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rainylana · 2 years

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“Daphne?”

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: the battle against vecna left everyone in shambles, broken into pieces that they needed to pick up. luckily, you and eddie have each other on those particularly bad nights.

warnings: talk of past trauma and injuries, nightmares. reader and eddie are super depressed, crying and cuddles. mega fluff, some angst. language. so cute it may actually kill you. also for the sake of this fic and because i’m lazy, eddie isn’t wanted for murder lmao.

taglist!

requests are open!

@ariesl0ves3ddiemuns0n @eddiemunnson @eddiemania @averysblog @softyutae @ches-86 @ahzysauce @your-starless-eyes-remain @cosmic-lavender @flowers-and-tsukki @underthebatcape @mic429 @heeyitsg @fentyreligion @catherinnn @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @genuine-possum @justaproudslytherpuff @supercalifragilisticprincess @imabadarsebard @fionnthebandersnacc @slytherinintj13 @antigoneidk @actuallybarb @kneelforloki @noturmom15 @lexthemess21 @no0neknowsm3 @imdoingbetternow @rovckwells @phantomxoxo @getbillzoned @kaqua @delilahtaylorsverson @imangy @ohlovelyhollow @avobabe87 @tessiemessie @bellasfavoritesweatpants

It was one month later after the battle against Vecna, and the small town of Hawkins was doing it’s best to heal after the so called earthquake. Organizations and fundraisers were still being held, shelters were being built for those whose homes were destroyed. Things were looking up, but it was hard to forget.

It was important for everyone to have a person in their life that they could lean on. Really lean on. Someone they could tell their secrets to, someone to cry around. Someone they could let their guard down around. For you, it was Eddie, and for Eddie, it was you.

The nightmares the both of you had were nearly paralyzing. Some nights he’d wake you up screaming, or you’d wake him with yours, crying into loud fits of sobs as you both struggled to remember where you were. Eddie used his humor to cope and pretend everything was alright, he used this act around the kids, steve and robin, but not with, so much. He was more comfortable around you then anyone else on the planet. So when he felt like curling up in a ball and letting out a few tears, you did it with him.

You taught him not to be insecure about his scars, you taught him how to love them. They were his hero marks, you told him, kissing them softly when you’d make love. It became easier for him not to be insecure when you practically worshipped them. He remembered how scared he was when being attacked by the demo bats, he remembered how much pain he was in. He remembered how loud you were screaming, begging for him to stay alive. He knew how badly that night traumatized you, just as much as it did for him.

So as much as he leaned on you for comfort, you leaned on him, too. You believed Eddie had died that night, the way his eyes stilled and his breathing shuttered. There was so much blood, you even remembered slipping when you tried to stand, Steve catching your sobbing body in the process. You remembered how he told you needed to leave him, that it was too dangerous and he didn’t want you there. You told him to shove it, sobbing hysterically through your tears. He had said his goodbyes to you that night, and it was something you could not forget.

You had dragged his passed out body through the upside down nearly by yourself, a strength you didn’t know you had. An adrenaline rush, you later realized. And when Dustin and Steve found you, well the sight would later be the seed of their own nightmares. Your screams had pierced the air unwelcomingly, almost louder than the metal concert your lover had put on for the upside down world to see.

His blood stained the white hospital floors, until nurses and doctors hoisted him up onto gurneys. Steve had held you and Dustin tightly, sobbing into his chest as you watched the doctors use the paddles against his chest, his back arching with each electric shock to get his heart started back up. With each loud shock, your knees would buckle and you’d scream, and Steve had eventually let go of Dustin so he could keep you from falling to the floor.

His recovery went nicely, despite how bad his wound were. He stayed at the hospital for a week, and you refused to leave. He was worried about you, incredibly he was, but you wouldn’t leave his side. Anything that was needed at the trailer, you’d made Dustin go get it. Wayne was in almost everyday too, visiting his nephew. Neither of you had seen the man cry before, and poor Eddie just didn’t know what to do, because you’d start crying along with him.

And when he did come home, you took care of him. You’d clean his wounds, help him bath and dress. It was humiliating for him, to say the least, but anytime he’d start with shit talking self doubt, you’d snap and tell him to shut up. He knew better than to defy you. And so here we were, a month later.

Pieces had fallen back into their correct places, hearts were being mended as best as they could. There were more good days than bad. But that didn’t mean there weren’t bad days.

Everyone in the friend group seemed trigger sensitive, fine one minute, then they next they were off in their head, eyes glossed as they recalled past images. And you were all lucky to have one another, because that way, you all understood each other. There wasn’t a single one of you who hadn’t been destroyed that night, riddled with heart ache. It had all brought you closer.

And tonight, seemed to be one of those bad nights, for both you and Eddie. It was dark, both your bodies sprawled out on his bed and tangled with sheets. His fan was on, blowing hot air back on to you. His ac barley ever worked. Moonlight poured between the blinds on the window, making your bodies look more pale than they already were, your features more defined. Sharper. It was quiet besides the spin of his fan, not a sound. Yet you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. You laid on your side, hand under your cheek as you stared at the wall.

Your breathing was erratic, heart faster than it should be. You knew when you’d went to bed that it was going to be one of those nights. You used to get panic attacks from them, but after having so many, you’d learned to work through them. You licked your dry lips, tasting the sweat that had built up below your nose. Eddie was breathing steadily beside you, and you cursed yourself, not wanting to wake him up. He was doing better sleeping now, and you didn’t want to screw that up just because you couldn’t.

But he also made you promise to wake him when you got upset, because you made him promise that he’d wake you. But what you didn’t know, Eddie was awake, but he was trying to keep from waking you, even though you were very much wide awake. He was laying on his stomach, chest bare and face buried into the pillow, The sheets hung lowly on his lips, the band of his boxers just barely being visible. His dark mane was frizzy in the heat, ringed hand hanging off the bed.

His heart seemed to be racing quicker than the usual, his stomach worked up into tense, tight nerves. His fingers twitched to reach out and tap you awake, but guilt crept into him. You already did so much for him, so much. He never wanted to be a burden to you, and he knew that he wasn’t, really he did, but he was still Eddie, after all. The definition of a nervous wreck.

You sighed softly to yourself, trying to blink away nervous tears while you mentally kicked yourself. Don’t wake him up. There was no need for it. He was doing so much better now. He needed the sleep.

“Eddie?” You whispered. A promise was a promise, after all.

His little mhm? was a comfort in the darkness, and you pursed your lips, looking up to the moon that shown down upon you. “Are you awake?” You cringed at the question, your voice hinting in a sad tone.

“Yes.” His voice was thick with sleep, and you felt like crying at the thought of waking him. You didn’t know why, but tonight was just one of those nights. You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, the way his lifeless body jolted with the electric shocks of the paddles.

You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it instead, hoping he’d drift back off to sleep.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was muffled into his pillow.

You knew sleep would not be soon granted, and you squeezed the sheet with your tiny fingers, biting the inside of you cheek with embarrassment. “I can’t sleep.” You said hesitatingly. He couldn’t either, but you didn’t know that.

You felt him roll over, the mattress shaking underneath your bodies. “C 'mere.” His arm tugged on your shoulder, and you rolled over to cuddle into his chest, his back now flat against the bed as his other arm brought you closer.

His arms were wound tight around you, your face nuzzling against his bare chest as his head lay tucked atop of yours, eyes fluttering open and closed. Your legs tangled up, and you gave a deep sigh of relief at the feeling of him close to you. “Bad dreams?” His fingers softly circled the plates of your back.

“No.” You whispered. “Just can’t sleep.”

It was funny how in-sink the two of you were. Neither of you could be happy if the other wasn’t. “Me either.” He blinked tiredly, tilting down his chin to kiss your sweaty forehead.

You wondered if he was lying for you benefit, but for the sake of your sanity, you decided to believe him. You drawled your hand up to place against his chest, right above his heart. You listened to the vibrations, feeling the sensation drum against your fingertips. It was beating. He was alive. You didn’t need to get all worked up.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about when it wasn’t. His heart had stopped, and he was, technically dead for almost six minutes. The scariest six minutes of your life. You often wondered what would have happened if they hadn’t been able to save him, what would have happened to you. Your life would have ended. Your reason for existing, gone.

“I love you.” Your voice cracked deeply, sending ripples of sorrow down into your chest like a disturbed stream. His hold on you tightened, and you buried your face into his chest while you choked on a sob. “I love you so much.”

He tilted his chin down at your face, trying to see you. He pressed his nose into your hair, trying to bring you closer to him. “I’m alright, baby. You know that.”

“I know, I know,” You nodded quickly through wet lashes, sniffling wetly.

And you did. No matter what outcome could have happened, he was alive. Eddie was alive and he was with you, heartbeat and all. It was something that you’d never be able to express your gratitude enough. You’d never be able to tell him how much it meant to you. But still, what you went through, what the both of you went through, would not ever be forgotten. Eddie knew this, and even though his instincts wanted to keep you from crying, it was what you needed. Some nights you just needed to cry. And you always held him when he did.

“M’ sorry.” You whimpered bashfully, feeling guilty for causing a rift in the peaceful atmosphere.

“No, don’t.” He squeezed you, his hand coming up to your hair. “We promised no apologies, remember? We don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

His hand found your chin, tilting you up so you could finally make eye contact. Your shining eyes met his brown ones, full of love and sorrow from your own. His hair was incredibly bushy from the added heat of the toaster you lived in, but the pale moonlight made him look like a perfect, marble statue. “Right?” His thumb coaxed your cheek.

“Right.” You bit back a cry, remembering the promise you had both made. You had nothing to be sorry for.

He leaned down to softly kiss you, his full, plump lips warm against your own. His hand cupped the back of your neck, your breathing mixing heavily with his. “I love you too.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, sitting up.

He reached over on his nightstand to grab the tv remote, and he leaned over your body, turning on the tv. You squinted your eyes from the bright light, the colorful pictures of scooby doo coming on the screen. “Come on,” He pulled you against him, turning you both on your sides to face the tv.

Your back was now to his chest, his arms and legs wound tightly around your body. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d say you’d been superglued together. The screen made your tear tracks look like diamonds, and he nuzzled his face against yours, kissing your temple as your eyes settled on the cartoon.

Whenever you both got like this, it was best just to work through it. What could have been said had already been said hundreds of times. It was just a song and dance. You knew dad by day it would get easier, hurt less. Until one day, hopefully, it would be just a painful memory.

You hugged at his arms, your breathing slowly trying to calm itself down. Shaggy and Scooby were trying to outrun some sort of villian, a group of pirates, it looked like. You usually giggled, or sometimes, deeply cackled like a drunk trucker, that’s what Eddie described it as, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull your lips up in a smile.

“Which one of these guys do you think we’d be?” He pointed his finger to the screen, glancing down briefly at you.

“Huh?” Your voice was hoarse and crackly, and you blinked away your tears.

“Ya know, scooby and the gang,” He chuckled softly. “I think I’d be shaggy.”

You didn’t necessarily feel like playing along with his game, but you knew you couldn’t drift off further into the depths of your mind. You swallowed down your sick. “I think you’re more like…like Daphne.”

“Daphne?” He exclaimed with a scoff, raising up on his elbow. “What the fuck, babe? That’s a low blow!”

You smiled softly at his dramatics, your cheek pressed against his arm you held captive. “Just cuz’ you’re so uptight about your hair.”

“Uptight?” He bit back a smile, noticing your own. “I am not uptight about my hair. If it’s anyone, that’s Harrington. Ya know, Steve the hair Harrington?”

Your lips pulled into a smile so big that it hurt your jaw, face blushing at his attempt to cheer you up. “Well, who am I then?”

He scoffed, throwing his hand up and pulling his arm from your grasp. “Well,” He sung out each letter, sitting up and bouncing the mattress beneath you. He squinted his eyes at the screen, trying to make out the blurry figures. You sighed, rolling your eyes.

“Eddie, I wish you’d go get your eyes checked.” You rolled onto your back, reaching up to tug on his hair. “You need-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it,” He waved you off with a whimsical voice. You shut up, knowing damn well Wayne was going to have to make him.

He sat there snickering to himself while you patiently waited for his answer. “Well?” You smirked.

A smug smile graced his pink lips, and he gave a proud nod. “I’d say one of them ugly pirates on there.”

“Hey!” You squealed, smacking him with a pillow. He covered himself with his arms as he laughed proudly, eyes crinkled at the sides as his shoulders shook. “That’s mean!” You said playfully, faking a hurt look.

“Kidding,” He climbed on top of you, holding your hands and placing a firm kiss on your lips. “If anyone is one of them ugly pirates it’s Dusty buns.” You both giggled in between kisses as the mention of the Henderson boy’s nickname.

He kissed your cheek over and over, then moved to your forehead, your nose, and then back to your lips. He left loud popping noises after each peck, making you giggle and squirm as he tickled at your sides.

Your arms wrapped around his neck when you both got caught up in a particular deep lock of your lips, his body settling between yours as his hand held your waist. Your tongues moved softly with the other, gracing teeth and indents of your mouths. God, you loved him. It hurt how badly you loved him.

Everything about him was perfect. The expression no one is perfect was bullshit to you, because Eddie was perfect. He was perfect in every way possible. Perfect for you. Your heart swelled deeply at the thoughts, neck craning to kiss him deeper.

And as much as you hated it, even with your eyes closed, you could feel them swelling again. You could feel the ache in your heart at pained memories. For you knew how much you loved him, the death of him would only be that much stronger. And that had come so, so close.

It was just one of those nights.

Your kissing slowed, and you softly moved to hide in his neck, his lips kissing down the side of your face. He stilled when he felt the wet feeling of your tears against his chest, your fingers digging into his bare skin. He sighed sadly as he lowered you back down to the pillow, turning you both to face the tv once again, your back to his chest as it once was. It was just one of those nights, so he held you while you cried, scooby doo playing softly in the background.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons

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half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk · 4 months

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Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 28 omg omg

mid season finale let's go batchersss 🤟

The Bad Batch 2x08

sleepy Wrecker 🤫🤲

Gonky and Echo watching Omega meditate 🥺

Omega asking Echo if he wants to try she was so innocently asking too 🥲

"I don't enjoy solitude" 💔😭

"hey boys" Rex my whole ass heart 🥰💕

lmao gives no details just is like ok meet me on coruscant like it's nbd 💀

how long has it been since they've been there ??

I'm assuming they've been there ?? idk ??

Rex introducing tbb like Cody did 🥲🤲 and Omega's little wave 💕

Echo keeping Omega back from the body, mom

the identifying number being wiped and Tech being the one to comment on not knowing that was a thing.... foreshadowing ? 👀

Echo stepping up immediately to speak in the senate 🥺

Hunter: "the senate won't listen to us, we're deserters" ... who Rampart said died in *his* attack, so the perfect people imo

"a simple data collection" right in the middle of imperial coruscant lololol ily Rex 💕

Chuchi and Omega team up 🥳🙌

they clearly don't think Chuchi is in that much danger bc they let Omega go with her ...

Omega with all her questions 🥺 she's learning everything she can

Omega's face seeing Rampart lmao meeee

he didn't even look at her 🙄

"there's nothing else she can do" HA idiot watch her go actually

Omega's run to look over the edge 🤲

"which one belongs to the clones?" heartbreaking 😫😭

I relate to Chuchi on a personal level, she cares sm about the clones 💕

Bail in dad mode keeping an eye on Omega hehe

Omega's confidence in tbb is so precious 🤲

Senator Burtoni lol blast from the past

the way she looks at Omega makes me uncomfy 👀

she gives zero fks about kamino girlll

"because I'm a clone too... it was my home .... and im angry" YES OMEGA SPEAKING UP FOR HERSELF TO A KAMINOAN I'M SO PROUD 🥳

Wrecker nearly getting zapped 👀

*mission impossible theme plays*

Wreckers saw !! bro I love it !!

Rex helping as many brothers as he can 🥺🤲

mans says he's helped "not enough" brothers... yeah but how many pls

"help's hard to come by these days..." Rex just ask him you know he'll go with you 🥲

"taking a lesson from your squad, we improvise" !!! tcw flashbacks lol I love when they have no plan 💕

knife knife knife 👀

"this is him better" Wrecker you've got this bby !!

lmao Tech controlling the cart from his datapad

Hunter's growl at Tech (again) 👀🤭

sneaky bois shhh 🤫

@anonymous-galager said Tech sounds like Crosshair in this scene hehe

regs: 'ayo someone activated the bridge' tbb + Rex: 'hey boys' they're so unserious while I'm hyperventilating 💀

the clones coming to stop tbb boys !! they're doing it for you !! 😫

Hunter: "new plan. 14, 5, 86" Wrecker: "all of them!?" I will never get tired of their plans 💕 (don't look at me plan 99 I'm not talking about you)

Rex: "we need an exit strategy" Echo: "got one, we're going over them" Rex: 😳 ??

Rex dodging blaster bolts 👌

"this should be interesting" Rex 🤝 Cody saying the same thing about tbb

Tech piloting the escape pod lmao he can literally fly anything

Rampart 🔫😈

lol he really thought he did something 💀

Omega's disguise wearing one of Chuchi's ponchos 🥰💕 Cal Kestis is coming for that poncho 👀

Rex giving Omega the data !! how much they all trust her 🥺

Rampart's whole speech full of rubbish 🙄

Omega catching her breath after running that whole way 🥺 you did good bby 💕

YES CHUCHI PLAY THAT EVIDENCE 🥳

Omega having to relive kamino being destroyed 😭💔

I PANICKED ITS PALPS 🙃

I hate that they twisted the whole thing so bad 😡😡😡

"I was following orders" well well well how the turn tables

the clones taking him away !!! it's like poetry, it rhymes 👌

Chuchi looked so defeated 😭😭😭

Omega hearing the introduction of stormtroopers ... I'm stuck in the foetal position forever 💔😫

Rex hating on palpatine hehe

"the fate of all the clones is now sealed because of us" AND THEY THINK ITS THEIR FAULT I HATE IT HERE 😫😭💔

"I will keep fighting for the clones" me too babes

I thought it was weird tbb just seemed to know Echo would go with Rex but it has taken me this long to realise they probably all discussed it while Omega was taking the data in 🙃😭

each of their lil moments with Echo 🥲

poor Omega probably blames Rex for Echo leaving 💔

"we're a squad" "we need you too" ...when I cry forever 😭

Omega literally jumping into his arms 🥺 and then wiping her tears away *screams into pillow*

the sad clone music I am in spain without the s

"keep an eye on them" ~ mom worrying about the kids

THE CROSSHAIR PARALELLS HELP-

and she's hugging Lula again 💔💔💔💔

I knew it'd be a bad idea to leave it all this close together I am gonna be an absolute wreck watching the s2 finale and going straight into s3 🙃

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maccreadysbaby · 2 years

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Angsty maccready headcanons

Yes. My heart.

A Messy List of (Angsty) MacCready Headcanons

he has really horrible anxiety no matter how cool and calm he pretends to be

the thought of his son dying floats around in his head nearly all of the time, and it takes a lot for him to just keep it together and keep it quiet

he has horrible nightmares, and always wakes up a crying shaking mess

he can never go back to sleep

when he cries, he needs someone to hold onto, or someone to hold onto him, because handling that stuff alone can send him down a really dark road and definitely has before

he has arguably the most panic attacks of all the companions

every time he gets closer to sole he feels like he’s betraying lucy

he knows deep down duncan probably won’t make it, that’s why he stays with sole instead of going back to him

because he knows he won’t even be able to function if his son dies

he is too 👏young👏for👏this👏

he is also scared for his life almost all of the time lmao

he still thinks of himself as that kid from little lamplight that’s charged with protecting everyone, and still bears a lot of weight on his shoulders that he shouldn’t have

he is more likely to start crying in front of someone than alone

he is a loud, messy, rambly kind of crier. he always seems to be muttering things sole can’t understand

he cries when he gets really mad, but then it’s just a silent, bite your lip kind of crying

when he was a teenager, after he had a near death encounter, he would fall into horrible attacks where he stayed in one spot on the ground while his mind wreaked havoc on itself for hours

he doesn’t have them much anymore though

he is soooooo freaking touch starved pleeeeaaassseee give him a hug :,(

trust me he will be putty in dole’s hands the moment they wrap their arms around him. he may be tense and awkward but inside he’s melting. probably crying a little too

he is a huge culprit of clonking out while hugging people

he gets really queasy at the sight of blood and vomit, which is very unfortunate for the world he lives in

just like piper, preston, and curie, he is a sympathy crier. he will try his best to comfort sole if they’re crying but will probably just end up crying himself

he’s afraid of not being able to see because he couldn’t see Lucy good enough to save her

#rj maccready #fallout four #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 companions #robert maccready #fo4 maccready #railroad #diamond city radio #the railroad #travis miles #the minutemen #the brotherhood of steel

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fairy-writes · 2 years

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HEY FAIRY!!! I’m so excited about your event!!! Could you write me a Roland Fortis one shot with the song This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory?? Please???

-🪐

THIS SIDE OF PARADISE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Requester: Anonymous

Fandom(s): The Case Study of Vanitas/Vanitas no Carte

Pairing(s): Roland Fortis x Gender Neutral!Vampire!Reader

Song: This Side Of Paradise by Coyote Theory

Genre: Fluff, mild angst at the end

HELLO AGAIN, SATURN LOVELY (or at least I hope it’s you, lmao, or else this is really embarrassing)

__________________________________________________________________________

Meeting Roland Fortis for the first time was less than desirable—mostly because he was trying to kill you.

The young man in front of you was broad-shouldered and well-built, like ridiculously well-built. He was your age with curly blond hair and his eyes a vibrant green. He held a ridiculous-looking weapon, but despite the absurdity of it, you had seen what it had done to your comrades.

Perhaps comrade was too kind a word. But it didn’t matter. They were still dead.

“You are a magnificent fighter!” The man crowed as you dodged yet another attack by his whip-like spearheads. You had no weapons, only your fists, and feet to punch and kick with. Yet, even without a weapon, you were doing relatively well for yourself, landing a few hits on the man.

But that didn’t explain why your ears were burning, and your heart was racing.

What was wrong with you?

You bumped into the young man again a few weeks later in town. Quite literally. He ran straight into you while you were looking at your grocery list. Your already purchased groceries went everywhere, apples and oranges rolling away as you looked up, ready to curse the poor soul who dared knock into you.

But your words died in your throat as soon as you saw those emerald green eyes again.

Was he here to finish the job? If so, why was he smiling a smile that made your stomach do jumping jacks, and your heart beat faster?

“It’s you again!” He exclaimed, and you swallowed nervously but didn’t say anything. His smile turned into a frown. He tilted his head. He looked like an adorable puppy.

No! Don’t get sucked into those eyes! Don’t fall for that charm!

“Can you not speak?” He asked innocently, and you nodded,

“Of course, I can. I’m just trying to think of what to say that won’t get me killed.” Now he looked hurt.

“I’m not going to kill you!” He exclaimed. You started to panic. People were beginning to look. You had to get him to stop. You had to get him to shut up.

He was still talking,

“I met a vampire who was actually quite pleasant! He helped change my views on your kind and—”

“If I agree to talk to you, will you quiet down?” You cut him off. There was that brilliant smile again, that smile that made your heart race.

Were you in love?

No! That couldn’t be! You couldn’t have a crush on a Chasseur!

“Of course!” He exclaimed and enthusiastically helped you up. He even helped gather what you could salvage of your fallen groceries.

The café you both sat at was quiet and nearly empty—the perfect place to talk. The waitress had seated you both in a corner booth, and after ordering coffee for the both of you, the young man looked at you, hands cradling his head with that smile of his making your belly do flips.

“My name is Roland Fortis! What’s yours?” He chirped happily. You answered much more quietly than him.

The conversation went from there, Roland asking innocent enough questions while you answered and sipped your coffee.

It was… nice.

Ask me why my heart's inside my throat

I've never been in love. I've been alone

Feel like I've been living life asleep

Love so strong it makes me feel so weak

You kept running into Roland after that. He always seemed so excited to see you, that smile of his making your ears burn and your heart race. Then, finally, it appeared after a while that you could consider him a friend.

One day, it all changed.

“I have a question for you.” He tittered, and you looked up from the crêpe you were eating. It had powdered sugar and strawberries, and chocolate syrup. It was delicious. You hummed absentmindedly as he seemingly hesitated. Why worry about what he was going to say when you could enjoy your tasty food right here?

“Will you go on a date with me?” You inhaled a bite right then and there and began to choke. You coughed and hit your chest in an attempt to dislodge the piece. Roland slid over next to you, prepared to do anything if you began to go unconscious. Eventually, however, you managed to swallow your bite and save yourself from certain death.

“Pardon?” You asked hoarsely. Roland shrugged,

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asked again. You narrowed your eyes. Was he joking? He had to be. Why would he want to go on a date with someone like you?

However, you found yourself accepting.

(Are you lonely?)

Our fingers dancing when they meet

You seem so lonely

(Are you lonely?)

I'll be the only dream you seek

So if you're lonely, no need to show me

If you're lonely, come be lonely with me

The date itself was nothing special. Just a picnic that Roland had put together himself. Somehow he had discovered all your favorite foods and managed to cook them himself. He said he got help from a ‘friend’ named Olivier. Though from his description of the man, you figured Roland had dragged him into helping.

The entire date was… nice. It was quite lovely actually. Roland made you laugh. He made you embarrassed. He made you… happy.

Which is why you didn’t object when he slowly held your gloved hand—it was cold out, snow was falling softly—then interlaced your fingers in his own gloved hand as he walked you home. He had insisted, claiming that he would protect you from any harm or danger.

You had to remind him that you were a vampire and could take care of yourself, thank you very much. He simply shrugged with that handsome smile of his.

Lonely (Are you lonely?)

Passion is crashing as we speak.

You seem so lonely

(Are you lonely?)

You're the ground my feet won't reach

So if you're lonely, Darling, you're glowing

If you're lonely, come be lonely with me

Roland kissed you on your fourth date.

He had taken you out to a nice restaurant and made you laugh again with a corny joke he had heard from his vampire friend Noé. Then, as he walked you home, he held your hand again, squeezing every once in a while as if reassuring himself that you were there.

He stood on your doorstep, laughing at something you said when you looked down at your hands, a bashful smile on your face. You watched as he reached forward and cradled your hands in his, and looked up. He looked both nervous and serious at the same time, eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to find the words to express what he wanted to say.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, and your brain stalled before your ears started burning furiously. You didn’t say anything but found yourself nodding slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered as you closed your eyes and your lips parted slightly.

It seemed like a lifetime before his lips met yours, and you gasped. He took it slow, never taking more than you gave him. He tasted like the wine you had both had at dinner and was as soft as moonlight.

Underneath the pale moonlight

Dreaming of a circus life

Carousels and Ferris heights

I'll be yours if you'll be mine

The first time you drank blood from Roland was when you were on the verge of death. A vampire with a corrupted name had attacked you, ripping a hole in your belly and drinking your blood until it had been killed by none other than Roland. He dropped his weapon—a makeshift sword made out of a lead pipe—and ran to your side, cradling your head in his lap.

He called your name, begging you to stay with him and to stay awake. You tried, but your eyelids were so heavy. It couldn’t hurt to take a nap, right?

Right as you closed your eyes, you tasted something. It was delicious.

To a regular person, other humans don’t smell like much. Not unless they were wearing perfume or cologne. But to a dying vampire… The iron, salt, blood, and juice running through fat vessels and muscles were far more tempting than anything ever produced by humans.

Roland smelled like sweat and tears, with a faint whiff of blood from the scratch on his cheek. Perhaps there was a hint of bitterness and the scent of his cologne that you had purchased for him.

Cause I'm lonely, I'm so lonely.

If you hold me, I'll be your only

(Are you lonely?)

Our fingers dancing when they meet

You seem so lonely

(Are you lonely?)

I'll be the only dream you seek

So if you're lonely, no need to show me

If you're lonely, come be lonely with me

Your eyes shot open. He had cut his wrist with a fallen shard of glass and was holding it up to your mouth, a pleading tone to his voice as he spoke.

“Drink. Heal. Please. I can’t lose you!” He begged, and your instincts took over. Your bloody hands clutched at his hand and wrist as you drank greedily from him. You drank and drank and drank until you felt your gruesome wounds start to stitch back together. Blood vessels and muscles knit back together bit by bit until you were whole again.

Roland pulled you up and held you close, burying his nose in the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Don’t scare me like that again. I love you too much to lose you.” He said softly, and your heart shattered at the wavering tone in his voice. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close,

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised.

Are you lonely?

Passion is crashing as we speak.

You seem so lonely

You're the ground my feet won't reach

So if you're lonely

Darling, you're glowing

If you're lonely, come be lonely with me

#the case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vnc #vnc roland #roland fortis #roland fortis x reader #roland x reader #vanitas roland #the case study of vanitas roland #vanitas no carte roland #the case study of vanitas x reader #case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte x reader #fairytailwzard 700 followers #fairy writes

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aadmelioraa · 1 year

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Monday Morning thought - gosh do you ever think of Isildur as a Tolkienesque Prometheus-figure. Like the ring as the fire but also the sapling as the fire and the fucking volcano presence in both narratives.

I'm afraid if I start actually reading these books I'll die a death-induced-by-foaming-at-the-mouth-over-literary-characters.

OOOOH!! I hadn't thought about that exact comparison before but it's interesting because rather than stealing in defiance of divinity, when it comes to the fruit of Nimloth Isildur is sort of stealing…out of devotion to the divine? Or in defiance of a particular demigod, who wanted the tree destroyed? But both his choice and Prometheus' can absolutely be framed as the epitome of human striving, reaching with every bit of strength for better things, providing hope for others at great personal cost...and then when it comes to keeping the ring, 100% is a similar instance of unintended tragic consequences. Also the volcano stuff...yeah, shit.

You got me all worked up about the symbolism angle here, so apologies for what follows. The white tree of Númenor is a direct descendent of Telperion, the elder of two trees of Valinor, whose light is used to create the moon after the tree itself is destroyed by Morgoth…Isildur, servant of the moon, is essentially (as in, by his essence) bound to this living thing, his life and its life are tied up in each other for almost 200 years, and he refuses to let the line of the tree end, it’s like a fucking compulsion for him from the initial instance…there’s something about his unquestioning commitment that makes me insane. Stealing the fruit in the first place is such a batshit crazy thing to do, no one asked him to do it, no one said it had to be done, he just fucking left home in the middle of the night on a suicide mission, he may not have even known why but he knew he had to save a piece of this tree. It's fucking unhinged!! He almost DIES…he should have died!! But then the fruit of the tree takes root, and it lives, and so he lives. And that cycle is repeated, Isildur brings the sapling to Middle-earth and plants it in the city where his family makes their home. Then he saves a sapling of that tree when Sauron attacks them there (I imagine this is nearly as reckless a situation as the first one, but JRRT was short on the details here as with most things from this period). Looking at it from Sauron’s POV, poor little dark lord just can't catch a break, maybe all he really wants is this tree gone and a weird feral king with a very specific gardening fixation refuses to let that happen. Sauron lost his fair form when Númenor went under, but Isildur and his family and this fucking tree make it out, and continue to survive...if I were Sauron I might take that personally too lmao.

Isildur faces so many defeats and losses between the time he steals the fruit in Númenor and his own death (and the loss of the ring), but he ensures the sapling makes it out every time. The last time he plants it, it's in memory of his brother (I won’t cry about this, I won’t cry about this, I won’t). Then Anárion’s line survives, along with the line of the tree, in Gondor, and they're the stewards who hold off the forces of Mordor for generations while everyone else is off doing their own shit.

Ultimately, Isildur is someone who is trying to make the right choices all the time, and the worst part is he does make them consistently, even later in his life, based on the information he has access to, only to die alone tragically, knowing most of the people who he loves have died too. He kept the ring as WEREGILD, before anybody comes into my notifications with snark and pj!Elrond memes…I am forever bitter that decision was framed in the movies as anything other than the choice of a broken-hearted man trying to do right by his people and the loved ones he’d lost.

Anyway, I would love to hear if you do read the books, I have been foaming the mouth over these characters for two decades off and on and I'm still going strong...not sure if that's more a recommendation or a warning lol. I got very off topic here, sorry lol. He’s just so [incoherent screaming]

#this may make no sense #but i will post anyway #kat replies #lettersforlilith #isildur #isildurposting #meta? ish?#long post #silm #lotr #tolkien

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justasightseer · 1 year

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Just finished watching Seven Kings Must Die. My thoughts are a bit all over the place as I watched it over the course of 10 days but here are some of my thoughts/queries, in no particular order.

ALDHELM SHOULD BE BURIED IN MERCIA!I want the Mercian army and people to be able to celebrate and grieve him, and to be buried in the land that he loved so much!!! Also, it absolutely broke my heart to see him die, I LOVED HIM SO MUCH. Probably what pissed me off the most is that he didn't even get a quick or honourable death. Hanging is a slow and painful death and my sweet love didn't deserve that 😭. RIP my beloved, even though you gave your life for England, you will always be every breath a Mercian. 💜⚔️

"WHERE IS SIHTRIC's FAMILY???" I think the writers didn't want them killed in the attack because that would be too brutal BUT they'd already escaped the slaughter in Rumcofa so it would have been a bit too ridiculous to have them escape this as well. Thus, they cut them completely. Just my thoughts but I think this explains it completely.

Where are all the women in the show though? One of the strengths of TLK is its diverse, interesting and realistic female characters so it was really odd to not have any of our female faves around. I know that Eliza and Stephanie weren't available but it was very odd that we didn't even get a mention of Stiorra (who was pretty much a main character in S5) and we got one of Young Uhtred, who I'm glad is living his best life as a ✨scholar✨. Beocca would be proud (and Alfred skshjsajshh).

YOUNG RAGNAR IS IN VALHALLA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't care if they couldn't get the actor or it was a deliberate removal but my teddy bear Dane is IN VALHALLA ODINDAMMIT!!! Brida saw him in Valhalla when she was dying so he is in Valhalla. I will accept nothing else.

I have no interest in critically examining the movie at this time, for now it lives in my head and heart as the final installment of my favourite show which is perfect and flawless and amazing. However, the antagonists were really underwhelming in this, possibly because of the time crunch of a movie as opposed to a full series. Something I've always adored about TLK is the way the antagonists have never been villains (at least to me). I've always been able to understand their motives and empathize a little, even when I wasn't rooting for them. This is the first time in my memory that I skipped scenes whilst watching TLK reactions but I really couldn't being myself to listen to the bad guy in his scenes with the kings. Did not care about or for him in the slightest but he performed his role adequately, I guess.

No Alfred cameo like I'd hoped but tbh, I was too emotionally invested in the movie to care as much as I thought I would, which is a really good thing. Appreciated the cameo of his tomb though (the scene where Uhtred and Aethelstan fight in the Winchester Palace).

Is this Harry Gilby's first sex-implied scene? He's so young, I just wondered. Has nothing to do with anything, just a thought. Cool that it's on TLK, if it is.

As aggravating as Aethelstan was, I was quite hurt that his innocence was being taken advantage of, even though he was being more stupid than he really should have been. It's never been this bad in the House of Wessex that a leader has followed his heart (and other bits of his anatomy) with such blind fervour, but he also is the least emotionally-constipated so I guess it makes sense 🤷

Harry Gilby KILLED IT though. Boy can acttttttttt. Those puppy dog eyes nearly killed me lmaoo.

I was a MESS when I thought they'd killed Pyrlig, my heart almost gave out lmao. That being said, it's kind of disappointing that none of our faves died in that battle. I'm not complaining, but I lowkey am. I guess we didn't have time to grieve because it was a movie.

Alfweard AND Osbert were UNNECESSARILY HOT in this 😭😭. When I saw Alfweard with a decent haircut and a tiny bit of stubble, I was like okayyyyyyyyy. Looking very respectfully, but looking nonetheless 👀

I may or may not have been calling for Ingilmundr's castration during the final battle. Definitely cheered when Dane Spy Girl got hit, IMO she got off too lightly for what she did to my beloved Aldhelm.

"My most noble friend, Lord Aldhelm" This was so sweet 🥰😊😚

The scene where Sihtric and Finan meet Uhtred at Winchester and go up to hug him and SIHTRIC PUTS HIS FOREHEAD TO UHTRED'S gets me every single time. I'm going to miss these sweet men and their forehead touches so much 😭😭

I had a feeling Finan's wife was going to die because Arnas lowkey spoiled it, but I wasn't expecting the twist.

#the last kingdom #tlk #seven kings must die #skmd #ragnar #aldhelm #uhtred #stiorra #young uhtred #alfred #alfweard #ingilmundr #seven kings must die spoilers

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verytiredtrashcan · 11 months

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For the WIP Files Game: Hair matted with blood? (I see blood and my brain just immediately zeroes in, what more hair matted with it)

I’m answering this super late but basically it’s another hurt Jason fic. And also fair enough! I feel the same way especially when it comes to Jason lmao.

I haven’t written too much for it yet, but I have an idea of what happens.

So Jason has to fight Killer Croc, for a reason I still have to come up with. And he gets his helmet broken but he doesn’t stop fighting. Which eventually results in him getting thrown into a wall and getting a serious head injury.

And then I had an idea for a specific scene where Bruce comes to help him out, and he sees Jason unconscious and covered in blood and he nearly has a heart attack because he thinks Jason died and he was too late again.

But that’s all I have! I really need to work on it some more.

Here’s a snippet of what I have so far:

“Jason was not a fan of having to investigate the sewers. But unfortunately, it was just something you had to do as a vigilante in Gotham. Especially with certain rogues who liked to live in the sewers. Fun times.”

Ty for the ask!

#I really need to work on it some more but yeah #asks #my fics

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heelys4feelys · 2 years

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I don't see the need to pit them against each other. Both. Both is good.

Anyway, I think we should get a chapter of Ijin and Seokju losing at rigged carnival games. I'd be good for them. That or they win everything because they deserve plushies.

lmao Ijin and Seokju losing at carnival games is such a fun idea. Ijin probably fails first at like,, the bottleneck ring toss. He only gets one ring on and Seokju's like 'man, I thought you’d be better at that'

It’s not even Ijin who goads Seokju into trying; it’s everyone else. Yeona probably starts it to like,, defend Ijin’s honor but then everyone else kind of joins in like ‘yeah Seokju, if it’s so easy, why don’t you give it a shot’ and so ofc he gives into peer pressure.

And proceeds to get none of the rings on the bottle

which is. uhhhhh. fucking embarrassing. At least Ijin got one ring on.

"They're carnival games!" Seokju protests, blush creeping down his neck, "They're rigged!"

*fake noises of offense from Jaehyung and Hyeokjin on behalf of carnies*

"Yeah, yeah then you try one."

So Yeongchan does and immediately gets a top shelf prize.

Seokju internally: what the fuuuuuck

and because it’s kind of fun seeing Ijin and Seokju be bad at something that doesn’t affect them, their friends want to see just how many of the carnival games they’re bad at. (it’s a lot. A Lot.)

And then they reach the Lucky Duck pond. He didn’t show too much interest before, but Seokju can tell when they walk up that one of the prizes has caught Ijin’s attention. Ijin plays one round. Then two. And then he’s about to shell out money for a fifth attempt when Seokju stops him.

“Which one are you going for?”

“That one,” Ijin says. Of course he’s pointing to the top shelf. “Dayeon would love that.”

And how can he not help with that?

Seokju doesn’t know what god was smiling down on him, but someone up there must have decided to take mercy on him, he pulls the top prize duck which he in turn gives to Ijin. Ijin’s looking at the plushie with such reverence that Seokju knows he would have pulled the entire pond for him if he had to.

Later, when everyone is ramping down and they’re heading for the exit, they realize they lost Ijin. They’re on a verge of starting a frantic search (and potentially borrowing a loudspeaker) when he comes jogging back up to them with the cuffs of his sleeves soaked and a pretty fan-tailed goldfish in a bag.

A bag which he hands over to Seokju without explanation. Not that one is needed, but it’s still a little baffling.

Seokju has never had a pet before, and he’s never really cared for fish, but he finds enjoys watching the way she moves through the water and invests more into her care than he ever would have thought. He sends Ijin photos of her every now and then; he thinks he would like to know she is doing well. A has gotten big. Seokju made sure to get her a tank that would accommodate her growth properly.

(He nearly dies of a heart attack one day when he comes back from a trip and finds that the filter broke while he was away. Needless to say he found someone to fish-sit the next time he was away.)

#sorry this took so long #it's been a Busy week

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alltheotherfairies · 2 years

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bylergiftexchange2022 - plain text version

Hiiii @hiddenbarinapocketdimension sorry this is a day late, my dinky little chromebook's motherboard literally broke in the middle of making it + I could only get to the library and use the computers there today but, hey, at least the date's pretty perfect, happy vol. 2 release day! I slightly altered the 'Mike and Will rebuild Castle Byers together' prompt, adding some of my own headcanons. I hope you enjoy! (also, I listened to the glee soundtrack while writing some parts of it, so that's officially my excuse if it's bad lmao)

This has been super fun & a great challenge, and I'm really glad I chose to participate in this exchange. Thanks @robins-schmuck for being such a great coordinator, please let me know if you ever do another one!

tw/ very long, crying, loneliness, childhood, laboratory mentions, gore, organs, panic & panic attacks, blood, brief mentions of crime scenes, a heart stopping (no one dies, it's just a very elaborate metaphor), death mentions, shame, swearing, f slur, the word stupid, poison mentions (again, metaphorical), bullet/gun mentions (metaphorical), lying mentions, mentions of ugliness, mentions of killers/murder (metaphorical, I'm beginning to think I have too many metaphors), destruction (I mean, it's heavily centric around the "It's not my fault you don't like girls!"/Castle Byers destruction scenes, so if you couldn't handle those, for which I do not blame you, you might want to sit this one out), rain, baseball bats, not being able to breathe (see: panic attacks), homophobia, internalized homophobia

Will Byers constantly feels alone. Will has days where he feels as if he's lost his entire childhood. Like it just passed him by. He realizes this isn't true, at least not entirely—three years isn't a full childhood, and yet. He, forever weeping in a monstrous place, be it an alternate dimension, blindingly white laboratory, or even what he had previously considered to be the ultimate safe space crafted by his and his brother’s shaking hands; had no adventures, no privilege of seeing it all from afar, no new friends or bonding experiences, no typical conversations at family dinners, no shot at normalcy, no dependability, no shoulders, within the monstrosities, to weep on besides his own.

He knows his childhood was not absorbed by his anguish, but, if that were to be the case, he would have no explanation for why he would cry sometimes. How he would try, in vain, to cling to old hobbies, old habits, old feelings, try to cling to, go back to, his childhood. How he would, as if gasping for air after having one’s head pressed below the sea, come to the realization that he could not go back, that it was gone. How he would cry then, violently, whimpers soon turning into wails. He had no answer. It was easier to blame it on all that had happened, rather than looking inward. Sometimes scents will take him back to his youth. There will be certain friends he cannot bring himself to talk to anymore, for so long that phone calls will have to become reunions. His mom's runny mashed potatoes, the nostalgia of them, will retroactively become the best food he's ever tasted. How he would cry then, violently, whimpers soon turning into wails. He had no answer. It was easier to blame it on all that had happened, rather than looking inward.

Will's heart nearly bursts out of his body in panic, blood spraying all over the walls like a crime scene, the vital organ sputtering to pulsating nothingness on his bedroom floor, when Jonathan, his brother and the single person he trusts more than anyone in the universe not to hurt him, emerges behind him to mess up his hair or give him a reassuring pat him on the shoulder, comforting actions that result in burst and bloody chests. He wants to turn back the clock, he wants to go down to Mike's (sort of musty, he wasn’t going to lie) basement and spend fourteen straight hours playing D&D. He wishes to revert to his childhood self. To be safe. Or, at the very least, to not be aware of possible unsafety. Now, he interacts with the world not as himself, but as an echo of who he once was, what he could be before he learned what it was like to die.

The minutes rolled away. The days had been so much interchangeable, he stopped noticing the months pass. And, all throughout that time, he has remained largely alone. He feels socially unacceptable among even his friends, among especially his friends. He does not tell them this. He always has felt shameful while being seen in the gesture of wanting anything and everything he could not have.

And, he realizes, maybe he was wrong. He can go back to the past, can go whenever he wants. But there is no one there anymore.

He longs for his friends.

Most significantly, he longs for, misses the days when Mike wasn’t being such a complete douche.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Will feels as if he's been hit over the head. It easily could have been something Troy said to Will when they were kids, when he taunted him about his faggotry. Said faggotry was a truth he had confided in Jonathan, one that only alone knew. Sure, others had suspicions, but Jonathan was the only one who knew for sure.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay?” Mike, for what it's worth, appears to be genuinely apologetic. “But we’re not kids anymore.”

And Will wishes he could tell him that he would like to be. How he never got to have truly been. That he lost it all and he needs to go back, and oh god, please, let him go back.

“I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”

Will has so many things to say. After all that had gone wrong, he figured Mike would understand why he couldn't bear solitude. That he trusted his friends to be around for him. That D&D, that Mike, is really the only way he is going to get out of the foolish inferno he's landed himself in. But his eye sockets are starting to boil up with blood-hot tears, but if there's anything Mike no longer gets to have, it's to indulge his savior complex, to see him cry.

“Yeah,” he spits out, intended venom only coming out as whimpers. He got his wish after all, at least vocally - he sounds like a helpless, heartbroken, little kid. “I guess I did. I really did.”

Will seems unconcerned that the storm is brewing more intensely than before. He runs to his bicycle, between the raindrops - he can be insensible, too - and races out of the driveway, barely being able to see the luxury car on the path in front of him. It makes no difference. All he needs to do now is go home. Distance from his shitty friends. Distance from fucking Mike, stupid Mike, who is trying to speak from behind him.

“Will. Will! Will, come on!”

Fuck you. He thinks, the very thought dripping with poison, and he is revolted by it, terrified of himself for thinking it. So he thinks it again. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck Mike. Fuck you, Mike Wheeler.

He thought it would help. That he would feel better.

It does not help.

He does not feel better.

“Et tu, Brute?” He remembered that one from history class, set in golden amber to remain in his memory courtesy of the paper Mike had written on the tale. "There would have to be trust before there could be treachery."

And now the person that he would always take a literal bullet for was the one behind the metaphorical gun.

Mike's heart was beating with the feeling that he’d done something completely and utterly wrong. It felt like when he got in trouble with his parents for lying to them or breaking one of his mom's good dishes, and he wished that he could take it back so he wouldn't have to feel bad about it anymore (and so he wouldn't be grounded). But the feeling of wrongdoing he had now was a thousand times worse, because the most important friendship of his life was at stake. If only he hadn't opened his stupid mouth, and said all those stupid things.

Stupid. So stupid.

What possessed him to say such a thing? Will had never consulted him that he liked... well, not girls, but he had started to notice things that made him wonder over the years. The Karate Kid, which he'd recently become preoccupied with, immediately comes to mind. When the party was trying to decide on a movie to watch, Max would always offer it, and Will would always agree, claiming that it was just a really good movie, despite the fact that it didn't fit the party's favored genre. Mike realized it wasn't proof in and of itself, but he'd also never had a girlfriend or displayed any interest in women. And the truth of the matter that Will had reacted to the statement with silence pretty much fortified any speculations in Mike's head.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Will's journey home is ugly. His tires' tread is wearing thin, and every so often he gets into a swerve that almost takes him down. He's drenched to the bone, his hair is adhered to his cheeks, and everything in his rucksack has been most likely decimated. He avoids his house in favor of Castle Byers because his blood flows sour around Mirkwood, as it usually does.

Will parks his bike in front of the house, turns on the lamp, and comes crashing down on the mattress. It's frigid and leaking, and his heart is still burdened with deceit and anguish. He looks at the myriad comic books in the space that is getting smaller as he grows. He analyzes the sketches on the wall, which show Will the Wise and all of their campaign's characters. He even has photographs of them all together, from trick-or-treating and years beforehand and just then Will feels fucking stupid. He couldn't hold back the tears he'd been holding back at Mike's house. He understands that they won't be children forever. But he had hoped, if only for a day, that they could play along. They might just act as though everything were the same as they were before. He could pretend to be happy and fearless, to be loved and to matter in the same way that he used to.

Things have changed since then, and there's no going back. It’s time to grow up.

Mike is right.

They’re not kids anymore.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Will makes a concerted effort to concentrate on the pages of the comic book, but Mike's voice continues repeating the same lines in his head. He turns the page, but the story still doesn't pique his interest, so he hurls it onto the ground of Castle Byers, annoyed.

“Stupid….stupid…” muttering to himself, Will shreds the picture in his hands, the one he hadn't even realized he picked up, before moving to everything on the walls, ripping drawings and photographs down with fervor. As he rips off the other pictures and drawings stapled to the wobbly walls, he repeats it again and again, crying. “So stupid. Stupid.”

He gets to his knees and crawls out of the fort, seizing the bat hanging against one of the walls. He pauses for a while, taking in the sight of the spot in which he's felt most secure for so long. He swings.

And Castle Byers collapses piece by piece, exactly as it was constructed. He never knew his killer would come from within.

Although the stronghold isn't completely waterproof, the majority of the items inside have remained unscathed throughout time. Will, on the other hand, feels suffocated when he considers all of the memories. He picks up a photo of the group from Halloween last year, and seeing the happiness and innocence, the pure youthful joy, causes him to crumble. He wants to be himself again. He wants to be ten. He does not want to know all that he knows now.

As he pounds the bat time after time, his head hurts from how hard he's crying, his shouts drowned out by the rain. He doesn't allow himself to feel bad about it, but the ache of realizing that things are now irreversibly messed up weighs heavily on his shoulders. As he smashes the bat to the earth, snagging the planks that form the entryway and ripping it completely off the structure, it feeds his rage. He feels a sickly delight in causing himself so much decay.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

This was something he needed to fix. He needed to make sure Will was alright because the guilty ache in his heart would never want to go away if he didn't. Mike dashed back inside to collect Lucas, and the pair of them leapt on their bikes, unconcerned about the downpour as they rode towards the Byers' house.

As he pedaled away, Mike thought to himself, "Please let him be okay."

When they finally got to Will’s, it was pouring more than ever before, rain saturating their coats and weighing them down like they had lead in their pockets. They beat their fists upon the front door and called out to him with desperation, but there was no answer.

Over the sound of rain pounding the metal roof like gunfire, Lucas yelled, “He's not here!”

Mike's first reaction was that he hadn't made it, that Will had been injured in some kind of bizarre accident. The prospect of life without his best friend made his stomach plummet. But then it occurred to him that he knew exactly where he was.

“I'm going to go look for him! Stay here in case he comes back!” Mike yelled over to Lucas, already taking off.

“Okay!” And that was the end of it. He should have realized this was where the will was from the start. He would have six months ago. He was still a good friend at the time. He wished he had never allowed himself to drift so far away from him, from what they used to be. But it was so simple to spend all of his time with El, and it was so intoxicating to feel like a regular teenager again, rather than the dorky frogface child who was constantly pushed around. Whatever it was, he just prayed it wasn't too late to make things right with Will, because if it wasn't, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

When Mike arrived at Castle Byers, he was jolted out of his reverie. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Mike recognized how severely he had screwed up when he saw Will with a bat in his shaky hands demolishing his safe haven. The weight in his chest grew heavier than he had anticipated.

"Will, please stop!" He screamed, his face flushed with the sound of thin tree branches cracking. Will didn't recognize his presence at all. "Please, Will!" Stop! You have no idea what you're doing!"

“Will! Will, what are you doing?"

Before he can identify Mike's words, arms squeeze him from behind and drag him away from the fractured shards of his boyhood.

"Leave me alone!" Will screams, attempting to break free from the grip around him but failing; the arms around his chest keep him immobile.

"What's the matter, Will?" Mike's voice, which is practically next to his ear, asks. Will acknowledges absently that he seems afraid.

"Mike, get out of here!" Will cried weakly in between sobs, his gaze remaining fixed on the other boy. It sounded like something someone said when they couldn't think of anything else to say. Mike's eyes welled up with tears as he realized how much his friend was suffering.

"Let me go!" Will screamed as he struggled to free himself from Mike's grip, dropping his bat in the attempt.

Mike apologized, "I'm sorry." "Is this some kind of episode?"

“No! Please, just let me go!" Will grunts as he finally breaks free from their grip and staggers away.

"Let go," Will pleaded softly this time as he sank to his knees, all his remaining fight draining from him. Mike clung to him as he fell to the ground, never letting go. Will continued to cry in his arms, and he felt his friend's agony as if it were his own, as if Will's happiness and well-being were somehow inextricably related to his own. That was how it had always been, and it still was, even though they'd just drifted away. Mike couldn't fathom a time when it wouldn't be the case. Mike put his head on Will's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him, attempting to reassure him that he wasn't alone. That he was and would always be here.

Mike murmured, trying to justify, "I didn't mean what I said." He quickly identified this was the wrong course of action because it infuriated Will all the more.

“Like hell you didn’t! We both know you meant every damn word, Mike, so don't try to pretend you didn't," Will cried as he twisted away from the larger boy. "You can't go back!"

Mike couldn't react since he didn't know how. Will spoke again before he could think of anything to add.

When Mike looks down and sees Will's hands trembling, he is instantly reminded of another time when they were sitting side by side, Mike trying to do precisely what he was trying to do now, what he had always tried to do: comfort his closest, best friend. He suddenly reached across and clasped his hand over Will's.

“Will?” Mike inquires, his voice practically drowned out by the rain. "How did this happen?"

“What does it look like?” Will spits, allowing his rage to conceal the sadness and pain that he wants to express.

"It looks like you were attacked and this place was messed up!" Mike adds, "I can't believe it," as he points to the rubbish heap that's all that's left of Castle Byers. "Are you okay, Will?" His eyes are big and anxious as he asks. Another wave of rage washes over Will.

"I'm fine. I just didn't need it anymore. Will says, childishly kicking a log and grunting as agony runs up his leg.

“What?” Mike asks, shakily and perplexed, "You did this?" Will ignores his troubled expression.

“Yeah. "I mean, it was about time," Will adds, trying as hard as he can to persuade himself as much as Mike. "I did it when I was a scared little kid. But we’re not kids anymore, huh?”

As he delivers that final part, he doesn't notice Mike's flinch. Mike extends his hand out in front of him.

"Will, I didn't mean that."

“Uh yeah, it was! You can't go back now! It's fine, I know what you meant. I think I deserved a wake-up call," Will says, stepping over a log and moving further away from his friend.

"Will, no, I said something stupid. We're just fourteen, and you're totally right about us spending too much time with our girlfriends. And we shouldn't quit doing something just because we're doing something else now. Like, we have the entire summer to do whatever we want."

Will stands there watching Mike waffle, seeming annoyed as if he's having trouble getting his point over.

"You don't have to say all this to make me feel better," Will grumbles, glancing down at the shambles around his feet. He's working hard to avoid losing it in front of Mike once more.

Mike knew they still had a lot to speak about, but he also understood that holding hands on the muddy ground in the rain wasn't the place to do it.

“Will? Let me get you home, okay?" Mike pleaded as the other boy looked across at him. Will returned his gaze to Castle Byers and then nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

Mike placed a cautious arm across Will's shoulders as they went back slowly, unsure how receptive he was of the contact at this time. Will, on the other hand, didn't push him away; instead, he let out a trembling breath. Mike remembered all the times he'd done the same thing. The casual touches and talks where one of them, typically Mike, would ramble on and on about some new thread for about as long as the other one would give them their whole attention used to be so much simpler. But that was no longer the case. Every encounter they had these days was difficult, and Mike understood it was his fault.

He had to do something about it.

Lucas was full of questions as soon as the two boys came onto the Byers' porch.

"Are you alright? Where were you?" he asked, referring to Will, though Mike answered for him before he could respond.

"I think you should go home. I've got him." he asserted.

"But shouldn't we talk about—" Lucas began, but Mike interrupted him.

“I said I got him. Look, it's all right. We'll talk again tomorrow." Lucas appeared unsure of himself and glanced at Will for confirmation.

"I'm fine," Will assured him, "but it's late, so you both should go home. It's been a long day."

Mike didn't think of leaving even for a second. Will should not have to be alone in this situation. After all, he still needed to make amends with them. He didn't feel like he could do anything else till he knew he felt better.

Mike and Will sat side by side on the couch fifteen minutes later, finally in dry clothes for what seemed like the first time in hours, even though it hadn't been that long since Will stormed out of the Wheeler household, and even less time when Mike discovered him trashing Castle Byers.

The lamplights appear to be overly dim. Except for Will's living room area television, which goes on and off, everything is quiet. Lucas snores as he flops onto his back on the couch. Mike sits down next to Will on the floor and takes a long look at him. Will was given a heavier, fleece blanket by him earlier, and it now drapes over his naked, pale shoulders. Will's top, as well as his coral-colored cargo shorts, were saturated.

He pulls the blanket up over Will's shoulders and adjusts it. Will's lack of acknowledgement seems disturbing. He should glare. Flinch. Scream at him for being such a jackass.

"Are you all right?" Mike says, his fingers cupped over Will's brow and his sweat-damp bangs pushed up. He half-expects Will to yank his arm away, but he could have caught a cold in the downpour. "You're still a little warm..."

Will hums, his hazel-green eyes narrowing, "Mm." A deep, pleasant tone.

Mike's cheeks are red and swollen. "Please accept my apology, Will.”

He mumbles, reflexively pulling away from Mike's contact, "Forget it."

"What were you thinking when you wrecked it?" He inquired, despite the fact that he was very certain he already knew. Will was the one he wanted to hear it from.

"You were right." After a brief pause, Will stated, "We're not kids. I don't need a stupid castle.”

“It’s really not stupid.”

"I'm stupid, then," Will murmured, as if he actually meant it, and Mike's chest ached all over again. He was desperate for the other boy to realize it wasn't true.

"Will, please stop. You're not stupid." Mike continued, "I'm stupid," because he was. He'd made such a mistake by allowing his best friend to drift so far away.

"Okay, we were both stupid," Will remarked, the side of his lips twisting up into what Mike thought was his first smile in a long time.

"Stupid together," Mike said after a brief pause, recalling a previous encounter. Will sighed, and he knew he was thinking about the same thing.

"Y’know, you were right, too. I am wrecking the party," Mike remarked. Will merely stared up at him, saying nothing. Mike could see he'd had enough of comforting him that the truth wasn't what it seemed, because nothing seemed to be okay.

"I know you're upset," Will replied, looking down but afterwards offering a sorrowful grin to his friend, "but it's not entirely your fault. When it's me who's so... different, I can't really blame you for all of it."

"Will, it's not your fault; it was me who-"

"No, Mike, don't you get it?" Mike had tears welling up in the creases of his eyes. "If I were like you, if I could have a girlfriend, or even wanted one," he waved between them, "this wouldn't be so hard," he said.

"But I'm not there yet. To date... somebody or to quit D&D, since playing games all day in your basement is a lot easier than facing, well, all of it. I don't want to worry about all that comes with just being me."

Mike saw immediately that Will was terrified. Except there were no creatures, spies, gateways, or darkness hiding in the recesses of his imagination this time. This was a tragically true situation. Mike couldn't blame him for wanting to stay as far away from it as possible. You can't just shout at something like that to go away when you're confronted with it. It's a part of who you are, and while it's not always a bad thing, you still have to deal with it. The gears in Mike's head started whirling as he thought about it more. He remembered Dungeons and Dragons, and how he didn't mind playing it out again and over again. He imagined how he would play it a million times simply to see Will's face light up. He, on the other hand, pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. He wasn't ready to talk about any of that just now. This wasn't about him right now.

Mike wrapped his arms across Will's waist and put his chin on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure what to say. We both know I'm horrible with words at this point," Will sighed, but Mike remained solemn as he continued, "but I swear everything will be fine."

"You can't make that promise."

"Of course I can, because I'll make sure it is. I'm sorry if I've been a dick recently, but I'm going to try harder to... not be. I can't live without you," Mike says, moving his head to look Will in the eyes, his arms tightening as he said the last sentence.

Mike smiled back at Will, and Will smiled back. At that time, it felt like they could finally, at last get back to business as usual. As he sat there hugging a happy Will Byers for maybe the first time in years, Mike realized what he said was true.

They'd make certain it was. Both of them, together. How it should be.

Mike is all alone. And he despises being by himself. Nobody can fill the abyss that exists next to him. Nobody nearby to enjoy his lame remarks. There was nobody to stop the vacancy in his heart. Being alone has that effect on people. at least in Mike's case. His innards appear to have constricted and become as compact as reasonably practicable, making his body appear to have shriveled in size. He feels like he's smothering, like if his windpipe is stuffed with feathers and he can't swallow it regardless of how hard he keeps trying. It appears as though the world is about to become inundated by a dam breaking beneath his eyes. It hurts tremendously.

He has always experienced these feelings at various points in his life. But he could always count on that special someone to step in and lend a hand. Could aid in filling the crater in his heart and patching the dams' concrete walls. Will. Will was always there.

Will, with his delicate gestures and comments. Will with his soft, reassuring touches. Will's capacity to see Mike. To look at him in such a condition and not feel pity for him. To see him and understand how to help. Will was now, however, miles and miles away. And although Mike could call him, he won't. Mike last spoke with Will at the end of August. December has come. Will's favorite season of the year is here, but Mike won't call. Because he is aware that if he does, all of his emotions would surface and he won't be able to control them.

El, for one, has been receiving letters from him. It's a way to communicate with her without needing to make a phone call. Without her asserting "I love you," and him saying "goodbye!" instead. Without her enquiring as to whether he would like to speak with Will or informing him that "Will wants to say hello," This makes the letters simpler. He discusses his family and his school. In regards to how much he misses her and how eagerly he awaits their upcoming spring break reunion. But the truth is that he's terrified of it. He feels his stomach lurch and his heart race at the notion of seeing Will. That, he believes, is unfair to El. That he misses Will more than she realizes, but won't tell her.

Or perhaps it's even worse for Will. It's unjust since all he needs to do is hold Will and try to convince him how much he loves him. to be with him throughout the whole of spring break. Perhaps the most unjust thing is that he has so many undelivered letters addressed to Will stashed under his mattress. These letters have more depth. Much more emotionally charged and informative. Those are authentic and accurate communications. Without addressing it, they openly confess millions of things. And Mike genuinely wants to send these to Will, and yet no matter how much he tries, something, everything, always gets in the way.

Mike takes out his notebook and pen.

Dear Will,

I miss you. It's true, even if I've said it in each and every one of these letters. It hurts that I miss you so much. You have no concept how painful it is to be apart from you. I am aware that neither you nor your mother are to blame, yet it still enrages me. Why can't we be happy after everything we've been through and accomplished? Bullshit, that's what it is. We should be happy. We deserve an award. All of it is so unfair.

I even go to your house more often than not. despite the fact that it is empty. I enter your bedroom and sit quietly, attempting to picture you still there. You're drawing at your desk, every time. You simply appear. It smells like you even though no one has been in there for months. But it's fading. I also occasionally visit Castle Byers. I restored this torn picture that I found for you. That was the least I could do, I reasoned. I'm hoping to see you again soon. You'll have something to look forward to since I have a surprise for you. If you want to return.

I've recently been going through your artwork. I'm not sure if you were aware of this, but I still have a collection of your work. They date back a while, but they're still incredible. In any case, better than I ever could manage. Your talent has always been there. I seriously wish I had a few of your new stuff. I'm sure you've improved throughout our absence.

I miss you. I miss your smiles, laughter, and sometimes even those corny jokes you would make. Hope you still think about me.

I'm sorry for what I said that day.

Love, M.

The taped-up photo of Mike grinning foolishly at Will is tucked in with the folded-up piece of paper as Mike places it in an envelope. He even goes so far as to write Will's contact details on it. He buries it beneath his mattress. He’s still alone.

After Will moves, Mike constantly returns to the now broken Castle Byers, as to indulge his intense feelings of guilt. It’s new for him, this guilt. He’s an arrogant son of a bitch, he knows, who can't admit when he's sorry. He thought he couldn’t live with himself if he managed to hurt Will. But if there’s anything these last few years have taught him, it’s that he would always manage to be surprised by what he could live with.

He comes up with grand plans to rebuild it, but, when he attempts to put said plans into fruition, eventually has to ask for Lucas' help - Mike can't build for shit, he's too weak to pick up the literal and metaphorical broken walls. It's fun, and they laugh sometimes, but mostly they are silent, consumed by their remorse and shared atrocity. Mike likes Lucas, but can't help but think it would be different if he knew. Perhaps his shirt wouldn't be off. Perhaps he would hide himself from Mike's sick, uncontrollable attraction that he presumes must apply to him but never discuss it. He would take off his bandana. They would never watch Karate Kid again.

They manage to finish it in the end.

But it’s not enough to cure his ache. Not with some of Will's best work, of which he was proud of enough to display in the finest gallery he knew, disintegrated into a runny mess of notebook paper clumps, the red and blue ink of the lines rudely interfering with the inks Will chose himself, for embellishment.

Amongst the heaps of barely-paper that only twisted the knife of his guilt, he saw a flag with colorful stripes across it, all the colors of the rainbow.

Mike being Mike, he has no fucking idea what it means (it’s hardly like his parents are willing to replace their beloved American flag in lieu of a pride flag rippling in the wind in their front yard), so he’s just completely oblivious. He’s used to being this way, even if he doesn’t know it. Sometimes, when he was with Will, he could not see himself, only the brunette in front of him.

Oblivion almost serves as a soothing drug, to be honest, at least in this case. Instead of going into a panic, thinking ‘Maybe I have a chance…’ and berating himself for it for god knows how long, all that is on his mind is ‘Oh shit, I need to replace this!!!’.

The second he returns to his house that feels less like a home than the Byers’ empty one, he mercilessly steals Holly’s obscene amount of markers and books it down to the basement before she and her fingernails of knives get their revenge. Putting a poster board that was supposed to be for a school project he found he had no motivation for to use - he figures a normal piece of paper would work, but, instead, he decides to make it as obnoxiously big as he possibly can, because this is Will he's making it for, so, naturally, it's has to be good enough for the Louvre - and starts making a new one in his basement.

The new flag takes its place right in the center wall of Castle Byers, and he honestly cannot remember being this proud of himself for making anything before. To make up for the lost masterpieces, he tapes up some of Will’s drawings from his collection on the walls there too, along with some doodles and chicken scratch of his own that couldn’t hold a candle to their comparatives, but he knew Will would appreciate them all the same.

But he’s not yet done, because phase two of the plan is to apologize. He’s never been good at humility, and yet he knows there’s no way around it: he was an asshole and this might be the only espace for constantly feeling like shit for treating Will like shit and he can’t think of anything that would be more awkward than if Will came to visit and he hasn’t apologized yet.

It's more difficult than he would like to admit. He and Will are opposite ends of a spectrum, in that way. Will’s life is made up of ‘I’m sorry’, whereas his is made up of excuses. Will feels like he has to apologize to people, to things, to life itself, whereas Mike wants to burn all of those things down in his warpath. He spends no less than two hours - it’s undoubtedly more, but his weariness grew as he kept checking the clock, so he eventually gave up on that and chucked it out his window, knowing full well there would be hell to pay for that later - writing up his script for what he'll say, because his nervous heart is eating up his body and he wants it to be nothing short of perfect.

It takes a full week to gather up the courage to dial the Byers' new phone number. After five rings, just as he’s about to bail, none other than William Byers picks up the phone and Mike’s nerves shrivel up, and his brain feels like it’s consumed by nerves, so he just hangs up.

And every time he tries to call, which is many, many, times, he keeps on chickening out, his veins keep filling with poison.

It takes forty-five tries and enough of a phone bill that Mike was grounded for three weeks before he ultimately speaks, and Will, who, by the fifteenth call, finally grew suspicious as to why the fuck were random people just called and hung up, dons a shaky, slow, smile that builds as the surprise sinks in and asks if he's the one doing the aforementioned calling and hanging up.

“Yeah.” He choked out, cringing as his voice cracked, a cold wave of dread washing over him. The embarrassment was something he could feel in his flesh, like a handful of sun-warmed mud clapping on his head, because oh shit, he didn't realize just how weird, just how creepy that is.

In a final act of desperation, he sucks it up and professes his apologeticness to Will, but, even speaking to the person who could calm him with a simple phrase, he was never, never, clam, never for an instant, panicking and rambling so much that ninety percent of what he's saying is just 'um' and 'uh'. Will eventually cuts him off, laughter bordering on giggles, telling him that it's fine, that he forgives him, but if he keeps on going on and on like this, he's going to hang up on him. The feelings they feel upon this confession of understanding, of pardoning, are as if intertwined. And perhaps they were. The feeling of being forgiven by a loved one and forgiving a loved one oneself are perhaps so much alike there's no reason to try to keep them as separate entities.

And as Mike smiles the quintessential Mike Wheeler Smile, predominantly reserved for Will:

complete with a brightened face, as if glowing, eyes lit up, sparkling and twinkling, and cheeks dimpled, Will swears he could hear it over the landline.

Months pass. The Byers’ return to Hawkins briefly to ensure Will’s fifteenth birthday was not one tainted by loneliness. Mike and Will walk together, languidly, through the garden’s overgrown offerings, with lazy Sunday pacing. The towering March dahlias were caught off guard as they shrugged and exposed their crimson skins towards the spring breeze. Stumbling through the springtime forest their bare feet warmed to the bone, shorts torn by thorns and snagged to rags. Mike was planning to show him the remodeled Castle Byers as his gift to him, but, as usual, he got in the way of his own goals, so excited he just accidentally blurted it out while they were flipping through the illustrated Batman saga, and Will insisted he see it right that instant.

And see it he did. In fact, seeing it was all he seemed able to do. Sitting before a fortress plastered in rainbows, lingering hues of the faintest gray periods of the past. His heart tired, busy worrying that this was a taunt, busy worring how Mike found out that he was gay. Eyes glued. His mother always said not to stare.

And then all he can say, not ‘I love you’, not ‘wow’, not ‘thank you’, is “How did you know?”

Mike's never been so utterly confused. But he doesn’t want to make a wrong choice again, he knows that he really needs Will in his life. The stakes are so high, he doesn’t think he can handle replying at all. “Know what?”

Will looks at him quizzically, wondering if he was really about to make him say it out loud. “...Know that I’m gay?”

To Will’s bemusement and abject horror, Mike's just standing there with the world’s stupidest look on his face. The silence seems to last too long, but Will wishes it lasted longer when Mike blurts out “You’re what?!” Will can’t really blame him, it’s an incredibly well-known fact that Mike never thinks before he talks. But that doesn’t ease the fact that Will feels like his mind is a bee hive that has broken open, and the entire hive of raging bees are swarming and buzzing around his head. Because it turns out that Mike didn't know? He really was a rollercoaster, that Wheeler.

They gape at each other in complete, stifling, quiet, for infinity. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t have a face. When, at last, Will can’t stand it anymore, he throws up his hands. “Then why the fuck did you put up a pride flag? It’s a gay symbol."

Mike's face was carefully blank as the realization about how fucking dumb he is washes over him. He felt his neck hairs stand on end. His mind flashed back to all the previous times he had questioned things about both himself and Will, how each time he never listened to himself. He had always denied it...until now. And now he had to come to terms with how badly he had misunderstood the Cool Rainbow Poster. “Oh! That’s cool! I, uh, I like…I like rainbows, too.”

Will gave him a generous smile, one of exasperation, affection, and quite a healthy heaping of amusement. "Mike…"

"On the swings, you were by yourself. The day we met," he goes on to tell him, hoping he’s not setting his newfound asshole-ness in stone in doing so. "I remember you obviously looking at everybody else having fun, but you wouldn’t leave the swings. You didn't go play flag football." Mike can still hear the reverberation of Will's swing's steel rings humming between his molars. "That's because Andy Jones started calling you a queer and the other guys started laughing."

Will smiles with sentimentality tattooed all over his features. "But you didn't," he breathes, his gaze fixed on Mike.

"What?" Mike remarks with a gruff chuckle and gleaming brown irises. "Did you really think you would be the only one at school?" Will's shock serves as confirmation to him. Mike cries out in a trembling, enraged manner while throwing his fingers over his lips. "I like guys, too... how fucked up is that?"

Will firmly asserts, his brows furrowing, "It's just not, is the thing. You don't have anything wrong with you, Mike."

Mike hangs his head and rubs his nose. "I avoided you all summer..."

Will nudges him with his hand, and their fingers entwine. He murmurs drowsily, resting his head on Mike's scalp as they move, Mike's second arm wrapping around Will's neck. It was the kind of intimacy that Mike always thought would leave him in a state of decay - he did not particularly like to touch or be touched, but it was a sort of paradoxical dislike. He abhorred physical touch because he simply craved it too much - like Will in the summer of ‘85. He wanted to be held very tight, and this would prove to be his glue, holding him together so he would not shatter to pieces. It was none of those things. It was comforting. Right. "When this is over... we could go to the playground... like it was before," Will adds.

It will be just like before. Before the horrors and the Upside Down.

#bylergiftexchange2022 #my writing #byler #byeler #will byers #mike wheeler #el hopper #angst #fluff #they're gay :|#long post #plain text

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yaminerua · 8 months

Text

A little hurried because I have to get a bunch of other stuff done tonight but it's done;; I have no medical knowledge lmao

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Today's prompt was Injured, and boy is that an easy thing to be when your ship's prone to getting pursued by hostile enemies

Words: 2942

****

Lister would die one day. It was an undisputed fact, an inevitable, cold, hard truth of the universe. Lister knew it. Cat and Kryten knew it. Rimmer knew it. Hell, he frequently cracked jokes about it at every chance he got, making light of it all. Hardly a day could go by without him commenting on Lister’s shoddy self-care (or lack thereof) and atrocious diet and waxing lyrical about the catastrophic cardiac event that would one day put an end to a lifetime spent drowning in beer milkshakes and curry sauce and tobacco.

It was an established fact at this point, though, that when Lister died, Rimmer would too. It was just the nature of their relationship. Rimmer had been brought back for the sole purpose of keeping Lister from losing his mind to the soul-crushing loneliness of being the last of his kind, the only human heart left beating at the edge of existence. It stood to reason that once Lister was gone Rimmer’s reason for existing would be gone too and their lights would flicker out together, whether Rimmer wanted them to or not.

It wasn’t something he liked to think about. He had already died once, over 3 million years ago when he had been barely into his thirties, from an accident that he had had an unintentional hand in causing. As far as he was concerned he didn’t want to have to ponder the uncomfortable reality of having to die again someday, just because Lister had to go and be fragile and mortal and human.

It was an uncomfortable truth and Rimmer coped with the existential dread and creeping unease of it all by dragging Lister down into the misery with him. Maybe if he kept reminding him how deeply unpleasant his fated heart attack would be one day, he’d think about trying to do something to delay it as long as possible. Fear was, generally speaking, a fairly effective deterrent for most things, and a pretty powerful motivator for others. It was just unfortunate that Lister seemed to be immune to its effects. It was either that or the apathy had set in early and he just didn’t give a smeg anymore.

The important thing was that Lister’s inevitable, natural demise was largely, thankfully, a future problem, something he could safely just brush aside and not have to think about in the here and now, a bridge he would only have to confront the idea of crossing when he finally got to it in maybe another thirty or forty years. It was far off, distant, not an imminently pressing concern and therefore something Rimmer could quite happily poke fun at in the meantime and continue to avoid having to ponder too deeply.

Unfortunately, there were plenty of other ways to die, and although physical health and wellbeing were something that could be monitored and – to a certain extent – controlled and managed, there were other things out there that were far less predictable and far harder to account for.

Starbug lurched violently to the side as a blinding flash of light filled the cockpit, a thunderous boom crashing somewhere in the back, rocking the entire vessel and nearly throwing its inhabitants right out of their seats.

Hands splayed out bracingly over the navigation console, gripping on for dear life, Dave Lister huffed out a startled, hurried breath and straightened up in his seat, eyes wildly searching the various screens and scanners for a read out on what on Earth had just happened.

“What the smeg was that?” he cried, flicking switches to silence the emergency alarms that were blaring aggressively in his face from seemingly all sides.

In the back of the cockpit, Kryten quickly surveyed a screen to his right, a grave look of dismay on his robotic features. “We’ve been hit, sir,” he said.

Well, that much was obvious but Lister wasn’t going to be the one to say it. “What by? Who are they?” he asked, peering out into the vast expanse of space in front of them, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of their pursuers. “What do they want?”

“Let’s just hope it’s not Listy’s in-laws looking to put the death in ‘til death do us part’,” Rimmer sneered grimly behind him, his face pale and strained, adam’s apple bobbing with anxiety.

“Ha ha. Very funny, Rimmer,” Lister bit back flatly, though there was a nervous edge to his tone that belied his true feelings on the matter. He really hoped Rimmer was wrong. “Kryten? Any clues?”

“A simulant ship from the looks of things, sir. It was probably waiting for someone to approach the nearby derelict.”

“Gotcha. Any damage from that last hit?”

“Just superficial for now, sir, but we’d best shake them off before they can do any worse.”

“With you all the way on that one, Krytes,” Lister nodded and then glanced to his right. “Cat—”

“Already on it, bud,” Cat cut in, inputting the commands necessary to give Starbug a fighting chance at escaping. “Engaging re-heat right now,”

“Okay. Rimmer, keep an eye out for anything incoming. Kryten’s right,” Lister said, shaking the tension out of his shoulders and flexing his fingers on the controls. “We don’t want to risk any direct hits.”

Rimmer nodded grimly and swallowed hard, his gaze fixed nervously on the screens, jaw tense and mouth drawn taut. “Why does no-one ever accept a good old fashioned surrender these days?” he muttered bitterly. “The sooner we shake them off the better.”

A few deceptively quiet moments passed wherein nothing of note seemed to happen, which only served to worsen the burgeoning anxiety over the situation waiting apprehensively for whatever the next move would be. It was something akin to the deeply unsettling quiet before an oncoming storm. The simulant ship was a small but agile vessel, looming somewhere behind on the starboard side, dipping in and out of view so frequently Rimmer was having to constantly switch between different display readouts to keep track of it.

According to Kryten there was a suitably large debris field from the nearby derelict ship they had been planning to investigate that might be able to provide them some cover long enough to give them a chance to formulate a better plan of evasion so Cat and Lister were easing Starbug round to make directly for it, fingers ready to swerve out of danger at the slightest indication of it.

To a certain extent they were somewhat used to this by now. They had escaped from GELFs and simulants multiple times in the past so there was a wealth of experience there to draw upon but it never quite stopped the roiling dread from stirring itself up into a tempest in their guts. Every encounter had an element of unpredictability about it and relied strongly on a discomfiting mix of skill and luck. Luck may have been on their side up til now but there was always a risk that one day it might run out.

On the scanners, the simulant ship suddenly veered sharply to the side and disappeared. “Smeg,” Rimmer cursed, flicking frantically through all displays in search of it. “I’ve lost visual on it. Kryten?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost them too, sir. They’re probably preparing to—”

The whole ship quaked as a second blast hit out of nowhere, the navigation console sparking dangerously with the energy surge the shock sent through the system. Above them, a panel fell loose and dangled freely over Lister’s head, held on by little more than wires.

“The whole place is gonna fall apart on its own before we even take a third hit,” the Cat cried, attempting to steer away from their current trajectory and out of lock-on range. “We’re deader than crocs and those things never should’ve existed in the first place!”

“Easy, Cat, man,” Lister said, holding a hand out, trying to steady both the Cat’s nerves and his own. “We’ve got out of bigger scrapes than this. Just keep evadin’ them. I have to sort this.”

Standing up, he grabbed hold of the loose panel and tried to reaffix it back in place. Behind him Rimmer rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, leave the smegging thing, Lister!” he snapped. “You can fix it later when we’re not at risk of becoming space mince.”

“It’ll just take a second, Rimmer, don’t be so—”

BOOM!

A third, far more powerful hit rocked the ship, throwing Lister violently off balance. He jerked forwards, unable to steady himself, his head colliding sharply with the solid metal of the overhead console unit before falling backwards, his body falling heavily, limply over the back of Rimmer’s navigation station.

“Lister?” Rimmer cried out in alarm, a sickening, bottomless feeling opening up in his gut as Lister failed to immediately respond.

“Mister Lister, sir?” came Kryten’s concerned voice to his right but Rimmer could hardly hear him, the blaring alarms of Starbug beginning to fade into distant, crackling static.

His eyes were fixed, wide open and horrified, on a weeping gash on Lister’s forehead, thick rivulets of dark crimson flowing steadily out from it and trickling alarmingly down over his unresponsive face.

Lister was hurt. Lister was bleeding.

Rimmer couldn’t breathe. Tension had gripped his chest, cold and tight, and even though he didn’t necessarily need to breathe anymore, the pressure that was rapidly building in his simulated lungs felt about as realistic as if he did.

Starbug had all but faded into nothingness around him now, little more than a hazy blur of flashing lights and undefined shapes. There was a hollow ringing in his ears, high-pitched and piercing, and anything else that might have been going on had become muffled, as though his head had been stuffed full of cotton. It felt a little bit like passing out but without the unconsciousness.

The only thing that remained in crystal clear focus was Lister. The only thing that mattered—

“…sir! Mister Rimmer, sir!”

“What?” Rimmer blinked, startled back to reality by a hand clamping down on his shoulder.

He felt unmoored, faraway, a strange wobbly tremor running through his whole body, anxiety thrumming under his skin like electricity. He didn’t really feel like he was piloting his own body.

He dragged his eyes away from Lister’s unconscious body to stare, panicked, into Kryten’s gravely serious face.

“I said you need to get Mister Lister to the Medical Bay,” Kryten said, a detectable note of concern evident in his voice. “I’ll fill in for him here and see if myself and Mister Cat can’t navigate ourselves out of this sticky situation.”

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up on that one, bud…” the Cat muttered anxiously, tilting the joystick in his hands in fervent hope that it would steer them away from danger. “My nostril hairs can only do so much to help figure out where these dudes are at. It’s gonna take a miracle to get outta this one.”

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic, sir!” Kryten insisted, manoeuvring himself round to the front and hooking an arm underneath Lister’s frame. “We’ll be fine. Mister Rimmer, sir, a little help?”

“Oh, right.”

Feeling decidedly detached and a little unsteady, Rimmer shakily got to his feet and hurried round to assist Kryten in lifting Lister up and away from where he had collapsed across the navigation console. Little by little he felt that he was coming back to himself, immobilising fear giving way to a distressed, frenzied rush of adrenaline bringing the rest of Starbug back into sobering sharp focus. As Rimmer shifted to take the full brunt of Lister’s dead weight, Kryten let go and slipped past him, sitting himself down heavily in the vacant seat and taking hold of the controls.

Rimmer was thankful his hard-light drive granted him slightly more physical strength than he would have had otherwise but even so he did not appreciate having to drag Lister by himself out of the cockpit and down into the medical unit. Even under perfectly normal circumstances doing that would have been difficult but doing so while Starbug was being buffeted by enemy fire and swerving sharply to perform evasive manoeuvres only made it harder. The relentless tilting was enough to make even the hardiest stomach feel seasick and the lack of consistent balance nearly had him topple over onto the central table and chairs at one particularly jarring impact quake.

By some miracle, Starbug was still holding itself together by the time he made it to the medibay and after one particularly strenuous heave to get Lister up on the medical table and safely secured Rimmer had to lean heavily against the wall to gather back his breath and steady his nerves.

Looking down at his hands, he found them trembling slightly, the sight of dark red blood smeared across his fingertips an unwelcome reminder of just what was at stake here. Lister’s face didn’t look any better, the wound on his forehead still leaking steadily, the deep crimson meandering down the curves of his face making him look worryingly pale under the medibay’s harsh lights.

Never had Lister’s fragile humanity seemed more stark and obvious than now, when all the bravado and self-assured confidence and untameable vitality was stripped back to reveal the vulnerable mortal body it masqueraded around in. It made Rimmer feel overwhelmed with a sense of aching helplessness.

Checking Lister over as quickly and comprehensively as he could, given the circumstances, he was relieved to find that he was still breathing, that his heart was still beating, that at least for now he was alive and still maybe had a fighting chance at survival.

As another violent swerve tilted the ship, Rimmer grabbed hold of the bar at the back of the medical table and hooked his arm tightly around it to stabilise himself in the event of another hit. With his other hand he pressed the palm firmly against the gash and applied pressure, hoping at least to get the bleeding under control. The medicomp was still performing a more in-depth scan so the full extent of Lister’s injuries for the moment remained to be seen but Rimmer hoped fervently, prayed to whatever god there might be out there – whether he believed in it or not – that it wouldn’t be serious, that it was nothing more than a superficial flesh wound. Head injuries always bled heavily, after all. They always tended to look worse than they might actually be. Maybe this would just be like that. For Lister’s sake (for his own sake, of course, how could he forget?) he hoped it would be.

He didn’t want to think about the alternative.

It felt like he was standing braced like that for an eternity. Lister’s head was warm under his palm, which was a tremendously reassuring comfort, and when he finally peeled his hand away to check if the wound had stopped bleeding he was utterly relieved to find that it had.

The quaking of the ship had largely stopped now and the sound of the engines had died down to a quieter rumble, which to Rimmer’s mind suggested that they had managed to get away somehow. He breathed a tentative sigh, not letting his guard down quite yet until he heard news from the cockpit but the encouraging quiet did allow him to loosen the crushing grip he’d had on the examination table and straighten up a tad.

With a little more stability, he was able to properly assess the medicomp’s readouts and relax a little at the assurance that Lister would likely only come away from this with something of a concussion and a treatable head would. Lady Luck was still smiling down on humanity’s last stubborn survivor, for now at least.

Free to move around now, he quickly located some supplies and proceeded to carefully clean the blood from his hands and from Lister’s face, careful not to aggravate the wound as he did so.

He wasn’t sure if it was just because he wasn’t bleeding profusely from his head anymore but Rimmer swore that a little colour had started to return to Lister’s complexion. It now actually looked like he was going to be alright and the immense rush of relief that Rimmer felt flooding through him at that realisation was almost enough to floor him, all that frenzied, anxious energy threatening to drain away through the soles of his feet all at once and render him an exhausted but deeply relieved husk of a man.

The hand that had been dabbing away the blood hovered, just for a moment before he retracted it, over Lister’s left cheek, the backs of his fingers lightly grazing the skin before a pulse of something strange and fluttery flared alarmingly in Rimmer’s chest and prompted him to quickly pull it away.

It was self-preservation, he told himself firmly as he wrung his hands together nervously, anxiously, waves of some unfamiliar, strange emotion washing over him, setting off the frantic, rapid beating of his heart again. Self-preservation – nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t mean he cared about Lister on a personal level, on any level at all! It was just a means of survival. He had to give a smeg about keeping Lister alive because it kept himself alive by extension. That was all it was. That was all…

As he looked down at Lister’s face he tried, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time, to suppress that pestering little voice in his mind that told him that that wasn’t all it was, and that he knew it.

#smegtober2023 #Red dwarf

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