#will be written from mike

[bugsbenefit]

genuinely still baffled by the "they don't need to address Mike's sexuality, all that matters is that he's in love with Will" crowd. especially when people say it who claim to care about Mike's character (when you could also just say you don't really care for that part of the show, which would be fine, no one cares about all characters/arcs)

because Surely you realize how him being gay or bi would change his entire character, right. whether he's attracted to girls or not would change the way all his actions up until now are to be interpreted. not even making a statement on his sexuality here, this is generally speaking

if he was actually attracted to El you'd have to address when and why he suddenly stopped loving El since in fiction "it just happened" isn't usually a satisfying answer to breaking a multi season couple up. Why is Will it for him? he's been acting weird for ages so when did he realize? and what made it click he fell out of love with El for good? you'd have to give some explanation for why he was able to proclaim his love for El accidentally in s3 and then fail to do it in the same season while looking uncomfortable with kissing her and so on since his pov was so majorly withheld

if he's not attracted to girls his arc in s5 needs to focus more on comphet and how dating El affected him/why he felt he couldn't break up with her/homophobic attitude in his surrounding slash Hawkins. or the idea of platonic and romantic love in general. there would be no how he got from point A(El) to point B(Will), like what the focus of a bi!Mike s5 arc would have to be on to explain what happened, but a focus on how he ended up at point A in the first place and why he was stuck there/how it affected him

and even core moments of the series would have entirely different meanings depending on if he's attracted to girls. "it's not my fault you don't like girls" being a peak example. if he's gay it's easy to explain it with projection. if he IS attracted to girls though it would read as a much more intentional (even if blurted out) act of homophobia, since it would be him pointing something out that Will genuinely does (not liking being around girls) but he himself can't relate to

and that's all just the surface level differences. Mike being attracted to girls or not being attracted to girls would give his arc an entirely different focus in s5. AS WELL as make his past actions have entirely different meanings. the idea that "it doesn't matter for his character" is so insanely wrong it's wild how many people confidently peddle it

[freak-accident419]

Hey guys so as you know I’m in the process of writing a Billy smut and i just wanted to tease you guys with this fact:

Billy has a necklace…

so it’s gonna be dangling over you when he…

edit: its out!!!

[astrobei]

for @quinnick: kiss prompt #4 - lips barely touching

The car is out of gas. Will is about ten seconds away from maybe-dying (again). Mike Wheeler has been abnormally quiet today.

At least of late, one of those things is more abnormal than the others. 

The car is always out of gas. Will doesn’t know when the last time they’d filled it up was, but he does know that it’s not his problem trying to figure it out. That’s Hopper’s deal. Or his mom’s, maybe. Or Nancy’s, or Jonathan’s, or–

Whatever! The point is that the car is out of gas, Mike and Will are stranded at the currently closed general store, and they’re probably about to die.

Again.

“Mike,” Will tries, for maybe the hundredth time. “It’s not your fault, okay, it could’ve happened to anyone–”

“Yeah,” Mike grumbles miserably, as they round the corner, from aisle four – cleaning supplies and household items – into aisle five – canned goods. Most of the shelves are empty, turned over. Mike picks up a can of pickled green beans, pulls a face, and puts it back on the shelf. “But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”

Will takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. God forbid Mike Wheeler ever let anything go. “You didn’t know,” he huffs anyway. “It’s not your fault.” The store is dark, which is great for being able to roll your eyes without Mike seeing. Will’s flashlight sputters, briefly, the bright circle of light flickering in and out of view. He smacks it against his palm once, twice, and it steadies. “Seriously,” Will adds, as Mike slows to a stop in front of him. “Stop beating yourself up. So we have to wait for a ride. Big deal.”

Mike turns around to face him. His expression is mostly unreadable in the dark, but Will’s flashlight catches the edge of it – worried, a little guilty. “Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Except there are things everywhere and waiting for a ride is just– we’re sitting ducks here, okay,” Mike frowns. “I don’t like it. It feels like tempting fate.”

“Well, the simple fact of my existence feels like tempting fate sometimes,” Will jokes. It works, for a split second – Mike’s furrowed brows smooth out into something halfway amused, and he makes a noise that might be a laugh.

“Not funny,” Mike says anyway. His lips twitch.

“You laughed!” Will insists, smiling. His voice carries down through the hallway in a vibrant echo. “I know you did!”

“Shut up,” Mike whispers, looking away. “Would it kill you to keep your voice down?”

It might. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re not safe here, out in the open, and that the whole point of them coming inside instead of waiting in the parking lot was to hunker down until Jonathan and Nancy could get another car here to pick them up. And also, preferably, get some gas.

Somewhere significantly closer in Will’s mind, though, is the knowledge that this is the most Mike has said – and the closest he’s come to laughing – since the car had stalled on the way from the cabin to the general store ten minutes ago, and Mike had just barely had time to pull into the abandoned parking lot before it had stopped altogether. He knows Mike doesn’t like this – being caught off-guard, out in the open. Even minute changes in the plan – which you’d think they’d all be more prepared for, considering the way things have been going lately – get Mike a little keyed up.

And the sorry, borderline pathetic part is this: despite it all, despite the ever-present threat of danger, and the impending sense of doom that’s been hanging over their heads for what seems like forever, Will feels vaguely pleased with himself anyway, seeing Mike hold back a smile instead of forcing one on his face.

So yeah, it might kill him, if he kept his voice down. That’s okay. Will thinks it would be worth it, sometimes – the danger and the doom and everything else – to hear Mike laugh.

God, what’s wrong with him? That’s embarrassing. That’s so embarrassing.

He shakes the thought off. “Whatever,” Will says instead, praying the cover of darkness is hiding the blush that’s rapidly rising to his cheeks. He angles  the flashlight away from them anyway, just in case, and Mike’s face falls back into silhouette. “You know I’m right. You’re doomed just by being here with me.”

Mike shakes his head. “You know I don’t think of you like that.”

Will frowns. “Like what?”

“Like– like a bad luck charm,” Mike waves his hands around. “Or whatever.”

“I didn’t say bad luck charm,” Will exclaims. “Ouch! Stop putting words into my mouth.”

Mike grins. “Would you rather have, uh,” he picks up the nearest can to him, something small and vaguely gray, “tinned sardines in your mouth? Tinned sardines in water? Oh, gross. Never mind, actually.”

“I would rather not,” Will decides, even though the shelves are so bare that they might have to suck it up and take home the tinned sardines in water after all. “Would you like some, uh. Tuna?”

“I guess we know why there’s so much fish,” Mike sighs, leaning heavily against an empty shelf. “Nobody wanted it.”

“You mean the ten people outside of our circle of friends that are still left in Hawkins? Yeah,” Will scoffs, then sets the can back down with a soft clink. “I guess not.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s quiet in the store, the room dark and lit faintly by Will’s flashlight and the display in the corner. It lights Mike up a faint blue, catches the edges of his jaw and where his hair is curling softly over the hood of his jacket. 

Will’s flashlight sputters again. 

When it comes back on this time, it’s more faint than it was before. It’s dark in here, Will realizes, a bit belatedly. Like, really dark.

He takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Mike, just a little, like the shape of his body all leaned against the empty shelves is a grounding force. Mike gives him a look that Will can’t quite decipher in the dark.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out. The proximity is helping, a little. “Just– waiting for our ride.”

Mike leans in a bit closer too, places an arm under Will’s elbow. It’s a light touch, nothing forceful, but the semblance of support is there. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

Sometimes, Will hates how well Mike knows him. He doesn’t get antsy in the same way Mike does in situations like these, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t affect him at all. It should be expected by now, the automatic fight or flight. 

For some cruel reason, it still isn’t. “You can’t even see me,” he says, but lets himself lean into the touch anyway.

“I can see enough,” Mike says easily. “Do you want to sit down?”

Will shakes his head. The only thing worse than waiting out in the open is sitting out in the open. At least when you’re standing, you can run. “No. I’m fine.”

Will can’t see Mike either, but he’d be willing to bet real money – that he doesn’t have – that he can tell exactly what Mike’s expression looks like. The pause grows, swells and swells and swells, until Will is sure Mike is going to say something–

There’s a clattering outside.

Instantly, Mike’s hand tightens its grip on Will’s elbow. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Will hisses, twisting around to try and see through the windows. “Of course I heard that, Mike.”

“Do you think that’s–”

“No idea,” Will whispers. With no small amount of reluctance, he tugs his arm out of Mike’s grip. He misses the warmth of it almost instantaneously, and the tugging in his stomach is only amplified by the way Mike automatically leans in behind him, places a hand on his back to replace the absent touch, like it was never gone at all. Will swallows, and flicks the flashlight off. “Now be quiet.”

“The windows are boarded up,” Mike says, decidedly not being quiet. Will wonders where the Mike Wheeler of fifteen minutes ago went – the one that was sulking and fidgeting in silence the whole way down the first aid aisle. “They’re boarded up, so nothing can get in. Right?”

“We got in,” Will points out, which Mike seems to realize at approximately the same second he does. It’s getting a little hard to think, with Mike so close to him.

Will really wishes Mike would pull his hand away.

“Right,” Mike whispers, breath ghosting gently over the back of Will’s neck. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine.”

Fine, Will thinks. That’s one word for it.

Another clattering. It’s closer this time.

Will freezes.

Jonathan and Nancy are probably about ten minutes out. Twenty if they had to go back to the Wheelers’ for the other car. So they’d probably be fine if they stuck it out here, because the chance of something happening across them now, in the brief period of time where they’re stuck without a ride, in a building equipped with close to nothing that could help, is small.

Small, but not nonexistent.

Will isn’t really feeling inclined to take that chance. “Come on,” he says, then spins on his heel, grabbing Mike’s hand and tugging him in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”

Mike follows easily, stumbling slightly with the sudden movement. “Wh– where are we going?”

“Just come on,” Will says, then tugs Mike around to the back of the store. He yanks open a door, and shoves him inside. “Get in.”

“Whoa,” Mike says, as Will tumbles in behind him. “Will, what–”

“Would it kill you to be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Mike says, then does, at last, fall silent.

Immediately, Will wishes he hadn’t said that. It’s dark in here – even darker than out in the front of the store – and the only noise is the faint hum of a generator, somewhere behind the walls. It’s grating and stilted. Will wonders when the last time it had been repaired was.

Plus, it’s really–

It’s really fucking dark in here.

Will lets out a long, slow exhale, and reaches out to feel for the wall beside him. His palm comes into contact with chipped paint and he follows the shape of it down, lowering himself onto the ground.

“Will?” Mike says, and Will is in half a mind to say that thing about being quiet again, but–

It’s dark. It’s really dark.

“Yeah,” he says, barely audible even to himself over the faint hum of the generator, and the louder hum – demanding, prominent, persistent – of his blood rushing through his ears. “I just– sitting. I’m sitting.”

There had at least been some light out in the front, but this storage closet might as well be a void. It smells vaguely of dust, something stale and unknown and probably untouched for who-knows-how-long. Will takes another deep breath in.

“Where?” Mike asks. “I don’t want to step on you.”

Will cracks a smile. “Here,” he says, and holds a hand up in the air. “Right here.”

There’s a quiet shuffling sound as Mike moves closer, and then Will feels fingertips brushing against his. Mike latches on immediately, gripping tighter onto his hand and sits down in front of him. 

Will still can’t see anything – he can’t see anything – but he can feel Mike’s presence like it’s a tangible thing.

Mike could let go of Will’s hand now. Now that he’s found him.

He doesn’t, though.

“Hey,” Mike says, then there’s another faint shuffling noise. “Where are we?”

“Storage closet.”

“Huh. How did you know it was here?”

Will cracks another smile, despite himself. “My mom worked here, remember? For, like, years.”

“Right,” Mike laughs, and then he’s moving closer, knees bumping against knees in the dark. “I forgot. It doesn’t feel like the same place.”

“Tell me about it,” Will sighs. He’s probably breathing in dust and debris and soot and all sorts of gross stuff, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He presses his knees against Mike’s a little harder, just because he can.

“I remember,” Mike starts, readjusting his grip on Will’s hand – fingers interlocked, a firmer grip – “she’d give me free candy from the front counter. Whenever I came in with my parents, I mean. My mom was so confused about why I kept asking to tag along to Melvald’s with her.”

“That’s not fair,” Will laughs. “She never let me have any candy.”

“You were a menace all hopped up on sugar,” Mike points out. “I knew how to behave myself.”

That’s a damn lie, and they both know it. “Liar,” Will says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe so,” Mike hums. “But I’m still the one who got free candy, so–”

“Mike!” Will shoves lightly at his knee, and Mike’s answering laugh fills the small space instantaneously. It’s loud – too loud, because they’re supposed to be hiding, goddamnit – but the nagging little voice at the back of Will’s head is vanquished almost as quickly as it came. “Shut up.”

Mike, as always, ignores him. “Why don’t we turn on a light?”

“The fuse is probably blown,” Will responds. “If there’s even a light in this stupid closet.”

“I mean this, idiot,” Mike says, and then clicks the flashlight back on. The batteries must be dying, because it flickers to life weakly, steadying out into a dim yellow-white. “Obviously.”

“Don’t waste the batteries,” Will says at once, trying to grab for it. “Come on, Mike–”

“Jonathan and Nancy will be here any minute and then we can go put in new batteries,” Mike says, holding it easily out of reach. “No point sitting in the dark, right?”

“Mike,” Will tries to protest, but it’s useless. Mike’s made up his mind.

Slowly, and a little far away, Will realizes what Mike is trying to do. He’s not being subtle about it, but subtlety has never been Mike Wheeler’s strong suit. He’s always been exuberant, quick and spontaneous with his actions, and this is no different. Sitting up close, closer than would be strictly necessary in any other situation. Turning the light on, despite the dying batteries. Telling Will about coming here as a kid, all those years ago. Making him laugh. Diffusing the tension.

Jesus, and he’s still holding Will’s hand.

A wave of affection washes over him, sudden and overwhelming enough for Will to feel borderline nauseous.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Mike can’t just sit here and touch their knees together and hold Will’s hand, and–

“Look,” Mike is saying, and then he’s holding the flashlight under his chin and grinning. “Don’t I look freaky?”

In all honesty, Mike looks fucking hilarious. The direct light casts long shadows across the dips of his cheekbones, the shapes of his eyelashes distorting wildly as he blinks. “No,” Will snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

“Really?” Mike grins, in a way that means he knows just how ridiculous he looks. “Not even a little?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the resulting effect is so comical that Will can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, sharp and sudden and real.

“Mike,” he chides, for the millionth time. “You’re going to kill the battery.”

Mike looks way too pleased with himself. “Worth it,” he says anyway, as he sets the flashlight down. It evens out the sharp angles of his face, now that it’s farther away, lights his cheeks and nose and eyes up into something softer, more open.

Something about the steadiness of Mike’s expression is brighter than any source of light. Suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, it’s blinding. 

God. He’s so screwed.  “For what?”

“Getting you to laugh,” Mike says, simple and easy, like he’s reciting times tables instead of proceeding to turn Will’s entire world upside down on its pathetic little axis.

Will feels his lungs stutter on his next inhale. He looks away. “Don’t do that.”

The gleeful expression falters on Mike’s face. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t,” Will says, “don’t– you’re being so– so–”

Mike looks caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “So what?”

“So,” Will tries again, and then Mike moves closer, and the difficulty of articulating a halfway decent sentence immediately increases tenfold. “So.”

“So,” Mike echoes, shifting so the side of his thigh is pressed up against the side of Will’s. He’s being slowly backed into the corner, but the thought isn’t terrifying like it might have been five minutes ago. Suddenly, Will is overwhelmed in a completely new way. “So what?”

“Nice to me,” Will gets out. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Mike pauses, then says, incredulously and half-laughing– “What? Why?”

Bad choice of words. “You heard me,” Will says anyway, because he’s nothing if not stubborn. “You’re being too nice.”

“I should hope so,” Mike says. “I mean, you’re my friend.”

Maybe Will is imagining it, but the sentence feels unfinished. Like there’s a second half to it that Mike is keeping for himself: You’re my friend – right?

The obvious answer here is that yes, Mike is his friend. But that answer feels unfinished too, like a lie by omission. Will tries to imagine it, doing these things with anyone else – what it would be like if Dustin was holding his hand, or if it were Lucas sitting next to him this close.

The conclusion he comes to, almost immediately, is that it would be weird.

It would be really fucking weird.

That feels like– something. An admission, maybe. Because the fact of the matter is that things with Mike have always been like this, and they’ve never been like this with anyone else, and Will doesn’t think they can be like this with anyone else without it being the most unsettling thing that’s ever happened to him.

The silence, he realizes, has gone on just a second too long.

“Yeah,” he blurts out at last. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Something settles over Mike’s face. “Will–”

“Forget I said anything,” Will backpedals, a little bit desperate. “Never mind. Be as nice to me as you want.”

Mike bites down on his lower lip. It looks like he’s holding back a smile. “As nice as I want?”

Oh, no.

“Sure,” Will tries. “Do your worst.”

Mike lets out a shaky exhale. He presses in further, leans in closer until their shoulders are almost touching. “How about this?”

“That’s not nice,” Will says weakly. “That’s just an invasion of personal space.”

“Seems pretty nice to me,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Will inhales sharply. “Mike.”

“What?”

“What are you– doing,” Will whispers, stumbling over his words, just slightly, as Mike places a hand on his arm.

Mike’s gaze does not waver. “Is this okay?”

Is it okay? Will thinks his brain might be halfway to leaking out through his ears. This is–

This is–

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah. Great.”

“Okay,” Mike whispers. He’s so close now that Will could count all the freckles spattered across his nose, if he wanted to. He could, and the thought is dizzying, dizzying – suddenly, it’s not the claustrophobia that’s making him feel like this. It can’t be, because Mike is in front of him, and he’s so close that Will could just lean forward and–

He could just–

“Mike.” And maybe he’s a bit of a broken record, but he can’t come up with any words other than his name. He clutches at Mike’s knee and meets his gaze and prays – to whatever deity allowed him to get trapped in a storage closet with Mike Wheeler two inches away from his face – that Mike Wheeler will find the courage in him somewhere to close the fucking gap.

He doesn’t, though, which is a sign that the universe must be majorly fucking with him. Not yet, anyway. Not anywhere near as fast as Will needs it to be – if this is what he thinks it is, it’s nowhere near fast enough.

In actuality, what it is is excruciating – the way Will’s heart is beating so loud that he’s sure Mike can hear it, in the proximity. The slow circles Mike is tracing over his other hand – the hand that he’s still holding. He’s so close that Will can discern the warmth emanating off him, the familiar scent of soap, can feel Mike’s eyes trained steadily on his mouth, and yet–

Either Mike is actually moving at a speed of one nanosecond per minute, or time has slowed to a near-stop around them. Mike’s grip on his hand is agonizing, caustic in all the places where they’re touching, each slow circle of Mike’s thumb against his wrist driving him slowly and steadily out of his mind. Do it, Will thinks, like maybe if he thinks it loud enough, Mike will be able to hear him. Do it, do it, do it.

Mike’s lips touch his.

The world stops moving.

It must, anyway. Or maybe it’s just that Will doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore – he doesn’t know if he can find it in him to remember how. All he’s aware of is this: Mike’s hands on his arm, his wrist. Mike’s leg under his own palm, warm and steady and pressed up against him in a smooth, unyielding line. The pressure of the wall behind him, the strands of Mike’s hair brushing against his face, and Mike’s lips – gentle, gentle, gentle, and nowhere near enough.

It’s like Mike is waiting for something. Waiting for Will, maybe.

God, okay.

Fuck it, Will thinks, from somewhere far off in his own head. Fuck it. Fuck this. 

“Will,” Mike whispers, pulling back a precious few millimeters, and that’s it. That’s all Will can take.

Will lifts his hand off Mike’s leg, raises it to his wrist and tugs. Mike topples into him with a small gasp, Will falls backwards into the wall, and then they’re kissing.

God. Okay.

Mike steadies himself quickly, braces a hand on the wall behind them and leans in, firm and enthusiastic. His hand, Will notices, faintly and with no small amount of affection, is shaking. Just slightly. Will’s trapped between them again – Mike and the wall – but this time he can’t find it in himself to care even the slightest bit. As if there’s anywhere he’d want to go that wasn’t here, as if he’d want to be somewhere without Mike’s hand carding through his hair, or without his lips moving softly against Will’s own, or the noise he makes when Will presses forward, too fast, too eager, too betrayed by his own fluttering pulse – something like a laugh, trapped deep in his chest.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s–

“Mike? Will?”

Shit.

In a flash, Mike pulls away, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

Shit.

“Yeah,” Mike calls, voice cracking just slightly on the syllable. “We’re in here!”

Shit.

“So,” Will says, aiming for nonchalance. He fails immediately. His voice cracks too. Great. “That–”

Don’t freak out, he thinks. Please don’t freak out.

Mike, to his credit, is not freaking out.

“Yeah,” Mike says, voice a little high-pitched but surprisingly even. He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. You were–”

“Yeah,” Will finishes, rather lamely. He’s grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even need to look at himself to tell. His expression is mirrored, perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, on Mike’s own face.

The closet door gets thrown open, and there’s a blinding, sudden light– “What the fuck,” Mike exclaims, squinting and throwing a hand up in front of his eyes. “Nancy?”

Jonathan peers around her shoulder. “What were you guys doing in here?”

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t–

Will can’t help it. He looks at Mike, and they immediately burst into laughter.

Shit.

[joshfutturman]

save me mike fluff. mike fluff save me.

[real-odark]

the next time my brother says "i know a movie" i will not be watching. what the Hell is this

[a-shade-of-green]

yeah so that scene where mike kicks down the fort in his basement in s1 is definitely supposed to be paralleled by will taking down castle byers in s3. just if anyone cares about when mike turned his back on being a kid.

[bylertruther]

yk. the resistance ppl have to so much as considering the idea that mike might not jump to immediately and enthusiastically engaging in obvious n indisputably gay shit with will publicly is kinda funny in a puzzling way when season three and season four, where he does exactly that the entire way through, are literally right there for us all to watch on netflix.com. like. Okay ❤️

[hall0wedwyrm]

hey guess what

Tadaaah!!! The start of a most likely multi part short series.

I have some ideas for what I want to do for maybe 5 chapters or so? idk but I'm very excited teeheee

I hope you enjoy!!!

[jaxie101]

nsfw/

i have nothing against smut writers i love you guys 🙏 and maybe it’s bc im gay but HELP “mike would make you wear a cute little skirt and f****** you in public-“ that man is RIDDLED with anxiety ok i get it it’s ur thing but PLS… “he’d spoil u with diamonds and pearls🥰” poor guy can’t afford oreo’s. ur getting a can of pringles and a teddy bear from the dollar store at BEST

[dollywheeler]

October 4th, 1996

Dear diary,

We survived the night!

At first, when Mike opened the door for us, it was as awkward and uncomfortable as I’d feared. Mike was clearly nervous, which I found stranger than mom responding in kind, seemingly clutching to basic courtesy and manners as they landed on polite chatter about the weather. As if it’s ever anything other than dreadful in the beginning of fall.

I understand why mom was nervous, knew she wanted tonight to go well, but Mike was the one in control - he shouldn’t have been just as anxious, worrying about mom’s opinion. He’d already proven that he is capable of burning every bridge if he has to.

I stayed quiet as we crossed the threshold; I didn’t want to fall into the same pretense of everything being normal, and wouldn't have known what to say even if I did. Instead, I distracted myself by looking at the decor as Mike lead us further into the house. I’d never known there to be any developments in the neighborhood, but the house had clearly been a newer built than I’d expected. If I’d have to guess, I’d say late seventies, judging by the wide spaces and high ceilings. There was no divide between the entrance hall and the living room to the left, a set of stairs against the right wall climbing up to a second floor landing that overlooked the space beneath. The ceiling above the entrance and living room was made up of glass, as was visible from the street, the skylight tilting up until it meets the roof above the second floor. I had to admit it must look lovely during the day - or with the lights out at night - though I wouldn't want to be the one cleaning them.

The floor-to-ceiling windows facing the streets were partially covered by shrubbery and had tasteful white curtains that were left open for now, the glass reflecting the scene back to them and somehow making the lighting appear more cosy.

The furniture was minimalistic - clean wooden lines and modern sofas fitting the style of the house itself - and though the space was clean now, I could tell it's usually covered in clutter. The strip of wall that somewhat separated the hallway from the lounge was covered in picture frames, some holding snapshots of Mike’s time in Chicago, others showcasing Will’s artwork. I even spotted some old drawings above the fireplace that surely had to be from when they were kids. The outside wall was taken up by massive wooden shelves, covered in books and knick-knacks. It seemed empty now, but I’m pretty sure that’s due to the recent move, free surfaces they intended to fill up over the years to come.

The lounge, where Will met us with drinks and told us to sit down, was in the same room as the dining table, and in the back I could see a corner that led to the kitchen. though the kitchen itself was out of sight, I could see a small breakfast nook in the corner. Just like everything else, it was surprisingly cosy and intimate.

It seriously makes me wonder how long they intend to live there. It seemed surprisingly put together for a bachelor pad. Then again, not everything is like the movies, so I might just have to readjust my assumptions.

I didn't really tune in for most of the conversation, which was as awkward and stilted as I'd expected. Mom kept asking questions, and Mike kept answering almost reluctantly, as if he was seriously struggling to respond to to the most basic of inquiries about he and Will had been up to in Chicago. Honestly, one should rethink ever giving him an English diploma if he has this much trouble stringing a sentence together.

Will cut in a few times with updates on his family, which was a lot less awkward because mom had been keeping up with Mrs. Byers and thus could more easily contribute to the conversation. It was quite strange, even as we actually sat down at the table and they started directing more questions at me.

Surprisingly, Mike had actually cooked himself. Mom was quick to reassure him the food was good and the house was nice and all of that but it felt... weird, somehow. I didn't feel natural, even though she definitely wasn't lying, like she was afraid to say anything less. Meanwhile, Mike just looked more tense with every comment, as if he could sense it too. Will seemed to be the only one even the slightest bit relaxed, being quick to pick up conversation when either Mike or mom got stuck, trying to smoothe over the awkwardness to the best of his abilities. They kept bringing the conversation back to me, asking about school and friends and hobbies, but whenever mom and I tried to ask about them, it got weird again, dodging questions and dancing around the subject.

By the time we finished the main course I needed a break - couldn't stomach the weird energy anymore. So when Will and Mike started clearing the table, I got up and started wandering around. There were French doors made of dark wood near the kitchen that lead into a sun room, clearly used as a more informal living room. there were couches set up in the corner facing the giant floor-to-ceiling windows, tilted skylights similar to the ones at the front of the house allowing natural light to fill the space.

I would have bought the house just for this room alone - Will had set up an easel in the corner where two glass-lined walls met. In the corner away from the windows, a desk was set up cluttered with papers, and folders with white corners haphazardly sticking out, a typewriter stored on the floor next to it.

More so than the rest of the house, I could imagine them living here, sharing the space on lazy Saturdays or late Sunday mornings. Hell, I could take the images from when I was five, of Mike and his party set out around the coffee table in the basement, and implant them into this room, loud and boisterous and warm.

At least in this room the smell of teen-boy could be more easily aired out.

The one thing out of a place, which both surprised and excited me to see, was a shiny acoustic guitar standing next to the couch. It was new, clearly no more than a year or two old. I picked it up and it definitely felt smoother and more expensive than the one the Stevenson's had, and more importantly, it was actually tuned correctly.

"Do you play?" Mike asked, stepping into the room right as I had tried the first few chords, making me jump. He looked amused, though there was an edge of surprise or confusion on his face.

"Do you?" I fired back, because honestly I wouldn't have thought in a million years that Mike could play as much as the triangle, if anything. I wouldn't even have thought him capable of fine motor functions in general.

"Yeah, sort of," Mike shrugged, stepping further into the room and sinking down on the sofa. He held out his hand and I reluctantly handed the guitar to him.

He started playing, and it took me a moment to recognise it as Hey Jude from The Beatles. I raised my eyebrow at him, because as much as the song was a bit of a cliché choice, he was good. He stopped after the first chorus, and held the guitar out for me. I would have thought it a challenge, but instead he just looked genuinely curious to see me try.

I caved and sat down next to him, trying not to be nervous because last time I'd only managed to get to the first verse without making any mistakes. I was quite pleased with myself once I was done, and Mike's look was thoughtful even as he was smiling.

"I know that song, but-"

"Pixies," Will said from the doorway, and we both turned to look at him in surprise. "See, Mike, why am I not surprised your little sister has better taste in music than you?"

I couldn’t help but preen at the praise - I know it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Music is an opinion, and Will’s shouldn’t matter to me at all, and yet it felt nice to be complimented on it, as if I’d passed some kind of test. Interestingly, Mike didn't argue, just squinting his eyes at Will and sticking his tongue out like a child.

"To be fair, I've also been influenced by Jonathan," I reasoned, and told them about how Jonathan always makes me a Mixtape when Nancy and him visit. Where is my mind? was on the last one he brought when they visited in June, and just yesterday mom had picked up the new Oasis tape that Jonathan had pre-ordered for me as a late birthday present.

Will was immediately interested, coming over to sit next to Mike as he asked about my favorite song, so I let myself gush about how much I love Champagne Supernova - seriously, it's ridiculous. I've been listening to it on repeat ever since I got my hands on it.

I told Will I'd make a copy for him if he wanted, which he eagerly agreed to, but the conversation was interrupted as something moved in my peripheral vision, making me jump. It was just a cat, however, jumping onto the coffee table next to me. Startled, I ran a hand over her soft coat in awe, her big blue eyes uninterested even as she pushed into my touch.

Will, to my surprise, rolled his eyes when I asked for her name, but there was a smile on his face as he glanced towards Mike. “Her name is Cat.”

“You named your cat, “Cat”?” I asked, incredulous - because, seriously? - and Will shrugged and told me to blame Mike, who immediately gawked in affront.

“It’s short for ‘Catherine’!” Mike insisted as if that was a vital piece of information that somehow made it better.

“Mike sucks at naming things,” Will sighed as he reached out a hand to run over Cat's - Catherine's, because Cat is just too stupid - back, eyes cutting to Mike as if there was an older joke there, and to my surprise mom laughed. I hadn't noticed her come in, but she was sitting on the edge of the couch right next to the door, leaning back against the wall as she watched us with an adoring tilt of her head.

“He does,” mom agreed, fond smile curling at her lips, “what did you name Nancy’s stuffed horse again?”

Mike shrunk into himself, clearly embarrassed. “Neigh-nay is a perfectly acceptable name. As is Catherine!”

As if agreeing with him, Catherine jumped away from my petting and crossed the space into Mike's lap as he started scratching behind her ears. Mom laughed again, loud and deep and happy, and the sight made me smile as well.

“Honey, for someone that like those fantasy games so much you sure lacked creativity at times.”

That made Will snort, eyes filled with glee as he nudged Mike's shoulder, getting Mike to relax into a smile as well. “He was really good at coming up with the stories, though.”

Mom then went on to ramble in agreement, telling story after story about Mike’s imagination running wild from an early age. I was content to sit and listen and try not to die of boredom as we migrated back to the table for dessert. It was mostly things I already knew, Mom’s regurgitations of her favourite memories of Mike nothing new to me, but Will seemed to enjoy himself, and Mike was flustered but didn’t seem to mind either, chiming in to offer more context or correcting her at times when he remembered things differently.

The night was surprisingly pleasant after that, the initial frost finally broken as everyone got to enjoy themselves. They even relaxed enough to finish their glasses of wine and refill them, stories coming more easily after that. Mike and Will more freely talked about the classes they'd taken at UC and Northwestern respectively, and the apartment they'd shared after spending their first two years in the dorm.

There was still always that air of trepidation, of care hidden beneath each word, but it was easier to not fixate on it as we were all busy laughing at their crazy roommates and high-strung RAs. And by the end of the night I almost regretted having to go.

It was nice to have dinner like this - a proper dinner. Where the edges of the room fade away the further you're carried into the night, the deeper you sink into the conversation, when all focus shifts to the table at it's center and the people surrounding it, candlelight illuminating the sparks of joy in everyone's eyes. Everything suddenly seemed easier, the future shinier and more perfect, as if everything outside of the glow of the overhead lighting had ceased to exist.

And then we came home to a dark house, to dad asleep in his chair, and I realized none of my questions were answered.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's only the first step. I have to admit I don't want to go back, don't want to give this up. Even if it makes me feel guilty, even if I feel bad for leaving dad on his own.

Maybe I can take it one step at a time.

I'll think about it out tomorrow.

Love, Holly

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Cops Theory: Tulpas, an Alternate Explanation for Ghosts and Spooks

The idea that the ghosts of loved ones could be corrupted tulpa thought forms, created merely by remembering them, is horrifying:

And, for fun: what is the Stargate Project this analogue horror video mentions? I'll let Wikipedia explain:

The Stargate Project was a secret U.S. Army unit established in 1977 at Fort Meade, Maryland, by the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) and SRI International (a California contractor) to investigate the potential for psychic phenomena in military and domestic intelligence applications. The project, and its precursors and sister projects, originally went by various code names – 'Gondola Wish', 'Stargate', 'Grill Flame', 'Center Lane', 'Project CF', 'Sun Streak', and 'Scanate'  – until 1991 when they were consolidated and rechristened as the "Stargate Project".

The Stargate Project's work primarily involved remote viewing, the purported ability to psychically "see" events, sites, or information from a great distance. The project was overseen until 1987 by Lt. Frederick Holmes "Skip" Atwater (born 1947), an aide and "psychic headhunter" to Maj. Gen. Albert Stubblebine, and later president of the Monroe Institute. The unit was small scale, comprising about 15 to 20 individuals, and was run out of "an old, leaky wooden barracks".

The Stargate Project was terminated and declassified in 1995 after a CIA report concluded that it was never useful in any intelligence operation. Information provided by the program was vague and included irrelevant and erroneous data, and there were suspicions of inter-judge reliability.

(**Note**: Highly recommend this podcast; but the audio peeks several times in this episode (error.) I'd recommend picking any episode from the tags I included and starting from there.)

[dimonds456]

can someone just take Mike's twitter account away from him already. i'm so fucking tired.

like dude just shut the fuck up.

Anyway. I vote we just ignore him forever actually and we do whatever we want with canon now. These two don't deserve it. And no I'm not just talking about this incident.

There's more. [x]

LOTS MORE. [x]

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I'm so bad at actually remembering to recommend fics I like, but I was just reminded of "You And Me Were Built for Violence" and I wanted to take a moment and recommend it to folks if they haven't had a chance to take a look at it yet! It's a Fuga Impossivel + 2b2t crossover fic where Tazercraft are washed up on 2b2t shortly after their escape from Alcatraz and are found by none other than FitMC. It's got some great Fit/Pac content and some really good Tazercraft content. 10/10 fic! There's only two chapters so far, but they're both very satisfying and well written.

[tsunauticus]

“It was a seven.” “Huh?” “The roll. It was a seven. The demogorgon… it got me.” Mike felt an uncontrollable flash of worry as the younger Will threw one leg over his bike seat. “Well, see you later.” Mike watched as young-Will started down the driveway. It was like he was watching it in slow motion. Mike didn’t remember Will looking so small, his eyes being so wide and unworried. He had played this moment over in his head dozens of times to remember what Will was wearing, to imagine how he could have done things differently, how he wanted to burn the memory into his mind out of fear it was the last time he would see his best friend. Now, he stood feet away from his younger self, with shorter, more well-kept hair and a rounder, softer face watching Will pedal down the street all over again.

Or

Mike and Will go into the Upside Down, Mike worries his younger self won’t recognize him (and has a subsequent existential crisis) and realizes that looking at Will makes him feel warm and fuzzy (though he can’t quite find the right word to describe what that means).

[dailyrickastley]

Ambitions

[clowningaroundmars]

still suffering from bad motorcity brainrot so my brain conjured up a funny ass scenario where the gang finally learns more about texas' family.

well, more than just "texas has a real big family"

based off of chris p's confirmation that texas was going to have cerebral parents who are the exact opposite of him

Chuck shuffles in on socked feet to the pile of Burners casually lounging in their main living room area and chatting.

Mike is of course the first one to interrupt the conversation and greet him, noticing all the screens his best friend had pulled up. Then, when a semi-preoccupied Chuck didnt immediately answer back, Mike sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Hey, Chuckles. I said good morning!"

Chuck looked up suddenly, as if just realizing where he was.

"O-OH yeah hey guys, morning ahaha..." Chuck ran a nervous hand through his hair, revealing a furrowed brow that Mike immediately noticed.

"What's with all the screens so early in the day? You're usually halfway through breakfast before pulling one of those up," Mike chided jokingly.

"Uh so, like, late last night--"

"Morning. You mean early in the morning," Mike grinned, and then exclaimed when Chuck reached for a pillow to toss at his face.

"Last night..." Chuck continued, "I noticed something going on with the east gate. It's weird, the battery we found should have been full enough to last us 'til the end of the year but uh... yeah it's totally drained now, guys." By now, Chuck was taking a seat next to Mike and letting his friend lean into his space to study the screens. "And I was lookin' at the new motion sensors we installed recently and it seems like it drained fast right after someone... or something moved near it a couple nights ago."

Julie waggled her head, considering Chuck's words. "Could be a lot of things, honestly. That fusion battery wasn't really meant to last long anyways, it was only a temporary fix at the time."

"Yeah but if someone's trying to siphon off battery power from the gates, that could be a real big problem in the future," Dutch put in.

Texas kicked his legs in the air from where he laid on a beanbag at everyone's feet. "Wait, the eastern gate? Isn't that gate the one that was havin' problems that one time Kane busted in like about a year ago?" He crunched on some mystery substance in a plastic container.

Most likely something from Jacob's kitchen.

Mike laughed. "The very same, buddy."

"Tch'aaww that gate's lame. It keeps breakin' all the time! I wouldn't be surprised if it's just old and basically turning into total junk."

Julie turned to Mike and Dutch. "Y'know, he might be right--"

"Duh, Texas is always right!"

"...That gate really does have some history. It was the first offically maintained entrance into Motorcity years ago when Deluxe was first being built. I'm pretty sure Kane abandoned it on purpose after our crazy battle with those Ultra Golems."

Mike shook his head. "So he most likely cut the power from that gate then, huh. Makes sense why the battery's almost dead! That's a lot of heavy lifting for only one battery."

Chuck stopped typing on his screens for a second. "Why didn't we just scavenge for a newer battery after you beat that big robot Kane sent in? We secured that gate after, didnt we?"

Dutch and Julie smirked at each other.

"Someone might've gotten a bit distracted by an opportunity that ended up bein' a little too good to be true," Dutch elbowed Mike.

Mike guffawed and immediately tried to downplay the mistake. "Aw man, I mean yeah-- that, aaannd also we got that distress call from Doc Hudson not long after, too... so I mean--"

"Mmnn yeah, gotcha." Chuck deadpanned, returning back to triple-checking his maps and motion sensor logs.

"Anyways," Texas cuts in, "that gate's old an' dusty. It totally needs an overhaul, Texas-style. Hoo-WAH!!" He kicks his legs in the air in a flurry and uses the hand not holding his container to do a quick karate chop.

Everyone looks at him.

"Texas," Dutch starts patiently, "we're not construction workers, man. That's up to the Motorcity council to decide when the whole thing gets fixed now. I'm pretty sure they'd know about the power being cut off by now."

"Yeah, they should since I just pinged one of the council members about it too," Chuck piped up.

Texas shakes his head like a father explaining something to a child who isn't understanding what he's saying at all. "Yeah duh I know, guys, I'm not dumb!"

Dutch bites back a mean retort. Julie smirks again behind a carefully placed hand.

"I could just go to my mom and tell her everything! Then she can just send her construction worker dudes to tear down the thing and like, I dunno, hook it up to our own power supply or whatever. No effort on our part!" He flexes an arm casually.

A pause.

Mike was the first to speak up. "Wait, what? Your mom?"

"Uh, yeah, you guys didnt know my mom's head of the council?"

Dutch does a double take. "Head of the council?!"

"Yeah, Stretch. Head of the Motorcity council! She's been leadin' it since I was like a tiny Texas baby. She just keeps gettin' re-elected, heh. Makes sense since she's cleaned up and expanded a lot of stuff, I guess."

"...And she gave birth to you?!"

Mike elbowed Dutch back, hissing "dude!" under his breath. Chuck snorted.

Texas, as usual, lets the insult sail right over his head. "I know right? Both my parents are totally lame and boring. Not like Texas, hwa-CHAA!! They don't know anything about martial arts movies, sweet Muay Thai kicks or Texasifyin' stuff! They just wear boring suits and go to like a million meetings! My dad's not like in city council or whatever but he's a uh... a... what's-it-called. An archic-tech. He doesn't even build the stupid buildings and junk, he just designs 'em."

Everyone stares for a couple of seconds, Dutch rubbing his chin in disbelief.

"Wait, your dad's an architect?" Chuck asks incredulously.

Texas shrugs and stuffs his mouth with the mystery food. "Yeah? I thought I told you guys all about this!"

Mike leans forward and asks Texas directly, "does your dad only design buildings? Or does he help your mom with the city planning too?"

Texas munches for a few seconds before answering. "Mnnyeah, he's like... he plans and draws pretty much everything in Motorcity, like where the hotels and shops and stuff can go. He designed the whole downtown area I think. Obviously they're not done fixin' up the place, but the public bathhouse was his idea, so."

"He's an urban planner, Texas! Wow, not just an architect either, he does both!" Julie admires out loud.

Dutch leans back on the couch dramatically and sighs. "The bathhouse, oh damn."

Everyone took a quick second to reminisce about their trip to the bathhouse with fond smiles. It was a gorgeous Greek-inspired building as tall and beautiful as it was comforting, a recent addition to the bustle of downtown Motorcity. It had sleek marble walls, cozy alcoves for private meetups, grand staircases seemingly everywhere and polished golden accents gleaming in every corner.

The building was split into two sections with a giant-- and equally beautiful-- indoor garden separating the halves, and a courtyard with a net in the middle stationed out back for friendly games of volleyball or tennis. The bath itself sat like a reigning king in the front, right past the fancy lobby and locker rooms. In the back half, the indoor pool stayed open for swimming only in the summer. During the cold winter months the pool was frozen and turned into a makeshift ice skating rink.

Both pool and bath were massive and alive day after day with Motorcitizens relaxing after a hard day's work, meeting up with friends, or just taking the kids out to a fun day of swimming.

It was everyone's favorite spot to relax and hang out during chilly days thanks to the saunas as well.

Motorcity's gang members have officially sectioned the bathhouse and the immediate area off as a neutral zone, strictly banning violence and disputes from there. That decision was introduced by Julie and quickly adopted after everyone figured it'd be hard to tell which member was from which gang when they were all naked.

Knowing that Texas' father-- of all people-- was the man most likely responsible for that slice of heaven in an otherwise grimy and dark city was... well, it was weird.

"So," Chuck said, scratching his head, "your dad designs things and your mom orders the funds around. For, like, the whole city."

"Yyyup." Texas answers.

"Sooo... what does the rest of your family do?"

Texas takes a minute to think. "My grandma owns a shop downtown. All my sisters are out studying with people, doin' apprenticeships n' stuff. They mostly like to build and program stuff, one of them's over at the Cablers' right now. Oh yeah, my oldest sister is in a band! She's the lead guitarist and everything! She's badass, like Texas."

Dutch nods slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Uh huh. Mhm. This idiot's family is super smart and accomplished. Now I've seen everything."

Mike huffs out a laugh. "Wow, Tex. That's uhm... yeah, that's great! Think we can shoot your parents a quick message and maybe pass along some ideas?"

"I've got tons of ideas for a more efficient electrical wiring system!! With better security in place too! And a failsafe just in case!" Chuck blurts out. He then realizes his excitement and leans back self-consciously. "AHA-- ahem, that is if they're uh, if they're, y'know-- if it's not too much to impose on them, of course!"

Mike smiles warmly at Chuck and turns back to Texas. "No, I think they'd probably love the help, right Tex?"

Texas guffaws, spewing a few crumbs everywhere. "Tchyyyeaah!! Texas' parents are always so dang busy all the time like... ugh. Yeah, Skinny over here would probably be their favorite guy for a while just for takin' on some o' the work."

Chuck grins and opens up a new screen with some schematics, and gets right to work.