#full fledged winter with snow

[samodivaa]

Soul-debasing Interrogation

Winter Soldier x Agent!Reader

Both his mentality and body can withstand anything—to err is...human—you are the human in this situation.

Warnings - smut, rough sex, choking

Words - 2900

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His face is a reflection of the past, of what is left of his life before, but his humanity has long forgotten where it belongs. You are now looking at something resembling a semi-death state, you can’t even comprehend the present condition of his soul, the mental pain or unbearably oppressive suffering he has been put through—a living creature, somewhat both broken and whole at the same time.

His eyelids slowly open, dark orbs focusing on the floor as he lets out a loud groan. He has the violent urge to move, but behind his back, both hands are bound with rope designed to eat away at the skin when he moves, even slightly. His ankles are as well bound to the legs of the chair—he makes an internal scoff at his current state.

“Here we go” you are already standing in between of his wide spread legs, grabbing his chin in a painful hold, waiting to speak when his glossy eyes are fully focused on yours “Try not to let this room scare you.”

A slumbering rage is stirring, rippling just beneath the surface. You are on the borderline, caught between the tides of fear and fury—him looking at you without blinking dismembers you mentally, but at the same time convinces him of the necessity to fight your fear.

It’s been days and nothing works, he seems unbreakable.

“Talk”

his jaw between your fingertips, grip still painfully tight, fingers turning white.

You are so sweet with your business-like tone—just imagine ripping out the tongue, so you could never speak again.

You study his features for a moment longer before letting go of his chin to slap his face hard, frowning in a sign of dissatisfaction.

“I said talk!“

„Ты так красива, что я забыл что хотел сказать тебе“ (You are so beautiful that I forgot what I wanted to tell you)

He finally says after a dramatic pause, his voice carrying its mocking undertones.

„You sick son of a bitch!“

You slap him again, he doesn’t show any reaction.

„White clothes, белый как снег?” (white as snow)

You put your hands on his knees and bent down, to whisper in his ear.

„I will fucking kill you”

A thin line closes around his throat and goes through, slowly cutting into his skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. After this, his head flies back, manicured fingers whirling around his hair, the little hairs on the back of his neck prickling. A groan escapes his dry lips, one that he doesn’t realize he’d been holding.

You drop the thin plastic line and place one nail under his chin, moving slowly, fascinated, nova-flare blue eyes blazing into your own.

„Will you talk now?“

he just sighs, shifting uncomfortably.

„Fuck…“

you whisper, a hint of exasperation and affront in your tone. You almost laugh, guilt twines with another failed attempt of getting any information out of him—you looks down at his trousers, then your eyes widen

„You are enjoying this”

In a full-fledged case of desire, Soldat is able to form both mental and physical representation of the thing he wants now and you don’t plan on initiating action to diminish his state.

Winter snorts at your words and looks at you with a smirk. He is obsessed with the situation, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. He hungers for your taste, your smell, the feel of your skin touching his. He is burning with desire, but keeps quiet about it—that’s his punishment he brings on himself, but there is no way he is begging his enemy—even in this state.

“Yes, I am” he says, with a venomous sneer “My eyes are up here, darling” he breathes.

That uncomfortable feeling is spreading over you as your eyes lift up to his lips, watching them part, taking deep breaths, the longing for him grows especially strong. You stand as though hesitating, suddenly the blood rushes to your head and sends a glow to your cheeks.

You are unable to endure his persistent stare, but you raise your downcast eyes and you finally smirk triumphantly at him as you struggle to breathe, suddenly straddling his thighs, loosening all of the ropes.

Winter watches with growing interest as you lean down, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

Soldat’s eyes are the interpreter of the animal lust beneath, there is an unhealthy sallowness in the color of his orbits, he doesn’t even blink—his body is tense, a steel trap just waiting to be sprung open, but you don’t know that.

Your greedy lips are on his skin, devouring everything you can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back your throaty moans. You drag your lips up his throat, along his jaw, back toward his mouth.

Eyes meet again.

The smirk on his face has disappeared and leaves an intensity behind in his eyes, narrowing into a glare. He is a silent fury who no torment could tame—but the finest fury is the most controlled, there is a murderous look in his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

you cry, face white and distorted, with a wan smile.

He laughs spitefully “It's either kiss you or kill you, that's how I see it”

His soul is overflowing but with mingled feelings, no single sensation stands out distinctly, but there is a need in his heart and his body. He grabs you by the hips and gets up with an unexpected growl. Sexual perversions mix with lust and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity, dropping you slowly on the cold floor.

The moment your feet touch the ground, you want to scream, but you are cut off with a rough kiss on your lips. He grinds his pelvis into you, so you can feel his hard length against your lower belly, and grips your ass through the flimsy pants.

“I will fuck you” he croons his plans into your ear, and then places a cold palm around your neck “But you need to beg me”

Dominance. Control.

Winter has lost control over everything, even the places in his head… it's paralyzing…of course he has an obsession about female obedience—his human fingers start teasing the crotch of your panties.

You gasp into his mouth, and the opening of your lips let his tongue slide through.

Your arms come up around his neck and he pulls you against him, hands flatten against your back…and you are up on the tips of your toes, kissing him as fiercely as he is kissing you.

He pulls away from you briefly to say gruffly “Come on, I want to hear it” his soul, overflowing with rapture, yearns for your pleas, skin, touch “I know you want me” he whispers with implicit faith in his words.

A whirl of the most fantastic notions takes possession of his brain when your eyes meet again—he clings to you more tightly, knotting his hands in your hair, wordlessy begging, hands sliding down to your waist.

He raises the metal hand to his mouth, sucking on his fingers before the slightly damp digits are sliding into your panties and teasing your aroused folds and you exhale sharply, turning into a whining mewl as he circles your clit with ease.

“Say it”

he chuckles ruthlessly as the other hand bruises the skin on your waist, while his thumb circles down under your clit, closer to your entrance, fluids start to leak out. Your eyes meet again and something dangerous sparks, you suddenly feel your legs growing weak under you.

“Please-” you whisper, trembling with need and delight.

Winter almost stops when he hears you, his own breathing hitches a bit. He is watching you with an icy expression, voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself

“Keep begging” a dark edge creeps into his tone.

“Please, don’t stop��

You shamelessly lift your leg up, placing it across his lower back and he swipes his thumb over your now throbbing clit before using two fingers to spread your lips apart. You never felt such stretching. It is cold and uncomfortable, but he forces his fingers inside as far as he can. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, your skin breaks out into a pale sweat as he eases into a slow rhythm, curling his fingers inside, fracking, until your body twitches and walls clench around his fingers.

“Need me more” He pistons in and out of you as you clench around his fingers “Beg me more”

Every synapse in your brain short out—the gut-wrenching terror you feel, with a balance of sweet pleasure slide into mindlessness—

“Please, I need more, I need you-” you are cut off with an involuntary moan of rapturous pleasure, you are so close.

Those who constantly hunger for control outside of self are undoubtedly starved for peace inside of self—it doesn’t fucking matter, does it?

You’re powerless, weightless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his gaze as he is staring at you, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, this is what makes you cum, he looks at you like he owns you.

The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, he rasps something in your ear as he mouths against the skin of your neck, but you are too lost to hear it.

You are pushed against the wall, he tilts his head back and lowers his lips to yours and they get bitten to the point of bleeding. Winter feels a metallic taste on his tongue as he pulls back to admire his work, licking his lips, smiling disgustingly.

The sharp taste of blood only whetting his appetite. Winter wraps long slender fingers, around your throat, squeezing slightly and the feeling is too cold for it to be a human hand. His mouth is so close to your ear it makes your hair stand on end as he presses his hips against you, licking along the shell of your ear.

It is arousing, but dangerous—very dangerous.

Your other hand trails down his abdomen to his belt, and a finger dips in before you retrieve it—teasing him, the other hand still rubbing small circles on the tip. He shifts closer so his hardness presses against your hand unwillingly to your plans.

His right hand digs fingers into the flesh of your waist, the grip turning bruising and hard as before—the metal one now resting on the wall close to your head—as a warning, a reminder of the power he holds.

„Don’t you dare stop“ he whispers, the bite of his threat lost somewhere in his need for you to touch.

You need moments to unbuckle his pants, and Winter continues to trail your skin with kisses and whines when a hand slides into his boxers, the other holding closely to take the large cock in your small hands, covering it as much as you can.

You look down at his slick cock and nearly gag at the idea of just having it in your mouth, you want to be on his knees for him.

Drops of pre-cum drop to the floor.

Winter clenches his metal fist, trying to resist the urge to moan loudly, closing his lips he inhales through his nose, face contorting with openly weeping pleasure. He groans in reply, unable to fight your gentle touch, trying to fuck himself against the grip of your hands, too small to cover his whole length, throbbing with delight of that thought, orgasm begins to creep up on him.

You can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to come, all he can do is tighten the grip against your waist—to urge you to please him.

He lets a choked moan escape his lips as you start to move your hands up and down, languidly stroking at his cock—his metal fingers whirling naturally around your neck, squeezing, not enough to break it, whines and whimpers escaping him as if he has no control over them any longer.

You observe every reaction and sound with wide lips and sultry eyes—heavy breathing from both of you as the pleasure hadn’t stopped yet—mesmerized yet almost confused as you’d never seen a killer be so needy for an orgasm, but you don’t dare comment.

“Don’t slow down”

He breaths out, eyebrows furrowing, his eyes shut, only grunts fill the cold air.

He opens his eyes, glossy and unfocused, and his face is deeply flushed—he is faced with your eyes stained with tears as you struggle to breathe—you nearly lose consciousness, how fragile your body is and how strong his is.

He chuckles at the sight—lust twisting his features, the grip around your neck finally loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by erratic breathing.

He uses the moment to prise his tongue into your open mouth, forcing himself into you. You try to push and trash, but he holds you firm against the wall, his tongue sweeping over your lips, against your teeth, claiming you—leaking your tears.

Tasting the life he can easily take away from you.

You wiggles slightly, when he rips off your pants off, those piercing blue eyes trying to get a glimpse of your nakedness as his cock is still out, his fist tightening around the base, stroking slowly as his eyes drift south—dragging his metal finger slowly through your slit, the other hand once again moves on the waist in the same place—it hurts, bruises already forming from his tight hold.

It is obvious that Winter is not human, his body, his dick is too big to be human. You shiver at the sight of his length, hard and needy. His eyes are completely blue, with no pupil or white, two seas full of desire—he will drown you in them.

Soldat lifts your leg to gain a better angle to your hole. Your lips are slick and swollen, but the opening is stretching tight around his cock, trying to enter you completely, you cry out, your back arching at the pain. You freeze, blood running cold as he slaps you hard across the face.

The dark-haired man stares back with ill-concealed suspicion.

He is big, wide and fills you deliciously—every time you assume that he's fully sheathed, he pushes in a bit more and makes you moan loudly.

You buckle your hips as best you can despite his rough movements, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperate to feel him buried inside of you.

He is rough with you, not taking his time, not easing you into it.

“Please, slow down, it is too much-”

“Shut up and take it”

he trembles at the way you say beg, because of him, his mind was a blank canvas accosted by nothing—now, it is all about you, about pleasure.

And you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as if you are his prey. He thrust with force, you don’t even have time to adjust, he is too eager.

You moan both from pleasure and pain—It's so tight, squeezing the life out of his cock and he loves the idea of hurting you, it is too erotic not to think about it. He fucks you with lazy, slow thrusts, just enjoying the sensations of sex.

“You are taking me so good” he pants against your throat

he enjoys the suction feeling onto his cock, pummeling your cunt ruthlessly, hitting over the tender spot and you groan, loudly. Your throat feels raw from all the moans.

You exist there, whimpering, taking a fortifying breath, feeling the approach of your own orgasm, compressed by him as he ravages you, marks you.

Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.

You immediately bite your lip, panting, stopping yourself from moaning more, but your spine bends back and your body stretches taut, insides clenching and spamming around his cock—the sound that escapes your lips is so unearthly that it drives him to the edge.

He slams into you as his cock explodes in an endless amount of cum, overflowing out of you, dripping on the floor. He groans as he continues to slam into you, even as you feel overly sensitive as your own orgasm reaches its peak.

He leans down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushes feather-light against your face, his metal hand is around your throat, squeezing tightly—you lose consciousness, thinking that he is killing you, but you just pass out.

Sex is another practiced art to him. Each move is calculated. His brain is programmed to perform, his body seducing his prey with ease, noting each response of his target.

Fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction—that's how corruption is spread, turning squalor and nastiness into thrill, seduces the target into his own web—and leaves with the corpse on his hands.

What a devilish creature, master of the art of Death and Seduction, all its nuance, all its depth and complexity—but he spared your life?

#okay but hear me out #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fic #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier fanfiction

[elli3luvs]

p.u.n.k girl!!

summary: the times you have while dating ellie

wc: 1.1k

a/n: based off the amazing song "p.u.n.k girl" by heavenly! i recommend it a lot!!

p is for the painful way she makes me feel some days.

fighting with ellie wasn't all that common. the two of you were exceptionally good at communicating, opting to talk through problems before going into a full-fledged fight. but there were just some days when ellie woke up with a short fuse. she tried to distance herself during those days, feeling awful for even doing that, but today you wouldn't let her have time to herself to decompress.

she had snapped at you after you continued to be clingy. ellie has asked you to give her just a tiny bit of space. you clambered off of her arm and she felt her body relax. this was all she wanted. when she felt the air suddenly shift, though, that's when she knew she completely fucked up. her eyes trailed over to yours, ready to apologize for her outburst, when she noticed the tears springing to your eyes.

 ellie hated when you cried. it made her feel like a complete and total bitch. when your bottom lip started wobbling she knew she had to get over her mood to comfort you no matter what.

you would push her but it wasn't enough to actually move her, "i thought you wanted to be alone!"

ellie's hand would smooth over your hair whispering apologies. you would try to fight it for a couple more minutes but finally, you would relax into her touch. tears would drip from your eyes onto her sweatshirt.

god, she hated when you cried. it made her heart clench in her chest.

"i'm sorry baby," she kissed the crown of your head, "shouldn't have snapped like that."

u is for utopia, the other times with her.

ellie held the spoon to your lips, which you opened with no hesitation. the smooth caramel flavor of the ice cream hit your tongue causing you to exclaim in approval. your eyes were wide as you looked at her. 

"fuckin' awesome, right?" she looks proud of her ice cream selection. her spoon dips into the bowl again to get a scoop for herself. 

the ice cream parlor was dead except for the two of you. it was the dead of winter with snow twirling around outside. the both of you were bundled up. it made no sense to be here at this time. 

the worker looked at you like you guys needed to be locked up in an asylum, but you didn't care.

ice cream was always welcome.

you take a bit of your brownie-flavored ice cream, "next time we come here i'm getting your flavor. that shit is awesome."

she smiles, "wanna come again tomorrow?"

you could almost hear the worker's eyes rolling.

n is for the new-wave dreams she had back in her teens.

ellie has all of her old school projects spread out on her bed, a cheesy smile gracing her lips as she looks at them. they were mostly to do with space. you wondered if that's all she kept. there was one book report but it was crinkled off to the side, it looked as if she had shoved it in the bottom of her closet. the rest were her pristine condition poster boards explaining the galaxies and solar systems.

"whaddya think?" she is nearly bouncing with excitment as her hand touches a random part of the poster board.

you fall over, nuzzling her neck to stifle a chuckle, "god, why are you so cute?"

she grabs your shoulders, pulling you back and shaking you, "cute?! cute..!!!" her voice growls as she strains it, "i'm so not cute..."

you laugh at the pout that replaces the smile, "you are actually pouting right now. you are so cute."

ellie crosses her arms, "you are cuter. like by 100 times- no, like, 300 times!"

you roll your eyes, focusing back on the poster boards, "why did you do so many on space? i knew you liked it but they are the only ones you kept." you notice her pushing the book report off of the bed.

nerd.

ellie leans against the wall, her arms falling in her lap, "i wanted to work at NASA. well, i knew i wasn't smart enough for NASA or close enough to them but i wanted to do something similar. so, i focused on science fairs and stuff like that. i hoped i would get noticed by an organization."

your chest swells. you would do anything to go back in time so you could see teenage ellie putting her entire effort into the science fairs. you could imagine her winning, a goofy smile going over her freckled face. you wondered if she jumped up and down before she retrieved an award or if she tried to be calm. you bet she poured her entire attention over these projects, neglecting everything else. that was the ellie style.

joel had to have been so excited when she would come home with new awards. he was always so proud of her.

"my little space girl." ellie beams at that nickname. 

k is for the kid in her.

ellie weaves in and out of the crowd that's separating her from her favorite thing. she has a red backpack bouncing on her back and she can faintly hear you yelling, 'god, els! wait up!' but there was only one objective on her mind.

beat the little snotty kids in front of her so she could be in the first row to see the dinosaur animatronics. it was a new attraction that had come to your city and when you surprised her with tickets she almost passed out. ellie didn't let go of you for hours after. she would say 'thank you, baby' every couple minutes as she planted little kisses on your neck.

she had been anticipating this for weeks, and no crotch goblin was gonna take her spot. there were only a couple more kids she had to pass to be the first person. she slowed her full bolt to a speed walk now as she noticed the mothers giving her a nasty look.

she felt your hand on her bare shoulder, "jesus! you are fucking fast."

ellie still has her eyes on the front of the line but she does slow down a little bit more so your legs could keep up, "i gotta get up front."

your chuckle makes her smile. she loves that sound, "els, you are like a foot taller than most of these kids. you will be able to see."

you were right. she knew you were right.

but her legs kept their pace.

she had to see the dinosaurs up close.

#ellie williams imagine #ellie williams scenario #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us

[thewertsearch]

TG: my thing is time yours is space TG: pretty different things

Not exactly. There are many physicists, I'm sure, who would argue that Space and Time should be one single Aspect - and I'm expecting Jade's powers to be in some way complementary to Dave's.

Come to think of it, there are several pairs of Aspects which seem complementary. Light and Void clearly evoke light and darkness, and Mind and Heart also seem dichotomous, potentially representing logic and emotion. Even Life and Doom have a life/death thing going on.

What's the opposite of Breath, then? It sort of pairs with Blood, since they're both bodily functions, but I can't comment on their symbolic relationship, since Blood is still a mystery to me. Breath too, come to think of it - most of my John analysis has been about his Class.

TG: you GET things about space i dont TG: or you will

The most obvious entry-level Space ability would be teleportation - but the Medium already is lousy with Appearifiers, Transportalizers, and portal-wielding First Guardians. It's certainly possible that Bec could teach her to teleport, but I don't know if it makes narrative sense for Jade's new power to be old news.

Perhaps, then, Jade will develop the second most obvious Space power - telekinesis.

GG: i wish i had winter clothes [...] GG: im so horribly unprepared for this…. i have never even seen snow before, can you believe that!!! [...] TG: well ive never seen it either now that i think about it

I was three years old when I first saw snow, and I don't think I'll ever forget the experience.

Guys, I know you're on the clock - or, at least, Jade is - but you deserve to take a moment here, and breath it all in. You only get one chance to see it for the first time.

GG: why dont we play in the snow later

Jade's first decision as a full-fledged Player is the best she'll ever make.

TG: im not gonna play in the snow

Translation: the next page will be a jump-cut to Dave in the snow.

TG: maybe you missed those credentials i flashed which clearly stated me being too cool for that [...] GG: i know youre joking around, you are not too cool at all, you dont even think that TG: ok

See! Even Jade knows he's full of shit.

I don't think Dave even wants to pretend he's too cool for this. His brain's on ironic autopilot at this point - but after today, he'll have IRL friends to play with, and those walls will start come down.

Yes, you heard me, Dave. Play. You're not 'hanging out' with your friends, you're not 'chilling' with them - you're playing. Let yourself be thirteen.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s89 #3024

[cherhys]

Northern Lights

Cassian x Reader 

Summary: When your best friend Cassian invites you on a trip, it quickly turns to full-fledged hiking and camping. But don’t worry, Cassian has a surprise up his sleeve that’ll make it all worth it...

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: I think my teeth may have rotted after writing this; read at your own risk

Notes: We’re back with fic number two! I’m swamped with midterms (not sure how I managed to write this tbh), but who can resist Cassian right? ;)

The wind is shocking with the lack of its usual abrasive bite. Instead, the breeze would be enjoyable if you weren’t starved, tired and gauging the exact angle at which to hit Cassian to knock him off of the steep pass he’d taken you on. When your friend approached you three days ago with that boyish smile you could never say no to, how were you supposed to know that “a short trip up North” would equate to roughing it out in the wilderness?

Your sigh is loud enough that Cassian turns around, the large pack on his back seeming to bother him little. Yours is half the size and yet you were borderline about to topple backwards if your shaking legs and sweat-soaked shirt are anything to go by. 

“You alright back there sweetheart?” Cassian has barely broken a sweat, the tan column of his neck on display as he reties his thick locks. Usually, you’d take your time to ogle him but his good looks only infuriate you further. 

“Of course Mr. General. I am having the time of my life.” Your tone is as dry as the sparse vegetation around you. The winter season was fast approaching, but the Steppes were always perpetually frozen, although Cassian doesn’t seem to mind. 

A sly grin spreads across his face, “That’s what I like to hear hon.” He pointed to a ledge that seemed infinitely far from your current position, “That’s where we’re camping for the night.”

You squinted against the sun, the reflection of the snow banks blinding, “I know you have to be kidding. Please say you’re kidding.” 

His grin stretched impossibly further, “Afraid not. The winds are shifting so we will have good protection up there.” A groan had left your mouth before he’d even finished speaking. This was simply unfair. You may not have been an Illyrian warrior, but you certainly weren’t out of shape. An Olympic hike through knee-deep snow just wasn’t on your to-do list for the week.

“Oh c’mon sweets,” Cassian pouted and leaned in, “Surely spending time with me isn’t so bad?”

His leather and sandalwood smell overwhelmed your senses but you tried not to inhale lest he notice, “I could’ve spent time with you in the House of Wind, sitting on a cozy couch, by a warm fire, with food in my belly, and a book in my hands.”

He waved his hand through the air as if the godly evening you had just described was smoke in the wind, “But this is so much more fun! And,” he grabbed your hands to pull you against his chest, “It’s just the two of us for miles and miles.” 

When you agreed, the trip seemed like a good opportunity to spend more one-on-one time with your best friend, as he (and everyone else, including yourself) had been busy as of late. A twinge in your chest reminded you that your recent unavailability isn't the only reason you agreed to this trip, but you'd be loath to admit anything else. Cassian was your dear friend and that became more apparent than ever with the recent addition of a certain Archeron sister to the House of Wind. That reminder had you pulling your hands away from him and swatting his chest. 

“I’m cold and hungry so let’s go.”

His smile faltered but he swiftly recovered and started at a brisk pace back up the path.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

“This is perfect.”

Cassian stood in the center of your makeshift campsite, his hands on his waist. He had dug out an impressive firepit, bracketed by stones, with a large pot hovering above. A fire was already blazing, casting shadows on the two tents you had pitched. 

He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done, “I am just too good.”

“Careful Cass. Your head might get so big that you’ll float away.” 

You sat on a log by the fire, warming your hands in the rapidly cooling evening. You had made surprisingly good time to the campsite and the sun was only now setting. Just as I projected, Cassian had spouted but you both knew that was bullshit. 

The crackle of the flame is interrupted by your growling stomach. Your cheeks redden at the sound–the hike had certainly taken its toll on you. A booming laugh drowns all noise out as Cassian approaches his pack, a soft smile on his face.

“Hungry, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you press your hands to your stomach, “Yes, I’ve decided to turn to a life of cannibalism in the absence of any other food.” 

You bare your teeth in what you hope is a menacing enough look, the fire only further exacerbating your pearly whites. Cassian paused in the rooting of his bag, and wiggled his eyebrows, “I bet I’d taste delicious.”

You huffed an unimpressed sound, rubbing a strand of hair between your fingers, “You’d be too chewy with all that muscle. Not a pleasant experience.”

He let out a low whistle, looking at his covered arms as if he could see through to his rippling biceps, “I am well built aren’t I?”

You frowned, “Is that all you gathered–”

Cassian’s sudden exclamation had you jumping, “Found it! Here you are, m’lady.” 

He dramatically kneeled before you, and with a flourish presented you with a honeyed nuts and oats bar. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at his foolish antics. The heat of the fire reached something delicate in your chest, a soft warmth sweeping through you. He always did know how to make you laugh. 

Not to be outdone, you took the bar from his hands and stood, “Thank you, brave warrior. For your service, you shall be knighted with the highest honour.” 

Using the snack, you graciously touched each of his shoulders while he watched you with an unreadable look on his face.

“Rise, Sir Cassian.”

He chuckled as he stood, the sound more tender than his usual roguish laughter. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Although I think a lady like you is more deserving of a proper meal.” 

You smiled teasingly and looked around the snow-covered hills, “Is there a Rita’s around the corner that I missed?”

He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice, “Even better.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, letting him play into his grand reveal. 

“I,” He placed a strong hand on his chest, “Chef Cassian, will be preparing your meal today.” 

You blinked. Never had Cassian offered to cook for you in all the years of your friendship. Frankly, you weren’t even sure he could cook. 

“Alright then, I'd be happy to assist you Chef Cassian.” However, he was shaking his head long before you finished speaking. 

“Unfortunately there’s only enough space in the kitchen for one amazing chef, sweets.” You glanced around–kitchen, ok sure. 

Before you could protest he turned you by your shoulders and began to lead you toward your tent. 

“In the meantime, you will get some much-needed rest and I will wake you up once I’m done.”

You tried to slow him down, but it was futile against a male as large and strong as Cassian. Succumbing to your fate, you narrowed your eyes at him over your shoulder, his own shining with mirth.

“Are you calling me ugly right now?”

“No, I’m saying you look tired.”

“Those are the same thing, how dare you–”

“Please go and sleep, sweetheart.” Once you reached your tent, he relinquished his hold on you. While regaining your balance in the kicked-up snow, Cassian caught you off guard and placed a swift kiss on your cheek. 

You froze, not expecting the burst of affection but he had already turned and made his way back to the fire. Slowly, you unzipped and entered the tent, falling into a quiet sleep with your cheek still burning from his touch. 

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The delectable smell of food and the gentle caressing of your hair rouse you from your slumber. The large hand is warm and sure against your head, a comforting weight that only relaxes you further. Nails scratch lightly against your scalp and it takes everything in you not to lean into the touch and moan. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” The deep voice is unmistakable and you quickly realize whose hand it was in your hair. 

You briskly sit up, startling Cassian at the sudden movement, his hand still poised in the air. You hastily fix your hair and shift in the sleeping bag, attempting to put some distance between you both. 

In your hurried movement, you fail to notice the slight downturn of his lips. He watched you pull away and he couldn't help but clench his fist, the feeling of the tresses of your hair still fresh in his mind. He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything to relax the tense look on your face but you compose yourself in the blink of an eye.

“Is the food ready? It smells delicious.” With a speed that even his most experienced warriors would envy, you swoop to put your boots on and exit the tent into the night.  

You halt your rapid steps, floored by the work Cassian so painstakingly put in. The food he had prepared–it was your favourite. He had spread the meal out on a larger stump, your plate already portioned for you. There is even a bundle of snowdrops he must’ve collected himself, placed as a makeshift centrepiece. 

Your breath is caught in your throat, unable to fathom that he had done this. Done this for you. I mean, of course, this is your best friend just showing he cares right? Your chest is nearly bursting with a feeling you have avoided acknowledging for so long. 

“I told you I was an amazing chef.”

Cassian’s comment snaps you out of your emotional stupor, turning to look at him as he sidled up beside you. He wears a cocky grin on his face, but his hand is rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Yes,” You breathed softly, your words clouding before you, “You are amazing.”

His eyes widened at your admission and even in the cold, you could see the pink creeping across his cheeks. You held Cassian’s stare, his hazel eyes molten in the firelight. He cleared his throat, bringing you both back to the chill around you.

“Well, dig in sweetheart. I’d hate for the food to get cold.” 

He gestured to the logs around the impromptu stump table, and you didn’t need to be told twice. After the surprisingly tender moment, all you were left with was your ravenous hunger. Food had never smelled so delicious. 

You both sit and begin to devour the various dishes. The warm flavours melt on your tongue. Everything is spiced to perfection, and exquisitely cooked. The different textures dance in your mouth, and you couldn’t help the little moan that slips out at the delicacies he’s made. It isn't lost on Cassian’s ears and he’s licking his lips, despite the array of food before him. 

While the meal has warmed you, a gust of wind has you shivering.

“Cass, if you really wanted to cook for me, I’m sure you could’ve done this back at the House.” You joke, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. 

He looks contemplative for a second, “Yes, I could have. Except then I wouldn’t be able to show you what I’ve been looking forward to.” 

Your eyebrows furrow as he gestures around you. You had thought the spot he picked to camp out was, more or less, random–certainly not one that he had picked with the intention of showing you.

Cassian stands and dusts his legs off, reaching for your hand. He leads you over to sit on a log a little ways from the fire. 

“This place is called Aurora’s Peak. Yes, Velaris has a gorgeous night sky, but even there the light pollution dulls the effect,”

His voice is clear in the night around you, a comforting beacon you fixate on and lean into. His hazel eyes are bright but never brighter than the smile on his face. 

“The real beauty of the starry night can be seen here, far away and secluded from any cities. Look.”  

You do as he says, and look up at a sight that takes your breath away. Never have you seen the cosmos so clearly. The constellations twinkle brighter than ever, thousands of stars illuminating the darkness. But it's the dancing glow in the sky that mesmerizes you. Green, pink, purple and yellow light curtain the horizon, like streaks of paint on a canvas. In your centuries alive, it is a beauty you’ve never witnessed.

While you gape in awe at the dynamic flickers, Cassian watched you–his beauty. His eternity. He lightly brushes his fingers against the apples of your cheek, sweeping across not unlike the lights in the sky. You turn, breathless for so many reasons. You wear your bottom lip between your teeth; that all-consuming feeling in your chest is back again. The enormity of your feelings for the male before you consume you, and even under the vast sky, they seem boundless. But he isn’t yours. 

Your eyes flutter shut; you can’t keep looking at the reflection of the stars in his eyes, at his rosy pink cheeks, and his lush lips.

“Cassian–” 

He cuts you off by placing his forehead against yours. You both breathe the cold air in, exhalations mingling. In all your centuries you’ve never been so close. Never dared for fear of crossing that unspoken boundary. 

He slowly–ever so slowly–caresses his cheek against yours, revelling in the feel of your skin against his. He moves back across to the other cheek, delighting in your soft touch. You’re shaking like the nettles in the pine trees around you, Cassian daring to sweep you away like a gust of wind.

He moves in an arc from your cheek to your forehead and presses a light kiss there, his plush lips burning your skin. You’re both breathing heavily, and you lift your hands to where his palms are cradling your head. He spreads his calloused fingers gently, encircling yours with his own. 

Unspoken words pass between you as you pull back slowly to look him in the eye. His gaze is searching–questioning and worried even now. But beneath that, there is tender love. A passion as old as time and a fierce longing that overwhelms one’s very soul. With one spoken word, with one denial–you know he would lock it all away if you so wish.

As if you could ever deny him. 

You tilt your head up slowly, and he moves in without hesitation and claims your lips for his own.  His kiss is exactly as you imagined; sublime, perfect, and so very Cassian. Your lips move to a tune of their own as if you have embraced each other a million times before. Your hands move to his soft hair, eliciting a groan from him when you let it down from the pesky leather tie. The brush of his tongue is soft against your bottom lip, and a new wave of adoration washes over you. 

Your love, your heart–they were always his. Always had been. Even your soul was his, as a spark brightens deep within you–

You pull away, gasping and you feel it then–that light in your chest, a thread that glows with every colour of the northern lights above you, connecting you to Cassian’s very soul. He feels it too, evident by his mirror gasp. 

There are no shocked glances shared between you. You both had always known this is who your eternity lies with. With glistening eyes, you pull him into your embrace.

You whisper into the nape of his neck, before the stars as witnesses, “I love you.”

He tightened his hug and placed a kiss on the side of your head, “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Cassian enveloped your body in his strong arms and took you to his tent, snow crunching beneath his boots. For now, the passion can wait, as you both simply bask in the glow of the bond.

Final Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading this! I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights... 

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian/reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fanfic #cassian #cassian acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

[t34-mt]

sorry if you already answered this, but how do the specific colors for each species work when in different regions? are there any specific colors that are more common in one place than the other???

yes, each region has a group/ethnicity that sports colors that are exclusive to them, even feather type for the mane of maanul divers from one region to another. For kyhuines every group has the same feather types, BUT it is possible to have an individual with curly feather genes like a frillback pigeon. that said gene is a mutation so it's not common but it can be passed down

now im sincerely sorry I don't have a really clean good chart yet, ill use these shitty drawings I once made to explain the color to a friend. while they suck and are not good references to look at when it comes to anatomy you still understand color variation with them at least. I'll start with maanuls!

Western maanuls

while on the maanul drawings they don't have size dif, if this was done seriously the females would be bigger than males across every group. Western maanuls are ""the basic ones"" if you had to put it bluntly. id imagine that ancient maanuls before they diversified in colors probably looked a bit like a tone-down modern Western maanul.

the examples ill use for each groups are the most basic individuals you could ever think of. Because with dye and modification, an individual from one group could end up widely different from the base look. For example, Morang is a western maanul but she doesn't look like the example shown here, she cut down feathers for a straight-end look and she bleached herself to be a unified white. another we

Eastern maanuls

now with these guys, i do have a good render of them which you can see here, like western maanuls they got a mane with flexible feathers. the best irl example i can give for you to visualize that type of feathers would be to look at a Japanese roosters's tails. males have a greenish turquoise end some of their feathers. Which is a color exclusive to them. If i ever post an image of yarey'lu ( a male eastern maanul) and you see his yellow feather tips be aware that its not natural, and these are done with dyes. so would be the yellow marks around the eyes, these are also done by paint. another character that is an eastern maanul is ak'laam who doesn't look like the examples because she's melanistic.

Eastern males are the most colorful of all, they've also got iridescent feathers but so do eastern females which is also unique to them. The sea they live next to is a bright blue and within that sea, they have many coral barriers and "exotic" wildlife, even the flora around their region is bright and varied so, i had to make them fancy to go with their place.

Southern maanuls

now they've got their perks too, maanuls and kyhuines after being an ugly hatchlings they become what they call a fledging, which is a state where they're fully covered in a yellowish coat of feathers with brown stripes. Now every maanul and every kyhuine shed that coat at some point, so they lose the stripes except southern maanuls. Southern maanuls even as full adults still have some reminiscences of their stripes from when they were a fledgling.

The mane of easterns are quite particular too, they've got a mix of the two variants. a top layer with hard shafts that move for emoting or just to dance, and a bottom layer of soft shaft feathers. my only southern maanul character is nau'stikah

North-east maanuls

northeast are not that far in the north honestly on the map that population just sits on top of keezeh behind mountain ranges where the nice weather shifts into more temperate ones, like a normal winter you'd find in central Europe (i wish snow was still a thing here), their feather mane is usually quite short compared to other maanul groups and it is fully composed of hard shaft feathers that moves unintentionally with emotions or can be controlled at will.

They are quite dark due to the place they live at, which are cliffs that have been tinted black because of ancient volcanic activities. There arent many north east maanuls, they're the rarest of the 5 maanul groups. A character that is a north east maanul to mention would be qua'tuli

Central north maanuls

and for last with maanuls, central north maanuls which are "real northern" maanuls because they truly inhabit the real north compared to north east. Like north east their mane is fully made out of hard shaft feathers that can move, but unlike them their mane isn't short. you may have noticed but they're more covered too! ears are covered, most of the hand except palms, and the same for feet, except feet can actually be fully covered in feathers in some cold periods of the year.

Compared to other maanuls, central north go out in the land much more often to find food because during cold seasons they cannot always easily rely on the ocean. Their life is harsher than other groups so it sometimes reflects in folklore, like, for example, the way northern maanuls draw haanu (maanul's all mighty mother deity, a sort of Venus of willendorf equivalent) is lets say much scarier than the way other part of the world do it. i dont have any central north characters!

-

i should also mention that all maanuls have yellow eyes by default, mixing groups can create mutations tho, like orange, red or even brown (monmartre for example, western+central north it has red eyes cause mutation, and while it just looks like a western with neglected feathers it starts to look closer to a central north when it ages in late GA), other mutations can affect eye color too, ak'laam has black/brown eyes because of melanism, and an albino maanul would have red eyes.

kyhuines, commonly have yellow eyes too tho it is plausible but rare to have red, grey and brown eyes without being mixed. These traits can become hereditary too, same goes for maanuls with mutated eye colors they can also be passed down (example with monmartre's litter, but also that was done so its litter would stand out and be recognisable)

-

Now with kyhuines, there are only 4 groups/ethnicity compared to the 5 of maanuls, and theirs are quite close to one another so claims like "south, west, east, north" is a bit of a stretch but they still use it anyways for communication.

Southern kyhuines

the most common kyhuine are southern! now with kyhuines the color dimorphism is much more present compared to maanuls. Even talons in females if often darker, southern females can have dark brown talons to just the light pinkish that males have. gular skin is usually less bright too. Like eastern maanuls, i have a proper render of that group that you can see here. notable characters that are southern kyhuines would be satmuh, kapone, oto, and bantam. These 4 are all siblings so they can also be shortened to "southern litter" in literature

Western kyhuines

body wise, identical to southern. The difference is that they're much lighter. between males and females colorwise it's not that different most of the time. But they still got their quirk, their gular skin is a blue color. first contact maanuls mistaken western and southern to just be the same group variants but not, they are distinct ethnicity despite looking similar. i don't have any character that belongs to this group!

Salt desert kyhuines (or salt rock)

calling them north is a stretch, while on old kyhuine maps, they are situated up to other groups, on a world map they're just in the center of the mega continent like other kyhuines its just that they live in the salt desert. the talons of a female salt kyhuine can almost be black, to just greyish tones like the example, same goes for gular skin it can go from this tone to a full black one. Then the males sport these blue cool tones and also have iridescent feathers, irredescent feathers in kyhuines is only found in male salt desert individuals.

now the "wings) these drawings suck because while you get the base idea for colors its not good when it comes to accurate anatomy, the feather of salt male kyhuines are long, very long, almost like a Microraptor (on the drawing the leg feathers are not right, not large/wide enough). While they cant glide because they're too heavy and not made for that either way. it does help readjust a fall or jump, you'd usually see males flap their "arm wing" a little when jumping to something high. notable characters of that group are Ame, kaasim, and the egg twin sisters

Eastern kyhuines

So for eastern kyhuines, i do have a clean render of them but its also outdated when it comes to spine posture. While ill still link it because you get a better look at their face beware that the kyhuine don't stand like that anymore (as you can literally see here). You can go view it here.

They're the only kyhuine that can have green-ish tones (for males), their face is also different its more curved, their face have a more "chubby" look. by the way, a healthy kyhuine from any region will have fat cheeks, best example to look at ig, are these shibas with fat cheeks. Their "wings" and overall look is a usually smoother than other kyhuines, they also have shorter "ears"

My favorite kyhuines honestly, i love their face a lot it's shameful that i didn't make any eastern oc atm.

all done, if you've reached down there then thank you for reading/looking! means a lot to me

#maanul #kyhuine #ask #long ask #txt #worldbuilding #digital art #my art #2023 #altuyur #xenobiology #xenofiction #artists on tumblr #speculative zoology #alien

[nyxlaufeyson]

Snowball Fight

Winter Masterlist - Loki Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second

Ship: Loki x Reader

Type: Fluff

Wordcount: 734

Prompt: "Snowball Fight"

Synopsis: You decide to throw a snowball at the trickster god. What else should happen but a full-fledged snowball fight amongst the Avengers?

A/N: Ok so I have recuperate from tech week (somewhat) and I'm actually doing this December challenge thing where there's 31 winter-y prompts I collected from different lists! This one was "Snowball Fight."

White snow coated the grounds where you and the Avengers stood. Despite your better judgment, you made sure that nobody was watching before reaching down and scooping some snow up in your hands. 

You bunched the snow up to make a snowball, eyes scooping over the Avengers to pick out your target. The God of Mischief caught your eye, and he narrowed his eyes at you. “What-” He began, but you didn’t give him a chance to speak before hurling the ball straight at him.

It hit him square in the chest, and he looked at you in shock. You grinned in triumph, watching as the others turned to look at what was unfolding.

Unfortunately for you, Loki grinned right back at you, except in a much more mischievous way. Uh oh, you thought, that can’t be good.

Loki bent down, forming a much bigger snowball with his hands. You gulped and ran the opposite way, but Loki teleported right in front of you, causing you to freeze in place. “Now, Loki, we can talk about this-” 

Just like you had done, he didn’t let you finish. He threw the snowball right at your face.

Of course, he didn’t throw it hard, he would never hurt you, but he did make it to where the snow made your face unfathomably cold. You raised your mittened hands to wipe the snow off of your face, looking at him in shock.

Before you could even think to respond to his attack, another snowball was launched at Loki. You turned around to see Natasha, smiling. “That’s for hitting Mishka.” 

After that, all hell broke loose. Tony caught some of the snowball spirit and pelted one at Steve, who returned several more. Clint hit everyone he could with precise aim. You and Loki took turns throwing and dodging snowballs that were increasingly growing in size. 

Eventually, the Avengers were split up into two unofficial teams. Your team and Loki’s team-although, not many on Loki’s side were really there in support of Loki, they just found themselves on the receiving end of your snowballs. 

On your side of the battle you had Natasha, Bruce, Tony, Wanda, and Sam. On Loki’s side of the snow there was Thor, Steve, Bucky, and Vision. Clint was somewhere in the middle, on his own team, hitting everyone else. 

Sam had made a little snow wall for you to duck down behind to avoid being pelted with snowballs, and you and he worked on making several snowballs so you could attack all at once. 

You called over the other members of your team, letting them know you were going to give it your best all at once. Everyone made their snowballs, and on the count of three, you directed them to start shooting at Loki and his group.

They were caught by surprise, and a particularly large snowball knocked Thor to the ground. Natasha had thrown that one, and she had some serious force behind her throws. Who would have thought the Red Room would prepare her for future snowball fights?

Regaining their composure, your opponents began to return their all as well. You caught Loki using his magic to make snowballs, so you allowed Wanda to use her’s to make it fair.

Suddenly, an idea slipped through your mind. You whispered to Natasha and Wanda, who nodded and went to cause a distraction. 

You made a large, sturdy snowball and slipped past the others and behind Loki’s side. You spotted Loki with his back turned towards you, and smirked.

With nobody on his side spotting you, you ran towards Loki at full speed and jumped on his back, tackling him to the ground. “Hrmph,” he grunted, and you shoved your snowball down his jacket front.

He yelped into the snow, caught off guard, and you raised your hands in victory. “Aha! Victory!”

There was a ceasefire as both sides looked to you sitting atop the trickster god. As you were about to force him to admit defeat, he used his weight to flip your positions so you were now below him. Your neck met the frosty welcome of the ground, and he looked down at you with a smirk on his face.

“Cat got your tongue? You were so eager to announce your victory mere seconds ago.” He said, teasing you.

You huffed. “Fine.” You grumbled. “Perhaps we can call it a draw.”

TAGS: (Comment or inbox me to be added/removed; along with what to be tagged for): @michief-dream @iceeericeee @fandxmslxt69

#loki #loki fanfic #fanfic #marvel #loki fluff #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki imagine

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

Mike’s eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick him out. He detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, he would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with him.

He laid on his back with his skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded his hands together over his stomach as he got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. He tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. His eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. He liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded him of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. He needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. He hoped he’d have enough room in his car for everything, since he wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit Mike out of nowhere; since he no longer had a school to attend, he’d never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one he’d participated in was Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to have one last memory of his parents being proud of him before he became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way his father had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at Mike from across the dinner table, that he’d already failed. He chose to keep his mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that his college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

He wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. He hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. Mike would get the fuck over himself and leave the house. He would repair his purposefully neglected friendships. And he’d finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear him out. Maybe Will’s hatred for Mike had faded a little bit. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what Mike already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike, ever the strategist, prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

Mike had parked himself in the middle of his mattress, sitting criss cross on top of his navy blue comforter. He’d pulled his phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of his bedside table and into his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and Mike’s back was slightly killing him (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But Mike knew he wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

Mike drew his eyes up the headboard of his bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. Mike inhaled so hard he thought his lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in his chest. He feared his heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. Mike knew he had to do this now, or he never would. He’d already procrastinated doing this for too long. He gulped, his finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried his luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing Mike’s body to snap up to attention. He rose to defend himself from any monsters in his vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, he stood up way too fast. He was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. He sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, he let his shoulders go lax. Tension that he hadn’t realized had built up released from his neck as he rested his head on his palms. He wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster he’d have to fight was himself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in his obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on him, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. Mike shut his eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. He could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or he could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone he knew.

Mike opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. He rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since he and Will got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. They’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, Mike freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, he wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, Mike needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around his throat. His eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through his veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around Mike’s wrist before he could take another step. He whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that he vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from his Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for Mike’s impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

He tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when he’d admitted to not knowing it, so he uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with his greeting. She pulled Mike down by his shoulder so she could talk in his ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. Mike hoped he wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, he knew he probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made him feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” he hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. Mike laughed along, but his voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

Mike looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. He watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in Mike’s stomach. The lava curling around his throat became even hotter, burning through his skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” Mike remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. He glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” Mike blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. He heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered him on, but Mike wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at Mike, stunned at his sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. Mike felt himself choking on air. He needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” Mike forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before he bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of his Chuck Taylors as he continued to run across the campus quad, his breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout Mike’s body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. His feet loudly slapped the pavement below him, and Mike was proud that he hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of his time at the University of Indianapolis, it was his improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, Mike thought.

He sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If he got hit, cool. Awesome. He’d thank the driver as he bled out in the street. But no one came to take him out of his misery. So he kept running, and running, and running. Mike’s long legs screamed as his practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry him. The prickly, thin air he breathed in through his mouth reminded him of the sensation when he’d chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but he was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down his face. Or were those tears? Was he seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, Mike had never been the type of person to openly cry. He wasn’t raised to share his feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why Mike had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. He never opened up to anyone, because he hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. He prided himself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, he’d been the one to stare Vecna down as he thrust a sword straight into his heart. He’d proven his strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that Mike didn’t have to let his guard down; Will broke it for him. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that Mike had worked so hard for years to maintain. Mike suddenly became unable to stop himself from crying. He’d always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that Mike could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, he didn’t envy Will at all. He wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And Mike felt even worse when he recalled all the times when he was the reason for making Will cry.

Mike had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. He had his first one on the day Will left. His mom came into his room to check on him. He’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and his shoulders violently shook as he hyperventilated. His mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting Mike where he was at, grounding him, and helping him come back to earth. She’d held Mike in her arms as he sobbed, comforted him, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. He could never express enough gratitude towards his mom for what she did for him that day. Little did he know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to his initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after he’d been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

Mike found his car despite his impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly he opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. He collapsed his entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that he hadn’t even been aware he was capable of. He reached his hands up into his scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with his hands as his surroundings melted away. Mike genuinely felt like he was going to die. Everything he’d said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside him, and this was him finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

Mike turned his keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. He lifted his head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed his eyes a few times, and took a look at his reflection. The person staring back at him looked absolutely horrendous. He looked as if he hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; Mike could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep he’d had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by his side.

Mike shifted gears and turned his headlights on, pulling out of his spot and drifting out into the street. He knew what he was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just himself, but to others. But he couldn’t give less of a shit; he’d figured out what he needed to do. He slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where he’d have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but Mike didn’t turn left. He tapped his fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on his right hand signal.

He swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. Mike felt his breath hitch. His voice was deeper than Mike remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” Mike exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for his own good. He waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. He went to speak again, but Will beat him to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said his name in a tone that Mike could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, he shouldn’t have called him. He shouldn’t have called him, but he did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said Mike’s name for the first time in a year.

Mike reclined onto his comforter so he was lying on his back with his knees bent, wrapping the cord around his finger a few times as he spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

He heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so Mike told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. Mike always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound he’d ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

Mike begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and Mike would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved Mike Wheeler’s life. She’d given him a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of Mike’s face. His stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but he didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing Mike away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” Mike heard himself ask, his voice small. He felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, he was still a kid. He’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of his childhood. He’d been so uncertain of where he’d end up after the war was over. And the one time Mike was sure of himself, sure of his feelings, and sure that Will Byers was his heart, he– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made Mike’s blood run cold. He set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on his twin-sized mattress, the rest of his body completely frozen. He felt his facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed him.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Mike rarely prayed; he only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, Mike prayed the hardest he’d ever prayed in his entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Mike huffed a quiet laugh to himself; it was so typical of him to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with his problems. He’d have to face this alone. He was always alone. And he fucking hated it.

Mike hated that he would never have Will in the way he wanted him, no, the way he needed him. Mike hated that he could never seem to get the closure that he believed he deserved. Mike hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with him! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had he done something else? Did he do something other than that one time in August? Something during his first semester, or over Christmas break, that he couldn’t remember due to his steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? He couldn’t think of a single thing, which made him even angrier. 

He wished he could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe Mike could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if Mike picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if he said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. He’d be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of himself that he could never get back; a boy who would call him out for lying to both Will and himself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt Mike badly enough to justify a grudge. At least he thought so. Then again, Mike hated grudges, and the person he became when he held them. Scratch that, he hated the person he’d become, period. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

He’d started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, he’d finally discovered his identity as a young gay man. He met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. Mike would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to him, and would get weirdly emotional when his mind would, as always, drift to Will. He’d sometimes close his eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and he’d fall for his own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and he’d remember that Will hated his guts… he would drink. A lot. He was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. His temper got worse, his fuse got shorter, and his overall outlook on life became so cynical that he sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But he’d never followed through with anything in his entire life, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to kill himself even if he wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of his eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of Mike’s cheeks. He hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing him to develop a cramp under his ribcage. He grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering his feet to the linoleum floor. He shuffled to his wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before he found what he was looking for. It was over. This was it. He’d had his chance, and he lost Will for the third time in his life. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when he’d startled awake to a shrill ringing in his ears. He checked his alarm clock to see the time, and he rolled his eyes. He extended his arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of his body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

Mike sat up then, his eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” Mike agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto his pillows and staring at the ceiling. He’d missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and Mike’s reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked him, and Mike scoffed, lifting his free hand to run it through his hair, regretting it immediately when his fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since Mike hadn’t washed his hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told him, and Mike clenched his jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So Mike told her. He started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. He told her about how he and Will hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. He told her about how he had, in fact, written letters to Will; he’d just never sent them. He told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when they’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. He told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and Mike feared that their call might have been disconnected and he’d been talking to no one. But then, he heard the faint sound of El breathing, so he continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut him off, and Mike sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time they’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. He truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about him after everything. He’d been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut him out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” Mike whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” he pressed, and he heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” Mike repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should he have waited until they were out of school for the summer? Should he have waited until they were both out of college? Should he have waited until Will had forgotten about him?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to him, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. Mike reached over to his bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched his esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” he spluttered, wiping his mouth roughly with his sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, Mike wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of his problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mike. As far as Mike was concerned, he’d never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and Mike was alone with his thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of his mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in Mike’s mind as he finished off his bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke Mike back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle him awake each time he nodded off behind the wheel.

Mike concluded that he couldn’t blink anymore. Though his eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting his corneas, blinking would cause Mike’s heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of his life, he’d trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then his eyelids would droop closed.

Mike pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with him. Hopefully Mike would get his third wind sooner than later (his second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep him awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met Mike’s ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” Mike indignantly announced to the universe, gripping his fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, Mike was very awake. His mind became a film reel, playing back memories he thought he’d blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. Mike sat on his father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, Mike often felt like the odd one out. His parents shamelessly and openly favored his sisters over him, which further excluded him, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out he was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, Mike got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. He had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. He still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of him refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. They could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. Mike’s subconscious must have known he’d needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because he found Will’s list. To Mike, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so he decided to memorize it. He’d do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking his brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded Mike’s attention, and he swiveled his upper body around to see Will leaning over his shoulder, his hands planted on either side of Mike on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in Mike’s blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? Mike gulped loudly, becoming flustered at their very close proximity. God, he needed to get ahold of himself. Pining over his best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and Mike’s eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for him? Mike realized then that he hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering Mike speechless, but he needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” he asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of Mike’s space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. Mike took this moment to shift in his spot to face Will, placing his hand atop his friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in Mike’s direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” Mike had a sentimental streak, what could he say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at Mike’s confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” Mike asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” Mike quipped, his voice infected by his ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did Mike just… What did he just say? He said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… Mike’s mind meandered into treacherous territory as he wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! He was just about ready to pass away right then and there. Mike could just imagine his headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. Mike nearly fell off the chair. Could his egregious mistake have given him a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

Mike played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of theirs, sandwiching Mike’s hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, Mike thought, fuck up more often.

Mike smiled so big that his mouth nearly fell off his face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” Mike cried out, cranking the window down with his free hand and letting the wind rush through his long, black hair. His sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as his hair violently whipped into his eyes. He lifted his left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling his fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” he yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into his mouth. He tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but Mike continued on with his tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and Mike obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into his retinas. He pushed his hair out of his face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did he perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; his car radio had been blocking it out. He also noticed that he was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if he didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, Mike swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. He took a moment to process the fact that he could have died. He knew his hands held the steering wheel, and his foot was still on the gas, but the rest of him was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but Mike could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. He could have died, but he didn’t. But he felt his heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

Mike knew that he couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read his mind, a small lookout area appeared within his vicinity, and he took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. He parked his car, turned the music down, and clasped his hands in his lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine. He hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of his vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. He pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind him and shoved it over his shoulders, zipping it up. He did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling his eyes and laughing bitterly to himself at the sheer irony. He continued to laugh as he opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

Mike stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below him were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees he could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, Mike stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If he were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of his mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course his thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could he ever forget? Even as a child, he’d been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and Mike glanced down. This time, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save him. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for him. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” Mike screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. He lifted his hands up to his face, covering his bloodshot eyes. He heaved out a low growl, raising his voice until it hit the top of his range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

He let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; he’d cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. He took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at his feet, watching them fall. Mike decided he didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way he could die was if he did all he possibly could to get Will back. He turned his back on the trees, briskly walking back to his car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, Mike walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. His hangover headache was beginning to form, and his intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so he figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. He stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to his right. Mike recalled himself making a mental note back at the frat party to check his horoscope, so he leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when he found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, Mike thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. He filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he’d been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and Mike could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When he got closer, he noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at Mike, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. Mike tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” he sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money Mike slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. Mike shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand him his change so he could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and Mike stopped his fidgeting. He looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” Mike softly smiled as he took his change from the counter, and shoved it into his pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after him, and Mike laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind him.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something Mike had expected to be on his Sunday agenda, but here he was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. He got out of his car, slamming the door, and smoothing his jeans over his thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in his back seat after his most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if he were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission he was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for Mike to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. Mike figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so he could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. He walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. Mike could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared Mike for the next piece that caught his eye.

It was him. It was Mike; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. Mike held his breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. He knew he didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when he read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. Mike’s chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in his head that routinely reminded him of what he’d lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left Mike without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased Mike out of his life, still refer to Mike as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? Mike hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to him, he nearly leapt out of his skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of his eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” Mike hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told him, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” Mike began, then cut himself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on Mike’s vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” he asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” he smiled at her as she handed him two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” He didn’t recall ever telling her his name, or mentioning Will in their short conversation, but Mike became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something he didn’t. Will had evidently told her about him. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so he felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” he rushed out, backing out the door as politely as he possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as he was out of the Admissions office building, he ran down the street. He was so close to finding Will. Now, all he had to do was find the dorms.

Mike looked down at the map in his hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if he was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all he could see was a brick wall in front of him. He was just about to rip all his hair out before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see two girls looking up at him, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. His gaze traveled down to notice their intertwined hands and he blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least he was amongst friends. He gripped onto the map in his hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave him be so he could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” he shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at Mike with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” Mike waved his hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted Mike’s heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

Mike let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” Mike’s brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” Mike felt like he was being charged with a crime, but he nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and he couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise him? He was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to Mike, who read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

He gulped loudly, peeling his eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. He nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of his mouth when he attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from him. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” he heard her call back to him. He wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

Mike eventually found his car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than he’d have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. He pulled the map of Chicago out of his pocket and dug in his middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. He could do this.

As he drove, Mike thought about what to say. How could he even begin to explain why he was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could he justify his batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? Mike groaned. He didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so he figured he’d at least try to plan out his… speech. But he had never really been much of a planner in respect to his social life. Give him a few monsters, and he’d be golden. But his crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. He’d just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that Mike stood in, lifting his knuckles to the door.

Mike knocked.

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#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #byler tumblr #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #will byers #mike wheeler #will x mike #mike wheeler x oc #thisismetrying1 #thisismetrying2 #i cannot believe this is done it took me an eternity #this is my first time in months meeting a deadline on time and it's not for school rip

[rocknroll7575]

The Soldier & The Knight: Part 1

Chapter 1: How Soldier met Knight

"Be gentle love my bones may be made of metal but I've a heart made of glass" - Dally London

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She was with her grandfather as they looked over the city of Atlas and she thought it was the most beautiful sight as she also saw the snow fall from the sky.

"It's beautiful Grandfather," She said with a smile.

He smiled and gave her a nod, "It is," He said, "Your mother tells me You want to become a huntsman, is that true?" he asked.

Hearing his question, she looked down sadly, "I also want to join the military," Winter said, "Are you going to try and stop me like my mother? Or are you going yell at me like my father?" She asked.

He shook his head as he smiled, "No, I'm not going to do anything of the sort," He told her, "I'm going to support you,"

Hearing him say that, her eyes widened and she turned back to him with a shocked expression, "You... you are?" she asked him.

"Of course," He said, "On the condition, you can answer two of my questions,"

Winter looked at him, still confused, "What are they?" she asked.

He smiled, "The first question, why do you want to join the military and be a Huntsman?" He asked.

"I... I want to get out from under father's influence, I don't want him controlling my life, I don't want to be the damsel people see me as," she told him, "But I... I want to protect people, I don't care who they are, human or Faunus, I just want to protect them, as you did," She told him.

Those words hit his heart more than she could ever know, and he smiled at his granddaughter with a bright and proud smile. "That's a good reason, my dear, and I can't tell you how proud of you I am to hear you say that," He said.

She blushed and became bashful at her grandfather's words, "Grandfather..." She groaned while she hid behind her hands.

He laughed at her bashful behavior, "I'm sorry my dear, but it's true!" he cried with laughter, "You've made this old man proud,"

She removed her hands from her face and looked back at her grandfather, "Thank you," She replied, smiling brightly.

"Now then, my second question," He began, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" he asked.

Her expression returned to confusion, "Huh?" She asked, "Grandfather, I just told you that I-"

Her grandfather shook his head, "No, no, no," he cut her off, "That is what you want to do, I am asking you what you want to be, what kind of a person do you want to become?" He asked her once more.

She thought about what he asked and she was stumped. What did she want to be when she grew up? What kind of person did she want to become? Her father was ruthless and manipulative, he only cared for his image and the business he stole from her grandfather and mother. What about her mother? Did she want to become a woman so torn down from her marriage that she didn't even bother with her children, and escaped through a bottle?

No... no she didn't like any of those options. She despised those paths.

But she looked to her grandfather, a man who she admired since she heard about his great deeds to the people of Atlas and Mantle, how he fought for the rights of the Faunus in Atlas, and how he cared deeply for everything in the city. He was the purest and kindest man she had ever known.

And just like that, she had her answer.

She smiled at her grandfather, "Ask me again, grandfather, I have your answer," She told him.

He smiled at his oldest granddaughter and gave her a quick nod. "Winter... what do you want to be when you grow up?" He asked her.

Winter smiled softly at her grandfather, "Kind," she replied.

It had been years since that conversation, and now, Winter was a full-fledged Huntress as well as given the rank of Atlas Specialist, and she was proud of what she had accomplished, however, she wished that her grandfather had seen what she had become. She was sure she had made him proud.

Currently, Winter, along with Penny Polendina walked the halls of Beacon, looking for a room that belong to Penny's... friend. However, the question was, why was Winter with Penny?

Well you see, General Ironwood had tasked her to watch over Penny at her team, team COPR (Copper) in order to watch how Penny acted and blended in with humans and Faunus, and to make her job not seem so suspicious, Ironwood tasked other Specialist and Huntsmen in Atlas over other first-year teams.

She had already let Penny out of her sight and she had caused some damage at the Bullhead Docks, but thankfully the blame wasn't fully on her as Penny had managed to slip her watchful eye, which was quite embarrassing for her. She was furious with the android and wanted an explanation from her, but after Penny explained why she had left without telling her, Winter could not stay mad at her, after all, she had once done the exact same thing when she was younger and still under her father's thumb.

Another reason she was with Penny was that it appeared that the friend Penny wanted to see, a girl named Ruby Rose, who Penny had met when she slipped past Winter, appeared to live in the same room as her younger sister, Weiss. Winter quickly figured out meant that Weiss was a teammate to this Ruby girl, so she agreed to tag along, wanting to catch up with her sister, since it had been months since they had seen each other in person.

Penny walked gleefully down the hallway with Winter behind her. "You're gonna love my friend Ruby, Specialist Schnee!" Penny said with glee.

Winter smiled at Penny's joyous attitude, which she would admit was rather infectious. "I'm sure I will, Penny, and I hope to properly introduce you to Weiss," Winter told her.

Penny nodded with a smile, "Yes, and hopefully she'll be my friend too!" Penny said.

"Hopefully," Winter said, still smiling. 'Hopefully, she is not as... uppity as she was when she left, gods know she needs to ease up, she's not in Atlas and isn't a soldier' Winter thought to herself.

Penny looked at the doors and saw the numbers and quickly realized they were getting close to Team RWBY's Dorm. "Oh! We're almost there!" Penny cried and ran ahead of Winter.

Winter watched as Penny quickly ran ahead of her. "Wait! Penny!" Winter cried as she reached after, but let out a sigh and followed after her, she was just thankful that she didn't try to blast through the hallway with her rockets.

Eventually, after running after the Robotic teen, Winter saw Penny stop at a door, and knew that Penny must have found the door to Ruby and Weiss's room, but must have waited for Winter to arrive to knock, and once the oldest Schnee daughter reached the door, Penny squealed and decided to knock on the door but nobody answered.

Penny knocked once again in case someone was inside and didn't hear it the first time, or because they couldn't reach the door at the moment, but nobody answered the second Knock.

"Perhaps they aren't here," Winter said.

Penny's expression turned to disappointment as her head slowly turned to look at the floor, "Maybe..." She said.

Suddenly, the door behind them opened loudly and they turned around only to see a male blonde teenager with dull white armor and a sword strapped to his side, coming out into the hallway, and he closed his door behind him and then he turned, and his eyes locked onto both Penny and Winter, who were looking back at him, much to his surprise.

"Oh, uh... hi," Jaune greeted with a small wave.

"Hello," Winter greeted with a nod.

Penny seemed to perk up at seeing the boy and waved at him, "Hi! I'm Penny Polendina! Nice to meet you!" Penny greeted

Jaune smiled at her, "Nice to meet you too," Jaune greeted back, "I'm Jaune Arc, short, sweet- ah... forget I said that," Jaune replied with an awkward smile.

Winter felt like was going to try and flirt, but realizing it wasn't proper, or embarrassing, or he actually lacked the confidence, he decided to stop himself, but she decided to ignore that and gave him a kind smile. "I'm Specialist Winter Schnee, very nice to meet you, Mr. Arc," Winter said, holding out her hand.

Jaune shook her hand, "Nice to meet- wait... Schnee?" Jaune asked with a raised brow.

Hearing him asking about her last name, made her raise a brow in suspicion, and began to question if he was going to try and hit on her again or be rude to her. "Yes," She said with a hesitant tone.

But the young blonde looked surprised, "Oh so you must be related to Weiss!" he asked.

Winter nodded, giving him his confirmation, "Yes, I'm her older sister," She replied, "Do you know my sister?" Winter asked him.

Jaune rubbed the back of his head and let out a nervous chuckle, "Kinda," he said, "Her team and mine hang out a lot, though I don't hang around her much... not that I blame her," Jaune muttered the last part.

Winter heard what he muttered and raised a brow at him, and was about to say something, but Penny interrupted her.

Penny moved in closer to the boy, intruding on his personal space, "Are you friends with Ruby!?" Penny asked with a smile and wide eyes.

Jaune was a bit taken aback by Penny's outburst and at how close she was, but he recomposed himself and nodded, "Y-Yeah, I and Ruby are friends," He said with a smile.

Penny gasped, "Ruby is my friend too!" Penny cheerfully cried, "Can we be friends as well!?" She asked Jaune.

Jaune nervousness disappeared and he gave her a genuine smile and nodded, "Sure," he replied, "Any friend of Ruby is a friend of mine!" he said proudly.

"Sensational!" Penny cried as she hugged Jaune tightly.

Jaune let out an oof as he felt like the wind was nearly knocked out of him and Penny's hug felt like he was being hugged by an Ursa. To his shock, the girl before him was putting Nora to shame, but it still felt nice...

Ok, now it was getting harder to breathe.

"P-P-Penny...! To tight! Can't breathe!" He cried.

Penny then quickly broke the hug and apologized before she looked back at him. "Oh, do you know where Ruby is!?" she asked.

Winter nodded in agreement with Penny's question, "Yes, we came here to visit Ruby and my sister, but they aren't here," Winter told him, "Do you know where they might be?"

Jaune thought for a minute, "Well... If they aren't at the dorms, they might be in the library playing games or studying, or they could be at the Combat Class, they train there sometimes,"

Winter nodded with a small smile, "Thank you, Mr. Arc" Winter said as she turned around to walk toward the Library to see if Team RWBY were there, and then check the Combat Class. However, Winter stopped herself and Penny and turned back to Jaune, "Would you mind guiding us there? I nearly forgot that I am not in Atlas anymore," Winter told him.

Jaune nodded with a soft smile, "Sure, and don't worry, I've lived here for a month but I'm still getting lost," Jaune told her with a chuckle.

Penny chuckled with him, as she and Winter followed the young knight as he led them in the direction of Beacon's Library.

As they are walking toward the combat room, Jaune turned to Winter. "I don't think I've ever heard Weiss talk about you," Jaune told her, "Well, at least not around me or my team," he clarified

Winter looked at him, "I don't blame her, many have tried to court me through her or they simply try to get to know Weiss only to get her money," Winter said, "We tend to not try and get to close to a lot of people for those reasons,"

Jaune nodded, "Ah, I guess that's a good reason why she- uh...! N-Never mind! Forget I said anything" Jaune said with a bashful expression.

Winter shook her head, "No, please go on, what do you mean that was a good reason?" She asked him.

Jaune rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Well uh... I may have tried asking her out a few times," He chuckled nervously.

Winter peered at him, "Really?" Winter asked with a raised brow.

Jaune realized he might have screwed up telling her that and quickly tried to straighten it out. "I didn't know who she was before, I uh... I just thought she was a really pretty girl and I thought I-I could ask her out, you know? I just needed to have confidence as my dad said, but well, she said no, but I tried a couple of more times because I thought I actually had a chance, but after a while, I finally got it through my head that she wasn't interested so I stopped," Jaune told Winter, "I wanna try to be friends with her now and make up for how annoying I was, though, I don't think she wants to try and be friends, and I can't say I blame her," He replied with a nervous smile.

Winter examined his mannerisms closely, a habit she was forced to pick up when too many people tried to get close to her for their own gain, but Jaune seemed genuine. He seemed to be sincere, which really surprised her because most people she and Weiss had met were after their fortune or worse, they wanted something more physical... but that was Atlas, this was Vale. So just maybe... it was possible that the people here were a bit different than in Atlas, and from what Weiss wrote about her teammates, they seemed to genuinely care about her as a person, and not care about her last name. Perhaps, Jaune was also one of those people, she hoped he was, but she could never really know, she has been tricked before...

However, Winter shook her head away from such thoughts and still looked at Jaune. "I'm sure she'll come around, give her some more time and I am sure that she will accept your friendship... she just needs time to let her guard down," Winter said.

Jaune gave her a nod, "I hope so," He said glumly

Penny then turned to him with a look of confusion on her face, "Why do you look sad?" She asked

"I-I don't-"

"I can see it on your face, I'm very good at reading people's facial expressions," Penny told him, "So why are you sad?" She asked him once more.

"I... I feel bad for asking Weiss out so much," Jaune said, "I know that I annoyed her a lot with my attempts of asking her out, and I know I came off as a creep, so I just have a good feeling that I kinda ruined my chances of being friends with her..." Jaune told her.

Penny looked at him for a bit, but she wasn't just scanning his facial expression, she was also monitoring his heartbeat for any signs of lying, but she found none, so she knew he was being honest about his feelings. Penny then gave him a smile, "Don't worry Jaune, I think Specialist Schnee is correct, she simply needs time to... Get the stick out of her butt?" Penny said.

Jaune tried not to laugh but he couldn't help himself, Penny just said that with a straight face, and based on how she sounded, it was just so funny to him.

"PENNY!?" Winter cried in shock as she turned to the robotic girl, "W-Where did you hear such a phrase!?" She asked.

Penny turned to look at her, "Oh, Neon!" Penny said, "She said it was another way to say that someone needs to loosen up, why? Is it wrong?" She asked the specialist.

Winter sighed, "It's... It's correct, but it's a crude phrase," Winter told her.

"Oh!" Penny said with shock, "Sorry..."

Winter just smiled softly at Penny, "It's alright, just try not to say that next time,"

Penny nodded and Jaune regained his composure and continued guiding them to the Library, and continued chatting with them.

Jaune chuckled at her and nodded, and he felt a little better, "Thank you, Penny," Jaune said with a soft smile.

XXX

XXX

XXX

After a long walk, they arrived at the library and looked for four female teens, unfortunately, team RWBY was not there, so they left to check the combat class, and eventually, after another very long walk from the Library to the classes, they arrived at the Combat class.

"Here we are," Jaune said as he turned to Winter and Penny.

Winter gave him a soft smile and a nod, "Thank you, Mr. Arc," she said.

"It's no problem Win-Mhm, Specialist Schnee," Jaune replied with a nervous smile, "And please, Jaune is fine," He said.

Winter opened her mouth to protest, but she realized that Jaune was simply trying to be nice, so she simply let it go and gave a nod in reply.

Winter, Penny, and Jaune entered the combat class to hear the sound of the fighting occurring, and they walked closer to the arena and saw Team RWBY fighting a 2-on-2 battle, and the girls were with their respective partners. The three watched the fight, and Winter finally got a look at the entirety of her sister's team, and she wanted to know a little bit more but didn't want to stop the fight, so she decided to look for information from Jaune.

Winter turned to him, "Mr-... Jaune, can you tell me a little about my sister's team?" Winter asked

Jaune looked away from the fight and looked back at Winter, "Well, Ruby's the team leader, though she's pretty young, managing to get into Beacon only at 15, she's one of the best fighters of our year and she has this way of Inspiring people," Jaune said with a soft smile.

Winter saw the smile on Jaune's smile and she could tell it was one of admiration, it reminded her of how she smiled when she thought of her grandfather.

"I see," Winter said, "What about the brunette?" Winter asked.

"Her name's Blake Belladonna, she's team RWBY's ninja so to speak," Jaune replied, "I don't know too much about her, she's kind of quiet and not so social,"

Winter nodded, "And the blonde?"

"That's Ruby's older half-sister, Yang Xiao-Long, she's the brawler and a heavy hitter of the Team, she's funny and overall someone fun to be around with, though... she's got a bit of an anger problem," Jaune said with a smile.

Winter nodded, as she turned back to the fight, and as she did, the fight had come to an end, the winners were Yang and Blake. Winter, along with Jaune and Penny, walked down and into the arena, and Winter looked toward Weiss with a smile. "You did well, Weiss," Winter told her

Hearing her Voice, Weiss turned around and saw Winter, as did the rest of her team. Seeing her older sister, Weiss smiled brightly and made her way quickly toward her sister.

Weiss looked at Winter, still beaming with a smile, "Winter, it's so good to see you again!" Weiss said with glee.

Winter still smiled at Weiss. "Yes, it's good to see you again as well, Weiss," Winter replied.

"Hello there!" Penny said.

Weiss looked at her with a shocked face, but before she could reply, a squeal could be heard and it came from Ruby herself as she saw Penny.

"Penny!"

"Ruby!"

The two girls collided and hugged each other as if they were long-lost sisters, however, Ruby lost her balance and the two fell to the floor, and Ruby let out an oof. While that had happened with the two, Weiss turned back to Winter with a bit of a forced smile, trying not to show her embarrassment.

"That is my leader," Weiss replied.

Winter nodded, "Yes, I'm aware," she replied, she then gestured toward Jaune, "Mr. Arc has told me about your team, and I am please to hear how well your team is doing,"

Hearing this, Weiss turned her head away from Winter and toward Jaune, and gave him a peered glare, "Why are you here?" She asked.

Winter was a bit taken aback by her sister's expression and her tone when she addressed Jaune.

Jaune scratched the back of his neck uneasily, "I-I showed Winter and Penny here since they were unfamiliar with B-Beacon's layout," Jaune replied, his tone a bit lowered.

"Well at least your good for something, but I hope you didn't try to hit on my sister," Weiss told him.

Jaune's entire body shrunk in and he shook his head in response.

Yang chuckled as she approached Weiss, and stood behind her but looked at Jaune. "Strike out on the older hotter sister, eh VB?" Yang asked.

Jaune looked down, embarrassed and feeling put on the spot, "I didn't hit on her Yang," Jaune replied.

Winter could tell by Jaune's body language that he was tense, and when she saw his face, it spoke volumes of how embarrassed and uneasy he was, and for some odd reason, recognized the look on his face. She shook away those thoughts and looked at her sister and Yang. "Mr. Arc has made me aware of his attempts to court you, Weiss, and he's expressed to me that he meant to harm in it," She told them.

"I'm sure he is, but still Winter, he was too persistent," Weiss told her, "It really greatly annoyed me, and it took him what felt like forever to get it through his thick skull that I was not interested," Weiss said.

For some reason, Weiss's attitude and words irked Winter, and when Winter thought about why, she realized that it was due to how she wasn't easing up on Jaune despite her letting her know that he feels terrible for annoying her with his attempts of asking her out, and another reason was that Weiss was acting like their father, demeaning someone right in front of them without regard to their feelings... as he did to them many, many, many times.

"Weiss!" Winter cried with a stern voice.

Weiss stopped talking and turned to her sister with a stunned expression, even her teammates were taken aback by her raising her voice.

Winter looked at Weiss with a disappointed expression, "You are being disrespectful to a fellow student that, not only you, but your team may rely on at some point in the future, he's already apologized for inconveniencing you, Weiss," Winter told her, "But worst of all, the way you've talked... reminds me of father," Winter said, her tone slightly angered.

Hearing the last part of that sentence made Weiss shocked and her expression turned to that of sadness, and she looked down in shame, "I'm sorry... Winter," she replied.

'I'm not the one you should be apologizing to,' Winter thought, a little angry that Weiss didn't apologize too she sighed and closed her eyes for a split second before opening them and looking back at her, "Weiss, I'd like to have some time to catch up, when you've cleaned up, give me a call,"

Being told that, Weiss lightened up and smiled back at Winter softly with a smile and a nod, and she quickly made her way toward her dorm room leaving the rest of her team hanging out with themselves.

Winter turned around and looked at Jaune and saw his composure relax, letting out a sigh. She walked over to him. "Mr. A- Jaune," Winter called to him.

Jaune looked at her, and Winter saw that a forced smile came to his face, "Yeah?" He asked.

Winter looked at him with a glum expression on her face, "I'm sorry for my sister's harsh words," Winter told him

Jaune quickly waved it off, still with a forced smile on his face, "I-Its alright," Jaune said, trying to sound normal, "Like I said, I'm pretty much used to it, so I just brush things like that off now," He replied with a chuckle.

Winter was cleaning herself up in the locker room as one of her teammates kept watch for the girls that dumped their drinks on her. "Winter... I'm sorry that they did that,"

"It's alright... I'm used to it" Winter replied with a sad tone as she changed her uniform.

"And to be fair, I kind of deserve it," He said.

Winter sat in her room with a bruise on her left cheek and a busted lip, she turned to the mirror of her vanity and her lip quivered, and tears began to form in her eyes. "You're an idiot for asking, you knew he was going to be angry but you still had to ask," She told her reflection. "You deserved it..." She told the mirror reflection once more.

Winter shook the memories away as she looked at Jaune, "No, you... you don't deserve it," Winter said.

Jaune looked at Winter and when he did, she noticed she looked a bit dazed, "Um, Specialist Schnee? Are you ok?" he asked.

Winter appeared to be taken out of her daze and looked at him and gave him a quick nod, "I'm Fine," She replied, "I was just, lost in thought," She said.

"Oh," Jaune replied.

Winter nodded, "It was good meeting you... Jaune, I hope we can meet again," She said with a soft smile.

Jaune slowly began to form a genuine smile on his face, "Same here, Specialist Schnee," Jaune said.

Winter still smiled at him, "Please, you can call me Winter, You're not a soldier of Atlas so there is no need to address me by my rank," Winter told him, "Now, please excuse me, I and Weiss have some catching up to do," She said.

Jaune nodded, "Of course," He replied.

She gave him a nod, and a small wave, "Goodbye, Jaune," She said as she walked away.

"Goodbye..." Jaune began as he watched her walk away, "Winter," Jaune finished with a smile.

Yang then rested her hand on her fellow blonde's shoulder, and Jaune looked at her and he saw the expression she wore, which was a smug one as she wiggled her eyebrows.

"What?" He asked with a confused look.

Yang chuckled, "You, Jaune D. Arc, got the hots for the older sister, am I right?" She replied with an amused tone.

Jaune glared at her but had a small blush on his cheeks, "I-I do not!" He told her.

"Sure you don't~" Yang replied in a sing-song voice, "But I can't blame ya, I mean Weiss's sister looks like the full package~! Bow chicka bow-"

However, Yang was cut off when Blake struck the top of her head with her book, "That's enough Yang, you already embarrassed him enough," Blake said.

Jaune looked at the brunette, surprised she kind of stood up for him. "Thanks, Blake," Jaune said with a smile.

"Mhm," Blake replied as she walked off, opening her book and reading.

'Though she still seems to be the quiet one,' Jaune thought.

Yang followed her partner and Jaune watched them walk away, and he was about to leave, but before he could, Ruby called out to him.

"Hey, Jaune!"

Jaune turned around and looked at the two girls, one of who was now a new friend. "What's up Cretor Face?" Jaune asked with a smile, teasing his friend.

Ruby smiled and rolled her eyes and her fellow leader, "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me and penny, Vomit Boy," Ruby said, reminding him of his own nickname.

Jaune chuckled, "Sure, I don't have anything else to do,"

Penny looked at the two, "Why did you two refer to each other with "Cretor Face" and "Vomit boy"?" Penny asked the two.

Jaune and Ruby chuckled together, forgetting Penny was not used to their nicknames.

"It's just our nicknames," Ruby told her robotic friend. "I call him vomit boy because he threw up on my sister's shoes," Ruby told Penny.

"It was motion sickness!" Jaune cried with a smile, "And the reason I call Ruby Cretor Face is that she caused an explosion in the court year by sneezing," He told the ginger-haired girl.

"It was an accident!" Ruby said with a smile as she elbowed Jaune.

Penny couldn't help but giggle at her two new friend's antics, "Such amazing stories! You have to fill me in on everything!" Penny said with joy.

Ruby nodded, "No problem!" She cried, and then she realized what had happened only last night, "OH! You guys won't believe what I just learned about Blake!"

The three left the combat class as Ruby told the two (mostly Jaune) about the fight at the shipping docks and what she had learned about her own teammate, however, a part of Jaune's mind couldn't help but think about Winter and how she was a lot kinder than when he first met Weiss.

'She's very kind,' Jaune thought with a smile as he walked with Ruby and Penny.

#rwby #rwby jaune arc #rwby winter schnee #rwby weiss schnee #weiss schnee #winter schnee #jaune arc #jaune x winter #rwby winterknight #winterknight #jaune arc x winter schnee #rwby fanfiction

[issybee06]

Because…

Part I

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, smoking, talking about war, trauma dumping

Phosphenes

(n.) the colors or “stars” you see when you rub your eyes.

……………….…………………………………………………………

“Tadaima…”

Genma looked up from his scroll, wrinkling his nose, “Shit, Hime…what is Inoichi doing to you?”

I scoff, pulling the bag of groceries through the door before closing it, “thanks, you sure know how to flatter a girl.”

Genma smirked proudly, getting up from the couch, “my pleasure.”

He began rummaging through the bag, “did you get the sake?”

Glaring, I hit his arm with a carrot. Like a baby, he whined dramatically and I pulled out the sealed bottle, “yes I did, and you should have gotten it earlier today when you got off your shift!”

He groaned flopping on a chair, “but I had to get the cake!”

I give him a sharp glare, “do you know how hard it is to get Sake the day after new years? I had to go to 5 different stores, Genma, 5!”

He waves his hand dismissively, and I continue to put away the food in the fridge, “besides, I thought we were getting Gai new weights.”

Genma gave a dry laugh, “Fucking Asuma already got him that.”

I sigh, putting the last of the food away, “what times the party?”

“Didn’t you help Kurenai with the invites? It’s at 7.”

Nodding, I pull off the grey TI jacket and head to my room.

“I’m gonna shower-don’t! Eat the cookies!”

He whines, putting the cookie back, “it’s not like anyone’s gonna notice!”

“I will.”

………………………………………………………………………….

5 years ago, on October 10, the Nine tails was released from my Jinchūriki sensei, Uzumaki Kushina which resulted in the death of hundreds of Shinobi, including my sensei and our Yondaime Namikaze Minato.

And for the past 5 years, I have been working in the TI building under Yamanaka Inoichi along with one of my close classmates Morino Ibiki. While Ibiki shined in the torture part of the department, I working in the more intelligence part.

The poison department…wasn’t what I had gone for initially, I had wanted to be a field medic that actually got to go out of the village, but my medical Ninjutsu was mediocre and mediocre gets people dead.

It wasn’t like I was disappointed, medics don’t actually engage in combat and my mother said my talents in jutsu would be waisted sitting on the sidelines.

But I guess sitting in a lab all day making and looking at the components of poisons is so much better. Either way I’m still not out there.

It’s still winter in Konoha, and despite being in the land of Fire, it got fucking cold.

Snow licked at our feet as Genma and I walked to Gais apartment, which was already booming with music and people talking.

I sighed, a large cloud of air coming out of my mouth. Genma wrapped an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me.

“Hey, easy up Hime. Let’s have fun getting shit faced with people we like.”

I laughed, “whatever you say, Baka.”

We walked up the first flight of stairs, heading to Gais second story apartment. Genma knocked on the door, giving two crisp knocks before being interrupted when Gai all but ripped the door open.

“MY OLD TEAMMATES!! YOU MADE IT AND JUST IN TIME FOR KARAOKE!!”

Genma and I smiled, and I wrapped my arms around Gai as he picked me up in a hug almost crushing the cookies, “happy birthday Gai-kun, sorry we’re a little late.”

“Nonsense! You’re here! That’s all that matters!”

Genma passed Gai the Sake bottle, smiling, “Happy 19th, Gai.”

Gai had always been the baby of our team, with me being a year older and Genma being 3years Gais senior, we as the older two took it in our power to baby Gai as much as we could…but now he was 19 and a full fledged Jonin.

Gai grinned at the Sake and then at Genma, “Genma! You sly dog! Where’d you find this?!”

I rolled my eyes as Genma gave me an apologetic look before nudging me in so that we wouldn’t freeze to death. Gai, the ever social butterfly, had invited not only our graduating academy class but also many other shinobi.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as soon as I pulled my coat off, “Since you’re late, you own two shots!”

I laughed, taking the small shot glass and swigging it. It burned like a mother Fucker, shinobi alcohol has always been made stronger, but the feeling was familiar.

I couldn’t count all the times I had snuck off with Genma and/or Gai with a bottle of the cheep stuff when we were younger.

Genma and I got used to it quick, but poor Gai had never been able to get over being a lightweight…but boy was he a fun drunk.

Asuma two years ago had convinced Drunk Gai to run from the village gate to the stone head completely butt naked, and he had raised that challenge by doing it while running backwards on his hands.

No one could stop laughing for two days.

Gai laughed loudly, shaking the apartment with his booming voice, “now that you’re here, WE CAN START THE DRINKING GAMES!”

It had been an hour since Genma and I had arrived, and the alcohol and bright lights of the party was starting to get to my head.

I slipped out, opting to stand on the outside balcony. It was cold, like I had thought, but it was calming compared to the heat of 20+ shinobis crammed into Gais apartment. I enjoyed parties, I really did, but sometimes it all got too much.

I blame Asuma for this habit I think as I pull outa pack of cigarettes. Pulling one out, I place it between my lips as I search myself for my lighter.

Nothing. No lighter, meant it was in my fucking jacket at home.

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair before raising my hands to start weaving the all too familiar signs , when suddenly my body stiffened.

This chakra….

Fuck.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

Turning my head, I look up, eyes softening at the source of the voice.

“You’re late, Kakashi. Party started at 7.”

The dog mask with the red painted on smile tilted, and the moon caught the soft glow of his lone Sharingan. He slowly and silently moved down the roof to be in the light, and I turned to face him fully.

“Oh? The time must have…slipped my mind.”

I frown, the cigarette dangling from my lips, “you should have come earlier. He’s your best friend, Kakashi-”

“Inu, (Y/n), I’m not off right now.”

My frown deepened, and I sigh,“Right.”

His mask tilted more, almost comically, “New haircut?”

I scowl, knowing he was being an ass. Stupid Genma a week ago had made a wrong swipe of his kunai during training, ending with me getting a free cut. Now, the hair curled just shy of my shoulders.

“Shout out to my barber.”

“Maybe I should see if Genma does men.” he evenly spoke and found a second there I could have sworn his tone was teasing.

I hum, weaving a few hand signs before blowing a small flame to light the cigarette And he hops down from the roof silently.

He stands fully, and I forget how tall the once shrimpy silver-haired man was when we were kids.

He’s still lean, not muscler like Gai, but he’s toned and I can’t help but press myself further away from him into the railing with a blush I convince myself that is from the alcohol.

Kakashi…ever since that day had barely showed his face around the village, opting to stay in the shadows. But every now and then, people were graced with getting a glimpse of him. It had been a good 2 years since we’d been this close, and that was in a room full of our comrades and in front of the council.

This, despite having all our friends a plate of glass away, was different.

“Those things will kill you.”

He repeated, tone commanding. I furrowed my brows until it clicked on my head that he wasn't some Anbu subordinate anymore, but a captain.

Still, I had never listened to him when we were kids…why start now?

I make eye contact as I take my first drag, and let the smoke swirl around me when I blow it out. I feel his eyes narrow, and I smirk with all the grace my drunk ass could muster up in front of Hatake Fucking Kakashi.

“If I die because of this, then that means I didn’t die a gory death in battle…and I’d say that’s a pretty good death for me.”

*let's see if you guys like this! If you do I'll write more!*

#hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi x reader #anbu kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x reader #naruto shippuden #naruto #genma shiranui #might gai #anko mitarashi

[falconcoast]

snow day | kazuha x reader

day ten. snowy activities ft. kazuha

event masterlist

after a snow day with your boyfriend you know one thing: never get into a snowball fight with him. 

a/n: scheduled post!

cw/tw: none

“dragonspine is the winter paradise for the creative,” kazuha explained as you walked hand-in-hand through the snowy forest at the base of the mountain. the weather was bright for this time of year, with the snow glittering under soft sunlight. “i am very grateful that you decided to forgo your blankets and the bed to accompany me.”

“seeing you happy is worth more than being cuddled up inside,” you shrugged casually. “and besides, it’s exciting to see this much snow. in inazuma, it’s not like we get much snow at all.”

“very true,” he nodded. you walked along for a while more, until your boyfriend suddenly stopped by a fallen log. placing himself down, he fished out a notebook and pen. “yes, this is quite the nice spot for writing haikus today.”

he began to write. at first, you sat beside him and listened to him think aloud. after a while, the allure of snow called you and you played in the snow. for the hour that he was out there, you made 16 snow angels, two snowmen, and a full-fledged snow fort.

as kazuha closed his notebook shut and pocketed it, he looked up to see the fun you had in the snow. standing, he peered around for you. “the snow provides an outlet for entertainment,” he noted. “it must be especially fun for you, as you haven’t seen this much snow before. and--”

with a quick smack! a snowball collided with the back of his jacket. nearly doubling over, he caught your stare from behind him. his eyes darkened in a way you had never seen before in your relationship. picking up the snow, packing it into a ball, and tossing it up and down in his bandaged hand, he smiled deviously at you. “oh, love, do you know what you’ve started?”

a snowball fight quickly ensued. gathering up a small ball, he quickly threw it squarely on your bicep. “ouch!” you hollered, before picking up a snowball. in a flurry of snow, he was hit again in the shoulder. the snowballs were exchanged rapidly. eventually, a snowball from either side with both of you in the face at the same time, sending you flying backwards.

crawling on over to your boyfriend, you poked his cheek. “you’re pretty good for someone who doesn’t see snow often,” you exclaimed, sprawling out in the snow. “i wonder if i have a snowball fight with other people, will they be as passionate as you?”

“snowy weather can bring new, unforeseen behavior out of the blue,” he breathed with a soft chuckle. “speaking of which--”

cutting himself off, he stuffed a hidden snowball down the back of your coat, sending you into a piercing yell. pouting, you began picking up fistfuls of snow and dusting his face.

“augh, kazuha! you always have something up your sleeve!”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader

[notsowrites]

to hide would be so dishonest

summary: snow means different things to alex & michael

a/n: written for the 2023 year of the OTP event

[read on AO3 here]

----------

Ever since he was a child, Alex has loved the snow. It wasn't something that happened often in New Mexico, and they didn't get a ton of it like he'd always seen in movies - but it was enough to build a small snowman and have snowball fights with his brothers. And there was always something magical about it too, the way it fell from the sky in tiny individual flakes and covered everything as far as the eye could see.

A decade of deployments had made him miss more snowfalls than he cares to think about. And as winter creeps ever closer in the months after the wedding, Alex finds himself getting more and more excited at the prospect of sharing his love of the first snowfall with Michael. 

But when it happens, when those first flakes of the season fall from the sky, it's the middle of the night. It's a surprise change in the forecast, weather that was only predicted to be rain and ice turns into a full fledged snowstorm without warning.

And in the morning, Alex wakes up, and he knows it has snowed outside. Even before he looks out the window. He turns under the covers towards Michael, wanting to bury his nose against his husband's skin, kiss him awake and share the excitement of the first snowfall of the season. Relish in the fact that he can share these kind of little details with Michael, knowing that each time they've done so in the past it's only strengthened their relationship.

But Michael isn't there.

Eventually he finds Michael sitting outside, footprints from his boots leading out to the truck parked in the driveway. It's not where he's expected to find Michael at all - mornings when Michael does wake before him, it usually meant he was making coffee and breakfast, wanting everything ready for when Alex does wake up.

"What are you doing out here?" He asks, sliding onto the tailgate, and slipping their fingers together. 

There's a solemn look on Michael's face, as though he's lost in a memory, something long ago that's been pulled to the surface. 

"Just… thinking."

"About?"

Michael shakes his head, dropping his head forward and staring at their hands. Alex follows his movements, watching as Michael slides his other hand over top, something that Alex is pretty sure is happiness exploding inside him as Michael presses his lips to his knuckles. He doesn't know what's going on inside Michael's mind, and can't know unless he shares, but there is something in that simple gesture that tells Alex he will.

And so Alex waits as Michael keeps his hand pulled against his chest, holding on right to it as if needing it to ground him against something.

"Feels different now," Michael finally says, attention trained on him. "The first snow of the year."

"Because we're married?" He asks the simplest question, because he wants Michael to share with him, doesn’t want to push too hard like he’s done in the past.

Michael shakes his head. "That first winter after we came out of the pods, I was in the group home, and I didn't have any memories, so snow was - snow was new. It felt magical somehow, watching it fall."

"It is magical."

"Yeah," Michael continues, still not looking over at him, but Alex hears the way this isn't a happy memory for him. "It was for Max and Isobel, anyway."

Not for the first time, Michael speaks of the difference in how he had to grow up versus how Max and Isobel were allowed to grow up because they had simply gotten adopted. Two parents who absolutely loved them, who probably didn't let it bother them their children had no memories of snow before, and simply rolled with it, making it a happy experience as much as possible. And how can he argue with that when his own childhood, those happy years before his mom left were something of the same? He's held onto those memories so tight sometimes, afraid to ever lose them or let them be overtaken by all the years afterward.

But that isn't all Michael wants to say.

"I'd spend as much time as possible not in the group home or the foster homes. But winter meant - it meant more time stuck inside. And then when I started living out of my truck, it was just survival, one day at a time during the winter."

He wants to ask about Max and Isobel, but he knows now, better than perhaps anyone else, how much Michael abhors feeling like a charity case, that he'd have to repay the debt if they were to let him stay over. It wasn’t something he’d understood at first, or even for years afterwards. He’d had to learn the hard way how much Michael hated receiving gifts from others, as if marking them down in his mental ledger, how much he would then owe someone in the future. An old guitar is shoved into the further corner of the closet in the bedroom, tucked behind some storage bins and out of sight, and Alex hopes that someday he can give it back, and that Michael will believe there are no strings attached to it.

The cold starts to nip at his ears, and Alex can feel it settling against his nose as well. He pulls the blanket tighter around him, but doesn't dare move. Not yet.

"By the time I got the Airstream I was so used to the cold, the fact that the heating sucked didn’t bother me,” his voice stays quiet, and it begins to make sense why Michael would spend so much time around the firepit outside at the junkyard. “Isobel would always tell me it was an improvement over my truck.”

“And now?” He tries, hoping that maybe Michael will be open to making a new memory for himself about the snowfall, and this new life they’ve started together. The future he believes that both of them have wished to come true, but didn’t dare hope for because of so many other things in their lives that kept trying to get in the way.

Because now there are matching gold rings on their fingers, and beautiful vows they’d said in the middle of the gazebo in the town square; they’d had two amazing weeks together alone in California for a honeymoon and Alex had watched the child-like wonder on Michael’s face at seeing the ocean for the very first time. And this house that he’d bought after returning to Roswell after his injury, when he’d been reassigned to desk duty, no longer feels like it’s just his house anymore - it’s their house.

Finally, Michael turns towards him, a hand sliding up to cup his face, pulling Alex towards him as their lips brush together.

“This morning I got to wake up in the arms of the man I love, and it felt like-” Michael pauses, pulling back slightly, his fingers still brushing across the skin of his face, causing Alex to lean into the touch. “Like maybe I didn’t hate the snow anymore.”

He pushes forward again, capturing Michael’s lips with a smile.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Michael stares back at him as they separate, confusion written in the way his brow is crinkled, but Alex can’t stop smiling at how much Michael has opened up to him this morning. It’s been six months since they got married, and a year since they finally decided they’d both had enough of not being together. And yet every day, he feels like he learns something new about the man that he loves. This man that stole his heart at seventeen, and never let it go. Who changed his entire life’s plan to protect Isobel, because she needed to be looked after. 

Giving Michael happy memories now, being able to make new ones together is all he can ask for. Because both of them have their share of the bad ones, and he’s more than aware of his own that will rear their ugly head when the time comes, but he knows that when it happens, Michael will be right there beside him waiting until he’s ready to share.

#roswell new mexico #malex fic #malex #the guerins #alex manes #michael guerin #notso writes fanfic #yotp 2023

[dinosaurgreasestain]

|| Step Two ||

Anpiel had precious little time to react to the sudden surrounding of his lighthouse. His first instinct had been to scatter the birds, but the chill and snow that flurried around the incoming tide would definitely result in some of them getting sick or worse, ice forming on their wings and sending them down to their deaths among the waves. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, grasping his golden lance as he made his way up to the top of the lighthouse to gaze down at the swarm of black, tarry demons that converged below, concern and a smidgen of fear beginning to creep up along his spine.

That was a lot of demons. What did they want?

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

From the sandy approach to the lighthouse, Pride grinned, red eyes staring pointedly at the lance that the angel had in hand. There it was. Too easy. The Sin didn't care if the angel were harmed or not in the process of trying to nab it from his possession, but he'd brought enough backup to make it trivial, surely.

Anpiel was no full-fledged angel. Not yet.

"Having a good night, are we?" He projected upwards to be heard over the crashing waves. "Hope we haven't crashed your little winter nesting party!"

Unfortunately for the fledgling, that was exactly what they were there to do.

Pride glanced over to Drannun, giving him a nod.

"Take it."

Drannun hardly needed to be told what to do. From his maw came a hideous shriek that drove the legion forward to begin the assault on the lighthouse.

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

They blasted through the windows at the ground level and clambered up the brick siding on their journey up towards where Anpiel perched, a sudden panic striking the seraph as his birds scattered from the commotion. Some were caught by the demons and consumed, others with their feathers being stripped off flesh and lurched down to the sandy ground. Anpiel had no time to mourn them as he whirled his lance to whack any oncoming smaller demons. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed.

Why this? Why now? Anpiel's thoughts raced as he spread his wings, trying desperately to get some sort of upper hand as the demons began to reach him and all he could do was try to keep himself alive.

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

Pride might have been smarter to stay down and let his demons do the work. But some part of him was a little too enticed by the idea of taking the lance himself. Let the smaller ones do the brunt of the work.

And he would go in for the kill.

When he saw a sufficient number of his legion up on the top floor - a few being unceremoniously whacked off and flying back down to the beach - he decided to strike. Like a fury, he surged forward and scaled the lighthouse, leaping over the edge like a coiled predator and slamming directly into the angel. The two rolled, the lance swinging wildly as Anpiel struggled to pierce the Sin with one of the ends. But it was clear that he was not yet a master of the weapon. Pride was always one to take advantage.

Tendrils wrapped and squeezed at those fine feathers, trying to restrain them to keep Anpiel was worming his way out of Pride's grasp, but they were wet with the spray from the sea below. Made them hard to hold onto.

The seraph went for a hail mary as he realized, Pride's claws wrapped around one end of the lance and Anpiel's hands on the other. Wings spread, he whipped them back and away from the lighthouse where the remainder of the demons wreaked havoc on any birds that remained or were grounded for injuries or illness. The fledgling felt tears in the corners of his eyes, but they were overtaken by his fury when he took himself and Pride far beyond the lighthouse and over the viciously frigid waves.

"LET GO!" He cried as Pride clung to the lance, not at all worried about their proximity to the ocean. Even if he fell in, he would be fine. Wasn't concerned. Was MORE concerned about losing his grip and having to do all this over again. He said nothing in response, just cackled wildly as he got tendrils to wrap around the lance. If he went down into the sea and took the damn thing with him, that was just fine too.

Anpiel took them higher, the cold air piercing at him and making his hands sting as he tried to hang onto his weapon. But Pride seemed determined.

He had one last chance...

With what he had left of his strength that was quickly waning, Anpiel TUGGED the lance towards himself and then THRUST it forward; a move that Pride had not anticipated. The Sin's red eyes widened as the tip pierced through the tarry flesh of his chest, his jaws peeling open in a howl of pain as he felt the searing burn. The largest eye that sat there sizzled and screeched, the agony of it nearly blinding him. His immediate reaction, for lack of any other thoughts, was to use one of his tendrils to retaliate, sending it forth to thrust directly into the angel's arm. Anpiel cried out in response, feeling tar seep through the wound and tunneling his vision.

Neither Anpiel nor Pride released the lance as they plummeted down through the flurry of icy air. It was only when they smashed into the sea that Pride felt the release of the weapon and saw no sign of the seraph as they both drifted beneath the waves.

#ic #angelusxavis

[mamamittens]

For the Fans

Uta (Gen, no pairing)

Warnings: Difficulty traversing snow, getting partially buried, and light slapstick comedy with mild suggestiveness.

@welovemonstergirls

Couldn't really do a lot of the suggested stuff, but I hope it still fits what you were hoping for! I don't usually write for slapstick/physical comedy so it was interesting to try it out.

Word count: 1,254

The problem with surprise concerts is that they can’t every really be a surprise.

Not if you want a bombastic, show-stopping event.

You have to book the venue, clear the space, set up the stage, lights, and safety features to prevent accidents. Uta, very much a full-fledged idol now, was well aware of this. On top of everything else, she was a very distinct kind of person with her wardrobe and dual colored hair. She couldn’t really slap on a hat and call it good. She’d be spotted in moments and swarmed by well-meaning and adoring fans.

So… her very quiet and secret plan needed a much more… different route. No big venue, stage, lights, cameras, or bodyguards. Just a quiet, small concert for young children in need. This meant she’d have to sneak out of her hotel. In the middle of winter. It sure sounded like a good plan when she thought of it. She even added some more winter-appropriate gear to her normal outfit.

White and blue striped stockings, a fluffy bi-colored scarf, and thick mittens. Her jacket zipped up to help keep warm as she made her way down the lesser used stairway. It led right outside thankfully, so she wouldn’t have to go past the front desk. Slowly, and with some difficulty, she pushed open the exit door, a mound of snow piling up against the steps. It had been snowing lightly for hours now, adding to the already picturesque winter landscape.

But she wasn’t here to admire the view. She could do that just as well—and warmer—from her hotel room. Carefully, minding the icy steps, Uta walked out into the shin-deep snow.

Just as she passed the edge of the cover the awning provided, the door slammed shut. Snow instantly falling directly onto her in a heavy cascade that took her breath away. One moment she was standing, gripping the icy railing as she walked down the steps, and the next she was laying in the snow. Partially buried and breathless.

Even with the additions to her wardrobe, Uta felt the freezing weight of snow on top of her back. Thankfully, she wasn’t completely buried, her legs scrambling to provide leverage for her arms. Shoes scrapping against the steps as she pushed her hands through the compact snow and lifting herself up. Gasping for air, Uta shivered. Embarrassed but determined, she stood back up and restarted her trek, brushing snow off of herself as she did so.

The back of the hotel faced the forest. And the hospital was only a few blocks away. The easier way there would be to circle the building and take the paved sidewalk but—as Uta already knew—she’d be spotted in moments. And then her plan for a private concert would be ruined. So, the only other option was to walk along the forest edge until she reached the back of the hospital and hope there was an entrance she could sneak in through. Thankfully, it wouldn’t take too long.

Unfortunately, it meant wading through snow up to her knees. But that’s what her stockings were for!

The moonlight dispersed through the thick cloud cover, making Uta’s walk a little difficult as she crested the many small hills carefully. Nearly slipping down several as she picked her way through. At one point, she had to stray closer to the forest to avoid a sharp incline. The point was to reach the hospital to sing—not to treat a broken leg or rib. Snow crunched under her shoes as she stumbled on the occasional hidden twig or stone.

Next time, Uta swore, she’d wear boots for this. Something with more grip at the very least.

The forest, beautiful and serene as it was, creaked and groaned periodically. Ice and snow strained the branches as more piled on. Deeper inside, Uta noticed the occasional drop of snow piles from higher up. Cascading down the branches until it slammed into the ground with a dull thud. Wary from her pervious experience already, Uta eyed the trees near her and kept moving. The hospital already in view down a steep incline that would be prefect for sledding if she thought to bring anything.

A few more feet and Uta felt comfortable trying her luck when she spotted several abandoned sleds, partially buried in snow and leaning against a thick tree. Right down the incline was a courtyard with playground equipment and benches, all steadily being buried in snow as the night went on. Huffing, Uta smiled and grabbed one. It was a bit small, requiring Uta to bring her legs to her chest, but it would work just fine.

After brushing off the leftover snow, cold enough as it was from her secret walk, Uta set it down and prepared herself.

She just dug her heels into the snow to drag herself closer to the edge when she heard it.

Ominous creaking just above her. The wide branches of the tree behind her straining with heavy snow.

Uta yelped, panicked and startled as she pushed herself down the incline before thinking better of it, narrowly missing being buried in several feet of snow as she shot down the hill. Screaming in fear and delight, Uta’s board spun her around several times as she zipped across the courtyard. Missing playground equipment that she could barely see at her speed.

Only to slam into a massive snowman among many smaller ones.

Uta’s face was too cold to feel the impact properly, but the packed snow gave way easily enough to her force. Knees and shoulders jammed into the bottom of the snowman as she spat out snow in the indent her hoodie made.

Snow creaked and shuddered around her ears as something slammed into her ass. Uta yelped, feet kicking out as she pushed her hands clear through the snow man. Still dizzy, Uta struggled for several moments. Snow piled over her back and legs as the snowman crumbled around her. Finally, Uta freed her head, gasping for air with a hard shudder. After catching her breath, frigid as it was, Uta shoved herself up. Completely demolishing the snowman.

Thoroughly cold and done with this run of bad luck, Uta resolutely trudged up to the back exit quickly. Yanking open the door and giving one final yelp when several handfuls of snow dropped onto her head.

The nurses down the hall gasped, surprised at her appearance and laughing as they rushed over.

“U-Uta?! W-What are you doing here? Oh, honey, why are you covered in snow?” One of the nurses asked with a chuckle, brushing off Uta’s jacket as she shivered.

“I-I wanted to surprise the kids…” Uta whined softly as she shuddered. The nurses laughed, pulling her into the warm building.

“Well, they’re certainly going to be surprised! Come on, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up and something warm to drink before you see the kids. They can wait a few minutes as you put yourself back together.” She offered.

The idea of drinking anything warm made Uta smile.

“Please.”

Dried off and with a piping hot cup of hot chocolate, Uta greeted the children’s ward with a round of excited gasps.

“UTA!?” They cheered, small faces bright with smiles despite their sickly nature.

Much warmer and incredibly pleased, Uta smiled back.

“That’s right! It’s me!” Uta laughed. “I’m here to see my biggest fans!”

While difficult and more than a little embarrassing, Uta knew it was worth it to see the kids’ surprised faces.

#one piece #uta one piece

[alixinwwonderland]

Prompt: Midge/Lenny: another snow storm.

let's set this one in the week following to my heart he carries the key:

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

In the nearly three decades Midge has lived in New York, she can count on one hand the number of times she's seen a real, serious snowstorm in March. Not a little flurry as the last breath of winter gives way to the first breeze of spring, but a full-fledged, wind-in-your-face, choose-appropriate-footwear snowstorm.

But, of course, the universe sends one tonight, right now, just as she and Lenny are leaving the jazz club that has served as the setting for their very first real, official, on-the-same-page date.

It's deja vu as Lenny grabs her hand, grins, and says, "C'mon, let's see what those shoes can do," and guides them through the storm. It's not quite as bad as the last storm they dodged together, but bad enough that getting a cab is a risky proposition. Instead, in what seems like no time at all, Lenny is steering them into the lobby of a tidy, if nondescript, apartment building.

Midge brushes the snow from her shoulders and shakes off her hat, grateful that she at least had the foresight to bring appropriate outerwear this time. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hung (slightly crooked) on the wall across, and she can't help cringing. Her hair is wet and stringy, except for the hat-shaped indent around the crown of her head. Her makeup is smudged, and, she notices as she looks down at herself, she's got a run in her stocking.

She can't help herself. She starts fussing, trying to tug at her hair and run a finger under her eyes in a futile attempt to return herself to a more... put-together state. Lenny being Lenny, of course he notices.

"You know, I was all set to go on a spiel about how we seem to be falling into a pattern here. I even had a delightful little bit about how I did in fact personally alter the atmosphere this time, as well as some self-deprecating boilerplate about how you don't have to stay, you can just dry off, I'd never try to pressure you, et cetera. But now, I'm finding myself getting a little jealous of a mirror."

Midge tries to be nonchalant.

"I'm just trying to..."

"Trying to...?" he prompts her. She waves her hands aimlessly, gesturing at herself.

"Fix... all this up."

"Uh," Lenny begins, "I don't know what you think needs fixing but I can promise you that-"

"This was all supposed to be perfect." Midge blurts out, cutting him off. "This was our first real date, or our first date that we actually are calling a date, and I spent ages on my hair, and bought a new corset, and matched my shoes and my purse and my hat, and now it's all... a mess."

Lenny puts his hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and face him.

"Midge," he says, pushing back a limp curl from her cheek. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I love that you did all that. I appreciate it. Very much," he adds with a wicked smirk that sends heat straight to Midge's core, even as she still shivers. "But if you wannna know the truth... seeing you like this, a little messy, not perfect? That's kind of my favorite Midge."

"Really?" she can't help asking. Lenny doesn't make a habit of lying to her, she knows, but she's been around enough men whose "favorite" Midge is nothing like this Midge.

"Really. Not only is it very, very hot," he grins, "but it seems like I have a pretty great track record when it comes to this Midge. First time we met, the raid at the Wolford, now our first real date..."

"You're just saying that because you heard me mention my corset, aren't you?" Midge teases. Lenny's smirk is back, even though he covers it with a hand over his mouth.

"Well, it's not not because of that."

She takes his hand.

"Well then, Mr. Bruce. I guess you'd better show a girl where she can get warmed up, and maybe you can judge that corset for yourself."

And he does. Enthusiastically. On both counts.

#midgelenny #midge maisel #lenny bruce #tmmm #the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmmfic #mine #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce

[indythefandomhoarder]

Ok so, I am looking for a fanfic that I read sometime between 2014 and 2017. I have been searching for YEARS to see if I can find it again, because it is so ENGRAVED into my memory that I just cannot forget it, but I never read titles, and was quite literally a child when I read this.

For the record, I can give you as much information as you need to help me find this, but to keep it simple, I'll lay put the basics here and in the tags.

It's a Reader X Steve Rogers and a Reader X Winter Soldier fic, but not Steve Rogers X Winter Soldier.

Basically The reader is either married or dating Steve, and they are very committed to the relationship, but one day while walking home, they and Bucky get kidnapped by HYDRA. The Reader wakes up to find themselves in a cell where they learn they were kidnapped to... well create another Winter soldier.

Skip over the gorey stuff, they have a kid, and immediately it's taken away and the reader is thrown out into the snow, and found by the Avengers. The reader then finds out they can no longer have any kids because of the lasting damage of no Healthcare given, and the relationship between bucky and Steve is forever broken. Then, there is a fast forward jump of about 22 years, where the reader and Steve are sitting in their living room, an empty room with no kids (it's very descriptive) when they both fall asleep on the couch. Soon after, the readers kid shows up, a full fledged mini winter soldier, and kills the reader and Steve rogers.

I'm sorry you had to read that, but please PLEASE help me find this fic. And if you've read something similar or know a writer who does stuff like this. Sent me the links/names. It was so descriptive, and I don't want to forever think I made that up all on my own. Thank you, much love.

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

My eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick me out. I detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, I would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with me.

I laid on my back with my skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded my hands together over my stomach as I got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. I tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. My eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. I liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded me of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. I needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. I hoped I'd have enough room in my car for everything, since I wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit me out of nowhere; since I no longer had a school to attend, I'd never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one I'd participated in was Thanksgiving, and I'd wanted to have one last memory of my parents being proud of me before I became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way Dad had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at me from across the dinner table, that I'd already failed. I chose to keep my mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that my college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

I wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. I hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. I would get the fuck over myself and leave the house. I would repair my purposefully neglected friendships. And I'd finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear me out. Maybe Will’s hatred for me had faded a little bit. I still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what I'd already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as I had arrived back at my dorm in January, I diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above my headboard. I wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because I was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but I truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting my school supplies (along with my reluctance to just go back home and grab what I needed from my room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all I had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on my wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; we weren’t official, anyway, so I was free to see whoever I wanted. Except I didn’t just want to see Will. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. If only I could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call; I wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. I longed for the day I'd get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But I was waiting for the right time to do it. I couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. I couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and I didn’t want to impose upon that. And I couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? I didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at me.

In reality, no time was a good time. I knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. I, ever the strategist, prepared myself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help me immensely in this process. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion I could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

I had parked myself in the middle of my mattress, sitting criss cross on top of my navy blue comforter. I'd pulled my phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of my bedside table and into my lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and my back was slightly killing me (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But I knew I wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

I drew my eyes up the headboard of my bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. I inhaled so hard I thought my lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in my chest. I feared my heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. I knew I had to do this now, or I never would. I'd already procrastinated doing this for too long. I gulped, my finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried my luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing my body to snap up to attention. I rose to defend myself from any monsters in my vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, I stood up way too fast. I was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. I sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, I let my shoulders go lax. Tension that I hadn’t realized had built up released from my neck as I rested my head on my palms. I wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster I'd have to fight was myself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in my obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on me, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. I shut my eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. I could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or I could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone I knew.

I opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. I rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. I hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since Will and I got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. We’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, I freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, I wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, I needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around my throat. My eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through my veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around my wrist before I could take another step. I whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that I vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from my Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for my impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

I tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when I'd admitted to not knowing it, so I uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with my greeting. She pulled me down by my shoulder so she could talk in my ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. I raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. I hoped I wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, I knew I probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made me feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. I laughed along, but my voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

I looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. I watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in my stomach. The lava curling around my throat became even hotter, burning through my skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” I remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. I glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” I blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. I heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered me on, but I wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at me, stunned at my sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. I felt myself choking on air. I needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” I forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before I bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of my Chuck Taylors as I continued to run across the campus quad, my breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout my body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. My feet loudly slapped the pavement below me, and I was proud that I hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of my time at the University of Indianapolis, it was my improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, I thought.

I sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If I got hit, cool. Awesome. I'd thank the driver as I bled out in the street. But no one came to take me out of my misery. So I kept running, and running, and running. My long legs screamed as my practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry me. The prickly, thin air I breathed in through my mouth reminded me of the sensation when I'd chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but I was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down my face. Or were those tears? Was I seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, I had never been the type of person to openly cry. I wasn’t raised to share my feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why I had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. I never opened up to anyone, because I hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. I prided myself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, I'd been the one to stare Vecna down as I thrust a sword straight into his heart. I'd proven my strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that I didn’t have to let my guard down; Will broke it for me. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that I had worked so hard for years to maintain. I suddenly became unable to stop myself from crying. I'd always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that I could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, I didn’t envy Will at all. I wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And I felt even worse when I recalled all the times when I was the reason for making Will cry.

I had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. I had my first one on the day Will left. My mom came into my room to check on me. I’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and my shoulders violently shook as I hyperventilated. My mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting me where I was at, grounding me, and helping me come back to earth. She’d held me in her arms as I sobbed, comforted me, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. I could never express enough gratitude towards my mom for what she did for me that day. Little did I know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to my initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after I'd been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

I found my car despite my impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly I opened it, and slammed it shut behind me. I collapsed my entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that I hadn’t even been aware I was capable of. I reached my hands up into my scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with my hands as my surroundings melted away. I genuinely felt like I was going to die. Everything I'd said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside me, and this was me finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

I turned my keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. I lifted my head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed my eyes a few times, and took a look at my reflection. The person staring back at me looked absolutely horrendous. I looked as if I hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; I could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep I'd had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by my side.

I shifted gears and turned my headlights on, pulling out of my spot and drifting out into the street. I knew what I was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just myself, but to others. But I couldn’t give less of a shit; I'd figured out what I needed to do. I slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where I'd have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but I didn’t turn left. I tapped my fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on my right hand signal.

I swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. I felt my breath hitch. His voice was deeper than I remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” I exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for my own good. I waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. I went to speak again, but Will beat me to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said my name in a tone that I could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, I shouldn’t have called him. I shouldn’t have called him, but I did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said my name for the first time in a year.

I reclined onto my comforter so I was lying on my back with my knees bent, wrapping the cord around my finger a few times as I spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

I heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so I told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. I’d always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound I'd ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

I begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and I would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved my life. She’d given me a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of my face. My stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and I suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but I didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing me away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” I heard myself ask, my voice small. I felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, I was still a kid. I’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of my childhood. I’d been so uncertain of where I’d end up after the war was over. And the one time I was sure of myself, sure of my feelings, and sure that Will Byers was my heart, I– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made my blood run cold. I set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on my twin-sized mattress, the rest of my body completely frozen. I felt my facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed me.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. I rarely prayed; I only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, I prayed the hardest I’d ever prayed in my entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, I opened my eyes. Nothing. I huffed a quiet laugh to myself; it was so typical of me to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with my problems. I'd have to face this alone. I was always alone. And I fucking hated it.

I hated that I would never have Will in the way I wanted him, no, the way I needed him. I hated that I could never seem to get the closure that I believed I deserved. I hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with me! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had I done something else? Did I do something other than that one time in August? Something during my first semester, or over Christmas break, that I couldn’t remember due to my steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? I couldn’t think of a single thing, which made me even angrier. 

I wished I could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe I could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if I picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if I said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. I'd be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of myself that I could never get back; a boy who would call me out for lying to both Will and myself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt me badly enough to justify a grudge. At least I thought so. Then again, I hated grudges, and the person I became when I held them. Scratch that, I hated the person I'd become, period. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I'd started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, I'd finally discovered my identity as a young gay man. I met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. I would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to me, and would get weirdly emotional when my mind would, as always, drift to Will. I’d sometimes close my eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and I'd fall for my own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and I'd remember that Will hated my guts… I would drink. A lot. I was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. My temper got worse, my fuse got shorter, and my overall outlook on life became so cynical that I sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But I'd never followed through with anything in my entire life, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill myself even if I wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of my eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of my cheeks. I hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing me to develop a cramp under my ribcage. I grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering my feet to the linoleum floor. I shuffled to my wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before I found what I was looking for. It was over. This was it. I'd had my chance, and I lost Will for the third time in my life. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to my lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when I'd startled awake to a shrill ringing in my ears. I checked my alarm clock to see the time, and I rolled my eyes. I extended my arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of my body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

I sat up then, my eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” I agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto my pillows and staring at the ceiling. I'd missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and my reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked me, and I scoffed, lifting my free hand to run it through my hair, regretting it immediately when my fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since I hadn’t washed my hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told me, and I clenched my jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So I told her. I started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. I told her about how Will and I hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. I told her about how I had, in fact, written letters to Will; I'd just never sent them. I told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when we’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. I told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and I feared that our call might have been disconnected and I'd been talking to no one. But then, I heard the faint sound of El breathing, so I continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut me off, and I sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time we’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. I truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about me after everything. I'd been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut me out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” I whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” I pressed, and I heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” I repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should I have waited until we were out of school for the summer? Should I have waited until we were both out of college? Should I have waited until Will had forgotten about me?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to me, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. I reached over to my bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched my esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” I spluttered, wiping my mouth roughly with my sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, I wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of my problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. As far as I was concerned, I'd never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and I was alone with my thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of my mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in my mind as I finished off my bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke me back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle me awake each time I nodded off behind the wheel.

I concluded that I couldn’t blink anymore. Though my eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting my corneas, blinking would cause my heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of my life, I'd trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then my eyelids would droop closed.

I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with me. Hopefully I would get my third wind sooner than later (my second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep me awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met my ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” I indignantly announced to the universe, gripping my fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, I was very awake. My mind became a film reel, playing back memories I thought I'd blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. I sat on my father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, I often felt like the odd one out. My parents shamelessly and openly favored my sisters over me, which further excluded me, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out I was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, I got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. I had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to me, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of me refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. We could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. My subconscious must have known I'd needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because I found Will’s list. To me, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so I decided to memorize it. I'd do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking my brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded my attention, and I swiveled my upper body around to see Will leaning over my shoulder, his hands planted on either side of me on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in my blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? I gulped loudly, becoming flustered at our very close proximity. God, I needed to get ahold of myself. Pining over my best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and my eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for me? I realized then that I hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering me speechless, but I needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” I asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of my space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. I took this moment to shift in my spot to face Will, placing my hand atop my friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in my direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” I had a sentimental streak, what could I say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at my confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” I asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” I quipped, my voice infected by my ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did I just… What did I just say? I said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… My mind meandered into treacherous territory as I wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! I was just about ready to pass away right then and there. I could just imagine my headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. I nearly fell off the chair. Could my egregious mistake have given me a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

I played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of ours, sandwiching my hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, I thought, fuck up more often.

I smiled so big that my mouth nearly fell off my face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and I was lying on the basement couch with my legs hanging off the edge. My eyes were closed, and I wore my headphones which were attached to my Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as I had from the second it fell into my hands back in 1986. I felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. I cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when I registered that it was Will who was entering my space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” I sat up, pulling my headphones fully off my head and resting them around my neck. Then I saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. My eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” I cried out, cranking the window down with my free hand and letting the wind rush through my long, black hair. My sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as my hair violently whipped into my eyes. I lifted my left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling my fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” I yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into my mouth. I tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but I continued on with my tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and I obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into my retinas. I pushed my hair out of my face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did I perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; my car radio had been blocking it out. I also noticed that I was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if I didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, I swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. I took a moment to process the fact that I could have died. I knew my hands held the steering wheel, and my foot was still on the gas, but the rest of me was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but I could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. I could have died, but I didn’t. But I felt my heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

I knew that I couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read my mind, a small lookout area appeared within my vicinity, and I took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. I parked my car, turned the music down, and clasped my hands in my lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down my spine. I hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of the vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. I pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind me and shoved it over my shoulders, zipping it up. I did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling my eyes and laughing bitterly to myself at the sheer irony. I continued to laugh as I opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

I stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below me were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees I could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, I stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If I were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of my mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course my thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could I ever forget? Even as a child, I'd been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and I glanced down. This time, I wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save me. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for me. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” I screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. I lifted my hands up to my face, covering my bloodshot eyes. I heaved out a low growl, raising my voice until it hit the top of my range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

I let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; I'd cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. I took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at my feet, watching them fall. I decided I didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way I could die was if I did all I possibly could to get Will back. I turned my back on the trees, briskly walking back to my car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, I walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. My hangover headache was beginning to form, and my intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so I figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. I stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to my right. I recalled myself making a mental note back at the frat party to check my horoscope, so I leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when I found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, I thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. I filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he'd been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and I could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When I got closer, I noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at me, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. I tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” I sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money I slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. I shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand me my change so I could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and I stopped my fidgeting. I looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” I softly smiled as I took my change from the counter, and shoved it into my pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after me, and I laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind me.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something I had expected to be on my Sunday agenda, but here I was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. I got out of my car, slamming the door, and smoothing my jeans over my thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in my back seat after my most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if I were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission I was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for me to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. I figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so I could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. I walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. I could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared me for the next piece that caught my eye.

It was me. Fuck, it was me; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. I held my breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. I knew I didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when I read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. My chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in my head that routinely reminded me of what I'd lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left me without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased me out of his life, still refer to me as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? I hadn’t realized I'd zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to me, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of my eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” I hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told me, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” I began, then cut myself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on my vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” I asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” I smiled at her as she handed me two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” I didn’t recall ever telling her my name, or mentioning Will in our short conversation, but I became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something I didn’t. Will had evidently told her about me. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so I felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” I rushed out, backing out the door as politely as I possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as I was out of the Admissions office building, I ran down the street. I was so close to finding Will. Now, all I had to do was find the dorms.

I looked down at the map in my hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if I was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all I could see was a brick wall in front of me. I was just about to rip all my hair out before I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see two girls looking up at me, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. My gaze traveled down to notice our intertwined hands and I blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least I was amongst friends. I gripped onto the map in my hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave me be so I could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” I shook my head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” I waved my hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted my heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

I let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” My brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” I felt like I was being charged with a crime, but I nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and I couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise me? I was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to me. I read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

I gulped loudly, peeling my eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. I nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of my mouth when I attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from me. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” I heard her call back to me. I wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

I eventually found my car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than I'd have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. I pulled the map of Chicago out of my pocket and dug in my middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. I could do this.

As I drove, I thought about what to say. How could I even begin to explain why I was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could I justify my batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? I groaned. I didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so I figured I'd at least try to plan out my… speech. But I had never really been much of a planner in respect to my social life. Give me a few monsters, and I'd be golden. But my crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. I'd just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that I stood in, lifting my knuckles to the door.

I knocked.

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