sunrue
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Silence encompassed the graveyard. Vecna had nothing to say. No order to give. No whisper in Will's mind, ricocheting against the caged walls. It was just this - a gun and a crowd and Mike and Will.
"Will," Mike changed his tune again, his voice softening out until it rang like chimes in the wind, dancing its way through the silence, "come back to me."
Will's breath stuttered, and he blinked over at Mike, something deep and intrinsic and familiar pulling his gaze in that direction. Mike seemed relieved all at once, dry eyes welling up once more. He stepped forward, closer to Will, a dim candle springing to life.
"Will," Vecna imposed, snuffing the light out, "pull the trigger."
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"I'm sorry."
His voice came out croaky and wobbly. He couldn't stand the sound of his own voice. He couldn't stand to hear the desperation and shame and guilt seeping from his words.
This time, it was Mike whose features tugged into a frown, his other hand situating itself on Will's free cheek as he shook his head. "Don't. Don't be. Will, hey, look at me, baby. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing at all."
Will stared into Mike's imploring eyes and chose, for once, not to believe him.
- Or, 5 times Will sought comfort from his friends, and one time he didn't need to go looking.
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"Stiles." His voice came out gruff, lower than usual, "If everything is too loud and you can't find a place to be safe, come and find me. I will be your quiet."
For once, Stiles had nothing to say. He felt his heart speed up, felt his mouth gaping like a fish. Derek's hand was still gripping his wrist - it felt like a lifeline. An anchor, keeping him grounded.
"I will." He replied eventually. He wasn't sure if he was intending to stick to that or not, but he vowed to at least try. "Thank you, Derek." They could both hear the words that were going unspoken, the 'and not just for the ride'. He didn't need to say it.
--
Or, the one where Derek Hale was suddenly everywhere, and Stiles was suddenly uncertain.
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"It's why I'm so," He waved his hands around as if to explain his tendencies, "I guess her methods have just stuck with me all this time. Sometimes it feels like if I can't be beautiful, I won't be worth anything to anyone. Mother says it's all I'm good for." He whispered the last parts, ashamed of breathing the words aloud.
"Fucking hell." Remus spat out, and it sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. Sirius tensed once more, before attempting to remedy the situation.
"I know it's stupid," He rushed out. His throat felt like it was tightening around his words. "And I've tried to stop it-,"
"Sirius. Breathe. No one's mad at you." James said softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it when he felt it shaking.
Or how Sirius copes with escaping the clutches of his mother's drive for beauty. The moments of pain are required to overcome the darkness.
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"Sirius, what's going on? Where are you? Are you hurt? Are you safe?"
The questions hurt his brain - he couldn't decide what to focus on. Which question would James think was more useful? Which one did he want Sirius to answer? Probably all of them, if he had asked them all. But he couldn't give all the answers right now, so which question did James want answering the most?
"I'm-," Sirius decided to pick the easiest question, the one with the simplest answer, "I'm in the bathroom."
"The bathroom?" Came James' quick reply. He was moving. Pacing, most likely. James did that when he was nervous or restless. Sirius ached to think of how many times he had caused that. "Why are you in the bathroom?"
"I did something bad, Jamie."
Or, where Sirius messes up, but he reaches out in time.
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Mike points between them again, eyes bright now with unmistakable fascination. “You’re literally the same person.”
“Mike.”
“That’s so—”
“Creepy,” Will finishes.
“Weird,” supplies the girl at the same time.
Mike grins. “Awesome.”
[Or: The one where Willow shows up, and everyone learns a thing or two about universal constants.]
Series
- Part 2 of parallel hearts
Bookmarked by sunrue
17 Mar 2026
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"Have you talked to him today?" Jonathan asked, gesturing to Will, who was now approaching the sink. Mike didn't need Jonathan to explain who he was talking about.
"No, he's been in the basement all day. I thought he was just painting or something," Mike replied, shaking his head before lowering his voice. "I think he's having an episode."
Jonathan nodded. "I mean, maybe, but he hasn't had one in a long time," he said, voice growing softer.
Mike knew Will was still recovering from everything, still adjusting to being back home. Everything that had happened in the past couple of years certainly hadn't been great, but Mike thought things were getting better, or at least easier.
"I know," Mike whispered, looking back to Will, making sure he hadn't left the kitchen yet. Will was finishing up rinsing off his plate. Mike turned back to Jonathan. "What should we do?"
"I don't know. I mean, you were always the one that he wanted. You always knew how to talk to him and knew what he needed," Jonathan said, pausing before continuing. "Honestly, I think he would probably just want you."
or
Will had an episode, and Mike was there to help.
Bookmarked by sunrue
14 Mar 2026
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There was a buzzing sound, and a beep, before the same words sounded again:
“—all me back. I miss hearing your voice. I miss you.”
Another buzz, then again: “—still here… anyway, call me back. I miss hearing your voice. I miss you.”
Joyce realised with a terrible lurch to her heart that Will hadn’t called Mike. He wasn’t finally speaking to him again—it was a cassette tape. A cassette tape of Mike’s voice, a recording from what must’ve been the end of a missed phone call, and he was replaying Mike’s last sentence over and over. I miss hearing your voice. I miss you.
When Joyce first saw Mike at five years old—a sweet, caring little thing, jumping to Will’s aid without a second thought—she’d never thought it would end up like this.
Or; Byler from Joyce’s perspective
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Bookmarked by sunrue
13 Mar 2026
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My skin is clean, Will tells himself, staring down his reflection as if it’s challenging him. I’m not possessed, I’m not in the Upside Down.
I’m a second-year student at the Art Institute of Chicago. My apartment is shitty and tiny and expensive and incredible. Will stabilizes himself by gripping the countertop, looping the words through his mind. Mike is in the other room, waiting for me. He’s an English major at Loyola, and his dad has no idea how he’ll land a job. He’s waiting for me. He loves me. He’s patient with me, and he understands. My brother lives in New York, and my mom’s safe at home in Indiana. My skin is clean, and all of this is real.
I disappeared seven years ago today, and I was found.
And he’s dead, and far away from me. He can’t touch me ever again.
Bookmarked by sunrue
11 Mar 2026
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r/DnD
u/MWpaladin commented on “Can’t tell the difference between sorcerers and…” posted by u/LionsandTigers7 on r/DnDu/MWpaladin: Are you an actual idiot? Sorcerers and wizards are hardly even comparable. It’s not ‘the same thing’ in the slightest. A sorcerer’s magic doesn’t even come from a book of spells, their powers are INNATE. Maybe go back to third fucking grade before you ever try and DM a campaign of your own. Jesus Christ. Another important differentiation to note is… [expand]
Or: a long, very long, retrospective of Mike’s reddit history.
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Bookmarked by sunrue
11 Mar 2026