#i miss my uncles' house i miss how breezy it always felt and i miss the steep stairs and the old stove

[femmeterypolka]

going to provincetown would fix me

[vampiresuns]

A Little Closer To The Edge | Asra x Milenko

☽ A LITTLE CLOSER TO THE EDGE ☽

2.1k words. Written for Asra Week 2021, Day 7: Free Day. In which Asra asks Aisha to teach him how to hold a man like thirst holds water. This is set after the events of the game. Milenko is not the apprentice.

You can read the entire Asra and Milenko’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

As a note, ‘Sasi’ is one of Milenko’s nicknames. It comes from his middle name, Sisay. ‘Sisay’ means good omen in Amhraic.

Thank you @lisa-frank-cave​ my beloved for helping me come up with asratfits. No cws apply. Happy Birthday, Asra 🎂💜

O father, O foreshadow, press into her — as the field shreds itself with cricket cries. Show me how ruin makes a home out of  hip bones. O mother, O minutehand, teach me how to hold a man the way thirst holds water. Let every river envy our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body like a season.

— Ocean Vuong, “A Little Closer To The Edge”

Asra had to excuse himself from his own birthday party, needing a moment alone after realising everyone who mattered to him was there, laughing and sharing beverages and stories of their own, talking about nothing of importance, but sharing a good time nonetheless. 

It was his first birthday after the Devil had been stopped and the end of the world averted, the first birthday he could spend with his parents after a long, long time. There was Selasi and Muriel, free and happy, finding his own footing again; there was Amparo who had kissed his cheek when she wished him a happy birthday, there was Nadia and Portia, old friends recovered and new friends made. There was Anatole, his beloved friend, who had danced with him, spinning him in circles, and now insisted on sharing his chair with Ilya, even though there were chairs to spare. 

And there was Milenko. Beautiful, joyful Milenko with his smile and the freckles on his cheeks, like the night-sky itself had blessed him with kisses. 

When Aisha found him, he immediately began crying, throwing his arms around his mother in search of comfort. All had passed, all was forgiven, and none of them had to be alone again. More importantly, he didn’t have to be alone again.

He thanked his mama for the hug, as Aisha kissed his head and reminded him of the blessing that he was, and the many blessings he deserved. 

“And you will have them, insha’Allah, Habibti,” Aisha said before they joined the dinner party again, asking Asra to lean his head down so she could kiss it again.

It was early dinner, they would later go to the theatre, Amparo had a performance and she was able to snatch good seats for Asra’s birthday, attributing it to her endless charm. When the time approached, some of them left with Amparo who had to be there earlier, while Nana, Ilya and Milenko stayed back to help clean around.

Asra didn’t know what it was, but Milenko looked radiant. His curls bounced when he laughed; a pair of crescent moon pendant earrings, gold pleated with blue topaz tears hanging from the bottom of the moon dangled from his ears. He was wearing black high waisted pants, a textured belt marking his waist. Right now, as he washed dishes with Julian and Salim as they chatted, he had pulled up the sleeves of his white, unbuttoned poet shirt. Milenko mentioned being interfaith, and his father began talking to him about it, Julian happily chiming in.

Asra noticed Milenko still washed the dishes with his hip popped to one side, and his backside sticking out.

When he came in, he had been wearing a navy blue jacket with clean lines and golden buttons that reached the beginning of his hips, too. Being 31 looked good on him, and either Asra had never stopped being in love with Milenko, or he was falling in love all over again. 

The poet changed his weight from one hip to another. Asra was going to go insane. 

“Oh, I think I know that look,” Aisha said, snapping Asra out of it. 

His cheeks went cherry red as he tried to divert the topic. Anatole, leaning against an archway with a mischievous turn in his lips, was about to say something but Asra stopped him before he could. His friend threw his hands up in surrender; Aisha, thankfully, didn’t say anything else but Asra knew his mother would bring it back sooner or later. 

Aisha laughed with Asra’s relieved face. Salim turned to her, and with him, Milenko did too, smiling at Asra once his chestnut eyes found his purple ones. Asra was doomed. 

He was right about Milenko being brought up later, but it was Salim the one who brought him up first.

“He speaks very highly of you,” he said, as he and Aisha wished Asra a good night. 

Asra’s choked up: “He does?!” didn’t go unnoticed. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about Milenko. While Asra had found a new sense of comfort in openly confiding in his parents about most things that went through his mind or his heart, everything was too muddled for him to even know what to say. So he promised he’d tell them more about it when he knew what to tell them, and they let it go for the time being. 

To the chagrin of Asra’s sanity, the world wasn’t done throwing Milenko his way.

Running into Milenko once or twice a month wasn’t odd for Asra, but the more time passed, the more it seemed those chances grew. Asra was now running into him even twice per week, sometimes more. It was so much, he had discovered missing him on the weeks they didn’t run into each other, Asra turning at every possibility, perking up whenever he felt like he saw Milenko around.

On top of that, Aisha and Salim had taken kinship to Anatole’s parents —his father in particular. The three of them shared alchemy as a passion and profession. Anatole’s father, Vlad, still refused to become a palace magician, even if he liked Nadia much more than he ever liked Lucio. Still, he was always happy to stop around to see his son and meet up with his new friends, the three of them, along with Anatole’s mother, going out to dinner together rather often.

Asra knew all the Radošević-Cassano, so he needn’t be reminded Vlad was very close to his Radošević cousins: Violeta and Atanasie — Milenko’s mother and uncle. He choked on his drink when his parents told him they were just having dinner at Violeta’s and Aurora’s place. 

“Milenko asked if you would join us,” Aisha said, tapping her index on her lips. “He seemed a little crestfallen when we said you wouldn’t. Perhaps you should come with us next time.”

The Milenko conversation, or rather, confession, didn’t come out of Asra until some months later. One warm but breezy evening Asra and his parents were having dinner in The Sphinx Coffee-house. Milenko had come down through the backroom, for once not wearing a shirt that made him flash his tits out to half of Vesuvia. What he was wearing was simple, but he looked handsome and elegant: a black, high neck shirt, black pants, and a shawl with embroidered constellations over his shoulder. 

Amador, the Dos Santos sibling who was running the Sphinx that night, greeted him cheerfully, the Alnazars being close enough to hear, but not close enough for Milenko to see them yet.

“Hello, doll-face, how’d your date go?” 

Milenko’s underwhelmed reply made Asra feel like he could breathe again. Both of his parents noticed, just like they noticed the way both of them startled when Milenko noticed their presence. He ended up excusing himself, claiming he was being waited on in the Community Theatre. 

After that Asra couldn’t hold it in much longer. A day or two afterwards, he was basking in the sun with his mother when he sat up, and without any contextualisation he just said: “How do you do it, mama? How do you keep someone you love close, when you think you have lost them but maybe you haven’t?” 

Aisha looked at him, sensing her child was not done talking.

“You’ve been with Dad for so long, how do you do it: how do you make home out of ruins, how do you hold someone like thirst holds water?”

Aisha sat up, taking Asra’s hand in hers. “I didn’t know you were good with poetry, habibti.”

“I’m not,” he sighed.

“But your Milenko is, isn’t he?”

Asra’s smile was sad and lovelorn. “He is, mama, he really is.”

This time, Asra told Aisha everything, and when Salim came back from getting bread at Selasi’s, he patiently listened to Asra too. They both offered the advice that they could, but mostly let Asra say everything he was holding in, reminding him he didn’t have to keep these things to himself anymore, that he could confide in people. 

Once Asra was done talking he felt relieved. The best advice his parents could give him was that he tried. If he was honest about his feelings and communicated them like he had just done, he might realise that not everything was quite as it seemed. Perhaps he could start little by little, trying to spend time with him again. He had come so far, and he was such a wonderful person to know, that the worst thing he could do was not give himself the chance. 

They both said that it was clear Milenko cared about him too, more than Asra noticed. 

“You don’t have to take it from us,” Aisha said, squeezing his hand again. “What would your friends say? What would your Anatole tell you? Or Muriel?”

Asra laughed. “Muriel would either tell me to just do it or roll his eyes at me. Anatole would convince me to be more brave and hopeful than I ever thought it was possible being.”

Salim kissed Asra’s forehead. “Then try, you are very deserving of hope.”

His parents were invited to Aurora’s and Violeta’s in two more days, and they offered Asra to come with them: maybe Milenko would be there, and he would have a chance to at least talk to him, though Asra had insisted he did talk to Milenko, in general at least, so they shouldn’t worry too much. 

Salim hummed. “I didn’t know you had talked all that is capable of being talked to him already.”

“Dad.”

When the day came, Asra dressed as nicely as he could think of, without being obvious. He wanted to look and feel pretty, even if he was trying not to get his hopes up. It was hard not to, however. Hope was contagious. 

Milenko wasn’t around, even if Aurora and Violeta were thrilled to have Asra around for dinner again. They eagerly shared stories about Asra from the past. He tried not to feel disappointed Milenko wasn’t there, or mortified about the stories. He understood they shared them as mothers, subtly encouraging him to make his parents partake in the memories he had once made in their home. 

After dinner, Violeta insisted on showing Asra her garden for old time’s sake, taking his hand as she walked into it, guiding him through the paths of the small space, and the two micro greenhouses she kept there. One housed venomous plants only, her speciality; the other, orchids. 

Violeta turned to Asra. “How are your orchids, darling?” Asra had never told her he grew orchids, and while he wanted to suspect his parents might have told her, the way she spoke reminded him of Milenko. No, Violeta didn’t need to be told to know he did — Milenko got his clairvoyance from her after all.

“I’ve never asked,” Salim said, walking a little behind Asra and Violeta. Aisha was talking to Aurora about her latest restoration commission. “Did you teach Asra to grow orchids?” 

Violeta blinked at him. “I’m afraid not.” 

Asra rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. “If she had, I’m sure they’d grow better. I learnt from books, on my own.” 

“I can give you a couple of tips, my son is a patient man.” 

Aisha caught up with them, Asra wanted the earth to swallow him and spit him far away from there. “How romantic of you, and here I was thinking you were helpless.” 

Aurora snorted. “Don’t worry: he may have a poet’s tongue, but on the inside, Sasi is no better.” 

He didn’t see Milenko at all that night, not that Asra considered the evening unfruitful because he didn’t. He had come out of it with Violeta’s instructions for tending to orchids and he planned to apply them to the best of his capacity. 

* * * * *

Milenko was writing in the little office he had in the periodical he wrote for, though office might have been an over-glorified word for a table that was in the corner, overflowing with papers, next to a window filtering sunlight in. 

He heard his editor tell him he had a visitor, and Milenko, still half entranced by the sound of pouring water from the enchanted vases on his desk, just gave him a half-hearted hum, accompanied by an absent sounding plea to give him just a minute longer. 

Asra stood there for more than a minute, but he didn’t care. There was too much adrenaline in his veins for him to care. Nerves piled up on the mouth of his stomach but he stood his ground, watching as Milenkos curls moved softly as he wrote, his ink stained hands carefully avoiding the places the ink had not yet dried. He had seen him do this so many times, acting like an automaton as the water filtered everything that wasn’t the words and the visions outside of his sphere. 

Milenko finally looked up, mouth agape as Asra licked his lips and gave him a nervous smile, a blush expanding from his cheeks to his ears. 

“Hi,” was Mielnko’s bewildered reply as he looked at Asra, standing in front of his desk, a rainbow shawl with tiny bells on the hem over his shoulders, a raspberry shirt and deep purple palazzo pants, as he held a flower arrangement with no less than seven orchid stems, blooming into multiple flowers each. 

“I grew them myself,” Asra explained, not needing to tell Milenko who they were for.

“They’re— they’re my favourite flower.”

“I know. That’s why I grow them.”

[munamania]

the promise (ch. 1)

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

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

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

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

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

“I know.”

read on ao3

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

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

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

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

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

 At least it got easier with time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But boy, was he a lot of fun.

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

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

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

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

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

 It stings like a bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Right.

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

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

 “Do I make myself clear?”

 “Y-yes sir.”

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

 But he stands up.

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

 And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

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

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

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

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

 “Richie—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It takes a lot of work, as always.

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

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

 But he can’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 In a way, it’s heaven.

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

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

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

 A ghost of a smile.

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

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

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

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

 “Please, just stay still!

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

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

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

 “In the way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Night, toots.”

 “Goodnight, Richie.

 Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

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

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

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

 But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

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

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

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

 “Eddie.”

 A muffled, “Mmph?”

 “Eds, wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And, sure, that’s terrifying.

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

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

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

 Until it wasn’t

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

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

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

 Just as quickly, he loses it.

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

Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Some deals are made to be broken.”

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

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

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

 “Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

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

 “Stop, please, fucking stop!”

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

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

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

 “I don’t wanna die - ”

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

 “Fuck the arcade!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 That’s when it all goes downhill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Fuck you, Maggie!”

 She follows him down the hall.

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

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

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

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

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

 “I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And he’s perfect.

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

 And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

 He doesn’t.

 Mrs. K knocks at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It sucks when Beverly leaves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But it’s nothing.

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

 At least his friends are smart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

 Richie feels sick.

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

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

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

 “Bev would love this.”

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

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

 But it remains with them.

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

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

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Nine: He’s A Rockstar

Forever? Masterlist

7th April 2017 “Big day today!” Roman welcomes Ashley as she entered the offices, armed with a box of donuts and a fruit platter, her attempt at making Harry and his team feel welcome. She knew he would be getting the VIP treatment at Radio 1 seeing as Harry was so close to Nick, so she wanted to make sure he felt equally as comfortable at Capital.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed, “Harry was texting me all of last night, worrying about what people will think, but you and I both know how loyal his fans are, he could release a nursery rhyme fused with rap, and he’d probably somehow go to number one.”

“That actually isn’t a bad idea.” Roman chuckled, “Anyway, what time is Harold getting here?” 

“Well he’s on the show at 8:30, so just before that I guess.” Ashley explained.

“Good morning you are listening to the Capital Breakfast show that was Shape of You by Ed Sheeran.” Roman said into his microphone.

“Now today is a very special day in music history, because we have got solo artist Harry Styles in the studio,” Ashley told the listeners, gaining an applause from the staff in the studio.

“Hello, thank you for having me,” Harry said softly.

“We’re going to play the track in a minute, but I have to ask you, how does it feel being a solo artist?” Roman asked him.

“It’s weird, but in a good way, I’m excited for you all to hear it, well Ash heard it last week, when she bought Daisy over.” Harry told him.

“And what did you think of it Ash?” Roman asked.

“She cried when I played it, I think they were happy tears, and Daisy, my harshest critic liked it enough not to fall asleep during it.” Harry explained.

“That’s great, well would you like to do the honours of introducing it Harry?” Roman enquired.

“You’re listening to my new single Sign of the Times on Capital.” Harry soothed into the microphone. Ashley sat quietly as the first few lines began to play, “You aren’t going to cry again are you Ash?” Harry got up, wandering over to where she was sat to give her a quick embrace.

“It’s incredible H, congrats man.” Roman gave him a tight hug, patting him on the back.

“Hiya Jean, how’s she been?” Ashley asked, entering the house of her childminder.

“An absolute angel as always, she’s going to break hearts one day.” Jean led her through to the living room where Daisy was playing with two girls around the age of four years old, “she loves playing with these two, and they love playing with her, we also made some cupcakes today, these are Daisy’s.” Jean handed her a pink tupperware box filled with four cupcakes decorated with piles of sprinkles and smarties.

“They’re lovely thank you, I think I’m going to have to grab her and go today, we’re going to my friend’s for dinner tonight.” Ashley explained.

“Of course I understand, I’ll go and get her for you.” Jean bought back Daisy who was babbling away about her toy zebra, a new obsession of hers. 

“Hello little monkey, have you been a good girl for Jean?” she whispered, taking her daughter and bouncing her on her hip, “We’re going to see uncle Harry, you like that don’t you poppet? Thank you again Jean, I’ll see you on Monday, have a good weekend.” Ashley said as she strapped Daisy into the buggy.

“You too love.”

After a stressful ordeal getting herself and Daisy ready for dinner at Harry’s, Ashley finally arrived at his North London home, Daisy in one arm babbling away, she rang the doorbell which was quickly answered by Harry who was wearing the same black shirt from earlier, with some jazzier yellow trousers. “Hello you two! Come on in,” He welcomed them over the threshold into the hallway that Ashley had always found intimidating, “How are you?” 

“We’re good, but I won’t lie, getting this little madam dressed was stressful,” Ashley told him as she tickled  her under the chin.

“I like the pink of her dress, it matches the album cover,” Harry said smugly, pulling faces at Daisy who was clearly having a great time.

“No one’s seen the album cover yet Harry.” Ashley sighed.

“Yeah but it’s great for my natural narcissistic self,” Harry noticed Ashley struggling to take her coat off, “Do you want me to take her?” He asked, before Ashley handed her over, “Shall we go get your mummy a drink Princess Daisy?” Harry asked her as he carried her into the kitchen, Daisy babbling away to Harry, who Ashley had pretty much concluded was her favourite person. Ashley joined them in the kitchen where several people she recognised stood mingling, Lou, his hairstylist, was chatting with Gemma, Anne, Nick Grimshaw and Harry Lambert, people Ashley had met a handful of times. Jeff, Harry’s manager was talking to several people she assumed were from the record label. “Hiya love how are you?” Lou greeted her with a kind hug.

“Not bad, getting Daisy out of the house was a whole mission, I’m sure you know what I mean Lou.”

“Trust me, wait until she’s talking, she’ll want full control of her wardrobe choices.” Lou told her.

“How are things on the dark side Ash?” Nick asked, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Bright and breezy, Roman sends his love,” The rivalry between Radio 1 and Capital went back years, both radio stations strived to be the number one station for young people, both had succeeded at various points in radio history.

Ashley glanced over at Harry who was holding Daisy whilst talking to his band, “Are you sure Daisy isn’t his?” Nick whispered, loud enough for Lou to hear.

“Positive, we haven’t even kissed Nick.” Ashley assured him.

Before Nick could question her anymore Harry shushed everyone to make a speech, Daisy sat comfortably in his arms, “Firstly, I would like to say thank you all for coming tonight, it means a lot to have my favourite people in one room, I am extremely grateful for you all, I’d like to thank Jeff and the label for all your support with the record, and of course my band for being wonderful people, Lou and Harry for keeping me looking half presentable. And of course mum and Gem, they say it takes a great woman to raise a great man, but in fact it took two, and I love you very much,” Ashley glanced over at Anne who was wiping tears from her cheeks, “And finally my bestest friend of all time, Ash, I feel like the luckiest man that I get to call you my best friend, we’ve grown up together, experiencing life together, and although our lives have taken very different paths, they seem to be running side by side, with the addition of this gorgeous little lady.” 

“To Harry!” Nick cried, raising his glass in the air, everyone following his action.

The party had died down, pretty much everyone had left, except Gemma, Anne, Nick and Ashley who sat sprawled out on the large sofas in Harry’s front living room. Harry entered the room, passing around a bowl of crisps, admiring Daisy who had fallen asleep in Ashley’s arms, “I think we’re going to have to head home soon Haz.” Ashley whispered, “I’d rather get the tube before all the drunks get on it.”

“I’ll drive you if you like,” Harry offered.

“There are two flaws in that H, you’ve had several glasses of wine and champagne, and I don’t have Daisy’s car seat, we’ll be fine on the tube.”

“I’ll call you a cab.” Harry had always been quite protective of Ashley, but ever since Daisy was born he had been even more so.

“I promise we’ll be fine on the tube, if you are really that worried you can walk us to the station.”

And so he did, the pair strolled through the dimly lit streets of North London, Harry insisted on pushing Daisy’s buggy, Ashley held onto Harry’s arm, the warm fabric of his trench coat brushing against her cheek, “It meant a lot to me that you were there today love, both of you.” Harry told her, looking down at her with a gentle smile.

“I was so proud of you today Haz, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Daisy adores you, you know that don’t you?” Ashley told him.

“I was proud of you too, seeing you at work for the first time, I can see why they gave you the job.”

“They gave me the job because I’m best friends with Harry Styles.” Ashley sighed.

“I don’t believe that, you were so at home in there Ash, you’ve found your thing.” Harry assured her as they approached the almost empty tube station.

“This is us.” Ashley whispered, taking Daisy’s buggy from Harry.

“Text me when you get home.” Harry instructed her, holding her close to his chest, not wanting to ever let go.

12th May 2017

“Hello rockstar.” Ashley said as Harry opened his front door to see his best friend stood on the doorstep, a big grin on both their faces, she had come straight from work to see him, knowing he would be anxious with all the interviews and meetings regarding the album. Jean being the angel she was had agreed to look after Daisy for the whole day, which made Ashley’s life a whole lot easier.

“So did you listen to it then?” Harry asked her as he led her through to the kitchen, taking two mugs from the cupboard and placing them on the counter before turning on the kettle.

“I did.” Ashley knew that holding off on telling Harry what she thought of his album was sure to make him squirm, as important the opinions of the label and critics were, Harry only ever seemed to care about what Ashley thought.

“And did you like it?” He asked.

“I cried, again.” she sighed.

“At which song?” He asked.

“All of it, the whole way through, my eyes were puffy when I got to work I think Roman thought something was wrong.”

“So which was your favourite song?”

“Now that is a tough one,” Ashley replied as he handed her the cup of tea, “I’m going to have to say sweet creature,” 

“Good.” Harry smiled.

“The thing is I’ve known you for twelve years, and I can tell who pretty much all the songs are about.”

“Is that right?” Harry smirked, raising his eyebrows.

“Two Ghosts, well that's obviously Taylor, Only Angel is clearly about Kendall,” she told him, “One thing I did want to ask you was, you didn’t write Kiwi about me did you? You know, the whole I’m having your baby, it's none of your business thing.”

“No, that one’s fictional,” Harry assured her, before she could question him any further they were interrupted by a knock at the door, Harry disappeared to answer and a minute or so later returned with Jeff, “You’re worrying me Jeff, its not like you to arrive without warning.”

“It’s probably just as well you’re here Ashley, this involves you somewhat,” Jeff explained, “We should probably sit down,” He led them over to Harry’s large dining table, “The press have put two and two together and made twenty five.”

“Jeff what are you on about?” Harry asked, clearly baffled by Jeff’s spontaneous visit.

Jeff pulled out his laptop, opening it to reveal an article titled ‘SHE’S HAVING HIS BABY AND IT IS HIS BUSINESS’, under the heading there were pictures of Harry and Ashley from the release date of Sign of the Times, pictures of Harry pushing Daisy’s buggy whilst Ashley held onto his arm, and pictures of them hugging at the station, as the article continued there were pictures of Harry and Ashley going way back, they were insinuating that Harry’s public relationships had all been an elaborate cover up for his real relationship with Ashley, “So they think Harry is Daisy’s real dad?” Ashley whispered.

“It looks that way,” Jeff sighed “And for legal reasons I need to know whether she is Harry’s daughter or not.”

“Harry is not Daisy’s father, for fuck sake her father may as well have been a sperm donor, because thats how little involvement he has had in he life.”

“Do you need me to make a statement?” Harry asked.

“They’ll probably want a comment from you eventually, this will all blow over eventually, but Ashley you might find in the next few weeks that you get heightened press attention, butt don’t say anything to them they could use against you, and if they do anything to harm you or Daisy in any way tell Harry, and he can tell our legal team who will have that resolved for you.”

“Are you alright?” Harry asked Ashley as she stared out of his living room window, Jeff had gone and it was just the two of them left in the house.

“You would tell me wouldn’t you? If you had written a song about me?” Ashley asked, Harry shuffled on his feet, looking down at the floor, not wanting to engage in eye contact with Ashley, “What is it?” she asked him bluntly, she knew full well when Harry was hiding something.

“I haven’t been completely honest, there is a song on there about you.” Harry muttered, “when you said Sweet Creature was your favourite, I said good, because I wrote it for you.” Ashley stood in silence, not really knowing what to think, “You think that’s weird don’t you? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if it was okay before I released it.”

“I don’t think it’s weird, I think it’s lovely, in a weird kind of way.” She assured him.

“A weird kind of lovely?”

“Exactly.”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 12

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: For once... no violence in a MOTW chapter. But... maybe some poorly written rushed angst? I’m sorry... I just wanted to keep this story alive without having to wait a month in between updates... Oops!

A/N: Ayyy... Next chapter things are gonna heat up a bit.... and not just with our killer hunter tree people (Oh gawd, this sentence was stupid.) Enjoy meeting the family!

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

~

The drive to the Homestead was filled with awkward silence, half snores and faint mumbles traded in for regular conversation. You had been resting against Derek's chest the whole drive, teetering between full-on sleep and temporal distortion from constantly zoning in and out -or at least, it felt like you were time travelling whenever you'd close your eyes for a second and then the next thing you knew, a whole hour had flown past.

Your dreams were foggy, hitting you vividly one moment then incomprehensible the next. Several symbols flooded your thoughts when your eyelids closed, so did Alyster’s hoarse voice, but you blocked most of that out. Through all the disorder within your brain, only one image presented itself clearly and repeatedly: the bow and shank of a golden key without a bit. You kept sketching it in your mind. Over and over and over again until you started tracing the outline of the shape on your thigh using your index finger. Derek noticed but didn’t say anything. You were grateful because you wouldn’t know what to say had he asked.

You knew instantly the moment you were close to home. The air smelled of pine and rain. The sound of chirping and crickets filled the night. You felt Derek's muscles uncoil as soon as that fresh forest air hit his nostrils. He took a long, deep whiff and that caused his chest to rise and the beating of his heart to accelerate. The sound was… calming.

A howl woke you from your half-slumber. You were greeted by a tense energy swarming inside the car. Markus chuckled before reassuring everyone it was simply your youngest brother, Jonah, alerting the rest of your family to your arrival.

The driveway was narrow and paved by pebble-sized stones in place of tar or cobble, the sound of tires rolling over stone was familiar yet odd. Out from behind a tall hedge was the old, two-story wood and brick style house and behind that was the cabin and shed. Your mother and father were standing on the porch, tight smiles on their faces diluted by the breezy way they waved their arms. Beside them stood your sister, Esme. She was wearing workout clothes, undoubtedly from spending her day training Jonah -who was nowhere to be seen.

"Home, sweet home," Markus said as he got out of the car and was promptly greeted by Esme's fist punching his side. "Oof! Why do both my sister's insist on punching me? Are hugs and handshakes no longer an acceptable form of etiquette amongst werewolves?"

Esme's brow was furrowed, she looked furious, "Werewolves, yes. Siblings, not so much.” She punched him again, “You had us worried."

You were certain she was ready to rip him a new one right there and then by scolding him with a wordy speech she had undoubtedly practised several times in the mirror, but it never came. In place of a tongue lashing, she completely blindsiding him with a strong hug. A relieved sigh leaving her full lips.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, you were nearly toppled to the ground by Jonah -who had no doubt picked up the same blindsiding habit from Esme- with one of his trademark sprint hugs.

"Y/N! I missed you! How's your new job? Saved any pups lately? Get bitten by any mean cats? What about your new house? Is it spacey? Do you have your own porch swing? I know how much you love porch swings. You probably noticed ours is gone, I kinda, sorta, maybe broke it. Anyway, what about your neighbours? Is it weird moving someplace where your nearest neighbours can hear it when you sneeze? You sneeze really loudly! Are they nosey or rude or--" Jonah rambled at a faster than lightning pace.

You were still winded from his surprise hug, you almost didn't know what was happening. You couldn’t even get a word in between each speed round of questioning he threw your way.

"I missed you too Speedy," You giggled as you patted his lithe back, he was taller and skinnier than when you last saw him. That worried you. "The real question is: 'What have they been feeding you?' You're practically all bone!" You gawked at your parents.

Your dad chuckled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, "Don't look at us. He eats more than Esme and Markus combined."

"Hey squirt," Esme wrapped you in a hug after she released Markus from her stony embrace. After she peered over your shoulder with an arched brow at all the strangers currently disembarking from the cars. "I see you've brought guests. Good thing you called ahead of time to give us a heads up." She retorted.

"Oh tish, Esme. Don't be rude," your mom walked down the steps and welcomed the strangers at her doorstep. “Please, ignore her boorish manners. Any friends of Y/N are friends of ours. Welcome, welcome.”

Stiles fumbled a bit, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans before offering a handshake. Scott and Liam inched closer to offer their own introductions while Derek and Peter took in the sheer scope of the Homestead, the latter of whom let out a whistle before remarking, “We invested in the wrong kind of real estate...”

“We?” Derek huffed.

“We’re family. Family is always entitled to a ‘we’,” Peter pointed out.

“I think we are the exception to the rule,” Derek strode away from the insulted looking Peter and introduced himself to your parents. Theo had remained silent and guarded during the entire welcome wagon. The overly warm ambience threw him off. He stood out like a sore thumb. An uncomfortably sore thumb.

"How's the fiancé?" you asked Esme with a bright smile as you made your way inside the house. It was probably the first time you'd been able to smile freely ever since you moved to Beacon Hills.

It comforted you that the house still smelt the same: sandalwood and lavender. Sandalwood was your dad’s go-to scent, he used it to try and mask the smell of tobacco from your mother whenever he’d sneak a cigar. He was never successful in that endeavour. Lavender was the go-to scent of all the candles Maggie made from scratch. She was a dabbler in aromatherapy. Everyone else in the house would always complain about strong smells during Summer, that’s when she did most of her brewing and mixing and distilling like some new-age witch without the pointy hat or warty nose. Your wolf nose wasn’t as keen as everyone else’s, so it never bothered you much. Not unless she was working with jasmine, you couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine.

Esme rolled her eyes, "She's driving me up the wall. Who knew planning a wedding could be so… stressful."

You cocked your head to the side, "Wait, I thought Maggie wanted to elope?"

"She did, originally," Esme sighed in your mom’s direction before shooting you a small smile. "Mom talked her into having a traditional wedding instead."

"All I did was show her your grandmother's wedding dress and a few photo albums, Maggie is a grown woman, she is allowed to change her mind," Your mother winked in your direction.

Jonah darted around Derek and Scott, nose high in the air as he far-from-discretely investigated the new werewolves.

"Hey, Speedy, what is the general rule when you meet other werewolves?" Esme asked with a hint of exasperation in her tone.

Jonah huffed a sigh and pulled his lips into a pout, eyes cast down, "Never be too obvious…”

“And?” Esme pressed.

Jonah bit his lip, “And don't sniff the air… it's rude."

"And what were you doing?" Esme's hands were on her hips now.

Jonah kicked at the air, "Being rude."

You elbowed your sister when you saw your brother's pouting face pull lower, "Cut him some slack, E. He's allowed to fib a little. He’s still a kid. You all had a learning curve too." You held out your hands for Jonah and he dashed to your side and cradled under your frame as though you were his security blanket. He shot Esme a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry Speedy, I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

Esme snarled, her eyes turning blue for an instant and then she chuckled and ruffled Jonah's sandy curls, "You're lucky Y/N's here. But don't think for a second that you can use her to get out of morning training."

Jonah shone his golden eyes in a puppy dog manner and Esme simply smacked his face playfully, not having any of his younger sibling bullshit tactics. You laughed at the weird sound he made after Esme’s palm left his face.

You had been so caught up in just being back home and slipping back into comfortable habits that you had forgotten to introduce everyone. "Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t done proper introductions yet. Mom, Dad, Esme, Speedy, these are my… friends from Beacon Hills. That's Derek, his uncle Peter, Scott, Liam, I'm not sure who he is because we met two nights ago and we took separate cars and, of course, we all know Deaton. We had a seventh, but we left her in Mexico."

Theo smirked at your quirky way of saying you hadn't been introduced and gave a half-wave as he decided to handle his own introductions, "Theo."  

Everyone gave a wave or a nod or an inaudible, 'Hello'.

"Everyone, these are my parents, Christian and Estella Markolf. The sour face over here is my sister Esme, you all met Markus and this little runt over here is Jonah.” You shook Jonah around like he was a ragdoll, prompting a giggle from him. “Our emissary, Maggie is… somewhere, though I'm not sure where."

"She headed into town early this morning, apparently a package arrived for her," Esme filled you in.

Jonah sniffed the air again, though not as subtly as he thought he was being. Then he turned and whispered to Esme, "Does he smell strange to you?" he set his eyes on Theo.

"Yeah, I'm not all werewolf, that's why. I'm surprised you picked up on it," Theo explained to him loudly.

Esme hid her embarrassment behind a scowl, “Speedy, we just went over this…”

Jonah ignored Esme’s protests and started up a conversation with Theo, "I have a condition that makes my wolf senses more excited than normal. It means I’m constantly running about or my nose picks up on strange smells from miles away. One time I smelt a campfire that was lit on the other side of the property line. Oh, and this one time I heard scratching in the house and it nearly drove me up the wall because it was so loud but no one else could hear it… turns out it was a rat in the basement."

"Ah, Chimera," Theo offered in explanation. "What's your…uh, condition?"

"ADHD," Jonah said simply.

Peter looked at your brother like he suddenly transformed into a peacock and you protectively glowered at him. Derek subtly stomped on Peter’s foot and he let out a hiss in pain. You bit back a laugh.

"Well," you father cleared his throat. "Now that we're all… acquainted, let’s see if we can make some room for all of you. And then after, we’ll let Markus explain what exactly he was doing in Mexico and why he and Esme never bothered to tell their parents they were planning on doing something stupid." he glanced between Esme and Markus with an inquisitive brow arched high. Both your siblings looked away like they’d been burned and shuffled awkwardly.

“Before you go on and tear Markus a new one, remember to mind your temper, your blood pressure is a whole thing now and I don’t need to tell you to keep a handle on it,” your mother patted your father’s chest lovingly before turning to her eldest son. “And you. March on upstairs and take a shower and a couple of aspirin. You reek!”

 The house was full and bustling with energy. In every room there was a conversation to be had or a chore to be done. The only time the house had been this full was the time when Maggie had invited her extended family over from Ireland to visit over the holidays.

The house was already beginning to bud off into smaller groups. The youngest members gravitated towards each other. Jonah and Theo hit it off quite easily and it didn’t take long until Liam was pulled into their orbit. Before you knew it, they were outside roughhousing like teenagers -though, to be fair, Jonah was barely over eighteen.

Peter and Esme got to talking about her former pack down in Sao Paulo and Deaton, Scott and Stiles were in the study looking over several open books and notes Maggie had compiled about the hunters. Derek and Markus were outside somewhere talking in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, your dad was helping you and your mother set up your old room.

"It's good to have you home," your mother said as she unfolded the duvet cover. "Despite the circumstances."

You shrugged, focusing your energy on putting the duvet cover on the right way round.

"Though it is rather ironic," your dad chipped in as he brought several sleeping bags down from the attic. "You left to get away from all this werewolf business and somehow you come home with more werewolves. Next thing you know you’ll be marrying a werewolf."

"I get it, I'm a walking disaster with a magnet for the supernatural," you half-joked.

"That Derek boy and his uncle seem quite familiar to me," your mom's face scrunched up in thought. "He wouldn't be a Hale by any chance?"

"Y-yeah… how did you--?"

"I knew his mother, way back when, before I left my old pack." She interrupted you as she fluffed several pillows and took down several blankets from the wardrobe. "He looks so much like his mother..." her eyes glanced out the window and then back at you. “And quite handsome."

You tossed a pillow her way, "Very subtle."

She winked, "It's just an observation."

Your dad grumbled as he took the blankets out of her hands and headed out of the room, "I sure do hope that’s all that was."

“Ignore him, he’s only just gotten used to the fact that he isn’t alpha anymore, he’s a little more territorial than usual,” she snickered behind a quilt.

 You heard the clinking of Maggie's chunky metal bangles and numerous pendants before you heard her footsteps when she barged in through the front door holding a cardboard box marked with a 'Royal Mail' stamp on it, "Hey, who are those two strange boyos with Jonah outside?"

She stopped with wide eyes when she saw you, arms spreading wide so she could squeeze your frame between her two plump arms. The frilly sleeves of her summer dress rolling up so you could see her tattoo sleeve in all its glory. You noticed she had gotten a new tattoo added to the collection.

"Aww, Y/N, I've missed you! I didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon after you left..." she studied your face and frowned when she noticed the dark circles under your eyes. "You haven't been sleeping at all. You got a bad dose of stress, don’t you? This won't do." Her strong Irish lilt was still very much present on her tongue.

"Hey, Maggie, I hear you aren't eloping anymore?" you asked and she blushed dotingly.

"What can I say, I decided I wanted the fairy tale wedding after all," She tucked her short hair behind her ear as a deep blush set on her freckled face. “I’m guessing those new additions amongst the garden gnomes belong to you?"

"Oh, I brought more," you nodded behind you where Derek, Peter, Scott and Stiles were all gathered.

"Who is that tall drink of water?" she whispered, but you knew they all heard.

You ignored her comment and glanced down at her parcel balanced between her arm and hip, "What's that?”

"Oh, it's a book my brother sent over," she used her shapely nails to rip open the box with little to no finesse. "Aha!" she cheered when she finally got it open. "It's the right volume too! I’ve gotta crack on with this sweets. We’ll hang properly later, yeah?"

You nodded and stood aside to let her through.

She trotted over to the study and immediately started flipping through pages after a short and sweet introduction to the rest of the pack. Maggie and Deaton got to catching up while Stiles, who was face timing with a pretty girl, pulled up a chair to join them with their studies.

Derek glanced your way while Peter rambled to Esme and Markus about something. He flashed a quick smile at you that caused the temperature in the room to grow much hotter. You hovered aimlessly for a second before seeking out something to do. You settled for sticking your head in the fridge to try and cool down.

Those words Alyster had spoken before kept fading in and out of your subconscious all day like a malfunctioning dimmer switch you could never turn off all the way.

That night, you, Esme and Maggie had curled up under your covers with a pint of lemon sorbet and an old boxset of Friends on DVD. Even though you enjoyed your time away from the madness and bloodshed and time being hunted to the ends of the earth, you never quite relaxed into the secure sanctuary of your bedroom walls.

The crappy TV in your room had the worst sound and you had spent most of the night pretending to watch the poor quality video while Esme and Maggie rotated between bridesmaid talk, the new pack of wolves you had brought home and how many muscles Derek was hiding under his shirt -that particular topic seemed to interest Maggie more that Esme, who simply made disinterested noises every time her better half brought up the topic.

"I mean… I bet his muscles have muscles..." Maggie ate her spoon full of ice-cream slowly, mind elsewhere. "He seems like the kind of guy who would work out shirtless."

"Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I'll tell you the truth."

Esme sighed, "If you like him so much, marry him." her words weren't mean or unpleasant, simply the ramblings of a bored woman tired of hearing Maggie fawn over Derek's muscles.

"Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order... And the fate of the world."

"I mean… with your permission," Maggie said sarcastically before peppering what could only be cold kisses onto Esme’s cheek, smudging her rouge lipstick all over your older sisters face. Esme didn't mind it one bit.

"All we want is you."

"Easy there, future Mrs Quinn-Markolf," Esme wiped the lipstick smudges onto her t-shirt sleeve. "You keep smothering me like this and I may just have to rethink the, 'Till death do us part' clause in our vows."

Maggie snorted, "Yeah, you'll have to rethink it if you think I'm going to be known as Maggie Quinn-Markolf for the rest of my life."

"Your blood is special.”

Esme pulled away from Maggie, “What? Is Quinn-Markolf not euphonic enough for you? I thought our love was stronger than the clashing sounds of our hyphenated last names!” she retorted.

“Your lineage is special.”

Maggie scrunched her nose and gave a blunt, “Nah, you’d be sorely mistaken there, love.” Esme gasped and Maggie peppered her cheek with more kisses before she could escape from beneath the covers, “I am only codding ya!”

“You are special."

Despite the playful atmosphere, you were too distracted to enjoy the moment.

Esme noticed you had been absent from their conversations and she chalked it up to more than just exhaustion or anti-social behaviour, "You okay, squirt?" she nudged you with her shoulder.

You hummed, taken by surprise by the question. "Yeah, why?"

"Because you've been a little… distant tonight," Maggie finished her thought for her.

"I..." you wanted to say everything was fine. You wanted to put up a brave front and soldier on, but something in you cracked and you had to hold back a sob as you finally caved in, revealing everything that had happened to you since you saved Derek in the vet clinic. You even revealed the part about you almost agreeing to be the sacrificial lamb when Alyster was in your head.

Neither your sister nor her fiancé said anything, they just let you talk and talk until you passed out. It felt good to be open and truthful without the fear of sudden judgement.

The next day, when you woke up, you were squished between Esme and Maggie. Their soft snores waking you from the longest sleep you'd had in a long while. It felt good to get that off your chest. But for some reason, the atmosphere in the house changed. It grew a little more tense.

The days following your homecoming blended together. The pack had spent their free time doing research and trying to come up with a viable plan of action. Liam, Jonah and Theo began to form an odd bond over their werewolf otherness -Liam with his IED, Jonah with his ADHD and Theo with his being a Chimera. Together, they were one ingredient short of turning into some form of an incendiary device. Their energy was exhausting, as was their constant rough-housing. You couldn't fathom how Maggie managed to reign them in whenever they got too rowdy. 

Things with Derek were different. He was more distant and whenever you did interact, he'd act pricklier than usual. He was giving you the cold shoulder. Most of the time, if he could avoid it, he wouldn't look you in the eye when he talked to you. His jaw would twitch every now and again as he spoke between clenched teeth. Peter delighted himself in watching your painful interaction. He’d always have a snide comment that would cause Derek to sigh or just walk away.

It was like Derek was being accosted by your very presence and that drove you up the wall. That was why you were storming into the woods at dawn in old combat boots and baggy pyjamas. This behaviour couldn’t continue. You wouldn’t allow it.

You found him in the middle of the meadow, he was shirtless and sweating. His biceps were straining as he dipped his body low in a single armed push-up. You were dazed for a moment, the first glimmers of daybreak causing his sweat slickened body to glisten. It seems Maggie was correct in assuming he worked out without a shirt. A flush burned at your cheeks and you bit your tongue in frustration. Damn him and his perfectly chiselled muscles.

"What are you doing out here so early?" he grumbled out without looking at you.

"I have a bone to pick with you. Didn't want to do it in front of the others," You placed your hands on your hips as though that would make you look more imposing. It didn't. 

He stood and let out a strained exhale, bare chest heaving up and down as his midriff tensed and relaxed with every breath. He brushed a hand through his dark, sweaty hair and strode over, picking up his water bottle and spritzing himself with water in an effort to cool himself down.

You could have sworn you saw some of the moisture evaporate off his body. It made you gulp.

"Alright," he was panting, eyes dark. "What is it?" his jaw did that thing again and your face grew even redder. You hoped he'd chalk it up to anger.

"You've been acting… strange around me ever since we got here. Most days you don't even look at me. Usually, this wouldn’t bother me, but we’re supposed to be working together here and I can’t help but feel like maybe I did something wrong... Well did I?"

His eyes narrowed, "Did you do something wrong?" he repeated the question with a condescending tone and then laughed darkly. "Oh, I don't know. I'm usually elated whenever the person I'm trying to protect from sudden death flirts with the idea of giving themselves over to the homicidal maniac that's been stalking them across the country!"

You gasped, "You heard me?"

He rolled his eyes at you, "Of course I heard you! The whole house heard you! You live with a family of werewolves that have super hearing!"

You were growing antsy. What gave him the right to be so angry over something that didn't concern him? What gave him the right to eavesdrop on your private conversations with Esme and Maggie?

You were positively fuming now, "Well, since you took it upon yourself to listen in on my private conversation--"

"I wasn't listening in. I have supernatural hearing!"

You held up your hand to hush him, "Let me finish. Since your supernatural hearing picked up on my private conversation, then you obviously heard why I flirted with the idea of giving myself over to that homicidal maniac. He promised to let you live. I thought you were going to die… all of you."

"That doesn't make things better. He could have been lying to you for all you knew!"

"What if he wasn’t?

"He was!"

"What if he wasn't and all this madness would have ended once I gave myself up?"

"I don’t believe that! And neither should you. I can’t believe you were so reckless. Do you have any idea…" He ran a hand over his scruff roughly. “We promised to protect you. How do you think I would have felt if you wound up dead? Or how Scott would have felt? We chose to put our lives on the line. That was our choice.”

"If it comes down to me choosing between myself and everybody else, it’s simple math. It's my life! I never asked you to try and take it upon yourself to save me! I don't need your permission."

"Maybe you don't get a say in the matter!" Derek's eyes turned blue as he took a step closer to you. “Math isn’t all it’s about. It’s not all check and balance. Death isn’t permanent for everyone else who’s left behind. It just becomes an addition to their own equation.”

You were shaking now, voice going hoarse from all the shouting, "What gives you the right to presume to know what is and isn't best for me or what I can and cannot get a say in?" You finger poked at his chest repeatedly.

He wrapped his strong hands around your wrist, but there was no pressure, he simply used his hold over you to pull you closer so you could better hear his whispers, "Absolutely nothing."

Voice feather-light, you whispered back with a searching gaze, "Then why are you so mad with me for trying to do the right thing?"

"Because..." he tried to explain but gave up with a sigh and then dropped his water bottle.

Before you knew it, Derek's arms snaked around your body and his lips crashed onto yours in a heady kiss. His sharp canines grazed over your sensitive tongue and lips in a seductively dangerous manner. The kiss felt dangerous…forbidden. The perfect balance between pain and pleasure.

You gasped in shock when he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing yours to become as fervent as his -lapping, suckling and massaging tender flesh in sweet torment. A deep rumble emerged from his chest that caused your locked tongues to vibrate. Instinctively, he pulled you closer until you were pressed flush to his hot body. You moaned on reflex and felt blood rush to your head until your vision started to spin.

When he finally broke away, you stumbled and took a few breaths to try and gather your wits. Derek's wolfishly warm palms were cupping your face, forcing you to stare up into his deep green eyes. "Because you drive me insane." He finally finished.

"Oh..." a frog set itself in your throat and you had to clear it with a few awkward sounds, "I- Uhem! I, uh… didn't know that. I… I-"

You were flustered and in shock, your body burning with a sensual desire you hadn't had a second ago. All you could think about was how good his lips felt on yours. How soft and tender and deep the kiss was. How talented his tongue was.

You had to fan yourself to try and cool your skin. When that wasn't enough, you grabbed Derek's water bottle off the ground and sprayed yourself with the remnants inside.

With a shrill gasp, you turned to Derek, mustering what little dignity and authority you had left and spoke sternly at him, "That still doesn't excuse your behaviour. I'm glad we could resolve this like adults. I'll see you at the house. I have… things to do. Have a good… exercise."

You nodded to yourself and marched away, leaving the sounds of Derek's baffled chuckles behind. Before you reached the house, Jonah had appeared out of some unseen position and stopped you mid-stride. You shrieked from freight and frowned at him when he gave you an apologetic look.

"Jesus, Speedy! Don’t do that… Announce yourself next time or wear a bell," you steadied your breathing. "What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just, Maggie you know, she… uh, sent me with a message and told me to get to you as quickly as possible," Jonah rambled.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to slow him down, "Talk. Slower."

He nodded, a yawn deforming his smile, "She -Ah, good you're here, I don't have to run after you too. And, oh wow, you’re shirtless. I like running around shirtless too. Esme doesn’t like it though. She says I blind her with my pale skin. It’s not my fault that I can’t tan as nicely as the rest of the family," he spoke to someone behind you.

You turned and noticed Derek had run down from the meadow after hearing you scream. The flush from before threatened to return but you chose to focus on Jonah’s message and not Derek's intense stare.

"Right, okay, back to why Maggie sent me out here to look for you guys," Jonah continued. "She thinks she's cracked it."

"Cracked what?" Derek asked as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders.

"You know, the mystery behind the hunters who’ve been killing werewolves all over the place and what it is exactly that they want," Jonah smacked his palm on his forehead. "She thinks she knows what they are too, thanks to that book Caleb sent her –Caleb is her brother in Ireland– Deaton and that clumsy dude… Stiles, they helped her with everything. They spent all night translating this book with a girl called... Lyria? Lyra? I can’t--" he clicked his fingers repeatedly as though that would magically bring the name back to him.

"Lydia," Derek stated.

Jonah clicked his fingers once more before continuing, "Yeah, her! Anyway. Family meeting in five. Chop-chop. Before Maggie sends Esme after me… And I don't want that."

Jonah sprinted for the house and you were left a little winded by everything.

Derek placed his hand on the small of your back to urge you forward and you shuddered beneath his simple touch and he snatched his hand away as if your skin had electrocuted him.

Things just got complicated.

 To be continued...

Next Chapter>>

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[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

What’s so Great About... Huey?

A Huey Duck Character Analysis 

Part Four - What’s so great about Huey

(Part One here . Part Two here . Part Three here)

Welcome to the what's so great about Huey part of What's So Great About Huey? I'm going to start somewhere a little contradictory which is the first time Huey really frustrated me.

It was in The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks. And I'll admit in this episode the first time through I was very much rooting for Dewey. I'd not been watching long and I hadn't really got a feel for Huey's character yet. In that episode he seemed so rigid. I think it was his insistence that the slides were not for fun but efficiency that was a moment that particularly stood out.

But this is one of the reasons I now think Huey is so great, partly because he is so thorough. He wants to understand the world around him, whether that's driven by his fear of the unknown, or curiosity, or a list of categorising or a combination of all of these, the outcome is really impressive. He is continually adding to the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. He is a hard worker and as a result has an impressive bank of skills including sewing, knot tying, trap making, navigating, map making, electronics etc.

Look at all his badges (and his lopsided sash!) Huey is crazy hyper-competent.

As well as having a lot of skills to draw on, Huey is resourceful. He is able to use things in a situation to his advantage. An example of this is in The Spear of Selene where he realises that the breezy togas could carry him up to the bag of winds. Huey is also able to figure out that Fenton could be controlling the suit in Who is Gizmoduck?

H: Just rip out the processing core!

Huey is a team player. He has his moments of wanting to shine like in McMystery at McDuck Manor, but on the whole Huey enjoys being part of a team whether it’s the Junior Woodchucks, or the triplets.

Huey is enthusiastic too. He clearly loves being a Junior Woodchuck and this shows in his excitement in getting new patches. He is constantly learning, constantly striving for the next skill, for the next patch and he always does it with such cheer. Even when others aren't interested in his hobbies, even when they openly talk down about them, he still pursues with what he enjoyed. In that sense Huey can be said to have a lot of confidence in being himself.

Bearing in mind his enthusiasm and how much he strives for his patches, I really liked how Huey encourages Scrooge to go back in the Impossible Summit of Mount Neverrest. He acknowledges that the danger has run too great and demonstrates that he is not prepared to risk everything in pursuing a badge.

H: Junior Woodchuck Rule 727: sometimes the bravest thing an explorer can do is walk away!

It makes his decision to join with the Beagle Brothers in The Day of the Only Child! all the funnier.  Since the death is only "possible" he opts to go for the badge.

H: Possible death, definite badge, possible death, definite badge, definite badge, Definite Badge!

I think one of Huey's biggest strengths however is his kindness. As mentioned before, Huey gives Webby tips on how to cope on her first bus ride despite the fact he wasn't initially keen to have her along. A couple of episodes later in The Beagle Birthday Massacre! he is quick to offer her his place on the boat. When she thinks Lena has run off, Huey comforts her, promising they won't leave her behind again and making jokes about leaving Louie behind instead.  

His kindness is seen towards his siblings too. One of my favourite examples is The Living Mummies of Toth Rah! Huey is quick to comfort Dewey when his facts don't quite gel with Dewey's idea of a mummy army.

D: "Oh man what if there's a whole army of mummies down here?"

H: "Unlikely mummification was an expensive process meant for royalty it would be rare for more than one… mummy… Toth Ra was pretty rich I bet there's at least six."  

Huey hasn't even finished his sentence before he's twigged that he has upset Dewey and then he immediately alters what he is saying to cheer Dewey back up. And Dewey is cheered.

Huey often notices when the others are going too far with Donald. In the House of the Lucky Gander, when Louie is saying how cool Gladstone and Scrooge are, slightly Donald, Huey chips in when Donald looks downcast.

H: Hey come on Uncle Donald is kind of cool.  

It's maybe not the most ringing endorsement and his delivery is a little hesitant as though he doesn't quite believe what he's saying. And maybe he doesn't. Huey isn’t a great liar and as far as the triplets have seen Donald hasn't done anything especially cool at this point. But Huey is trying to cheer Donald up. Unlike Dewey and Louie who can be a little oblivious and careless with others around them, most of the time Huey is incredibly kind and thoughtful.

(Just not when he's angry - you may not like him when he's angry!)

Similarly when Donald is preparing for his job interview in Woo-oh! he cooks Donald a good luck breakfast. This is a really nurturing gesture, and it's nice to see Huey (and Louie who tries to dress him) trying to take care of their uncle.

Huey isn't just kind to his family and friends, but extends this even to people who are technically his enemies. He is calm and patient with the Beagle Brothers in Day of the Only Child! He shows himself to be a great teacher and gives out praise and encouragement which quickly endears him to the Beagle Brothers who haven't been shown anything like the kindness Huey gives them. And he gives it to them without thought. It doesn't occur to him that teaching these kind of skills to people who have previously tried to kidnap him may not be a good idea - he is simply happy to share what he has learnt.

“the poachers knot was a good instinct but what you want here is a double overhead noose”

A lovely moment in this episode that further showcases both Huey's nurturing nature and his kind heart is when he tries the food Bouncer cooks. He is clearly apprehensive but tries the food anyway because it was cooked for him. When it is (surprisingly) good he is quick to offer compliments.

Huey is also kind to Gavin the bigfoot. We the audience know this is misplaced kindness. But after finding the injured Gavin and helping him, Huey's instinct is to take the bigfoot home and care for him. This is despite the fact that keeping Gavin in the house could get Huey in trouble, something he is obviously aware of as he goes to lengths to keep the bigfoot secret.  

As well as being kind, Huey is protective. He is especially protective of his brothers. He's protective in big ways like in the Living Mummies of Toth Rah! the expression on his face when he learns Louie and Webby are missing/trapped shows just how much he cares and worries. He clings to the bars like a safety net, and then when he turns his expression shows his fury.

Another example is in the Impossible Summit of Mount Neverrest where the others being in danger prompts Huey to realise they are going too far. He doesn't want them to be hurt, and isn't willing to risk the danger for a badge.

 Huey is also protective in smaller ways. In The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck! Huey tries to stop Louie manipulating Dewey into doing the laundry, pointing out to Louie how mad Dewey is going to be. Huey seems to have a strong moral compass: he is often against Louie's morally ambiguous actions like stealing from the little girl in The Spear of Selene. He also quickly loses faith in Gizmoduck once Gizmoduck begins to work for Beaks as Gizmoduck is no longer performing real heroics and asks Gizmoduck to literally throw away Huey's faith.

 I'll end with my favourite Huey moment. Just like Dewey there are a lot to choose from but I think I'm split pretty fifty fifty for two that could be considered his best for me.

The first is his utter fascination and adoration for the waters of auraidon. How calming he finds it is adorable.

H: Water. Dancing. Calm. Washing over me. Never felt… so at peace.

My second favourite moment of his is a bit of a cop out because I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it before, but it's everything he does in The Missing Links of Mooreshire! It's one of my favourite episodes of the first season and Huey is on top form. He charmed me the first time with his commentator voice and it still makes me laugh every time.

H: Glomgold now very obviously switching the official coin for one that has heads on both sides.

L: Very sneaky.

H: He tosses the double headed coin… and Glomgold has called - tails!

I hope you enjoyed this what's so great about Huey series. Huey is a fantastic character and I’m looking forward to see how he’s going to develop in the next season. 

(Next up: Louie!)

[aurafanfiction]

Life Is Hard (One Shots) Part 2

Chapter Two: Happy Memories

Donald shivered as he fumbled around in his pockets for the house key that Scrooge had entrusted him with. With his houseboat sunk under the dark waters of the bay he had no choice but to live inside the mansion at this point. At least there would be a fireplace inside, he thought to himself as he struggled to produce the key. It was oddly breezy tonight.

           He emptied the contents of his pockets onto the doorstep. Some change clinked against the stone, some rolling off into the night. Bits of garbage from his day that inevitably got stuffed into his pocket when no bins were to be found also fell out. He briefly thought that if Scrooge would pony up some money for a light out here, then he wouldn’t have to sift through a pile of nonsense by moonlight.

           Just as his fingers finally touched something that resembled his key the door to the mansion swung open. Donald looked up, on his hands and knees.

           “What’re ya doing down there making all that racket?” Scrooge said, looking down on him.

           Donald sighed. “I barely made a peep, how could you have heard me?”

           “Are you kidding, I can hear a penny drop from fifty yards.” Scrooge answered as Donald hastily scooped up the change that he had dropped prior.

           Scrooge’s nephew stood up and followed him inside and over to the cozy looking red sofa in the middle of the living area. The two of them sat down, and Scrooge offered him a cup of the tea he’d been enjoying to which Donald quickly, yet politely, refused. He knew that tea would taste more like hot water than anything.

           Donald never realized how eerie the mansion looked at night. He’d only ever come in to tuck tell the boys goodnight, never staying long enough to take a good look when the sun went down. The fireplace housed a dancing flame, the only source of light in the room, casting shadows which joined in its performance.

           “Working late again?” Scrooge asked him, a hint of judgment in his tone.

           “I just got done working a double shift. One of the other workers called in, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to get some extra cash.” He yawned, even by firelight Scrooge could tell that his nephew’s eyes were heavy and dark.

           The old duck looked him over, with those eyes full of pity that Donald didn’t care for at all. Donald had always been one to push himself to his limits trying to earn money so his boys could be happy. So they could have toys, and clothes and food. Now that they lived With Scrooge some of that pressure should have been taken off of him, but it still didn't feel that way. In fact, he’d been working even more than usual.

           Donald knew that his Uncle didn’t mean to make him feel so worthless compared to him, but that didn’t make it better. He knew his kids could get more from Scrooge than anything he could give them, but still, he worked himself to exhaustion every day trying to provide something for them. To show his kids that he could take care of them. It would be easier if people would stop it with that damn look all the time.

           “Donald, you know you and the boys are welcome to stay here as long as you want? You don’t have to push yourself so hard to earn extra money for them.”

           For Donald, It was nights like this that were the hardest. Why couldn’t his Uncle have just been asleep? He surely didn’t need this talk right now. He knew they would always be welcome here, heck he was even grateful for that. But he felt like less than nothing compared to his Uncle. Lately, he couldn’t help that feeling.

           Scrooge reached out and touched his shoulder. “It’s not just for you and the boys you know? It gets quite lonely in this empty mansion without the kids running around all day; I want you all to stay Donald. Just don’t tell anyone I said that, can’t have people thinking I’ve gone soft.” He added in a weak attempt at easing the tension.

           The attempt at humor did cause Donald to chuckle a little. It was rare for his Uncle to admit he cared about anything other than money.

           “You’ve given my boys more than they ever got from me the whole ten years that I’ve raised them. And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that they have good food and a warm place to sleep. I’m just upset that I can’t be the one to give them all those things. They must think I’m such a failure” Donald put his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. “Everyone gives me this look like they’re surprised that I even bother to keep going. That they’re sorry for me. What would Della…”

           “There isn’t anything for them to feel sorry about. Sure you may not have as much money as some, or most even, but the things that matter when you’re raising kids don’t have anything to do with the cost of your living arrangement or how fancy your clothes look. You’ve done a wonderful job with the things that count.”

           Donald sat and listened to his Uncle as he lectured him about not feeling depressed of all things.

           “What do you even know about raising kids?” Donald spat before taking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

           “No, that’s exactly right! I don’t know all of the hardships that came with raising those boys. You might think you can’t provide as well as I can, but you’re wrong lad. You’ve already got a ten year head start on me in the providing department.”

           “Oh please, you get to take them on these grand adventures everyday, feed them food I’ve never been able to afford, give them a massive home to run around in, and I don’t have a place in that part of their lives. They’ve probably already forgotten all those boring years living on the boat with me.”

            “Nonsense, you know those boys up there waited up an hour past their bedtime for you to come home tonight? They could barely keep their eyes open they were so tired, but you know why they wanted to wait?”

           Donald shook his head. “No, and why did you even let them stay up so late in the first place? You know bedtime is at nine.”

           “Come now Donald that’s really beside the point. The kids stayed up because you always come in there and kiss them goodnight before they sleep, which they no doubt pretend to hate when they’re around you, sure. But they missed that tonight, I could tell they were worried about where you were. You haven’t exactly been around much with your working; they just wanted to see you once today. All this extra work you’ve been doing is what’s letting them down, not your lack of money. And if you think they could ever forget anything you do you’re wrong. You’re the only dad they’ve got Donald.”

           A wave of guilt washed over Donald. He had been working a lot these last few weeks. He left today before the boys got up and got back after they were asleep. They hadn’t had a chance to see him all day. It was like that more often than he’d care to admit. Maybe all he needed to give them was a little more time. Perhaps that would help this feeling of failure he’d been stuck with lately.

           “Your boys love you, Donald, you’ve done a great job raising them. But forget this notion that you have to provide all the monetary support for them to respect you. They already love you for all of the other things you do for them I’m sure.”

           Their heads turned suddenly as they heard a loud creak come from the stairs nearby. Three young ducks looking very sleepy were crouched on them trying to conceal themselves behind the large railing and failing miserably.

           “Boys come on down; we know you’re listening.” Donald couldn’t help but smile as the very tired ducks waddled their way over to the sofa to join their uncles. The three brothers climbed onto the couch and cuddled up next to Donald, laying their heads on his shoulders and lap.

           “I thought you went to sleep ages ago,” Scrooge mentioned as the three of them shared a yawn.

           Huey rubbed his eyes. “We did for a little while, but then I wanted to get some water and woke up Dewey and Louie on accident, and then we heard you talking down here and got curious.”

           “Sorry dad, we heard you are talking about us, and your money and stuff,” Dewey said.

           Donald still couldn’t get used to them calling him that. Ever since Louie told his brothers that they were free to call him that whenever they wanted, they’d been saying it a lot. He liked it that they thought of him like that, but it was still weird to hear.

           Donald ran his hand through Dewey’s messy hair. “You don’t have to be sorry boys. I’m the one who should be sorry; you shouldn’t have to hear me talk about stuff like that. That’s adult stuff that you shouldn’t worry about okay?”

           “But we love you no matter how much money you make.” Louie wrapped his arm around his Uncle. The boys were always very clingy when they were tired.

           Dewey scooched a little closer to Donald. “Yeah, but we wish you weren’t working so much. We don’t ever get to see you anymore. We’d rather spend time with you, even if it means we don’t get as many toys and stuff.”

           “We’re worried about you,” Huey brought up.

           Donald was now feeling terrible. It was true; he had been neglecting them lately in favor of working longer and longer hours. It couldn’t be helped if he felt like he was letting them down either way. It’s just the way he felt. What made it worse was that they had to see him in such a state.

           “You know boys; everyone has times in life where they feel a little sad. Sometimes we know why, and other times it just takes us over for no reason. And no matter what you do it doesn’t want to go away.”

           Scrooge cleared his throat on the other side of the couch “Eh, Donald? Is this an appropriate conversion to have?” His eyes darted towards his grand-nephews then back at Donald.

           “They have as much right to know about how I’ve been feeling as anyone.”

           The kids looked up at Donald, all of them seemed a little confused. It was strange hearing their Uncle, who was usually so happy around people talk like this.

           “Boys when I found out your mom disappeared I swore I’d always take care of you in her place. But I feel like I’ve been letting her down lately. I don’t make enough money to take care of you the way you deserve…”

           “What are you talking about?” Huey interrupted him. “Shouldn’t we get to be the judges of whether or not you’re taking care of us well?”

           “Yeah, we love having you as our dad,” Dewey added. “Even if you can be boring sometimes.”

           Donald chuckled at that. He supposed that he could be rather boring, especially compared to their mutually much richer Uncle.

           “Yup and you always made sure we had clothes and food. But you also worked your butt off to give us toys, and to take us out places.” Louie joined in trying to cheer up their uncle. “You’re one of the hardest working ducks I know.”

           “And you were always there when we needed you too. You think we forgot that stuff but we remember some things. Like what about when we were five? Dewey was starting to have all those nightmares, and you got him that stuffed animal to make him feel better. He still sleeps with that thing.” Huey giggled.

           Dewey blushed a little. He did still sleep with that stuffed dog hidden under his pillow; he didn’t realize that his brother’s knew about that. It didn’t matter anyway, the toy still made him feel close to his Uncle.

           Donald thought back to that time, it felt like such a long time ago. The boys had been about to start school that year, and the separation anxiety had been affecting Dewey and Louie way more than their older brother. They didn’t want to be away from him for a whole school day; they wanted to stay with him. Maybe it was his fault that they had been so dependent on him, perhaps he had been too overprotective?

           The nights following that one had been hard. Louie was handling the notion of attending school a little better after Donald had assured him that he’d have his brothers there to keep him company. Dewey, on the other hand, would not stop having these horrible nightmares about being abandoned. He had tried to assure his nephew that of course he’d never do something like that, and that he’d always be there. The dreams persisted.

           Sleepless nights had become normal in the following weeks. Donald had allowed Dewey to sleep in his bed, which had helped a little. But it wasn’t until he’d thought to try buying him a little friend, something to comfort him when he felt alone, that he managed to stop the nightmares.

           “Dewey, this is Spot.” He had said, extending a small stuffed dog. It was a simple, cheap-looking brown dog with white spots and floppy ears, but to Dewey it would become his best friend. “He’s my special friend, and he’ll keep you company whenever we have to be apart.”

           Dewey reached out his little hand as Donald gently gave his nephew the toy.

           “When you have him with you, you’ll have me with you too, that way you’ll never have to feel lonely. He’s a little bit magic that way.” Donald smiled as his little boy stared in wonder at the gift.

           Things like that, they weren’t in any of the books that he had read. For most of their lives so far he felt like he’d been winging pretty much everything as he went. It's not like he was expecting to have to raise three boys after all. Even so, he was proud of the young men he’d raised; they could have turned out awful with the life his kids had to go through, instead, they turned out to be good boys, mischievous boys, sure, but at least they were kind. That was more important to him than anything.

           Dewey had squeezed that little puppy toy so hard when Donald gave it to him. He was glad that he loved it so much, and kind of proud that he was able to come up with the idea, as simple as it seemed.

           Once Dewey had Spot to sleep with the nightmares seemed to stop, and as far as he knew they never came back. He couldn't beleive that his boys remembered that time.

           Donald snapped back to reality as he saw his boys staring up at him, probably wondering why he hadn’t answered the question Huey had posed a moment ago.

           “Of course I remember that day, I couldn’t sleep for weeks because Dewey kept waking me up every night. That’s hard to forget.” Donald laughed.

           The boys were too sleepy to let out more than a soft chuckle. Louie glanced up at his Uncle and smiled.

           “Yeah and you accepted me for who I am, not every parent would do that. I was so scared to tell you that I had a crush on that boy in class, but you made me feel like it was a totally normal thing,” Louie explained. “You didn’t need money for that, either.”

           Dewey chimed in wanting to include himself in the conversation. “Hey, what about that time when Huey was getting picked on for being a huge nerd and almost wanted to quit school,”

           Huey glared at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “I can call you a nerd ‘cause I’m your brother; it’s only mean if other people do it,” Dewey said, trying to explain how sibling privileges work. “Besides, you know I love ya that way.”

           Donald had already tuned out his kid's bickering, a skill that had been well developed over the years, thinking back to the incident they were referring to. That had been another case he hadn’t thought to prepare for.

           That day had started out perfectly normal as he recalled. Donald sent the boys on their way to school; they had just begun their 3rd-grade classes about a month ago, and Huey was loving all the new topics they were learning. It pleased Donald to know that he wouldn’t have to convince at least one of his boys to go to school every morning.

           Huey was always explaining to him how to do different math problems and the newer, bigger, words they were learning. Honestly it was stuff that Donald himself had forgotten a long time ago having been out of school for so long, but he loved seeing that his boy was excited about it all.

           What he hadn’t thought about was the fact that the kids would get more ruthless the older they got, and they had started making fun of Huey for being so smart.

           Donald remembered squeezing his oldest child in a tight hug as he bawled his eyes out. He had picked them up from class, and according to Huey’s brothers, the other kids had been teasing him because he liked learning so much. Dewey and Louie had stood up for their brother, and that made him the proudest of all, but that didn’t change the fact that he had a crying eight-year-old clinging to him. Just great.

           When the four of them got home, he pulled Huey to the side to talk with him. It took a while for him to finally stop crying long enough to get any words in.

           Donald moved Huey so that he was standing in front of him. His eyes were puffy and red, he sniffled as Donald held him there.

           “Huey, honey, what happened.” Donald had asked him with the soothing voice he used to calm his angry or crying kids. He waited very patiently for Huey to get his words out.

           “I never w-want to go back to s-school, ever again!” Huey hiccuped. “They called me a nerd; they said I’d n-never get any friends ‘cause everyone h-hates smart kids who know lots of stuff.”

           Donald rubbed Huey’s back comfortingly. “Huey, you love school and learning. Don’t let some bullies stop you from doing the things you like.” He picked up the small duck and placed him onto the couch next to him. “Kids get jealous of people who are smarter than them, so they call them bad names and make fun of them.” Donald explained, looking right into his nephew’s eyes. “You are going to be a great scientist, or engineer, or anything that you want because you’re such a smart kid.”

           “Really?” Huey sniffled.

           Donald smiled at his boy. “Absolutely kiddo, people are going to call you a nerd, but be proud of it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Wear that title like a badge of honor. One day you’re gonna be the boss of all those bullies, and you’ll be doing amazing things with all the knowledge you’ll have.”

           Huey nodded, accepting his uncles words of wisdom.

           “So do you think we can try going back to school tomorrow.” Donald asked. His 8-year-old nodded and gave him a big hug. “That’s my boy.”

           “You were lost in thought again.” He heard Scrooge quietly tell him, as he drifted back into reality once more.

           Donald glanced down at his boys. All of them were fast asleep in his lap just like when they were little. For a moment he felt a short pain in his heart. He wished Della could have seen the wonderful children she gave birth to. That she could see how thoughtful and kind they had turned out to be, going so far as to try to comfort him when his deression had overtaken him.

           He couldn’t believe that his boys actually did remember some of those things. Maybe he had some impact in their lives after all. He was lucky to have them.

           They’re just like you sis, he thought to himself as they snored softly. They really do make everything around them so much better. Heck, they managed to bring Scrooge and I back together after all these years. All I want is for them to be happy, maybe money isn’t the answer? I need to be here for them, like I used to be before we started living here, and they can be here for me too.

           I wonder if you’re still out there Della. Sometimes I hope that you found a way to survive up there for all these years. I know that’s a silly dream, but what I wouldn’t give to have it be true. For you to see your boys for the first time. All I know is that until then, even if that’s forever, I will take care of these kids. I can’t give them money, but I’ll give them enough love for you and I both. That’s my new promise to you.

           Donald stretched out his arms. “Well I’m gonna get these sleepy heads back into bed, mind carrying one?” Donald asked his Uncle. “They’re not as light as they used to be, two is pretty much my limit.”

           Scrooge nodded. “Sounds good, then you should get some well earned sleep too. And don’t you worry about money anymore alright? I may be cheap but I do care about you and the boys, I’m happy to get you anything you need. And that doesn’t make you any less of a parent to them. I hope they were able to show you that”

           Donald nodded and smiled at that. Scrooge lifted Huey gently off of the sofa, careful not to wake him. Donald took Dewey and Louie in each arm holding them close to his chest as they worked there way to the boys bedroom.

           The elder ducks placed each one in their beds before Scrooge headed for his own room. Donald stayed behind a moment, watching his boys sleep. They looked so at peace, he was glad that they could still sleep soundly after everything they’d learned this month about their mother. He leaned over each one and kissed them each on their foreheads before turning towards the door.

           “Goodnight my sons.”

           He knew he would never shake of the lingering sadness of everything that he’d lost ten years ago. How could he? And maybe he wouldn’t ever be able to give them everything in the world. But these boys of his were still here with him,  and they were enough. They had to be enough. And he’d give them all the love in the world instead.

Thanks for reading this whole thing. I hope it brought you some sort of enjoyment today. =) As always any comments are greatly appreciated and I hope you all have a beautiful day. 

[dear-oliver]

Chapter 2

Adam

I’m standing alone in the diner’s bathroom, my insides completely blown asunder by the hurricane of a boy that is Oliver Beck. Fuck. I’m a mess. This isn’t news, but I’ve probably just made a fool of myself. I don’t know why I did what I just did. That’s a lie, of course I know, I just can’t believe I actually did it.

He’s been getting under my skin for years, what with his messy hair and outrageous laugh, his…interesting and colorful wardrobe choices. Oliver is full of sunlight that radiates from every pore.

The bathroom, dear god, he probably thinks I’m a creep. I couldn’t leave him alone.

I hope he’s okay. Of course, he’s not okay; I heard him in there. I’m not a creep, he needed someone.

I’m a mess.

My thoughts are racing and my heart is pounding and I have to get out. I pull the door open and hurry back to my table, oblivious to anything going on around me. Grabbing my jacket and backpack, I rush out of the diner and am greeted by a bite of cold November wind.

 When I get home the lights are still on downstairs, mom waiting up for me. I open the door as quietly as possible, in the off-chance she’s drifted off watching House Hunters or some other HGTV show.

“Adam, is that you?”

“Hey, Mom,” I say, dropping my things in a heap by the door and stepping into the light of the living room.

She looks up from the television, giving me a once-over. “Everything all right, love?”

I look down to the spot on my wrist that I’ve now scratched raw. Wonderful. I must’ve been at it the whole walk home. I slide my hands into my pockets.

“I’m good, mom.” My smile is probably unconvincing, but it’s okay, I’m not here to perform.

“There’s some leftover spaghetti in the fridge, if you haven’t eaten.”

I nod and collapse onto the couch beside her, her hand moving up and smoothing my hair. We sit in silence for a while before sleep begins creeping up on me. I rest my head on my mother’s shoulder and close my eyes, drifting off to the sweet sound of home renovations.

 I’m awakened by a crashing sound. The lights are off, as well as the TV. My brother is on the floor, he probably fell, and he’s now laughing at…himself, I’m assuming. Someone’s a little drunk.

Theo is one year older than me and a lot more fun, if fun means having plans with someone other than yourself on a Friday night. People love Theo. He’s the guy who knows everyone’s secrets, but never tells them. The guy you go to when no one else will listen, you need a shoulder to cry on, you need help burning down a building or robbing a bank. Theo is simultaneously a bright laugh on a breezy day and a tired whisper in the dead of night.

Right now, though, he is a boy who has just returned from a party at who-knows-whose house and can’t even stand up straight.

Mom covered me in a blanket before turning in, and I speak to Theo from my nest on the couch. “Do you think you can make it to your bedroom on your own?”

“All good, Brother, we’re all good indeed,” Theo laughs again at his own hilarity as he clambers up the stairs.

A few minutes later I gather the blanket around me and head up to my room.

I crawl into bed with my slightly battered copy of Frankenstein, which I’m about to read for the third time. Opening the book, I lose myself in the story.

I relate, however odd that may seem, to Frankenstein’s Monster. Honestly, I’ve never believed he was the monster that so many make him out to be. He only wanted what we all want, which is love. He gave his heart to someone else and had it thrown back at him, was called ‘ugly’ and ‘monster’ over and over again. Anyone who hears those words enough times is going to darken, turn cold. You can’t hurl cruelty at someone and expect them to just stand there and take it. Now, it certainly doesn’t justify hurting or killing, but is it really that hard to relate? Can anyone truly say they’ve never wanted to inflict injury on someone else? How different he might have been, had someone only given him the love he so desperately needed. Seriously, have a little empathy.

People exhaust me. I’m tired of being tired. I feel like an old man trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old boy. I am lonely. When did people move so far out of reach? When did happiness and freedom become so hard to obtain? My world is bleak these days.

More than anything, I miss being carefree. I miss not worrying about how many friends I had or if anyone would ever love me for me.

When I was little I was probably closest to my cousin, Joanna. We spent the majority of our summers together right up until I was around eight and she was nine. I was a relatively mild kid, quiet, played by myself. I didn’t have any close friends through my elementary school years, didn’t have other kids over or go to birthday parties, normal kid things. But that was always okay, because I knew that come summer I would have Jo.

We had brilliant adventures together, Joanna and me. Our imaginations were overflowing with endless possibilities; the world was ours for the taking. Thinking back, I don’t see how anything could compare to the utter happiness of those invincible summers.

My aunt and uncle had a cottage on Long Lake. It was this retro-looking little place: wood paneling, wicker lampshades, a set of table and chairs rimmed with chrome and plastered in vinyl. It felt like home. One year, I was staying with them at the cottage for the week. At the time, Jo and I were obsessed with that movie Monster House. The one where the house is alive and evil, and with Halloween fast-approaching these three kids have to figure out a way to destroy it before it demolishes the hordes trick-or-treaters. With this extraordinary piece of cinema at the forefront of our minds, we decided that the old abandoned cottage down the lake was alive. Now, unfortunately, this is not a tale of a murderous cottage. Disappointing, I know. It’s not a tale at all; just a memory. A clear, pure memory.

I see Little Jo and Little Adam running along the beach (if you could even call it a beach, more like a rocky landscape that sliced up my feet, but Joanna seemed hardened to). I see us jumping and whooping, climbing from rock to rock on our way to investigate the Monster Cottage. I don’t actually remember the cottage itself, just that moment on the way, moving as fast as we could but also in no hurry at all.

We were crime fighters, detectives, partners, friends. Joanna was the hero, I was the sidekick, and I liked it that way. I had always looked up to her. An energy emanated from her and it demanded attention, it was beautiful. I’m sure it still is, but people grow up and grow apart. We build lives or walls, separate from the people who shared our innocence. I haven’t talked to her in years, and I don’t think of her often, but I am thinking of her now. Joanna was wild. She made me wild too.

My eyelids are heavy. I close the book and set it on my nightstand, turn out the light.

That night I dream of golden-haired boys and grimy bathrooms.

[paniccord-ff]

24.

Locking my car door as I made my way to Mijo’ home, I should have been here a while ago but I got side tracked, tomorrow is the BET awards and I have so much to do. Opening the door walking into his home “here he is” Mijo’ baby momma said to me “what’s good” closing the door behind me “uncle!” Mylen yelped, he hugged my waist “little man” patting his back as I walked into the home “they in the dining room Chris” Mylen let me go “when can we come to you house?” Mylen questioned “soon, when Royalty comes, you can then” walking into the dining room “what’s good Elliot” dapping my jeweller “CB, my brother” Elliot said “thank you for coming here and my bad for cussing you out earlier, I didn’t want you come to the home. That would be ruining the whole thing” dapping Mijo before I sat down “it’s fine, when she opened the door I was like oh shit am I supposed to be here? But then you came out, sorry. I missed the memo on that but here we are, last minute again breezy” taking my snapback off “what can I say, I was like my boy would be the best to do this. I need an engagement ring today” Elliot shook his head “let’s see what we got then homie” rubbing my hands together all nervous.

Staring at the three rings “I want my girl to have this best homie, I am not feeling the three here. I don’t know” sitting back on the chair “my girl is classy, I want something that I know will look good on her” Mijo kissed his teeth “my girl would be happy with a silver band, fuck that nigga” Elliot reached into his box “I did bring this, I wasn’t sure about this but I thought you never know. This is special and unique, I made this” he passed me the black velvet box, taking the box from him “a ring is a ring” opening the box, my eyes lit up “wow!” Mijo spat “you were hiding this? Wow, this is special” how he going to show me the trash first “the only reason why I hid it is because it has a big price tag on it, it is fifteen carat cut diamond and with that thick band of diamond you are looking at five point five million but because I know you, I will say five million” nodding my head staring at the ring, that is a big price “I will take it” I said closing the box “what!?” Mijo spat “five million? Are you really that in love? Wow Chris” getting up from the chair “she my girl, I am so in love Mijo. She deserves this, trust me” I am about to spend five million because I can.

Smiling while Mijo’ baby mother gawked at the ring “this is so beautiful, she is so damn lucky. Oh my god, I love it” if she loves it this much then I know Rylee will “well for five million I am hoping to get this reaction” I can’t stop smiling “oh god, I am just nervous as fuck. I can’t sleep either, I am just nervous as shit. BET said they will accommodate me but still, a nigga about to be engaged” rubbing my chest blowing out air “you haven’t even known her for a year, this is months? Are you real?” Mijo is in shock, I understand “I know I have found the one, trust me. You know it too” Mijo side eyed me “I do, I know how caught up you have been. She keeping you good so who am I to judge, just be good to her and yourself” my phone started ringing in my pocket, getting my phone out. Seeing Rylee’ name “babe” answering the call “Chris, where did you go?” Rylee asked “I told you I was going out” I swear I did “no you didn’t, I been looking for you around the home. Where are you?” I must have forgot “uhm Mijo needed me, I swear I told you. You was in the shower and I shouted to you, my bad though” I feel bad now “it’s fine, is everything ok with your friend?” she is so perfect, always asking about others, she just cares and I love it “he good, I am coming home now. Don’t worry, love you” Mijo gagged at me “love you too” disconnected the call, hitting Mijo’ arm “nigga get the fuck outta here” niggas judging me, taking the box from him “this is too precious, anyways I am out family” my girl wants me.

I have no idea where to hide this, scratching my head. Hearing Rylee walk up the stairs “you know what, I hate wearing bras” Rylee complained, seeing Royalty’ bedroom door open and quickly ran into her room “Chris?” she is coming “shit” I said to myself, looking around me. The play house, crouching down and placing the box in the play house “why do you keep ignoring me!?” she spat walking into Royalty’ bedroom, closing the door to the play house “I’m not, I was just shutting the door?” I pointed walking back “and that would make any difference by shutting the door? You are so odd at times, but I want you to listen to my complaint” I hope the ring will be fine there, it should be. Rubbing the back of my neck as I turned around “I heard the word sex, lack of sex? Oh wait, I heard that you were stopping your pills?” Rylee walked closer to me grinning, placing her arms around my neck “wrong, I was complaining about wearing bras, I am changing into a sweatshirt because I can’t deal” leaning down and pressing a kiss to her nose “you can wear anything you like beautiful, just hurry up” slapping her butt “I may be changing into sweatpants too” she moved her arms away from my neck walking backwards “hurry up” this woman is about to be so long.

Rylee’ parents flight must be delayed, we have been waiting at arrivals for a while now. Pulling my hood up on my Bape jacket, slowly walking back over to Rylee. I am bored of waiting and I want to go, standing behind Rylee. Wrapping my arms around her neck, Rylee turned her head to look at me. Pressing a kiss to her lips “thank you for coming though, I didn’t think you would have” she said, smiling at her “I don’t mind, your dad is a cool guy. We about to turn up though” Rylee squinted her eyes looking back at her phone “I know but you are busy, you have been awake so early doing things so coming here would be an inconvenience to you” rolling my eyes “I saw that” she spat, looking down at her and then realising she is taking a selfie “you’re never an inconvenience to me so don’t think it” biting my bottom lip squinting my eyes at the camera as Rylee took the picture of us “ok I just got wet” Rylee blurted out, she gasped breaking my hold around her “you little freak” I said, Rylee giggled placing her hand over her mouth “I just said that out loud” I can tell she was thinking it and didn’t mean to say it “I appreciate the compliment, I get you wet” she returned to her phone “I’m sorry but that is really sexy Chris” walking closer to Rylee “my little freaky baby” kissing the top of her head.

Pushing my hood back seeing Harvey “dad” I said running ahead of Rylee, Harvey busted out laughing pointing at me “Ooohh daddy I missed you” I mimicked Rylee hugging Harvey “Oh my god, I don’t even do that Chris!” feeling Rylee’ hand hit my back, moving back from Harvey “am I lying though? You just mad I hugged him first” Rylee is mad jealous I did “I do not do that” dapping Harvey “welcome to LA boss” Harvey is still laughing “good to be here, I got a very nice welcome but I have to hug my baby girl” Rylee waved me off “get out of the way” seeing Rose smiling at us all “looking beautiful Rose” hugging her close “thank you Chris, you are so damn happy” she giggled “very hyper ain’t you” moving back from the hug and placing my arm around her “what can I say, I think I might want to keep the original” pointing at Rose “besides I think your mom cooks better” Rylee kissed her teeth putting a finger up at me “welcome back again Kyrie” moving my arm from around Rose “let me take your bag” it looks heavy “oh no, it’s fine” Rose moved my hand away.

Unlocking my car and opening my trunk with my key, opening the back door for Rose “this is a nice car” she complimented my Range “thank you ma’am, let me take your bag now though. To put in the trunk” she passed me her bag, seeing a few people actually following us. Placing Rose’ bag in the back trunk, watching as Harvey helped her up “I don’t need help Harvey” she hit his chest “too much booty woman” he retorted “will you stop it” smiling wide at them both, their love is beautiful “can we have a picture?” closing my trunk turning around, I don’t feel like doing this today “you going around?” I asked Harvey “yes I am” he walked by me “not right now, sorry” walking by the fans to get into the driver’s seat.

Harvey and Rose are funny, they have done nothing but flirt in the backseat but it’s sweet. Harvey is so in love and I am going to have that with Rylee, looking over at Rylee and she caught my eye “what you looking at?” holding my hand out, Rylee held my hand “I love you” I said looking back on the road “I love you too, are you going to shave or keep the stubble? I kind of like the stubble you know” clearing my throat “I am shaving, I got to look handsome. Hopefully I can make you wet still” Rylee gasped moving her hand “don’t say that! My dad” Rylee spat, I snorted laughing “your parents been flirting in the back, you know what though. I want us to be just like your parents, I adore their love” this is like the third time I have felt my phone ring, digging into my pocket to get my phone “aww that is so sweet Chris, it’s not me. Harvey drives me up the wall” I know what my manager wants from me “nigga” my dumbass has missed a turning, switching lane “ok where are you? You know this wasn’t supposed to be about you” my manager stays stressing “I will be coming soon, ain’t French there? I bet he ain’t there but you on the phone crying, I just need to do something and I will be with you” stopping at the red light “so I will see you tonight?” busting out laughing “uhhh nah, I ain’t say that I just said I will be there. You do your part and I will do mine, the record label still want me to come to New York? I don’t see why I have to travel for a photoshoot” looking at my watch “New York for you, they want to be more involved with you. Touring all over the world” now that is something I don’t want to do right now “who said I want to leave the country? Look, we will discuss this next time, I would prefer just to stay in America. I have shit at home, I don’t want to be leaving my daughter for months, if needs be I will do it but we breaking that shit up completely” record label think they are funny with this touring shit “leave it to me, see you soon” disconnecting the call and placing my phone in my lap.

“I guess I am going to New York, shit” turning the corner and seeing their hotel “boss, you can stay with me you know? My crib got plenty of space” I don’t know why he got to be in a hotel “why are you sad about that?” Rylee questioned me, parking outside their hotel “no, I rather just do this myself Chris. We appreciate it” switching my car engine off “maybe later you can see my place and Rylee. I just didn’t want to travel, I don’t like leaving my ladies here in LA” she needs to understand this “dad his house is so cool! And he has a car inside his house, he has a massive games room and the cars dad! You need to see it” Kyrie gushed “I will have to see that” Harvey said “don’t be stupid Chris and besides, I get a break away from you” side eyeing Rylee as she grinned at me.

Walking ahead of Rylee and her family, they are fussing and I need to quickly go to rehearsals “sir” the receptionist said “hey, there is a room booked. Probably under Harvey Turner” the queue of people just stared at me, they do not look happy but he served me quickly “yes we have the room here, family room” looking behind me “upgrade their room to the best room you have here, a suite or something” looking behind me again, I don’t know what they are disagreeing about “we have a suite free right now?” nodding my head, he moved away “I was wondering where you disappeared too” Harvey said behind me “as soon as Rylee said daddy I walked away” I said laughing, Rylee pouted at me “Aww I am joking with you” I just find it hilarious when she says daddy like a spoilt brat but I am her only daddy, she need to correct herself with that “sir, would you like that under your name” looking at the guy “yeah, I am sure you know my name” digging into my pocket, I pray I took my cards out from my car. Feeling the cards in my back pocket, pulling them out and seeing my black card “here, make sure you add breakfast on that” placing my card on the counter “are we staying here too?” Rylee questioned, smiling at Rylee “you got me there” she is so simple.

The guy passed me the key cards “thank you” placing my black card in my pocket “you know what, I am so happy you guys are here, I think you all should have good time” holding the key cards out to Harvey “I am not disrespecting you but I did say stay with me and you ain’t listen, I want you to have this and I want you to have the best. You welcomed me in your home and treated my daughter like your own, just please take this. It’s just a room” Harvey didn’t speak a word to me “I love y’all like family and I would do the same for them” Rose took the key cards from me “Chris, you didn’t have too” she said “both of my son’s never thought of inviting me to the apartment I helped give them, but a boy I only knew by face is doing this for us. Thank you, but if you do something like that for me again I am beating that ass” Harvey got his hand out laughing, taking his hand as he placed his arm around me.

Looking down at my watch, I need to go but I can’t leave them. My phone started ringing in my hand, looking down at the caller ID “the fuck” I said to myself, answering the phone “hello?” why is my baby mother calling me “Hi Chris, I know your mom kind of talks for us both but you know with having a daughter together we need to stop being childish, I just remembered that you wanted her for tomorrow?” this is mad awkward “erm yeah I did, I am taking her with me” if she tells me no, I am arguing “that is fine but I was actually taking her to Houston for a week because originally I am supposed to take her, that was the agreement right? I said it to your mom but she said you really want her there but I will be in Houston” chewing the inside of my cheek “well I mean if you good with it, I will have her for the week” this is a big thing for me, the phone line went silent “for a week? She has her friend’ party to go too and ballet class can you do that in your busy schedule?” she thought I wouldn’t do this “of course, that’s my daughter. Come on” turning around to walk out of the hotel room “oh and one thing I don’t want your bitch near her” I froze, now why she go and spoil the mood “I know you don’t mean Rylee, listen to me Nia don’t do this. Honestly don’t, you had some nigga around my daughter! You want to come to me and talk shit, don’t do it!” she hit a nerve and now I am shouting “she is rude as fuck” Rylee told me what she did “I don’t care, so I will get my daughter in the morning and don’t pack her clothes because I don’t need it” disconnecting the phone, this bitch she thinks she can stop Rylee seeing her.

Turning around Rylee is already stood in front of me “baby momma trouble, it’s cool though. We got Royalty for a week and she has a pretty busy schedule and so do you so I am stuck with her which I love, we can pick you up from work and everything” I am going to remain positive, fuck her “did she mention me?” Rylee asked “of course but ignore her, I learnt to do that. I got Royalty though” Rylee cooed out “that is so cute Chris, just to hear you say that you are having her. This is what it should be baby, well she is just mad because she is mad ugly. I am actually disgusted that you had a baby with that? She is old enough to be your mom” busting out laughing “honestly, it was a mistake. A drunk mistake and I regret it but you know, my daughter. I just think of her, I wish it never happened. I can’t believe it at times” Rylee touched my face “she is a blessing you needed” shaking my head “you are the blessing I needed, remember that. You changed me, you showed me how to love” seeing Harvey walking towards us “you staying here? You can come to my crib? I need to go and rehearse” Rylee turned around to look at her dad “come to the home dad” it will be pretty dope for Harvey to see my home “I promise to visit your home but right now Rose is tired” he whispered, I totally forgot “sorry, when you free then come. You want to stay here?” looking at Rylee “I will pick you up later?” she nodded her head “cool, call me if anything” hugging Rylee and pressing a kiss to the side of her cheek.

Opening the door to the hotel “Chris, I wanted to ask” Harvey said behind me “we can speak outside” he said, opening the door and walking out “how are you feeling? I couldn’t say it in front of my baby, are you all set?” scratching the side of my face “god, I have so much to do. My pops has come, my whole family here. I have to see them, I didn’t tell Rylee because she will think why. My mind is everywhere, I am nervous because it’s a big thing but I am happy” Harvey and I walked slowly side by side “I have got my best suit out for this” placing my arm around Harvey laughing “don’t be trying to outshine me now, come on Harvey” moving my arm away from him “it’s a special thing, we will be at an award show. On the TV, I have it on record at home. You know if anything happens to my wife, I can always replay it” putting my head down “I want y’all to have a good time though, the SUV will be here for you early. It will bring you to my home and we leave from there. You will get to meet my family, I have a little something planned for after but thank you so much Harvey, thank you for allowing me to marry your daughter. I know she is special to you and I will look after her, I promise you that” I think Harvey would beat my ass anyways.