#anyways I need to stop yapping!!!! actual tags now

[purple-st4rz-556]

I keep forgetting to be active here whoops....anyways it's Gorillaz Phase 1 OMG!!!!

OMFG I JSUT RELIZED THAT I DREW THE THUMB FACIND THE WROGN DIRECTION 💀💀💀

[90ekz]

ive head this nagging thought in the back of my head that satoru has some kinda random spot on his body that’ll make him instantly pop a bone. I DONT KNOW JUST WORK WITH ME HERE PLS 🙏 i love your works btw 😘

✧ sweet spot, ft. satoru gojo

✧ tags: mostly fluff, whiny satoru, ‘baby’ as a nickname, did i say mostly fluff already??, dry humping, overstim, loser satoru cs he’s mushy and in love

✧ an: this idea is now living in my head and not paying rent, thanks a lot anon :/

satoru usually just does his own hair care, and he’s very meticulous about it. he wants everything to be clean and pristine—not that you weren’t capable of doing that for him, he’s just very, very dramatic. he didn’t even know this spot was sensitive until… literally now.

he’s standing in the bathroom as you brush your teeth, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his growing undercut. he figured it was time for him to cut it anyway, but his arms were very sore from some training he’d done with the kids yesterday.

“babe.”

“y’esh?” he chuckled at your mouthful of the minty paste, and just waited for you to finish brushing. when you finally did, you turned to face him as he brushed his thumb over the white pooling on the corner of your mouth.

“can you cut my hair today? ‘arms are so sore.” satoru whined, his finger still tracing your lip lazily.

“have you washed it? i don’t need your lice transferring to me—ouch! okay, okay, plug in the clippers!” you giggled as he pinched your lip. the clippers rested on his side of the sink, and he plugged them in wordlessly. you stood behind him, lightly brushing the area with the small brush you know is the most comfortable for him. satoru sighs lightly as you do this, and his shoulders relax.

he didn’t know exactly what it was, but your hands felt different than his. you made him so sensitive usually anyway, but this was weird. his cheeks were heating, and everything was tingling, not just his neck.

and then you did it.

the clippers worked in upward strokes as you trimmed the hair down, and suddenly your thumb brushed over some magical pressure point of his. satoru felt pleasure shoot down his spine like he never had before, and a almost girly squeak slipped out before he could stop it. your eyes go wide and you remove the clippers from his neck. satoru is deathly still, and you watched color bloom over his cheeks in the mirror.

“…you okay sato’?” the nickname drips off your tongue like honey—so effortless, so intimate, and he hates that you decided to use it right now. he can’t take it. you’ve never called him that, and he can hear the amused tilt in your voice.

satoru gulps, because he doesn’t know what to say. how does he say that he wants you to keep going, to keep brushing over that exact spot so he can pinpoint exactly what that feeling was just now? he’s never felt anything like that when he cut his own hair…

he settles on a weak little “i’m fine, baby,” because frankly? he doesn’t trust himself to say any other words right now.

you give him a little smile in the mirror before your hands start working again, and you finally start getting somewhere with actually cutting his damn hair. he doesn’t feel anything out of the ordinary happen anymore, and now he’s finally cleanly shaven again like he likes. you did an exceptional job, and satoru peppers you with kisses as a reward.

he mostly stops thinking about it after this.

yeah, maybe the thought lingers in the back of his head for a few hours after, and maybe he stands in the bathroom rubbing his thumb over the back of his neck for a little longer than considered normal, but it was fine.

except for when you call him down to finish watching the movie you’d started earlier, and he’s laying on your chest as you run your fingers through his hair. satoru isn’t even paying attention to what your hand is doing as he yaps about the plot of the film, and you listen.

“he’s a piece of shit! i mean, he stayed with his side piece on the plane, and made his wife drive in the snow? fuck mike ‘till it’s backwards.” satoru spits, his attention fully focused on the movie’s plot.

unlike you, who’s mind was still in the bathroom, cutting satoru’s hair.

you haven’t stopped thinking about the little noise he’d made as you’d accidentally pressed your finger over the nape of his neck, right where the hair started. he sounded so weak—so vulnerable, and you decided right then that you needed to hear much more of that.

your mind was now solely focused on one thing, and your hand was moving just as it was in the bathroom. you twirled your fingers around strands, until finally threading your fingers through his hair and giving a small tug. this tore a stuttered breath out of satoru, and you smiled. he’d gone a little more rigid against you, and his commentary had stopped as you payed so much attention to him. he was losing focus of the movie, too.

“b-babe,”

“hmm?” you hummed back, fingers now traveling from his hair to his lower neck, tracing small circles there. you knew what you were looking for, but why not tease a little first?

satoru couldn’t answer you if he tried—every word in his throat dies as you press down onto that spot once more, and he’s slamming his hand on-top of yours to make sure you don’t move it. he isn’t sure why he does that exactly, but why does it matter? why does anything matter when you’re touching him like this?

he can’t do this, just one press on his spot has his dick rising and stiff against your thigh, and even you can hardly believe it.

“sato.” you grip his hair to pull him off your chest, just enough to look at you. he whines from the mixture of the nickname and the sting of his scalp.

“b-baby, please.” satoru breathes. you know what he’s asking for, and you figured you’d done enough teasing for a while. you grin, rubbing your thumb back and forth over the pressure point back and forth, up and down, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he came just from this based on the sounds he was making. he hovers you, his arms barely holding his body up, and he’s heaving into your neck.

“breathe, satoru.”

“mmph—i will! i will, just please don’t stop,” satoru whines, his hips grinding down against your thigh. sure, this whole thing is embarrassing as hell, but he couldn’t help the cheeky grin that stretched across his face as you indulged him. as you ran your acrylics over the sensitive part of him, he dropped his head back into your shoulders, and his own started to shake violently.

he was laughing.

you were shocked by this, but you didn’t dare stop. at some point, you couldn’t help but snort a little as he grasped onto you. it was cute—the way his giggles melted into moans, the way he couldn’t control himself or his emotions in the moment. there were no coherent thoughts forming in his head except for fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

and you loved it that way.

[skiddlylokius]

Lokius X Avengers 2012 Teaser

"what the–" The time door suddenly closed so fast that Loki barely got Mobius' feet out. He never really knows what happens if half your body gets closed by a time door. Maybe it rips your body in half, who knows?

"We're fucked." Mobius mutters under his breath as and slaps the wonky Timepad on his hand. Damn you, X-05. He really did a number on his gadget. "This thing won't work, and I don't have my own on me."

"What do you mean it won't work? give me that." Loki snatches the timepad from mobius and presses various buttons and slaps in on his hands, instead it turned off.

"That was amazing of you, Loki. Now give me that" Mobius immediately snatches it from the God's hands and slipped it inside his inner coat's pocket.

"How are we gonna go back? We're supposed to try to find Sylvie."

"Calm down. I'm sure Hunter B-15 would notice our absence and track us, for the meantime we should blend in." Mobius said before finally having the chance to actually see his surroundings and let it sink in. "What year did i put on the timepad again?"

"2012"

"That fucker." Mobius clenched his hand while looking around the complete ruins of New York. "He set us up."

"I don't understand, what do you mean he set us up."

"Look around, Loki. This place looks familiar to you?" He says while pointing the debris that scattered along the road from skyscrapers and cement.

"Oh. I get it now." Loki sucked in a breath secretly, knowing the same fiery scenes along New York. "This is definitely not the way i see myself seeing them after my manic episode."

"Agreed, but whatever can we do. There's no way out."

"Should I change my appearance now?" Loki asks, kicking a rock underneath his loafers.

"Not yet anyway, We're in the middle of a ruined city, im sure they haven't se–" Mobius stopped mid sentence as a gust of strong wind slashed between their bodies. The Mjolnir stopping midair infront of them as a warning as the clear blue skies turned gray and roared with thunder.

"So much for that camouflage." Loki whispered to himself, shielding his head from the possible onslaught of headache known as Thor.

Without a second wasted, Thor descended from the heaven like the God he is along with his little superhero friends. The hammer gravitating toward its master.

"Loki, you shall come with us." Thor's command boomed as Loki winced, reminding him of Odin with the whole 'im better than you and you will kneel' bravado.

Loki wrinkled his nose and said a resounding 'No.'

"I'm a big fan, the name's Mobius M. Mobius. Nice to meet all of you." He stretched out a hand and no one shook it. He puts his hands down and slipped it inside his pocket. "Bummer."

"You could've just left, Loki. Why would you come back?" Captain America asked Loki, earning himself a side eye from Tony Stark.

"I don't know what kind of godly etiquettes you learned but im pretty sure that's not how you welcome an escaped fugitive Cap. You're a little outdated but that's fine, all you need is a little tune up."

"Will you stop yapping, Tony?"

"This gonna be one hell of a reunion." Mobius mumbled under his breath.

ps. you can click the lokius x avengers 2012 tag to find the updates for this, thank you! send asks!

[caspers-multifandom]

Dating App | Coffee Shop AU!

AN: Okay so this is rushed (barely proofread either, sorry) but it's 1am and I have work in like six hours, so please bare with me. Just a little idea I've been playing with and this is just the beginning. Should I continue?

Word Count: 1,285

____

Price wiped down the counter and the coffee machine as the lunch rush slowed down.

“Ah man, missing ma two favourite ladies.” Soap huffs as he came back from wiping down tables and collecting the leftover mugs.

“What you yapping about?” Price asks without looking up.

“Two of my regulars, an ol’ na and her daughter. Always see them on Thursdays.” Soap sulks as he loads up the dishwasher.

Price never usually worked Thursdays but Simon had called asking for cover because his therapy session was changed – something Price was incredibly proud of him doing. So here Price was working a Thursday and only slightly curious about Soap’s ‘regulars’. Price knew the younger man could be a flirt with the female customers (once earning a slap from a towel because Price wasn’t paying him to ogle the women). But he never mentioned having regulars before – not to mention ones he has never seen.

“How’s the dating app going?” Soap nudges Price’s elbow with is own. “Bag any beauties yet?”

“None of your business.” Price gruffed as he dried a mug with his towel.

“Oh come on!” Soap whined. “Gaz and I have five that says you deleted it. Ghost is opposing.”

Price shouldn’t really have been shocked that the lads had placed bets on his love life. They were the ones that convinced him to download it and try to find someone to occupy his time.

“I mean it couldn’t hurt. You’re always here or sat in a pub.” Gaz had stated. “About time you got out there.”

“Yeah, download the app Price. Bag a beauty, fall in love, get out of our hair.” Soap prodded.

“Actually shag someone.”

Price had cut the conversation short after Simon’s declaration that had Soap and Gaz all but howling on the coffee shop floor.

“Why’re you so interested in my love life anyway?” Price muttered as he put the mug back in place under the counter.

“Because we’re looking out for you. God knows the amount’a times you saved us.” Soap lightly tapped him on his shoulder. “We just worry you’re becoming to wrapped up in yourself.”

That was true. Price could get too wrapped up within himself that he became a work alcoholic. Old habit of working in his previous field of combat and life threatening situations. Now that he was retired from that and back in the civilian world, he threw himself into his business. The coffee shop that he had always seen whenever he was home from deployment and after he returned, he offered to buy it from the previous owner. He got quite a good deal on the place, just needed a little fixing up and the kitchen needed a little work but otherwise he was all set. After his boys all decided to hang up the dog tags too, he was quick to offer them all a job with him and they all accepted. Price threw everything he could into this business and so did they and it paid off because they become a local favourite – even had passers through come in frequently too. Price knew he couldn’t leave this behind, her needed to work. He had to work, without working then there was nothing that really made him… him.

“Well, there was one match.” Price sighed as he looked down at the counter.

“Really?! Show me!” Soap was like a dog that had just seen his owner pull out the leash to go for a walk. He was over the counter and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for Price to unlock his phone. Price sniffed and turned his head to look down on the man, Soap seemed to take the hint and took a step out of his personal space.

Price opened the app and clicked onto the profile of the match he had found. Soap leant down to saw at the phone.

“Hang on, is that-”

“I don’t care how late we are, you’re not going to stop me from seeing the young man.” The voice of an irritated old lady sounded as the door to the coffee shop opened. Price looked up and froze.

“Mom, will you wait a minute.” The voice of the young woman followed as she entered the shop holding multiple shopping bags.

“See, told you he would still be in!” The older woman cheered as they made their way over to the counter.

Soap smiled at the two women as they came over to them. The older woman was shorter, slightly hunched at the shoulders from age but she still carried herself with her chin high and smile upon her ruby, wrinkled cheeks. The younger woman held her head down the entire approach, her short hair blocking her sight but her jean clad legs seemed to remember the space around her as she kept looking through her shopping bags.

“Hello there Marie, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Soap greeted the pair with his grin and a slap to Price’s leg to shake him from his shock.

“Oh aren’t you still as charming as ever.” The elder gushed as she smiled at the younger man.

“Always when I see your darling face.” Soap continued to egg on the older woman, all the while Price couldn’t tear his eyes away from the unknowing young woman that followed her mother. She was still looking down at the bags in her hands, seemingly counting whatever was in there.

“I knew you only picked up one box of eggs,” She huffed to herself as she placed the bags on the floor and shifted items from one bag to another.

“Your usual then?” Soap asked Marie as he began getting a mug ready.

“Yes please, throw a little extra sugar in it for me.” Marie replied as she readied her purse. She paused when there was a silence that followed her.

“Rory, what are you having?” She asked, grabbing the attention of the young woman. She finished shifting through the bags and looked up at her mother – the sun streaming in through the windows caught her eyes and made they shine a beautiful and deep honey.

“I’ll just have a tea, two sugars please.” She smiled up to Soap as he nodded at her order.

Soap continued to make their drinks and move himself around the still frozen man that stood at the counter shamelessly staring at Rory. When she finally stood up and brushed her short hair out of her face and turned to him; she froze.

The realisation seemed to dawn upon her too that she was the one that Price had matched with on his app.

“One tea with two sugars, and a latte with extra sugar.” Soap announced as he placed their drinks on a tray.

“You’re a star, take a tip for yourself sweetie.” Marie smiled at Soap as she handed over a twenty pound note. Price and Rory were still stuck in their eye contest before Soap noticed and cleared his throat. Rory was the first to look away, a rosy tint in her cheeks as she hurriedly picked up the bags from the floor and rushed off to a free table.

“Rory! Wait a minute-”

“That’s alright, Marie. I’ll bring them over.” Soap interrupted and smiled as Marie turned back to him.

“Oh that girl, one minute she doesn’t want to come in and the next she’s running through. I’ll never understand her.” Marie tutted as she followed after her daughter.

Soap shot a glance at Price who was still stood with his phone in his hand and his eyes were still following after Rory.

Shit, Soap thought to himself as he realised he owned Simon five quid.

[fangirlshrewt97]

A Dog’s A Heavy Burden

Well I think it has been forever (3 weeks?) since I last posted something. So sorry folks, real life has swamped me, but I am hopeful in the next couple weeks I might get some more time to write (especially TAOAT). 

Anyways, this is the shortest piece I’ve ever published but the idea was so cute (inspired by a gifset that crossed my dashboard). Plus I just wanted to write something cause it has been forever.

And I couldn’t find the photo of these two I actually wanted, but the story is about them so here’s a cute photo instead:

Let me know what you think!

///

"Ram! Are you ready? We need to leave in a few minutes to meet your sister in time." Upasana called out as she touched up her hair in front of the bathroom mirror.

No response.

"Ram!" Upasana called out again. 

Still silence. 

Upasana frowned. Usually, her husband gave some sort of acknowledgement. Especially if he was in the next room. 

She peered out the door, brows furrowing when her husband was nowhere to be seen. Hadn’t he said he would be back by now? 

Grabbing her earrings, she started to put them on as she walked in search of her spouse. 

Both the kitchen and the home gym were empty. Just where was he? 

"Ram?" Upasana called out again from the middle of the house. Finally, she heard a faint reply from the direction of the hall. 

She walked that way, a little annoyed from the search. Just what was he playing at? 

"Ram! We're going to be late!" She said as she approached the hall.

"Sorry Upsi, I'm kind of stuck." Ram called out.

Stuck? What? 

Upasana hurried into the hall, stopping at the entryway with wide eyes. She bit her lips to keep from laughing at the sight.

Charan was sprawled out on the floor on his back, still in his running clothes. On his chest laid a very cozy looking Rhyme, tail thumping rhythmically with Charan's head scratches.

"Really dear?" Upasana said, covering her mouth to hide her smile.

Charan craned his neck backward to look at her with pleading eyes. "Don't laugh! I can't get up!"

Upasana raised an eyebrow, "Can't? Or won't?"

Charan pouted at her before looking at the sleeping dog on his chest. Slowly he bent his elbows and tried to leverage himself up, only to have Rhyme growled and bat her paw in his face. Charan dropped back to the floor. Rhyme sank back down, rubbing her nose against his sternum before closing her eyes. Then she opened them again and yapped at him, making Charan's hand jump up to scratch at her head.

Upasana's shoulders shook from restrained laughter.

Charan looked at her again. "I'm trapped."

Upasana nodded once, earlier annoyance disappearing in front of this adorable and ridiculous scene. She walked forward to kneel at his side, and pet down Rhyme's back, making the little dog make happy sniffling sounds. She slowly slid a hand in between Charan's chest and Rhyme's belly, and lifted.

Rhyme whined for a minute until Upasana tucked her under her own chin, cradling her like a baby.

She looked up at her husband who was staring at her with a besotted look on his face.

Her smile was soft but equally fond as she poked Charan's side. "Go get ready, the driver will be here in 10 minutes."

Charan sat up, leaning over to press a kiss on his wife's cheek. "You're incredible."

Upasana laughed. "Among the many reasons you married me. Now go."

Charan smiled his patent boyish grin (the one that still made her blush like in their school days). "Yes ma'am."

Upasana watched as he left the room to get ready, hopefully quickly. She looked down at the dog staring at her with sleepy eyes. She cooked at Rhyme. "What was it girl, felt like sleeping on Dad? Did he make a good pillow?"

Rhyme barked, making Upasana laugh. "Yeah, I agree. He's quite comfortable."

///

Tagging (If I missed out on anyone in the taglist, please let me know!):  @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @junebugyeahhh @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls  @carminavulcana @boochhaan @doodlesofthelastpage @filesbeorganized​ @meownique​ @ssabriel

[narwhalandchill]

ok misc stream thoughts!!!

ANYWAY livestream over nice 30 pulls of aventurine funds for anni!!!! they didnt do anything insane but honestly it was kinda cope to expect them to, ratio for free was clearly a more of a spontaneous move and hes available throughout anniversary anyway so the "another 5*" were.... a little over the top im sorry wjkjwdjkwdjk altho i wouldnt have complained obviously. a free himeko or sth couldve been on theme for the cosmodussy event but eh cant be helped

im actually glad for the skippability of the reruns 😭😭 like i have luocha n jingliu (+ LC for latter) so by skipping acheron for now im gonna have a nice time getting aventurine and most likely his LC (2/3 of his 4* LC selection is so sad tho), love that fucker hope he gets to do proper mayhem in story too. cool death talk please dont actually die yourself for real for real tho i will be sad. like i do think its based of aventurine to pull off a stunt that appears to be what we in the business might call a certified chapter 5 komaeda moment but. ahahaha nooo dont actually die youre such a funny hat man .

(also sick boss form is sick but . bootleg FL im sorry aventurine. they hit perfection already and theyre never fucking topping the galaxy cape cyclops eye beak mask drip i swear JSWJWJDKWJKDWJK but also yes me biased? in favor of that ginger? i could never)

but it seems ill have a solid time getting aventurine and saving up for now??? since i dont think im too interested in robin or boothill either. i was kinda worried topaz' rerun would be in 2.1 for IPC antics with aventurine bc i am kinda curious abt pulling for her but now its gonna be 2.2 at the earliest so. Phew

the stream ran a bit too long lmao but like overall i tend to like the dev discussions so most of it was still neat, altho downside of dev streams is that not knowing chinese i cant just like. afk and listen on headphones and go get water or something 💀💀 and they were definitely dragging stuff out on purpose no way they werent but eh. people will live its just bideo game livestream. and like these folks do hard work on the game they can yap about what they do sometimes its only right lmao

leakers public shaming session was definitely a jumpscare but i do genuinely empathize w shaoji on that one. like. ive always been one for kit + banner leaks first and foremost and story leaks just. i dont care for them much. ive had my share of looking at them occasionally but i definitely agree with the way story leaks either by themselves or when misconstrued and misinterpreted really fucking mess with the intended experience for any given story and how that must feel like shit for the writers. like if story leaks stopped happening altogether id be perfectly content. and thats just ppl who look at story leaks on purpose cuz. im not going to even begin w how like. yes the leaks subreddits and most big leakers do spoiler warnings and keep the story stuff spoilered. but then theres literally the entire rest of the internet where shit gets spread untagged and without warnings the second they are posted anywhere at all and how that fucking ruins peoples experiences. like its 1 thing to click at a spoiler tagged post knowingly and get ur experience messed up with. but when u dont even want to see it its rly fucking bad and i v well understand condemning all story leaks (even those properly flagged) just on that basis alone. but yeah actually felt bad for him there and see where he was coming from for sure, even as a consumer of leaks

ok well that sure was a wall of text. didnt expect to write that much JWJKWJKDDWJK but ya

Anyway. biggest priority is holding strong w skipping acheron as sick as her animations are but def looking forward to her teaser and the animated short. like . even with the black swan dykery. (that was a fucking jumpscare too). i dont need her rn. despite how cool she is 😭😭

& also have to say im v happy they clarified their stance on hi3rd references like. the way theyre going abt it is absolutely how it should be going. hsr by nature is more directly linked to hi3rd like honkai is in the name but its such a dumbass idea (like some fan takes out there....) to want the stories of hsr depend on another games lore. rewarding old fans with easter eggs and tidbits is perfectly fine and im even interested in seeing where they go with acherons obvious raiden situation - especially knowing theyre not about to ruin their own story with "it was hi3rd all along!" (not that i ever rly thought theyd seriously blunder that bad lmao 💀) . so yea thats neat

i think story wise im not gonna say much of my thoughts bc unfortunately i have clicked on like. a leak or four. not the major stuff i dont think but enough that commenting on stuff w some of the things im aware of in the periphery is going to tint stuff . but im still excited to see where things go!!!

AAND OH. ACTUALLY i do have one more thing . so the multiple POV thing being actually implemented is SOOOO good im so fucking happy theyre committing to it being a thing 😭😭😭 like SO many story pitfalls can be avoided by just letting it be that TB doesnt need to be fucking everywhere a major thing happens as the centerpiece of events so we as players can see it. like it gives a way of showing different events and sides of characters in a much more natural manner its sooo good that theyre implementing it already. like this alone has me in such high hopes for the story going forward. like yea theyve branched from our POV before already and in penacony as well but expanding on it even more is 100% the correct way forward

last thing: god they did jingliu so dirty in her concert illustration. WHAT is she wearing 💀💀💀anyway yeah lesgo 2.1 its cool

i lied real last thing: siobhan . siobhan i would do anything---

[haetrack]

AAHHH val when i tell u i’m so excited for ur new haechan fic!! 💖💖 i’m here with my 606 alarms in a row set ready for it 🫡 just kidding i don’t actually have alarms set for it but i AM so excited i don’t have words!! also in my mission to read all ur stuff i of course read those two nerd haechan reqs… i need to be locked up?? the way i cheered when y/n wiped his drool again btw?!! u got me giddy as hell, kicking my feet, twirling my hair around my finger whenever i see “nerd haechan” written as a tag for anything u post now 😭😭 alsoalsoalso? the mommy kink req? OUUUUUU… u got me good with this!!! again i had to give it a try cause it’s u and i am GAGGEDDDD ur so crazy!! *hangs head in shame* it was NOT. a one time thing guys i’ve fr become a mommy kink haechan truther 💖 idk other than like how it’s nice to put him in his place it’s just so cute when guys get vulnerable??? ig? like that😭😭 and he’s already so fucking cute OMFG i could cryyyy 💔IM BABBLING… i’m yapping. i’m gonna stop being coherent soon ok anyway I LOVE U! hope u have a good nice lovely week and that the tumblr algorithm loves all ur stuff 💖💖

EEEEE i’m literally so excited for u to read the new haechan fic i forcibly listened to my sad playlist it’s perfect…

ALSO I LOVEDDD WRITING NERD HAECHAN… literal big thanks to winnie for sending me those reqs… everyone say we love u winnie…

CONGRATS TO BEING A NEWFOUND HAECHAN MOMMY KINK TRUTHER… there’s so many good fics that i need to rec so watch out for those

[nonsensemonkey]

A Fresh Start

i decided to open this account because in truth, i stopped enjoying myself on my other blog at least a year ago. i kept holding on to it thinking that it would get better, that time was all that i needed but alas, here i am. no one bothered me. there was no drama (to my knowledge, if there was it was one sided hahaha). i just got too in my head after a while worried that the people that were following me hated me, hated seeing me on their dashboards and wished that i would go away.. nothing really happened to give me that impression but when you have a brain like mine, it doesn't take much coaxing tbh.

if im honest, i think i started to feel sort of trapped, like i couldn't breath once there was a certain number in my follower count. i didn't have a big blog by any stretch of the imagination. i didn't even have a MEDIUM blog lmao but more people were following me than i think i was mentally prepared for when i started. and it took me back to those days of when i actually did have thousands of people following me, the eggshells i had to walk on all the time to not tick off and offend people. it was really all in my head this time, 100,000%, but what i dealt with back then with that bigger blog i guess sorta traumatized me.

after a while, i didn't even wanna post in the tags anymore because i didn't want anyone else finding me. i wanted people to just stop coming.

don't get me wrong! i have met some ABSOLUTELY amazing and beautiful people since i rejoined tumblr with that account. and alot of them, i'm sure i won't interact with again once this move is complete. so i will miss them. but, i think my paranoia got the better of me and i couldn't shake the feeling that so many people were mad at me all the time. i know i'd go on my rants and stuff and i'm not sure how offensive they were in terms of hurting feelings per individual but i just... even when i wasn't posting rants, when i was just posting about my day, i was scared i'd pissed someone off or made them uncomfortable. even with tags and a read more.

i think when it came down to it, the reason was because i told myself that people were only following me for yakuza stuff or aizawa stuff. yet, there i was yapping about my personal life or posting about other interests that no one signed up for. like i said, i stopped enjoying that blog a long time ago. the space stopped feeling like mine, a loooong time ago. i thought maybe if people unfollowed me in droves, things would get better? but when i encouraged people to unfollow, no one really ever did. and then it hit me, i have lots of anxiety about unfollowing people myself. so maybe, the ones that have wanted to unfollow just couldn't bring themselves to? especially if we were mutuals!

since i'd been feeling like i needed a breath of fresh air anyway, i decided, instead of placing the burden of leaving onto others, i would do the hard part for them. and so, i decided to open this new account. i don't want to do away with kulemi for good because so much of my hard work is there- my writing, project sideblogs and whatnot. but this will be my main blog and i'll sign into that account when i need to post my fics or side project stuff.

for clarification: the issue isn't exactly that i don't want people following me. if that were the case, i'd have just left and not said anything. it was more so that i was worried that people felt trapped into following someone that they didn't like. if people are following this blog after following me at kulemii, i want it to be because they WANT to be. not out of obligation. i hope i'm making sense.

but yeah! moving forward, kulemii is now the nonsensemonkey! for non-jjk fans, this is not the time to be racist, okay? that's a jjk reference 💀

if you read all of that, you're returning from my other blog and following anyway, i'm happy to see you again! if you're new to me and reading this, confused as hell- it's cool if you split 😭 i get it. i confuse myself too.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 22

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit​.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: a chapter entirely from Héctor’s POV because it was about time.

***

“You know, when you two become really famous - and trust me, you will - I think Ernesto is going to be every bodyguard’s worst nightmare.”

“Huh?” Héctor finishes gulping down nearly the entire water bottle he was handed as soon as he walked backstage and turns to look at Armando, who is looking out through a gap in the curtain with a chuckle.

“You know, mingling with the crowd like that, taking selfies with absolutely everyone.” Their manager vaguely gestures to the scene Héctor cannot see, but can definitely imagine. He can hear the laughter outside, clamoring, people calling out Ernesto’s name. More than a few are calling his own, too, and Héctor would lie if he said he wasn’t flattered… but he really needs some more water before he can even think of going anywhere without risk of collapsing. 

He shrugs, tilting up the bottle so he can get the last few drops of water over his head. It was a pretty intense performance, and euphoria aside it’s left him feeling as though he walked a few miles in a desert. “Ah, he’s always done that. You know him by now, he loves an adoring crowd. He’s still getting used to success.”

“You two are on track to get far bigger crowds than this soon,” Armando laughs, letting go of the curtain. “He’d be out there all night taking selfies, then. And being an absolute security nightmare, as I said. But that will be the problem of whoever we hire for security, all things considered.”

Héctor laughs, drying off some sweat off the back of his neck with the towel a stagehand - Raúl, wasn’t it? He always feels bad when he can’t remember someone’s name - just handed him. “Ay, maybe by then he’ll be used to it and he’ll be content to keep away and let them fight each other for a chance to get a glimpse,” he says, and shrugs. “I can see him playing hard to get to. Want me to go out and tell him we need to head back?”

“Ah, no need. He’s heading back.” Armando mutters, and covers his mouth with the back of a hand before yawning. “I don’t know how you two do this. I am ready to collapse and I didn’t have to leap across the stage for two hours while singing and playing.”

“I’m more tired than I look, and I bet so is Ernesto. ” Héctor laughs, choosing not to mention how offended would be if he heard someone referring to his dancing as ‘leaping across the stage’. 

“He doesn’t look tired at all.”

“Oh, he is, or else he wouldn’t be heading back. And after only twenty minutes in the crowd? Must be exhausted.” Héctor throws the empty bottle towards the bin, and grins when it gets right in - a perfect shot. “He’s just never going to show it if it kills him.”

***

“Ay, mi amigo, this concert killed me.”

“Por Dios, you really are getting old.”

“Chingate.”

“Is that a white hair I see?”

“There is no white hair.”

“Oh, and how can you be so su--”

“I check every morning and get rid of them.”

“Ah,” Héctor says, letting himself drop on his bed. They have each their separate room, actually - they have joked over not having to share one anymore is a tangible sign they are making more and more money - but they always had a tradition to have a toast together in their room after each performance, and neither is willing to put a stop to it.

This is going to be far from their first toast of the evening, and likely they’ll have more than one, so Héctor decides it would be wise to call home and say hi to Imelda and Coco before he is completely wasted. He pulls out his phone and calls while Ernesto is busy filling the glasses, smiling broadly, waiting for his wife’s face to pop up on the screen. 

What does pop up on the screen is a big, toothless smile. 

“Babababababa!” Coco exclaims, clearly her favorite thing to say. Héctor likes to think, with no small amount of optimism, that she is trying to say papá.

His smile becomes, if possible, even broader. “Coco! Mi vida! Where’s--” he trails off when a long, pink tongue suddenly appears on screen to slap her wetly across the face. Sometimes Héctor has to wonder if Dante is indeed a Xolo or if he happens to be crossed with something else entirely, like a chameleon or an anteater. There is no way that is a normal dog tongue. 

Coco seems unconcerned, however, and reacts to the tongue slathering half her face in drool with gales of laughter. There is more laughter, and the camera turns away from the scene to show a still snickering Imelda. “She wanted to see her-- Dante, down now-- her papá, I figured you’d like-- I said down!-- to say hi.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for her to be up?” Ernesto speaks up, sitting next to Héctor with a full glass in each hand. Whatever he used to keep his hair in place is beginning to give up, his jacket is off and the first few buttons of the shirt are undone, but he still looks much more elegant than Héctor, who rather looks like he has walked out of a bad argument with security. Effortlessly handsome as always. 

And Héctor is almost tipsy enough to say as much aloud.

On the screen, Imelda rolls her eyes while pushing back the hair that has escaped her bun with her free hand. Héctor can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. “Héctor, call a priest. Someone’s got to chase my mother out of his body.”

As Héctor lets out a sound that is half a snort and half a laugh, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. But when I sing a bit too loudly and wake her up, I am the bad guy.”

“You are after we spent two hours making her fall asleep,” Imelda points out. 

To be entirely fair, Ernesto usually means well. Coco loves listening to her parents singing, and has fallen asleep to their voices almost every evening, but with Ernesto it is a different story. Not that she doesn’t love listening to him too - she does - but his voice seems to make her want to do anything but sleep. She gets excited, bouncing and flailing all limbs like she’s trying to dance before she can even sit up on her own.

Ernesto makes a face. In the background, Héctor can hear the sound of Coco’s ceaseless cooing, some yapping that is probably an argument among the chihuahuas, and a thumping sound that he assumes has got to be Dante’s tail hitting the floor at a fast pace. 

“She’s not asleep now though, and it’s not my fault.”

“She has been fussy all evening, I couldn’t get her to sleep. As much as I would love to blame the tiny terrors you insist on calling dogs, I think she’s looking for you two.”

The thought of Coco looking for him is both adorable and somehow the most heart-breaking thing Héctor has ever heard, or so it feels at the moment. He is not tipsy enough to downright tell Ernesto he looks ridiculously handsome and open that can of worms they all keep ignoring is even there, but he is tipsy enough to tear up. “Ay, let me speak with her-- papá is going to be home soon, Coquito! I promise! I’ll make it up to you! Write a brand new song! And a present!”

“Por Dios, Héctor, you have been away three days…”

“It feels like such a long time!” Héctor protests. 

“Babababababa!” Coco declares on the other side of the line. 

“Heard that? She agrees! Imelda, let her see me again…!”

She does, and there are a few minutes of cooing back and forth. Ernesto doesn’t join the cooing, but he does smile and even wave at Coco when he forgets to feign annoyance. Eventually Imelda laughs, declares it enough, and lifts the phone to look into the camera again. “How did the concert go?”

Héctor is happy to let Ernesto do the talking there, let him gloat about how big everything was, how dazzling, how successful, how wild the crowd went. It’s nice seeing him so excited: occasions like this are when he’s at his happiest. It actually takes him some effort not to stare at him as he talks… and he notices, with a glance at the screen, that Imelda is indeed staring at him with a soft look Héctor knows well. Ernesto doesn’t seem to notice, too taken describing the applause they got; Héctor feels something much like a lump forming in his throat for a moment. 

Last time they had a video call with Imelda while away for a concert this long, they did a lot more than talk. They put up a really good show for her, really.

Héctor makes a very conscious effort not to think about that, and downs the glass Ernesto filled for him with a gulp. It helps, and it also gives him an excuse to get up and move a few steps away to the liquor cabinet. He’s refilling the glass when Ernesto bids Imelda goodnight and holds out the phone for him to take. He smiles at her.

“Mi amor! Would you like me to sing for Coco? As a last resort?”

“Ah, that may help. I can’t seem to be able to make her settle…”

“I can sing,” Ernesto offers.

“Don’t,” both Héctor and Imelda say immediately, and Ernesto throws up his hands, leaning back against the wall.

“Ay, my art is not understood here,” he mutters, and downs his own glass, entirely forgetting about the toast they had been planning. He doesn’t protest further, however, and just leans back, listening as Héctor sings at Coco through the phone. To Héctor’s immense pride, Coco does finally settle down to sleep.

“You should write this one down,” Ernesto muttered after they have bid Imelda goodnight and the call has ended. He’s filling the glass again, and he empties it in one gulp. “Would be a success.”

“Ah, that’s just a lullaby I came up with for her.” Héctor sits with his own glass, and drinks about half of it. “I don’t think it suits our style, anyway.”

“We can liven it up a little.”

“I’d rather not. I haven’t finalized it yet, but it’s… I don’t think I’d want to share that with crowds. Which, if Armando is to be believed, will keep getting bigger and bigger.”

Ernesto lets out a laugh that almost sounds like braying. He is getting drunk all right. “Hah! Of course we will. To success!” he adds, lifting the glass before bringing it to his mouth without apparently realizing it’s empty. The look of pure disappointment on his face is enough to make Héctor burst laughing, sitting down heavily beside him and leaning against his side. Ernesto scoffs. “Hey, stop that--”

There is some squabbling, a glass falls thankfully without shattering, hands are slapped away and hair is ruffled. By the end of it they’re both snickering and laying against each other, like they had the first time they got drunk on a bottle they had stolen from Ernesto’s father’s stash and drank in secret in old Rafael’s orchard as kids. Well, as a kid and a young teenager respectively. Ay, Ernesto was always such a bad example. He should tell him that. Actually, he will. 

“You know,” Héctor mutters, turning. “You were always such a bad exa--” he trails off, realizing belatedly that Ernesto is looking at him, no longer smiling but wistful, in a way only someone with all walls down can. Their faces are close, and Héctor’s smile fades. They stare at each other and something aches, the sense of absence he has been trying to ignore. 

He is happy with the life he has, but sometimes he... and Imelda, he’s sure, they just lay there and try to ignore the empty space beside them in the bed. If he only leans in… if he just--

“I think I should go lay down in my room,” Ernesto says abruptly, and stands just as suddenly, almost toppling back as a result. His skin is flushed, and his eyes are darting across the room, never pausing on Héctor. “It’s-- late. Yes. Late. We have the plane early tomorrow.”

It doesn’t depart until midday.

“... You know you can stay here. If you’re too drunk to make it back to your room,” he adds quickly with an unconvincing smile, as though that can in any way hide what he truly means. 

We could. If we want. If you want.

“I…” Ernesto hesitates, his gaze finally resting on Héctor. A look of painful yearning crosses his face for a moment before he turns away. “Had a glass too many, but I can make it to my room. I’ll see you in the morning,” he mumbles, and makes for the door, as quickly as his unsteady feet can get him. 

“Ernesto,” Héctor calls out, heart beating somewhere in his throat. He stops at the door, back rigid, and doesn’t turn when Héctor speaks again. “I meant it. If… if you want--”

“This isn’t about me,” Ernesto cuts him off, his voice unsteady as his gait. Something sinks in Héctor’s chest just as his best friend mutters a ‘good night’ and yanks the door open, quickly stepping out. The clack as it shuts again seems to reverberate in the room. What he means, what they both know, hangs unspoken and heavy in the room long after he’s stumbled out of the door, leaving Héctor alone with an empty glass, an empty gaze, and empty bed.

It wouldn’t be the same. For either of us. 

As he lays in the middle of a king-sized bed, empty spots at either side of him, Héctor finds himself unable to sleep. He wonders how Ernesto bears it, trying to sleep every night with that emptiness around him. Héctor will soon be home, and one spot by his side will be filled again - but the other one will remain empty, a gap he and Imelda have been trying to ignore for far too long. How much longer?, Héctor has asked himself more than once, and he finds he has the answer now.

No longer.

***

When Imelda picked Ceci as Coco’s godmother, Héctor had a few concerns. 

Not that he didn’t think she would be happy to be asked - she was - or that he doubted she would take the role very seriously - she did - but he mostly wondered how she would get along with Ernesto when it came to organizing… everything that godparents are meant to organize together. As it turns out, the answer is ‘not very well’.

“Can you hurry up and take the measurements already? She’s drooling all over my hand!”

“I’m trying, but as you are unable to keep her still--”

“Why don’t you try to keep a baby still?”

“Because then I’d have to leave the measurements to you and you’d make a mess out of it.”

“Gagagagagagaga!”

“See, she agrees with me.”

By his side, an ear to the door and a hand over her mouth, Imelda is trying with all her might to stifle the giggles that shake her frame. Héctor bites back a laugh himself, takes a mental note to tell Imelda picking Ceci was a great idea, and keeps listening.

“She’s not agreeing with-- ugh. This is stupid. Can’t we just buy her the ropón like any normal godparents?”

Ceci gasps as though she just heard him suggest they should throw her in the baptism water naked as the day she came out of the womb, and possibly leave her to drown.

“There is no way my goddaughter is going to wear a store-bought ropón. I will make her one. All you need to do is keep her still now, and buy her a decent gold medal. Not silver, you cheapskate. Gold.”

“Me, a cheapskate!” Ernesto couldn’t sound more insulted if she accused him of stealing candy from children. Which he has done on a couple of occasions, Héctor recalls. “For your information, now that my career is well on the way I spare no expenses.” Well, some expenses, but they are getting more money than ever before now and there will be more in the future, Armando tells them. “I think silver is more elegant, is all.”

“What does a baby care about elegance?”

“I don’t know, why does the crazy seamstress need to make her a ropón from scratch?” 

“Bababababa!”

“See, now she’s agreeing with me!”

Ceci’s response is a barrage of expletives that have absolutely no business being uttered in the presence of anybody below the age of twenty-one, and Imelda would normally throw the door open to make her displeasure known... but Ceci could always get away with more than most. That, and Imelda is too busy snickering in her hand.

Ah well. It’s not like Coco is old enough to learn the words she’s hearing now, after all. 

“Are you sure they won’t kill each other during the ceremony?” Héctor sniggers, and Imelda grins back.

“They know that if they try I’ll bring them back and kill them again.”

“Heh, true. Guess it’s a good thing Ernesto is fine with coming to Santa Cecilia now,” Héctor says. Not that it has kept him awake at night, but he and Imelda had always known they would want their children to be christened in their old parish in Santa Cecilia, more out of tradition than anything else… and the godfather being allergic to the entire town may have made things tense. “Still can’t believe old Estéban actually went dry.”

“I guess people change,” Imelda mutters, but the smile on her face is different - more muted, somewhat melancholy as she keeps looking at the door behind which Ernesto and Ceci are still squabbling over Coco’s delighted squeals. She doesn’t need to say anything more for Héctor to guess exactly what she’s thinking.

He did, too.

This is not about me, he said, and he meant it. The man he was before, the man Imelda rightfully argued would never be able to put Coco’s needs or indeed anyone else’s wishes before his own, would have never uttered those words.

“... Yes. They do change,” he finds himself saying, very quietly. 

There is silence and there it is, the thing that has been hanging between them for a good while now and which neither has spoken of. There are probably better moments to finally talk about it than now, with the man in question in the next room over squabbling with his co-godparent, but Héctor knows that they have waited long enough. 

“I’ll make some coffee,” is all Imelda says, and he follows her to the kitchen. There is a brief silence while she prepares the coffee machine, and then she breaks it. “So… nothing happened these past three nights?”

“No, nothing,” Héctor says quietly, sitting at the table. Not out of lack of want or opportunity it just-- did not. Much like Ernesto hasn’t been seeing anyone else, and entirely ignored a dancer’s honestly rather clumsy attempt at flirting the previous week. Not for lack of opportunity, but he just… did not. 

“You know I do not mind,” Imelda says, her voice still very quiet. “Surely he still wants you. And you do want him. I mean--”

“You do too,” Héctor replies, and reaches over to take her hand, pulling her gently towards him. She looks down, and their gazes meet. “And it seems-- unfair. Without you.”

“Unfair?”

“It is not the same. It was one thing when we were all in it together, without you it would feel...” he tries to find an appropriate word, fails - congratulations, songwriter - and sighs. “Not the same thing. I’d rather keep the memory of what we had rather than risk ruining it by forcing some kind of imitation. And I think he feels the same. When I had a moment and tried to suggest we… he was the one who stepped out.”

She smiles faintly, stroking back his hair. “So I am included in the package, then?”

A chuckle, and he wraps his arms around her torso before craning his neck to keep looking up, chin resting over her chest. “You created the package, Imelda.”

“I recall. Not how I expected the evening to go. I only wanted to shut his mouth.”

“I mean, I also did that.”

“True.” She is quiet a few moments, her fingers running through his locks. “... You know why I felt-- it needed to end.”

“I know.”

“The priority must be Coco now, and I thought - I knew - that Ernesto would not have been able to accept that. Take the backseat when needed to make sure her upbringing is as normal as it can possibly be.”

“... I keep picking up a past tense.”

Imelda’s hand pauses in his hair. She looks at him in the eye, her gaze soft. Thoughtful. “He did change. I think he will make a fine godfather.”

“Are you considering…?”

“I am. If he’s willing to give another try. And if you are.”

“... Yes. But we are all in this or no one is, so it is your decision. I know there may be challenges if, well... people finding out, or when Coco asks for an explanation growing up, or-- if anyone mocks her for it, I don’t know what I would--”

“We don’t need to scream it from the rooftops,” Imelda says, and resumes stroking his hair. “It is no one’s business but our own. Neither should we go out of our way to hide. We’re doing nothing wrong.”

Héctor holds her a little tighter. “I know. But if you still feel it is best for Coco, both Ernesto and I understand.”

“It is Coco I am thinking about.” She cuts him off, and sighs. “Well-- her as well. I have been wondering, should she somehow find out either way what there has been between the three of us - I know it’s near impossible unless we tell her, but just imagine - what would we be teaching her?” The hand in Héctor’s hair pauses, and she looks down at him. “That no matter if she’s doing nothing wrong and hurting no one, she should take the path of least resistance and do what she’s told is proper? Forego her own happiness because people who don’t understand it may disapprove?”

Ah. That is… not something Héctor thought about. He slowly pulls away, and grabs both of Imelda’s hands. “I’m sure that won’t happen. She’ll be as brave as her mamá.”

“Then it’s time for her mamá to be brave.”

“Ay, mi amor--”

“Uh, apologies for interrupting, but I think your coffee is spilling over the stove.”

“Gah!” Héctor jumps back and almost falls off the chair when Ceci’s voice rings out. Imelda blinks, and turns to look at the doorway. Ceci is there, her measuring tape and notepad in hand, one eyebrow raised. Héctor stands, giving her a smile entirely too wide. 

“Ceci,” he says quickly. “Whatever you heard, it was, uh. Not what it. Sounded like.”

Ceci’s left eyebrow joined the left one almost up to her hairline. Imelda sighs and places her hand on Héctor’s shoulder.

“Turn off the strove,” she says before turning to Ceci. “... How much have you heard?”

“Enough to hurt my brain, to be entirely sincere. Not out of bigotry, mind you, but... him of all people? Unless I understood it all wrong. Please tell me I understood it all wrong.”

Imelda’s lips curl in a faint smile, and some of the tenseness in her back disappears. When she speaks, she denies nothing. “No accounting for taste, I suppose. I would be grateful if you could keep what you heard private.”

“Of course I am not going to go around telling, who do you take me for?”

“A bruja?” Ernesto’s voice carries over from the next room, causing Héctor to wince and, of course, spill hot coffee on his hand. Ay, maybe having that conversation with Ernesto and Ceci a couple of doors away was every bit the lousy idea he thought it may be. To his relief, as Ernesto walks in with Coco in the crook of his arm, it becomes obvious he only heard the last few words and has no idea of what the concersaton is even about. 

Héctor silently thanks God for the fact they won’t have to talk things through in front of Ceci just as Ernesto pauses on the doorway and blinks, realizing all eyes are on him. 

“Is-- something on my face?” he asks, taken aback. In his arms, Coco squirms and coos, holding out her arms to Imelda. She immediately goes to pick her up, her face just a little reddened, and Ceci clears her throat. 

“Well, I think it is about time I am off. I'll send you progress photos of the ropón," she says quickly, and is out of the room and towards the door as fast as her legs can carry her. 

Ernesto blinks again, watching her retreating back until she’s gone. “What crawled up her--”

“Not in front of Coco!” Héctor almost screeches, his own face dark red, and Ernesto trails off. 

“Right-- what’s gotten into her?” he asks, and looks back at them. “... Actually, what’s gotten in all of you just now?”

Héctor works his jaw, and glances over at Imelda. She looks back at him, bouncing Coco in her arms for a few moments, and finally turns back to Ernesto.

“... Would you like to stay for lunch?” she asks.

He does.

***

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[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 9: Magic Carpet Ride

Chapters: 9/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),Drug Use

Characters:  Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of  Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He  Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses,  Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary:  Loki, paragon of self-sacrifice, must face down a cultural taboo.

Loki stared ruefully at the little bottle of pills on the table in front of him.

“You've got to be kidding me.” he said, “Your weak mortal medicine will have no affect on me.”

Tony Stark shrugged. “Works on Cap.”

“I am not your Captain Rogers. We are worlds apart.”

“The guy's a never ending science experiment. We had to develop insanely strong meds for him because, in the event that he actually managed to get hurt, our strongest stuff couldn't help him. But I have it on good authority that this'll do the trick. That authority being your brother. King of Asgard.”

Loki glared in scandalized disbelief. “You are telling me Thor actually took one of these?”

“Took some persuading, but yeah. After he came back down, he was pretty sure they'd work on you too, despite your differences.”

Loki's eyes flicked to you, then back to Stark, then to the bottle. “Hold your tongue. We don't need to discuss this any further. I will not poison myself at your command.”

“It's not poison!” Stark insisted. “It's a painkiller and anti-inflammatory. It will help you heal.”

“You cannot expect me to degrade myself for your convenience.”

“No, I expect you to lie for your convenience.” Stark shot back. “Though I don't see how hiding this from me,” he gestured at the chair, the neck brace, “actually helped you at all. You don't get anything out of it. Anyway, you really need to start cooperating if you want to stay. I'm trying to be lenient, but the more you complicate things, the more likely it is you'll be discovered. I think we all agree that would be bad.

As for you, if you want to come back downstairs and rejoin society, we've always got space for you” he said to you. “The baristas have been asking after you.”

“No!” Loki burst, “If I must befoul myself with your medicines to retain my lodgings, then I require her assistance to oversee things while I am...impaired.”

It had been an accident. Or rather, a lapse in personal judgment. You had left Loki after dressing him one morning, to fix breakfast, and Stark had shown up. And because he was your boss, and owned the building, you had just let him in. That's right, you had helped out the landlord. Your parents would be ashamed of you. You were ashamed.  

And the silent fury Loki had been radiating when he wheeled out into the seating area and Stark had gotten a look at him as he really was made you surprised that he wanted to keep you around at all.

Stark had given him an exasperated earful, and then left, coming back this morning with a bottle full of small pills. You couldn't even come close to pronouncing the complicated name on the label, but from what Stark was saying, they were the kind of thing that should never be taken by a normal person. Not if they had been made with Captain America in mind. Not if they were powerful enough to string out Thor.

You were surprised Loki was even pretending to go along with this, considering the cultural attitudes to chemical medicines in Asgard. Really, you fully expected him to order you to throw the pills away once Stark left.

When you brought him his tea, he sighed deeply, his expression a mask of utter melancholic resignation.

“Crush one of those accursed pills into a powder and add it to the tea.” he said woefully. “Stay by me as I suffer this indignity. Be forgiving of any upcoming transgressions, I implore you.”

“Hey, I'm sure it won't be that bad.” you said, grabbing a cooking spoon, and carefully breaking the pill down into a fine powder with the handle. “It won't stay in your system for very long. Your body will filter it out and flush it away, and you'll be clean again.”

You brushed the powder into his teacup, and stirred until it dissolved. Then you handed it over to Loki, who stared into the cup morosely.

“Won't it be good to not be in pain, even just for a little while?”

“I thought that many times, when I was in the clutches-” He stopped abruptly. “I've thought that many times. It is always denied to me somehow. There's always a catch.” He took a long sip of the tea, and sighed again. “And so I am tainted. At least the tea doesn't taste any different. You are getting better at that.”

“Here, have a muffin.” you offered him your freshest creation. “It says on the bottle that you're supposed to take it with food.”

He accepted the muffin with all the graveness of a prisoner at his last meal, but he thanked you graciously, and stopped you when you started to leave his side.

“I will be rendered a senseless fool by this foul poison. You must stay close, so that I do not do something utterly moronic, like throwing myself from the balcony on the assumption that I can fly. I might not actually survive in my situation, and I dislike long falls anyway.”

“You're scared of heights?” you asked, scarcely able to believe it.

“No,” he said haughtily, “I dislike long falls. It is different.”

“Why do they bother you?”

“That is personal.”

“I've seen your dick.” you pointed put.

“You would not be the first.” he said, matching you for vulgarity.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Do you want more tea?”

Loki glanced into his empty teacup, bemused to see the bottom.

“Yes, I suppose I would.” he said, setting it down for you.

He had tried to teach you the fine art of pouring tea, and you had finally managed to do it without dribbling, but, as Loki put it, you also did it without grace. He didn't say anything this time, just tightened his lips in a sarcastic way, and took a sip.

At least you knew how to make tea to his specifications. It wasn't difficult, once you had figured it out. Just measurements and timing.

He had devoured his muffin, so you brought him another. Loki was extremely particular about flavors; not adventurous at all. Even banana nut offended his senses. But cream cheese met his approval in every application so far, even if he did complain about the texture of bagels.

“You'll have to get me an Asgardian cookbook, if this keeps up.” you said. “I might be able to whip you up something that reminds you of home.”

“I do not necessarily always want to be reminded of home.” Loki said. “And some of our dishes take many hours, even days to make. I need you for more than that. You cannot be in the kitchen at every moment.”

You would never admit it to anyone, but you got a surge of secret pleasure every time Loki said that he needed you. You'd always enjoyed hearing it from others, but it was so much better coming from a god.

Though it did make you wonder if the isolation up here was messing with your head a bit.

“Besides,” he continued, “enough cheese, bread, and meat will approximate the diet well enough. Asgardians have high metabolisms, and require many calories, and so do I. Our active lifestyles tend to make us big eaters as well, although I do not get my usual exercises these days.”

“If you would actually give yourself the time to relax and heal, you might be able to get back to that sooner.”

“Yap, yap, you nag like a bratty lapdog.” He scorned. Your eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Well gee,” you said with exaggerated shock, “if you don't want me here, just go ahead and say so. I'll go downstairs and be a barista.”

“No, you cannot leave me!” There was a distinct waver in his voice. “I will be polite. You won't leave me, will you? I didn't mean it.”

“Loki.” you said, suddenly feeling guilty. He sounded like a scolded little boy, on the verge of tears. “I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry about that. You should be more polite though.”

He reached out gracefully and took your hand.

“Dear lady...” he began, his words slightly slurred, and you finally realized that the medicine was taking effect.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, filling his tea again.

“Strange.” he said. “I feel light, but like there is a weight upon my eyes. Light, but like I cannot lift my limbs. One with this chair. Melting into the floor. I do not hurt...it's been so long...”

He really was starting to tear up.

You took his tea from his trembling hand and grabbed up a tissue.

“Here you go.” you said, dabbing his eyes gently. “Go ahead and enjoy it. Pain shouldn't be an everyday thing for you, if it doesn't have to be. You don't have to feel bad for enjoying a little bit of peace.”

“No, you don't understand. I don't deserve this. The pain was at least something familiar. I don't recognize this feeling. This lightness. It doesn't feel real.”

“Well, you are real, and I am real, and the medicine is real. The feeling is the medicine acting on your perceptions, so it's kinda real, it's just different than usual, that's all.” you patted his hand, and he grabbed for yours.

“Will this feeling go away?”

“Of course!” you laughed, “don't worry, this is just temporary. It will help your neck, and when you're healed, you won't have to take it anymore.”

“What if I can't stop?” he asked. “I am...not good at refraining from...indulgence.”

“If no one brings you anymore, what could you do about it?”

“If I am healed enough to remove this brace? To move about freely? What could I not do about it?”

“You know, that's a good point. I think we'll have to find you some of that ultra-powerful super weed the cops keep saying totally exists, but no one else seems to be able to find.”

He gave you a sideways stare. “More poisons?”

“It's to help free you from the other poison. But there are multiple strategies for getting clean, if that really becomes a problem. It's not like I've never seen addicts before; I'll help you if you need me.”

He reached for your hand again, and missed.

“Blessed thing.” he blabbered. “You are a draught of Alfar wine, brewed under the starlight. The fresh breeze through the forests of Vanaheim, just after sunrise. You are the faithful moon, pure as gold.”

“And you are high as balls.” you teased, bashful about the flowery praise. You really shouldn't be pledging any more of yourself, but the allure  of being needed-wanted even, was as addictive as any drug.

“You are the only once who may see.” he said. “I want no one else to see me like this. Stark especially. None save you may witness my dishonor.”

“Loki,” you mock-scolded, “if you keep looking at it like that, you'll impede your own progress. You'll fight it subconsciously, and just slow your healing down.”

“How, pray tell, should I look at it then?” he asked.

You took his hand, which was still waving around after yours.

“Look at it as permission. Permission to relax, to let the guard down and just exist for a while. You have everything you need right here, you can just be. It's okay to take some time to just be.”

“Just be what though? What is worth it for me to be?”

You shrugged. “A prince?”

“In exile.”

“A god?”

“Blasphemed rather than worshiped.”

“How about...my master?”

He squirmed a little in his chair.

“I could perhaps do that effectively.” he said quietly.

[searchingwardrobes]

Not the Type: 1/7

Here it is, my contribution to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ ! Aka, the Bring it On AU no one asked for. I have a love/hate relationship with this movie. On the one hand, I love it as a rom com. On the other hand, as a sports movie, it’s awful. I was a cheerleader myself, and did a brief stint coaching, so I have some issues with this movie. First of all, where is the coach?!? Can you imagine a male driven sports movie without a coach? Remember the Titans with no coach? Glory Road with no coach? Miracle with no coach? I mean, come on! And do you really think a high school is gonna let their students do stunts that can potentially cause paralysis or death without adult supervision? And while they do portray the cheerleaders as athletes, in my opinion, they still hyper-sexualize them. The girls are also way too catty with each other. I can tell you from personal experience, that you need massive trust to do those stunts. Just sayin. Anyway, this whole soap box is to say that this is a LOOSE adaptation of Bring it On written by someone who loves the sport it portrays. But don’t worry, this modern day Lieutenant Duckling AU will have plenty of fluff, feels, flirty banter, and epic kisses. I would like to say this is the cheerleading version of @welllpthisishappening​ ‘s Blue Line universe, but I don’t pretend to be that brilliant. Laura’s writing did inspire me as I wrote this “sports fic,” however, so massive props to her: the queen of sports writing!

Massive thanks to the mods of the Captain Swan Movie Marathon event as well as all of the other writers. The discord chats have been a blast - especially when you all helped me brainstorm a title for this. Thanks to @hookedonapirate​ for being an awesome beta and to @rumdrum91​ for giving the first chapter a quick once over even while you are insanely busy.

This fic is about . . . 85% complete? It will be updated every Saturday. I’ll shut up now and get to the point . . .

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she's not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn't ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that's actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @kday426​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @nikkiemms​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​ @superchocovian​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​ @jennjenn615​​​ @snidgetsafan​ @spartanguard​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

Bounce left, bounce right. Two hip shakes. Roger rabbit, Roger Rabbit. Bobby Brown, Bobby Brown. Cabbage patch. Electric slide. Repeat.

Emma repeated the steps to the dance like a mantra in her head. A cheerleader was supposed to smile all the time, but she couldn’t conjure one up as she bounced through the choreography that dated back to 1989. Okay, maybe they threw in the cabbage patch in 1994, but still. This shit was old.

The band sped up as they played through another round of “Louie, Louie,” and the cheerleading squad was racing through the dance like a tape on fast forward. The band thought it was hilarious and never ceased to tire of the schtick.

Emma was doing what felt like her hundredth Roger Rabbit when she caught sight of him. A large book half covered his face, so she could still see his arched brow and smirk. She held his gaze as she went into her Bobby Browns, and he lowered his book, still staring openly, a crooked grin filling his face. Was he mocking her? She stared him down as she did the cabbage patch, and his eyes widened. She tilted her chin as she went into the electric slide, and his tongue swiped his lips.

“Louie, Louie” finally, mercifully, ended. Emma whipped her ponytail as she broke the guy’s stare. She bounced up and down, waving her pom poms and shouting “Go Knights!” Mary Margaret had finally gotten her to stop rolling her eyes.

“Well look at you, Emma Swan,” Ruby said as they all turned to watch the game and cheer the offense.

“What?” Emma stood at attention, just like all the other girls, her poms on her hips.

“Don’t play dumb, Emma,” Ashley quipped on her other side. “We’re better at it than you.”

“That guy,” Ruby explained. “You were having cheer sex with him.”

“Cheer sex? Seriously?”

Emma tossed her poms down to the ground and tightened her ponytail angrily. She hated football season.

🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Emma whirled around to find herself face to face with the guy she was definitely not having cheer sex with. Whatever the hell that was. She rolled her eyes. Mary Margaret couldn’t do anything about it during half time.

“Just because I’m baring my midriff and my skirt barely covers my hips doesn’t give you permission to ogle me.”

His blue eyes widened. Very blue, actually. No! It didn’t matter if his eyes were pretty; he was a creep.

“You misunderstand me, love.”

“Not your love.” Though he did have a hot accent. What? No! Nothing about him was hot.

He sighed. “Look, I couldn’t help watching you. All the other girls had fake smiles, but you . . . “ he shrugged. “You looked like you hated being here as much as I do.”

Emma blinked in surprise, and her gaze darted to the hardback copy of The Two Towers clutched in his hand. She also took in his slightly disheveled hair, slender build, and Pink Floyd t-shirt. Clearly not the football type.

The students in line behind them for the concession stand grumbled for them to move, so they both shuffled forward.

Emma smiled apologetically and extended her hand. “Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones.”

“So, what are doing here, hipster?”

He chuckled and ducked his head. He looked a lot more bashful than he had in the stands.

“Granny insisted I put down my guitar, stop singing depressing songs, and get my ass here to support my foster siblings. Her words exactly.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re Ruby’s new foster brother!”

He leaned closer and winked. “Guilty as charged.”

******************************************************

“Cheer sex, Ruby!” Emma snapped as she returned from the concession stand with her bottle of water and bag of pretzels. She lifted the items up on auto-pilot for Coach Ava’s approval, which she received. The Coach insisted on healthy snacks during games and practice. Some of the girls chafed at the rule, but Emma had no problem with it. The last thing she wanted was someone hurling from the top of a pyramid because they had just wolfed down chili cheese fries or something.

“What?” Ruby asked before taking a bite of the apple in her hand.

“Cheer sex,” Emma repeated, “with your foster brother? Ew!”

Ruby rolled her eyes as she chewed and swallowed. “Let me emphasize the foster part. If you wanna bang Killian, I won’t stop you.”

Emma let out a groan of frustration as several of the other girls giggled. “I’m not banging anyone.”

“Exactly! And why is that, Emma?”

“Leave her alone,” Mary Margaret admonished. “Just banging someone isn’t what she needs.”

Emma appreciated Mary Margaret’s positivity - usually - but she wasn’t in the mood for another speech on true love. “I’d actually prefer a complete change of topic.”

“Good,” the girls jumped at the sound of Coach Ava’s voice behind them, “because you only have five minutes left of half time to finish those snacks. Which is kind of hard to do when you’re yapping.”

“Okay, coach,” the girls grumbled good-naturedly. They all loved Ava, and not just because she was Mary Margaret’s mom. She really cared about all of them and was both tough and fair as a coach. Better even than some of the gymnastics coaches Emma had had. Emma had never planned on being a cheerleader, but Emma was used to things in her life not going according to plan. That was usually for the worst, but lately she had to admit it had been for the better. She hadn’t planned on being adopted by the Nolans, either, and that had been the best thing to ever happen to her. When the social worker brought her to her new foster mother, Ruth, and foster brother, David, she had fully expected it to be nothing more than yet another brief stay. She hadn’t expected to be loved.

She hadn’t expected to love in return.

Emma tossed her empty pretzel bag into the trash can near the stadium stairs. She took another swig of her water, then tossed the bottle into her cheer bag that was monogrammed with her name and a megaphone. It was cheesy and matched the bags of all the other girls.

She hadn’t expected to like this group of girls, either. Hadn’t expected to find a group of athletes, but she did. Yes, since age thirteen, life had been surprising her rather than throwing her curveballs. Maybe thirteen was actually her lucky number. Now she was seventeen and had an actual family in addition to fifteen sisters.

With pom poms.

🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈 🏈

Emma crammed her first and second period books into her locker, grabbed the stuff she needed for third, then slammed the door shut. She took off down the hall at almost a sprint. TV and movies were shit in portraying high school. Kids hanging out by their lockers chatting at any and all times of the day. Complete and utter lies. Storybrooke High gave kids five minutes - five minutes! - to get to each class. There were some breaks where she didn’t have time to stop at her locker, but her American History book weighed about three tons and she refused to lug it around all day. She didn’t care if it was completely out of her way. She was chucking that book, damn it, before she threw her back out. Three weeks into the year, and she had it timed down to the second.

She did not have time to be slammed into and knocked to her rear end. “Hey!” she shouted at the jerk who’d plowed into her.

A hand reached down and hauled her to her feet. “Apologies lass.”

She knew that accent before she looked into those blue eyes. She suddenly realized she was still clutching Killian’s hand in hers. She yanked her hand away.

“Yeah, well watch where you’re going next time.”

He grinned in a way that was three-fourths charming and one-fourth roguish. “A pleasure as always, Swan.”

Then the ridiculous boy bowed over her hand and kissed it! She rolled her eyes. He arched his brow.

“Advanced Trigonometry?”

He was offering her a pad of graph paper that had her homework scrawled all over it. She snatched it from him and stuffed it into her bag. It was then she realized the zipper was broken. Great. Just great.

“Why are you so interested in my class schedule?”

He shrugged as he rocked back on his heels. “I’m impressed is all.”

She lifted one shoulder, then dropped it as she attempted to balance her busted backpack in both arms. “My mom insisted on one advanced course this year, and math’s the one subject I don’t suck at.”

He tilted his head. “Intriguing.”

“Why?” she snapped. “Because you assume cheerleaders are moronic sluts?” The bell rang, and she dropped her head back with a groan. “Great! Now you’ve made me late.”

She shouldered past him, and her hackles raised when she heard his low chuckle. He laid a hand on her arm before she could move away and lowered his head to her ear.

“Most guys would find your attitude off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

“Sure you do,” she muttered as she stalked away.

At practice that afternoon, she was informing Ruby that her brother was an absolute pain in the ass.

[georgescatcafe]

the rising chariot — 3

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: platonic dream team, karl jacobs/sapnap genres/tags: percy jackson and the olympians au, friendship, angst summary: Nick Pappas isn’t sure it’s normal for teenagers to be sent across the United States on a quest that could potentially kill them, but Nick has started to realize that everything he thought was normal is entirely false. George Davies doesn’t particularly want to spend three consecutive days with this new camper and that son of Hermes who snagged his win in Capture the Flag two weeks ago, but he knows he has to suck it up and go with them, no matter how irritating they may be. Clay Bryce just wants to prove himself and show that he’s more than that troublesome kid from Cabin Eleven, but even as the leader of this quest, he’s not sure how to when Nick has fire powers and George is practically capable of mind-control.

Yet what they feel and want will mean nothing if they don’t complete their quest. When a petty feud between gods has Apollo threatening to take the Sun from the sky, the three must head out to stop him, but not just that—they’re in a race against an ancient enemy of the god, one who definitely will try and kill him if it gets to Apollo first.

New York City was as terrifying as it was large. Which means very. Floris, luckily, knew the city well, and he led Nick past block after block to their hotel.

“Don’t people normally take a cab?” Nick asked once they had their bags set down on their respective beds. “Like… that’s an NYC staple?”

“I’m a native,” Floris replied, distracted as he dug through his suitcase. He grinned when he pulled out a hoodie. “I forgot how cold it was here, even in the spring.”

“Is it?” Nick asked, only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I thought it was nice.”

“It is nice,” Floris agreed, even as he tugged the hoodie on over his head, “but I get the chills when I’m here. Can’t help it.”

“So is it cold or not?”

“Yes,” Floris said, talking his bag off the bed and setting it on the floor. “Anyway, get your nap in, your jet-lag settled; I’m giving you a full tour of the Big Apple before dinner.” He settled atop his bed, arms stretched behind his head, and Nick made a face at the shoes touching the covers.

“Seriously, man?” he asked. “Shoes in the bed?”

“Not in the bed,” Floris replied smartly. “On the bed.”

Nick made another face, but didn’t argue.

His nap was poor, tossing and turning, never properly falling asleep, while Floris snored on, feet kicking and fingers twitching. Nick wished he slept as good as the other. But instead he ended up staring at the ceiling, waiting for the other to wake and take him on this tour.

When Floris did wake, he looked refreshed, and he pranced around the room getting everything he needed (which was apparently just some cash, an umbrella, and a change of shoes, except he went into the bathroom to change them, which Nick thought was weird, but he didn’t comment on because he just wanted to get out of the stifling hotel room). By the time Floris came out, Nick was standing by the door, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from moving restlessly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” Floris replied, allowing Nick to pull the door open and letting it fall shut behind him.

They made their way down to the lobby, where it was clear it was a new shift, a new receptionist sitting at the desk. Nick wondered what went through the man’s head, with the way he fixed a piercing stare on them. Floris didn’t seem to notice the stare, however, as he kept on his merry way, beginning to talk about all the things New York had to offer. Nick couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder one last time, though, before they exited the building, catching the eyes of the receptionist. A chill went down Nick’s spine. Quickly, he turned away and hurried to follow Floris as he began to walk down the street.

“Obviously we can’t see everything, and we definitely can’t do it all tonight,” Floris was saying when Nick focused on him once again, “but we can just walk around for now, and I can give general directions. Also, I personally am not a fan of the subway, but you can go on it.”

“I,” Nick looked around, “don’t need to go on the subway. Are you sure about the cab thing?”

“Does it matter?” Floris asked.

Nick guessed it didn’t. 

Floris was an alright tour guide, if you overlooked the fact that he didn’t say much about any actual landmarks or places you’d find in a NYC guidebook. Nick wondered if that made him a better tour guide or not. They stopped at a nondescript deli and had sandwiches and soda for dinner. Nick stared as Floris happily ate a veggie sub, tomato juice spilling down his chin.

“Is that actually any good?” he asked. “It’s like… salad between bread.”

“It’s good,” Floris reassured. “Is yours good?”

“Duh,” Nick replied.

When they got back to the hotel, the receptionist wasn’t there, but Nick swore he could still feel those eyes on his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he and Floris got in the elevator, heading up to the fifth floor.

“That receptionist from before,” Nick said when the doors slid shut, “did you see how he was looking at us?”

“The receptionist?” Floris echoed, thinking. “No. Why? Was he looking at you weird or something?”

Nick frowned, but he shook his head. The guy probably just had a staring problem, or maybe he thought Nick’s t-shirt was stupid or something. He ignored that feeling in him saying that not telling Floris was a bad idea. Besides, if Floris didn’t care, it probably was fine, right?

The doors slid open and Floris led them back to the room. Nick flopped onto his bed, now properly ready to sleep.

“I hate walking,” he said. “My legs hurt.”

“Sleep it off,” Floris replied, disappearing into the bathroom. He stuck his head out. “Might go downstairs to get more of that fresh air. Is that okay?”

“You’re really weird,” Nick answered.

Floris smiled before his head went back through the doorway. Nick never saw him leave, eyes slipping shut, breath going even, sleep overtaking him.

He was back in the hotel lobby. Nick looked around, for the receptionist, for Floris, but it was just him. He took a seat on the bench. 

“You’re late.”

Nick jumped, and when he turned, a woman sat, one of those small, yappy dogs held in a purse on her lap. When Nick waved at it, it growled and spat. He made a face. “Nice dog,” he said.

“What dog?” the woman asked.

Nick looked at her before pointing. “The one in your purse.”

“I don’t have a dog,” she replied.

Nick looked to her lap once again. There was no purse, no dog.

He stood. “Um, my bad.”

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Nick snapped, irritation culminating under his skin. “Who are you again?”

“Did you forget me already?” she stood too. In her seat sat that dog in the purse. Nick stared at it, and again, it growled. Nick looked at the woman. “It’s rude to forget people, you know. Fills people with a certain rage; you’ve felt rage before, haven’t you?”

“Not because someone’s forgotten my name,” Nick answered.

“So you’ve felt rage,” she continued, “and what did it do to you? Did you feel rage when they took your mother? Did you feel rage when that new woman came to replace her?”

Nick took a step back as the woman took a step closer.

“Hot and burning inside you, you scream and no one hears, what a weak little boy you were.” She laughs, and it’s a witch’s cackle, high-pitched and grating. Nick stumbles as something nips at the backs of his heels. The little dog, eyes rimmed red and crusty. It’s teeth trying to cut through his pants.

“Your dog,” he said, trying to kick it away from him, “make it stop.”

“Isn’t it cute?” she asked.

“You said you didn’t have a dog.” Nick managed to send him flying off, claws skidding on the polished tile. It ran back towards him.

“I don’t,” she replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep doing something strange with your legs.”

The stupid dog was gone, and Nick was kicking and tripping on air. He cursed. “What’s up with you, lady? Seriously, you’re freaking weird.”

“Am I?” she asked. “I’m sure you know all about weirdness. Your friend, for instance, weirdest of all. Though he pales in comparison to you.”

“Floris?” Nick screeched when that stupid dog bit at his ankle, sweatpants now basketball shorts, ankles exposed perfectly for the dog to sink its teeth into. “Get your dog!”

“Yes. Floris. Forgot.”

“It’s rude to forget people’s names,” Nick echoed back to her.

The woman smiled, showing teeth tipped in red. Nick choked on a breath. “You’re absolutely right.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog was back at her side, yipping and yapping at her to pick it up. When she did, she stroked a calming hand down its back. It looked at Nick, and that’s when he realized there was foam around its mouth. His own mouth dropped open in horror.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Am I going to die?”

“This is a dream, stupid boy,” she answered. “And if you don’t remember me,” she laughed, that same spine-tingling cackle, “you’ll figure out who I am soon enough.” A sudden shriek pierced through the air, and Nick stood at attention, eyes wide and heart pounding. The woman’s smile stretched to a grin, those red-tipped teeth glinting in the bright lobby lights. “Best wake up now; you don’t want to be late again.”

Nick’s eyes blinked open. He was in the hotel room, in bed. He shoved the covers off him and hurried to put his shoes on. Everything in him screamed to go find Floris. Without a single look back, he flung the hotel door open and ran.

He avoided the elevator, fearing it would take too long, instead finding the door to the staircase and prying it open, the metal heavy but not enough to stop him. It’s cool where it is pressed to his skin. He rushed down the stairs.

The closer he got to the first floor, the louder the noises that come from the lobby were. Nick sped up as much as he could without tripping. 

“Floris!” he shouted, unsure if the other could even hear him. He was breathless and panting by the time he reached the first floor but he shoved it open, the metal bar digging uncomfortably into his skin.

“Nick!” Floris shrieked. “Watch out!”

Nick moved out of the way just in time to miss a barrage of spines being flung at him. He sucked in a breath. “What—”

“Move!” Floris screamed, and Nick obeyed, dropping to the floor when a large paw came at him, claws extended. When Nick looked, he saw Floris’s hoodie had been torn in multiple places, hanging off his body loosely, in tatters. Nick took in another breath.

“How are you still alive?” he asked, crying out when more spines came at him.

“Who is this, Floris?” the monster growled. “You’ve brought another course? How delicious!” His lips curled into a treacherous grin, and when he spoke, his breath came out and hit Nick straight in the face, rancid.

Nick gagged against the smell, trying his best to get over to his friend.

“We need to,” he stuttered, “I can’t—fire, I can’t—”

“You have to,” Fundy replied. Nick shoved him and dropped to the floor when the monster ran out them, rolling under the massive body. (The mom lifting the bus for her baby.) His heart pounded. Floris had crawled behind the receptionist’s desk. His head poked up over the top. “You have to, Nick!”

“I’ll burn this place down!” Nick shouted. “I can’t—”

“But you have to!” the monster mocked. “You have to! You have to!”

Nick bared his teeth, anger beginning to boil his blood. “Yeah!” he replied. “And you have to die!” That was the only way—this thing was an abomination, the head of a man, the body of a lion, spines shooting from its tail with a single flick, leaving Nick dodging and ducking like nobody’s business. 

Without fire, he was left defenseless, left to tire out the monster, but he knew it’s a lot more likely it’ll tire him out instead. Floris ran at him, then, and tackled him, sending the two of them through the sliding front doors. Even at night, the streets of New York City were bustling.

Floris grabbed him by the arm and took off, tugging Nick through the crowd. “This was a bad idea,” Nick just barely heard over the sounds of traffic.

When Nick turned back, the crowd was parted like the red sea, and charging right at them, the monster.

“A manticore,” Floris said, “one of the deadliest monsters out there. Just our luck.”

“I don’t want to burn down New York,” Nick replied.

“I know,” Floris tugged them down an alleyway.

“If he catches us, we’re dead,” Nick realized.

Floris looked at him. “So we can’t let him catch us.” He leapt onto a dumpster, and Nick was left to hurry after him. Floris scaled the building like nobody’s business. Below, the manticore shrieked and yowled as Nick climbed up as quickly as he could after his friend.

“How can you,” Nick sucked in a breath, “climb so fast? I thought you had,” another breath, “some kind of leg issue.”

Floris’s foot slipped. Nick yelled. Off came Floris shoe—foot—what? Nick stared at the hoof waving in his face. 

“Come on!” Floris cried. “I’ll explain later!”

Then, Nick felt the back of his sweatpants rip straight down the middle, and pain flared hot and heady in his left leg. Shock flooded his body. He doesn’t know if he screamed. But he did know what he had to do.

Floris was already near the top of the building. 

Nick climbed.

When he reached the top, Floris was waiting for him, arm outstretched to pull him up. Nick accepted it. Together, they ran, uncaring of the manticore they both knew continued to climb up after them.

Salt from his tears and wind stung in the corners of his eyes. He grit his teeth as he followed Floris across rooftops, biting back a pained groan every time his injured leg met the ground. Behind them, the manticore followed, chasing after them on all fours, calling to them, taunting them. Nick took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next jump.

“There’s somewhere you can go,” Floris said, his remaining ‘shoe’ left behind two buildings ago, hooves now carrying him easily. “It’s safer—monsters, like the one chasing us, they can’t get in.”

Nick looked at him before Floris stretched out an arm to stop him from falling off the edge of the roof. “Seriously?”

Floris nodded, then dropped his arm. Nick backed up then got a running start, stretching his legs as best he can as he jumped to the next roof. Floris followed not long after. And the manticore not long after that. Nick cried, genuine crying, not tears from the winds that whipped around them, as he reached the edge of another roof. The next building was across the street.

Nick turned to Floris.

“We won’t make it,” he said. “We won’t make it.”

Floris returned his stare. “We have to try to make it.” He wrapped his arms around Nick and sent them plummeting from the roof.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Royal We ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Family helps family. Sometimes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

When they first came to this universe, it hadn’t taken long for Edge to realize that things were very different here than back home in Underfell, (no, not home, not for a long time now). The changes took some time to absorb and some might never fully integrate, as his freezer filled with stocked up meals would attest. But there were a few universal constants and while all of them grew up with their brother as their only relative, they all knew that family helped family. Even when that family was a pack of alternates who appeared later in life.

Which was how Edge found himself on his day off sitting on the floor of what was currently Papyrus and Blue’s house, making party favors for Undyne’s baby shower.

The living room was strewn with decorations waiting to be placed, streamers and banners in an eclectic rainbow of colors, uninflated balloons spilling out of a bag like the leftover skins of a particularly garish fruit. The party itself wasn’t until tomorrow, but that left little time to waste, considering the plans Papyrus had drawn up.

Plan was perhaps an overstatement, but Edge could never fault Papyrus for his enthusiasm. His color scheme, on the other hand—well. He’d never approved of the way some Humans were so obsessed with gender that they actually assigned colors at birth but there was a great distance between that and a design that might cause any guests with fleshier eyes to scramble for sunglasses.

Papyrus was bustling around setting things up while the rest of them were sitting on the floor in a circle around a coffee table that was cluttered with craft supplies. He’d paired each of them off to work on separate projects and for all that the occasion was a joyous one, the mood was decidedly not.

“how many of these things do we need, anyway?” Stretch grumbled. His and Jeff’s assigned duty was to pour a mixture of toffee-coated popcorn into small plastic bags, tie it closed with a ribbon, and then affix a sticker on the front that declared in cheery letters ‘Ready to Pop’!

Edge was morbidly curious as to how Undyne felt about that particular sentiment this close to the end of her pregnancy.

A glance at the finished bags confirmed that Stretch’s ribbons were less a bow and more a tangle of colorful knots, Jeff’s only a slight improvement. The bags were sealed at least, and Papyrus was more than content with the effort, which was all that really mattered.

Besides, Edge was busy with his own task; planting tiny succulents into miniature pots, each with a painstakingly attached tag reading, ‘Watch Me Grow!’. Privately, he thought the small cacti were a far better representation of Undyne than any snack, but then, he wasn’t the one actually throwing the shower.

“How many do we need,” Papyrus repeated thoughtfully. Edge pointedly did not ask about the garland in his hand which seemed to be made of dangling fish ornaments and…was that tomatoes? Edge decided it would be best not to know, lest he end up lying awake tonight with the answer still haunting him. “Well, there is Undyne’s co-workers in Security and Alphys’s at the lab, plus their neighbors and friends, and of course us!”

“i don’t need no damn cactus,” Red muttered sullenly. How Papyrus even got Red here was another burning question, though the answer was likely Sans sitting placidly right next to him. His collar was visible over the neckline of his t-shirt, the buckle glinting in the light. Occasionally he reached up absently to touch it as if to verify it hadn’t wandered off when he wasn’t looking. Their entire duty seemed to be putting cans of sparkling water into drink koozies emblazoned with such witticisms as ‘nacho average baby’ over a cartoon of a tortilla chip. It was anyone’s guess as to if that task was actually assigned to them or simple the one they’d decided on doing, but between them, there were four cans done after a half an hour of work.

Sans managed to slide another can into a koozie, bringing their grand total to five. “paps, that didn’t really answer the question.”

“That would be because I am not finished counting!” Papyrus scolded. “There’s also Undyne’s ‘Cooking with Krav Maga’ class and naturally all the Dreemurr family will be coming.”

“great, ass-gore will be here,” Stretch muttered, fumbling to tie another ribbon with varying success. “i’ll be sure to bring my headphones.”

Edge sighed inwardly. Stretch was in a prickly mood and had been all day, and it didn’t take a scientist-level IQ to know it had something to do with the baby shower. They’d known about this for days; when Papyrus asked if they would help, Edge hadn’t hesitated to agree. Now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have asked Stretch in advance. He hadn’t refused to come, but he’d been twitchy and snappish since getting up that morning, only getting worse when they came over. If the party were for anyone but Undyne, Edge would have suggested they go home.

Adding to the irritation was Red in a poor mood of his own and he hadn’t a single qualm about casting sparks around a gasoline spill. “good, no one wants to hear you flappin’ your yap, anyway. save your 280 characters for your twitter freaks.”

“aww, jealous?” Stretch cooed, “‘cause, you talk so much crap, i dunno whether to you need toilet paper or a breath mint.”

Edge exchanged a weary look with Blue, who returned it with equal exasperation. Those two had been sniping at each other all morning and it was Blue’s turn to attempt a least a little fire prevention.

“Really, Papy, that’s enough,” Blue said reprovingly. That might stop them briefly, but they all knew from past experience it wouldn’t last. Red and Stretch were alike in a number of dissatisfying ways, past the darkened circles of exhaustion that were currently visible beneath both their sockets. For one, most of them weren’t above returning a good insult with a better one, but Red and Stretch could be particularly vicious about it. Usually it was better to let them simply work it out between themselves; trying to intercede past a little mild scolding usually ended up getting you mixed up in the spat.

This time Edge was tempted, if only because Jeff looked supremely uncomfortable. He fumbled with his latest little bag of popcorn and ended up with a good portion bouncing into his lap rather than the treat bag.

For the time being, Sans seemed content to allow them to try to rein in their brothers, and that would likely last until their petty squabbling might upset Papyrus. Who thus far either hadn’t noticed or was content to allow the others to handle it. Edge hoped it was the latter. The crack in Papyrus’s skull was still starkly visible, although his balance seemed much improved, if the way he all but leapt from the ladder was any indication, digging furiously through an overflowing box of even more decorations.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said to his brother’s scold, and then promptly added a mumble of, “don’t see why he has to be here, anyway.”

“’cause it ain’t your party, it’s hers, and she’d want ‘im,” Red grumbled. Then, in a smirking sotto voce, “’sides, i figure he’s the baby daddy so be kinda rude not to at least give ‘im a party favor.”

“There is no baby daddy, since neither Undyne nor Alphys want to be called daddy, and it’s much ruder to speculate,” Papyrus called primly, confirming that he was indeed listening to the ongoing bickering. He stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the growing balloon sculpture critically. Edge joined him in looking, biting the tip of his tongue to hold back any questions, especially on whether the design was supposed to be Undyne or an eggplant. Never ask when you didn’t want to know the answer and Papyrus wove in another long, purple balloon as he went on, “and also Asgore can’t be the donor because I am.”

A hush of silence fell, along with a number of wide sockets and eyes turning to Papyrus’s direction. No one’s were wider than Sans’s at what was obviously unexpected news to him as he blurted, "seriously, bro? you're the one who handed over the baby batter for undyne?”

Papyrus frowned at them all reprovingly. “That is rude AND crude, I'll thank you not to refer to it that way.”

"sorry, bro, but fuck,” Sans sputtered, “you didn’t say anything!”

"Is there a reason I would need to?” Papyrus asked, brow bones raised, “Undyne is my best friend and wanted a child, so of course I would help provide the necessary material in her time of need!"

“necessary material,” Stretch muttered, his face scrunching up, and in that Edge could only agree, “right.” He nudged Jeff with an elbow, who yelped aloud and jumped, sending up another miniature shower of popcorn, “uh, andy, i know we're best buds and all, but if you ever need--"

“Nope, I’m good,” Jeff said, a touch too loudly.

“happy to hear it.” Stretch gave him a grin that slowly faded. “see? so if asgore didn’t donate his, uh, time and effort, he can stay home."

“Honestly, Papy you can’t—" Blue began reprovingly, only to be drowned out by Red’s loud snort.

“what the fuck is your problem with asgore, anyway,” Red grumbled. He picked at his gold tooth, a tell that sent tension winding up Edge’s spine even as his brother added with lazy viciousness, “get over it already, you act like he’s your ex who fucked you over.”

The day seemed to be one for unexpected silences. Only this time the stares were directed at Stretch, who said nothing. He only sat white-faced, cellophane crinkling loudly as his hands fisted around the bag in his lap, his skull draining of color as he managed to look at anything but those stares.

Red let out a harsh chortle of laughter, “seriously? all this time you’ve been holier than thou about his lv and it’s actually ‘cause you used to give him the bone over in your ‘verse? fuck, now there is a mental picture,” Red moaned out gleefully, “oooh, fuzzy ass, stick it to me good! ram me with your furry wand of wonder and i’ll get your goat!”

A chorus of protests rose up, with Edge’s snarl of, “That’s enough!” rising to the top.

But Stretch was already standing, a litter of colorful ribbons shedding from his lap as he walked swiftly to the door.

“Rus—" Edge stood to chase after him, cursing his damned leg as it threatened to buckle under him. It was an exercise in futility from the start, as he’d known it would be. Stretch shortcutted the moment he was out the door, heading off Angel knew where to lose himself in the stew of his own thoughts. The temptation to look up where he’d reappeared on the phone app was strong, but Edge resisted it. Stretch had the right to be alone if that was what he wanted, particularly after that dig.

He sighed and went back into the house. Only to pause as he saw the various looks had transferred to him, all of them guarded, particularly Blue; his starry eye lights seemed to be anticipating anger at Stretch. As if this made any damned difference between them. Even Jeff looked near tears, like he expected Edge to already have Antwan on the phone demanding him to draw up divorce papers. It was damn well insulting, and he glared back at them all until those gazes dropped, Blue’s reluctantly last.

All except for his own brother. Red was grinning, savagely pleased, and if they wanted anger, the simmering urge to shout at his brother was rising to a roiling boil in him, his LV waking in his soul to twinge eagerly at the heat of it. Only that was likely exactly what his brother wanted, to be punished for his casual cruelties. Whatever was troubling Red, Edge wasn’t about to reward his masochism.

His own anger fell swiftly into disappointment; lately Red had been bordering on kind with Stretch, if it could be called that, treating him as a brother, or better, if Edge were honest with himself. A brother that needed his protection as Edge decidedly did not. It’d been some time since he’d deliberately needled Stretch and Edge couldn’t even understand why he’d chosen to do so today. Whatever his petty reasons, they weren’t sufficient enough to excuse that.

Edge kept his voice low and even as he said, “That was cruel.”

That satisfied smirk faltered and Red shifted to lean forward. “yeah? well, it's about time he starts getting’ over it. it ain’t the same guy and he’s married to you.”

“Affection for someone else is not any kind of betrayal and considering that all of you calculated our worlds have ceased to exist, there isn’t much opportunity for closure, is there,” Edge said, acid creeping in. "The state of my marriage is no concern of yours."

Red’s sockets fell half-closed as he said, dangerously soft, "you think so, boss?"

Then he flinched suddenly, yelping as Sans slapped him upside the head. "you’re so eager for stretch to get over shit, how about you practice what you preach.” He shoved a can of sparkling water into Red’s lap. “shut up and put on a fucking koozie.”

Red scowled hard and Edge did not miss his crimson gaze flicking to the collar around Sans's throat. Grudgingly, he did what he was told.

“Do not interfere with my marriage,” Edge said coolly. Not that such a statement would stop his brother, but at least it was said between them. Then to Papyrus. “I am sorry, but."

Papyrus only flapped his hands at him, shooing him away, “No, no, go, talk to Stretchy Me! I’m sure Cherry here would like to think about how much he hurt Stretch’s feelings and yours, his own brother, who has recently suffered an injury. And there are my own injuries to consider as well, sticks, stones, and words do hurt!"

Edge let him ramble and started for the door, then hesitated. The others were accustomed to a certain amount of internal friction, some of it formerly his and Stretch’s, from the moment they woke up in this universe. Their Human companion was not so inured to it and Edge crouched to set a ginger hand on Jeff’s shoulder, “Jeff, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Jeff waved it off, offering up a lopsided grin. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen Thanksgiving at my grandparent’s place. Don’t think my grandma ever got the gravy stains off the ceiling.”

“can’t just drop a hint like that and not give the story, andy,” Sans said, lightly. The others murmured agreement, eager to latch onto another topic.

Edge could hear as he went out the door, “Well, uh, see, my grandpa was originally from Norway, and—”

There were any number of places Stretch might go to nurse his internal wounds, but Edge had a fairly good guess as to the likeliest one. He drove home, parked his car in the driveway, but instead of heading up to the front porch, he went around the side of the house towards their fenced backyard. Before he was even close, he could hear Stretch talking and he went quietly through the gate to see him sitting outside the coop with Noodle settled into his lap, the laces of his untied sneakers trailing into the grass for Dumpling to peck at.

His skull was resting against one of the support posts, still too pale, his sockets closed and his vape drooping loosely from his long fingers. Vaping instead of smoking cropped up sometimes when Stretch was truly irritated, as if he subconsciously wanted control over something and settled for his nicotine addiction. Or perhaps it was to protect his feathered companions from secondhand smoke.

Noodle didn’t seem bothered either way, chirring softly as Stretch stroked his free hand down her back.

“—not like i don’t know i’m being a dick. that guy just pisses me off sometimes. asgore, not red. actually, they both piss me off, now that you mention it.”

Noodle made an inquisitive sound and Stretch sighed out a cloud of vapor. “yeah, yeah, i was in a mood before we even went over. i dunno, all that baby shit gets on my nerves for some reason.” He scratched lightly under Noodle’s chin and she cooed contentedly. “you’re right, it’s no excuse for being shitty. especially to papyrus, he’s all excited about throwing this party. even if the balloon thing was creepy, you should’ve seen it, like cthulhu’s second cousin after failed plastic surgery.”

“You weren’t being a dick.” Edge said, quietly. Stretch tensed and his sockets slid open, but he didn’t look up, his pale eye lights straying down on his poultry pal. Edge walked over and sat next to them, keeping a careful distance away, easily breached if Stretch wished, or a comforting barrier if he didn’t. “Perhaps a little rude.” Edge held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A little. My brother, on the other hand, was embracing his dickish nature.”

Stretch made a faint, amused sound, “red embracing his dick was not a chat i was expecting today.”

Then he leaned to the side, crossing the distance between them to rest his skull on Edge’s shoulder. He took the unsubtle hint and slid an arm around his husband’s slim shoulders, holding him in close, closing his sockets against the faint tremble in Stretch’s voice as softly spoke.

“he wasn’t my boyfriend. fuck, i never saw him get out of the ruins. i…might’ve given it a shot if he had,” his voice dropped to a bare whisper and Edge hummed encouragingly, already anticipating what was coming, “but i was fucking everyone back then. i was maybe a little infatuated, okay? that’s it.”

“All right,” Edge said, calmly, even as he tightened his arm around Stretch, holding him closer still. He was not jealous of Stretch’s yesterdays; his only commitments were his tomorrows, and despite what his brother might think, Edge was certainly not about to allow anything so trivial as a former crush on a dead man come between them.

Stretch heaved a watery little sigh. “but that isn’t it, not really. he was my friend and i promised him i’d take care of the kid. instead i—"

“Did what you had to do,” Edge interrupted firmly. He understood impossible situations better than most, his own LV-tainted soul aching to think of Stretch enduring what he had for so long, an impossible choice to make between his world and the intent of a murderous child.

Yet, even now, Stretch couldn’t be convinced that was true. He only sighed out a quiet, “sure.” Then, louder, “anyway. he was my friend. he would have hated to see what he was in this world. it’s just…it’s hard sometimes.”

“I know.” Hard to see alternates of people they’d known, a lifetime of memories to be set aside while learning a new person with an old face. Undyne was his own personal struggle and Edge could call her friend, but it wasn’t the same, it couldn’t be.

Next to him, Stretch snuggled in closer even as Noodle let out a querulous protest over the lack of petting. “i’ve been thinking. my hp is on the rise, right?”

“It’s 5 and a quarter, love,” Edge said dryly, reaching over to offer the chicken a gentle pat, Noodle’s dismay quickly turning to a rapturous croon, “and as happy as I am for it, I’d prefer if you didn’t decide to take up hang gliding or street fighting.”

"you're hilarious, babe." Another long, slow breath, before Stretch blurted, "i know i kinda railroaded you when we talked about this before. if you really want kids--" he faltered, his voice breaking as Edge listened in dismayed confusion, "i mean, if that's…we could…"

Suddenly Edge knew precisely what Rus was going to offer and he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want him to think in even the tiniest way that he’d lost some measure of Edge’s love by preferring not to have children and and he didn’t know how to stop him from strangling out the words.

So Edge cupped his face in a hand and turned Stretch’s head towards him to kiss that stammering mouth lingeringly, until he stopped trying and simply melted into the gentle touch. By the time he drew away, Stretch was the one making thin, dismayed sounds, trying to chase after that kiss for more, his eye lights hazy soft. Instead, Edge pressed a light, teasing kiss to the slight nodule of his nasal cavity.

"No, I don’t think so,” Edge told him, slow and carefully. Watching that much-loved face to make sure Stretch was hearing him. “I’ve considered it and I’ve decided I’m entirely too busy to add parenthood to my schedule. I’m going back to the Y this week, I think I’m better off trying to secure a place in this world for the children already in it.”

Poorly hidden relief flickered over Stretch’s face and Edge leaned in to kiss him again, silently hoping that he was truly believed this time. There was no doubt in his mind that Stretch would force himself to endure the stresses of having a child if he thought Edge wished it, but making Stretch bear the weight of unwanted parenthood was a nightmare not to be considered. He’d love the child, surely, but at what cost? Far higher than Edge would ever consider paying.

A sudden cackle came from inside the coop and Stretch jerked away, sitting bolt upright.

“the egg!” Stretch gasped, scrambling to his feet, “i never did get a chance to research her adopted egg. you think maybe it actually—” hatched, he did not say, almost superstitiously hopeful.

“It’s possible,” Edge hedged, doubtfully. They both started into the coop, only for a voice calling over the fence to stop them.

“Hello? Hello, is anyone home?” The words were couched with near panic and the voice was a familiar one. Stretch beat him to the fence, opening the gate as he limped as quickly as he could over.

“Janice?” Edge said, surprised and concerned. The fur on her face was matted and wet with tears and she wrung her hands, shaking as she tried to speak. It brought back unpleasant memories of the attack at the Embassy, when one of the protesters threw a brick at her. Even then her pain and fear were tempered under practicality as she asked Antwan to bring her children to the hospital, her thoughts on keeping her boys from fearing Humans more than they already might. To see her bereft of her usual firm control was concerning.

“Calm down,” Edge soothed, pulling her into his arms without a thought, even as he cast a wary glance around the neighborhood. Nothing seemed out of order, not yet, “What’s happened?”

She leaned against him heavily and he nearly staggered back a step. Tall as he was, they were of nearly an equal weight. “It’s Jude, he didn’t come home for lunch and I can’t find him anywhere!” She hitched out a sob. “None of the other children have seen him, my family has been looking but we can’t find him, I can’t—”

Her voice dissolved and Edge gave her a last pat before firmly pushing her into his husband’s startled arms.

“Stretch, stay with her,” Edge commanded, reaching for his phone, “I’m going to make some calls.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch agreed hastily. He rubbed a soothing hand down her back as Janice struggled against her tears. “hey, we’ll find him. little guy couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Edge was already pulling up his contact list and couldn’t help the darkly sour thought that if this didn’t pull his brother out of his bad mood, nothing would.

~~*~~

tbc

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course Chapter 10) Asbet Eshr, Fifth-Theen

.-.-.

Ivar still held a grudge against Piglet, but he decided that he’d stop scaring her. She was the most foolish fragile little creature and he could not afford the wrath of the Giant if she convulsed into a seizure again. For the rest of her day, he’d mainly ignored her and stopped yapping at her ankles. Piglet ignored him too, but Ivar wasn’t sure it was intentional. Whatever happened to her during those seizures, left her with a vacant stare and even though she tried, it was impossible for her to work properly. Using the rake for support, she zoned-out occasionally, allowing two chickens to escape and break an egg. Ivar noticed her struggles but decided to stay out of it, he had duties too and did not feel obligated to do any extra work. He no longer wished to charge at her, that should be a reward in itself. Ignoring her would keep him out of trouble and that was how he continued the day, keeping his hands off of her. 

As it turned out, tolerating her had its benefits; better food. That evening, Ivar received a piece of meat and an actual hot meal. It was nothing more than scraps of chicken and soggy mashed potatoes, but it beat raw onions by far. 

Ivar ate and silently observed her. Piglet was stitching up one of her rags, while the scrawny little lamb lay on her lap. The sun was setting, but provided enough light to make the needle gleam with every stitch she made. 

She was carrying a weapon around, small and brittle, but a weapon nonetheless. Interesting. Ivar stored that detail in the back of his head and wondered what more treasures she had hidden underneath those layers of clothes.  

His silent brooding did not go by unnoticed, bothered by his stern stare, Piglet frowned at him and scurried up on her bare feet. She shied away to her side of the shed, taking the lamb along. The prospect of another evening alone, cold and bored made Ivar chunk down his food fast, rattling his chains. “Piglet, I’m done eating, come here,” Ivar insisted, keeping his tone friendly and neutral. Tapping his bowl on the floor, he whistles as if to call a dog. Two dark eyes lingered around the corner of his box, startled by his unusual kindness. 

“Wahid, arbe, sitta,” Ivar struggled not to break his tongue on the three words he’d memorised from Piglet’s game. He picked up a chicken bone from his supper and tossed it on the floor. “Wahid, arbe, sitta,” he repeated again, nudging his chin towards the chicken bone. 

Piglet’s brows drew up, still skeptical about his sudden change of heart. “Oh c’mon Piglet, let’s play your stupid little game to pass the time,” Ivar whined and drummed his fingertips impatiently on the floor, “your God won’t judge you for playing with the enemy, nor will mine. They seemed to have deserted us anyway. Probably laughing their arses off as we speak.”  

Ivar wasn’t foolish to believe that any of the words he said meant a thing to Piglet, but as strange as it might seem, it was nice to hear the sound of his own voice from time to time. It was a small reminder of who he was, as an individual, as a human being. And it was a small act of defiance, to speak his native language in a country that bore so much hostility to his kind. Honestly, his voice was all he had left. 

Piglet decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and brought her knucklebones into view. She whipped away hay and dropped the bones in a circle of dirt. Viewing the positions of the bones, she drew fifteen lines in the sand: “asbet, eshr.” Ivar rolled his shoulders and tilted his upper body forwards. Piglet ogled him as he dragged his lower body forwards. She observed the way he pushed his legs into a comfortable position as he sat down near Piglet’s makeshift line. Something seemed to trouble her, her brows turned into a frown and she looked at him from head to toe. “Maksura?” Intrigued she picked up a twig and snapped it into two, then gestured back on his legs. Her forwardness made Ivar debate to put her name back on his lift of Wrath. It was ironic; all throughout his life he’d hated the leather braces that kept his legs from further damaging. But now that he’d lost them, he missed them dearly. It wasn’t for simple safekeeping, it was the lack of the straps that made him feel weak; exposed. It was so easy for others to see his flaws. 

Ivar attempted something uncharacteristic, he tried to brush off Piglet’s question and see it through the fingers. Collecting all the bones, he clasped his hands together and gave it a good shake before throwing them into the circle. “That’s five, five, four, three and three,” Ivar counted, remembering the specific ways of all the sides, “asbet eshr,” Ivar pronounced with difficulty, drawing fifteen lines in tally marks. “Fifteen,” he lectured, tapping his fingers down on the last line. 

“Fith-theen?” Piglet jabbered, repositioning herself Indian styled and tilted her head to recount Ivar’s scar; “asbet eshr, fifth-theen.” she concluded and leaned in to pick up the knucklebones. 

Ivar arched a sly brow and chuckled deviantly, enough to make her rethink her actions: “are you sure you want to be doing that Piglet?” Ivar questioned, giving his innocuous words meaning by pushing his palm to the middle of the dirt circle, pressing one of the bones into the sand. “Because if I can grab your dice, that means I can grab you, get it?” He showed her a toothy smile and slouched back against the wooden frame of his box. Now this was a game he liked; cat and mouse. 

The change of atmosphere did not go by unnoticed; Piglet’s back went stiff and deep set brows clearly made her rethink her actions. “C’mon Piglet, marvel me with your agility,” Ivar taunted, enjoying every little bit of the slave’s anguish; he could practically hear her heart galloping inside her chest. Her eyes bounced from the dices back and forth to him before she finally dared to make a move and snatched four bones from the circle.  “Impressive,” Ivar clapped his hands three times, the empty sound filled up the shed, “but you need five to play your savage little game,” holding up his right hand he rolled the last of her knucklebones back and forth between his fingers. Frustration crinkled her eyes from the sight of Ivar’s taunting and huffing, she got up on her feet, slamming the four pieces of her game into one of her many pockets and roamed back to her corner of the shed. Soon her prayers chanted through the shed, probably favoring her god to smother her hostel guest in his sleep. Ivar smirked and hid the knucklebone inside his trousers. He’d gotten what he wanted; entertainment at the expense of the Christian servant. 

.-.-.

A/N: Well, he did not try to kill her, I guess I can call it progress. And they managed to learn a few words of each other's language, we’re getting somewhere. 

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:) Xoxoxo Nukyster 

[loyally-unfaithful]

pairing: agatsuma zenitsu & hashibira inosuke — though it can be interpreted as pre-relationship

genre: crack (?)

prompt: “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a mall jail with you of all people” (23.) + modern!au

a/n: aaaaaaaaaaaa thank you 🥺🥺🥺

and thank u for requesting ! kinda nervous since this is the first request i’ve ever received haha,,, you didn’t specify a format ? so i wrote it in scenario/hc form—if that’s not what you wanted, you can send a message and i can turn it into a ficlet (Ф∀Ф )

edit: reposted because to my displeasure, this would not show up in the tags :(

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people… » zenitsu groaned, burying his face into his hands.

how did he even get into this situation in the first place?? how does inosuke always manage to rope him into doing some dumb, impulsive, potentially life-threatening shenanigans???

this was supposed to be a completely mundane, uneventful, trivial, everyday trip to the mall.

the pantry was starting to look rather sad and it was his turn to go grocery shopping, so he asked his flatmates if they wanted something while he’s at the shops and started organising his shopping list.

he doesn’t quite understand why tanjiro needed 20 pairs of cheap earphones, but he feels like he shouldn’t question it…

zenitsu hated shopping, absolutely abhors it. something about spending time in the supermarket with the monotonous droning of the cooling systems and the machines singing a duet with that same pop song put on repeat just drained the energy out of him. going shopping was just a drag.

but it was his turn, and he’ll get it done and over with.

everything was gonna be normal and ok.

as he made his way to the shops, he’d mentally pat himself down to check if he had everything on him and go through his list again.

keys? check.

wallet? check.

face-mask? check. (not because of corona, it’s just because it’s common courtesy in japan.)

mobile? check.

hotel? trivago.

inosuke? check.

wait inosuke?!

« wait inosuke?! what are you doing here??! » the blond shrieked in surprise, stopping dead on his tracks.

the loud young man would halt next to him and ask him if he’s gone blind/deaf as inosuke has been « following you since way before. »

now that zenitsu thinks about it, he did remember inosuke exclaiming something like being bored at home and wanting to tag along…

regardless, he doesn’t know if he’s more alarmed by the fact that he didn’t notice inosuke was trailing beside him this whole time or by the fact that the boisterous young man actually had it in him to be sneaky.

zenitsu grinned nervously, praying to whatever god or gods above that everything will be okay despite the human sized tornado he has with him…

even so, the shopping trip was characterised by more peripeteias and tribulations than it really should:

they haven’t even gotten near to the actual store within the mall and inosuke has  already tried to punt a 5 year old for apparently staring at the black haired man for too long.

zenitsu had to quickly defuse the situation and apologise the very alarmed mother and petrified child as inosuke stood still in his shadow, clutching the corner of the blond’s sweater and watched the interaction, not saying a word.

zenitsu grumbled something about dragging him into inosuke’s mess and returned to his walk to the market, inosuke still hanging on the blond’s sweater.

zenitsu’s mind is still boggled. why does tanjiro want 20 pairs of earphones…?

but he ignored this riddle and took inosuke’s hand in his, leading the both of them to the shops—the blond found it oddly endearing how there was such a juxtaposition of inosuke’s rough hand paired with how softly and carefully he’s returning the blond’s hold.

zenitsu allowed the warmth to ground him and, thankfully, they’ve soon made it to their destination safe and sound, without yet another disaster

the two would disperse once in the market, zenitsu collecting these 20 damn pairs of earphones and go down his list while inosuke ran off to god knows which aisle to go ham on the snacks.

the blond would casually shop when he’d hear hurried footsteps before a bunch of product was dumped in his cart. the raven-haired boy would then dash off again to repeat the cycle. the same cycle that has spooked zenitsu more than it should.

one time, zenitsu turned around to find two piercing blue eyes stare back at him. he swore his heart leapt out of his chest as he screeched at the uncannily realistic boar mask that greeted him.

zenitsu is still recovering from his mini heart attack while inosuke bursts into hysterical laughter at the blond’s ‘near-death’ experience.

the latter has just caught his breath when the energetic young man has run off yet again. zenitsu wants to know where the hell inosuke procured such a mask and who the hell put it there. it’s not even near halloween?? they’re literally in june???

when most of the items have been retrieved, zenitsu would window shop as he waits for inosuke to bring yet another armful of snacks. the blond’s current preoccupation was a hair trimmer. should he buy it? his hand hovers as he reaches out, but then halts it to slowly retract it back. he looks at the hair trimmer again… his dilemma. then again it looks scary, maybe he shouldn’t… his gordian knot.

deciding that buying the item would be pointless, the blond looked around. inosuke hasn’t returned in a while…

it seemed that inosuke had already grabbed everything he wanted, and soon found himself bored in a quiet and empty supermarket—boredom and an empty mall: a couple made in hell, a recipe for disaster.

the quieter of the two has started to make his way to the till when he heard a large crash. he silently hopes it has nothing to do with him or the person he brought with him. but of course it did.

inosuke had dived into one of those ball racks near the toy aisle, the rack itself not looking as upright as it should and its content having spilt all over the place.

zenitsu just… takes one look and pretends not to see it.

he just

walks away

so close yet so far. the blond has managed to reach the cash register and has started unloading the contents of his cart when he sees inosuke with his own.

they make eye contact.

zenitsu knows what he’s gonna do.

the black haired man puts one foot on the empty cart.

the blond slowly shakes his head, half trying to tell him to not do it because it’s fucking stupid and half pleading him to not cause more trouble.

inosuke eyes contained a determination and resolve that not even god can stop.

almost like watching an accident in slow motion, zenitsu watched, petrified, as inosuke yeets himself on the cart and send it speeding down the aisle with more force and a higher velocity than what was considered safe.

surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, zenitsu hears a loud crash and a noise that sounded like a potato sack was thrown on the floor—and he was sure he didn’t just hear it because of his sensitive ears.

abandoning his own groceries, he ran off to join inosuke, who laid by a couple of soup cans, some still rolling anyway somewhere—the stand that held them and the splash zone surrounding area having been reduced to chaos.

the young man was comically strewn upside down on his upper back, his lower half flopping over and folding into himself.

ok ooc, but i suck at anatomy but suck even more at describinf so here’s an artistic depiction of how zenitsu found inosuke

ok bye bye sorry for bothering you

« inosuke what…?!! i— are you literally dumb? »

the boarheaded young man just shook off his injuries and righted himself, unfazed, as zenitsu continued his yapping and rambling.

« monitsu..

– what?! zenitsu stopped midword in his lecture, having long stopped bothering to correct inosuke.

– monitsu, run. inosuke finished as he rushed to make a quick dash. »

zenitsu was just sat there, stunned, when he felt an ominous presence behind him.

he slowly turned his head around to delay the inevitable, offering a nervous and fearful grin to the shadow hovering behind him.

with a pathetic expression and an even more pitiful shriek, he was dragged into the mall security office by a guard as another security member chased after the other young man.

despite having run like a bat out of hell, inosuke soon joined zenitsu in the mall jail.

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people… » zenitsu echoed, having dragged his palm down to cover his mouth.

he sat immobile waiting for inosuke’s apology, or maybe any sign of repentance.

he waited.

and waited some more.

« at least try to pretend you’re sorry?!? » the blond gaped in disbelief.

« huh? why? » inosuke just turned around to look at zenitsu blankly. « it was your fault we got caught anyway… »

the blond’s immediate reaction was to retort and argue but swallowed down his arguments. he’s fighting a losing battle.

snapping his mouth shut, he sulked in his own corner as the two waited for tanjiro to collect them.

he sighed, it was… embarrassing. but it didn’t really matter that much at the end of the day: inosuke would probably forget most of the incident within 20 minutes of being freed, and zenitsu just doesn’t find it in him to be mad forever. especially at inosuke.

did zenitsu ever mention he absolutely detests going grocery shopping?

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

[writeyourownlifestory]

Sometimes . . . Dead Is Better

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: IT Rating: E Warnings: Character Death, Zombie(?), Literally Pet Sematary. Gay bashing. Homophobia. Murder. Animal death. Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, lots of death.

Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking, @ambitiousskychild, @tozierking​,

You know what they say about Derry, no one who dies here ever really dies.

IT + Pet Semetary = fun times for no one involved

It all started when their dog passed away.

They had decided to spend their summer vacation in Maine, a terrible decision on their parents as the city had far more to offer than their sleepy little town. Eddie had just started a new job and was only given a week to take off during the months of June to August. They chose July because that’s when it would be the least offensively hot in Maine.

Richie had landed a pretty sweet job interviewing celebrities for Podcasts. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do with his life, but he’d take it over being unemployed. Rather than sit around in their apartment for a week like Richie had hoped they would, they packed up their travel-sized belongings and headed back to the town they grew up in.

Despite his mother begging him to stay in his old childhood bedroom, Eddie put his foot down and settled to rent a room in the local townhouse. Sonia Kaspbrak wasn’t happy about it, but so long as Eddie was back, she’d deal.

Richie was content with this choice. For one, his own family no longer lived in Derry, so it wasn’t like he had anywhere to offer. Second, Eddie’s bedroom, which was basically a shrine to the poor guy, was too small for them to both fits. Not that Sonia would even allow Richie to stay there. She had never lived Richie, neither as Eddie’s friend or boyfriend, so Richie was sure if they were going to stay at the Kaspbrak house, he’d be sleeping on that uncomfortable couch.

Luckily, Eddie cared about his well being enough to not force him to do that and they got themselves a room with a mattress big enough for them both.

It started off pretty good. Eddie’s mother was beginning him to come over and spend time with her, wanting him to use up all seven days with just her. He compromised and gave as much time as he could while also meeting up with some old friends. Mike Hanlon still lived in Derry, running the library as the local historian.

Most of the group had moved on out of Derry, choosing to have lives of their own. The only ones they saw often enough were Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris, who went back and forth from Long Island to California depending on whether or not Bill’s latest novel was to be turned into a script. The last time Richie and Eddie saw Ben Hanscom and Beverly (formerly Marsh) Hanscom was when they announced the birth of their first child.

It was tough growing up and growing apart from the people you always left closest to. Eddie and Richie were lucky as they always had each other. Through all the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations, Eddie had Richie and Richie had Eddie. It wasn’t easy because hello, being gay in Maine was never easy, but they made it work back in high school and they’d make it work here.

The first day had been them getting comfortable and meeting up with Mike for dinner. It was nice seeing a friendly face to talk about all the things that changed. The Aladdin was still standing, still looking as beaten up as ever. The standpipe was still the obnoxious eyesore that made the town look ever so picturesque. Keene’s drug store was still around and Richie made sure to tease Eddie about picking up his inhaler replacement.

They hung out and enjoyed themselves in the townhouse. Eddie was still iffy about certain things and made sure to change the sheets on the bed with the ones they had brought from home. It was for the best and Richie wasn’t going to argue with him, especially since Eddie was more than kind enough to allow Richie to messy them up in their own way when they got home from dinner.

It was the following day that everything turned to shit. Eddie had promised to spend the entire day with his mother, leaving Richie to fend for himself in the penthouse. Along with their luggage, they also brought along with dog Penny. She was a preciously little Pomeranian who was sweeter than candy and the apple of their eye. They had been thinking of getting a pet for a while and after finally buying a place of their own, they went down to the shelter to pick one out.

Pure breed dogs like Penny weren’t usually brought to places like that, rather sold by a breeder, but they were in luck. Her mother had been put up for adoption while pregnant and the puppies were scattered across the shelter. They took the smallest one because it reminded Richie so much of Eddie and welcomed her into their home.

They weren’t too sure where the name came from. Richie joked that they called her Penny because she was dirt cheap compared to so many other dogs that literally cost you an arm and a leg just to have. Eddie liked to think they got it from “Penny Lane” the Beatle song, but neither was right or wrong.

Now, the thing about the townhouse was that the whole thing hadn’t been updated since they were kids. No nice TVs or anything from the modern era. There were fans offered, but no AC unit in place. Richie was suffering from the heat and opened the far window in hopes of casting a bit of fresh air into the place.

He sat on the couch with his computer, trying to come up with some new material for the standup special he had been working on. He was funny and knew he could be funny outside of the podcast world. All he needed was the material to show it off.

Well, Penny was a precocious little pup and always liked to inspect things. She hopped up onto the window sill and began yapping at the birds on the outside. She had done the same thing yesterday, except the difference was there were several inches of glass keeping her at bay. Now there was no barrier between them, so nothing stopped the poor thing from leaping out the window, charging at the birds.

Unlike the birds however, she didn’t have wings to keep her from falling the several stories down onto the pavement below. It was only the sound of her whimpering that caught Richie’s ear. It didn’t take much for the man to realize what happened and by the time he got down to the street belong, Penny was suffering more than any animal should.

Richie was distraught. Despite never having been known to be an animal person, Penny was as close to as a child that Eddie and he were going to have for a while. She was literally their baby. They had taken her at the moment she was able to get off drinking from her mother. They bought her toys and little outfits. Eddie talked about buying a carriage so he could push her around while jogging because her little legs were just too short for the three-mile trip he’d take around the city.

She even had her own corner in their bedroom and a dog house in the living room of their place, but at the end of the day, she always ended up sleeping on their bed.

Eddie even put a little staircase at the foot of the bed so she could hop on up without issue.

And now she was dead on the ground, having fallen from their fucking room because Richie couldn’t just put up with the heat.

He felt awful. Disgusting and terrible. Eddie would hate him for this, that much was obvious. He’d call him every bad name in the book because he just had to open up the window. Even if it was a mistake, an innocent one, that didn’t stop Richie from feeling like garbage.

He called Mike because he had no other idea of what to do. He didn’t know if there were any local vets or anything like that. There was no way they’d be burying her here. The last thing Richie wanted was to leave their precious little Penny behind.

Richie thought about cremating her and bringing her back up to New York. They could scatter her ashes along the water or keep her in an urn in their apartment. Eddie would probably want to leave a little memorial at her favorite park. They didn’t have a backyard or anything like that, so they took her to the dog park two to three times a week.

When Mike came, they sat together, with Penny tucked away inside one of the meatpacking boxes.

He wanted to wait for Eddie. He had to wait for Eddie because if they guy came home and Richie told him that he was gone and Eddie didn’t even get to say goodbye, then that would just make it so much worse.

They sat together in the alleyway behind the townhouse, smoking as Richie thought about his fate and how angry Eddie would be.

“She used to curl up on Eddie’s lap whenever he was trying to work.” He mentioned to Mike with a loving smile. “All she ever wanted to do was cuddle us and we let her because we were mushes. Now she’s gone.”

Richie rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, ignoring the fear of tears coming on. He felt sick to his stomach and looked over to the box just a few feet away from him.

“My dog died when I was a kid,” Mike admitted quietly. “It was before we met. Henry Bowers gave him meat that was laced with insect poison. Guess he thought the old mutt was an eyesore.”

Richie shivered at the thought of Bowers and all the old memories came flooding back to him. He had been a thorn in Richie’s side even before he realized he was gay though the latter didn’t help matters much. He was a racist, homophobic shit who probably went nowhere in life. Or worse, actually made something of himself.

Either way, the less they spoke about Bowers the better.

“My grandfather told me about a place high up on the hills near the old Native American tribute. Apparently, the place still has some magic hidden up there or something. Anyway, he  carried the old boy there and the next day, he was back.”

“Back? Like . . . back from the dead?”

“I can’t explain it, but he was back. Different, but back.”

“Different how?”

“Mean,” Mike confessed, putting out the butt of his cigarette on the nearby wall. “He was pretty vicious. Broke into the barn and killed a couple of sheep. My grandfather ended up putting him down because he was becoming such a problem.”

“Penny couldn’t kill a thing. Barely weights five pounds.” Richie mentioned, looking from Mike to the box. He didn’t believe in magic or anything of the sorts, but he was a desperate man. “Where was this place?”

Turned out to be twenty minutes away by car, out towards where Mike lived and even further than that. The sky was turning dark by the time they got there and passing through the woods didn’t make it any easier.

“I want you to know the only reason I brought you here is that you’re my friend,” Mike told him calmly as they made their way down the path. There was a small area with handmade gravestones and a sign reading “Pet Sematary” hanging above. The incorrect spelling would drive Eddie crazy and Richie found himself smiling just thinking of it.

“So what, I just . . . pick a place?”

“Not here,” Mike said and carried down past the bushels of woods and up the hill town until they came upon a bleak circle with Native American carvings all along the ground.

“Have you been here before?” Richie asked carefully.

“Once. My grandfather and I were looting the area for anything we thought we could sell.” Mike admitted.

“You stole from Native Americans? Don’t they have enough to deal with?” Richie inquired.

With a slight glare, he continued. “He showed me this place and told me a few things about it. He didn’t want me to be curious and find it on my own. Mike paused, turning to hand Richie the shovel as he took the box that contained Penny. “You bury your own.” He told him. “That’s the rule.”

With one last sigh, Richie got to digging. He didn’t think any of this would work, but he was desperate to find out. If it all turned out to be some sick joke on Mike’s end, then at least they could call the trip short. Richie would dig up Penny and they’d go to the next town over to cremate her. They’d handle her ashes properly and Richie would take whatever punishment Eddie had planned for him.

When he was finished, he found himself more tired than expected. Like the place took away whatever energy he had to offer it. He got back to the townhouse and fell into the bed, falling asleep before even realizing it.

When he woke the following morning, it was to the sound of Eddie yelling at him. He jolted up, not knowing what day it was or why he was being hassled. He pushed himself up and out of bed, realizing only now he still had his muddy shoes on.

He stepped out of the bedroom and found Eddie on the floor, kneeling down beside a very dirty Penny. Her normally golden fur was matted with dirt and she was yipping around and around, much like the bubble ball of energy she was before.

“Seriously? What the hell did you do, take her running through the woods?” Eddie demanded, looking up to Richie. “And you! What, did you sleep in dirty clothes?”

“You didn’t come home last night,” Richie mumbled, rubbing his hand against his face.

“Mom had me watch one of those Turner Classic Movie Marathons. I fell asleep on the couch. I texted you but I never got a reply.” Eddie stood them, carrying Penny in his arms. “Come on, pretty girl. You need a bath. And Papa is gonna be the one to do it.”

Penny was shoved in his arms before he could even properly respond. Shuffling off to the bathroom, he listened to Eddie go on and on about his day with his mother while he got the tub set up for Penny.

He watched the dog curiously, trying to piece together what the hell happened. For a split second, Richie thought that the entire events of last night had been a horrible dream. Maybe he had just taken Penny out somewhere and they both got dirty. This town always gave him headaches, a little memory loss was no surprise to him.

“Rich, why is the window open?” Eddie asked as he popped his head into the bathroom. “In the living room. It’s wide open, you didn’t leave it open all night, did you? What if a bird got in? I swear I leave you alone for a fucking day.”

Richie stared with wide eyes at the dog that was digging into the bathroom rug. If last night wasn’t a dream, then that would mean Penny came back from the dead. How the fuck did she get back to the apartment? How did she get into the apartment? Nothing made sense to Richie, but he tried to ignore it all as he lifted her up and put her into the tub.

Normally, Penny was a lover of bath time. At their own apartment, they had plenty of room in their double-sized tub so it wouldn’t be a surprise for her to whine and whimper until Eddie lifted her up and they all bathed together on nights when they just needed some relaxation.

She would sit and allow Eddie to wash her and blow bubbled with her nose. Richie had countless pictures of her on his phone where she had colorful shower caps on to keep her ears or rubber duckies to keep her entertained.

Now, the former majestic and comforting dog was growling and yipping at Richie, going so far as to bite his arm when he tried to wash her. Richie couldn’t remember a single time that Penny had a bit at him, had snapped at all, but he chose not to question it.

She was back and they’d live with the attitude adjustment for now. He made a mental note to message Mike and give him a heads up about the place, but for now, he had a zombie dog to wash.

After the bath, Richie let Penny go and she moved around the apartment, going into the corner sit alone. Richie also took a shower, washing away all the dirt under his hair and somehow in his hair. He changed into clean clothes and found the dirty sheets had already been stripped and changed by Eddie, who was back in the kitchen, typing away on his computer as he drank his coffee.

“I thought we agreed on no work?” He asked casually, going to plop down onto the couch.

“Not work. Social stuff. Updating statues and all that.” Eddie moved forward, going to sit beside him on the couch. He held up his laptop, showing a picture from facebook. It was from Beverly and Ben with their baby on the beach. An adorable scene with Beverly completely slathered in sunscreen because of her pale complexion and Ben wearing the ugliest fucking hat he has ever seen. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Richie had to smile. He wasn’t wrong. They were very, very cute because how could they not be? They had been together since the end of high school. Lots of back and forth before Beverly finally grew a brain and realized the one she wanted and needed was Ben. They were a gorgeous family and Richie was envious of her happiness.

“That could be us someday,” Eddie ventured with a smile.

“Babe, you wear like . . . three times more sunblock than Beverly and if you think I’m wearing a hat that horrendous, you’re mistaken.”

“Not that, dumbass. The baby!” Right. The child.

Eddie had talked about it before. The whole adoption thing. Richie wasn’t opposed to it. Eddie had originally suggested fostering but Richie shut that down hardcore because he knew better. He knew Eddie would never be able to let the kid go so at least if they adopted right off the bat, they wouldn’t have to deal with anybody coming and trying to take the kid away from them.

“Eds, we’ve tried to remember? We just can’t seem to get you pregnant,” Richie teased, the tip of his nose nuzzling Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie sighed, closing the computer and placing it onto the coffee table beside Richie’s. They had talked about a lot of things. Adoption. Marriage. Growing old together. His own parents lived happily together raising two kids before retiring to Flordia. They weren’t perfect, but they didn’t have to be. Richie just hoped to be half the kind of partner his father had been, even if he wanted to be a better father.

“Your mom's not gonna cry and beg you to spend the night again, will she?” Richie asked curiously.

“Probably, but I won’t go. I told her I’d see her later this week but I want to use this time wisely and actually enjoy my vacation. Not just run around and do errands for her.”

“What a good son you are, Eddie Bear,” Richie said, kissing his cheeks wetly. Eddie groaned and pushed him away, causing Richie to laugh out. “Seriously, though. Do you have any plans? Did you sign us up for anything? No one to have dinner with?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, then what do you say to a good old fashioned date, huh? I was thinking: movies, dinner, and a walk along rickety Kissing Bridge?”

It was what they did when they were teenagers. Hang back at the top of the theater, grabbed pizza at the local parlor, and spit loogies off the bridge to the river below. Of course, as they got older and became an item, things became more romantic. They held hands during the movies and separated from the others for dinner. The only spit they shared at the bridge were kisses shared in secret. It wasn’t ideal, but it was good enough for them.

“I think you got yourself a date, Tozier.” Eddie decided, turning his head to kiss Richie.

It almost deepened then and while Richie would have been more than happy to let Eddie have his way with him right on the couch, they both turned away to see Penny pissing on the TV stand.

“Penny! What the hell?” Normally when the pup had to go she would let out a whimper and circle at the door. She was well trained; they had her certificate at doggy school and everything, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. Eddie pushed up off the couch to clean up and Richie watched as the dog walked on, obviously not giving a single fuck.

They changed and left the apartment. Richie worried about what Penny would do when they were gone, what trouble she would get into. She wasn’t a messy dog; she had been a wonderful puppy and didn’t even chew on a single shoe, but now that she was . . . different, he worried about what would come of it.

Richie couldn’t think about that right now. He wanted to focus on something better and that was going out on a date with his boyfriend. They chose whatever the theater was playing when they arrived. Didn’t bother to check online, mostly cause Eddie wasn’t even sure the Aladdin even had a website. They chose The Monkey’s Paw, some old black and white film that was playing; bought their large popcorn and sodas and went up to the top ledge as they did as kids.

Richie kicked his feet up, waiting for Eddie to do the same so they could intertwine their ankles. They shared the popcorn and a few kisses as the film played on. It wasn’t a horrible movie; definitely worth the time to see it through Richie found he much preferred to watch Eddie than to watch whatever was happening on screen.

When it was over, they tossed out their containers and left the theatre. Eddie was talking a mile a minute about the movie they just watched, all the while Richie just smiled and nodded along. They went to the nearby diner for dinner and Richie watched as Eddie searched and searched before finally deciding to go with a plain burger. He asked what kind of grease they used, but gave up trying afterward because it was fucking Derry Maine, they couldn’t expect anything to be healthy around here, even with the growing vegan trend.

They shared fries and onion rings, talking about all the fun they used to have when they were kids, trying to split the bill with their allowances; counting nickels and dimes just to make it. Now they were both making money and paying for the bill was with a quick swipe of the credit card.

It was a calm night, sitting and chatting with each other as Richie continued to flood the table jukebox, playing all the songs they grew up with. He ended on “Together Forever” by Rick Astley because it was loud and dramatic, the exact opposite of Eddie. Richie sang it to him lovingly, not caring if anybody watched. The look he got from Eddie was more than enough. A glance that says: you’re a total idiot but you’re my total idiot.

What more could he ever want?

When they finished, Richie persuaded Eddie to take a walk with him. It was late, but not too late. The moon was high in the sky, just after sundown. The heat settled and the breeze was beginning to pick up around them.

They walked down the lane together, right up to Kissing Bridge. Eddie read the names aloud, trying to think if he knew any of the people. They stopped when they came upon the all too familiar carving. Richie had done it back when they were just kids. Barely fourteen at the time and completely in love with his best friend. The carving was faded by now, but the sentiment meant the same.

R + E

Richie plus Eddie.

“Forever and ever, babe,” Richie mentioned, going to lean against the bridge. He watched Eddie, catching the moonlight in his eyes and in his hair. He was gorgeous and always would be. “You know . . . I had been thinking about this for a while.”

“You: thinking? Oh, that can’t be good.” Eddie laughed softly.

“It’s kind of obvious that you’re it for me, Eduardo. And unless you can find another ugly mother fucking with a gangly body, I think I might be it for you too.”

“Depends on if the circus is coming to town,” Eddie mentioned, a loving smile coming across his face.

“Eds. I’m sure there are thousands of ways I could do this and maybe waiting until we get back to New York is the better choice, but call me a sentimental fuck, but I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather ask you this.”

He had both the ring a month ago, knowing eventually they’d have the time together and he’d be able to ask. Richie couldn’t think of a better place than their hometown. Not because of the idealistic ways around it, but rather because what would be a better fuck you to this horrible town than being extremely gay smack dab in the middle of it?

Richie got down onto one knee, holding out the ring box he had fished from his jacket pocket. It was white gold with an overlay of diamonds. Simple and elegant, just like Eddie himself.

“Eddie Spaghetti,”

Eddie laughed, his cheeks turning scarlet in the moonlight. “Christ Rich,”

“Would you do the honor of marrying me?”

“Do you really think I’d say no, asshole? Yes! One hundred times yes,”

Richie’s smile was as bright as the fucking moon. He slipped the ring on, which was the perfect size because he knew exactly what size finger Eddie had. He knew more about Eddie than he knew about himself sometimes.

When all was said and done he stood, towering over the other male, though he bent forward to kiss him, not caring at his glasses were pushed up against his nose. They’d deal with it later.

Lost in their kiss, neither noticed the car stopping in the middle of the bridge or the driver getting out of it. When they broke away, Richie turned to see an all too familiar blue thunderbird idling on the bridge and coming over to them was the same mullet-wearing asshole that made his life a living hell all those years ago.

“Well, ain't this a pretty sight.” Henry Bowers muttered, looking over to his companions.

“Hello to you too, Bowers,” Eddie said, looking the group up and down slowly.

“Tozier and Kaspbrak. Haven’t seen your ugly faces around here in a while.” Henry mentioned. “Thought I got rid of your losers.”

“No, that was college. We went there while you stayed and jerked off into a bucket.” Richie replied back easily.

“Always knew you two were fucking each other. What? Marsh’s puss wasn’t good enough so you two turned into a couple of faggots?”

“There is so much wrong in everything you just said.” Eddie groaned, rubbing at his temple. The ring caught the moonlight and Henry’s attention.

“Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” Henry mentioned, approaching slowly. He placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder, that sadistic smile that always sent a shiver down Richie’s spine shined darkly. “Welcome home,” He said cheerfully before driving his fist into Richie’s stomach.

It wasn’t their first beating. They had taken blows by Bowers and his gang before and back in New York they were used to someone shouting something at them despite it being new age. They went back and forth, each putting up a fight because they weren’t going to let Bowers win this round.

It came to a close when he tried to take Eddie’s ring. The shorter male bought back, going so far as to land a punch right in Henry’s eye. That pissed him off enough to brandish the knife he always kept in the back pocket. He held onto Eddie’s hand tightly, threatening to cut off his finger and wear the ring around his neck as a souvenir.

At this point, it wasn’t worth it and Richie was shouting for Eddie to just give it up. The other assholes were holding him down, refusing to let him up to help Eddie.

Bowers licked the knife slowly, bringing the tip of it to Eddie’s face to teach him. In a swift move, Eddie jerked forward, kneeing Henry in the dick. The pain was enough to send a surge of angry through him and Bower buried the knife in Eddie’s face, cutting deeply into his cheek.

Eddie cried out, both in shock and pain, while Bowers decided to let the knife stay there as he punched the rest of Eddie’s face until his knuckles were bloody.

Richie thought it would end there. He thought they would be left beaten and bloody, but alive in the middle the street.

They couldn’t get that lucky.

Using the last bit of strength he had, Eddie muttered one final thought. “You should cut that fucking mullet. It’s been like twenty years, man.”

With that, Bowers offered one more blow before standing to his feet. He shouted for the others to come over and help him. They left Richie on the other side of the road to watch as they dragged Eddie over, to the wall of the bridge. And in one smooth move, they lifted him up and tossed him over into the river below.

Richie was left screaming, spitting out blood onto the road as Bowers and his gang drove away. Using whatever strength he had left, Richie pushed himself up, scooping his glasses from the ground, and hurried around to where the opening of the bridge led to the river. He tripped twice and fell first into the edge of the water, pushing himself up onto wobbly legs as he went deeper into the water and over to where Eddie was floating.

“Eddie. Eddie! Wake up, babe. Baby, wake up.” Richie muttered, rolling Eddie over so his face was out of the water.

His eyes were open and his neck was slack. Richie could think of countless times he had gazed into those eyes as a child, as a teen, as a man. No matter the situation, Eddie always seemed to have a wonderful glimmer there.

That glimmer was gone now and replacing it was nothing more than a vacant stare that went nowhere.

His face was mutilated and despite lying in the water for over three minutes, there was no washing the blood away. It stained his skin in the worst way, leaving him wet and icky.

He was completely unresponsive and while it was plain to see that he wasn’t dealing with shock or just fell contentious, Richie continued to hold onto him and mutter his name, rocking him slowly until someone above spotted and alerted the authorities.

Richie was treated for his wounds at the hospital while Eddie was taken away by the coroner. It still hadn’t hit Richie yet that this happened. That Eddie was dead. When he spoke to the hospital officials, they said a full autopsy hasn’t been done but their best guess was a broken neck and drowning.

They cleaned him up and stitched up any wounds he had, leaving him looking more like Frankenstein than anything. He called Mike, not knowing what else to do in this situation. And Mike called Stanley and Bill because this wasn’t something Richie should have to deal with alone.

When Richie tried to report the crime, however, he found himself being rebuffed.

“Henry Bowers couldn’t have done this,” The officer on call explained to him. “He’s on the force. He might be a hothead like his old man, but he wouldn’t break the law. He is the law.”

“Do you think I am fucking lying about this?” Richie practically screamed.

“You already said his dad was a hothead. What makes you think Bowers wouldn’t do this?” Mike challenged the officer.

“Because he is an officer. Now, unless you want to give me a real report, I suggest you deal with your own trouble.”

The officer walked away and the only reason why he didn’t straight up maul the officer was because of Mike holding him back.

“I haven’t even seen him!” Richie shouted to Mike, beginning to pace the hospital, having not seen Eddie since they arrived at the hospital. “I don’t even fucking know where he is.”

He was breaking down. He knew he was breaking down and there was no way to stop it. Richie wanted to fall to the ground and cry, not caring who saw him. He had just proposed. They were going to get married. They were going to look into adoption, they would have a family. Everything was going so fucking well for them and now it felt like the world was falling apart around them.

Mike ended up sweet talking one of the nurses into letting Richie see Eddie. He was given a five-minute window, which seemed cruel for a man who watched his lover died.

He laid on the slab completely still, eyes still wide open as he looked out over nothing. They washed away the blood, though the bruises still remained. There was no point in stitching him up, leaving the wound open on his cheese.

There was no denying it anymore. He wasn’t just frozen in the moment or in a vegetative state. Eddie Kaspbrak was dead and there was no going back.

Richie could only apologize so many times but he’d go on and on for as long as it took. He was so fucking sorry. Sorry that he let Penny fall from the window. Sorry that he fought with his mother to the point where she didn’t want him at her house. Sorry that he bothered to propose in public in such a fucked uptown.

Richie was just so fucking sorry.

All their plans were gone. All their hopes were gone. Eddie was gone.

But he didn’t have to be.

In the darkest part of Richie’s mind, he knew there had to be a way it would work. It worked on a dog, so why not a man? Anything was possible, right? And if it didn’t work, then at least then he would know and he could have closure. If it didn’t work then he’d confess to everything and they’d bury Eddie for real. They’d give him a proper burial and his mom would have Richie even more but that was fine.

It was worth a shot.

Stealing a body from a hospital wasn’t easy and he didn’t really know what to do once he slipped through the back door. He carried Eddie, wrapped up in the sheet from the hospital, all the way to the area that Mike had first taken him too. Richie had never been very strong, but he found the strength to take Eddie all the way up there.

He walked down the path and up the hill. He went passed the dead animals and into the circle. He found a place right in the middle and started digging. He dug, and dug, and dug until there was nothing left but a gaping hole.

He pulled Eddie into it, holding him for just a moment longer.

“Come back to me,” He muttered, laying him down in the dirt. “You fucking come back to me, you understand?”

Pulling himself out of the hole, Richie pushed all the dirt back on until Eddie was completely covered. Lightening light up the sky and rain began to fall down, though he carried on until the hole was complete. He walked back down the trail in a trance, stopping only when he found Mike at the bottom.

“I couldn’t find you,” Mike said, his voice low and shaking. He looked over Richie, seeing the dirt on his clothes and on his hands. “I couldn’t find you and I knew. Richie . . . whatever you did-”

“It’s done,” Richie told him simply, pushing passed him to continue ongoing down the lane.

“Whatever you think you did, it won’t work. Whatever returns to you, it won’t be Eddie!” Mike warned. He reached back, grabbing Richie’s arm to stop him from walking. “My grandfather had a friend, Rich. His son died overseas and he was so desperate to have him back-”

“It’s done, Mike!” Richie shouted to him, pushing him off. “The law won’t do anything, what other choice did I have?!”

Nobody would listen to Richie, nobody cared about what he had to say. He was just another gay man. Useless and pathetic. Wanting all the attention. There was no way they would believe him if he tried to bring this to outside police or even to court. An off duty police officer vs a homosexual.

There would have been proof. They found the knife that was plunged into Eddie’s cheek; it had the initials of Bower's father along the body of it. And it wasn’t like Richie could kick the shit out of himself and Eddie and still have the strength to push him over the bridge.

All the proof was there, but they still wouldn’t listen. Richie, in his desperation and depression, saw no real solution to this problem.

“Using a fucking Native American burial ground should have never been a choice!” Mike insisted.

“You showed it to be in the first place.”

“For your dog! Not your boyfriend!”

Richie’s eyes glazed over, his head shaking as his glasses became fogged up from the rain. “Eddie will come back. Just like Penny did.”

“It won’t end well, Richie,” Mike warned, but the other man wasn’t listening.

He just kept walking down the lane, all the way back to the townhouse.