it out loud. 

You turn your gaze back to the roof he and Gelgar are on just in time to see him making his way down the ladder. Once on the ground, he and the other man start striding over to you. Mike's face is red, sweat beading at his hairline, and Gelgar's pompadour is beginning to fall. 

"Think we got it fixed up," Mike announces, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. 

You stare at his toned stomach for just a little too long, the lines of his hip bones leading into the waistband of his jeans. 

Nanaba's words ring in your head again—fell into bed, fell into bed, fell into bed—and you fixate on the idea of you and Mike doing the same. To have him hovering over you, or maybe you over him, thighs on either side of those hips as his hands trail up your body—

You shake the thought from your head, letting your glazed eyes refocus on the men in front of you. 

"Alright, I'm gonna grab a shower before dinner. Who's cooking tonight?"

“I believe it's Lynne and Henning," Nana answers. 

Mike nods then heads toward the little house he's been living in, right next to yours, of course. He reaches out to let his hand brush yours as he passes, and it takes conscious effort not to grip onto one or two of his large fingers and follow him. 

"God, that's painful to watch," Gelgar snorts. 

Nana laughs and agrees, "I was just telling her the same thing."

"Oh, shut up. Ya' couple of meddlers."

*

A line forms every evening outside of the main house, the one Gelgar and Nanaba share. You and Mike stand together at the back, watching everyone in front of you. Some are families, some are couples, some are here alone. You figure, no matter their status, the ranch is a nice place to be—peaceful, home-y despite its size. So far, everyone gets along. 

Only the kids complain about chores, about seven of them constantly running around together, but that’s to be expected, and honestly, you don’t mind picking up their slack. Life is about to get very difficult for them. They should get to be children for a little while longer. 

Potato soup is poured into your bowl with a ladle, topped with shredded beef and green onions, then you and Mike retire back to your little cottage home to eat and watch TV. It stays on the same channel, world news, and there’s always a long segment that covers Yellowstone and what it’s doing. 

It is not uncommon at all to look up from your food and see Erwin or Levi’s face on screen, speaking with experts, sometimes in interview-like settings.

Tonight, they’re covering a problem that’s been going on for some time, but everyone figured would resolve itself: some people will not leave the most dangerous zones, and it’s because they simply do not believe an eruption will take place. 

Even with the evidence, the science backing it—even with actual federal authorities knocking on their doors and telling them to leave—there are many people who just want to stay put. It’s insane to you, makes your blood boil. Children have been taken from their homes to be placed in safer areas, which only causes the disbelievers to get angrier. They want to say “I told you so”, but that’s not going to happen. 

What’s going to happen is getting burned alive in the flow that pours from the volcano. They will die a painful death, get buried under meters of fallout, ash, snow. There’ll be nothing to recover except for petrified, charred corpses. 

Of course, the irony is not lost on you; you and Erwin were both willing to chance similar fates, but you still think the two of you would have been more prepared than these regular-Joes who think their front door is enough to stop a volcanic eruption. 

“In the end, there’s no reasoning with people like this,” Erwin says on camera, a soft, sad smile playing at his lips. “When a person is so, uh… Dead set on staying, it will take an unstoppable force to move them.”

In your case, that unstoppable force had been Levi screaming at you while holding back tears. 

“Unfortunately for them, this force is the eruption, and they won’t be able to leave when that occurs.”

“Because they’ll be dead,” the reporter states more than asks.

Erwin nods and answers with a grim, “Yes. Yes, they will be.”

They’re not trying to be subtle, obviously hoping that this will get through to the stubborn masses, but you doubt it will. They’re living on borrowed time at this point. Any day could be their last.

Mike is quieter than usual as he eats, barely even looking at the television screen, and you have a feeling he’s thinking about how close you were to staying alongside those stupid assholes. It’s still a touchy subject, one both of you do your best to avoid. You’re mostly happy to be in Europe, spending your days with Mike and his friends and everyone else running around here. 

But, there’s also a part of you, deep down inside, that aches, that misses the park, that still wants to be right in the middle of the destruction. Watching it blow from so far away is going to hurt. This massive monster you’ve fallen in love with over the years will never be the same, and your last good look at it was that tearful helicopter ride. 

You’re not resentful toward Mike or Levi for dragging you out of the lab that day, but you are grieving in a sense. 

The program ends with Erwin giving one last warning— “If you insist on staying, I’d advise bomb-proofing your home, stocking up on several years-worth of rations, and installing one hell of a ventilation system. Good luck.”

Mike clears his throat and stands, grabbing his empty bowl as well as yours, then heads into the kitchen to rinse them off. 

Sighing, you follow him, lean against the counter a couple feet away as you think of something to say that won’t sound too forced.

“Hey,” you start.

Mike gives a low, “Hm?” as he holds the dishes under hot water, finally glancing over when you gently nudge him in the side.

“Thanks for…” You take a deep breath, pinned by light green eyes, then try again. “Thanks for bringing me here.” He blinks but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “It’s really nice. And, I’ve bonded or whatever with Nana.”

“But, you miss the park,” he says.

You shrug. “I mean, yeah. That park was my life, but… Probably dying in it was not one of my brighter ideas.”

He snorts, shuts off the water, then turns to you. Craning your neck, you take in his face—really take it in—the few strands of hair that hang freely past his jawline, the way his beard, no longer stubble but not exactly thick, forms around his mouth and connects with his sideburns, his strong, slightly curved nose, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s so painfully handsome, especially all shaggy and rugged, and it makes your heart beat too hard and too fast in your chest. 

Mike dries his hands on a dish towel, looking down at them when he tells you, “I’m glad we were able to get you out of there. It’s not something I’ll ever feel bad about. Even if you hate me for it.”

“I don’t hate you,” you scoff. “Never could. You’re my best friend, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, then think of Nanaba earlier that day and laugh quietly. 

“What?”

You wave a hand, shake your head. “Nothing, nothing, just… Nana has… Ideas, or something.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Mike understands what you’re trying to say. He inhales then breathes out it out in a chuckle as he posts up against the counter next to you. “Yeah, Gelgar does too.”

“Guess they don’t know us very well.”

A silence hangs between the two of you, one that would normally be comfortable but is now a little thick given the subject matter of your conversation.

You and Mike. Just earlier that day you had been thinking about how scared you are to ruin the friendship, but the more you imagine, the more you get lost in the fantasy…

“Or maybe…” You glance over to see Mike nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the ground as he continues, “Maybe they know us better than we know ourselves.”

He raises his head, gaze locking with yours, and you stop breathing. Because that stare is so hesitant, searching for something inside of you as if you have the answer, but you’re just as scared and confused as he is. Over four years of friendship—of good, meaningful friendship—is that worth risking just because you’re both curious? 

Or has it all been leading to this since the start? Since those first, short conversations, since the meals shared with one another, the affectionate gestures. Mike has always kept your head on straight, looked after you with even more care than he had with the park’s wildlife. 

You thought it’d all been one-sided pining, that he was just glad to have someone who understood him a little better than everyone else because you do. You understand his passion for the planet, you understand all his little fixations. You appreciate every eccentricity like he appreciates all your neuroses. 

“Maybe so…” 

Two very large hands are on your face, tilting upward, and your lungs begin to burn as Mike strokes just under your eyes with the pads of his thumbs. He has to lean down quite a bit, pauses just over your lips to let out a tiny huff of surprise, disbelief, awe maybe, then closes the rest of the miniscule distance. 

He is very warm and very firm against you—feels good, all the comfort of someone familiar but still so new. Your lips fit together perfectly, and at last, you’re able to breathe again, mouths moving in an experimental back and forth, feeling each other out until he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Gripping strong shoulders, you let the kiss deepen, opening your mouth for him, and Mike groans when he’s finally able to taste you. 

Hands fall from your face, moving down, down, down, brushing your ribs, settling at your hips, but his fingers are long enough to curl and dig into the meat of your ass, making you gasp and press harder against him.

Rolling his pelvis into yours, you very quickly find yourself pinned between Mike’s body and the counter. Your grasp travels to the back of his neck, pulling him closer—you just need him closer—and he must feel it too because he hoists you up and sets you on the countertop, making room for himself between your legs.

You feel too hot and too desperate, but it’s good, a release that’s needed to happen for far too long. All manner of geothermal metaphors swim through your mind, spurting geysers and boiling mudpots, and it makes you giggle against him, biting down on his bottom lip and smiling around the flesh as he lets out another one of those rumbling, satisfied noises. 

“What’re you laughin’ at?” Mike mumbles, and for some reason, it’s strange to hear his voice so close, so quiet, as you’re pressed together, breathing each other’s air. It’s intimate and different, but it’s right. 

“I’m just…” Another little laugh, “Thinking about the volcano.”

“When are you not thinking about the volcano?” You have a feeling he’s rolling his eyes, but he still grins and kisses you again.

“It’s all dirty things if that helps.”

Mike nods slowly, lips trailing from your mouth toward your neck. “Helps some.”

You tilt your head to give him better access and let out a little whine when you feel him bite down on a patch of skin just beneath the notch of your jaw, wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to rock into him because good god, you want him. 

Fingers tangling under his loosening bun, you tug him back to your mouth, slotting your lips against his and sliding your tongue between his teeth. He presses you closer with a hand on the small of your back, squeezing the air from your lungs so all you can breathe is him. 

“Mm, Mike, Mike,” you pant, barely breaking away only for him to chase after. You laugh, push his chest at the same time you gently tug at his hair, and he backs away just enough for you to get a good look at his half-lidded eyes and spit-slicked lips. 

Honestly, staring at him now, you can’t believe you made so long without ever making a pass at him. He’s gorgeous, built like a roman statue only larger, with sun-kissed skin and a startlingly light gaze that threatens to leave you boneless. 

“D’you wanna, maybe…” You swallow and blink up at him, too many questions suddenly invading your mind—is it too early for sex? Will he think you’re easy? What if it doesn’t actually work out? But, you bite the bullet anyway and finish, “Go to the bedroom?” 

Mike is silent for a few beats, leaving you to second guess yourself and brace for disappointment and embarrassment, but then he clicks his tongue and answers, “Uh, yeah. Yes, let’s do that,” in a voice a little higher than usual, and scoops you from the counter.

Every little house on the ranch is laid out the same, so it does not take him long to find your room. He sets you down at the threshold, and from there, it’s a flurry of discarded clothing and stumbling to the bed.

“How have we never done this before?” He huffs, crawling over you, leaving wet kisses in his wake. 

You’ve still got an arm covering your bare chest, but Mike doesn’t seem self-conscious in the slightest which comes as a surprise considering how reserved he typically is. Not that he has anything worth hiding—not the thin layer of hair that dances over his barrel chest, not the ridiculously cut abdominals or sharp ‘V’ of his hips, and definitely not the thick cock bobbing against his stomach as he moves. You would be intimidated if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but you’re sure that he’ll be gentle with you. Mike may be many things, but careless is not one of them.

He reaches your mouth, kisses you so deeply it makes you dizzy, and as he does, he very slowly pulls your arm from your chest, leaving you vulnerable—free for the taking. 

His touch is soft enough to tickle as he brushes over one of your nipples, making you exhale against him and arch your back like a silent plea for more. He traces around the bud, makes it pebble before carefully rolling it between two fingers.

Warmth spills into your gut, makes you squirm on the bed, and a moan makes its way from your throat as Mike gently tugs at the sensitive flesh. He lowers his head again, lavishing the same kind of attention on your other nipple with his mouth. He nibbles and licks and sucks, and you wriggle and whimper beneath him, one hand trailing down his body until you’re able to close your fingers around the head of his cock. 

Mike grunts, thrusts into your hand a couple times, enough to make precum drool from his tip, but before he can get too carried away, he says just above a whisper, “Let me get you ready,” then moves to lay between your spread legs.

Sliding his arms under your thighs, he locks them into place, and you release a shaky breath, feeling his eyes taking you in for several seconds before licking up your slit once then pushing deeper.

“Oh, fu—”

Both your hands shoot downward, one gripping the messy bun at the back of his head as you shudder at the sensation of his beard against your pussy. You’re wet in seconds, core pulsing as Mike uses his tongue to slowly open you up, then pulls back to flick over your clit. 

“Mike—Mike—”

He hums into you, shaking his head slowly back and forth, no doubt making a mess of his face and you. You don’t have anything to say, just feel your throat tightening like there are unspoken words that need to come out, but you can’t think straight, not when he’s doing what he’s doing, not when you feel the tips of his fingers reaching out to spread your lips. 

He is thorough bordering on methodical, makes sure you’re at the point of full body shakes before he gives you a break, and then, when your breathing returns to a normal rate, he starts all over again. There is a tightness in your gut that builds and builds then dissipates every time he stops, and he must know because when you whine in frustration, Mike just grins and kisses the inside of your thighs. 

The same pattern is repeated with his fingers, just one at first, massaging your walls perfectly, then a second that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He rubs over the swelling tissue inside of you, seems to enjoy every little gasp and noise you make, including the unsatisfied one you let out when he pulls his fingers from you. 

You can feel how damp the bedspread is underneath you, can see the evidence of your arousal on Mike’s face, and it makes you flush but doesn’t stop you from tugging him down for another messy kiss. 

“You ready?” He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel, and you nod furiously, bending your knees and planting your feet on the mattress so that you can lift your hips to his. 

Mike chuckles, reaches down between the two of you to take hold of his length and taps your clit with his cockhead a couple times—simultaneously the most infuriating and most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Slowly, he lines himself up, just barely pushing forward, and when you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, Mike tells you to, “Breathe, baby, open up for me.”

He already sounds wrecked, like he’s fighting the urge to just sheathe himself entirely, but he waits, giving you one inch at a time with periods of adjustment in between. You always sort of figured he was big, but this burning stretch is something you hadn’t imagined even in your lewdest of fantasies. You’re incredibly full, feel him in your gut and throat and everywhere, but it isn’t bad; it’s just a lot. 

“Okay,” you stroke the forearm next to your head and nod. “Okay, you can start moving more.”

Mike’s brow creases. “You’re sure?”

“About as sure as I can be with a monster cock inside m-me—” Your laugh turns to a moan as Mike begins to pull out, eyes trained on your face for any sign of real discomfort, but your mouth just drops open, your own eyebrows raising at the feeling of his length hitting every one of your most sensitive spots. 

“Holy…”

He pushes back in quickly, still mindful of what your body can take, and when all you do is cry his name and scratch down his back, Mike starts up a steady rhythm that has you seeing god. 

That tightness is back, hotter than before, threatening to burn you up entirely as your cunt flutters and spasms and leaks around Mike’s length. 

The sound of a hoarse groan makes you open your eyes, and you follow Mike’s line of vision to where you’re connected, see his cock sliding in and out of you, dripping slick and ringed in white cream toward the base. The sight makes you clench around him, and Mike swears under his breath then leans forward to gather you in his arms. Your head lolls back as he lifts you, sitting on his knees for just a second before falling onto his back and letting you drop onto him. 

You choke, and Mike pants, but his hands are tight at your hips, moving you up and down his length like a sleeve. His pupils are blown wide when you look down at him, hair nearly entirely out of its tie, bottom row of teeth exposed as his jaw slides almost primally. 

He looks completely lost in you, possessed as he fucks up into your pussy rougher than before. You bounce in his lap, whimpering his name with every thrust, growing in volume when you feel a finger press against your clit. 

“You gonna come for me?” Mike grits out, rubbing a circle over the swollen bundle as his eyes flick from your chest to your face. 

You nod, ignoring the burning in your thighs in favor of the sensation between your hips. “Yeah, I—I—Fuck, Mike—”

“Come on, baby, come on—wanted to see this for years, come all over my cock…”

You snap, legs shaking as your climax crashes through you. Your cunt pulses around Mike, coating him in more of your juices and making him groan and fuck you through it. You whine at the stimulation, swollen walls so sensitive yet taking everything he has to give you.

Every thrust to your g-spot makes you gush a little more, come a little longer, until all you can do is fall onto his chest and let him use you as he needs to. You leave marks on his pecs, bites and scratches, and Mike grunts at every one of them until he sits up and flips you once again.

“Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere, I don’t care, I don’t care,” you babble.

Mike inhales sharply then lets out a long groan as he pulls out and shoots his load onto your stomach. It’s warm and thick, some pooling in your belly button as Mike makes a trail down to your clit where he smears the last few drops. You twitch at the contact, hole clenching around nothing now, but you can already feel soreness settling into your muscles. 

Mike gives you two little pecks on the mouth, then one last, longer kiss before rolling to lay on the mattress beside you, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

This silence doesn’t bother you. It gives you time to come back to your senses, to reflect, to remember everything that was said which leads you to ask, “You meant that—about wanting this for years?”

Mike turns his head and smiles so sincerely it almost brings tears to your eyes. 

“Well, yeah. Been in love with you pretty much since I started at the park.”

He says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, but it still makes your breath catch. 

“Seriously?” You turn to lay on your side, and Mike mimics the action, propping his head up with one hand while he lets the other settle on your waist. 

He lifts an eyebrow and questions, “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, I just… Thought it was one-sided on my end, I guess. Like, we were too good of friends.” Mike leans forward to gently headbutt you, and you snort to yourself, “Guess I was wrong.”

“We were both being stupid,” he mumbles. “But, we were also focused on other things, married to the job or whatever.”

Lifting your face makes him lift his, and you smile into another kiss, feeling happier and more balanced than you have in a very long time. 

Without much more discussion, you and Mike get up to rinse off, sharing more soft touches under the spray of the shower before crawling into bed together. Falling asleep feels like coming home.

You don’t even mind the smug grin on Nanaba’s face when she sees you and Mike leave your house together in the morning, nor the teasing jabs Gelgar throws your way over lunch. You don’t know if anything is capable of knocking you out of your perfect, peaceful little world on this perfect, peaceful little homestead.

Except maybe a supereruption, of course. 

E - D A Y 

It happens right in the middle of the morning news. You and Mike are sipping on coffee, expecting the same report you’ve gotten every day— “Nothing yet, closely monitoring, blah blah”—but as the English news anchor tries to introduce the meteorologist, he stops, holds a hand to the speaker in his ear, then looks at the camera with wide yes. 

“I’m—I’m getting news that the Yellowstone supervolcano has just begun to erupt, we’re cutting to the US address at Washington D.C. now—”

And just like that, Levi’s face is suddenly on screen, picking him up mid-sentence. 

“... One vent open at the present time, but more will open shortly. Stay indoors, ration your food. This is what we’ve been preparing for.” He looks tired, and when you do the math, you understand why: seven AM in Norway is one AM in D.C., meaning Levi was probably woken up to make the announcement. 

As always, you can make out Erwin’s figure behind him, hands clasped tight and shaking, and it isn’t until Mike puts a hand on your shoulder that you realize you are trembling right along with your old boss.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he reassures you. “We’re gonna be okay here.”

You nod and let him pull you closer to him as both of you look back to the screen and listen to what your old colleagues have to say.

The news stays on for the rest of the day. At around ten, the second vent opens up. Then another. Then another. Levi keeps track, expression never betraying the fear he must be feeling, even when he delivers the message that a full ring around the caldera has opened up. 

“Obviously, we can’t get in close enough to look, but we estimate at least two thousand four hundred and fifty cubic kilometers of eruptible magma will pour from the volcano. That’s the size of the eruption from around two million years ago, but it could be worse with the current number of vents…”

The journalists on site, usually so ready to ask questions and challenge Levi, are silent today, and you imagine they’re staring with eyes the size of saucers, not quite believing what they’re hearing because it’s happening. It’s finally happening. 

You eat a quiet, solemn lunch at Nanaba and Gelgar’s, no one knowing what to say. You feel nauseous, stunned, not unlike losing a loved one. You’re able to forget the absolute destruction taking place in the states for a few minutes at a time, but it always comes back to you, punching you in the gut with the same, brute force every time.

The park. The lab. The forests. The towns. Cities, states, homes, lives, all wiped off the map. 

Erwin takes Levi’s place as public speaker close to five, probably to let the other man get some sleep, and reports that the portable seismogram, still linked to the remaining seismographs located around the park, show that there are near continuous earthquakes taking place, “Which could either help should enough earth shift to block the magma chamber, or make things worse by disrupting it further.”

“E is not very good at keeping people’s hopes up,” you mutter, and Mike chuckles.

“Yeah, I see why he makes Levi do all the talking now.”

You both receive texts from the rest of the team, Levi’s coming at an appropriate time but the others reaching you at odd hours of the night when you’re nestled in Mike’s arms.

Neither of you sleep as reality sets in the rest of the way. That was it. The beginning of the end of everything you know. Everything is about to change.

You sniff, try to be as quiet as possible as the tears you’ve been holding back all day finally begin to fall, but Mike knows, feels your body stiffen as you curl into yourself. 

He hugs you close to him but doesn’t say anything, just rests his cheek against yours and holds your hand. 

There’s nothing anyone can say to make this better, no amount of optimism or determination that will make this any easier. Your home is covered in miles of pyroclastic flow, and as it hasn’t stopped yet, you know this is just the start. Soon, anything left alive will be suffocated by the tephra, people, animals, and vegetation alike. Though you won’t die where you are, everyone at the ranch will be feeling the effects soon enough.

Your mother calls from France where her and your dad decided to “vacation” for the next several years. She’s worked up about not being able to get through to you for almost an entire day, and even as you reassure her that you’re mostly fine, she hears the way your voice cracks and offers to fly to Norway.

“Mom, the airports are shut down by now,” you sigh. “We already talked about this. We can’t see each other for a while, but we’ll FaceTime until we can’t anymore.” Until the cell towers are knocked out, you don’t say.

“I just know my baby girl is hurting right now. I know how much you loved—”

“I know,” you cut her off, scared that hearing it from her mouth will just make you lose it again. “I know, but I’m okay here with Mike and everyone else.”

“You’re sure?” She sniffles, sounding a lot like you. “Cause your father and I will find a way to get to you if you need us.”

“I’m sure, Mom,” you tell her with a sad smile she can’t see. “Get some rest, okay?”

You share many calls like that, many ill-timed text messages until the eruption finally comes to an end six days later. The damage it’s done is incalculable—the entirety of the United states now covered in a cloud of ash that blocks out the sun. 

It doesn’t reach you for a few days, but every time you go outside, Mike sniffs the air and mumbles something like, “Smells like sulfur,” or “It’s getting closer”, but after another week, the entire globe is covered. 

1  M O N T H  A F T E R

Everything is an estimation. Everyone knows that a massive amount of magma erupted, but they don’t know how much. Everyone knows that a large number of people have died, but they don’t know how many. There are too many mysteries, and it’s nowhere near safe enough to send search crews out. 

Despite all the warnings, people are still trying to go outside—to see the ash, to review the damage, but even with cloth or medical grade masks, they’re breathing in the dangerous particles floating in the air, tiny minerals that turn to a cement-like substance in their lungs, and because of that, the death count is only rising. 

News reports cut in and out, as do phone calls. Some texts never get sent or received, so all you truly have is your little home and Mike. 

And, you cry, and you mourn, and you miss your friends and family—fuck, you don’t even know how you’ll survive so long without them—but you also revel in the fact that you’re safe. Not everyone can say that. The fact that you had almost willingly stayed in the most dangerous zone of the explosion is laughable now. There’s no way you and Erwin would have survived that, something he agrees with you on when you share a short phone call with him just to check how he and Levi are doing. 

They’ll be staying at the Homeland Security compound for the forseeable future, but he assures you they’re well-prepared to brave the years-long gray storm. 

Without any livestock to take care of, or mouths to feed other than yours and Mike’s, you find yourself with an abundance of free time. You still have power thanks to the solar panels and the couple of windmills set up around the ranch, but you don’t know how long that will last. 

You both read a lot, do puzzles together, fall into bed both out of desire and just because there’s not much better to do.

And, that part of your apocalyptic life is kind of great. Mike is great. He takes care of you both in and out of the bedroom, is gentle with you until you tell him not to be, and then he’s more than happy to succumb to your needs. He’d invested in a frankly absurd amount of condoms before the eruption so he wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out every time, but every once in a while you want him like you had him the first time—desperate and passionate and completely raw. 

That’s the feeling you’re experiencing tonight, staring at Mike from your place on the couch rather than at the book in your hands.

You see him smile before he actually looks at you, but when he does, he has a glint in his eyes you’ve gotten very familiar with over the last month. 

“Need something, baby?”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too bashfully and glance back down at the open pages on your lap. “Nuh uh.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Really?” Mike puts down the wildlife magazine he’s perusing and leans closer to you. “’Cause it looks like you might want something.”

You cross your legs, flip a page you haven’t even read, and shake your head. 

It’s a dumb game you’ve both started to play, who can hold out the longest. Of course, the longest record is one you both hold—four years and some odd months—but other than that, you usually make it two or three days at most.

But it’s hard with him walking around looking like he does, and for someone so quiet, Mike is mischievous and handsy, knowing just how to rile you up only to walk away and leave you to whatever you were doing before. He whispers in your ear, he grabs your ass, sometimes he’ll just stand right behind you in the kitchen and inhale, trace his nose up your neck so that you shiver and break out in goosebumps, then mumble a shameless, “You smell nice.”

He’s troublingly good at driving you crazy, and you realize this is why it took you so long to actually get together. You can’t imagine being this wound up and wanton in the lab with everyone there to see. 

“You know,” Mike speaks again. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as he leans back against the cushions and nonchalantly kicks an ankle over his thigh. “A lot of people are dying. Like, thousands. Millions.”

Frowning, you nod. “Uh, yeah. Worldwide disaster taking place.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” he adds. His lips twitch upward for a second before he purses them, waiting for another couple seconds then stating, “Should probably start thinking about… Efforts to repopulate.”

Eyes widening, you tilt your head to the side in disbelief, a short, incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mike Zacharias!” 

Reaching behind you, you grab a throw pillow and launch it at him. Mike shields himself easily, choking and chuckling as he tries to defend himself, “I’m just—saying! It’s something to keep in mind!”

“Trying to guilt me into sex—” You smack his forearms with the pillow again, “As if I’m not already easy for you—" smack, smack, “—by bringing up all the people dying out there. What is the matter with you?”

He gets a hold of the pillow and rips it from your hands then hugs it to his chest and stares at you with that uncharacteristically devious look. “Is it working?”

You scoff at him, gently kick at his thigh in one last act of defiance before responding, “I mean, kinda.”

And, that’s all he needs to hear before he’s throwing himself at you, pinning you to the couch even as you giggle and squirm, ridding you of the comfortable clothes you have on so that he can kiss and lick every part of you he can reach. He acts like he’s hungry for you, and you have to use all your strength to shove him off of you just so that you can work his pants off and return the favor. 

Mike is all grunts and curses as you work him over with your tongue, a hand on the back of your head heavy but not pressuring. He trembles as you take him deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding just a little further. 

It always hurts your jaw, leaves it sore for a full twenty-four hours at least, but the way his jaw drops and his hands ball into fists make it worth it. 

You use one hand to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, the other settling between your own thighs to get you to where you need to be, and only when Mike is panting and you’re dripping slick into your curled palm do you pull off of him.

He helps you into his lap, lets you take your time sliding down his length, because even after as much practice as you’ve had, it hasn’t exactly gotten easier. He’s still massive, and you still have to will yourself to relax around him, but once your muscles have loosened enough, you begin to rock your hips. 

Mike lets you use him like that for a few minutes, knows he’s at the perfect angle to rub over your g-spot, so he just watches and leans forward to place teasing kisses around your open mouth. 

“Feel good, baby?” His voice drips like honey as he grips onto you to aid in your movement. 

Nodding, you dig your nails into his shoulders, then shift to start moving up and down his length. Mike takes it as his cue to take over completely, strong enough to lift and drop you as he pleases, and you both fall into a frenzy of motion, desperate to get off, to get each other off, to share that euphoria. 

“Do you actually want to?” You ask in a daze.

Mike cracks his eyes open to ask, “What?” and slows down enough to give you enough breathing room to speak. “Do I wanna what?”

Making lazy air quotes with your fingers, you mimic his deep voice, “Repopulate,” then elaborate, “Have kids. Do you want that?” 

Everything stops. Your hips still, as do Mike’s, and he stares at you, the lusty haze of his gaze clearing as he processes what you’re asking. 

Feeling completely exposed, you try to rationalize, “I know, I know, we’ve only been doing this for, like, a month, and it’s kind of a terrible time to actually bring new life into the world, but if I’m gonna do it with anyone—”

Mike fists both hands in the hair at the back of your head, pulls you to him to smash your lips together. When he starts bouncing you again, your muffled moan is still loud in the small living room, and Mike’s voice comes out somewhere between desperate and destroyed when he tells you, “Yeah, I want kids. Want you to have my kids.”

“Okay,” you breathe, matching his rhythm, then again, “Okay.”

A switch seems to flip in Mike’s head. You watch and experience him devolve into someone—something—primal. He fucks you like he never has before, long hair hanging in his face, lip caught between his teeth as he groans around it, pistoning into you quick and rough.

“You want it?” He growls, pausing to suck a mark at the swell of your breast. “You want me to come in this pussy?”

Your heart stutters, jaw dropping slightly because Mike isn’t a vulgar man, never has been, but now, the way he’s looking up at you with wild eyes, you know all he needs is the right push, and he’ll lose it completely. 

“Yeah, fuck, want you to fill me up, please,” you whine.

Your world tilts as he tosses you long ways on the couch, sliding back into you with ease and demanding, “Touch yourself.”

You grin slyly, “What, don’t have the focus?”

“Not really,” he admits, flicking sweaty hair from his eyes. 

Two of your fingers find your clit, massaging it the way you always do when you’re desperate for an orgasm. It makes you clamp tighter around Mike, and you tell him again—beg for him— “Please, baby, want you so bad.”

He comes quicker than usual, shooting line after line deep inside of you until it starts dripping out around his cock. 

He can’t stay inside you for long, unable to take the way you keep clenching and twitching from your own ministrations, so Mike pulls out and shimmies down your body so that his face is just above your cunt. At first, he just stares (like always), admiring your swollen folds and how messy you are, but soon he pushes a finger into you, attaching his mouth to your clit shortly after.

It doesn’t take you long. The thought of him fingerfucking his cum further into you paired with the actual sensation of it sends you over the edge within a few minutes, and the two of you are left sweaty and panting, too drunk off each other to really think about the gravity of what you’ve just done but enjoying it all the same. 

The feeling eventually returns to your legs, some of the fog in your brain dissipating as you run your hand through Mike’s hair, and when you find that you can, you voice, “Can we even handle a kid? Or like… Can a kid handle the world as it is?”

“Kids are weirdly resilient,” Mike speaks, face pressed against your stomach so that you can feel the vibrations. “And, maybe there’ll eventually be a race of super babies or something—have enhanced lungs to deal with ash. Darkvision and shit.”

You snort and shake your head. “Dummy.”

He retaliates by blowing a raspberry just above your belly-button, grins lopsidedly when you squeal. 

“But really, our kids’ll be fine. Volcanologist for a mom and an Eagle Scout for a dad? Doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Oh my god, you were actually in Boy Scouts? Does Levi know?”

Mike makes a little ‘pft’ sound and shoots you an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Like, I’d ever let that tiny, tiny man be right about anything.”

Your laugh is so deep and genuine, it makes your whole body shake. Mike raises his head to keep it from bouncing so much, but you can feel him staring for the duration of your giggle fit. Even through squinted, teary eyes, you can see his gaze is full of adoration, and you figure having two parents who love each other as much as the two of you do will at least make the hard life ahead of you a little easier for a child. 

4  Y E A R S  A F T E R

Heavy snow falls outside, adding to the thick layers on the ground and clouding the window you’re staring out of. The carrier is nicely heated, ensuring you and its other two occupants stay toasty as you keep eye out for incoming headlights. 

“Think that’s them,” Mike says, and you swivel to look out his driver’s side window to see two dull beams of light growing brighter and brighter. 

“Don’t know who else it would be,” you joke. “No one else is dumb enough to come back to this place.”

The only sign of your husband raising his eyebrows is the way his hat shifts slightly. “You’re right about that.”

Cinching fur-lined hoods tighter, you both slide out of the tram, boots crunching on ice and snow when you land on the ground. Mike circles to your side, opens the back door, then unbuckles and collects what looks to be a bundle of jackets in his arms. Two light eyes peer out between a beanie and a face mask, gloved hands reaching out and grabbing for you. 

“You want Mama?” Mike coos before passing your son to you.

You settle him on your hip, rub his shielded nose with yours, hoping your body heat will help keep him warm out here.

It’s been winter for… Years, now, the ash from the eruption having behaved exactly as you thought it would, blocking out the sun, and sending the planet hurtling into another ice age. It was something not everyone was prepared for—the intense cold, the food and water shortage, the isolation, but you were lucky. You had everything you needed.

The other snow vehicle stops a ways off, lights left on as two figures jump out, recognizable even when completely covered up. One is nearly as tall as Mike, the other considerably smaller even up close. 

Pulling his mask down, Erwin shows a brilliant smile as he stops in front of you and Mike, and Levi immediately protests— “Oi, cover your mouth, old man! You need it for more than just talking shit.”

Mike laughs, but still reprimands the other man with a pointed, “Levi,” and a nod toward the little boy you’re holding. 

“Fuck—I mean…” Levi takes in a deep breath then apologizes over the whistling wind and falling snow, “Sorry, Huck.”

Bouncing him on your hip, you peer at your son and prompt, “Huckleberry, you remember Levi and Erwin from the computer?” 

Though your team has seen him many times on Zoom and FaceTime, this is first time Huck is meeting any of them in the flesh.

Your son looks between them for a while, quiet as he sizes up both of the men, then he reaches out for Levi the same way he had for you just moments before. Levi makes a dissatisfied noise but still takes him from you, and once Huck is passed off, you shuffle to Erwin and wrap your arms around him, breathing into his chest and warming your face. 

Your boss squeezes you tightly, mutters a low, “I know, I missed you too.”

It isn’t enough to drown out Levi’s sing-song baby voice, and both you and Erwin glance over to find him with his forehead pressed to Huck’s as he teases, “Can’t believe your parents named you after a volcanic eruption. That was pretty dumb, right?”

Mike glides over, places one hand on Huck’s head and the other on Levi’s, then sighs. “Please don’t criticize my wife’s terrible taste in nam—”

“Hey! You agreed to it,” you shout, taking the little boy back from Levi and glaring at both the smiling men. “Better shut up before you give him a complex. He can understand things, you know. He’s three.”

“Huckleberry Pine Zacharias,” Levi scoffs. “I cannot stand you guys.”

“I think it’s a great name,” Erwin interjects, lightly tapping Huck’s nose under his mask. 

“Well, you have shit taste, too.”

“Obviously, if I married a little gremlin like you,” Erwin drawls easily, leaning into the punch that Levi throws into his arm.

“Anyway, we’re here for a reason, right? Other than freezing our asses off?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, kicking at the snow on the ground like it’ll make a difference. 

All of you know that buried beneath all the white is dried pyroclast, but under that… 

Is what remains of Yellowstone.

“How do we even go about rebuilding?” Mike is the first to ask.

Erwin stares at his own feet, face scrunched up in thought for a while before looking back up and stating, “From the bottom. Everything starts with a good foundation.”

Levi just scoffs, but you and Mike lock eyes and share a hidden grin. 

You take Huck back from Levi, leaning in for a side hug as you do, then suggest to everyone, “Well, then, now that we’ve seen a little of what we’re working with, we should head back to the shelter and start making a plan.”

“Yeah,” Levi agrees. “Gotta start getting ready for the next eruption due in seven hundred thousand years, right?”

“Right.”

After splitting back up into the two separate carriers, Mike follows closely behind the other in order to make it to their newly built bunker without getting lost. It’s perpetually dark from the never ending snow and cloud coverage, hazardous even with the vehicle’s tracks, but you can’t find it in yourself to be scared. Not now, not when life finally feels to be returning to something close to normal. 

#aot x reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #mike zacharias x reader #snk fanfic #the smut pile collab

[sunshinereddie]

☀️ hi! welcome to my blog! ☀️

i created this page as a way to share my love of IT and post my writing! my asks are always open, and i love getting hc/prompt ideas, so please feel free to send me any reddie or losers club ideas you’d like to see me write about! random asks with questions, comments, or anything else you’d like to talk about are also welcome :)

i also post on ao3! here are my fics:

puppy love (reddie) - in progress, 13/? chapters uploaded, 132k words

growing up and moving away is hard. but it gets even harder when unresolved feelings for your best friend are involved.

to build a home (reddie)- completed, 7 chapters, 13k words

Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting when his mother told him they were going to be moving to a small town in Maine- but he certainly was not expecting to form his first real friendship with a dead boy.

falling for you (reddie) - completed, 1 chapter, 11k words

a holiday fic where richie has a little accident putting up his holiday decorations, and eddie comes to his rescue! it should be as simple at that, but things become a little bit more complicated when a blizzard gets them snowed in.

let’s fall in love for the night (reddie) - completed, 7 chapters, 37k words

Richie's plan was simple. Step 1: Find a man. Step 2: Convince that man to pretend to be his husband. Step 3: Prove to his high school bullies that he's not a complete failure. It should have been as easy as that... but things get a little more complicated when Richie finds out who exactly is going to be playing his husband for the night.

can you stake my heart (reddie) - “completed” [view author’s note], 1 chapter, 14k words

Mike took a deep breath, preparing to launch into his story. “Over the past two weeks, five people have gone missing,” he said. “I couldn’t figure it out at first, there was no pattern to the disappearances. All of the victims were from different parts of town, different ages, both men and women, no connection to each other except for the fact that they all lived in Derry. I was starting to think that there was no connection at all, that maybe this wasn’t my kind of thing… until the first three bodies turned up- both of them completely drained of blood.” Mike didn’t have to explain any further. “Vampires,” Richie finished. 

Communication Error Has Occurred. (reddie) - completed, 3 chapters, 22k words

Richie Tozier has a secret crush on his coworker, Eddie Kaspbrak. And while he prides himself in having kept those feelings to himself for so long, on one drunken night... well, it becomes not quite a secret anymore.

my sideblog for all my non-IT fandom postings: @moonlightreddie​ !

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