#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 ”

[yorshie]

BLURB DAY BLURB DAY numero uno congrats on a new milestone yeeeeeehaw!!! and for the blurb [rubs hands together] how about some 14 and 21 with my forever boy, donnie. disgustingly soft. like. im gonna wanna nest on it soft. the Most tender. tytyty hugs you a lot

*accepts hug and spins you around* you are in fact numero uno! thank you for requesting on Blurb Day! I hope you are having a wonderful Friday!

*me writing this blurb* alright, just a cup of sweetness *upends the whole 25lbs container* yeah. that seems about right.

Somewhere in the Lair, you could hear Mikey singing while he baked, the smell of cinnamon and apples heavy in the air. The heaters in the Lair were on full blast, the hum of the industrial furnaces bringing a heated warmth into every room, the groan of the pipes buried underneath the extra noise, but nothing could drown out the heavy beat of Donatello's heart underneath your ear, as loud as a drum through the solid keratin you were curled up against.

His hand slid across your back in a lazy pattern, and you hummed into the hollow of his throat, knowing he had finally woken up from the nap you'd enticed him to take earlier in the morning.

"Time?" He rasped, jaw moving against your hair, and you felt his legs stretch where they were entwined with yours, quads quivering as he held the position for a long moment. He inhaled, chest swelling, and you shifted to get comfortable once more at the movement.

"Mike's still baking." You supplied in a whisper, arms tightening around him, not wanting him to think he could slip away just yet.

"Not dinner time, then." Donnie's arm tightened around you, holding you close as he jostled over just a smidge to read the numbers on his battered alarm clock. "Hm... maybe half an hour before we have to get ready."

You shivered as cold air snuck into the blankets around where his arm was raising the fabric, and he noticed, tunneling his arm back into the warmth and hiking the comforter closer around the pair of you.

He brushed his lips against your hair, beak pressing against your forehead, and you grinned, knowing what he was after. You let him press chaste flutters against the thin skin of your eyelids before giving into his silent request and tipped your head back for a proper kiss, his mouth lingering over yours.

"No one to catch us here." You pressed the words against his lower lip, referring to the time his brothers had caught the pair of you kissing in the kitchen.

"No one would have caught us then," Donnie whispered back, a smirk threatening the curl of his mouth. One hand slid up under the covers, framed your jaw so he could tip your head to the side in a better angle. "If someone hadn't loudly said 'just let me sneak one more, Dee, no one has-" his words cut off with a hmmpf when your arms wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet your lips, knowing he was about to go off course and not in the mood to remember who exactly said what when he was warm and solid against you, thigh curling up to nudge you higher to lessen the reach.

The tip of his tongue painted over your upper lip, slipped inside your mouth and barely touched the edge of your teeth before pulling back to repeat the motion. He only stopped when you were shivering once more, satisfaction in the crinkle of his eyes as he squinted down at you in the low light.

"I'll never get tired of this." He whispered, threading the hand pinned to the bed in between the strands of your hair. "I'll always love you, you know that, right?"

You smiled, pressed a kiss against his beak, hands petting over the ridge of his carapace at the feeling of his thumb rubbing against your scalp. "I know, Dee. I'll always love you, too."

He dipped to kiss you again, and neither of you heard Mikey's calls for dinner until Leo sent a text to both your phones.

[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

[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

[pullhisteeth]

(Possibly Triggering) Kind of a self comforting request, but could we get a story where the reader has bulimia and Eddie kind of puts the pieces together and tries to help? Like a hurt/comfort fic?

just want to say I love u and u got this <3 been there and I know u will be okay. hopefully this helps you feel a lil better for the time being x

I wrote this from Eddie's pov because I think it fits quite well. :)

cw/tw for eating disorders, vomiting, body image issues, difficult convos. Eddie and reader fight and make up. fem!reader, petnames, angst, fluff. hurt/comfort. [3.3k]

-

Eddie worries about you. He thinks it's normal, and he's sure you'd agree; he can't help it and doesn't wish to stop. He worries about you walking home from work at dusk, worries about you when you're out with friends, bar-hopping in downtown Hawkins, worries about you when you don't get dinner because work ran over and you want to sleep. He also knows you're an adult who can take care of herself so he worries from afar most days, but today he can't let it go.

So far, since you arrived at his trailer four and a half hours ago, he's asked you if you're okay seventeen times. The last one was an hour ago, when you snapped at him to stop.

You've just finished a six-day work week and now you're dozing on his lap while he reads a book, fingers carding through your hair. He's soothed by the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing and the feeling of your chest expanding and deflating beside his thigh, so he's very content to stay where he is and let you get some rest. You never snap at him. He thinks you must be tired.

Eventually he feels you stir, twisting round so you're on your back, head still resting on his lap so you can look up at him. He peeks down at you over the top of his book and it makes you giggle, a broken, sleepy laugh that he can't help but smile at. You rub your eyes and reach past your head to stretch, arching your back off the bed and sighing.

"Good sleep?" he asks softly, turning down the corner of his page and closing the book. He drops it unceremoniously on the bed beside your hip.

You hum in response and he takes it as an affirmative. His hand, fingers splayed, moves to rest on your stomach under your shirt, and you wince and laugh again at the contact.

"Your hands are so fucking cold!"

"Sorry," he says through a grin, slightly disingenuous. "You are boiling. My own personal furnace."

"Mm," you hum happily. You're in a good mood, clearly better for the hour of sleep. "What're you readin'?"

You reach beside you and take the book, bringing it over your head to squint through sleep-fuzzy eyes at the cover. As his hand smooths up and down your stomach, he begins to tell you.

"Mike let me borrow it. It's a fantasy series, he said it's really good."

"Hm, it looks like a Mike book."

"What does that mean?!" he laughs, incredulous at your insinuation.

"I dunno, it just looks like those graphic novels you guys read."

He can't argue with that; the cover is a vibrant cacophony of mythical creatures, treasure and dungeons and fire.

"Well, it's good so far," he says playfully, snatching the book from you and hanging it out of reach. You squirm to take it back, arms extended up, giggling when his splayed hand inches up and digs into your side.

"C'mon," he says, throwing the book to the other side of the room and ignoring your teasing protests at his abuse of something so precious. "We gotta have some dinner."

You physically deflate when he says this, and the worry creeps back, settling uncomfortably under his skin. He watches your arched back lie flat against his bed and the smile lines disappear from beside your eyes. On your stomach his hand resumes its soothing, this time partly for you but partly for himself, too.

"What d'ya wanna eat?" he tries, dodging your body language and hoping he's misreading it.

You hum again, a sad and uncertain sound, before saying, "not that hungry."

"Oh, come on," he says, hoping his tone is playful enough that you don't notice that he's playing a part. "You've not eaten all day."

Groaning, you roll over and look away from him. Now he can only see the back of your head and the side of your face, but even then he can still make out the disgruntled look on it. His hand is on your side, where it slid as you turned over, so he continues his attempt to soothe you while he tries again.

"How 'bout some fries? Got some in the freezer, I can just shove 'em in the oven."

He listens to your breathing as you fail to answer him, and wills himself to not get frustrated. This has happened before, your tendency to avoid this conversation, and even when he's tried to ask why he gets nowhere. Over the many months you've been together, plenty of which you've spent almost living with each other, he's not failed to notice the strange ways you interact with food, and slowly but surely he's been piecing it together.

He also knows this is something you have to come to him about, so he'll wait for you. Forever, if he has to. And while he does, he just wants you to get some decent meals in.

Finally, you roll back over and look at him. Your expression is strange, almost sad but also smooth and there are no worry lines. He hopes this is because he's calmed you down.

"Okay," you say, smiling, and his heart does a skip. "Fries sound great."

He leans down, one hand back on your stomach and the other in your hair, and kisses you. It's stilly and awkward because you're at a ninety-degree angle, but he dots more up your nose and across your forehead, relishing in your light giggles.

"Up ya get," he demands, hands creeping underneath you to push you up and off his lap. As he slides out from under you and swings his legs round to stand, you let yourself flop back down onto his bed, into the warm indent he left behind. He watches you curl up in a ball on your side and dramatically shove your face into the comforter, sniffing loudly with your nose scrunched.

"You're so fucking weird," he declares as he stands over you with his hands on his hips. You look up at him, pouting, batting your eyelashes. "And beautiful, of course," he adds, grinning. He leans down again and kisses your cheek, lingering for a second to feel you smile. You reach up and hold the side of his face, thumb on the apple of his cheek.

When he stands back up, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and says, "you stay there, I'll give ya a shout when they're done, okay?"

"Okay," you respond, wriggling to get comfortable and shutting your eyes again. He leaves you be, closing the door softly behind himself, though not before stealing a look at you splayed on his bed dozing off.

He busies himself with dinner, putting some fries from the freezer into the oven. He tries his hand at cooking some vegetables, too, because he wants you to have some balance. As he chops carrots and broccoli and fills a pan with water for boiling, he thinks about the fact that he has never before in his life felt this dedicated to another person. He doesn't feel like what he imagines parents feel like, but he does want you to have the best of everything, all the time. It's a strangely comforting realisation.

As everything cooks, he creeps back across the trailer to his room, where he prises open the door and treads inside quietly. You're asleep again, uncurled somewhat from the ball he'd left you in. He watches you for a moment, enjoying how peaceful you are, face squished into the comforter and hair all over the place.

He steps over to the other side of the room and finds the book he'd thrown earlier. Picking it up, he leaves the room and retakes his spot on the counter by the stove.

He only gets one more chapter in before the timer dings. He drains the vegetables and plates them with the chips on two plates, giving you a few more for good measure, and then he returns to his room to gently shake you awake.

When you stir and attempt to grumpily protest, he says, "food's ready, c'mon."

You stretch again, like a cat basking in the sun, and get off the bed slowly, rubbing your eyes. You follow him to the kitchen and he watches you as your hunger seems to take over. Sitting down at the table, you say, "thanks, Eds," and start eating, seemingly without thinking – vegetables first, as always. He eats too, though always with his eye on you.

When you get halfway through the chips, he sees your expression change. It shifts from a peaceful one to one that is unmistakably uncomfortable, though you carry on, stealing worried glances at him every now and then.

"Okay?" he asks fondly, hand laid on the table for you, an offering. You don't take it, though.

You hum and put your fork down. Wordlessly, he takes both plates and sets them on the side, while you get up and take a seat on the couch. He can tell there's something bothering you but chooses to let you come to him, so he just joins you, switching the TV on as he passes it on his way. He wraps you in one arm and you settle, still silent, into his side, watching whatever mindless show is playing.

A few minutes pass of this quiet, and though he doesn't mind, he, of course, worries.

You wriggle out from beside him and stand, saying "be back in a sec."

He watches you head to the bathroom and shut the door. Willing himself to leave you alone, he tries to focus on the television. But you don't come back, and after a few minutes he decides he'll busy himself with the dishes.

And then he finishes the dishes, and you're still in the bathroom, so he reads some more, perched back on the kitchen counter.

But after another chapter, you're still in there.

So he gives in.

Knocking softly, he murmurs, "you okay in there?"

He hears some shuffling, and the sound of the toilet lid closing and the flush. And then you say, loudly, "yes, Eddie, I'm fine thanks," with a sharpness that makes him wince. That same sharpness as earlier, when he'd asked you if you were okay for the seventeenth time.

Except this time, he's not taking a lie for an answer. 

"Honey, I know something's wrong. Talk to me."

You're silent on the other side. He knows this silence; this is you thinking.

He waits on the other side of the door for you. It takes you a couple of minutes but he breathes a sigh when he hears the lock click. You peek out from behind the door and he feels his stomach drop when he sees your eyes.

You're all blotchy, skin wet and raw, and it's very clear you've been crying.

"What's going on?" he says quietly. "Please talk to me."

You sigh, close your eyes, and open the door slowly. He makes room for you to come out and, turning the light off on your way, you stand in front of him and look down at your hands.

"I can't," you say, voice pained.

"Why though? It's only me," he responds, voice equally as sad.

"Eddie, I just can't, I don't know, I-"

"I'm not taking that. It's what I'm here for, I want to look after you."

"I don't need you to look after me," you say coldly.

"Oh, don't give me that."

"I don't, though."

"Yes you do," he insists.

"No, I don't."

"You clearly do."

"Stop being mean."

"It's okay," he urges you.

"No, it's not."

"It's okay," he repeats.

"Eddie, stop it."

"It's okay to need looking after, you know."

"No, it's not! I'm an adult, I should be able to eat a fucking meal and not throw it back up afterwards," you snap.

Eddie doesn't say anything. He can't, too stunned by your confession.

Scrunching your face when you realise what you've admitted, you push past him with your shoulder and a groan.

"Stop," he says, holding his arm out for you but you're too quick for him, striding through the living room to his bedroom. Hot on your heels he follows you and wedges himself between the door and the frame as you try to shut it.

You're crying now, and he's nearly there himself because this is his fault.

"Please just let me help," he pleads, letting himself in and standing on the side of the bed closest to the door. You're around the other side, facing him, hiding your face in your hands. "I want to know what I can do."

"There's nothing you can do," you say through wet hiccups.

"I can listen," he tells you. And he means it – it's all he wants to do.

You heave a deep breath and lower your hands. He nearly falls to his knees when he really sees you, your tired eyes and wet face, but he holds his resolve and stands patiently.

You sit, giving up, back to him. He sits too, with his back to you, knowing that if you wanted to you could ask him to turn around, or sit next to him. Perhaps not having to look at him will make it a bit easier for you.

"I can't do this," you sigh behind him. He feels his heart break at the break in your voice, but focuses on listening to you.

"It's just me, baby," he says. "I'll wait here 'til you can."

The bed bounces beside him as you flop down on your back, the same way you did earlier – only this time you're exasperated, groaning. There's no giddiness, no giggles. He hates it.

"It's been happening for years," you tell him.

"What has?"

You're quiet for a minute, before you say, "me being sick after I eat."

"You make yourself sick, right?"

He's been looking straight ahead, but now he twists to look down at you. Around your head your hair's splayed everywhere and even when your eyes are all red round the edges and swollen, he thinks you look like an angel.

Toying with your hair, his fingers dance their way to your scalp, where they rest on your forehead. Between your brows he smooths the skin that's scrunched in concentration and feels you relax ever so slightly under his touch.

"Yeah," you sigh. "I wish I could stop."

"How long's it been goin' on?"

"A few years. On an' off since I was, like, fourteen."

"That's so long," he says. And then he tries, "Ever had help for it?"

"Once," you answer, "in high school. Worked for a bit but it started again when I left."

"I love you," he reminds you.

"Love you too," you say back, letting your eyes close and keening into his hand where it now rests on the side of your face. "Sorry I never told you."

"It's okay," he assures you.

"I shoulda said something, instead of sneakin' off after meals."

"It's okay, really. Just glad I know now."

After a beat, you say, "I've never told anyone before. Except the therapist, obviously."

"I'm honoured," he says with a low laugh, though he means it. "You're the most important thing to me, ever. I'll do whatever ya need."

You reach up and hold his wrist, and use it to pull yourself up to spin round and sit next to him. Resting your cheek in his shoulder, you hum, and he brings his arm around you, smoothing it up and down your arm.

"Wanna eat anythin' else?"

"Hm, no. Can we go out for breakfast, though?"

"Sure can, sugar. Benny's?"

"Yes please," you say, grinning. Bringing your legs up, you swing one over Eddie's thighs so you're straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck. 

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck. The vibration tickles and he squirms underneath you. Bringing his arms around your middle, he squeezes back.

"Nothin' to thank me for, baby."

You pull back and hold his face in your hands, surveying his face with a funny expression.

"What?"

"How'd I land such a handsome-" You kiss his face to punctuate each word. "-Smart, kind, brilliant boyfriend?"

"Dunno," he responds, kissing back. "Same as I dunno how I landed a gorgeous, brave, perfect girlfriend."

You kiss the skin under his ear and again on his jaw.

"Wanna go to bed?" he whispers as you look at him. Your faces are an inch apart, so you rest your forehead on his and close your eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, the air warm on his face, and he can't help but chase it and lean in to kiss you. He does so softly, feather-light, and when you break away you say, "don't, I probably taste gross."

"Don't care," he replies, kissing you again, warm and like home.

"Seriously, Eds," you giggle against his mouth, pushing firm palms on his chest. "I gotta brush my teeth."

"Nuh-uh," he says loudly, gripping you hard around your waist with his arms. "Hold on," he warns. With all his might he lifts you, with his hands slid under your thighs, as he stands. When he does he wobbles a bit, making both of you laugh into each other's mouths, and as he regains his balance he walks you across the room. You kiss sloppy, happy marks down his neck and across his shoulder through his tattered old t-shirt, while he makes his way to the bathroom where he sits you on the lid of the toilet.

Once he's rinsed it and added toothpaste, he hands you your toothbrush and does the same to his own. You stand there in relative silence, brushing until you're satisfied. When you spit in the bowl he jabs your side and you make eye contact in the mirror, where he makes to spit into your hair. You wriggle away, squealing, hands covering the crown of your head, and he laughs as he stands back up, rinsing both brushes again and replacing them in the cup. After a routine splash of water to your face, which you swat away as always, he takes your hand and follows you back to the bedroom.

"Love you," he tells you as you lie in bed, slotted into one another.

There are a thousand other things he wishes he could tell you, too, like how he's pretty sure he'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren't for you, because he can't seem to keep his own head screwed on right most days; like the fact that even though you hate him telling you this, he loves nothing more than when he comes home from a gig to find you asleep, mouth hanging open, drooling all over his pillows; and like the fact that he's certain now that this is all that he wants, forever, and that he knows he's gonna marry you.

Maybe he will tell you that one. One day.

-

[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.)

[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.

[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

[putrefurnaced]

Available art!

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

[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

[hyperfixationgoddess]

I have this head cannon, y'see and I can't really talk about it in real life, so now it's tumblr's problem. Yaaaaay.

Okay, here it is. This is an a/b/o au. The upside down has its own scent, right? And it scents COLD. And only a select few in Hawkins know that scent. Of course, Steve Harrington is one of them. That day in the field, in s2, when the Mind Flayer was taking over Will, what if the high school gym was close enough to that field that everyone could smell it? That overwhelming scent of dark, cold, evil. Steve is the only one who recognizes it .

He'd never run so fast in all his life.

Steve is the first on the scene, sees Will just standing there, his own pup scent overwhelmed by cold. Steve has always run hot, and he learned a long time ago, due to absent parents, how to scent warmth.

He goes up to Will, and just hugs him, scents warm, because it makes sense, right? The upside down was making it cold, so Steve had to warm him up. When the rest of the crew find them, Steve is just holding Will close, scenting warm, and encouraging him to fight off the upside down.

"it's okay, Will, you're doing great, you're so strong, pup, you can do it, you're so strong, stronger than anything that place can throw at you, come on, kiddo, you got this..." Etc., Etc.

When the others arrive, he tells them to scent warm like he is, cause it'll help pull Will out of this dark place. They all end up in this big group hug: Steve, Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Joyce. Then, when the basketball team shows up looking for Steve, he just looks at Hargrove, and is like, you're basically a human furnace, get over here and help us get this pup warm.

Fyi, Steve is obviously an omega, and Billy is an alpha, so who is he to refuse.

Finally, Will wakes up mind flayer-free, and he just clings to Steve while sobbing. He accidentally calls Steve mama, which just makes him melt, and then Steve and Joyce and the kids, including Max, take Will home and just gives him all the love he deserves. The next day, Steve takes all the kids to meet the Hawkins High Dungeon Master, Eddie Munson, to help Will feel better

And that, my friends, is how Steve adopts all of the kids in this au. Of course, D'art is still around, so that's how Steve bonds with Dustin specifically. Dustin and Will are his favorites. Billy just kind of fell for Steve after seeing his mama bear side, as did Eddie, because I am a sucker for Harringroveson.

[riahlynn101]

Day Twenty-Three: "Who's There?"

Trigger warnings: Implied/referenced murder, implied child neglect, and children in distress.

Set in the FNAF movie universe.

--

“Who’s there?” Mike asks. 

It’s the middle of the night. The house is quiet, save for the rattling of the furnace in the basement and the old foundation settling. His family went to bed hours ago, but not before shutting Mike in his room. 

(“A safety precaution,” his mom said. “Just until we can get your sleepwalking under control.”)

Which would be fine, but….

…there’s a reason he leaves his room.

A Spider-Man comic book is flung off his nightstand. It hits the wall with a soft thump. Mike closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

Mike turns on his side. Maybe it’ll be less scary if he closes his eyes. (It never is). 

Something heavy falls on the floor, but he’s too afraid to see what it is. As far as Mike cares, it could be his walkman as long as whatever is doing it, leaves him alone. 

There’s a sudden clattering sound, like heavy rain on a tin roof.

“Stop,” he says, pulling his blanket over his head. “Please.”

The clattering gradually gets louder, until it's the only thing Mike can hear. He cries, putting his hands over his ears. 

His bedroom is flooded with light. Under his blanket, Mike’s eyes are protected from the sudden assault.

“Mike…?” 

His comforter is pulled off his head.

Mike slowly sits up, putting his hands down. “Garrett,” he sniffles, “what are you doing up?”

His little brother sits on his bed. He shrugs. “I heard you crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” Mike huffs, wiping at his eyes. 

“Was it a bad dream?”

“....Yes….” He draws his knees to his chest, staring at his lap. 

Garrett leans in, unprompted, and wraps his arms around his older brother. Out of reflex, Mike hugs him back. “What- what are you doing?”

“Hugging you?” His brother answers in a no-duh, voice. “Mommy hugs me when I have bad dreams, I thought it might help you.”

Mike swallows heavily, blinking back tears. “Uh…thank you, Gar.”

“No problem. Do you want me to get mommy?”

“No.”

“Daddy?”

“Definite no. I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, but thanks.”

“Okay, but if you get scared, you know how to find me.” Garrett hops off the bed. He goes to turn the light off.

“Wait,” he calls out. His brother looks at him. “Can you please leave them on. I’m…” the word scared goes unsaid, but Garrett seems to understand perfectly. 

“Okay. I don’t like the dark either,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Mike flops back down to sleep. In the light, his room doesn’t feel as scary. His parents might be angry that he’s running up the electricity bill, but he has no other choice.

It didn’t always used to be like this. When he was younger, his father would leave him home alone all the time, and he never got scared once.  But ever since…. 

Mike throws the thought out of his mind. No, he doesn’t need to think about that right now. He needs to go to sleep. There’s school tomorrow, and he has to get up early to walk Garrett to school. 

The heavy rain on a tin roof starts again, louder than before. 

He sits up, feeling more secure with the light on. Whatever it is that’s screwing with him, can’t hurt him while the light’s on. At least that’s what his mom says, and she’s very rarely wrong. 

Mike climbs to the end of his bed. Cautiously, he peeks over the footboard. A bunch of marbles lay scattered across his floor. 

He sighs in relief, sliding out of bed. Mike can be a little absent-minded sometimes, so he probably just left them on the edge of his dresser and they fell off. 

He should clean them up before morning, though. The last thing he wants is his overly-excitable little brother running and falling on hundreds of marbles, or his mom for that matter. She’s constantly complaining about her back, and Mike is ninety-nine percent sure that the way to fix it is not by having her break it. 

Grabbing the baggie they came in, Mike starts scooping them into his hand, and putting them into the bag. The wood floor beneath his feet is cold, and he misses the warmth of the blanket. He yawns, exhaustion finally setting in.

The lights flicker.

On.

Off.

On.

Off. 

“Michael….” 

On. 

He tenses, the marbles slip through his fingers, clattering to the floor. 

Off.

A cold hand touches the back of his neck. 

On.

His breathing becomes shallow. 

Off. 

“I’ve missed you.”

On.

He shudders. All the alarm bells are going off in his head, but Mike can’t bring himself to move.

Off. 

The hand is removed from his neck. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for soooo long, Mikey. Why are you ignoring me? Are you mad at me?”

On. 

Mike moves forward, crawling over the marbles he hasn’t gotten a chance to clean up yet. His heart beats fast. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. 

Off. 

“Don’t run away, please, I really, really miss you.”

On.

Whoever, or whatever is speaking to him is blocking the way out, so Mike makes the split-second decision to hide under the bed. He army crawls as fast as he can, before the lights turn off again. 

Off. 

He whimpers, nails digging into the floor. Mike squeezes his eyes shut, trying to imagine that he’s safe in bed. 

Next to him, someone sighs heavily. “Are you done?”

Shaking, Mike forces himself to turn his head. There, laying in the same position as him, is the subject of all his nightmares. Charlie Emily, Henry’s daughter, and the girl his father killed. He hasn’t thought about his father in years. Not since Mike was put into the foster system. 

Everytime Mike closes his eyes, he can see his best friend covered in gashes, a large pool of blood beneath her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, cringing away. “I didn’t know. I-I thought-”

“Shhh….stop being silly. I know you didn’t mean it. He tricked you.”

Mike looks at her, wide-eyed.

Charlie smiles. She looks just like the day she died, before he trusted his father when he said to lock the door. Whole and alive.  “It’ll be okay, Michael. Trust me.” Her expression turns serious. “But I need you to do something for me.”

Wordlessly, Mike nods. 

“Okay, so….” She leans in to whisper in his ear. 

The next morning, Mike’s mom finds him under the bed, fast asleep. There are marbles on the floor, and the comic book he begged his parents for is laying haphazardly against the wall. She lightly shakes him. 

He blinks blearily. “Morning?” 

“Yep, and I see you had a busy night.”

Mike looks at her, confused.

But his mom has seen that look a million times. “Don’t play dumb, Mike. You know you shouldn’t be playing after bedtime.”

“I…didn’t?” 

His mom sighs. “Don’t argue with me, okay? Just don’t do it again.”

Despite having no idea what she’s talking about, Mike mumbles an agreement under his breath. 

“Good.” She kisses his head. “Now, get ready. Garrett is eating breakfast, and I saved a poptart for you. Remember to look both ways before-”

“Crossing the street,” Mike finishes. “I know, I know.”

“Okay, and-”

“Don’t talk to strangers, even if they promise you candy.”

His mom sighs. “Good. You’re all set then. Your dad and I won’t be home until late tonight. Our boss is making us work overtime today.”

“That’s fine.”

“Take care of your brother. Don’t tease him too much.”

Mike makes a face. “No, promises.”

She pinches his cheek, getting to her feet. “Be good,” his mom says in a warning voice. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

His mom pauses in the doorway. “I know we’ve had to work a lot these past few weeks, so as long as you two behave, we can go to the park this weekend.”

Mike smiles. “Really?”

“Yes, but you have to behave.”

“Deal.”

His mom returns his smile. 

The door closes. Mike frowns. He can’t remember his dream from last night. It feels just out of his reach, but he knows it was important - whatever it was. 

Maybe it will come back to him later.

[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.