#mike's furnace

[putrefurnaced]

Ghost bat illustration detail.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

HIS PURPLE SWEATER, mike schmidt x f!reader

He leaves it on, but you kind of figured he would. The most he's willing to do is tug it up to your chin so he can duck down and tease a nipple between his teeth, or push your tits together and swirl his tongue around the hardening nubs until they peak.

He knows how wet that makes you, and you know how hard that'll make him. Settled on his lap, you can already feel him poking into your inner thigh, pulsing and hot as a furnace even through his jeans.

You knew he'd react like this when he got home and found you lounging on the couch, bare from the waist down, but you hadn't expected him to be so worked up. You should've known better. Mike's new job is exhausting at best, and he's been especially frustrated lately.

Of course he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth or hands off you. You're wearing his favorite sweater.

"You look really fucking good in my shirt, you know that?" he mumbles against your lips, his hands roaming your skin greedily as he bucks into your naked heat.

"Yeah? You gonna fuck me in it?" you tease breathily as his zipper grazes your clit, swiveling your hips into the slick mess you're making of his lap.

He sucks in a harsh breath, dropping his hands to your waist to guide you back and forth across the thick outline of his cock. His grip is hard enough to bruise, and you can tell he's trying not to hurt you, but he's having a hard time holding back.

You card your fingers through his dark curls, encouraging him to take what he needs.

"Yeah, baby. I'm gonna fuck you in it."

[thegnomelord]

pls pls pls pls pls pls write something with hound getting a lil chubby during rehab pls i want to see him soft and comfy, being hand fed and cuddled. hound with a little tum from finally having not only enough to eat but enough rest to actually gain a little extra weight pls im in my knees characters getting a lil chub as a sign of healing my beloved

Okay here's a small brain fart for you:

You've gotten fat.

it's a rather egregious exaggeration, according to the two sergeants, but it's the first thing you think of when you look in the mirror. Your hard muscles still bulge beneath your skin when you flex, but now there's a layer of fat cushioning your frame — it smooths the planes of your abdomen, widens the circumference of your thighs and the breadth of your shoulders until you're popping the seams of your clothes, the layer of fat deepening the cleavage between your pecks whenever you cross your arms. Even your cheeks look chubbier than they had before.

You don't look like death warmed over, and you don't know how to feel about it. The psychologist says it's a good thing, your body finally figuring out it can slow down and focus on healing instead of constantly living on the edge of a knife.

But you just don't see it. It feels like you're regressing; Forgetting the harshness of the wild when you're collared and leashed by the fireplace, growing fat and lazy, complacent. A spoiled dog isn't loyal.

You let out a noise at the back of your throat when Johnny suddenly rushes into the small room you've been given, the door slamming open and closed. You don't have time to even say a single word before he's in front of you, "Hide me!" and then he's gripping your shit and pushing himself beneath it. Your frame is big enough to where you completely block him out, and his arms wrap as much as they can around your waist so he can cling to you.

You're rarely stunned to the point you don't know what to do, but this is one of those times.

A second later you hear a "MacTavish!" and loud footsteps rush down the hall, accompanied by loud swears and threats you can only assume are from Ghost.

Johnny waits still as a statue as the footsteps grow quiet, his breath washing over your skin from where his face is pressed against your chest. When they grow quiet he shuffles, a couple of seams popping in the already stretched out shirt until he pokes his head through the head hole of the shirt, resting his chin on the top of your sternum. "Thanks laddie, saved me skin there."

"Что блят?" Is the only thing your mind can force out, defaulting to Russian because you haven't been able to dig up your mother tongue from the grave the old you is buried in.

"Ah don't worry about it, the bloody dobber had it comin' with his bloody tea in chef Mike an' — Hmmm," His attention focuses on you, head disappearing beneath the shirt once again until only his stupid mohawk pokes out as his hands give an experimental squeeze at your sides, some of the fat getting trapped between his fingers. "Hey, have you gotten bigger? Ah could swear you weren't so fluffy before."

"That a nice way of calling me fat?" You feel the need to cross your arms, to hide the cushioning hiding your muscles. Ants gnaw on your skin where Soap touches you, his calloused palms sliding as far as they can and a strange sound rumbling in his chest when he registers that the space between both of his hands is indeed larger than it had been a couple of months ago.

"Nonsense!" He guffaws, "There's just more ta love." He hums, hands pinching the fat at your sides, evidently too content with your position as his human furnace to even think about detaching from you. "Oh yeah, you've filled out. Yae know hens love the dad bod, get some more hair on yer chest an' you'll be reeling the bucks in too."

"That-" You have to bite your lip when his hands suddenly shoot up to grope your pecks. He pushes them together and buries his face in the cleavage created. Your brain completely shuts off when he fucking motorboats you, shaking his head and making a sound right against your chest to the point you're sure you can feel the vibrations in your spine.

"MacT-avish!" The sound that escapes you is humorously high-pitched for someone of your size, your voice cracking as you feel your entire face grow hot.

He pokes his head back out like a whack-a-mole, a very pleased look on his face. "Yeeess?" He asks, sickly sweet. "Something the problem big man?"

"I-" You try, too many thoughts weighing down your tongue, "-You-" this time your voice cracks, "-why-" you hiccup, your lungs choosing this time to request air as you breathe in. You look in his eyes as best you can, but the way the sparkle makes it difficult for your body to stoke the flames of anger you've grown so used to feel. ". . . блят." You finally manage to say, your shoulders sagging.

He grins at you, his hands sliding down to pet the soft surface of your stomach, fingers pressing down to feel the hard muscle beneath the fat. "Aye, big bear of a fucker, you are." He grins and goes on his tippy toes, the shirt moving up with him before he lightly pecks your lips. "Yae look good like this."

"Yeah?" You grunt, trying not to show how the soft touch affects you but your ears feel like you'd dipped them into the pits of hell.

"Definitely." He's confident when his hands slides down to grope your ass, forcing another embarrassing sound from your chest. "Now how about we get some more food in yer belly? Make you the famous MacTavish pie."

[sod-arts]

And now she saw into his very essence—a smoldering furnace of a heart, a passion so furious that the intensity of his feelings might be the very thing to incinerate himself into his worst nightmare: a cold, withered dragon’s final grasp for control, its brilliant home burned away into a lifeless lump of minerals.

Mike Chen „Star Wars:Brotherhood ”

[oh-stars]

Icicles

Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 616 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

“I’m freezing,” Eddie whines as they walk through the fairgrounds. 

Steve rolls his eyes. He knows this game. It happens every time they go out and do an outside activity for once, no matter if they’re in the thick of summer or dead winter. He spends ages trying to get Eddie to wear proper layers, keeps a blanket and a spare jacket in his car just in case, and yet still finds himself listening to Eddie whine and cry about the chill. “You said you’d be fine,” Steve reminds him, letting out a deep breath. 

Eddie huffs and grabs Steve’s arm. “I didn’t think it’d be this cold.” 

They’re in the back half of the Fall Festival, where most of the attendants have drifted over to the food and heaters or the rides rather than the mostly closed stalls of the harvest exhibits from earlier in the day. They had just gone to the car for a quick smoke (read: making out in Eddie’s van while the kids made themselves sick on the Gravitron) since Steve’s head can’t take some of the rides and Eddie’s the biggest scaredy cat (but only with fair rides, he argues every time, because apparently there’s a difference). (There is.)   

Steve glances around to check the empty fairground and tugs Eddie in close, rubbing his arm. “We could go sit by the heaters?” 

“And listen to Ted Wheeler’s take on the midterms?” Eddie scoffs. “I’d rather rot.” 

“There are other seats than near Ted Wheeler,” Steve points out. 

Eddie’s teeth chatter as he rolls his eyes. “You can never be too far away from Ted Wheeler.” 

“Why are we saying his name like he’s the boogeyman?” Steve laughs, leaning in close to kiss Eddie’s cheek. “Would hot apple cider warm you up?” 

“Only if I can add a little spice to it,” Eddie says, patting his jacket pocket. 

Steve grins, his own cheeks straining with the cold. “You’re on.” 

They’re not quick to make their way toward the food stalls, even with the chill in the air. Steve will be the first to admit it’s colder than he anticipated, despite checking the temperature forecast at least three times before they left. Even he’s cold, bundled up in his sweatshirt and jacket as he is. He keeps his hands in his pockets, letting Eddie hang from his arm even though they could probably get away with holding hands right now. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, fully shivering. “How much longer are we here for, anyway?” 

“Till the kids run out of money or Mike loses the bet he made with Max about puking,” Steve says. “Whichever comes first.” 

They’re near the bustle of fairgoers when Eddie stops and pulls Steve behind an empty stall. “I can’t take it anymore,” he grumbles as he tugs at the hem of Steve’s sweatshirt and shoves his hands onto Steve’s bare stomach. 

Steve hisses, a shiver running through him as Eddie melts against him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Shut up, you love me,” Eddie mumbles from where he’s hidden away against Steve’s shoulder and behind the curtain of hair. 

“Really reconsidering that right now,” he huffs. “You do realize I’m cold too, right? And your icicle fingers aren’t helping.” 

“But you’re my personal furnace,” Eddie says, shifting to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth. He’s got the biggest puppy eyes and pout on, a dagger to Steve’s chest. 

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him deeper into the shadows, curling into him just as much. “You’re an asshole,” he mumbles, but it sounds a hell of a lot like I love you. 

Eddie just laughs, cold nose pressing against Steve’s skin. I love you, too. 

--

Thank you for beta reading @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

[theother456-stories]

Bear Belly

The night was alive with the cool, crisp air of the forest, the kind that filled your lungs and made you feel invincible. Sam and his friends were in high spirits, their laughter echoing through the trees as they hiked deeper into the woods. The beams of their flashlights flickered like fireflies, cutting through the blackness.

“This place is spooky,” Mike said, grinning nervously. “Perfect for a ghost story.”

But before anyone could reply, a growl shattered the calm.

Low, guttural, and close. Too close.

The group froze, their flashlights swerving wildly as they tried to locate the source of the sound. Then, out of the shadows, a bear emerged—massive and terrifying. Its eyes glinted like molten gold as its huge paws crushed the underbrush beneath it.

For a moment, no one moved.

“Run!” Mike finally screamed, and chaos erupted.

They scattered, each sprinting in a different direction, their shouts lost to the night. Sam ran harder than he ever thought possible, his legs pumping, branches slashing at his face and arms as he tore through the trees. But no matter how fast he ran, the crashing sound behind him grew louder. The bear was gaining.

His lungs burned, his heart pounded, and just as he thought his legs might give out, he skidded to a stop. Something clicked in his mind, a wild, irrational thought that drowned out the fear: The best defense is a good offense.

Sam turned to face the bear. He wasn’t going to run anymore. But instead of grabbing a branch or bracing for a fight, he did something no one could have expected—something he didn’t fully understand himself. He opened his mouth.

The bear paused, confused by the sight. And then, with a surge of inexplicable strength, Sam lunged.

The bear roared and clawed as Sam swallowed it whole. It wasn’t easy—the massive creature thrashed and struggled as it slid down his throat. Sam’s belly ballooned outward as the enormous beast disappeared into him. Inch by inch, the bear vanished until, with a final gulp, it was gone.

Sam staggered back, his knees nearly buckling under the weight. He looked down and gasped. His stomach was enormous, round and taut, stretching his shirt to the point of tearing. His gut jutted out so far that he could barely see past it, glistening faintly in the moonlight.

For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then, pride began to bubble up inside him. He had done it. He had faced the bear and come out on top.

“I ate a bear,” he muttered, a grin creeping across his face. “I ate a bear.”

He patted his colossal belly with both hands, the sound echoing like a drum. His gut felt warm and full, like a furnace burning deep inside him. He sat down heavily against a tree, the weight of his accomplishment—and his stomach—pressing into the ground.

“Legendary,” he whispered to himself, rubbing his distended abdomen. He imagined telling the story to everyone back home, how they’d gape at the sheer size of him, at the audacity of what he’d done. He chuckled to himself, shifting slightly to accommodate his massive belly. It was awkward, sure, but it was worth it.

For a while, he just sat there, basking in the glow of his triumph. The forest was quiet now, the threat gone. Sam tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, feeling a strange sort of peace.

But then, a noise broke through the silence.

It was faint at first—a soft chime, like a phone notification. Sam opened his eyes and looked around, confused. Then it came again. Louder this time.

He froze. The sound wasn’t coming from the woods. It was coming from inside his colossal stomach. He placed his hands on his gut, feeling the vibrations echoing from deep within. At first, the realization sent a chill down his spine: the bear had eaten his friends before he swallowed the bear. They were in there, phones and all.

But as he sat there, another thought bubbled up—a little ridiculous, but strangely comforting.

“Well,” he said aloud, patting his belly, “at least they’re all together… and technically still with me.”

Sam leaned back with a bemused smile. It wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured the night ending, but hey—at least he’d never go down as boring.

[unusualwhatsits]

I love you, your takes are phenomenal, do you perchance have any favorite byler head cannons you would like to share?

Thank you lovely!! I love you too!! That's so sweet <3 tbh I usually think about them more in a college setting, or sometimes right out of college at whatever job they're doing. I have a lot of fun fantasizing about what their life could be like in the future, so these are made more with that setting in mind, but I'm sure some could be taken as present time situations!

I'm back-hugger!Mike's #1 fan, so a few of those to start: When it's cold out Mike will walk behind Will and wrap his arms around him to stick his hands in his pockets to get warm/keep Will's hands warm, forcing them to waddle along instead of actually getting out of the cold weather.

When they sit on the couch Will's sitting in front of Mike, back against his chest, and Mike's got his hands down the collar of his shirt, other hand up the bottom of his sweatshirt, legs wrapped around his waist, feet resting in Will's lap, just cuddling the absolute hell out of him

When they're at the grocery store they BOTH push the cart because Will's there to get shit done and Mike can't help but loom over him and cuddle up to "help" him push

I think they both develop a need for glasses eventually. Artist/writers who don't need glasses are performing witchcraft imo I think Mike probably needs glasses in general and just refuses to wear them most of the time. If he's super sleepy he might pop them on to read at night. Whereas Will probably is farsighted and chooses to wear them when painting to make sure it comes out correct, but otherwise also ignores them. Will's probably the "squinting at the ingredients label" kinda guy. You know the one. Mike's the, "I JUST had them!!" glasses lost on the top of his head kind of guy. You know that one too, I'm sure.

Mike's a heavy sleeper, Will's a light sleeper. Mike's a starfish, for sure. I think Mike's the big spoon most of the time, except when he's starfishing, then either Will is laying flat on his back, an arm and a leg from Mike draped over him, or he's just starfished right on top of Mike lmao If Mike's on his back obvs Will is cuddled up to his side. Will's the blanket hog. Mike's a furnace when he sleeps. It evens out.

Once they start saying "I love you" they say it no less than 100 times a day that's a fact and I take no criticism

Sometimes their date nights are just them getting chocolate wasted and having a movie marathon. So the usual hangout day, but now they get to make out lmao

I like the hc where Will learns how to braid hair from El, and he braids Mike's hair. Short or long, it's just something to fiddle with, and be creative with, and I think it'd make Mike absolutely melt to be doted on like that, plus it feels nice.

Will's art is everywhere, covering the walls, the counters/tables with framed pieces, paints + pens + sketchbooks absolutely litter the house. He makes random stuff to decorate for Halloween/Christmas etc. like wreaths and garland and helps El make kitschy trinkets figurines to decorate her apartment with! Mike's writing is also everywhere, papers pinned to bulletin boards, books stacked next to his desk, work briefcase overflowing. No less than three draws open in his filing cabinet at any one time, half of the folders pulled out and scattered on the floor/on top of the cabinet.

They definitely make a comic together. Whether that comic gets published or not is up in the air, but they definitely at least make it

Mike prefers to listen to his music with headphones on, even though Will sneaks up on him from behind and startles him 99% of the times he wears them. Will prefers to listen to his record player. They get noise complaints in their apartment and Mike sneakily slips outside without Will knowing to kindly tell them to kick rocks <3 His boy needs his rock and roll time.

Neither one of them knows how to cook, but they have the spirit! Usually results in burnt food and takeout from the local deli or fast food joint, but that's ok too.

I love the idea of Will having a pierced earlobe, and Mike getting some kind of cartilage piercing. That one might just be my bias to Mike's lil ear tips peaking out of his hair. Idk it's just precious to me and I think it would suit him. A little rebellious but nothing too crazy. His mom would still probably have a fit, though.

Every time they go to sit down somewhere Mike does the pulling a chair closer with his foot thing like Patrick does to Art in Challengers

Mike often wears a layer extra than he needs during the winter because Will insists he's "not even cold!!" as a just in case thing (almost always needed <3) "Can I have your jacket?" "Sure <33" "I'm not cold >:| you just look hot" 'Thank you ;)" "Not what I meant... but accurate." ":0 <33"

Anyway, that was way more than I intended and just super random thoughts but whatever lmao Thanks for letting me talk about the boys! :D

[blocksgame]

Purgatory, sleeping through the first night -

qsmp, /rp (feat. small selection of guys I had specific mental images about)

There’s a space left open next to Antoine but it won’t be filled for a while at least. Etoiles is too pent up and busy to sleep, he’s strategizing, he’s leaving to fuel the furnaces and pace. Like Etoiles, Fit has a tenuous relationship with sleep even on Quesadilla Island, and they’re not on Quesadilla Island. Fit is generally having a grand old time, but he will not be sleeping tonight, not in a lawless death arena surrounded by other people, that’s not happening. So both of them are propped up against the walls of their underground base, and they're texting Phil.

Phil is stressed. Phil is afraid. They kept saying shit about the eggs and some mystical bullshit and now there’s a death game and they’re pitted against each other and reality works differently here, Phil knows how to build something from wild nothing but not here and he hasn’t had to fucking do it in a long time, alright, and it’s scary, every time. Okay? It’s scary every time!

The first day’s work kept his mind busy, at least. But he sits in his little shelter with his friends piled around him, asleep, and thoughts like is this real start poking through. He asks how Etoiles is feeding everyone. Fit sends him some tips on crafting. Soon he is messaging them like a lifeline.

(Bad has not slept in weeks. He has no need to start now. Don’t worry, go to bed, he tells Tubbo. I'll keep watch. Bad keeps an eye on the minimap all night. But it’s pretty quiet. He considers trekking to the other bases for a little tomfoolery. But there’ll be plenty of time for that later.)

Roier is affectionate and loves to cuddle. Forever does too, but he's subdued. He’s still weak and he winces when things touch his partially-healed burns, or when the water’s too cold or the sharp bamboo leaves rake at his skin. Roier kills mobs for him and forces cooked fish into his hands, get you better faster, yeah? At night, Roier sends Cellbit pictures of them cuddled up, to show him they’re alright and to say wish you were here.

All of Phil’s people are scared. Most of them are not hardened survivalists the way Phil is. Curious detective Cellbit left the island bloodstained and with a strange gleam in his eyes, he’s been going through some shit, clearly, and now they’re here, so.

The only way he seems ready to relax is curled up close to Phil, like Phil is the only one he can feel safe around. Phil lets him keep his eyes on him, what else is he going to do? No skin off Phil's back. Cellbit texts with Roier for a while, then tries to sleep, ends up spending longer just staring at his communicator until he’s finally asleep or at least trying, again, again.

(We could retcon Mike as being there this whole time. In which case – maybe still out of it, maybe still feeling complicated about Fit, but that’s complicated rather than strictly negative. And he doesn’t know where Pac is and he’s not used to sleeping alone. Forever’s there and he’s family, so that’s a fine option. Or alternatively - Fit lets Mike lie beside him, as he and Etoiles mutter about strategies and smother laughter late into the night. Lit up by the screens of their communicators. Full circle again.)

(*I guess the vibes are more pinpointed on "like halfway through day 1" but it's minecraft time. whatever.)

[apod]

2023 July 12

Rings and Bar of Spiral Galaxy NGC 1398 Image Credit: Mark Hanson; Data: Mike Selby

Explanation: Why do some spiral galaxies have a ring around the center? Spiral galaxy NGC 1398 not only has a ring of pearly stars, gas and dust around its center, but a bar of stars and gas across its center, and spiral arms that appear like ribbons farther out. The featured deep image from Observatorio El Sauce in Chile shows the grand spiral galaxy in impressive detail. NGC 1398 lies about 65 million light years distant, meaning the light we see today left this galaxy when dinosaurs were disappearing from the Earth. The photogenic galaxy is visible with a small telescope toward the constellation of the Furnace (Fornax). The ring near the center is likely an expanding density wave of star formation, caused either by a gravitational encounter with another galaxy, or by the galaxy's own gravitational asymmetries.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap230712.html

[mistresskayla-blog1]

A Superior Find

Lyn's Writing Event Day 3

May 3rd : Week 1:  Wendigo 

Characters: Dr Scott White & OC (Mika Awi-Mino Deh D’eh) Aka Mika Deer-heart       

“Deer with a strong heart” (Ojibwe)

Fandom: Richard Armitage – Sleepwalker

Word count: 1.0k ++

Location: Gwinn, Ontonagon (MI – US) “Superior State”

OC Character based off a real Ojibwe metal sculptor Louise Solomon “Likeness”

Warnings: nightmares, dark content, dreams, hallucinations, tremors, fear, native american lore,

Deep in the forest of the Superior state, Mika tossed and turned on her pillow, fighting off the sweating and trembling sensations in her limbs as a large glistening black skinned creature is chasing her in her dream. The deepness of the winter had sunken into the cabin and she was alone again, the fire out and her thoughts swimming as she sat up in bed panting and clutching her chest. A frosty breath resounded from her mouth as she tried to claim the fresh air into her lungs. She looked at her hands and they were shaking uncontrollably. Was she shivering or still coming out of that dream? Her skin was cool and clammy, and she peeled off her shirt and padded to the shower to start it up hot. She reset the pilot on a potbelly furnace and started the peat for an ignitor.  Smoke gushed out of the vent; she stepped back coughing. Waving her hands and covering her mouth with her arm, the taste was ashy and acrid. She heard the shift of the water heater and walked away from the stove allowing it to warm the space, flipping the haft toggle bar to make sure the flew was open to the chimney.

She had had enough sunny days to go without a little bit. Residual heat from the other space heaters was enough, but today the chill was there, and it clung to her like her shirt had, a deep embrace. Mika stepped into the clawfoot tub and pulled the shower curtain with a scratchy noise against the metal bar above her. The water hit her skin and flayed off a layer, she cursed out loud and turned it down, letting the steam seep into her lungs, and the water finally to warm her, but not burn her. She checked for marks all over her body, again, this creature came to her, and she did not know what it meant, her great grandmother had said that such a creature meant famine long ago, and she certainly didn’t need that omen.

There were shallow scratches on her arms and hips, but she didn’t remember it getting that close to her. The thought made her shiver under the hot tap, and once she felt clean, she stepped out and toweled off, heading back to the bed. She pulled open a wardrobe hutch, a squeak of the hinge on the door let her know it was still unearthly quiet in this space for morning. She looked up out the paned glass of the windows, the sash was open, so what light was here poured in. The wind was still outside and the snow was crisp, white and calm. Nothing was stirring, not even the birds or squirrels, and that gave Mika an uneasy feeling. This deep in the woods she could always count on the animals to tell her when things were safe.

Mike got dressed and yanked the phone charger out of her phone, scrolling to find the clinic number. Finding Dr John Whitehorn on her “recents” gave her a pause. Maybe she was crazy. She knew he wouldn’t treat her that way, but still, it niggled in her mind, that something was off.

The phone rang as she waited, “John Whitehorn” Mika paused, “Hey Doctor, “ He responded immediately, “Mika, my dear, how are you feeling, did that tea work at all?”

Mika looked over towards the kitchenette, “Sorry, no. I forgot to try it. He came again, or it. And I think it is getting closer. I woke up with scratches.  How does that happen?”

John, “Well, that is a progression, (frowns audibly) we should have you come in. I know a specialist in California that can help. I’ll call him and then we will schedule time for you to come in, alright? Try to eat and do some activities that remind you on being awake, get outside, its supposed to hit the 30s today”.  Mika hmm-d against his tone, “Yeah I will try that. Thanks Doc”. 

“My pleasure. I will call you soon”, Dr John said, hanging up the call and immediately placing a call to Dr Scott White at the Henderson Sleep Institute in Los Palos, California.  

---

Scott was at his desk when his cell phone rang, it startled him a second, he was lost in thought about a client, and sipped his coffee for the morning. It was early, but late for his shift was nearly over. When you work in a sleep clinic you rarely have the night off. Scott picked it up, “Scott White”, Scott said, a male voice on the other end spoke immediately, “Dr White? This is John from the Sacred Heart Clinic in her in Gwinn,” Scott nodded, “Sure, yes, John. How are you, how can I help?”

“Look, I have a patient, Mika and she is having some very strong somatic responses and I was wondering if you had some time to come out and see us here for, maybe a week?” Dr John was hopeful sounding as he paused waiting for Scott to answer.

“What sort of disturbances? What are her symptoms?" Scott asked. John paused, as if looking at notes, Scott heard shuffling, “Sweating, nausea, tremors, and now she has visible scratches on her arms and hips” Scott’s eyes dilated slightly in the resounding pause, “I see. That is quite a unique disturbance. And she is where exactly?”  John answered, “She lives up in the woods here, about 20 miles from the towns. She’s an artist so she likes seclusion, but I think it is getting to her. Our winters up north here can last 6 months or more”.  Scott looked thoughtful, scribbling some notes on a pad in front of him, “Right, well that certainly can’t help matters. How long has she been having these disturbances?”  John, blew out some air, “Oh gosh, Id have to check my notes, but since last year I suppose, its been building. Off and on. She really doesn’t contact me too often. I go up and see her at least once a month, or have her come down” Scott cleared his throat, “I’m sorry are you her primary physician then?” 

John responded, “Yes, here on the reservation, there are only 4 of us accredited in the Western way, so I specialize in psychiatry, sleep, and general practice”.  Scott nodded again, taken in the information. He opened a calendar on his desktop, “I could be there in a few days, if you think she will hold until then”.   John, “Fine, fine. I will make an appointment to have her come down from the hills, no problem. She maybe be a little skittish, but its just the Wendigo spooking her. We’ll see you on Friday then?” John was about to ring off when Scott stopped him, “Did you say the Wendigo, like the lore of the Deer man?”  John smiled proudly, “Yes, you know of our native stories?” Scott spoke carefully, “He appears in dreams and in the flesh haunting people in the wood. I remember reading something back in college. Sleep myths are kind of a hobby of mine, (smirks)”.  “Well that’s great, then she will be in good hands, we will see you on Friday. Pack heavy we’ve got 8 more inches expected that night. Ill send you an email with details on how to get here from the city (referring to Marquette)”. John chuckled and hung up. Scott looked at his computer and down at his notes, “tremors and scratches” he mumbled to himself, “Hmm”.

(More to come... stay tuned.... )

@legolasbadass @fizzxcustard @lathalea

@scariusaquarius @middleearthpixie @riepu10

[putrefurnaced]

Available art!

Get in touch if you would like to use this one for your project.

[monkeerotica]

Peter gets kidnapped and tied up the most often and the other monkees are into it. Love the prompt fills you’ve posted so far!

even though the holidays are over, anon, this one spoke "christmas" to me. 1.2k words. -author 🦋

unwrap you at christmas

“Honestly, buddy,” Mike tutted, flicking out his Bowie knife, “I don’t know how, but you always seem to get yourself into these things.”

Peter’s reply was padded by the white handkerchief stuffed in his mouth as a gag. Mike pulled it free, allowing Peter to gasp, “That’s just it, I don’t get myself into them. It’s always somebody else who comes and ties me up. If I could tie myself up, I wouldn’t need you to come rescue me.” He grunted at the tension in the bindings as Mike began to saw at the ropes that held his wrists.

Mike gave a sly grin. “Shoot, if you could tie yourself up, I...what’s that? You hear that?”

“That’d be the train,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “How about you get me off the tracks first, and then untie me?”

Mike rolled Peter to safety like a sack of potatoes. They both tumbled from the train tracks onto the rumbling ground, where they could see the column of smoke in the distance and hear the piercing whistle.

Peter wriggled to a sitting position, then sagged against Mike with relief. “Whew! It’s a good thing you showed up when you did. If it wouldn’t have been for you, Michael, I...I would’ve...”

“Hey! Now, don’t talk like that.” Mike held Peter by the shoulders to look him in the eye. “I’d never let anything bad happen to you. Never. You know that, don’t you?”

Still trussed up like a Christmas ham, Peter eyed him skeptically.

“Well, I mean...you know, I...not any worse than getting hog-tied,” Mike stammered, and gave a few attempts at a smile.

Peter returned a cheek-lifting grin. “Promise?”

“Course I promise. C’mon, put her th–” Mike stuck out his hand, as if for Peter to shake, then quickly retracted it and resumed sawing at the ropes.

The engine barreled past them down the tracks. Peter felt a great rush of air pull and tug at him, trying to sweep him along with it. Mike’s knife continued to cut straight and true, never so much as nicking Peter’s wrist.

A little ways up the tracks, a loud cry and two grassy thuds announced Micky and Davy’s escape from the boxcar. “Hi, fellas!” Peter called, lifting his arm to wave only to find it still tied tight behind him.

Micky and Davy dusted themselves off as they trudged over. “Hey, Pete,” said Micky. “Nice threads.”

“What happened to the train robbers?” asked Mike.

Davy beamed smugly. “Ask the furnace.”

“Oh, God,” Peter gasped, his nonviolent heart ready to break. “Davy, you didn’t?”

Davy was utterly aghast. “That’s barbaric. They’re just shoveling coal. They kicked the stoker off the train, so now they’re stuck in the boiler room. As soon as they stop feeding the fire, the train will stop and the sheriff’ll catch up to ‘em.”

“There.” With a final hiss of effort, Mike severed a length of rope, and the coils binding Peter fell to the ground.

Davy clicked his tongue. Micky pursed his lips, just for a second. They looked mildly disappointed, but that wasn’t what bewildered Peter the most. To his surprise, the moment the ropes fell off had been a disappointment to him, too.

Hmm, Peter thought.

---

They had been in the department store for only two minutes when Peter disappeared. Asking the help desk, calling out his name, and pushing through clothing racks all proved in vain. Mike was ready to throw in the towel when Micky turned up, looking shaken. As Davy joined their huddle, Micky explained that a man had approached him wearing a long greatcoat and a hat that hid his face. He’d handed Micky a piece of paper and vanished as quickly as he appeared. 

“What’s it say?” Davy demanded, grabbing a corner.

Micky read the message, cut-and-pasted from a magazine. “‘If you ever want to see your friend again...’”

“‘Bring five thousand dollars to the following loca—’ five thousand dollars?” Mike exclaimed. “We don’t have any five thousand dollars.”

“There’s a picture of him.” Davy pointed. The enclosed photograph showed Peter in a dimly lit room, bound with ropes from head to toe and tied to a chair. Davy let out a low whistle.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mike never took his eyes from the photograph.

Micky nodded, similarly transfixed. “Go and rescue Peter...”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And then get a couple copies made of this photo.”

“I’ll start the car,” said Mike.

---

Peter sat on the front step and sighed. It’d been three days since his harrowing rescue, and he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have friends that cared for him so. At his worst moment, lashed to a chair and feeling completely alone, they’d made him feel like the most desirable man alive. (Truth be told, he’d felt more like a five-course meal at times, the way they salivated over him, playfully tugging the ropes and detailing in vivid color what they’d do to him if they weren’t in such a rush to thwart the kidnappers—and he liked that just fine.) Peter only wished there was something he could do in return. After all they’d done for him, he was desperate to indulge them. But that was the crux; he couldn’t do it by himself, and he wasn’t about to wait to get kidnapped again.

The approach of Bobby the mail carrier broke Peter out of his stupor. “Hey, Peter, how’re you doing?”

Peter shook his head. “Bobby, they’ve got you working on Christmas Eve?”

“I’m here on my own time.” He held out an envelope. “This is for all four of you, from our family.”

Peter took the card, feeling as though he might burst with joy. “Thank you. This is wonderful. They’ll love this, I just...”

“Something wrong?”

“I’d just like to do something nice for them. Special, like this.” Peter thought for a moment. “You ever wrap a present?”

Bobby scoffed. “You kiddin’? I can wrap a bicycle in thirty seconds without a single spot of overlap.”

Peter grinned conspiratorially. “How do you like milk and cookies?”

---

Micky descended into the living room early Christmas morning. He had started the tradition of cooking the other three a pancake breakfast and waking them with the smell of coffee and bacon (tempeh, in Peter’s case), followed by presents under the tree. With work more scarce than ever, this year’s loot wasn’t much to see. Micky glanced over at the tree and almost scalded himself with hot coffee.

“Morning, Mick,” Peter yawned, sitting upright beneath the tree. From the soles of his shoes to just under his chin, he was cocooned in wrapping paper, tied snugly with a big red ribbon. On his forehead perched a shiny bow.

Micky laughed. “Man, look at you. How did you...”

Peter shrugged as well as he was able and naively batted his lashes. “Not too old to believe in Santa Claus, are you?” he said, casting a look at the plate of cookie crumbs and thin film of milk at the bottom of the glass.

Davy stomped out of his room rubbing his eyes. “Hey, what’s all the noise about—Peter!”

Mike gathered at the railing beside him and howled with laughter. “That’s out of sight, man. Aw, Peter, you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

“No trouble,” Peter assured him. “I do have one favor to ask, though.”

“Anything,” said Davy. “You name it, it’s yours.”

As his eyes began to water, Peter blinked and scrunched up his face. The paper rustled with his squirming. “Can someone please come and scratch my nose?”

[guerrerense]

The EBT never sleeps por Kevin Madore Por Flickr: The yard in little Rockhill Furnace, PA is alive with activity, despite the late hour. A pair of East Broad Top Mikes are coupled to strings of empty hoppers, which just arrived from Mt. Union, and after servicing stops and crew changes, will head south to the mines. This image was captured during an April, 2023 photo shoot on the East Broad Top Railroad, organized by Lerro Photography and featuring the recently-restored EBT Locomotive #16. In this image, Locomotive #12, nicknamed "Millie", the smallest of the surviving EBT Mikes appears to be operational, despite the fact that she hasn't run since the early 2000s. An LED lamp installed in the headlight box and a white smoke bomb put the illusion of life into the old girl. Sadly, of the 6 surviving engines in the house at Rockhill Furnace, the 12 has been judged by the mechanical shop to be in the toughest shape and will likely be the last to be restored.

[camillasgirl]

Queen Camilla’s Patronages

The Carmarthen Youth Opera (Patron from 07.06.2010)

When the late Elizabeth Evans, MBE, joined the Furnace Gardens Further Education Centre as a youth leader, her passion for opera inspired her to channel the boundless energies of her young charges into putting on a show. In 1979 “Snow White” received glowing plaudits from both cast and the audience alike. This was the catalyst that inspired Elizabeth and her dedicated team of volunteers to form the Carmarthen Youth Opera the following year. The Education Centre thus became the Youth Opera’s first home. The annual productions continued to grow from strength to strength and in 1987 the company moved into and re-opened the Lyric Theatre in King Street, Carmarthen. It was transformed into the truly glorious theatre that is enjoyed by so many today. The Youth Opera continued to grow at pace, with the company making appearances at the London Palladium, Buxton Opera House and receiving curtain calls galore at the Waterford Music Festival. BBC Wales Television broadcast a documentary of the company’s redevelopment of the Lyric Theatre including the unforgettable production of “Jesus Christ Superstar”, performed in the most fitting setting of St. David’s Cathedral in Pembrokeshire. Many members of the company have gone on to become professionals in TV, Radio, Musical Theatre and Opera; the roll of honour includes well known names such as Mike Doyle , Mark Evans, Wynne Evans, Stephen Elias and Karen Evans. As well as developing the acting and singing talents of members, many have gone on to become successful stage managers, lighting and sound engineers, costume managers, script writers and even artistic directors. Following the retirement of Elizabeth Evans in 2005, Adrian Wyn Rowlands, an accomplished actor, singer and member of the company since 1982, took over the reigns as Artistic Director. Since then the Youth Opera has continued to achieve new heights of excellence; the Lyric resounding to wonderful performances of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, ‘Oliver!’ and ‘The King and I”, with this year’s “Carousel” awarded the NODA Wales & Northern Ireland Region Best Youth Production, plus the Best Poster Award. In addition to the regular annual production, members of the company undertake a wide variety of performances throughout the year. The young cast’s virtuoso is displayed at fund-raising cabarets and charity concerts, including light entertainment at the prestigious opening of commercial enterprises. The cast are regularly given the opportunity to develop their talents at theatrical workshops and take part in an annual series of short-film productions in partnership with other youth companies in South Wales and in association with HTV Wales and various sponsoring bodies which include Carmarthenshire County Council.

[cowboylikeliz]

byler ficlet i posted last night to ao3 and forgot to put here

It's his best friend's birthday, and all Will can think about is getting the day over with.

Will, Mike, and all of their friends are going over to Mike's house for his birthday. The plan is to watch movies and play board games. Just hang out and have fun.

One problem: Mike and Will kissed last week.

Mike hasn't said anything about it to him, which is definitely not a good thing. It's all Will’s been thinking about for the past week. How he's wanted it for so long and when it finally happened, nothing came out of it. They're still just friends.

If even that anymore. They haven't talked since the kiss. Their friends haven't noticed yet, and hopefully, they won't tonight. He just needs to get through without bringing attention to the problem.

He arrives at the Wheeler’s at five-forty-five, just like planned. When he walks inside the house, he's greeted by Karen telling him that all the others are in the basement, trying to decide on a movie. He walks down the stairs and almost trips out of anxiousness. He makes it—barely—and greets all his friends like everything is normal.

“Hey, guys,” Will says after making it to the bottom of the stairs with zero casualties.

“Will! What's up, man?” Lucas walks over and smacks Will’s shoulder lightly.

“Nothing, just, y’know…” He trails off, catching Mike’s gaze from across the room. “The usual. Painting, sleeping, helping Mom around the house.” He finishes, holding Mike’s eyes with his own the entire time. Mike blushes and looks away. “Anyways, what movie are we watching?”

“It's between Princess Bride and Rise of the Jedi right now. You choose.” El pipes up from the floor. She'd spent the night at Max’s last night, or else they would've come together.

Will quickly glances over at Mike. “Princess Bride,”

“Got it!” El pops the VHS tape out of the case and then slides it into the player.

Will slides onto the couch next to him, failing to notice who else was sitting there.

“Hey,” Mike says, causing Will to jump.

“Hey,” Will responds. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Mike starts fiddling with his hands, moving over to the other end of the couch.

Dustin starts the movie, and Will throws a blanket over him and Mike. The couch is small, and they have no choice but to let their legs touch under the blanket. Neither of them mind that much, they used to do this all the time. It's just…awkward, now.

The movie plays, and Will has to force his mind from wandering back to last week.

He and Mike had been sitting on Will’s bed, talking about the Upside Down and all the things that have happened over the last few years. After a bit, the conversation had wandered to their feelings, and Will had leaned in a bit.

He watched as Mike’s eyes glanced down at his lips so quickly that if he hadn't been watching, Will never would have seen it. Mike leaned in a little more, and Will had finally closed the space between them. His lips crashed against Mike’s, hands reaching for his neck as Mike’s dropped to his waist.

After a minute, they'd broken apart and Mike had left soon after. That was the end of it.

Maybe.

When Princess Bride was finished, Lucas and Dustin went to search the house for a few board games they could play. As soon as they left, Max and El huddled together on the floor, talking and laughing.

Will was still sitting on the couch, and he felt a hand grab at his wrist.

He looked up to see Mike standing over him. “Follow me,” He said.

Will stood from the couch, trying his best to keep up with Mike’s walking speed.

Turns out Mike was leading him to the laundry room.

Odd.

The Wheeler's laundry room was quite large compared to most. In fact, most people didn't even have laundry rooms. The washer and dryer sat on the wall across from the door, to the right was the furnace, and to the left were a few storage shelves filled with Halloween and Christmas decorations.

Mike let go of Will’s wrist and pushed him up against the washer.

They stayed there for a while, Mike’s hands falling to Will’s waist, Will’s hands gripping the washer behind him.

Mike finally broke the silence by saying, “I think I'm in love with you.” It was just above a whisper. Nobody else—if anyone else were in the room—could have heard him. But Will did.

“Wh—” Before Will could finish, Mike’s lips were on his. Will’s hands reached up and he ran his fingers through Mike’s hair, then dropped to his neck.

Will moved his hands from Mike’s neck for a second so that he could hop up onto the washer, and Mike repositioned himself so that he was standing in between Will’s legs.

“I love you,” Will whispered in between kisses, making Mike pause.

“Really?” He asked.

“No, I kissed you because I hate you, obviously,” Will answered.

“I love you, too.”

They kept kissing, and at some point, Will lost track of time. That is until someone opened the door.

“Michael—Oh dear,” Will heard. Mike whipped his head around, coming face to face with his mom. “I was just going to tell you I was ordering pizza. What kind do you want?”

“Taco,” Mike and Will said at the same time.

“Okay. Um, don't make a mess in here?”

“Mom!” Mike shrieks.

“Alright, alright.” Karen left, closing the door behind her.

Will started laughing the second the door closed, his head falling onto Mike’s shoulder.

“Hey! That's not funny!” Mike says.

“It kind of is though.”

“It's so not. I hate you.”

“That's not what you said ten minutes ago.”

“Mhm, sure,” Mike whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Wills's hair.

“Byers, Wheeler, stop flirting and come out here. Dustin and Lucas found the board games.” Someone else said.

“Max!”

“We—we’re not—”

“I'm not stupid. Just get out here before Dustin goes crazy and El steals all the Monopoly money.” Max leaves the door open behind her.

“Jesus, okay. Seems like the laundry room is the place to be right now.” Mike mutters.

“That’s because we're in here, Mike. I wasn't the one who decided to make out in the laundry room.” Will pushes him a bit.

“It's the only room both of us would fit in!”

“Sure,” Will says. “We probably should get out of here, though.”

“Yeah,” Mile helps Will down from the washer, and they walk back out into the living room.

“Finally! Come sit.” El pats the two open seats next to her.

They sit and get lost in a very competitive game of Monopoly. When everyone finally goes to bed, Mike sneakily lays down on Will’s end of the couch, looping his arm around his waist.

“I love you,” he whispers into Will’s shoulder blades.

“I love you, too.”

That night, Will gets the best sleep he’s had in years.