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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 5

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, smut, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 5.2k

chapter rating | 18+

warnings | angst, smut (but it’s angsty smut lksjdflk help), nipple play, dry humping, alcohol consumption, someee intense jealousy

a/n | FIRST OF ALL im so sorry this is so incredibly late lskjdflkjs life has been extremely busy for me 😪 but it’s here!!!! thank you to everybuddy who’s been waiting patiently for this 🤧🤧 but i think this is one of the most angsty chapters of the series soooo 🙃

Namjoon’s an expert at avoiding uncomfortable topics, even if they’re massively serious. It’s something you absolutely hated and it was the cause of many arguments in your previous relationship, and perhaps was even the ultimate cause of your breakup.

But right now, you’re really beginning to understand the appeal.

The first time he swung by the museum for lunch after his birthday celebration - a paper bag in hand filled with bagels still warm and toasty from the store on the corner that you adore - you were caught entirely off guard.

Your mind jumps to the unread messages sitting in your texts and you regret ignoring them. Not because the guilt had hit you, but because maybe if you had been contactable, you would have received a heads-up that he was coming by.

Some might call it selfish, but you prefer to call it self-preservation.

To be fair, it’s not like you were going to leave them unanswered forever. You just needed space to collect your thoughts and make sense of your confusing emotions first, lest you begin the conversation prematurely and drag Namjoon down into the dizzying depths of your current state. As it is right now, your thoughts are like nodes floating in a decontextualized void, the web still unformed because you haven’t had the time to grapple with everything yet.

But here he is, inspecting the cross-section of each bagel Soo-eun pulls out of the bag, trying to identify which is which. Yeri’s at his side, gushing about how great the bagels from this place are. The three of them are crowded around the paper bag that sits on the wooden bench, the paint peeling from the way it’s been bleached by the sun in the museum’s outdoor area. Here he is at your workplace. With your friends. You can’t ignore him now, not without rousing your friends’ suspicion.

But what you can ignore is the issue.

It’s not the time nor the place to talk about this anyway. The atmosphere is warm and light, carrying traces of last night’s celebratory mood. The lunch treat is Namjoon’s way of appreciating the surprise you guys organized for him last night. And there’s a bagel stuffed full of salty sweet ham and sticky melty cheese waiting for you to sink your teeth into. Really not the time for serious conversations at all.

So when Namjoon’s eyes search yours, all wide and probing, as you step in to grab your share, you simply smile and thank him, before slinking away to join Soo-eun on the next bench. Not too far - barely five steps away - but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. Even if Namjoon notices your attempts at escaping, he doesn’t have time to call you out on it. Not when you slyly shoot Yeri a wink. Seamlessly, she catches the cue and sits herself down on the bench, tugging at his arm. For once, you welcome Yeri flirting with Namjoon.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving,” she says.

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s gaze flickers between you and Yeri, but you ignore it and take a generous bite of the bagel in your hands.

“Mm, so good,” you say, and turn to Soo-eun. “Don’t you miss the days before this place got really popular?”

“No, because you and Yeri insisted on going there every day. I can only ingest so many bagels a week.”

“____ hasn’t changed one bit.” Namjoon chuckles. “This time in middle school, she ate tater tots every single day for three weeks straight. She had to be banned for a week.”

“Are you weaponizing my middle school past against me?” you ask amidst your friends’ laughter. “Too bad. I don’t regret it for a second. Tater tots are too delicious to regret.”

Lunch falls back into the easy rhythm of lighthearted jibes, the kitchen debacle receding for now.

Procrastination is a real bitch of a habit to kick. As soon as one reason to put it off expires, your brain churns out another two in its place like a modern-day Hydra.

As for Namjoon? Well, you’re not surprised when he makes no moves to initiate the difficult conversation. After all, you’re adopting his bad habit.

Eventually it gets to the point where you might as well not talk about it at all. Everything’s going fine so far without it. Or as fine as it can be with this beast looming in the backdrop.

You know you need to just get this damn conversation over with. But you can’t. Not till you figure out what exactly is going on with your emotions. Without it, there’s no way you can cauterize the wounds and invalidate your excuses for what they are -- excuses.

It’s not that you haven’t tried. But it’s presenting itself as a real Herculean effort. Mulling it over has you tossing and turning in bed, only leaving you with a headache and a steadily growing desperation. It’s desperation enough that you leave the comfortable warmth of your bed to sit at your desk, shivering as you pen the familiar words once again.

Dear Namjoon,

The words flow in their usual, unrestricted manner. Before, it had been like a dam breaking, the tight restraint that was normally kept on your emotions finally released and the wave of emotions gushing out till it reached a peaceful equilibrium. But now, your emotions are just a whirlpool and your words you pen mimic its spiralling, chasing your thoughts in endless loops.

You’re not over him. But so what? It’s not like getting together is an option. Not when he hasn’t grown out of one of the major things that caused the end of your previous relationship. And not when you haven’t even talked that out, if you ever will.

So what can you do now? Kicking him out of your life will mean having to deal with the loss that his absence will bring again. Going back to pretending the other doesn’t exist will mean dancing around each other again every time you bump into each other in this too small city. And with the way your social circles are intertwined now, that would mean a bunch of explaining to do.

But having him close yet holding him at arm’s length? Walking the narrow margin that is being friends with your ex? A misstep in either direction would be torturous but inevitable - too close and it’s alarming, but too far and it’s a painful reminder that he’s not yours.

Far from the illuminating effect you were hoping it would have, your letter to Namjoon only leaves you deeper in confusion. You throw your pen down. Giving up, you fold the paper up. Sealing the letter in an envelope doesn’t bring the same sense of relief it did before. The Hydra remains unslain.

And so the problem gets shoved away - the same treatment the letter gets as it’s roughly tossed into the desk drawer - into the same corner of the recesses of your mind that your breakup resides in.

You know that Namjoon’s confused. Heck, you are too. It’s a strange dance the two of you are involved in, caught between the compulsion to continue yet knowing the risks it bears. Neither of you are bold enough to take the lead. And so this strange stasis drags on as it has for weeks now.

It’s as if the kiss unearthed something in him. Actually no, it’s unearthed something in both of you. And the tension - the fucking tension - is unreal. The tells are so obvious that you wonder how neither Yeri nor Soo-eun have said anything about it yet. There’s certainly no subtlety in the way his eyes linger on your lips in the middle of conversations that you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

And when it’s just the two of you? It’s infinitely worse.

It’s hard to blame him. Touch has always been your love language and Namjoon knows it. Physical touch wasn’t just a thing of your previous two-year relationship. It was a thing of your decades of friendship too, the little touches so casual and almost subconscious. Rekindling your friendship without them had taken intentional effort.

You’re not sure who started it. Maybe both of you just fell back into it, the casual little touches slipping their way back in. But what’s not casual at all is the way your heartbeat goes erratic at the most simple of gestures. The way he blithely sweeps the crumbs from your lunch off your lap. The slightly too long side-hug he holds you in, the warmth of his arm around you permeating through the layers you wear and has you simultaneously freezing up while also turning your insides to goo. But it isn’t overtly romantic either.

At least, that’s the excuse you give yourself when the comfort of his touch gets too tempting and you end up succumbing to it. The familiarity of it all makes you feel like you’ve finally arrived home. As if you’ve been on this long, arduous journey and you’re finally here. You get to drop the heavy backpack and rest now.

But the voice of rationality in you tells you this wrong wrong wrong. You’ve got to get out of here.

And that’s how you end up here. White-knuckled grip tight on the edges of the sink as you stare yourself dead in the eyes in the bathroom mirror. The music outside thumps away albeit muted through the door to the ladies’. But the way your heart thumps has nothing to do with that.

Even without shifting your gaze, you can tell that your cheeks are slightly reddened and warm. You can feel it tingling. No, you don’t shift your gaze. It stays fixed on the intense stare that your reflection throws back at you like a challenge, the ferocity of it enhanced by the sharp eyeliner you’re wearing tonight, an uncharacteristic look for you.

Heck, this whole night is uncharacteristic.

You could take the easy route and blame it on Yeri. God knows she can be real persuasive - it’s why she’s excellent at her job. So getting you all out to the club on a Friday night to celebrate nothing other than the simple joy that - c’mon guys, we’re all young and alive and free and tell me that’s not worth celebrating and I’ll fucking fistfight you right here and now even with my freshly manicured nails - is no feat for her.

Still, no one really expected your simple reply, tone nonchalant and eyes still glued to your work screen, “Yeah, I could use a night out.”

Soo-eun had remained silent but you could feel her stiffen slightly beside you. Yeri had been surprised too but more elated that she didn’t have to get through your usual ten solid minutes of whining and half-baked attempts at slithering your way out of it.

But back to the present. Your bodycon dress - one of the rare pieces that survived not just your college partying days but also the wardrobe purge that occurred when you had to downsize everything to fit into the tiny apartment that’s quintessential to city-living - expands with your chest as you take a deep breath. Gripping the hem where it sits mid-thigh, you yank it down slightly. It’s been a while since you’ve worn this dress. And while the younger, more risque version of you that was your college self had been enthralled by the daringness of the dress, your current self has to dig deep to muster up that same boldness.

Relenting as you realize that this is the limit to how much you can stretch the length of your dress, you let go and your fingertips unintentionally brush your thigh as it falls back to your side. It elicits a shudder, the sensation of your own fingers too close to the electrifying feeling of someone’s thumb skimming across it. It was electrifying enough that your brain finally powered up again, voice of rationality sending you skedaddling away, out of reach of his touch, and pathetically seeking refuge in the washroom.

You roll your shoulders back and shake your head, dispelling the thoughts. Standing upright, you look yourself in the eye again. You can do this. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to have a good time with your friends. You’re going to have a good time with Namjoon. With a nod of affirmation, you turn and saunter your way back to the club with a confidence that has your chin firmly tipped upwards.

You push the door open and look for your friends. The sight that greets you immediately punctures your confidence and your steady posture falls limp.

It’s hard to miss her silvery dress - the dress you knew she would wear and the dress that your very own was meant to counter. It catches the light and grabs attention. And at this moment, it grabs your attention so you can witness Yeri standing between Namjoon’s manspread thighs as he’s perched on the barstool, her hands all over him.

Whatever puffed up confidence you’d had is knocked out of you with that sucker punch of a sight. You turn away, needing to look anywhere but at them.

And that’s when your line of sight falls on a curly-haired man, oddly familiar, and apparently someone you know since he’s waving to you.

“____, hey!” he yells over the music.

“Dong-In?”

He nods and smiles at you. “It’s been a while.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “I was supposed to get back to you on brunch, wasn’t I?” Damn. You’ve been so wrapped up with Namjoon that you totally forgot about Dong-In. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been really caught up with things.”

“It’s no biggie.” He shrugs boyishly. “The exhibition, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sure, the exhibition. Let’s go with that.

“And nothing to do with…” he directs his gaze - and yours along with it - to none other than Namjoon who’s now drinking with Yeri.

Your gaze snaps back to Dong-In and his cheshire grin.

“Nah,” you feign a laugh. “He’s just a friend.”

“The hand he had on you sure didn’t look like just friends.”

“I said we’re just friends,” you snap, then gasp, taken aback by your own outburst. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I hit a nerve there, didn’t I. D’you wanna talk about it?” His voice is warm and mellow and oh so inviting. And you very nearly give in.

But you can’t pull him into your problems. It’s not his burden to bear.

“Not really. But thanks, Dong-In.”

“That’s cool.” He nods, and relief fills you. This is what you’ve always liked about Dong-In. He’s chill. “Well since we’re here, wanna get buzzed?”

You laugh. “I won’t say no to that.”

The bar isn’t too far from where you are, and it doesn’t take long before the burn of alcohol is sliding down your throat. Picking up the conversation again, you have to admit, you’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Dong-In. He’s got that effortless charisma and an easy sense of humor that you can vibe with. Things are simple with him. There’s no line to be tiptoed. Flirting - now that you’re no longer obtuse and you’re finally aware that he is indeed flirting with you - isn’t accompanied by guilt or fear.

And after weeks of this complicated situation with Namjoon, simplicity is what you crave.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” you ask suddenly. Surprise colors his features for a moment but he laughs it off.

“Is the conversation boring you? You could have just told me to shut up if you wanted me to,” he jokes.

“No!” You laugh. “There’s just a good beat going and-”

“I’m just kidding. I’d love to.” He smiles and grabs your hand.

The two of you weave your way through the mass of gyrating bodies. Lightly buzzed, the fog and the strobe lights blurring everything around you other than your dance partner, you finally find the courage you’ve been searching for this whole time. Dong-In hasn’t been very subtle about checking you out all night, and it gives you that extra boost of confidence that’s finally quelled the antsy thoughts and calmed the fidgety adjustments to your dress’s hemline.

So when his hands find your waist, you step in a little closer and run your hands through your hair, shaking it out and finally letting loose as your hips rock to the pounding beat. Dancing with Dong-In is much like conversing with him- easy and simple fun with just the slightest tinge of excitement. As your hips sway together in languid synchrony, you catch a whiff of the slightly intoxicating combination of his cologne and the undertones of his own natural scent. You give in to the giddying sensation of his hands running lightly over your body and press in closer, eyes fluttering shut, and just feeling. It’s thrilling. It’s risque. It’s-

A solid grip on your wrist yanks you forward and stumbling into a hard chest.

His voice is gruff as he bites out his words, “Get your hands off her.”

“Namjoon?” you gape.

“We’re leaving.” His eyes fix on yours, steely and piercing. A shiver runs down your spine - in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen him like this. He tugs on your wrist once more. “Now.”

Dazed by this brand new persona, you don’t even get to say goodbye to Dong-In, just pulled along by the force that is a quietly fuming Namjoon. Everything happens so quickly that it’s all a blur until you’re in the Uber with him, silently clutching onto your purse as an anchor in this sudden whirlwind of events. The anger emanates off of him even in the dimly lit backseat.

“What the fuck?” you whisper, but the shock diminishes the level of conviction in your voice.

He turns to you, the same hardness still in his gaze. “I should be the one asking that.”

“What?!” you snap. In your peripheral vision, you see the Uber driver jump slightly. Lowering your tone, you hiss, “What gives you the right?”

“What gives me the right?” he echoes incredulously, scoffing and turning away from you to face forward instead as he rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

The car slows to a stop and you recognize your apartment building. You scramble to get away from him. But it seems your confrontation is far from over. Namjoon unbuckles his own seatbelt to follow you.

Terse silence sits between you, the aggravated stomping of your feet as you climb the stairs the only thing that fills the sound.

You turn sharply round the corner, stalking off to your apartment door. “You don’t have to escort me y’know, I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself.”

“Really?” He folds his arms and leans on the wall next to your door. “It’s hard to trust you when you go off getting drunk and throwing yourself at a random stranger in the club.”

“Is that what the problem is?” You finally ram the key in, and the click as it unlocks is as harsh as your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but I have a life apart from you. He’s no stranger. His name is Dong-In, he’s Yeri’s friend, and he’s a great guy.”

You shove the door open. Your heels get kicked off and left haphazardly at the entryway, shoe cabinet ignored.

“Wow, some great guy he is,” Namjoon slams the door shut and his shoes get discarded off his feet in the same fashion, “drunkenly feeling you up in a club.”

“Fuck!” You turn, wringing your hands in your hair. Your glares rival each other. “You say it as if I was strung along by him. Well I wasn’t. I initiated it.”

His glare flickers for a moment. He stays silent.

“Just admit that you’re jealous,” you whisper. You unsling your purse and dump it on top of the shoe cabinet, never breaking eye contact.

“Fine.” Namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”

He skulks forward and traps you between him and the cabinet, gaze holding yours. Namjoon’s always towered over you, but at the moment it isn’t his height that makes you feel tiny.

“Watching his hands all over you like this,” Namjoon’s hands slowly skim the back of your thighs and up your sides and you bite back a whimper, “makes me jealous.”

“And watching you respond like this?” He continues as a firm hand presses the small of your back to close the gap between your torsos. “Glued to him like this? It makes me jealous.”

“You don’t own me,” you whisper but it only elicits a sardonic laugh from him.

“You say that, but you know damn well that’s not the truth. Tell me. Are you jealous?”

“What would I-”

“Yeri.” Damn. Straight through the bullshit. With an eyebrow cocked, it’s obvious he knows the answer and he’s not budging, not even an inch.

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “I’m jealous.”

“Silly girl.” He traces the hemline of your dress. “I only want you.”

A soft keening noise spills out of you. “I’m so sick of holding back.” You tug on his dress shirt, and the feel of his plush lips finally, finally meeting yours snips the final frayed cords of self-restraint you possessed.

Namjoon is quick to reciprocate, and you moan as his tongue licks at your bottom lip. Hooking your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, needing nothing else but to have him close after all this time of distance. He hoists you up, and your legs circle his waist to aid him. The world around you sets into motion as he walks you to your bed, and you anchor yourself by pressing kisses to his neck.

With how tiny your apartment is, it takes no time for him to carry you from the entryway to your bedroom. The cool sensation of your unmade sheets envelops you as he lowers you down onto the bed. He barely gets a moment to appreciate the sight of you, hair mussed and lipstick smudged, lounging on the bed and waiting for him. Desperate for his touch and running out of patience, you gesture to the zip on the side of your dress. Hurrying, he pulls the zipper down as you tug your arms out of the thin straps of the garment. You sit up and let the torso of the dress fall to bunch up at your waist, revealing your bare chest to him.

The quiet gasp that escapes him as he beholds you is infinitely flattering. It’s but a momentary pause. He dives forward into action again. An arm looped around your back to support you as your chest arches upwards, he crouches over you to take one perked-up tit into the heat of his mouth, his free hand coming up to toy with the other. His tongue laves over your nipple in a slippery flick. The other gets pinched and rolled, leaving you gasping at the delicious sensations.

“Namjoon,” you moan out breathily, and it only eggs him on. You whimper as he begins sucking on the bud and wetness pools between your thighs. Your fingernails rake down his back, muted through the layer of his dress shirt.

“M-more,” you plead. He releases your breast and moves his mouth upwards, trailing gentle pecks till he kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Come here,” he commands, his words breathy and hot as they puff against the thin skin of your clavicle. He scoots back to lean against the headboard, and you follow hastily.

You clamber on top of him, knees bent and straddling his lap as he helps you hike the skirt of your dress up. But before you seat yourself atop the prominent bulge in the lightwash denim of his jeans, he holds you still with a firm grasp on your hip.

His thumb trails the lace detail of your panties, the patterns snaking across your hip bone, baby pink like your dress.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles. His fingers wander to your clothed core, the material slightly sheer from the damp spot of your arousal. He strokes it tenderly with the pad of his finger, so light that it has you quivering as you hover above him.

His fingernail grazes your slit through the wet material and a gasp catches in your throat. You clench around nothing as carnal desire throbs through your core.

“Namjoon, please,” you whine.

Finally, he gives in to you and pulls you down. Your laced core meets his rough denim-clad one. The stiff material of his jeans pokes through the delicate fabric of your underwear, the friction rough as he drags you over his clothed bulge. The burn is delicious. His hands on you set a slow but steady rhythm that you follow easily, canting your hips in time. It’s enrapturing to watch the way you grind on one another, your clit rubbing up on the apex of his bulge in mutual pleasure.

A finger tips your chin up from the sight you were fixated on.

“Eyes on me.”

It’s difficult. Pleasure has your eyes drooping shut. But the intensity of his gaze compellingly holds yours and you manage, even if barely. His expression is stoic, and it’s only the twitch of his dick that betrays how affected he is. You, on the other hand, are completely abandoned to pleasure. Hands scrabbling across his upper back and up until they settle themselves as fists gripping tufts of his hair, teeth clamped on your bottom lip as moans spill out of you at increasing frequency as your pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs until-

Burrowing your face into the side of his neck, you pant as you cross the peak. Hips now stilled, your climax has you throbbing against his hardened member. You cling onto him with your arms around his neck as you free-fall in the subsiding pleasure. Bare chest brushing against the smooth material of his dress shirt, you catch your breath and yield to the moment.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit.” Louder this time. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The regret in his words yank you out of the heady fog of lust. There’s no time to bask in the afterglow. Reality comes crashing down hard and mercilessly.

Suddenly, you feel so small and so exposed. You read his regret as rejection. Your nudity and previous salacious actions make you feel stupid.

Namjoon attempts to extricate your arms from around him, but shame has you clutching to him tighter, hiding your face in his neck. You can still feel him under you, but it’s now an uncomfortable reminder of the act you just committed.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle now, pleading, “look at me? Please?”

You refuse. It’s impossible to look him in the eye right now.

“Fuck.” Even whispered, the panic laced in his tone is blatant. Gently, he maneuvers both of you to turn over. Feeling the mattress underneath you as you’re laid on your back, you release your hold on him and swiftly turn and tug your blanket up to hide away from him.

“____.” He tries. You grip the sheets even tighter as you feel him trying to pull it away from your face. “Please.”

Embarrassment. Guilt. Mortification. They overtake you and you curl in on yourself. You just want to disappear.

“____,” he tries again, hand stroking your head. But you don’t allow yourself to succumb to its comfort. “Talk to me. Please.”

Oh, now he wants to talk.

Why couldn’t you have just talked things out earlier? Why only now when things have fallen apart? Why now when you’ve just done something so stupid and so reckless?

Why now when it’s too late? What can talking possibly do to fix this now?

His pleas are met with silence.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says resignedly.

More silence. He sighs. You feel the mattress shift as he gets up. From where you’re still hiding in the stuffy darkness underneath your blanket, you hear his footsteps return and the muted thud of the glass getting placed on your bedside table.

The silence returns, but you can feel his presence. You imagine he’s staring at your blanket lump on the bed.

Finally, the heavy quietness is broken with a deep breath, and you hear him say softly, “Get a good night’s rest, okay? Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

The light clicks off and you’re plunged into lonely pitch-black darkness. In the distance, you hear the heavy opening and closing of your front door as Namjoon leaves.

Unearthing yourself to the coolness of the night, your dress an uncomfortable lump around your waist, your breasts slightly sore from his previous ministrations, you stare up at the ceiling as hot tears leak out.

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you drag yourself out of bed the next day. Sleep came intermittently and was far from restful, but waking up meant facing the nightmarish reality of what had transpired. So you hid under the covers for as long as you could. But you know you can’t stay there forever.

The buzzing notifications of your phone had woken you up on more than one occasion in the night. But you ignore it and leave your phone next to the glass of water - still untouched - in favor of washing up. It’s more pressing anyway, you surmise. You can feel your make-up, now icky and caked on your face. It’s awful. Your skin is probably revolting against you now and you don’t even want to think about the mess it probably left on your pillowcase. But last night, you were simply paralyzed by the weight of what you’d done, crying till sleep finally came for you.

You take your time going through an extensive skincare routine, even busting out the clay mask you had impulsively bought together with Yeri when it was on discount. You’re doing it because your skin needs the pampering and definitely not because you’re procrastinating getting to your phone.

But there’s only so many steps you can do with the limited skincare products in your apartment. And you know your friends are probably worried about your abrupt disappearance last night. Getting to those messages first, you quickly assure Soo-eun and Yeri that you’re safe at home. Looking at the remaining notifications, you sigh.

Missed calls Namjoon (8)

7 unread messages from 2 chats Namjoon: are you still sleeping? Namjoon: hey, you still asleep? Namjoon: text me when you’re up please? Namjoon: are you awake?

Dong-In: hey! Dong-In: not sure what exactly happened at the end there haha, but it was rly great seeing u again. Dong-In: i’m still waiting on that brunch reschedule, by the way.

Memories from last night come back to you. Dong-In runs his hands through his curls, an easy grin on his face as he leans in to listen to you over the loud music of the club. Things are simple with Dong-In. And, standing on the precipice of a mental spiral whenever you think of Namjoon, the same craving for simplicity from last night returns.

[2:06pm] ____: well it’s a little late for brunch right now

[2:06pm] ____: but you still up to grab a bite?

230 notes · View notes

fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

Greetings from the void, Remington Siest, I have been summoned in your stead—

Oh, it's you! We've already met! Right! Uh, Remus's nonbinary demon friend again, this time coming from the shadowy corners in your room that you never look to. My apologies for that little scare, it's my day job you see, and someone else did summon me to you; old habits die hard, yadda yadda. How have you been? How are you liking that Raccoon plushie I sent?

Now, as for what's been requested of me *sounds of paper shuffling* hmm, ok, yeah, that's easy! Remus adores you, can confirm! Both him and Janus love having you as a friend and while I cannot speak on Remus'd behalf on the matter I can say that Janus is absolutely smitten with you (on a romantic sense) beyond a shadow of a doubt! He doesn't and will never only want you for your body, or leave you if you were to reject any advances he may yet put forth, so you can rest easy on that issue!

Oh. *hears what Remy has to say to their summoner before the message sents* Oh my. *starts to panic* Seems things are worse than I thought. I have. No idea what to say that wouldn't make this any worse! Where's the person who cheers you up and sents you nice text messages when you need it?! Ah, guess if they're not here this falls to me until they do get here? Uh, darn the timer's running out, um.

Remy… you are amazing and a great person and your friends love you for you, and you alone, not just your body, you! (Remus is ace for crying out loud!) Other than the obvious… now, we don't have time to unpack all of that, but…! *quickly sents a link to a social media app on Remy's phone* So. *John Mulaney voice* Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I would totally kill that guy for you!

(U!Virgil, emotional abuse)

Remy: "Oh girl I am loving the raccoon! I sewed him a lil like hoodie so now he like reminds me even more of my boyf. I have-"

They forced in a sharp breathe through their teeth while their whole body trembled from pain. The plushie was pressed close to their chest as they laid in bed. All the blinds were rolled down because any and all light would bring them a migraine right now.

"I haven't like....been doing too hot...I...It's like....a lot right now"

They took a few moments to really listen to your message. (How good that all demon messages came with an automatic playback function)

"...Jan does seem so sweet...and Rem makes me feel all warm...maybe you’re right" They buried their face into the soft fur of the plushie "I want Jan to like hold me like all the time. He's so soft"

(A part of them still felt doubt. Sweet guys had left them before. They tried to press the doubt deep deep down until they couldn’t hear it anymore)

"I really hope Jan like texts me about hanging out soon. Like shopping or eating at some resturant or like going out walking or whatever. I just wanna like talk to him. He seems like tots a good listener right? Would be like good to vent to I guess...I kinda want to...I trust him. I think....I shouldn’t vent....I shouldn’t”

The door opened. The small amount of light coming in made them whimper and hide down under the blanket. Virgil came in. He hunched down by the bed.

“You feeling any better?”

“Bitch look at me. I’m dying more than a 70′s fashion trend!! Oh woe me!”

He kissed them on the nose before taking out a pill from one of the medicine bottles on their bedside table. Remy immediately tensed up.

If they took that pill then eventually the bottle would be empty and Virgil would have to pay for another and they wouldn’t have any way to make it up to him because they were useless and couldn’t work and could barely even be used properly and he would probably tell them himself how horrible of a burden they were and they were probably supposed to refuse or he would get mad and-

“You need it” He had a soft look in his eyes.

“I’m fine babe!” They spat out in panic.

Virgil grabbed onto their jaw and forced their mouth open. The back of their head got pressed down into the mattress. It hurt. They knew he would just sigh back how Everything hurt to them if they said anything. They grabbed onto his wrist to try and force him away, they couldn’t. He wasn’t strong but they were very weak.

He pressed the pill down into the back of their mouth. “Swallow” He kept their mouth open until they did as told. “Good. Was that really hard” He muttered sarcastically.

Their whole body was still so tense it ached “Please babe you just sounded like a laughably pathetic daddy dom”

Virgil fiddled with his hoodie strings like he always did when he got flustered “I Uh didnt’ mean to. Gross. Eh. Dinner’s almost ready by the way”

“Don’t burn the stove down” They teased.

“Shut up you smartass”

“You wish”

“Idiot” He said jokingly before kissing them. He left to check so the stove hadn’t actually burned down.

Remy painstakingly turned to look at you. They pressed the plushie closer. The medicine started to make them drowzy. It did that sometimes.

“My boyfriend doesn’t suck...he’s sweet. so sweet” They mumbled out “Most days he’s so sweet. Like today. And on bad days he just like doesn’t lie. He just says the truth..he gets so anxious about me leaving him....isn’t that like kinda romantic...him being so desperate for me to not leave he just...he just says stuff...and yells...and.....and it’s sweet. He’s so sweet”

They kind of wished Virgil would always be either sweet or honest. It made them so stressed to never know how they had to act. At least their dad never made them stressed like that. He was always angry. That made it easy

Remy gripped onto the stuffie harder. They hated when their brain made connections between his boyfriend and-

“He loves me. He just like loves me so much. All that stuff that sounds bad it’s either ‘cause he’s trying to make me stay, like I would leave or someting, or- or ‘cause it’s true”

....But....But they’d thought the whole thing about how no one else would want them except for their body was true...but if Janus didn’t....then it wasn’t true....Remy couldn’t help but wonder if-

The door opened again. Virgil came in with 2 bowls of black bean soup. The silly wondering was quickly forced away from their thoughts.

He sat down on the bed next to them and set the bowls onto the bed table they had for bedridden days. He gently put his hands on their back and neck to help them sit up. When they whimpered he kissed them.

“I’m not hungry” Remy muttered.

“Beanie you are”

They could eat on their own but they didn’t say no when he used the spoon to feed them. It made them feel pampered and it made him feel needed. Double win.

“Babe this tastes horrible. just saying as like a warning” They said after finishing half the bowl.

“Like you could do any better” He pressed a playful kiss to their forehead.

“Oh yeah definitely! I just put the ingredient in! And then the like water! and then it’s done! Easy!!”

“Woooow. Wish I’d thought of that”

They smiled “Yeah that’s why you’ve got dick for brain. Bitch”

He simply snapped his finger into their forehead in reply “Wanna watch a horror movie?”

Remy got bored by horror movies and Virgil easily got anxious by them even though he loved them so really he was if they wanted to make out and cuddle to avoid looking at the film.

“You akready know I want to”

They didn’t look which movie he picked. They’d already cuddled up to his side and pressed their head to his chest. He moved his arms around them so he could eat his soup while the movie started.

It was so nice. They could hear his heartbeat through his hoodie. He was so sweet. They were so horrible.

They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve it.

#thanks for the ask!!! that must have taken you some time to write <3 #ask #remy sanders #unsympathetic virgil #sanders sides #obsessed with how your ask makes the implication that remy has a tumblr

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jinxedpanda4life · 3 years

Text

She was named after a bird

May 13th 20--, age 17

My father once told me that my mother was an angel. My brother said she was the embodiment of a rainy day. My sister said that she could wage the fiercest storm and still be calm. I was told she was named after a bird.

I never knew my mother. I wish I had, for all I have are stories. My uncle told me to write. So here I am writing. My mother loved stories. All the books in our library have her name in them, her reviews of them, when she finished them. There is only one book she did not finish. We aren’t allowed to touch that book. I know, I tried. Father was upset with me. I was only eleven when I happened upon it.

I had read all the other books in the library that summer. It was easy since I had no friends and my family was busy with other things. It is easy to be a ghost within these halls. I slept in the library and read until my eyes shed tears and my head swam with words. The last book I came across after my journey through our library was small, not very well worn and it’s spine showed lack of use. ‘Perfect,’ I thought, ‘a fresh book.’ My father made sure to visit me twice a day, at noon and at supper time. When he found me to call me to supper he was flown in a rage.

I was halfway to mother’s point in the book, I was enjoying it immensely. The language was fun and the characters were fleshed. All the makings of a good book. Father saw me, asked what I was reading and when I folded the book to reveal the cover I swear he looked as if a casket was awaiting him. He did not yell, he did not scream, but in a strained voice full of so much emotion he told me to put it back where it came from. Of course I questioned him, I had no reason not to, especially since I enjoyed the book. He said nothing but his face said everything.

I never finished that book. Even when I saw it at shops I never have finished it.

-----------------

May 30th 20--, age 17

My Uncle says I look the most like my mother. Sure both of my siblings and I have dark hair, but it would be impossible not to the punnet squares agree. I don’t just have my mothers eyes he said, I have her posture, her coloring, even the same bone structure. He swears we could be twins.

I know father sees it. It is why he has grown sad as I have aged. Brother says he can see it as well, especially my eyes. Sister does not care.

I refuse to tell my father of my powers. I fear he will shatter. I have been able to feel others emotions all my life. The first emotion I truly remember was sorrow. It filled every open space, clung to walls and skin, suffocated me for years. I was told I would cry a lot as a little one. It was the sorrow, I drowned in it, suffocated in it. There was nothing else I could do.

I have been able to move things since I was a tot. Small things like blocks or plush animals. Though now I can move much greater things; cars, small cottages, animals, people. I know I have tried. Not with my hands, for I do not have the physical strength for such things, but with my mind.

I started flying when I was 3. I know because my Uncle was so afraid. Uncle Jason had been babysitting me for the first time, he is my favorite. Suddenly after staring at the television I started to fly, giggling and upside down is how he found me. He immediately called Uncle Richard. Father was never informed of my flying. I do fly from time to time, not as often as I would like, but enough to keep it well versed.

I figured I was able to teleport when I was six. Sister was mad at me for one thing or another and I created a portal and shoved her in it. She was not amused. She didn’t tell father though, I believe she knew it would kill him. The first time I teleported myself was when I wished to escape a party my family was hosting, I wanted to go to my room and read, so I created a portal in a dark corner and walked myself through. I ended up in the back part of the gardens.

The first time I astral projected myself was to eavesdrop. It was a couple of years ago, I knew I could do it before then but never needed to. Father and my uncles were arguing over something, actually about me, and I wanted to know what was happening.

Yes, I was 12-13 years old at the time. I had just started puberty and was struggling to keep control of my emotions so that my powers would not explode. Neither of my siblings inherited my mother’s powers, lucky fools. They also were quite a bit older than me at the time. I believe brother was finishing college and sister was just starting.

Uncle Richard had asked me if I wished to join the family business so to speak. I declined. I have no interest in those things. I want to read, write, draw and play my instruments. Being a hero is dangerous. Look at what happened to my mother. Uncle was convinced father planted those seeds in my head. He did not.

Father did not wish me to be a hero (I agree it seems tedious, especially when one could just kill the enemy). Uncle Richard wanted to try and train me. Uncle Jason asked what I wanted and said what I wanted should be what happened. Uncle Tim said that if I had inherited mother’s powers that I would be useful.

It seemed like the family was at war.

I was with Uncle Jason later when I told him that I knew of their, well, battle. He said that if I did not wish to join I would not have to. He bought me ten books that day. Three were in French, two in German, two in Spanish and three in Arabic. He also started gifting me my mother’s old tomes. Her spell books, journals, everything to do with her powers and magic. He truly is the best uncle.

-----------------

June 5th 20--, age 17

It seems that someone has snitched. I truly hate my cousins. I never have liked them. The majority of them are loud and annoying. 90% of them are also at least a decade older than I am too.

My least favorite cousin (she does not deserve her name to be used, that bitch), has informed my father of my powers. That did not go over well. He asked how long I knew I had them and all the usual questions. I answered honestly, no use in lying. He was upset, which is an understatement, that I had not informed him sooner. I told him exactly;

“Father, I knew that if I told you your emotions would sour and that look you have whenever you think I am not looking would appear more and more. I do not wish sorrow on you father, and if I told you, you would look at me as if I am her.”

So tonight while father is being ‘The Dark Knight’ or whatever, I am cutting my hair. Shaving more like. I am shaving half of it off and dying the tips of the remaining hair red. I never rebel, but I am sure as soon as everyone knows, in the hero community, of my powers that I will be faced with many many annoying, pompous, supers trying to direct me. Father may even let them

I would get a piercing but my sister said that once she was in town she would go with me. I am not my mother. She may have been named after a bird and I may also be named after a bird, and we may possess the same features in many ways, but I am not her. Father will see. The supers will see. I will not be forced to become a hero. I will not succumb to anyone.

My name is Ibis and I will not be my mother.

--------------------------------

Does this count as fan fiction? I had an itch to write something of this nature. Maybe I will write more, maybe not.

ANYWAY, hope anyone reading this enjoyed! Tell me how you feel about it, if I should continue, etc. Anything is appreciated.

#raven #damirae #ibis #batfam #oc #dcu #Damian Wayne #Rachel Roth #writing #what is this #How do tags work

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 22)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 21

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Sorceress Ingrith might be going on far more ways to plan your early demise for you and your unborn child without the witcher around. The queen also thinking of plans to punish you without the use of drudging.

Warnings: Derogatory, plans attitude and words. Mention of the Witcher character named ‘Auckes’.

Words: 5.6k

A/N: I’ve been feeling on and off with my mental state since last month. I just don’t tell anyone. Anyways, Feedbacks will be nice to receive. Thank you. I plan on writing two more last smuts for Witcher of the Night in the future chapters. So, watch out for that. I needed more of my Geralt fixation. LMAO. I’m sorry if my fic is beginning to be boring for you, but I needed to write this for the sake of the story. I know I’m not the best writer out here. So, I’m sorry for any disappointments. Stay safe, Bb’s.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic. Geralt GIF from the Tumblr account named (B-N-A-O)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It's been a day of hearing from Eanraig that your witcher has started his journey over the hunt for the lost witch.

Hours have also passed after hearing such devastating and surprising news from the druid about your unexpected 'cursed' pregnancy whose father was a witcher that is expected to actually be infertile. The happenings intentionally given by a genie you only knew and expected to watch and read through fairytales; Disney fairytales.

Sleep was hardly your partner last night. Thoughts coming over the idea of a maddened witcher and your pregnancy, having only minutes of light slumber that has gotten you waking up with every single thud you hear from outside your chambers. Thinking that it was someone who wanted to hurt you again especially that Geralt wasn't around for you to hide from behind.

The early knock received before sunrise has got you scrambling on your feet, latching off the locks of your door for the queen of Kaedwen to emerge from your doorstep with more than a trio of servants following her while she trespassed inside your chambers.

She stood before you in her silk, expensively designed, black night gown. With her head held up high and hair bedazzled before she even decided to pay you a visit in her usual lavish gowns.

"You are quite the woman. Also, your witcher is as well."

Queen Makeda interrogated, gaze raking all over the room to check any evidences of her necklace being thrown around. She huffed to herself when there was no traces of her enchanted, Cobalt amulet that has been stolen by your doppelganger.

"---Demanding for a soft bed for you to sleep on while he hunts for the witch who has cursed my son?"

"Not even my young daughter would approve of this," she spoke in animosity, spitting the words like how she truthfully felt, "---Your horrible kind," the latter continued, taking heedful steps forward as you've stood on your ground; firmly and never backing down.

The queen was undeniably taller than you. She'd peered down, glaring into your narrowed eyes fighting back for her attempt on intimidating you. After everything they've done, feeling scared was running through your veins. It was pumping wrath and distaste for how they've treated you like an animal for pointing fingers over the woman who has stolen her necklace---even asking such favors for Geralt when they knew how he acted towards you; using it to their advantage.

"---You and your witcher. It disgusts me,"

"Look who's talking, guess Geralt is the only way to save your cursed son then? But, you still manage to hate his kind when you're depending over him to save your prince,"

Out of the blue, you've felt fingers clasping around your throat. Her long nails sinking through your skin as her hold was tight, ceasing the air passing through your throat that has gotten you growling beneath her palm.

She intently given you a death look, bequeathing the opportunity of laying a hand on you without the witcher who has never left your side from the moment he arrived.

"Give me back my necklace. It was a gift by the king that I hold dearly,"

The bitch was barking when she had no evidence at all. You mindlessly thought in the back of your head whilst being choked at the same time.

"Your h-highness," you dryly coughed out the air she was trying to cut you off with. You've given her a menacing glare as well, your mouth in an obvious lour. Her hold shifting around your neck as she tried to shift your jaw out of its current position, making you tilt your head to give her a sharp, side-eye.

You can't help but bark out a mocking giggle, appearing to be sicko while being manhandled by your very own gender while a taunt left your fuming mouth.

"---what's your kind? I doubt your kind may be human,"

Queen Makeda scoffed after hearing that, pushing you to the ground which has left you heaving breaths and coughing out from the lack of it. Your fingers quickly grabbing onto your growing belly to protect whatever Eanraig believed there is to be inside of you. A child that he was cognizant of; slightly still leaving you in disbelief because of how you weren't seeing any changes at the image of your belly.

Until, you've realized that your period haven't visited you since the last week.

The realization had you staring at the ground you were currently sitting upon while the queen stood before you with all her might and certainty. Your instincts telling you to cease the in-denial for your pregnancy because it was the truth.

"You are awfully disrespectful. Just like your mutant."

At the mere acknowledgement of that towards your witcher, your longstanding antagonism for her has given you all the willpower of spitting on the ground she was standing on, tilting your head up at her from your seated position with utmost spite, glaring from below her in the greatest hostility you can ever give.

"You're not my queen. So I give you the least amount of my respect, Ma-ke-da. That's your name, right? Is there another word for Bitch here?---You're a bloody skank! Have I got the accent correct for everyone? Or should I continue my fake British accent? would you like it to be Scottish?"

Hushed gasps has been audibly heard from the queen's maids who stood aligned in vertical. Their posture slightly curved in a bow and never giving their gazes towards their majesty and had them glued to the ground. Howbeit, their hearing couldn't be helped as it was a natural instinct to listen despite of being ordered not to.

They've been disoriented from their prior poses, taking heed of how you've disrespect the queen who was reigning the whole kingdom. She reached out behind her, ushering over the court lady who was holding onto the used golden kirtle that seemed to be owned by a maiden who left the castle or has been punished to death.

In a cruel gesture, Queen Makeda has balled up the dress with her hands. Throwing them over your head that felt too impetuous and disfavourable because of how her servants felt the need to slyly giggle from the background.

"Womanly hands are needed in this palace," she brashly scoffed, tip-toeing over her tone like a taunt, playing over a prey she decided to amuse for the moment. You heedlessly yanked off the dress overthrown on your head and avoided their loathe-filled peepers who find your vulnerability entertaining their day.

The evil queen couldn't help but laugh beneath her breath, watching you bask in your own solitude and hopelessness---being a woman they believed as a thief or a girl with no name nor worth of living a happy and abounding life. A renegade in their kingdom that deserves the least amount of attention and respect.

It was probably your doppelganger's reality as she lives in Kaedwen; thriving in the most difficult way to live in their world---more desperate to stay alive more than you back in earth.

"I suggest you must help the maids as they serve us through night and day," she nonchalantly reiterated with a slip of her laughter every now and then. Her offhand way of talking resulting in giving her the most stony lour you could muster.

Queen Makeda spurned your woebegone with a simple simper, passing over the sepulchral spirit radiating off you. She'd turn her heels away, parading through your chambers with her servants following suit, but not forgetting to leave without a ridicule.

"Better than any corporal punishment. Am I right, tramp?"

Sundown came earlier than you've calculated. Being given the job of a scullery maid for this certain day has been backbreaking. You've scoured the dirtiest pots and plates with all your healing strength, straining your energy for the heck of it all because of how heavy their utensils and equipment can be. More than how the stuff in your workplace were much more lighter than ever. It wasn't a punishment you've expected from them considering how they've injured you in the flesh, taking Geralt's words accountable or was this just a hoax of their upcoming plans?

You knew that it won't be the only job given. Five days living in the castle has been a crestfallen experience that not any normal earthling could handle well.

Which has probably been also the reason why you were too stressed and angry with everyone and anyone including the father of your unborn child, raving in bluster for his slow-witted self in terms of one's feelings.

That was probably one of the disadvantages of being in love with a witcher. Geralt hardly receives love and care that he doesn't know how to distinguish it even for himself.

Laying on the cold surface of such mattress; back flat with aching muscles and healing wounds, one palm reached up to your slightly bilged stomach. The feeling of another human growing inside weren't obvious yet. Thinking that it was probably just because of the pastry they've fed you with which has gotten your stomach swelling.

"Are you really in there?" you quietly muttered to the ceiling, feeling your chest tighten from being all alone and dealing with what the witcher has said to you before he left. His words becoming an echo of your regret and sadness.

"---Or am I just bloated, Little princess?"

Soft caresses over your slightly curved skin has given you goosebumps all over your body. The act feeling too real for you to be talking to a baby that has probably never learn to kick yet. Simultaneously, a sigh left your mouth when you truly believed and hold on to Geralt's infertility tales when he has gotten you pregnant out of the blue.

Magic. Right. All of what was going on between you both was magic after all, even your growing child. He has been right after all.

"Am I really having a baby grow inside of me when I haven't expected this at all? your daddy probably has great swimmers---oh, wait. He should've been infertile." the train of thought has been ceased, your mouth curling in the opposite of a smile. Frowning being your constant expression the past few days with a round-the-clock dismal mood once you wake up and try to have a nap when you were hardly being given the chance to just like how your insomnia tries to eat you alive again.

It hasn't even visited you since before you've woken up from a different dimension. Insomnia has never been an issue when you've arrived in the continent. Perhaps, the witcher may be one of the reasons for your inner beasts to hide. Though, with the mist surrounding you both---it started to pay you a visit especially after experiencing physical and mental struggles through out your stay in the castle.

No matter how disappointed and angry you were with Geralt, he has still been your refuge from all the danger that his world can cause.

"Is this really happening? I'm going to be a mother now?" you went on in talking to no one in particular, caressing your stomach against the palm of your hand like how a mother would.

"---with the brooding witcher as your father?"

The mouth curled downward languidly pulled the strings to a solemn smile. Memories of Geralt and how he was finding you unappealing as each day passes was like a reality meant for you because even men in your world eventually leaves when you were showing them your humanly capabilities---the darker part of you that nobody can ever tolerate.

Even the witcher found you pathetic---a man from another world seeing what you actually were. Not an angel that all men believed you to be.

With a growing baby inside of you, it would be difficult to forget Geralt because of how he'd left a part of him inside of you and will eventually be born in a world you were fearful of.

When you said back in earth, that you wanted a child with Legolas. You didn't mean for it to happen in real life. Especially from a man who don't take children as a gift---something worth to be proud of as you remembered how Eanraig said that he would rather have his own child as a bait for monsters than to let him live in the continent.

Your heart was tightening further as you continued talking to your unborn offspring and into the brisk, solitary midnight with nothing but shadows to comfort your forlorn soul, "Your poppa' certainly won't accept you if he knows about your existence. Based on how we got into a fight over feelings we both don't understand." Pause.

"---If I shave his white head, will it be worth the revenge? You think he cares for his hair? Or maybe hide his witcher potions somewhere else where he would have a difficult time seeing it?"

You couldn't help but slightly giggle to yourself. The sound dethering and fading in the end from how forced it sounded; faking the happiness and trying to uplift your spirits by thinking that Geralt would still accept you in his life after tying him in a responsibility that he will surely detest.

"---I still can't help but think of him though. Especially after knowing you're growing inside of me now. I doubt he actually thinks of me more than I do,"

"Maybe the witcher might want to say that he loves you and that he is still on his witch hunt!"

Catching you off-guard, a squeaky, upbeat, childish voice resonated in your chambers. Hushed to the most quietest voice she could do, standing before the end of your bed was a curly haired child who was grinning amongst the shadows she tries to hide herself in. Her two front teeth sitting apart which has made her appear more adorable than ever. The features she had slowly coming to a point that it seemed to be familiar---like you've seen her face and heard her voice back in earth.

The child standing before you was a little demon known in your dimension. Delilah Cincinnati. A child who has always made your work more difficult than it can ever be---a nuisance who could always get you tripping when you were serving food for customers. You've had a nickname for her, Deli-the-menace that came from the character 'Dennis-the-menace' but this one was a little girl and her devilish grin suited her name.

But, her grin seemed to be different in this world. It was more sweet, utterly masking in pure innocence that made you sit your back on the headboard. Your fingers reaching below your pillows to grab onto the kitchen knife you've managed to sneak in because of how you didn't trust anyone in the castle---taking Geralt's advices seriously.

People would probably think you were crazy, but you've been thinking that this child in front of you would transform into an evil gnome and eat your unborn baby because she was hungry for flesh.

"Delilah?" your voice turned squeaky as well. Swallowing the nervousness back down the pit of your stomach, you crumpled your legs under your thighs, shifting away from the child when she dragged her feet upon the foot of the bed; crawling towards you with a smile.

She jumped the half of her body beside you, tucking her little legs under the bed sheets. The ends of it pulled by her tiny fingers and tucked under her chin whilst turning her whole body with a ceaseless smile.

"You're a silly lady! I'm no Delilah, miss witcheress."

The adorable child snuggled closer on your side, hiding behind your body as if she was sneaking from someone.

"Princess Corinthia of Kaedwen. You can call me 'Coco' instead. Just don't tell my mother!" she placed a finger in between her pursed lips, giggling behind as she thoroughly sneaked her miniscule body in between you and the headboard.

You've inhaled a deep breath before being cut-off by the princess and her mischievous warning, "Shh. The knights are searching for me!"

She pointed towards a large sized painted picture of the whole royal family hung over the stone walls, enclosing her mouth with her small palms while she whispered.

"---A secret door."

Princess Corinthia offered another giggle that has kept your mouth zipped because of how untrustful she still is to you. Though, you dropped the knife back under your pillows again when she seemed to be harmless than what you imagined her to be; a little devil or a tiny monster that she might be in the witcher's dimension.

"I am a curious child. I've been hearing the tales of a white haired beast slayer stepping foot in our fortress! The maids even said that he has brought a frog for him to protect and this frog is his bride as every single person in the palace has gossiped about. Are you the frog? Do you have a curse like my brother too?"

At the mention of that, the scowl suddenly became one prominent expression since the moment you arrived in the castle. Huffing out a breath of exasperation over what nickname you've gotten. The witcher's frog. It didn't sound too appealing for you and even for the child because she was giggling through it all.

"A frog?! Seriously?! They were calling me ugly. How rude of them," you stated as a matter of fact.

"Our maids are just probably thirsty whores who may want your witcha'!" your eyes grew from the profanity that left her mouth. A single, plain warning of a look has been given to the child.

"That's a bad word."

The castle princess ignored your upbraid, palms covering her mouth with her eyes turning into big saucers that looked like to be as if she was guilty over saying such blasphemy.

"---because of the epic that his humble bard has created, many have been less frightened over their kind. Though, some are quite suspicious and still looking at them in disgust just like how most of our servants are. Is he handsome? they were chattering about him last supper in the kitchen! Also, they've talked about how they have seen how he didn't think twice to point his sword at any of our men---Chivalry at its finest from a butcher as said by them,"

From the way she has mentioned it came with astonishment over the witcher's valiant and chivalrous actions. Your mind in a blurry mess when you have seen him the first time---being brought to a room where Geralt has reacted in an aggressive way towards everyone in the room that not even a king can scare him away when you were a bleeding mess shoved on the floors. Your heart constantly being poked by a knife after realizing that a fight came after his magnanimity, the other side of you thinking that he has done it out of affection and care. Expecting it to be more than just how a sentiment is towards a friend because you've been seeing him more than just your confidante.

Was this how friends with benefits is in their world?

You couldn't help the crinkles on the side of your eyes. A small, close mouthed smile warping your face at the thought of the witcher you were highly proud of deep inside.

"He is quite dashing, brooding and utterly like a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

"I may want to have a husband like him in the future!"

"I doubt you could," you simply testified, remembering that princesses in the medieval era are forbidden to marry a commoner. More so, for a witcher whom everyone repels towards their kind.

"---A princess can only be with a prince. Unless, you're in a Disney story. Then you can be like---"

She immediately cut you off with a sad pout, "Aren't witchers like a prince? beast slayers but still a prince?"

You've turned to look into her eyes; genuine and seeming to be in a different state of mind as you sincerely implored, "To me---he's a knight. An imperfectly, perfect scarred knight who always saves my life." pause. "---Sometimes, picking a commoner is better than being with a perfect prince because they always make you believe in fairytales that don't exist. The witcher's a mutant. A freak of nature that they always see of him. An experimented human who had no other choice but to accept his lonely fate. But, this doesn't make him any less human, Princess Coco."

Princess Corinthia had her almond, doe eyes peering up at you. Her spirit filled in utmost inquiry for what your witcher really actually is. Unable to perceive how he also looked like because she had only seen his armored, broad back as he gently dropped you on the bed. Both of you seeming to be in a debate while his face inches away from yours, seeing him lean all the way forward to give you a pucker of his lips. A gesture that the princess has always seen from servants who had a secretive relationship with their knights. The opposite of what she sees from her parents because you never leaned away from Geralt unlike how the queen avoids her husband's affections.

Endearing to be seen from you both because her parents hardly appeared to cherish one another.

"Geralt has a kind heart that no other prince may let me see from and I wish for your future to be best and full of love like how I wish to have,"

"Geralt? is that the witcher's name?"

You've heard loud stomps of footsteps banging outside the room, knowing that it was probably chevaliers searching for the young princess. She was quick to pull the blanket over her head, forcefully shoving herself on your side for cover. Hence, it also made you slip under the covers, grabbing onto her fragile shoulders to pull her inside to veil away from the night that wanted to pull her in for a nightmare. The cloying feeling swaying your insides because of a young child that could delicately press onto your heartstrings, showing you how precious it was to have a daughter who was utterly sweet and gullible.

You couldn't help but giggle under the covers with her, subtly reaching for your growing stomach with a hidden caress.

"Yes it is, Princess. Now, hide!"

Morning came after and the night has still given you beasts as your foe, battling through the hours which has never given you enough sleep. The queen's princess having more sleep as she laid on your arm, telling you that she also had her own monsters to challenge with because she slept alone in her bed, thinking that it was all a lie when she dozed off after half an hour of your stories about Geralt and his adventures.

An understanding hitting you like a freight train when she began snoring as she slept on your bed.

The princess just needed someone to cuddle with. Comfort from another woman that the queen should've been doing because it was her daughter and not yours to begin with.

Dressed in your servant's clothes and standing in the middle of an empty kitchen, most servants have been called to be in the queen's chambers except for you. With a gurgling stomach and a set of pastries lined up in front of you and on the decrepit, wooden table---your fingers reach out for a piece of marzipan cakes until it has been whacked away from your hands with a tolerating slap of strength.

You were too hungry to even process that you have grabbed onto a kitchen knife, seeming to be in a greater starvation as each day passes by due to cravings for more food everyday. The blade has been hastily pointed upon the man's weak spot on his neck---remembering Jaskier's teachings about what vulnerable spot does it take to slash one's neck for him or her to bleed till her death.

Stunned forest green eyes were all wide as you point the tip upon his jugular. Your teeth barred and appearing wild before the familiar gallant whom you remembered to have seen back when Tybalt has forced his entry through your home. He was the cavalier who wanted nothing to do with Jaskier being shoved to the ground. The hesitant knight that you awfully remember.

"What are you going to do to me? Hurt me again?" you bark out loud, your fingers slightly trembling as the blade was close to his porcelain skin, "---You knights are---!!!"

The obsidian eyed gallant raised his palm to covers your mouth, his gaze shifting around the empty kitchen before he talked, "Shhh. Don't eat those."

"---Mmmh!" you battled against his hold, shifting away but he forcefully kept you close by, never risking for you to scream or run away.

He shook his head, seeing him anxiously bite on his lower lip and looking away. His hand promptly leaving your mouth as he reached to grab onto one dessert that he saw one charmed servant bake and pour a nasty vile in the batter, "They're poisoned. I've heard it from Tybalt that you might be having a cub growing inside of you. One of the maids have been enchanted, poisoning your food."

You couldn't help but shut your eyes close in exasperation over people wanting to put you in danger. Your hunches immediately thinking about Ingrith because she has been the only person who couldn't stand you and the child you were bearing.

"Notice how no one eats them?"

"But, I seen them eat before I'm around,"

"But, not these. Correct?"

The maids have never eaten any dessert---nor had it look touched. They were devouring food, right. But, not desserts because somehow they suddenly had no sweet tooth over pastries; slyly knowing that you had a penchant over sweets.

It was probably the reason why they were simply poisoned.

You couldn't help but bite the insides of your cheeks, pulling out a chair from the table to tiredly sit and sigh about how stressful it is to stay alive in Geralt's dimension when people wanted you dead since the moment that an out-of-the-blue child has been living inside your stomach.

Was it a mistake made? was the child a mistake so that was why people were scared for it to be born? Eanraig has said that she would be born with a purpose to save their dimension---receiving such help to save humanity and cease chaos.

As much as how difficult it was to understand that, the only thing that has ever been a mistake was trying to honestly tell Geralt you love him before being cut-off by your witcher.

"Is it true?" the gallant curiously inquired, leaning his hip on the edge of the table as he crossed his arms in front of you.

"---that the Witcher is your child's father?"

It was still quite awkward to tell knowing that he was supposed to be infertile. But, being in a world where magic exists probably isn't the only thing peculiar after all.

"Yes."

"Oh, great. It wasn't just plain gossip after all," he momentarily exhaled a breath, rolling his shoulders back. Quietly moaning as he stretched his limbs, his youthful, juvenile timbre in his tone turning squeaky and nonchalant, "---They'll loathe you more especially that you're up the spout with the witcher's child,"

You could see the disgust in their eyes. People in the castle who somehow managed to see you. Though, the case with Eanraig, princess Coco and this chevalier was different because they looked at you as if there was nothing wrong which it should've been.

"Why?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head, grabbing onto another set of pastry that looked like some pudding as he raised it to his nose, subtly sniffing the food before calmly throwing it back away again, "That's not a question. Think of it---you're pregnant by a monster slayer who had tales of his kind that he is completely barren due to his genetic mutations. Then, you're suddenly carrying his sprog for magical reasons,"

Your eyes quickly narrowed with how sarcastic he sounded.

He continued his chatter, sighing every once in a while as he said his words that seemed to be a quote coming from another, "---Witchers are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives..."

The latter exhaled one last long breathe, dramatic enough to pay heed over how you were trying to see through him; thinking what kind of person he was because after being injured within the castle has made you wary of anyone who wanted to talk. It even got to the point that you were guessing he wanted to talk and seek out information from you.

"---I've always remembered Amaury and his beliefs over witchers since he has encountered one before he was killed by him," he gave a small beam, showing teeth while he was in a flashback of memories from his journey before with a deceased close friend.

"I remember he goes by the name Auckes---maybe your witcher might know him,"

You simply nodded. Still cautious of his presence while you hugged your stomach from him.

"There are other witchers too?"

Geralt has left that question unanswered, back when you were serving ale for him. You've tried to remember that name for when you try to ask your witcher---that is if you're still planning on talking to him after the fight you and him had or if he would even care to answer.

Eventually, it was needed to talk to the father of your own child of surprise. A child of surprise that had no law being given or said.

He noticed you were dazing off, too deep in your thoughts that got him sauntering over the kitchen cabinets, slipping a hand inside to try and eyeball some fruit he tried to hid this morning. The man was thinking you were starving already which tells why you were staring out of nowhere, considering that you were eating for two.

"---Auckes became an assassin. He was formerly a witcha',"

You've snapped out of your stupor, the empathy you had for people swiftly slipping through your mind, "I'm sorry to hear that. May your friend's soul rest in peace."

"Amaury might be having a good time where ever he is right now,"

He strolled back to where you sat, standing before you with a bundle of apples, oranges and boiled eggs. His hands reaching out to give them while whispering the next sentences like he was forbidden to do it from the start or even talk to you, "Watch out for anyone. They have an entire repugnance for his kind and anyone related to him," you've taken the food out of his hands, placing them all on your apron and bunching them to yourself.

The lean built gallant took a step back, hands behind his back and realizing that he was younger than you thought. In the same age as Jaskier when he gave you a boyish smile, "Take care of yourself. Especially your child,"

You've finally beamed before him, slowly loosening up around his infectious presence. Self deciding that he was worth to trust after he took a bite of his own apple hidden inside the pocket of his breeches, showing you that the food he gave was poison free.

"Do you have a name?"

"Of course. The name's Otker."

"Thank you for the warning, Otker." the latter gave a toothy grin before it fell in a hot second, reaching to cup his nape in sheer embarrassment for whatever he was thinking.

"Forgive me for I have not helped you through Tybalt's plans," he honestly apologized.

Without warning, there were voices echoing outside. Voices of maidens chewing the rag over what the queen has told them and it made you shot up from your seat, the bulwark surrounding you suddenly building itself from hearing other people closing in---people who weren't worth the trust.

"It's fine. You had no other choice. You can't betray the man who you work for. Evil or not."

Otker cocked his head to the side with a knowing smile, his mouth in an amused straight line as he walked away with his steps going backward. He was agreeing to what you've said but also somehow disagreeing too.

"Tybalt's not all evil," the green eyed gallant pursed his lips from his psychoanalysis over the higher vampire after working with him for half a year or so; having faith over his ungodly gestures like his appearance had been a misunderstanding for his wicked characteristics that you find in him.

"---but, he isn't good either. Just being whispered words of propaganda by everyone surrounding him,"

A simple shake of your head was enough to get Otker shrugging his shoulders because he knew you weren't convinced after Tybalt basically stabbing you on the hip before he walked away as the judging servants came in the kitchen one by one again---planning to continue the stress they have been pouring.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo, @alexwinchester23

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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lihikainanea · 3 years

Note

Lei, what if tiger's having a bad day and theb when shes going back home shes robbed and they take all her belongings and whe walks back home and when she gets there, she just breaks down in bills arms? Maybe the purse they took was smth bill presented her with

Ohhhhh the poor wee bubs :-( This is so scary. I really, really hope that none of you have ever gotten jumped or robbed or anything horrible like that. It’s happened to me twice and I’m glad it happened to me instead of another girl who maybe wasn’t quite as comfortable with the notion of fighting. Or you know, maiming someone. It actually turned into a pretty big ordeal for me, both times it happened it was late at night, I was alone and walking to my car in the subway parking lot. I’m...I’m kind of an easy target, at least visually. I’m small. I walk with my head down and my shoulders hunched. I’m usually not paying attention, or I usually have my headphones in (don’t do this, kids). I tend to always look confused. I never remember where I park, so I was probably looking around and generally looking lost. The first time it happened I was...oof, I think a yellow belt? that’s the fourth belt for us--and I was already competing so I was more than comfortable with fighting. I got that guy on the ground and thankfully a taxi driver at the stand nearby saw the whole thing, and the police were on their way.

The second time it was a similar scenario, except this time I was a brown belt and was competing internationally. So when he grabbed my ponytail in one hand and my shoulder in the other--the only thought I remember going through my mind is YOU WANNA PLAY, MOTHERFUCKER? I didn’t even hear the sirens of the cop cars, when they pulled up. It took two officers to pull me off the guy, and even then I got maced because I went after the officers. Hours later when they asked me what happened, I wasn’t even able to tell them. My mind just went blank in the moment.

Long story short it really did turn into a whole big thing, and the dude actually tried to press charges against me for excessive use of force. Imagine that? He tries to rob me but he picked the wrong bitch, and I hurt him so bad that he tried to press charges against ME. I had to give a deposition, or whatever they call it. My Shihan had to give a deposition about how we are trained--to neutralize first, and ask questions later (he also let the officers know for the future, that until they realize who they are dealing with, to never approach someone from behind and grab them in an attempted hold to calm them down. We will perceive it as another attack, and we’ll react accordingly). There was a psychologist with an expertise in highly competitive, combat sports athletes and the way we are programmed, our reaction times.

Anyway, nothing ended up going through. But ain’t that some shit?

In any case, poor tiger. Maybe it’s one of those spring evenings where the weather is FINALLY getting nice out, and after a girl’s night at a nearby restaurant, tiger decides to walk home instead of texting Bill or taking a cab. And maybe she’s just a tad tipsy, just a wee bit buzzed, so she’s not quite as alert as she normally is. She sees the three dudes on the sidewalk a few blocks away. They’re laughing loudly and joking and she thinks maybe they’re a little harmless. She steps aside a little as they near her, and then as they intersect one of them bumps into her shoulder roughly. It spins her around to face another one, and now two of them are behind her and one of them is blocking her way forward and suddenly nothing about this seems harmless.

“Give me your phone,” the menacing voice barks, “And your purse.”

Tiger is stunned, her adrenaline going high, but she’s also still tiger.

“Fuck off,” she yells. And then she tries to side step him to run but the guy is too quick. She’s shoved back, and then a flurry of hands are tearing at her jacket and pulling at her hair and just as fast as it started, it’s done--the guys bolt at lightning speed down the street, with her phone and her purse and everything inside of it.

Tiger’s heavy breathing quickly turns panicked when the full adrenaline hits her, she starts to wheeze and starts to sob and her legs turn to jelly. By some miracle, the survival part of her brain finally activates and she takes off--just runs at full speed, right to Bill’s. She realizes when she gets tot he front door that she doesn’t even have keys anymore because those were in her purse, so she just rings frantically. When it takes too long, she starts banging on the door. She’s full on wheezing now, barely getting any air in, she’s shaking and crying and she feels like she’s about to pass out.

Bill finally flings open the door, his eyes wide and alarmed already, but then he takes in the sight in front of him--tiger sobbing, her jacket torn, her hair disheveled, and his blood runs cold.

“Tiger,” he mumbles and he pulls her in, “Tiger, what happened?”

She buries her face in his chest, clutches onto him.

“I...they...” she hiccups.

“Easy kid, try and breathe,” he rubs her back soothingly as he hugs her tighter, “Tiger, did you get mugged?”

More wracking sobs.

“Yes,” she finally wails, and she all but tries to crawl into him.

“Oh god kid,” he says softly, “Are you hurt?”

She can’t answer, and when he tries to put her at arms distance so he can better a look at her, she just cries out and dives for him again.

“Okay easy,” he soothes, “Tiger, I need to know if you're hurt.”

“They took everything,” she mumbles pitifully, “My whole wallet, my phone--”

“All of those things can be replaced,” he interrupts, “You can’t be. Are you hurt?”

“No,” she finally says, “Just scared.”

And the poor bub. She’s just a panicked mess. I’ll bet she spends the whole night crying, and Bill is torn between wanting to comfort her and just feeling this overwhelming emotion of fucking RAGE because he wants to find these fuckers who dared put their hands on her.

Tiger doesn’t sleep that night, and Bill has to gently suggest that maybe she should take something to help her calm down, something that will help her just get some rest. She’s always reluctant with those sorts of things, but after he talks to her and tells her she needs to rest, that she’s safe and he’ll watch over her, she finally agrees. Maybe even the next morning she’s barely awake before she’s already shaking again. He just has to hold her real tight, never let her get very far away from his arms, but there’s also the logistical issue they have to deal with--of whether or not she wants to file a police report. Maybe she doesn’t initially, but he manages to convince her that it’s probably a good idea, if nothing other than to maybe help protect somebody in the future. Tiger is a mess when she’s giving her statement, and it takes every ounce of control Bill has to not go full fucking alpha male when she describes how they jostled her around.

Poor bean :-(

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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sad-dad-askblog · 3 years

Text

Patton

Note: This isn’t a first chapter or anything, It’s just a story bit focused on a specific character......Tho this does happen to take place right at the start of the story.

Words: 1278

Patton stopped the car in the motel’s parking lot. He gripped onto the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. It was 12 pm. He should have stayed home. Guilt was already eating him up. It always did.

Still he got out and went into the dimly lit reception. A lady was sitting behind the desk reading a magazine. He knocked on the desk to get her attention.

“The usual?” She asked while barely looking up from the magazine.

“The usual please”

She handed over the key to room 84 at the same time he handed over the 25 dollars for a one nights stay. He twirled the key between his fingers. He’d lost count of how many times he’d held it by now.

The room was as cheap looking as usual. There was a bed, a nightstand and a small bathroom. Nothing more. (One time he’d found a rat sleeping in the shower, he’d taken it home to Remus).

The bathroom mirror was dirty as he looked into it. He combed through his hair with his fingers and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He took off his wedding ring and looked at it for a moment before hiding it deep down in his pant’s pocket.

Patton pointed at his reflection “Listen buddy! what you’re doing is wrong! What you’re thinking is wrong too! It’s immoral and shameful an-and dirty and horribly unkind to everyone around you! And you should feel guilty! You should feel awful!”

He let out a sigh while looking away from the mirror “I already do” He mumbled.

He went back out into the main room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He searched up pictures of undressed women on his phone. It was a sort of ritual he had before every meet up. Even when he went to gay bars he stayed in his car to look at it for a while before going in.

Maybe this time he would see the pictures and react in the right way. Maybe this time he would have magically stopped being wrong. Maybe this time he would be able go come home again and everything would be like it was supposed to be.

Suddenly the door opened and Remy entered. Patton yelped and quickly shut his phone off. They sent him a smile while leaning on the door in a very very extra way.

“Sup old man” They took off their sunglasses and closed the door behind them “Sorry I’m like late. I was too busy being popular and loved by like everyone!”

“It’s okay. You’re always late”

“The best bitch always comes like last......That’s what she said. Or me said. Probably. I’m like a genius!”

They took off their leather jacket while walking up to him. They sat down so they were straddling his lap and leaned their arms on his shoulders. He moved an arm around their waist to keep them close.

“You look grumpier than usual today. Something fucked up happened? Backproblems? Old people have problems with their backs I know that”

“I’m 34 not 50″ Patton muttered.

“Ehh same difference....It’s the kids isn’t it? It’s always the kids”

“How many times do I have to tell you to not bring up my kiddos. I would like to keep that side of my life separated from this” He replied in a tired tone.

They ignored what he said “You said they were 14? 15? Yeah it’s time for problems. I remembeing being 15″ They let out a forced chuckle “Wish I didn’t!”

Patton put his finger over their mouth “Shh. No more talking” He moved his hand to caress their chin and moved into a kiss.

He closed his eyes and melted into it. Getting to be with (someone adjacent to) another man was the only thing in his entire life that made him feel something positive aside from being with his kids.

Instead of the mind numbing guilt he felt free. He forgot what he was doing was wrong and shameful. He felt.....happy....For once completely happy.

His hand moved up under their shirt. He could feel every single one of their ribs. His dad senses kicked the fuck in.

“You should eat more” He mumbled out against their lips.

“It’s fine”

“I can bu-”

Remy leaned back and looked at him “You said no talking right? So like shut your mouth. It aint important”

They pushed him down so he was laying with his back on the bed. They kissed him and he accepted. He hadn’t really wanted to bring real emotions into their conversations anyway.

45 minutes later Remy laid cuddled up next to Patton. They were lazily pressing kisses to his cheek. He checked the watch on his wrist. It was past 1:30 am.

“I should go. I have work in the morning” Patton excused while moving to sit up.

Remy lightly pushed on his shoulders to make him lay down again “So do I”

He grabbed their wrists and moved them aside “I should rephrase that. I want to go because we’re done and there’s no other reason for me to say”

Their stomach dropped in an instant “But like you can’t go home yet. You’re like all sweaty and ehh stuff. Your wife is gonna notice. We can shower together? It’ll be like tots warm and cuddly”

He moved over to the edge of the bed and put his socks on “No one should be awake when I get home” He lied. At least his wife wouldn’t be “I’ll shower there”

“But....But...But Patty I’ve heard about this like high school comedy movie y’know like mean girls but not mean girls. We can watch it? Like now? Together? On this bed?....I mean I was gonna watch it with some of my Many Many friends but you’re like an old man so you could like learn more from watching it! It’ll be great!”

He got up and took on the rests of his clothes “I only ever watch teen movies with my kiddo on Saturday movie nights. It’s tradition sorry”

Remy moved the blanket so it hid their chest “.....We can just like chat. I dunno that much about you. You know like nothing ‘bout me. Don’t you wanna know something?”

Patton went over to them and looked directly into their eyes “Remy, The only things I Need to know about you is your age, telephone number and that you’re great in bed”

They sunk in on themself. They looked away and nodded. Patton took the keys and dropped them on the bed in front of them.

“Stay as long as you want. I’ve already paid. All you need to do is-”

“Return the key. I know. The usual” Remy sighed.

He leaned their chin up and gave them a long last kiss. One last taste of freedom. One last moment of not being buried under shame.

“I’ll message you in 2 weeks or so” Patton stated. He didn’t look at Remy again before leaving the room.

He got back in his car. He sunk his forhead against the steering wheel. Misery rose up into his throat until he felt nauseous. The coming weeks seemed so devoid of emotions aside from shame he didn’t want to live through them. He just wanted to not feel empty all the time,

At least he had his kids. At least if he got to be with them he could get through it.

All he had to do was drive home like usual. Kiss his wife in the morning like usual. Go to work like usual. Try to get through dinner without Remus storming away from the table like usual. Help Roman down from another panic attack like usual. Lay down in bed and ignore the thoughts in his head desperately yearning for the person laying next to him to be a man like usual.

Patton took a deep breath and started the car.

#english isn't my native language but I try my best #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #ts remy #remy sanders #thomas sanders #reblogs over likes

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

16: LITTLE BIRDIE

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 800

a/n: if you got complains and all that, you know where my inbox is!

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Winnie | 8:29pm A little birdie told me you’re going on a date with Holden in two days...

Me | 8:30pm A little birdie? 🤔

Winnie | 8:30pm Ok a 6’1 birdie named after the dude from Catcher in the Rye who couldn’t keep his mouth shut 🤷‍♀️ Winnie | 8:30pm CONGRATULATIONNSSSS Winnie | 8:31pm Also thank you I won the bet bc of you ❤❤❤

Me | 8:31pm HAHAHAH Me | 8:32pm I knew he would end up telling you 😂 Me | 8:32pm What bet btw?

Winnie | 8:32pm Wes and I might’Ve started a lil bet Winnie | 8:33pm The night we all went out 🙈 Winnie | 8:33pm And we might’ve gotten most people from the internship in on it...

Me | 8:35pm Dude no fucking way 😂😂😂 Me | 8:36pm What was the bettt

Winnie | 8:37pm There was a lot of variables Winnie | 8:37pm Different details Winnie | 8:38pm I was the only one who put money on Holden asking you out within a month of the night out and you saying yes Winnie | 8:38pm Scored 200 bucks ❤❤❤

Me | 8:39pm Aw that’s cute Me | 8:39pm I better get at least some of that money 😊

Winnie | 8:41pm I’ll go to the bakery tomorrow and get the sandwich for you tomorrow!!!

Me | 8:42pm omg I wasn’t being serious but thank you!!

Winnie | 8:43pm Anything ❤ Winnie | 8:43pm Now spill the tea girl!!

◇

Holden Bradfield | 2:28pm Meet you at yours at 7?

Me | 2:31pm Can we do 6 instead? Me | 2:31pm I want to get a lot of sleep for tomorrow hahaha it’s study day

Holden Bradfield | 2:33pm Absolutely 😁 Holden Bradfield | 2:34pm Same place where I dropped you off?

Me | 2:35pm Yeah Me | 2:35pm First floor, apartment B Me | 2:35pm My roommate is away for the weekend so if nobody opens, just give me a call 😊

Holden Bradfield | 2:36pm Will do!

◇

Winnie | 5:23pm Have fun on the date girl ❤❤

Me | 5:27pm Thanks!! ❤

◇

Virgin Mary | 8:29pm don’t forget about the box of condoms behind the telly!!! 😘

◇

‘Hi! One second. Tom, I’m on the phone to Addie and—’

‘Hi Addie!’

‘What’s up, Tom?’

‘Tom, can you give us a second?’

‘Just leave me on speak—’

‘I’m not leaving you on speaker! This is a best friend matter, Tom.’

‘But I wanna know.’

‘You can tell him later, Marianne.’

‘Okay, Addie says I can tell if you won’t be a pestering little bitch. I’ll come back once I’m finished. Okay, I'm alone.’

‘Geez, finally.’

‘Yeah... So what’s up?’

‘I’m hiding in his bathroom.’

‘You’re WHAT now?’

‘Shh, don’t yell at me.’

‘You’re being about fifty shades of stupid now, love. Of fuckin’ course I am going to yell at you. What's happening?’

‘We came here to watch a movie after dinner. He offered to give me a ride home anytime.’

‘And you are hiding in the bathroom because...? Addie?’

‘I didn’t— I don’t want to rush into things.’

‘Having sex on the first date isn't the devil’s work, love. Tom and I did and look at us now!’

‘Tom and you crossed the fucking ocean just to shag another Brit. And you argue, like, all the time.’

‘Quarter in the jar once you’re home. Another one for being a bitch. Addie, don’t shag him if you don’t want to.’

‘What if I do?’

‘Does he?’

‘...I think so?’

‘Go for it! Oh, wait— What about Drew?’

‘WHAT about Drew?’

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘It’s not like that, Marianne.’

‘I thought we concluded it IS like that.’

‘No, I’m— It’d be too complicated. I like Holden. We make a good team. We do the same job, have the same interests, see each other every single day.’

‘If you say you like him 'cause he’s stable I will—’

‘But he is! He’s reliable. And the thing is, with him, I get flutters and all. Excited. I like the idea of working with him all the time. With Drew, everything’s just very calm and not exciting. So that’s us being just friends. ...Marianne?’

‘Go for it, then. If you like Holden, go for it.’

‘You sure?’

‘Mon Dieu, Addie, it’s your bloody life. Shag him or not. Propose to him if you will, just make up your bloody mind. You’ve got to start living your life, gal. Things shouldn’t consist of a ten-year plan. Shake it up, love!’

‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll see what I’ll do.’

‘You’re welcome, bitch.’

‘Tell Tom I said hi!’

‘Yeah, I will, go start living already!’

‘Marianne, you are being—’

◇

17: JOSIE

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby @taiter-tots @sacredto @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories @rafecameron

#drew starkey #outer banks #obx #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey fic #phone swap series

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munamania · 4 years

Text

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt: “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.”

read on ao3

No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

At least it got easier with time.

All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

But boy, was he a lot of fun.

Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

It stings like a bitch.

His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

“I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

“Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

“You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

Right.

But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

But he stands up.

And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

“Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

“Richie—“

Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

“Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

“Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

“Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

It takes a lot of work, as always.

Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

But he can’t do it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!

The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

“Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

“Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

“Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

“Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

“You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

(Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

“Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

“Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

“A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

“Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for fun at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

In a way, it’s heaven.

“I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

“I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

A ghost of a smile.

“Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

“Please, just stay still!

“It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

“Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

“In the way?”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

“Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

“Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

“Night, toots.”

“Goodnight, Richie.

Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

“Eddie.”

A muffled, “Mmph?”

“Eds, wake up.”

The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

“Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

And, sure, that’s terrifying.

He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

Until it wasn’t

You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

Just as quickly, he loses it.

In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

“Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

“Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

“Some deals are made to be broken.”

Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

“Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

“Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

“Stop, please, fucking stop!”

“Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

“I don’t wanna die - ”

Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

“Fuck the arcade!”

Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

“Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

That’s when it all goes downhill

Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

“Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

“Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

“Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

“You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

“How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

“You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

“Fuck you, Maggie!”

She follows him down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

“Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too.”

For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

And he’s perfect.

His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Mrs. K knocks at the door.

“Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

“Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

“Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

“You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

It sucks when Beverly leaves.

It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

But it’s nothing.

The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

At least his friends are smart.

Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

“C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

“Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

“As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

Oh.

Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

Richie feels sick.

But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

“Bev would love this.”

Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

But it remains with them.

It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #fanfiction #fluff #angst #sharing a bed #pining #new years #summer #mine #gosh i hope this isnt too dorky sfhdgjhsdfg

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batarangtotheheart · 5 years

Text

Different (Batmom x Jason Todd)

SURPRISE, BITCHES. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, but nope!

Pt. II to Blood

Summary: Batmom is Bruce’s new girlfriend. After a while, she got Dick and Damian to like her. Now she tackles Bruce’s mysterious and angry son, Jason.

Warnings: references to death, swearing

It had been a month since the auction and Damian had started to warm up to you. In fact, all of his kids had. Or at least, the kids you’d met. Apparently Bruce has many, many more kids and you grew exhausted at the thought of trying to get them all to like you. Of course, you'd spend countless hours trying to make them accept and maybe even like you, but perhaps one at a time.

One kid you were particularly excited to meet was Jason.

Of course, he was the most unruly and quote, unquote “ruder than Damian” but you just smiled through the fear and anxiety at the thought of someone being ruder than the kid who called you a harlot within five minutes of your meeting.

“Dick, honey, I don’t think you have to worry. I don’t know about Bruce’s plans but I plan on being here for you kids while we are still together. I mean, even Damian warmed up to me.”

Truth be told, every kid Bruce had was basically an orphan before Bruce took them in. Nobody had a purely positive figure in their life, especially not one of a mother. They all searched for that figure in their own way and the smallest part of you believed that maybe you could fill that void in them. Dick smiled at your words and nodded before coming closer to hug you.

Out of all the kids, Dick was the nicest and warmest. He was also the easiest to get to know and to accept you. You definitely wouldn’t say you filled any such void within the poor guy, and you might not ever. But he tries to be open and welcoming to you and you had to admit that you were starting to bond with him. He was definitely the most dependent. You came to enjoy his ‘emergency’ calls when he needs help learning how to properly do laundry at 2 AM because he spilled ketchup on his Nightwing onesie. You came to know him as the biggest Nightwing fan. He had to be. What kind of man in his 20s has a onesie for a superhero and isn’t totally obsessed with them? “I’ll see you later.” He smiled at you once more before leaving. You took a deep breath in, nervous for tonight.

Ah yes, tonight. The night where you’d finally meet the mysterious son of Bruce. Jason was his name and apparently he has had issues ever since he had to fake his death to avoid a stalker when he was a kid. You didn’t know much about him other than he really resented Bruce and that he liked to make jokes about his “death”.

You put on a knee length dark blue dress and black kitten heels and nervously made your way downstairs just as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” You yelled, not wanting to have Alfred be interrupted while he cooks.

You opened the door to see a young man who looked to be around 20 or 21 dressed in a red dress shirt, black pants, black shoes and a black leather jacket. The man liked black, apparently. Just from that you already knew who it was. “You must be Jason. I’m Y/N, Bruce’s-“

He interrupted. “Fling. I know.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. You could tell he would be a challenge just like Damian. But you were someone who enjoyed a challenge.

“I was going to say girlfriend but I guess we all have our own words.” You tried to joke, but he just stood there, unamused.

You smiled and gestured for him to come in. He looked you up and down before walking inside with a blank face. You could tell he was a lot like Bruce, probably more than either men cared to admit.

“So Jason, how old are you?” You asked, following him into the dining room. He just slumped down in an empty chair and examined his nails. “Probably not that much younger than you, if I know Bruce.” He chuckled to himself. You felt your anger rise but held it in and nodded. Be patient, Y/N.

“I’m only three years younger than Bruce, actually.”

Damian came down after a short moment of complete awkward silence. “Y/N. Todd.”

There was a clear distaste when he said ‘Todd’ but Jason just grinned chaotically. “Hey, little tot.”

Damian glowered. “I may physically be a child, but at least I do not act like one.” He carefully sat in the chair next to you and crossed his arms. Jason rose an eyebrow. He definitely didn’t know Damian to be someone to warm up to anyone, especially not Bruce’s flings. “Who invited you, anyway?”

Jason tilted his chair back and crossed his long legs. “Bold of you to assume that I need an invitation. But if you must know, Bruce’s sugar baby here did. I was just as surprised as you.”

Damian looked at you, betrayed, but kept quiet. He figured you must have some plot to get Todd to like you, but if Damian knew Jason, he knew that he definitely was never going to warm up to you.

You were just about to snap at “sugar baby” when Alfred came in with the food. You could always trust his “Oh god, shit’s about to hit the fan” senses. “Dinner is served.”

Jason scoffed. “Where’s the old man? Too unbothered to come to dinner? Wow, he must reaaallyy like you.” He turned to you.

You were really going to smack this guy. He was different than what you assumed, he wasn’t anything like Damian. Damian was not bitter, he was just a kid who was always called a monster, a demon, and under those layers of toughness he just wanted to be accepted. But Jason was plain disrespectful and rude because nobody had the guts to stand up to him. Just as you were about to stand up to him, Bruce arrived. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek as a greeting and sat down at the head of the table. “Jason. So nice of you to join us.”

“Nice of me? What about you? Last I checked, you were supposed to be here like, ten minutes ago.”

Bruce tucked a napkin into his shirt and calmly looked at Jason. “Business call.”

“You’d understand Todd,, if you had a proper job.” Damian quipped under his breath.

You quickly diffused the situation. “It smells delicious, Alfred. Thank you.”

You urged Damian to grab his helping before touching anything, wanting to make sure he had enough. The boy usually didn’t eat very large helpings and you were always fretting over his health. “Get as much as you want, Dami.”

Damian just nodded and put another spoonful of spaghetti on his plate. You smiled and Jason just about died of shock. You were definitely different than Bruce’s other flings. But he wouldn’t let himself start to like you. He knew you’d end up just being some crazy assassin or some gold digger. But you just turned to Jason. “Are you not going to eat? I invited you here for dinner because I know that apartment living isn’t exactly a 5 star restaurant. Trust me, I lived on ramen and Cheetos for years.”

Jason nodded. “So you’re with Bruce because you just couldn’t handle your poor lifestyle anymore, then. I figured you out.”

Bruce spoke up, “Jason, that’s enough.”

You patted Bruce’s hand and laughed.

“Trust me, if I was with Bruce for fancy meals and money I wouldn’t have asked Alfred to make spaghetti.”

Jason just stared blankly with an annoyed look in his eyes. He had to admit, he liked your patience and calm, quick wit.

“Nice bracelet. How many days were you dating Bruce before you begged him to buy it?”

Damian threw down his fork and stood up. “I won’t have you harassing her, you absolute fool. Would Father even be with her if she was the money grabbing trollop you insist she is?”

Jason was shocked at Damian’s defending you and shut up, angrily biting into his spaghetti.

You smiled and patted Damian on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Dami. Jason just met me, I’m sure there have been other women that your father has dated that he liked and they ditched him.” Damian sat down but continued to glare at Jason.

“Well, you’re right about the other women. He’s dated a lot of women. What number is she, like 127?” Jason laughed.

Bruce shot a warning look at Jason. “She’s different, Jason. And your whole act isn’t working. She isn’t like the other women I’ve dated.” Your heart was swelling at the two most stoic men you know defending you so wholeheartedly.

“And you are right, I admit I have dated lots of women. But Y/N is nothing like them. She makes me a better man, Jason. And I hope she can make you a better one too, because the man you are right now is disappointing.” He calmly but fiercely explained.

Jason seemed a bit hurt and just stood up. “Well, thanks for the dinner, Alfred. I need to get going. Nice to meet you, hope you last another week.” He quickly grabbed his jacket and left.

You sighed at that shook your head. “Bruce.” You gave him an annoyed look and got up, rushing to the kitchen before coming back out with containers in your hands and rushing out the door. It was the dead of winter and you were freezing but you pushed on, yelling Jason’s name. “Jason, wait!”

You slipped on a patch of ice just as he turned at you. His eyes widened and he rushed to you. “Are you okay?”

You winced but nodded and held out the containers of leftover spaghetti. “You forgot the leftovers. Like I said, you can’t just live off Cheetos.”

Jason felt his tough facade crack and he furrowed his eyebrows. “You literally nearly broke your ankle over leftover spaghetti.”

You looked up at him before bursting out laughing, forgetting the pain in your ankle.

Of all the reactions he expected you to have to his attitude that night, this definitely wasn’t one.

“Are you nuts?” He questioned, helping you off the cold ground and allowing you to balance yourself on his shoulder.

You grinned and winked. “Guess so, but who isn’t even a little crazy?”

Bruce was right, you were definitely different. Jason just picked the containers that somehow didn’t spill and nodded. “Right. Well, see you next week. What about Tuesday? What is Alfred making?”

You grinned up at the tall boy. You totally won him over and both of you knew it. “Whatever you want.”

Jason’s cheeks were dusted red from embarrassment at his own behavior. “Listen, uh, I’m kinda… sorry.”

You laughed it off and hit him on the shoulder. “No hard feelings,” your voice deepened and you gave a glare worse than the infamous Bat-Glare. “But if you ever call me a sugar baby again I will beat you with my shoe. Well, I’m freezing. Night, Jason! Be safe!” You turned and Jason watched you go, the warmth from the container warming his cold hands. “Night.” He quietly called after you.

Bruce and Damian were both completely confused when you came in and pumped a fist into the air, smiling. Alfred just smiled.

Yeah, you were definitely different.

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Toons For Our Times: The Loud House: Strife of The Party/ Kernel of Truth

Lana plans her and Lola’s party with copius amonts of dirt and garabage while Lola tries sabotaging it and I struggle to figure out which one we’re supposed to be rooting for exactly. Meanwhile Lincoln and Co find an abandoned news room and attempt to start their own news show with the immediate threat of cancelation hanging over their heads. You know like most shows on nick. Also Rusty gets hurt a lot which automatically makes this a winner. News Team Assemble, under the cut.

Well this week was a mixed bag.. which granted could apply to this week as a whole but I meant it specifically for this episodes. Like last week one of them is a true classic that uses the series new status quo to create something intresting, and the other... is the worst episode i’ve reviwed so far. Yes not even one week and the show managed to go from having a boring episode to having a truly odious one. Both metaphorcially and literally as there’s a lot of grossout gags this time around. And unfortuantely since i’ts first in the pairing and the airing, I have to talk about it first. Pitter Patter, let’s get this over with.

Strife of the Party I”m not exaggerating either. I admit I was hard on Schooled! and Family Bonding, but the former sitll had some good content and the latter was .. well it’s still a boring lazy retread with a bonkers ending, but I admitted to having seen worse. But “I’ve seen worse” is never the best defense. I’ll admit usually I avoided the worse episodes of the loud house. I haven’t seen some of the more infamous episodes of the show like “No Such Luck” or “Kings of the Con”.. because as just a viewer I could skip an episode if it sounded like toilet dinner. Sure i’ve still ran into them: “Study Muffin” was just eh when it aired but now both post me too and post chris savino being rightfully fired for being a harassing dickweasel thanks to said movement, it’s realy fucking creepy, has Lori at her worst (Actively trying to cheat on bobby), and .. I have no third thing. All we really got out of it was Lynn Sr’s obsession with the British. And “The Green House”’s reputation proceeds it and there’s a reason I couldn’t finish it. Point is i’ve been lucky to only step in a few cowpies in the field of this show, and now i’m watching it as it comes out i’m accepting the hard truth that with the show’s hit and miss quality, i’m going to have to go panning in shit creek some weeks if I want to find the nuggets of gold. Now I will grant this episode doesn’t sound NEARLY as bad as “No Such Luck”.. but as opus would say....

Exactly my Pengy pal. Again not being worse than the worst episode of the show, still dosen’t make you a good episode. It just makes you marginally less terrible. It’s like saying Creed isn’t as bad as Nickelback. While tha’ts true they both still sound terrible, it’s just playing Creed isn’t a warcrime in some countries. And yes I just compared two episodes of a children’s show to bands my audience thankfully likely weren’t aware ever existed, I don’t care. If you haven’t left my blog running and screaming your either new here or tolerate me being an obscure weirdo.

Before we get in proper, I haven’t covered the twins yet so let’s do that quick. I haven’t really watched a ton of Lola and Lana’s episodes, their not bad characters htey just don’t intrest me much as i’ve seen their gimmicks a lot, but I will say lola’s slightly better and I will say I like Lana more when she’s doing animal antics instead of grossout. Not terirble characters and their acted well, just not my cup of tea is all. Okay enough stalling , pitter patter!

We open with Lola planning the twins upcoming birthday and talking to her stuffed animals which is cute and all.. before a POSSUM CHESTBURSTS OUT OF LOLA’S UNICORN DOLL.

The.. the fuck. Look i’m all for scaring the crap out of kids in children’s entertainment. I loved Courage the Cowardly dog as a kid and as a grown ass man writing about children’s entertainment. I love the lich from adventure time, i’m okay with scaring kids. But this is just.. a bit too realistic. Yes really. While doll that size probably can’t fit a possum it could sure fit something else and i’ve seen stuffed animals big enough for a posssum, so yeah.. this could actually happen to one of my nieces and that thought terrifies me. It happening to me also terrifies me but I’m a grown man not a small child who’d be scarred for life. Christ. The episode does get better, for a second I didn’t bitch for a few paragraphs for nothing. Lana comes in, claims the demon possum, and tells Lola she’ll fix the doll. Uh Lana i’m not sure she wants it back.. you’d be better off burning it and setting the possum free in a republican center’s home where it belongs.

Anyways Lana has a good point, Lola’s been plannig their parties ‘since before they were born”.. literally as the image above shows which is just.. fucking amazing. I cannot belivie they got to go there and it’s glorious they did. I can’t think of many, if any, other chlidren’s cartoons that showed a fetus on screen so kudos.

But yeah that was the one good moment of the episode. Next our twins go to a party suply store where Lola, clearly knowing the host well because these kids have connections, has her stash all the poop colored stuff away... which backfires as lana instead goes to the garbage for party favors and decorations. It fails to get better: Next they go to a bakery where Lana makes her own literal garbage cake and then go to flips for entertainment i.e. a bull. NOw i’ll grant both stops have good bits: The cake store guy asks if Lana’s a cop when she asks for grime and Flip has them sign a waver for the bull. And the bull being lana’s idea of entertainment makes sense.. but overal it just comes off as gross and mean spirited. I mean yes Lola’s about to do some terrible stuff herself and yes Lola ouvershadowed lana.. but she dosen’t deserve this abuse and none of this is healthy or tolerbale for.. well anyone, and could get the Loud Parents in serious trouble, which also leaves the obvious plot hole of “why don’t they step in in either situation. “

The episode would’ve made more snese if Lana went to them to get them to let her host the party and their guilt over letting Lola always do it means they don't’ reign her in despite wanting to. Instead their just.. there at the end for a great bit we’ll get to. It’s always the bad episodes that paint the loud parents as terrible parents honestly. No Suck Luck had them cast their son out into the cold over nonsense, On Thin Ice had Lynn Sr decide forcing his children to embarass themselves was more important than teaching one of them that maybe sometimes you don’t always get to force your family to obey your whims for dumb reasons, and the april fools eps have Lynn Sr so terrified of pranking retribution instead of you know.. GROUNDING Luann for going full joker on their asses. IN most episodes their kind and reasonable but it’s always the bad ones where they instead make Homer Simpson look like a good parent.

But yeah my rant aside the episode COULD work if Lola, encouraged by one of her other siblings, Luann would be a good bet as she could easily slide into the party setting when appropriate without being too distracting, realizes she’s been selfish and tries to hold her tounge for lana’s sake. Maybe then she tries sabotage.. or better she DOSEN’T, but both of them realize something; Lola realizes she’s been doing this to lana their whole lives by forcing her into a party she doesn’t like so LOLA can be happy while Lana realizes she’s being no better. Hell even if Lola did complain, which is in character, this plot woudl still work. instead.. Lana is just as bad as Lola while Lola is still pretty terrible. See the big problem is that NEITHER girl is likeable. As I’ve made clear Lana pushes a gross, dangerous party on her sister she clearly doesn’t like, and Lola, instead of trying tot alk to her parents or get Lana to tone it down.. tries to guide her to what she wants, then when that fails sabotages the party, makes it so Lana has nothing and gets her party. Both sides are being really bad, but instead of them realizing this, lana is treated as the one we should be sympathetic to when she gets mad when she finds out about Lola even though NEITHER of them are sympathetic or likeable and deserve to win 100%. But Lana does, lana gets her way, Lola apologizes and hte paradigm just shifts from one sibling being unhappy to another. We do get that one gag I talked about where when lola goes to make things right she has Lynn Sr stall and he pulls out a cowbell “You thought I wasn’t going to need this”. No bud, Rita HOPE you wouldn’t need this. There’s a difference. Thank god it’s the end.

Final Thoughts for Strife of the Party: They should be obvious but to be clear this is hippo excrement. i’ts not funny, it makes both it’s leads look bad, the parents look worse by inaction and just isn’t pleasant ot watch. I do GET the show has a young audience, and they like grossout, I get i’m not the target demographic, so I probably would just be okay with a good version of this episode.. but even with that in mind both twins come off so unlikeable it’s just not fun to watch or to see Lana win as she didn’t feel like she earned it. It’s bad and it should feel bad, and i’ts the first truly odious episode i’ve had for weekly coverage. I’ve had okay or eh ones, but this one is truly bad and belongs in the pantheon of bad loud house episodes.. or at least in the honrable mentions. Good gravy this blew.

Kernel of Truth

Okay now we’ve panned the gold nugget out of the crap creek, we can get on with the GOOD episode this week. I was excited for this one.. I was excited for both actually, even not being a huge fan of the twins I liked the idea of a loud birthday but as we just saw,.. didn’t work out so good. But this one while I thought it would just be average, promised another lincrew shenanigan and I like most of those i’ve seen, and plus I knew it’d allow me to refrence anchorman a bunch so i was llike :Fuck it let’s go”.. and this one ended up being REALLY damn good and probably one of the best episodes with this group i’ve seen, right up there with “Be Stella My Heart.” I’ts good stuff. But before we get into it you probably noticed my ranting about girl jordan but turns out, while I haven’t watched that episode, she’s in the sand field trip episode from last season hanging out with stella so I have an answer to if they forgot abotu her, they didn’t they just need to use her more, and a new ship so i’m satisfied and I apologize for bitching about it. Next time i’ll just check the wiki and see before I bitch about something. ON with the review.

We open with our motely crew searching for a hidden Game Room rusty’s cousin claims exists, with Stellas as lookout and the guys.. er all in stacks that make it look like their doing a team up move from donkey kong country 2?

I mean I have been playing the game a lot since it came to switch online, seriously if you have the service go play it, but i’m not hte only one seeing this right? Right. So yeah the kid stack fails and Zach doubts Rusty’s story.. because when has rusty ever been right.. well apparently just this one time, but we’ll get to that. They even checked the boiler room.

And then promptly vowed never to go back to the boiler room while Principal RAmierz just sighed at having to deal with a freddy kruger infestation again. They loose more children that way and the school board JUST got him out of the high school. Liam also gets the line of the episodes when he calls the group “Fellas and Stellas” Which is just objectively amazing and needs to be used every time this group appares from now o. Luckily= Stella noticed another closed door, this one taped off instead of just with a keep out sign and the Fellas and Stellas make their way inside and find themselves in.. a news room! But it’s nto a fox news room so it actually had news in it once and not Tucker Carlson, the answer to what happens to an 80′s or 90′s yuppie scumbag villian after they fail to get the orphange paved over for condos

Anyway, our heroes alll ohhh and all while Zach thinks this is where children are harvested. Nah Zach they just call them up on the pa system.

So everyone does what’s natural to them: Zach and Liam inspect the cameras, Stella looks at the old mic because she’s a natural for being an on camera personality and Rusty.. oggles an old group shot of the news team. You know I may not hate him with the hatred of a hundred suns, but he’s still objectively the worst. Zach gets mad at him over it because “That’s my mom”. Rusty defends himself by calling her hot and while th. no please god no dont’ talk about women like that you creepy little weatherbeaten Chucky doll that somehow became a real boy, or had dustin diamond transfer his soul into it befrore he died. Either is possible. The point is Ewww. The other point is while Rusty’s being his usual living proof of while he’ll die alone Zach has no right to get upset , AT FIRST because how the hell would Rusty know that’s hsi mom. You two have the combined braincell of a dead feret. Stella is the only one out of all 6 of you evenmy boy liam who has more than one brain cell. This argument is stupid and I hate you both, just settle things in the most humane way possible.. or at least THIS is what I consider the most humane way possible.

So while those two are being as stupid as expected, Lincoln suggets fixing the place and becoming the new school news crew. I mean they’d need new equipment since even if the stuff there still works’ it’s all worn out 80′s tech none of you know how to use but given their seen with a modern camera later int he episode, I assume they just sold this off and got new cameras. Even if the show flopped, more on that in a minute, the principal could still use those for other projects so it’s a win win. Stella Zhau agrees.. and FINALLY has a last name. Like holy shit i’ve been waiting a full season for this and it feels like that bit was JUST to give her a last name. Now they just need to do Liam but still, I needed this one more. Plus it also means we can now firmly say she’s chinese. Neat!

So after that blockbuster reveal Stella wonders where Rusty is, because fuck if I know, and they all find him continuing to oggle zach’s mom at their age....

Zach snatches it away and crumples up understandably annoyed. Rusty’s response is about what you’d expect.

So once Liam’s done throwing that calender into the school furnace, and saying hi to freddy as he passes the boiler on the way, our team heads to the principal to plead their case. They run into Meryl, the identical in personality, plot function and apperance outside of wearing pink instead of yellow to Cheryl, the receptionest at the elementary school who I really liked and it’s a clever way to keep the character at both schools and pays off the runnig gag of Cheryl asking liincoln or clyde who looks better her or her sister by having said sister show up and ask the same. Good stuff.

Meryl ends up agreeing to let them go see the wizard, I mean Principal Rameriz, because her soap is on. Also clyde’s a fan to his friends blank stares. Come on guys he watches romance movies, of course he’s going to love drama shows, even the non teen ones. I now imagine he joins the loud sisters on their riverdale nights. Riverdale the clusterfuck that has something for all of them: Teen drama and shirtless hunks for Lori and Leni, Music and scantly clad “teens’ of both genders and neither gender for Luna, something to laugh at for Luann who probably loves mst3king stuff, and violence for Lucy.. dosen’t seem like it’d be Lynn’s thing honestly but I rest my case. Also the rest of the sisters are too young but the parents figure Lucy’s desentised enough to violence and blind enough to sex to make an exception.

Now that fun headcanons out of the way our heroes pitch the principal whose skeptical, as the 80′s news show ended because it was boring, much like why that 80′s show ended. That and it was a bunch of 80′s pop culture refrences strung together. I do have a minor nitpick that it seems odd a school room would be in disuse for this long, but given the Principal has apparently spent years looking for aformetioned game room as we find out in the end, the school blueprints are apparnelty lost to the ages or if they exist are some sort of ancient treasure map buried beneath the school drawn in blood by an old witch. I mean this universe has cherry hating peach loving spies now, i’ not ruling anything out.

But our heroes beg them: Clyde has journalism experince on the school paper, Stella has the dedication and heart and Rusty .. thinks people need to see his face on camera. Rusty as far as we know your face functions like the vdieo from the ring and everyone in school is going to die 7 days after seeing it on film. That’s my theroy and i’m sticking to it. Thankfully everyone else is just as annoyed with him as me for once, and we get the glorious shot above of everyone just looking.. done with his antics and wondering why they keep him around. Finally for once I agree iwth the characters on something rusty related. Let’s show that agian.

Poetry. You can just feel the levels of “So done with this crap” seeping from every poor.. except for Poor Lincoln who just wishes his best friends and rusty woudl stop using him as furniture, and Liam whose covered but probably very much on team “Rusty Stop Being Yourself your blowing this for us”. They even have an action news pose.. which is botha dorable and breaks the principal’s bust of herself, so she relucntantly agrees to get them out of there. Plus as I said there’s really no loss for her here. If their sucessful the school gets a new elective, something to put on the tv’s every morning, a way to do announcments so she dosen’t have to, and free good publicity for her next bonus. If not.. then she has somehwere to store her new cameras she can use for other stuff, and come up with something else to do with the media lab. Either way she wins. Plus iwth phones and stuff noawaydays they only need the one new camera. Okay before we move on confession time: I was on a school tv news show’s crew myself. Not in middle school, we werne’te that lucky but in high school we had video media, an elective where seniors edited news segments and what not for the school’s WhamTV program. I hope i’ts still around honestly. I started on a field crew doing stories but my awkardenss and a blow up at my partner where my awkward rage prone ass threatned him by accident, got me bumped to doing credits.. which I genuinely loved. I got to something fun, creative and unique, I was still part of hte intros every week, and I got plenty of time to goof off and watch videos. It’s how I found channel awesome and first got to watch atop the fourth wall since it wasn’t on youtube back then, back before you know, it turned out Doug was abusing all of them and younger me was just unaware of it. But it was still good times so this episode does feel a bit nostalgic for me. But enough teary eyed reminciings of ten years ago, back to the plot. Our heroes air their newscast. It’s the Middle School Action News with with your Anchors Lincoln Loud and Clyde McBride, Stella Zhao in the field, Rusty Spokes on Sports for.. some reason, Cameraman Liam Wedon’tknowhislastname and Zach Gurdle somewhere out of the way. Middle School Action News, always on, always free.. no wiat tha’ts pluto. Middle School Action News, Taste the rainbow. Middle School Action News.. The Good Guys Always Win, Even in The 80′s. Yeah that’ll do!

But yeah while our heroes try their best, and to their credit this does feel like a middle school news show. The writers not our heroes. Anyways Lincoln and Clyde banter and we get our first segment Stella trying to interview mr. Bohlmer about his birthday.. which goes about as well as doing anything for him on ron swansons’ birthday.

Next we have Rusty on sports.. which I questioned when I first say this but as obonxious as Rusty can be.. yeah this is the best place to have him. Stella has the drive and the talent to be their field reporter, Clyde and Lincoln have a lifelong report that does well for the desk, Liam is nice and patient enough for camera work, and Zach is a paranoid weirdo so he probably has experince editing since thats where I assume where he is since htey ddon’t do weather and even if they did Liam’s just not the right shade of oblivoiusly nuts.

I do however at least get why they keep him around as Rusty needs someone to get fed up with him.. but as the above moment showed Clyde and Stella can do that easily, as can Lincoln, so he really has no functional purpose other than as a B-Grade dale gribble. ANd I know kids don’t know who that is but they frankly deserve better. Seriously Zach...

Okay getting back to the segement. For starters Rusty does a breath spray first.. but suprisingly despite interviewing a lady, specifically Lynn, he DOSEN’T hit on her and is actually professional and manages to get a quote despite her disintrest. LIke I know it’s the bare minimum but you’ve met rusty right? the Bare Minimum is hard for him to grasp. Earlier this episode he was oggling old pictures of his friends mom and saying he should take it as a compliment which, Hard No. So the fact hours later he’s talking to a woman without radiating creep after that is an achivment. For him and him alone mind you, most kids should know better. But still I may be hard on the kid, because DAMN is it fun and damn if he dosen’t give me plenty of joke fodder, but I will give him credit even if it’s the bare minmum. Good job rust you passed the very basic plateau of human decency.

Stella wraps things up with a look at the cafteria that’s about what you’d expect from a kids cartoon, shoe int he beans etc. Unfortuantley bean shoes, sportz and angry assholes aren’t enough to float the show and the principal is ready to can it. On hte bright side they have their first lawsuit from Mr. Bohlmer. I mean John Olvier idnd’t start getting sued by dickheads with no real case till he was 30, nicely done kids. And it’s not even why, it’s just boring and the kids aren’t enjoying it. So Stella, being again the one with her own brain cells here, proposes to let them find a big story, and Ramirez reluctantly but graciously agrees. And that’s why I like her so far. Don’t get me wrong having Steven Tobolowsky as principal was great, but I like Rameriz better: she’s smart, weary of the crap she puts up with and tough but fair.. which is a cliche btu fits here: She’ll be honest with her kids but will give them an honest chance and sees our news team really doees want this bad and her giving htem one more day to find something actally intresting is more than fair. So our heroes spitball about what to do for news. LIam suggests alien because again he has about one character trait, so everyone tells him for hte last time no. I mean it isn’t much worse than his last suggestion.

So once agian it’s RUSTY who saves the day, bringing in beet snacks.. which he tries to get them not to stone him over over the fact the popcorn was all gone.. which okay 1) I get the show’s tring to be healthy so maybe ther’es not chips, but I have a hard time buying that there’s no Chez Its, snack packs or other goodies between “Popcorn’ and “something with beetz that only two men would eat” For the record those two men are Dwight Schrute, for obvious reasons, and this guy my boy Tony Chu.

I highly recommend this comic, Chew for the record, to anyone. Just.. anyone whose not a children it gets voilent, but it is sublime. We’re not here for that, but I thought i’d plug it. It also has a spinoff currently running, Chu, following his criminal sister. Also real good and dosen’t really spoil anything for hte main series thus far so you can hop in there instead. Either way your in for a ride. Back on topic, while Rusty failed with snacks he actually brings up a good point: The popcorn isn’t just gone because it’s late in the school day, but because as the kids notice, it’s just missing in general despite the trucks arriving. They have their story and head out to investigate. And suprisingly, unlike last week’s investigation they find something: A mysterious hooded figure bribing the driver for popcorn, and taking it off somewhere. They fail to catch her, as Rusty dives over her telling Liam to “Make sure you get this”.. he instead gets a shrub and video of him attacking a shrub. I’ts a good runner and shows the writers are leanring to use Rusty better. They take the footage to the principal, who is impresssed, but states they need to find out who dun it for the story to be complete which is fair enough. They stalk out the nexxt delivery time later that night, but find the drivers have been switched and the mystery person has fled to canada. Rusty once again tries catching her and fall sin the water. Liam once again responds with a cheerful “Don’t worry rusty I got it”.. okay this dynamic is honestly better than him and Zach: Cheerful oblivious Liam and scheming dumbass rusty. Why isn’t THIS the “Those Two Guys” dynamic in the group, honestly.

Anyways Lincoln is dispondent the next day as iwth no leads, they have no programa nd prepares to do a spider-man no more with his anchorsuit.. which okay 1) you can use that for other things man. Peter Parker can’t really use a spider-man suit for anything but spider-manning but you can use that suit for dates and dances and stuff. and 2).. whya re he and the clyde the only ones with outfits? I mean.. it’s clear from this episode there will be more school news stories nad it just looks weird that they get to play dressup in suits but the rest of the crew isn’t. Liam at leat is working the camera and Zach is Zach but rusty and Stella are field reporters. Field reporters, while not always, usually get nice suits too guys.

ANyways Lincoln finds something in the garbage. And not his sister this time, as Lana oscar the grouched it up lat episode in sadness. Which to be fair will be her future career mark my words. At least I think that’s a career. Anyways, our heros find a ferry ticket meaning whoever fled to Canada is in the building. They trail some popcorn from the ticket to the locked door from earlier, which Rusty, finishing the rule of three, tries knocking it down hwile Liam gets it. Stella, again proving to be the real hero of this tale, uses her hair as a lockpick. Is.. is there anythign this child can’t do? She and Marcy should swap notes sometime damn.

And the culprit is MERYL! She was using the popcorn for insulation to get a quite room to herself and begs the kids not to tell which. is the weaker part of the episode> We don’t have the investment in Meryl we do in Cheryl, and she did you know.. steal school property.. or at least buy it off under the table. But the kids being the sweet kids they are understandably, schemes or not don’t want her to loose her job, and agree to not tell on her even if they loose their show. And to their creid and what keeps this from sinking the episode Meryl is genuinely greatful for this gesture, and gives them the scoop. And as i’ve been mentioning turns out RUSTY WAS RIGHT. Yes Rusty. That Rusty. Was Right about something. The Game Room exists. They find it thorugh a hidden locker entrance and unlock it from the inside, with af lodo of viewers coming in. Granted at first I didn’t know why Meryl didn’t just use this room but then I thought “Oh yeah she’s a full grown adult and can’t fit in the entrance and i’m assuming it was locked from the other side to the rest of the school”. So the kids have a new hangout and as the principal joins them, they havea show! Turns out she’d been looking for this place for years.. and doesn’t turn it into something else. What a legend. She plays Air Hockey with Meryl, is there something going on there or are my shipping goggles acting up.. probably both. Anyways our heroes have genuine thanks, a fun new hangout at school, their own headquarters and their own news show. It’s a heck of a day but it’s no time to rest as Rusty tells them he has another tip and i’ts off... to pick up a broom to sweep up the gumball machine they knock over.. THEN they can go find the hot tub for the teachers lounge.

Final Thoughts: OH me mow, this was a great one. For one the main complaint I had I mentioned at Schooled! of it not feeling like Lincoln’s friends were given enough personality sometimes? Gone enitrely. Everyone except Clyde and Zach get a moment and Clyde is still fully present and has gotten several focus episodes at this point, while Zach again should just leave already. But the rest of them? All on form. Stella continues to prove her competence, energy and adorability, Rusty is not only actually useful for once but was actually really funny his episode. The gag with Zach’s mom was actually pretty hilarious, my jabs at him aside, and the runner of him trying to do some epic stunt, telling Liam to film it and then humiliating himself while his pal cheerfully tells him he got it is just great and Lincoln’s Spider-Man no more moment with his suit was both said and kinda funny and I love him and Clyde’s reporter outfits. It’s why I wanted everyone to have them, especially since this will be a recurring theme and looks to be a fun one. It was fun, creative, and took me back a decade. It was a REALLY damn good one and I’m glad I watched this one first, a true highlight of the series and a true good sign that the season can, even with some hiccups, will apparnetly have some REALLY great episodes on average even with the weaker ones. That’s it for this week... and somehow for loud house coverage as, for now, their doesn’t’t seem to be any new episodes in October, but that could change. Until then, follow this blog every Monday for regular ducktales coverage and come back in October for more loud house, more the Casagrandes and some spooky spooky fun Until then, Go team venture.

#The Loud House #Lincoln Loud #Lana Loud #Lola Loud #Clyde McBride #Stella Zhau #Liam #Zach Girdle #Rusty Spokes #Principal Rameriz #Meryl #Lynn Loud #Girl Jordan #Lynn Loud Sr #Rita Loud

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