#AND IM ON THE TEENAGER SHIFT TOO AUGH

[menlove]

having to wear the Hickey Hoodie Of Shame is horrible enough at this big age but the AC being out at work..... this is like textually legitimately homophobia

[skinks]

STOP I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT ALL THE INFLUX OF WEREWOLF RICHIE FICS? i love it both as a metaphor and as an actual physical thing for richie. like, conceptually? feeling predatory for having "base desires" and feeling like your skin is too tight over your bones, youre growing so fast and you dont want that because it just means there are feelings youre not Growing Out Of. the lack of control over your own body, thoughts, impulses. 1/2

like richie is really out here feeling like a tex avery cartoon any time eddie walks by. hearts in his eyes, smoke coming out of his ears, tongue lolling out of his mouth. awoo, yanno? also richie being tall and hairy and snaggly toothed and having big hands and biting. augh i have Thoughts about werewolf richie. im a monsterfucker what about it. 2/2

AWOOOOO BABEY

Yes!! This was about my tag on that article calling Hader’s smile “lupine” right? lmfao, I get it!!!! I love everything you say here and I am also a monsterfucker, so I’m really happy about the recent surge in monster/werewolf Richie.

You’re so right, the metaphor works perfectly. And the visual theme is so striking, the hairy uncontrollable body transformation as a form of monstrous puberty? Growing too much for his clothes to keep up, the werewolf’s letterman jacket in the book with Richie’s name on the back, how being around Eddie makes him feel like he’s chasing his fucking tail?

I mean, the movie he goes to see with Bill in the book is literally “I Was A Teenage Werewolf” so the groundwork is already laid for us to read it as a manifestation of Richie’s fears about puberty and “base desires”.

So it’s that, and the feeling that he could never trust himself around his friends either, that there’s some intrinsic part of himself he has to hide constantly lest he be cast out. Like, what if all these kids are going missing and turning up dead because of Pennywise, and Richie starts to doubt himself? Wondering if, on his worst, saddest nights, whether or not he’s really the one doing it? If he’s just as predatory as all the homophobes in Derry say he is?

Also, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say Richie’s written as neurodivergent, that he has some kind of hyperactivity that would be misunderstood and gone undiagnosed in the 50s or the 80s, and I get very tender thinking about his wolf being an embodiment of his own perceived “too-muchness” that he hates. Auuughffhghfh werewolf Richie I love you.

And... this could be me misremembering the book or I could be seeing everything through my reddie goggles, but I think it’s interesting that Richie and Eddie are the ones who specifically fear seeing themselves in their respective monsters. The leper and the werewolf. I’m gonna make a separate post about this, but there’s a section where Eddie thinks about throwing the Eucharist in the toilet and I’ve been majorly tinhatting for months about the fact that Richie’s werewolf, uh, climbs out of the toilet. It’s all symbolic. It’s all CONNECTED

Ok lmao I’m getting off track, werewolf Richie is so good. Teenage but also adult, I want big tall hairy Hader!Richie with his long arms and his overgrown sideburns and lupine smile and his overbite that crowds his mouth with too many fangs, as he jokes and tries desperately to cover them up. Pretending it’s just another Voice when his voice goes all raspy and subsonic.

Then for full shift he goes through some kinda gnarly Hemlock Grove body horror shit, and winds up like the wolves from Dog Soldiers. Very big and scary-looking, with one wonky eye and a tail that thumps uncontrollably when the Losers find him and Eddie gives him some ear scratches. Omg he probably pukes all the time as a wolf too dhjdhdkdhd

I’m gonna stop now before I start talking about muzzles and collars and leashes 😶

[sladedick]

@renowo​ happy birthday u slut this is all your fault!! it’s not actually for the bingo but. u Know. still good.

underage/noncon/abuse/watersports/gas station bathrooms/im gross and this is gross and we’re all complicit/im going to hell i know i say that every time BUT THIS TIME FOR REAL

The scenery outside goes by in a blur, Robin gazing blankly out the window. Vibrations from the engine and from the road beneath them resonate up through him, relaxing. His lashes drift lower with the sun. It's strange how long trips exhaust him, even though Slade seems as alert as ever - despite driving since dawn. His fingers tap, almost impatient on the steering wheel. The gesture of frustration sends shockwaves shivering down Robin's spine.

He hugs himself with his arms, taking in the small scenery outside - fast food chains, a gas station, the rolling hills of endless highways. America is much larger than Europe, it seems, but that's simply because there's less hassle when moving from place to place. Easier to drive through, traveling endless miles, almost like -

a circus.

Robin's hands fist in his sweatpants, part of an almost-convincing disguise as an American teenager. The sunglasses from the outfit perch on top of his head, hair misshapen. He crosses his legs, uncrosses them, tries not to fidget. Something in him aches, but something in him always aches.

It takes a second to pinpoint this as a real ache - and more than that, not a bruise. A pressure in his gut.

Robin eyes the gas station with some desperation. He glances towards Slade, eye and patch covered by his own shades. No, Robin doesn't dare ask. He knows better than to expect agency in his fate.

He still leans forward, regret for the water bottle he'd drank so quickly curdling in his gut. Robin's fingers press white on the dash. He flinches as the car starts to move again, Slade pulling against the wheel like it's the neck of someone who's foolish enough to stand in his way. Robin rocks, gritting his teeth.

This is what he gets for ignoring what his body is trying to tell him, the pain and all. Robin twitches in his seat.

"Something bothering you?"

Slade's voice is casual. Robin didn't even know he was looking.

Robin's shaking his head before he knows what's happening. "No. No, master." He stares down at the sneakers on his feet, trying not to twitch. He hurts.

The car jolts again. Robin looks up - the gas station is there, right in front of him. The beaten up van that Slade drives comes to a halt. Robin lets a small sigh of relief pass his lips as he pushes the door open, following his master into the place.

It's not a brand he recognizes, which mean they must be somewhere they haven't been. Slade doesn't tell him much, and Robin doesn't ask.

It wouldn't matter if he knew, anyways.

Robin eyes the candy and snacks on the shelves. He eyes Slade just as much. When was the last time they ate?

Standing up and walking makes his bladder ache even more, sending pain up through his gut from the work he puts into clenching it. Robin shifts from foot to foot, staring desperately at Slade.

He has to have noticed.

He can't not.

But he doesn't seem to care, passing the snacks and going right for the cheap electronics that sit near the counter. A bored salesperson looks back at the two of them, Robin shivering next to Slade. He seems to take forever, that singular eye twitching over the lighters and the cords and the earbuds. Needy breath passes Robin's lips.

Slade pays with a slow, awful pace, pulling the money from his wallet. Robin is shivering the whole time, biting his lip to stop himself from embarrassing himself in public. Slowly, agonizingly, his sunglasses turn back to Robin. Sluggishly, he walks towards him, past him. Robin turns, shuddering on his feet to see Slade heading towards the bathroom.

The relief in him is so great he has to stop himself from running after him, instead walking quickly. It's easier to hold now that he has the promise of release, looking hopefully at Slade.

The door swings open into the small, dingy place. There are only two stalls, toilet paper dropped on the floor of one of them. The stench fills Robin's lungs, but he doesn't care. He's halfway to one of the stalls -

Slade's fingers close mercilessly on his collar and Robin chokes, almost slipping. He falls back, aching.

Something in him wants to cry, but it's small and far away.

"Did I say you could go, Robin?"

Robin shakes his head, fingers trying to pry breathing space out of his tight collar. "P - augh - please - " Slade loosens his grip and Robin bends over, gasping, pressing his legs close together. "Please, master, may I - "

"No." The grip tightens again and Robin is pushed inches away, spun until his back is pressed against the slick marble wall. It makes him shudder. Slade's hands press into his shoudlers, holding him there like a pinned animal. Robin lets out a whine, but he doesn't fight it.

His gut aches. His toes curl, trying to focus on anything else, even the smell in his nose. He doesn't need to see Slade's eye to know the expression on it, a hand creeping up the back of his neck and grabbing into his hair.

What Slade wants comes first. It always does.

Hands force Robin's body down. He drops to his knees.

It smells worse near the floor, Robin on his knees next to the row of urinals. Something wet is against his knee. He tries to ignore it. Is he really going to - "Master, we're -" in public. Anyone could -

"Suck."

Slade's hand on the back of his head guides him up, face to face with Slade's crotch. Robin hisses through his teeth at the pressure in his bladder, trying not to let his face turn red. Slade flicks the zipper down, shoving his cock roughly in Robin's face. It's soft, the length just as intimidating as the first time Robin had seen it, but now he knows how much it aches, the stars that burst behind his eyes when Slade chokes him. The head brushes against Robin's hot cheek, teasing him with the humiliation of it.

Anyone could walk in and see them - see Robin -

He opens his lips anyways, lets Slade's member hit his tongue, the back of his throat. Too much, stretching the confines of him. Robin whines around it. His gut aches.

Please get it over with, please get it over with, please get it over with. Slade grabs the back of Robin's head roughly, carelessly, and begins. Tears trickle down Robin's cheeks at the abuse of his throat. Every thrust puts pressure on him, too much, aching in his gut. Robin's body rocks back against the wall, head almost hitting it. Slade is hard so easily, filling him up to the brim and spilling over, hips snapping at some horrible, unseen rhythm. Robin closes his eyes.

Tries to endure it. He can hear Slade's pleasured grunts as he gets himself off with Robin's mouth, taste the pang of precum on the back of his tongue.

Please finish, please finish -

Something is rough against Robin's crotch. His eyes open wide, trying not to stare at the skin in front of him. The tip of Slade's perfectly polished boots shoves at Robin's cock. Robin keens, Slade grunting at the vibrations. Slade's boot steps down, Robin aching with pain, the tip of it - oh, god, the tip of it is pressing into his bladder and Robin has to clench his fists to keep himself in check. The only sound is the slickness of Robin's saliva on Slade, the slap of skin.

It goes faster. Robin aches. He doesn't know what sounds move in his throat, can only feel the head of Slade's cock. Slade steps down harder.

Presses in harder.

Robin - he can't. Not that. Not embarrass himself like that, not in front of Slade, not here not now not like this -

he tries to press himself away from Slade's thighs, fingers spreading on them desperately, helpless in the wake of his force. Nowhere to go but against the wall. Slade quickens. He presses in further, crueler.

Robin sobs.

Slade thrusts once, twice, and then he's slamming his balls up against Robin's throat and cum is shot down his throat in strings, hot in Robin's body. Slade makes a satisfied noise. His boot presses down harder, too hard, oh god, no, no -

Robin doesn't realize he's let go at first, only reveling in the sheer relief that shudders through ever part of him.

Slade's cock slips out with a schlick sound, trailing cum behind it that drips off of Robin's chin.

Heat is between Robin's thighs, growing, and nonono but it feels good. No more pressure, just release, trickling down his legs and through the layers on his clothes. He pants slightly, face reddening. It wouldn't mean anything to try to stop wetting himself now, the pool that spreads under his legs and soaks the tread of Slade's boots, the wet spots on his pants. Robin can smell it, feel the lukewarmth, shivering.

He sobs slightly, shutting his eyes, as if he can keep it all in. It comes to a stop, finishing on the floor and messing everything in its radius, Robin most of all. Slade makes a tsking sound. Robin sobs again. He doesn't even bother to rub at his eyes, whimpering on the floor of the dirty bathroom.

"I-I'm-I'm sorry - " he whispers.

"You're a filthy thing, aren't you?" Slade teases. "No  self control at all." Robin holds his arms. The heat cools between his legs, filthy. Disgusting. Right where anyone could walk in and see his shame at Slade's feet.

"I didn't mean to," he sobs slightly. "I couldn't - couldn't help it - "

"Of course not," Slade purrs. His piss-soaked boot nudges Robin's crotch. "And I'm sure you'd like to make things better, wouldn't you, pet?"

Robin looks up, shivering, pleading with his eyes. Slade's cock is still in front of him, sticky with Robin's fluids.

"M-master, please. How?"

He needs something to rescue himself, redeem himself from the filth of his own making he sits in.

"I don't care to move to do my business. Open your mouth."

Robin pales.

Slade didn't come here just to fuck him, pinned him up against the wall near the urinals.

Just Robin's height, knelt at Slade's feet.

Another sob, helpless and worthless and useless. No. He feels sick at the thought, sicker than he's ever felt before. Filthier than he's ever felt before.

"You did this to yourself, hm? You just showed me what you're good for. Show some gratitude that I'm using you for what you're meant for."

Robin sobs helplessly. "P - please - no - don't - "

"I said show some gratitude, you worthless animal."

Robin burns, the puddle around him sticky, every part of him tainted. He's nothing at all before Slade's will, like a child or a pet or something filthy and helpless and utterly humiliated.

"Th-th- thank you."

"For?"

"For using me," Robin says, voice tiny.

Fingers spread his lips as Slade slips inside. It lays on his tongue, Robin's hands shuddering. Tears drip down his chin. The length, the weight of it is familiar, but it doesn't harden. Instead, Slade pulls his head closer, making him take more -

It's almost worse that Robin knows what's coming, the bitterness spilling over his tongue and choking him as Slade pisses in his mouth. He's forced to swallow desperately, the warmth trickling down his throat in bitter, heavy tastes, filthy and disgusting. Every part of it is horrible, Robin sobbing as his knees shudder in his own puddle. He gags to avoid choking, the stream of it falling down his throat as he tries to keep up with it. Sick, sick, sick -

It seems to go on forever, Slade taking his time, absently rubbing his fingers behind Robin's ear. The stream pours down Robin's throat, making him sick. Using him like he's nothing, worse than anything else he's endured, for Slade's convenience. Because he can't be bothered to move a few inches. Because he wants Robin humiliated and worthless at his feet.

Robin chokes down the last of it, feeling that part of Slade roiling in his gut. The last of it slips on his tongue as Slade leaves, piss trailing down Robin's chin and splashing in his own on the bottom.

He shudders there, sobbing silently. Used, worthless, nothing at all. For Slade's desire. Slade fixes himself idly, turning to wash his hands, the water running uselessly. As if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just - made Robin just . . . Something roils in Robin's gut, sick.

"Get up." Slade throws the towel in the trash can. Robin shivers to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. Piss trickles down his legs, dribbling to the floor. He's weak, helpless. His throat burns, from Slade's abuse or his own tears he can't tell.

Slade grins, leaning over him. "Don't look so sad, Robin, I guarantee you're at least as good as any of the other urinals in this bathroom."

And with that, Robin is grabbed by his collar and pulled back into the gas station, the spot on his pants which betrays him and all.