#beep beep ritchie

[quintsmachete]

"mid" wife?.....ha, ha......no such thing.

[verilybitchie]

Is Doctor Who Transgender Now?

[henrys-wee-hen]

No-One Fucks With The Lobos - Chapter 10

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48070186/chapters/121964458

or read under the cut! Enjoy!

One week later

The soft, rhythmic beeps filled the room. The rest of the ward was silent. Skeleton staff, in the early hours of the morning. No-one could afford to be on the Lobos’ private ward, after all. The nurse manning the reception desk let out a yawn, stirring a cooling cup of coffee miserably. Just ten minutes until the day shift started… and then some other poor schmuck could come and watch over the new fucking Lobo addition. Nameless and faceless to those who didn’t need to know… but word spread, and everyone knew Teddy Lobo had found a partner, finally. Whether that was a good thing (someone to calm him down and keep him grounded) or a bad thing (the Harley Quinn to his Joker, the Bert to his Ernie, the bullet to his gun) remained to be seen.

What that nurse wasn’t prepared for, was a shrieking, monotonal beep that suddenly rang out from that single occupied room. None of the skeleton crew was prepared for it.

Not a fucking flatline!

“Shit!” He picked up the phone. “CODE BLUE ON FLOOR NINE! CODE BLUE, FLOOR NINE!”

Almost immediately, the place was a hive of activity. The on-call head doctor, Dr Tate, surged into the room with the other doctors, lowering the back of the bed to be completely flat. Chest compressions, oxygen, chest compressions, oxygen, over and over. Doctors took turns, working tirelessly… still, that line didn’t budge.

“Nurse! Nurse – call Mr Lobo immediately! Let’s get up to ICU.” The team agreed, and once again, the activity started. “Come on, (Y/N)… now’s not the time to give up…” Dr Tate carried on with the chest compressions while the team prepared (Y/N)’s body for the invasive tubing that ICU required. They only had a few minutes left before Dr Tate would need to make that call… and it had been too good a shift for him to lose Teddy fucking Lobo’s fucking partner.

Teddy lay on his stomach, the pillow hugged beneath his head, mouth open as he snoozed gently. His mother sat beside him in her robe, a fresh coffee in her hand. She ran her fingers through Teddy’s hair, sighing softly. Having her son home… it took her back to the days when Ritchie was alive, and taking care of things, and she didn’t have to claw back the empire he’d been ready to let go. Her little boy, sleeping just the same way… only this time, tattoos covered his beautiful bare skin, telling tales only Teddy knew the plots to. His mind had always fascinated her as he grew up. The way he’d invent things, scenarios, the way he’d see the world through fascinated eyes every day. He saw the world as a playground – a trait he’d never let go. And Bellafrancesca always said, the girl he chose to spend the rest of his life with would need to be able to handle that. The woman he chose to share himself with would need to adore play as much as he did…

So, where had he lost that desire to play? Where, over the years, had her little boy gone? That bright-eyed, curious little thing who’d been so willing to jump into the fray with a cry of ‘fuck yeah!’ or ‘fuck you!’?

Deep down, she knew it was because of her. Her disdain for the very thing she actually loved of him. Her disappointment every time he cocked up a bust, or got in trouble with the police… and his fear of the police, too. Even though they paid officers, he didn’t trust the power of money… and his fear of the Five Families, which had one day got him into a scrape that had nearly given them the plot of the fucking Lion King, but in real life…

Teddy shifted in his sleep, yawning and nuzzling his pillow. He murmured something, batting her hand away from his hair sloppily. Bellafrancesca smiled.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

Teddy’s phone vibrated loudly against the table. He woke with a start, frowning against the dim light of the grey morning that streamed in through the open curtains. He barely acknowledged his mother as he reached for his phone, scratching his head.

“Yeah?” The sleep left him. He turned pale. Whatever sleep he’d had left in him was taken down by the surge of adrenaline that hit him. “No… no… no, no no nonononono! FUCK! Alright – I’ll be there.” He put the phone down, palming his face.

“Teddy?” Bellafrancesca asked softly.

“(Y/N)’s flatlined… ICU… I gotta fucking go.” He climbed from the bed, staggering for the bathroom. Bellafrancesca rolled her eyes. Of course, her son wouldn’t be seen dead having just rolled out of bed. Or that’s what she thought, until she heard him throw up. She closed her eyes.

It took Teddy longer than he wanted it to take to get to the hospital, but when he got there, a fresh-looking Dr Johnson met him.

“(Y/N) is stable, Mr Lobo. We managed to get to ICU in time.” He gave a grim smile. Teddy passed a hand over his hair, shaking like a leaf. He followed Dr Johnson in a daze along the corridors to a more equipped room, where (Y/N) lay peacefully. Face bruised and bare to the world, but covered in a mask that took care of breathing and eating. Teddy felt sick. He felt so, so sick.

Two weeks later

Pulse. A rhythmic, steady beat. A beep accompanying it. Music? No… couldn’t be.

Something didn’t feel right. Purgatory? My chest was heavy and tight but also so, so wide open at the same time… and I didn’t have to do anything.

Nothingness. Blackness. Endless expanse of nothing all at once everywhere.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Soft murmuring… male voices. Dad? Uncle Jim? No. Both not here. No.

Beep. Beep. Hiss… Beep. Beep. Hiss…

Snake Jazz. Haha.

Nothing.

Awareness crept back to me slowly. Spreading out and down from the base of my throat, down to my chest. I forgot about arms and fingers, legs, hips… toes! Toes… Something horrible pulled itself out of my throat. It felt invasive, but then heaviness returned to my chest again. What was I supposed to do?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Oh. Yeah.

I took a huge gasp of air, and it felt like I was coming up from the depths of a deep, dark lake. It took a long time for me to be able to crack my eyelids open long enough to make sense of the world around me. I wasn’t dead – heaven didn’t look like a fucking hospital room, I hoped – but I wasn’t wholly sure I was fully alive, either.

More time passed. People moved around me, poking and prodding at numb skin. God, I felt weak. Cold and weak. But I couldn’t tell them I felt cold and weak, and no-one moved the blankets up around me. The world went dark again for a little while, and then my eyes worked again. It was confusing, a trying time for sure.

It must have gone like that for a while, until I woke up feeling rather fully human. My awareness of myself felt fully into my body, if that made any sense. I had no dead parts, no missing parts. I wiggled every bit of me that I could, and chuckled softly to myself. My eyes didn’t feel like they weighed ten tonnes, either. I looked around, the room still a little fuzzy. It was for sure a hospital room. I was hooked up to all kinds of monitors, but the one with the steady beat was my heart monitor.

A soft groan from a chair beside me caught my attention.

Teddy. Teddy Lobo. Legs sprawled out, slumped down, arms at an odd angle. A single stray curl flopped down on his forehead, his shirt ruffled up just enough from the angles of his arms that a tiny smattering of dark hair showed behind the black tank tops he usually wore. He shifted a little, one leg straightening out a little more. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, but Teddy wasn’t usually in control of what his limbs did. He coughed, slipping down more in the chair, so much that it woke him. He pushed himself up a little bit, yawning. He sat forward, massaging his eyes.

He looked at me. God, he looked tired. His face fell, the stress melting away in place of horror, anguish, joy, relief, all manner of emotions passing across and through those heartbreaking brown eyes. He surged forwards, falling to his knees beside the bed, taking my hand in his.

“Fuck, (Y/N)! I thought – you’re alive – thank fuck you’re alive!”

“Hey,” I murmured. It came out much longer than I’d expected. I sounded slurred, drunk almost. That was not my voice. “Oh… god… I sound… terr’bul…”

“Fuck, (Y/N), you’ve been out of it for three fucking weeks!” Teddy’s eyes shone. He stood up and hit the nurse button, knees shaking. “They – you were in the ICU – I thought you were gonna fucking die on me…”

I couldn’t remember why I was there. Nothing came to me. No memory of anything. Why was Teddy even there?

“Stephanie?” I asked. Teddy frowned.

“Who’s Stephanie?”

“Stephanie?!” I asked again. I just really needed to know where Katie was – was she safe?! “No – Katie is not Stephanie!” I slurred. “Katie – did – you hit me wi-th your car, no?” Teddy frowned at me more, confused. A doctor came in. I didn’t recognise him.

“Ah! (Y/N)! It’s wonderful to see you lucid! Welcome back to us!”

“Where’s Stephanie?” I asked again, my tongue thick. I really needed water, too. “No – Stephanie is not Katie! Katie is okay?”

“Katie? Stephanie?” the doctor turned to Teddy. “Any ideas?”

“Katie…” Teddy stepped a little closer to the doctor. “Was her partner, doc. She died in the line of duty a while back.”

“Ah. Then we have our first problem,” the doctor muttered to Teddy. I couldn’t make sense of it. “Memory loss. Undoubtedly the blood loss and flatlining gave her brain a good shake-up. It might come back… but keep her stress levels down.”

“Did you hit me, Tedbo? Lobert? No – Tobo –“ I fought with my tongue, still. Teddy chuckled and shook his head. “Car aggiden. Orange paint again?”

“(Y/N), what on earth is happening in that fucking mouth of yours, huh?” Teddy asked. He sat down as the doctor took some vitals from me.

“I don’t know.” I watched the doctor remove an unused cannula from my arm. “Did… you… hit… me… with… orange… car?”

“Oh – no.” Teddy shifted. “I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling a little better, baby. Alright?” I nodded smally, my head mashed. “Good. When will she be able to come home, doc Johnson?”

“Hard to say for the moment, Teddy. Keep faith it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

One week later

Relearning to do regular things, like walk and eat and drink water again, was hard enough. I had no idea how I’d gotten to the ICU at all, nor how I’d ended up in Teddy Lobo’s fucking clutches. But I hated him. Everyone kept telling me there were gaps in my memory, but no-one told me about Katie (even though I felt immensely sad for some reason), and no-one told me how I’d been given scarring so bad, I looked like a woodchipper had given me a hug. No-one told me anything.

“When can I go back to work?” I asked Dr Johnson one morning, as he came in to assess my vitals. I was getting stronger every day, and I was sitting up alone today. My body felt real good, but I longed to take a walk outside, feel the cold air on my skin.

“Oh, not for a while, yet,” Dr Johnson smiled. “You’ll need to be able to remember everything before you can think about going back to work. Alright?” I gave a resigned nod.

“Hey. There’s a police officer at the NOPD. Rebecca Quincy. Can you call her? Tell her to come see me? I could use a friendly face.”

“Certainly, (Y/N).” Dr Johnson gave me that same, patient smile. I lay back.

“And… can I walk today? Like outside, for a bit?”

“I’ll have a physical therapy nurse come in to accompany you.”

“Thank you, doc.”

Rebecca would explain everything. Rationally, I’d obviously had something big and bad enough happen to me, if I’d been in the ICU. Dr Johnson had explained to me that I’d suffered rather severe injuries that had left me with broken bones, a lot of cut up skin, and a lot of blood loss. I’d taken three transfusions on the operating table, and then I’d crashed and flatlined at one point. But I still had so many questions.

Why was Teddy Lobo being so fucking nice to me?

Why was I in a private hospital bed, when my work’s basic healthcare just about covered little more than the benefits that came with MedicAid?

What had actually happened to me to make me so injured?

Why was Teddy Lobo being so fucking nice to me?!

Why didn’t Rebecca come to see me? Or Katie?

Why did I feel so sad whenever I thought about Katie?

What the fuck was happening to me?!

I was sleeping for twelve to fourteen hours a night when they decided that sending me home would be a better idea. I woke up in a beautifully-ornate bedroom. Black Egyptian cotton sheets. Buttery-soft pillows. Half-drawn shutters. The sound of a videogame coming from somewhere. Smell of pizza.

Katie was dead. I was captive. Had been for months, now. The attack. The rape. The bathtub. Kissing. Teddy fucking Lobo had snapped and had tried to fucking kill me.

I sat up. My heart hammered against my chest. It flooded back to me in one whole freight-train-heavy hit. I felt the tears escape down my cheeks. Teddy fucking Lobo had tried to fucking kill me?! I remembered everything. And I laughed, a little bit demonically. I wasn’t going to take the fucking knee for him. No. He was going to take the fucking knee for me. And then, I was going to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me.

I slid from the bed and landed on shaking legs. I padded through the thick-carpeted corridors, following the sounds of the videogame. It took me past the kitchen, where I swiped a large, heavy kitchen knife from the block on the counter top. Through another corridor, the videogame was loud now. Mario Kart. Teddy, sat in front of the game on the sofa, back to me, pizza open beside him with three slices left. Engrossed. He was doing fairly well, too, in first place with a lot of little power-ups stored. He used them in quick succession, and won the race, making a little ‘yesss’ sound. Juvenile little bastard.

I stumbled behind him and took hold of him, pressing the blade of the knife weakly against his exposed throat.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking end you right now, like you tried to fucking end me, Teddy-bear?” I breathed, my voice surprisingly steady. Teddy held his hands up and swallowed against the blade.

[gayboymint]

beep beep ritchie :)

WELCOME TO THE LOSERS CLUB ASSHOLE

[grav3yardbb92]

Beep! beep! Ritchie. Beep! beep!

[spookylilbimbo]

Beep beep Ritchie, this is New York city

[sad-trash-hobo]

Keep your Reddie over there away from me where it belongs

[theuselessghost]

In honor of the new movie

I’m just now realizing that he’s in front of the Seinfeld logo...

Anyways, Pennywise was an absolute pleasure to draw and there’s definitely going to be more of him from me.

[floatingtozier]

Headcanon that Richie cried when Buddy Holly died

[strawb3rryfemme]

Y'all ever just draw your son about to kill a fucking clown?

[quintsmachete]

[beatles-slash-fiction]

can we get some over the top georgie angst? hurt comfort maybe?

WARNING: mentions of physical trauma, assault, implied non con

*****

When Ringo regains consciousness, everything hurts.

He feels as though he’s been thrown down a flight of stairs and every muscle in his body is bruised and every bone broken. He feels utterly exhausted, and it takes him a moment to piece together the events of the evening.

“Relax, Mr Starkey. You’re safe now.”

The lights are bright and he’s in a bed.

Hospital.

“George,” Ringo croaks, his throat dry and lips cracked.

“Your husband is in the next room, Mr Starkey. His injuries are quite extensive but he’s awake-“

Ringo tugs at whatever wires are keeping him attached to beeping machines as he tries to haul himself out of bed, desperate to be with George.

“Need to see him,” Ringo says, feeling slightly breathless.

“You will be able to see him,” the doctor promises him. “We need to examine and treat him first. He has quite a few stab wounds and potentially a collapsed lung.”

The room is spinning. Ringo is suddenly assaulted with memories from just a few hours ago; a maniac with a knife in his house, hellbent on killing them; George struggling as the intruder pinned him to the ground; Dhani screaming-

“My son,” Ringo says. “Is he alright?”

“Your son is fine,” the doctor reassures him. “He’s here as well but has no injuries. You can see him shortly.”

But George...stab wounds-

“He’s just recovered from cancer,” Ringo blurts out, his voice shaking and tears in his eyes. “I don’t know if you need to know that, but George had surgery recently and he’s been really unwell-“

“We know. It’s alright, Mr Starkey. We have his medical history.”

Ringo swallows, another memory coming back to him. “Just check him over really carefully please. I was unconscious for some of the attack and...I don’t know if he did other things to George-“

And then he just starts crying. A nurse puts a blanket round him and holds his hand but Ringo just feels utterly pathetic. He failed to protect his family.

It’s another hour before they allow Ringo to see George, and even though George is conscious and actually smiling, Ringo still can’t help but burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” Ringo sniffs. “I should have protected you. I should have fought harder.”

“You did protect me,” George says softly, squeezing Ringo’s hand. “I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you. And Dhani is safe. You were so brave, Ritchie.”

Ringo can’t believe George is the one comforting him.

He can’t imagine how much pain George must be in right now.

“You’ve been brave for such a long time,” Ringo says, stroking George’s hair. “And just like before, I’m gonna be right here until you get better.”

He traces his fingers across George’s cheek and down to his neck. There are still red handprints there.

Ringo has never wanted to kill anyone ever in his life, but he wants to kill the man who did this.

George suddenly lets out a violent cough, and there are small specks of blood all over the bedsheets.

“That’s normal,” the nurse tells them softly. “But that should stop soon.”

George looks exhausted and old; a word Ringo has never before used to describe his husband.

He takes a seat on the bed next to George and holds him close, kissing his temple.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Ringo promises.

[fitsofgloom]

"Beep beep, Ritchie!"

[skinks]

So we know there’s homophobic graffiti about Richie in the girls’ bathrooms at school. At least. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine it was elsewhere; written on paper airplanes, scratched into desks, even scrawled on his locker.

Beverly would scribble out the one in the girls’ bathrooms, I’m sure. She might even tell Ben or Eddie about it, and that would give Eddie an idea - Eddie, the walking embodiment of the totally uninformed “well actually” response. It’s not like Eddie thinks he’s that much of a smarty-pants (he gets his facts muddled sometimes, he’s not like Stan) it’s just that whenever a topic arises he feels he can contribute to, he can go a little overboard.

This is because most topics Eddie’s familiar with are the ones that stress him out, and the nervous rambling calms him down. It’s out there and expunged for the others to pick at and argue with. It’s like letting air from a balloon instead of waiting for the needle to burst it.

The point is, there’s another topic on which Eddie’s a true expert (insofar as someone can be an expert on the completely bewildering) and that topic is Richie Tozier.

So, Eddie feels this need to set the record straight. Funny choice of word, that - straight. He doesn’t - Eddie doesn’t know about that stuff, about straight and the other things that kids cough into their fists when Eddie and Richie walk to shop class together, even though they’re never even doing anything. Seems all it takes is just... existing. Getting in the way.

Eddie thought straight meant doing what Nancy Reagan says on TV, Going Straight, Just Saying No to Drugs, but then, Eddie can barely remember a day in his life he hasn’t swallowed some kinda pill. It’s hard to say no when you need ‘em. Even when you know they’re bullshit or they’re bad for you or they could get you killed in a town like Derry.

It’s hard to go straight when you like ‘em.

Eddie may need a helping hand to know bullshit when he sees it (a consequence of growing up with Richie Tozier, when bullshit and truth are tied up so close together like captives on a railway line, you forget the difference even matters that much if it’s all to make you laugh regardless) but once Eddie knows bullshit, he never forgets. These things they say about Richie and Bev and Mike and all of them, they’re bullshit, if only for how they make Richie’s shoulders jerk up to his ears like his spine broke. For how he’s always surly and cracks meaner jokes in the clubhouse afterwards, as if he thinks being worse than the bullies will make things better. It doesn’t. It’s bullshit, but Eddie’s not allowed to throw rocks in school, so.

He uncaps his pen. Not with his teeth. He’s afraid of the ink leaching poison in between his tastebuds like an oil slick through cobblestones, though the cap is still a chewed victim to Eddie’s ongoing feud with the quadratic formula. This is his second correction of the day, concealed by the lockers in the bustle of third period changeover. His first was actually in math that morning, the need presenting itself when Eddie had knocked his protractor off the edge of his desk and seen what was written on the wooden underside when he shuffled and scrunched down to retrieve it.

richie tozier is a dirty fag

He’d hunched there, tense and staring. His fingers found the hard edge of his protractor as he looked at the black little missive in the wood, nestled angrily between two gray lumps of chewed gum like a spider. Teeth marks in the gum and Eddie hadn’t even cared, because a hot spout of anger had flushed through his entire body. They didn’t know shit. They didn’t know shit. Eddie might let himself wonder in the dead of night what it means that his mother hates Richie more than all the rest and calls him dirty, like she calls Bev dirty. He leans up against the notion and hears something telling, like sitting against a wall and hearing mice scrabble secretly inside. But his anger was really at the crime of these assholes thinking they have the right to say anything at all about Richie Tozier, like they know him.

Like Eddie knows him. He’d groped around for his up-above pen and done it quickly, so hot in his chest he’d almost whimpered, almost cried. The wood gave a hollow rasp of a laugh as he scraped with his ballpoint at a funny angle, until Mr. Warwick had asked if Mr. Kaspbrak planned on joining them any time soon. Eddie emerged with his pen and protractor clutched like the angel Michael’s sword, his face red from the blood hung there, upside-down. Truth matters more, Eddie knows that better than most.

Now he braces his forearm to the cold metal of Richie’s locker, hiding his work. This is the right answer. Let them all copy if they like, once he’s done. His chin crumples and his lower lip begins trembling when he thinks of Richie’s expression when he saw this one. It was yesterday, but Mr. Gray the janitor hasn’t cleaned it off yet.

ritchie tozer has aids, it says.

He scribbles it out. Eddie’s jaw quakes remembering Richie’s face, and so he clenches his teeth, bites down like he would do to his inhaler and pretends it helps. Bite on this, Eds, Richie would say sometimes, holding the aspirator steady. Eddie pretends any of this helps, just like he pretends the stinging in his eyes is because of the jabbing stench of the marker.

Squeak, squeak. The marker, those mice again, chewing holes through Eddie’s frightened fabrications to let the truth shine through.

Richie Tozier made me laugh so hard I snorted a booger into my coke, bold on metal.

Richie Tozier eats sandwiches with no filling just butter, under a desk by the window in room MA3. They might never find it there, scratched into wood like people do to the Kissing Bridge. It makes Eddie’s chest hurt in a funny way, to imagine coming back for some school reunion to see that again, when they’re old. No track trophy or academic legacy to denote Eddie Kaspbrak’s time at Derry Middle, just one lone shout in the darkness. Beep beep motherfuckers, you let him go. Anyway, Eddie thinks maybe it’s not so bad to be defined in the end by the effect you had on those you love.

Richie Tozier’s hot, riding three small hearts on the grubby side of a second storey girls’ bathroom stall. Beverly told him about it, then laughed at something, clapped her hand to Eddie’s tense shoulder with a jolt.

It’s just to cover up the bad stuff, Ed, she said. The words don’t really matter at all.

Someone knocks past Eddie’s backpack, jostles him forward. He rests his hot forehead to his arm as he finishes things up, hot with anger, hot with pride, hot with something else like fever that wants to be as brave as Bev, as eloquent as Bill, as big-hearted as Ben and write—the truth.

He can’t. Richie Tozier made me laugh so hard I snorted a booger into my coke is still true, after all. Nobody else ever makes Eddie laugh that hard.

Further down the hall and unbeknownst to Eddie, Richie squeezes his backpack straps until his hands shake. He stumbles back to lean against the wall, and watches.

[thatfilthyanimal]

Chapters: 21/36 Fandom: Megamind (2010) Rating: Mature Relationships: Megamind/Roxanne Ritchi - Summary: Canon-Compliant starting immediately after Megamind defeats Hal.

Being the Defender of Metrocity is not a title one earns easily. Like most things Megamind would like to have, it’s earned with trust. He barely knows the meaning of the word.

--

BEEP BEEP chapter 21 is up :u

[vampirecorleone]

“beep, beep, ritchie.”