#like I’m ok don’t worry about me but also. the Horrors. (ed)

[sunnibits]

yknow, I feel like we often tend to visualize progress as a staircase - very straightforward, you keep taking these easy little steps up until you finally reach the promised land of some finished goal. but tbh you know what progress really feels like to me? like the most twisted, shitty Sisyphean game of chutes and ladders. just an endless fuckin loop of climbing and falling over and over again. and goddamnit, I fucking KNOW that chutes and ladders is probably a more realistic and healthy expectation of how progress works, but I just wish I didn’t keep sliding my ass down all those goddamn chutes, you feel me??

[joonsrack]

+Pairing: Namjoon x fem!reader, Taehyung x fem!reader (one-sided), 

+Genre: Angst, humor, fluff, two-shots, sfw

+Word count: ~8.5k

+Warning: Mention of past recreational drug use (weed), blood mention (nosebleed), lot of pinning 

+Rating: Pg13

+Summary: 

Your roommate and long-time one-sided crush disappears one morning, leaving behind only a post-it note stating two things:

1. He’s off to finally meet the love of his life whom he met on the internet, might take the whole summer;

2. He’s sub-renting his room while he’s gone, don’t worry it’s all taken care of;

+A/N: Just six days late, nothing too major. This is the first part of a two-shot I’m writing for the bangtanscenery collab: April Shower & May Flower. This didn’t turn out as expected, but it is what it is lmao. Thank you to @gguksgalaxy for helping me brainstorm, and @spicykoreantatertots and @starlightseoks​ for reading over my stuff, fixing my mistakes and giving me the validation I needed to carry on 💖

The first day of summer vacation is supposed to be a good day, a great day even. No more finals, no more studying; just warm weather, lazing around, and maybe picking up some shifts at the grocery store.

Today is all of that, but it’s also the worst day of your life.

It had started as it was supposed to; no alarm clock, just your body waking up by itself. You had messed around on your phone for a while, not caring about the time you were wasting. After the last three weeks of nerve-wracking deadlines and exams, you had deserved a break. The next thing on your schedule was work on Thursday, meaning you had two days completely to yourself. You had big plans for these two days; doing absolutely nothing.

But then, as the day was slowly shifting from morning into noon, the stillness of the house cued you that something was… not right.

As you have come to learn, your roommate, Taehyung, is not one to go about his summer day without his 20 minutes of morning stretching on zen nature sounds. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you don’t. He has a morning routine that he sticks to a T, and in a way, you find the sound of him doing his routine comforting.

Two years you’ve been living together now; or well, almost two years.

You had met in your first semester of freshman year, both residing in the same co-ed dorm. The horror of shared bathroom, kitchen, and living areas had prompted you two to throw caution to the wind and start living together, even if you were both still technically strangers. Two years later, the concept of being a stranger with Taehyung is so far fetched, it’s like you’ve never not known each other.

Which is why this comes as a slap to your face.

After finally making it out of your room and to the kitchen, you find in lieux of your roommate, a single post-it note, stuck to his old fashioned shelf stereo.

There are barely fifteen words on it, but that’s enough to destroy your post-final, beginning of summer haze:

Going back to Korea for the summer, I’m finally going to meet Busan_baby!

I sub-rented my room, he should get here soon :) xx

Objectively, Taehyung doing spontaneous things is not out of character. But this… Leaving for a whole summer, without even hinting at it...

You had plans for this summer. Plans that consisted of spending quality time with him, and maybe, possibly, finally confessing to him. Him leaving kind of put a wrench into that.

Plus.

Busan_baby…

The mysterious internet friend that’s been plaguing Taehyung’s mind since they met during an Overwatch raid, whatever that means.

Your two-year crush had only evolved in the time you were living together, and a part of you had become possessive overtime. So these days, only the mention of Tae’s friend’s username was enough to put you in the worst of moods. And now you’re going to lose your summer with your roommate to her? To a perfect stranger living on the other side of the planet?

And the whole sub-renting situation...you’re boiling. He just... rented his room. To someone you might not know, with whom you’ll be stuck all summer.

The first day of summer vacation is supposed to be a good day. This, this is not a good day.

Your first reaction is to, well, do nothing. You feel tears of frustration welling up in your eyes, and you recognize the burning sensation in your chest as anger. You feel a little ridiculous; you’re always factoring Taehyung into your plans, always have, but clearly he isn’t giving you the same kind of courtesy. You grab your phone, knowing he hasn’t sent you any text, but checking anyways. You have no idea what time he left, he could already be in the plane for all you know, but you send him a message anyways.

Me 1:27pm: Is this a joke?

You wipe a tear away, trying to breathe through the negativity. He must have had his reason, he does have his whole family in Korea, maybe they’re the real reason he left and he’s just joking with you.

Just as the thought is starting to make sense, you hear the key in the lock, and your heart starts beating double time.

It was all the prank, he’s not leaving for real, it’s him coming back to surprise you. See? You had nothing to worry about. The smile grows on your face, and you quickly dry the tears track on your face, not wanting Taehyung to tease you about them.

But doubt quickly sets in your mind when it’s clearly taking too long for whoever on the other side to open the door. The bolt is old, and it had taken you and Taehyung weeks before you had been able to know the right way to unlock it without struggling.  

You can hear them struggling with the key, rattling the doorknob, until finally the bolt clicks into place and the door swiftly swings open. Obviously, whoever is on the other side wasn’t expecting it to give, and they stumble past the doorsill, barely missing the floor by a few centimeters.

You’re shocked into stillness, watching the catastrophe unveil.

Mystery man then trips on the entry mats, throwing him forward once again until his head gets dangerously close to the kitchen table; but like a seasoned tripper, he flips his body mid-plunge, landing hard but cushioned by the shag carpet of the living room.

He groans, rolling on his side holding his head in between his hands, and you’re too shocked to do anything but stare in both horror and wonder.

The living trainwreck on the floor doesn’t seem to have noticed your presence yet, and you’re inclined to just lay low and wait until you can observe more accidental gymnastics, but you realize that would be weird. Would it be weirder than everything you’ve just witnessed though?

You clear your throat to announce your presence, and he freezes, opens one eye, spots you, closes it again, and groans even louder.

“Is there any chance you just materialized now and missed all of that.”

You shrug emphatically.

“I can lie if that makes you feel better.”

He sits up, smiling grimly and resigned, like this is not the first time this has happened.

You would go offer him a hand but you also have no idea who this man is, what he’s doing in your apartment, with a key, and seemingly enough bad luck to bring this whole building down by himself.

“So… Who might you be?”

He looks up to you in confusion, and for a second you think you also see hurt flicker across his eyes, but it disappears as fast as it appeared.

“Taehyung… didn’t tell you?”

Right, sub-renting.

You grab the post-it off the stereo and wave it in his direction, letting him connect the dots.

“He just did.” You say, voice dripping with sarcasm, and he winces, noticing how you’re clearly unhappy with the whole ordeal.

“I thought you knew...I... fuck. I can leave if you want? You don’t look like you agreed to this.”

You sigh, feeling bad that you made him feel bad. It’s not his fault after all. Plus, him sub-renting means he most probably doesn’t have a place to stay right now.

“No, no. Of course not. It’s not your fault, I’m just… he didn’t even tell me he was leaving. It’s a lot.”

Silence fills the room, and he smiles awkwardly at you before dusting himself off. You take the opportunity to finally properly look at him.

He looks vaguely familiar now, with his tall body, long limbs and soft brown hair. He’s wearing grandfather clothes, but it’s strangely fitting with his energy. The glasses perched on his nose are slightly crooked, but it doesn’t like it’s from the fall. It looks permanent.

If he’s Taehyung’s friend, you probably saw him around Uni or something.

“So, I still don’t know your name?” You finally break the silence, and he looks startled by the question, pushing the glasses up his nose.

“Kim Namjoon. Well, Namjoon Kim here.” He finishes with a faint blush on his cheeks, and you nod, well aware of the whole last name difference. You’ve been living with Taehyung for two years after all.

“I’m going to try calling him, you can...get your luggage in I guess.”

“His plane was leaving 3 hours ago, I doubt you’ll be able to reach him.” He says sheepishly, as if that was his fault.

You pinch your lips in anger containment, not needing Namjoon to watch you slowly lose your sanity. You feel a surge of dark emotions invading your chest, so you have to make your escape swift.

“Cool, nice. Ok. Well, I need to... be in my room. If you have any questions just knock on my door. Or call my name.”

You’re already off into angst world, making your way to your room, so you miss Namjoon’s parting words;

“But... you haven’t told me your name, y/n.”

You feel the need to grieve the summer that could have been, so you do.

The first stage is denial.

It’s a little hard to deny though, with Taehyung gone and Namjoon currently moving into his room, so you jump straight to anger.

You would feel bad for Namjoon, you didn’t even show him to Taehyung’s room, and your welcome was pretty cold. But you can’t be blamed, this was sprung on you. You were blindsided; betrayed; fooled.

You try to remember your chats with Taehyung in the last few days, but everything is covered by a mist of confusion. The last few weeks are blurred and blended together, a mess of studying, late nights, nervous breakdowns; so you and Taehyung were not exactly talking. You were more...existing in the same space. Or crying in the same space, really.

But still, you know that if Taehyung had mentioned his plans to disappear for the summer you would have surely remembered.

You write an angry text a hundred words long, fueled by the horrible feeling of having been wronged and a need for vindication.

You don’t send the text because you know at the bottom of your heart you’re being overly dramatic, but it’s still therapeutic to act like you’re going to send it to him.

Then comes bargaining.

You write another text, this one more conciliating. You promise to be a better roommate, to stop bunching up your socks and leaving them in the cracks of the couch (although he does that too, the hypocrite), to stop stealing the Korean snacks his mom sends send him once a month (which is a big commitment; they’re just so good, you can’t find this quality in your uni town), and to stop using up all the hot water in the morning.

You also do not send this text. There’s a little too many promises in it you just know you won’t be able to hold.

You’re transitioning into the depressive stage when you hear a crash coming from the living room, followed by a few curses.

With the whole thing you witnessed earlier, you’re surprised that nothing fell victim to Namjoon’s long limbs sooner. He clearly has coordination issues; you would be worried, except pretty much everything decorating the apartment belongs to Taehyung.

Everything except…

There’s a bad feeling creeping up in your stomach. You don’t have the worst luck in life, but you also don’t have the best. And bad things usually happen in a group of three.

Taehyung ditching you for the summer, Taehyung clearly being fooled by some internet catfisher, and….

You jump to your feet, following the sound to the living room. There, your new roommate is kneeling on the floor, gathering the pieces of dried macaroni scattered around him. You can see the picture frame on the floor, the glass cracked in the middle.

The first day you had moved in together, Taehyung and you had taken a picture together with a single-use camera. You were both exhausted from the move, boxes laying all around, but beaming with satisfaction.

You had gotten a frame for it but Taehyung thought it was too bare, so one time, completely high as a kite, he’d decorated it with macaroni and hot glue.

You hold it very dear, and it has a central place in the living room. Or well, it did.

The macaroni remains on the floor is probably the saddest thing you’ve ever seen, and you can’t bear the sight of them, so you give a parting blank look to Namjoon, who’s looking up at you pale as a ghost, and you walk back to your room.

Alright, so stage one of grief; denial.

Belting your heart out to Italian music is usually your way of dealing with sorrow, but with a new and strange presence in your home, it probably won’t be happening for a while, so you settle for laying in your bed, with your curtain pulled closed and some Andrea Bocelli blasting from your earphone. It works for a while, until your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten all day.

You sigh, bracing yourself for yet another reminder that you’ve been basically abandoned by the possible love of your life. You come out of your room dragging your feet, only to be basically assailed but the unmistakable smell of frying garlic. You’re both disgusted and intrigued, so you pick up your pace to the kitchen, finding Namjoon there, sweat on his forehead, with a concentrated look on his face. His glasses are hanging at the tip of his nose, probably having slipped there from the sweat, and you find yourself endeared by the sight. Only for a quick second though.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be left alone in the kitchen?” You ask, and he whips his head towards you, clearly startled by your presence.

“Well…” He says, followed by a deprecating laugh, and you kind of feel like an asshole. He probably broke the frame by accident, and it’s not like it’s his fault that Taehyung bailed on your summer plans to go run off to who knows who the fuck busan_baby really is.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, trying to change the subject, and he looks grateful but also very nervous.

“Hm, well Taehyung told me once garlic pasta was your favorite, and since I was trying to apologize for, well the frame but also just being sprung onto you so suddenly, I figured I could cook your favorite dish...”

You nod, but you can’t contain a snort, and Namjoon’s expression becomes worried.

“Taehyung thinks that because that’s the only thing he can successfully cook, and the first time he did I didn’t have the heart to tell him I can’t stand garlic.”

Namjoon looks at the dish, then back at you, then back at the dish. You see all the energy drain from his body, face falling as he groans in frustration.

“It’s fine you didn’t know.” You try to sound as apologetic as you can, but it doesn’t seem to be helping, and he moves the pan from the burner, closing the heat, plastering a hand on his face.

“This is going all wrong. This day is just mess after mess. I’m so sorry I’m usually much better at human interaction, I’m just very nervous right now, I guess.”

You want to ask what he’s so nervous about, but you feel like it might not help his distraught state. “Ok so, clearly this was doomed from the start.” You say, and his face falls even more, so you hurry to finish your thought before he can jump to conclusions.

“You showed up while I was having a horrible day; I had no idea you were coming; you...tripped and fell in front of me, probably making you feel embarrassed, then all this nervous energy lead to you having another clumsy accident, and I probably didn’t help with my overall coldness… and now, this, which again, is totally not your fault…” You let the silence hang for a little longer before you finish your thought. “ I think we should start over.”

“...What?”

“Yeah, I think we should start over. Like, come here.” You wave your hand in a motion for him to follow after you, and he does, albeit definitely looking reluctant.

You lead him to the front door, opening it, waiting for him to get the cue. He stands there, looking a little dumbfounded, glimpsing down at his slipper clad feet.

“Come on, only for a second.”

He finally follows your directions, stepping outside in the hallway, and you close the door behind him. After a good 30 second of silence, you realize he might be dumber than he looks.

“You’re supposed to knock.” You say just loud enough for him to hear on the other side, and there’s a split second before he finally does.

You throw the door open with the biggest smile you can muster, and he stares at you in actual worry.

“Hello Namjoon Kim, nice to meet you! Taehyung totally told me you were coming! Come on in!”

Namjoon finally catches up, pinching his lips to stop himself from smiling.

“Nice to meet you,-” He greets back, taking a step into the apartment, but the sole of his slipper gets caught on the doorsill, ripping it off.

He stares down at his slippers in betrayal, and you have to bite the inside of your cheeks to hold back a cackle.

“At this point, I don’t know how to convince you I’m not like this 24/7.” He says, and he looks a little bit more relaxed than before, which is good.

“I’m sorry to say that ship has sailed.”

Going to sleep at five in the morning is never the right decision, even when you have nothing planned, but the prospect of watching Hannah Brown finally eliminating Luke P off The Bachelorette is just too good, keeping you wide awake until you finally get the satisfaction of seeing the smug smile being wiped off his face. Taehyung was so looking forward to this, cursing out the man after every episode, and not having him by your side, yelling incoherently at your computer screen, definitely made you sad.

There's also the whole waiting-for-a-text-that-never-came thing.

You know his flight landed, you looked at the flight time between where you are and Incheon airport. The realization that you weren’t even worth an “I’ve just landed” text is enough to ruin you Luke P elimination afterglow, sending you straight to sleep.

So being rudely awoken at 9 a.m., eyes sore from the lack of sleep and maybe some possible tears of frustration, is not the best feeling.

At first you think you dreamed it, a loud crash from somewhere in the apartment, but then the groans of pain that follows are sounding pretty damn real.

You throw the comforter off, jumping out of bed in the same breath, trying to locate the source of the commotion but still woozy with sleep, and you find its origin in the bathroom;

Very naked, save for the shower curtain draped over the figure.

Namjoon squeals at the sight of you, making sure all the important bits are covered with the curtain that he probably dragged in his apparent fall, half of it still hanging off the pole.

Your sleep-deprived brain slowly catches up to the situation, and you slap both hands over your eyes, turning around with the intention to get out of dodge, only to walk straight into the door frame. The impact makes you lose your balance, the unforgiving tiles making contact with your ass at the speed of light. There’s a throbbing pain in your backside and there’s definitely something dripping from your nose. Another beautiful start to your summer vacation.

It’s your turn to groan, holding your head back to stop the blood from dripping all over your PJs. There’s wet fumbling in the general area of the shower, the sound of the water being cut off and then a moment later, a very naked man appears in your field of vision.

“Hum.” Is all you say, as he snatches his boxer brief from the counter, slipping them on in a flash. But you’ve seen. You’ve witnessed. You’re a changed person now.

“I forgot my towel.” He answers back, face so red it looks like it must hurt. There’s still shampoo suds in his wet hair, dripping down his forehead, neck, and shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to care as he grabs the toilet paper roll, offering it to you.

“Are you ok?” he asks with concern in his voice. He’s kneeling in front of you, skin glistening, and the sight he makes doesn’t help with your blood pressure. His handsomeness didn’t escape your notice, but this….this is a little overwhelming.

“I’ve known you for less than 24 hours and I’ve already seen your junk; I’m great.”

He looks a little thrown by what you’ve just said, but you can blame it on a concussion later, so you’re not too worried.

“Lean forward and breath through your mouth,” He says, choosing to ignore your comment. You follow his recommendation, pinching your nose.

“You seem familiar with nosebleeds.” You tease, knowing full well he’s clearly the clumsy type.

“I’ve had my share of encounters with flat surfaces.”

“So are you gonna tell me what possessed you to shower in the middle of the night?”

“Is 9 a.m. the middle of the night?” He asks, a grin playing at his lips.

“It sure is during summer vacation.”

Namjoon chooses to ignore your admission of being a living, breathing, couch potato.

“I wanted to go get a new pair of slippers, maybe a new frame as well. I obviously need to add a new shower curtain to the list.”

You look up at the way his tone goes slightly somber from irritation, and you’re having none of that;  it’s 9 am, middle of the night, and all you want right now is everything to be happy and breezy.

“Do you mind if I tag along? I wanted to get a corkboard for all my pictures, so I won’t need a new frame actually. We could go get some middle of the night breakfast too.”

His eyes light up, a new energy filling the room.

“Of course! You can, totally.”

His metaphorical tail seems to be wagging, and you’re a little confused about the source of his sudden excitement, but he seems to be in a good mood so that’s the important part here.

“Alright then, I’ll let you finish your shower- oh my god, wait. Are you ok? I heard you fall; that did not sound like a painless descent.”

Namjoon winces, rubbing at the back of his head like he’s suddenly reminded of the pain.

“I’ll survive with only slight bruising, it’s all good.”

You nod, relieved he didn’t hurt himself seriously.

“Let’s get you some bubble wrap while we’re there.” You tease, and he rolls his eyes, probably having heard that one before.

There’s this moment of silence where neither of you are moving, and you’re wondering what he’s waiting for to go back in the shower.

“So...are you waiting to get another peek at my junk, or?” He teases.

You blush, staring at him dumbfounded. Your sleepy brain says yes, but your pride says no.

“Right, let me get out of here.”

You take your roll of toilet paper with you as you leave, pride almost intact.

Both of your loudly growling stomachs make the decision for the order of things, and your first stop is the cheap dinner a few streets down. The usual grumpy waiter that you’ve grown fond of is on shift, and his eyes zeroes straight on you two the second you step in.

His regular glare is already pretty intimidating, but the intensity of his stare is enough to make you want to take a menu and hide behind. Instead you walk with Namjoon to the table you usually sit at with Taehyung.

“Hey Joon.” Is the first thing Yoongi says, throwing the menu on the table with all the lack of grace in the world. Namjoon salutes him back with the ease of someone who’s used to being the target of Yoongi’s laser focus. You deduce they’re friends, by the way they seem to have a silent conversation with their eyes.

He switches his focus to you after a beat, and you gulp loudly, confused by the inquisition in his stare.

“Hi Y/N, where’s your tragic love story?”

Your jaw drops to the table, shocked by Yoongi’s blunt call out of your unrequited love for Taehyung. You two often come to eat here, but clearly you come too often if Yoongi figured you out so accurately.

“Jesus am I that obvious?” You mutter, picking up a menu to avoid looking at either man. You don’t need to see Namjoon's reaction when learning you’re crushing on your roommate who’s also one of his friends.

Yoongi snatches the menu out of your hands, having none of that.

“The usual I presume?” He asks snapingly, throwing one last unimpressed look at Namjoon before walking away.

Namjoon waits before he’s out of earshot to sigh. “Who pissed in his cereal this morning?” he scoffs, trying to lighten the mood, and you’re grateful for his attempt but you’re also feeling pretty shitty; why do your feelings for Taehyung seem so obvious to everyone but Taehyung himself?

“Well, I guess the elephant is out of the bag”, you say with fake enthusiasm. You want to be mad at Yoongi for his brusque ways, but Namjoon would probably have figured it out one way or another. This is kind of ripping the bandaid in a way.

There’s another beat of silence before Namjoon clears his throat, and you brace yourself for what he’s going to say, which is why what he asks comes as a surprise.

“Are you ok?”

His voice is empathic, genuine.

You look up to him, eyes a little glossy.

He’s got a kind face; a dimple here, soft corner smile there; eyes searching but not judging, the crooked glasses giving him a nerdy look. Yet, you’ve...seen. There’s nothing nerdy about the rest of him.

You smile sadly, biting your lips while looking back down at the table. You’ve known him for less than 24 hours and you already feel like Namjoon is the kind of person you can confide in, and before you know it, words are tumbling off your tongue.

“I guess… It just sucks that I was not even worth a ‘I’ve just landed text’. Or even better, him telling me in person that he was leaving for the summer, completely ruining all the plans we made together.” Namjoon nods along with your confession, and once you open your mouth, you just can’t shut it. “Like I’m always making sure he’s included in all of my planifications, and I always go beyond to do stuff that he likes… Like I’m sorry but I hated doing pottery, like, I suck at it. All I made always ended up having a vaguely phallic shape and I’m pretty sure the teacher was judging me, but I still put through three months of pottery class, which were very expensive by the way, because I knew Taehyung would love that. And the Pasta! I hate garlic, I can’t stand it, but I still told him it was my favorite since it’s the only thing he can cook!”

Namjoon clears his throat, looking around at the people starting to take notice of your meltdown. You were getting increasingly louder, you realize, so you sigh, letting the tension escape your body with a deep breath.

Yoongi stops by the table to drop two cups of coffee, raising an eyebrow at you, to which you answer with a glare of your own. He walks away with an evil glint in his eyes, and you already know what’s about to happen. You still risk a small sip of the steaming coffee, only to spit it back into the cup, face void of emotion.

Namjoon winces at you, offering you some napkins for the drops dripping down your chin.

“He put mustard in it, didn’t he?” He asks while you wipe your mouth, then taking your water to wash down the acre taste.

You nod slowly.

“He’s got a weird way to comfort his friends.”

You nod again, but grabbing his cup at the same time. “Do you mind?” You ask, and he agrees enthusiastically, only to frown when he sees what you do with it next.

You grab the table syrup, dripping some all over Namjoon’s coffee cup handle. You put it back on Namjoon’s side of the table, smiling warmly at him.

“Where were we?” You ask cheerfully.

“I think he might just ban me from the Dinner.” Namjoon says in a daze, looking back at where Yoongi is throwing daggers at the both of you from the window, wiping his sticky finger on his apron in vain; You know this stuff is impossible to get rid of.

You knew Yoongi would expect your handle to be sticky after the stunt he pulled, which is why you did it on Namjoon’s cup instead. You make sure to send Yoongi your most radiant smile as you walk away, waving. You should probably avoid the dinner for a few weeks.

But now, belly full of good food, mood lightened, you can go on your productive day of buying stuff. You take the bus to the closest Target, a comfortable chatter between the two of you, when something suddenly hits you between the bedroom aisle and the bathroom aisle.

“Now hold on a second; I just realized I never properly introduced myself. I mean obviously you already know my name, since Taehyung seems to have talked about me, and well, Yoongi used my name earlier too. But still... Wow, I’m so sorry I'm the worst new roommate ever.”

Namjoon shakes his head no, fiddling with the brand new slippers he picked up on the way.

“It’s...fine. Actually, well. I was hesitant to tell you since I don’t want you to feel bad about it but... we’ve already been introduced. Also we shared like, three classes so far. I’m minoring in languages.”

“Oh… Oh my god.” You say, stopping in your tracks. You look up at Namjoon with wide, confused eyes.

“It’s ok.” Namjoon says, pulling you after him into the bathroom aisle with a light touch to the arm.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,”

“It’s fine I swear.” He reassures, steering you until you’re standing in front of the shower curtains.

“Wow, all this time I was acting like we didn’t know each other-”

“Y/N...” He tries to stop you.

“I’m sorry I have the worst memory.”

“I think it was more your complete and utter lack of interest for anyone but Taehyung that did it.” He teases, not unkindly. There’s more an air of resignation to it.

You drop your head in your hands, feeling flustered and embarrassed.

“Wow everyone really knows, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

Maybe your friends were right; maybe you need to take a breather. Maybe this summer away from him is a good thing.

“So… Namjoon Kim, how long have we ‘known’ each other?” You question, quotation marks and everything.

“Well…” He trails off, thinking about it for a second before answering, scratching his head as he seems to be wracking his brain for the exact information. “Taehyung introduced us during one of the first dorms get-together, so I'd say as long as you’ve known Taehyung.”

You groan, pulling on one of the displayed shower curtains, hiding your face behind, doing your best impression of an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

“I’m a horrible person.” You state to no one.

“To be fair though, I was not on the same floor as you guys, so we probably didn’t see much of each other.”

God, he’s such a good person, trying to make sure you don’t feel bad with yourself for basically ignoring him for two whole years. It literally took him moving in with you to notice him. You peek from behind the curtain, not ready to come out completely.

“I feel horrible, I’m really sorry I didn't mean to ignore you for two fucking years.”

“You’re good, y/n, I understand. Actually I think that you-.” He says, but cuts himself short, mouth slamming shut.

“You think that I...?” You ask, curiously, eyebrows going up.

“No, nothing. It’s nothing.” He answers, but it’s hurried, the look on his face borderline frantic. He doubles up on the fiddling with the slippers, the price tag close to coming off with the way he’s tugging on it.

‘Curiosity killed the cat’ they say, but you’ve never listened to that; when you feel like something is being hid from you, you’re like a starving shark smelling blood. You can’t let go, you need to know what’s putting Namjoon in this state; what he was about to say about you.

“Namjoon, it’s ok, you can tell me.” You try to go for a reassuring smile, but the look in your eyes must give you away because it only serves to make Namjoon look more worried.

“I- I think that.” He clears his throat, looking around nervously. “I think that you’re holding the ugliest shower curtain I’ve ever seen.”

You frown, looking down at the aforementioned curtain you're currently still half hiding behind.

It’s truly atrocious; it’s a solid ugly grey color, the top part bare of anything, but starting from the middle, the bottom part is layers of ruffles over ruffles, hemmed by some white lace. It’s truly horrifying; very hard to look at.

“Namjoon.” You say, and his eyes finally settle on you.

“Namjoon, if you don’t tell me what you were going to say I'm making you buy this truly horrifyingly ugly curtain.”

There’s a look of pure unadulterated horror passing through his eyes, before he composes himself, looking perfectly neutral.

“It’s your bathroom, I'll buy whatever you want.” He says, voice void of infliction, and you smirk, pleased.

“Amazing, I’m so grateful you’re willing to spend seventy bucks on this curtain.”

“Seventy bucks?!” He exclaims, choking on air. You know he’s a student; students are usually poor. Simple math.

“Or… you could tell me what you were going to say, and I can settle for this beautiful plain white curtain,-” You entice, coming out of hiding to grab the other curtain on the display, stretching it out and showing it off as if you were in an infomercial. “yours for only…” You pause, checking the price tag, “ $9,99.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence, he mutters something so quickly you can’t catch any of it.

“Come again?” You ask, turning on your heels to hug the monstrous grey ruffle disaster to yourself in a threatening manner.

“I said…” He looks about ready to take a bite out of the slipper to avoid your questioning. “ I think that you’re- I think that- It’s cute.” He stammers.

Of all the things, you were not expecting that.

“What?”

“I think it’s cute, ok? I think that you’re cute for focusing all your attention on him like that.”

You’re shocked and confused. This is not the words usually used by your friends to describe your relationship with Taehyung.

“It’s like the rest of the world around you fades away when you’re with him or you think of him, and I wish-...I wish I had someone who liked me that much too.” He finishes, the tip of his ears burning scarlet.

You take him in at that moment, this broad and tall human, with the nicest set of dimples, the soft eyes hidden behind his glasses, the overall grand-father look that he somehow rocks; The way he’s so big yet he’s got this whole gentle vibe going on; how he’s so involuntarily destructive but he also has this calm aura surrounding him.

Suddenly, you’re kind of glad Taehyung is not around. You probably would never have noticed Namjoon if he hadn’t left. It’s only been 24 hours but you already know Namjoon is the kind of person you want to befriend. And he seems to want to befriend you too, so maybe, this summer won’t be so bad.

This summer is terrible.

You get a text from your boss first thing in the morning asking you to come in early, someone else having called in sick. Your bus shows up late, making you late, and you barely have time to catch a breath before Karen, the manager, is on you, lecturing you for your tardiness. Yes, maybe you’re often late, but you can’t really help it if mother nature skipped you when handing out punctuality.

You’re barely clocked in when you’re handed some cleaning tool, a customer having made a mess with some jam pots, meaning this is going to be a sticky disaster. Then you get screamed at because some prick disagrees with the pricing of a jar of pickles, as if that had anything to do with you; You hate pickles.

It just gets dumber from there on, and when the end of your shift comes around, you can’t wait to just be back home, with nothing to do but finally watch the finale of Hannah Brown’s season and maybe stuff your face with whatever you got from the grocery haul you did yesterday.

You wonder if Namjoon is cooking anything; a part of you hopes that he isn’t, worried for the state of the kitchen; another part of you would definitely be pleasantly surprised. As long as there’s no more garlic on the horizon.

It’s kind of weird how this is technically day 3 of you being roommates and you’re already used to his presence. Of course there’s still some awkward moments, but they never last too long.

Namjoon is such a sweetheart, and there’s a part of you that is mad for basically depriving yourself of his friendship for so long. Another part is happy that you did so, or his arrival in your life wouldn’t be the perfect distraction from Taehyung abandoning you. Not that you consider him a distraction, but he’s definitely distracting.

When he’s not falling in showers, he’s singing in them, apparently. Completely off tune, his voice not the most graceful, but still very, very endearing. A shame that you had to rush to go to work while he was having his very own concert, or you would probably have gotten out your phone to gather some blackmail materials.

There’s also his possible inability to cook anything other than pasta; it’s been three days but you’ve already seen him cook some kind of spaghetti at least thrice.

You’re not the most accomplished cook, but you can manage. You have a feeling that next to Namjoon though, you probably look like a professional Michelin decorated Chef. You’re thinking about taking over mealtime when you’re home, maybe assigning him the sous-chef role. A risk that you’re willing to take so you don’t have to see what would probably be a hurt expression at being completely dismissed from the kitchen.

There’s also his ankles. He’s got such pretty ankles, you’re kind of jealous. They’re all dainty and pretty, which is not what a man probably wants to hear when talking about his body, so you’ve decided to keep this compliment to yourself.

You’re not sure exactly what he does during his day. So far you’ve observed that he spends a lot of time in sweatpants, on his computer, earphones cutting him off from the world. He had spent a few hours on the couch yesterday, a focused look on his face as he was clearly working on something, but you didn't want to bother him to ask him what he was doing.

You get home, sighing deeply as you finally take off your shoes after nine hours of standing. It’s dinner time, your stomach is growling, there doesn’t seem to be any action in the kitchen, and you don’t have the strength or patience to cook anything right now, so you grab your phone, pulling up the UberEat app.

You plop down onto the couch, bouncing slightly before properly melting into it, but you can't fall asleep now, you’re on a food-oriented mission.

You’re about to pull up the page of your favorite pizza place when something in your peripheral vision catches your eyes.

It’s Namjoon’s laptop, open on the side table, earphone hanging from the side; The screen light is dim, but you can easily recognize the face on the paused screen.

It’s John Paul Jones.

You can’t believe your eyes, and you’re so shocked, you don’t hear the bathroom door open. You jostle when Namjoon appears in a flash, slamming the laptop shut, looking particularly distraught.

“You did not just see that.” He says, hand still on his laptop, frozen in position.

“I sure fucking did.” You exclaim, eyes sparkling. This is the best thing ever. “You’re watching The bachelorette. Alone. Because this is something you actually enjoy.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He whines, dropping into a low squat, wiping his face down with one hand. “I swear I’m a feminist.”

“You’re a romantic, you love love.”

Namjoon groans.

“That’s why you don’t judge me for my crush. You’ve seen worse.” You marvel, and he looks up shyly at your tone.

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t tell anyone...” You linger on the pause for a moment, keeping him guessing. “As long as you promise to do your marathon with me.”

He frowns for a second, searching your face for the teasing or ‘just joking’ that he thinks is coming. But it’s not.

“You’re...a fan of The Bachelor franchise?” he wonders aloud, and you laugh out loud at the bemusement on his face.

“If by fan you mean slowly but surely making my way through all the seasons, all the series, all the content I can, then yes, I would say that I’m a fan.”

There’s a shy smile growing on his face, his dimple going the deepest you’ve ever seen them so far in your three days of co-existing. You’re on the verge of popping out a ruler and verifying once and for all how deep those really are.

“Then yes, Y/N, I will accept your offer of being your bachelor buddy.” He chuckles.

There seems to be a lot of marathons on this summer’s horizon, and you love the idea.

Going to sleep at 5 am is never a good decision, but when it’s because you were binge-watching Bachelor in Paradise with your new bachelor buddy, then you can forgive yourself.

You step out of your room, yawning, at the same time as Namjoon does.

“Hey” You greet him, to which he answers with a small wave, squinty eyes avoiding the light.

“Hungry?” You ask, scratching your head as you make your way to the kitchen, Namjoon following behind.

“Ravenous” He croaks, morning voice ten tones deeper. But it’s not affecting you. Not at all.

You open the fridge to browse the content, pulling out some milk to make yourself some cereal, going to sit at the table so you can both eat and scroll through your phone comfortably.

Namjoon sits on the other side, buttering up some toast with an impressive amount of Nutella; but you’re not judging, being an ex Nutella-addict yourself.

You pull up your text like you’ve been doing for the past few days, checking if you received any messages that your phone failed to notify you about, sighing when you still have no answer from Taehyung. You would worry, except there hasn’t been any newsworthy event about planes or Korea or anything; you’ve been following the news just to be sure.

You peek at Namjoon, who’s staring blankly into his slice of bread with the air of someone who didn’t get enough sleep. You clear your throat lightly to get his attention.

He raises unfocused eyes on you, and you have to bite back a coo at how adorably soft he looks, with his soft brown hair a mess, eyes still half-open, a light stubble slightly apparent, and his mouth hanging slack.

“Did you...did Taehyung send you a text or something? Since he left?”

It takes Namjoon a second to register the question, frowning for a split second before shaking his head.

“He hasn’t, but I wouldn’t worry. His family would have reached out if he hadn’t made it safely.”

“Hmm good point.” You nod, going back to your cereal. You’re slowly coming to terms with the fact that Taehyung seems to have completely forgotten about you. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s getting bearable. You’re not sure how it’s going to be between the two of you once he comes back from his summer spent chasing his internet girlfriend, leaving you in the dust. You’ll definitely feel awkward around him, at least for the first few weeks. You’ll have to have a talk with him, maybe ask for an apology. So many of the plans you made together are now definitely not happening.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“The other day you said that you always plan stuff factoring in Taehyung’s interest and choices, and that kind of bothered me.” Namjoon mumbles, looking suddenly very awake but also very shy.

“Aw, don’t be bothered. In a way it’s kind of my fault you know. I could easily just do my own things, but I choose to plan around him because I want to spend time with him…” You pause, wince. “It’s kind of sad now that I’m putting it this way.”

“I know that he considers you his best friend, though, and relationships, even platonic ones, go both ways.”

You smile into your cereal, pushing them around the milk.

“I appreciate you defending my honor, Namjoon.” You tease lightly, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

“Actually I was wondering-,” He cuts himself off, scratching his head, before carrying on, “I was wondering, is there something you’ve always wanted to do? But you haven’t since it’s not something Taehyung would appreciate?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you wrack your brain, trying to think of something.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to do a road trip to the future birthplace of Captain Kirk in Iowa, but Taehyung’s not really into SciFi, so I never brought it up.”

Namjoon’s face is the one of someone who was not expecting this answer at all, and he stares at you for a long moment, something akin to wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“You like Star Trek.” He marvels, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “How are you so perfect.”

You freeze, he freezes; everyone freezes.

“Wait, what did you just say?”

“Erhm, well, hum,-” He stammers incoherently, face growing red, before finally getting control of his tongue again. “I mean, your cinematic taste; they’re perfect. How is your cinematic taste so perfect? I just woke up, my brain is still half asleep.” He laughs, but it sounds forced, and you take pity over him.

“Sure.” You answer, dragging on the syllable. ”Anyway, that’s what I would do. I’ve always wanted to visit there, and I’ve always wanted to do a road trip, so, yeah.”

Namjoon looks grateful that you’re not insisting, taking a big swing from his glass of milk, and you’re scared that he’s going to choke and splurt milk all over the table and you for a second. Knowing his track record when nervous, it wouldn't surprise you, but he manages to keep it all in without incident.

It’s been a while since you’ve practiced your reanimation techniques and Heimlich maneuver, and you make a note to review some videos, just in case. You have a feeling that living with Namjoon is stressful

“The reason I’m asking is, well, I’ve got nothing planned this summer, and I would love to try new things. I know we’re basically strangers at this point, but, if you want we could, you know, do some stuff together. Like, I would love doing a road trip to Captain Kirk’s future Birthplace. Only if you want! I don’t want to impose myself either. If you want to save that for friends you know better, it’s perfectly fine. I’m just saying, like, I’m open to doing stuff with you. Like, I think we get along well and,- Now I’m just rambling.”

You giggle, finding this whole thing quite endearing. You’re tempted to torture him a little, but you decide to take pity on him; it’s morning after all.

“Namjoon.”

“Yes.”

“I would love to go on that road trip with you.” You state simply, and your words take a moment to register, but he gives you a beaming smile, the dimples making yet another noticed apparition. The joy is short-lived though, a frown making its way on his face.

“There’s just one thing; I don’t drive.”

You snort, extending your hand to tap lightly on his, comforting.

“It’s a good thing if you ask me.”

“...Do you?” He asks tentatively.

“Yeah baby,” You exclaim, pulling out your best southern accent. “I'm a licensed driver and everything. ‘Haven’t drove into a wall since 2016.”

“That's not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Are you questioning my driving abilities?” You ask, leaning forward in a threatening manner.

“...No.” He gulps.

“Then let’s set a date!”

There’s a new air of excitement taking over the kitchen, the prospect of a road trip making you feel giddy like a child going to Disneyland.

“Wait, where would you get the car?”

“I can pull some strings.” You shrug with a taunting eyebrow raise, aiming for mysterious. There’s a certain someone who owes you one, and this is the perfect occasion for him to pay his due.

Before Namjoon can question you further, someone starts knocking on the door incessantly. You turn questioning eyes to Namjoon, who mirrors the look, and he stands up, hurrying to the door as the onslaught doesn't seem to be stopping.

There’s a flurry of movement as whoever is on the other side of the door jumps into Namjoon’s arms, sending him swaying back from the weight. There’s confusion and shock on Namjoon’s face, and you quickly understand why.

“Tae?!”

[1-800-get-sherlocked]

this was supposed to be an incorrect quote but it spiraled out of control

note: im american idk if yall brits have cuties (kidding im sure ur all cuties ok im sorry i couldnt resist) but i really had to alright pls be-ryllium ar-gon with me yes im sorry we are revisiting chem lads dont worry i will provide you translations/i will make it obvious also theres switching povs & im telling you ahead of time: the puns are very, very bad 

also i wrote this at like late 5am un-beta-ed so please forgive me for any mistakes, i have 0.5 braincells left and i used up 0.279 for academic papers

kind of a crackfic btw 

ok without further ado bc i ramble too much, other notes at the end: 

*on Valentine’s Day*

John woke up to the sound of clinking and the faint sound of rustling of papers, the other side of the bed empty and cold. Ah, probably on that experiment again with those oranges he said were also a good pet name for me. What was it again? Right, cuties. A small smile appeared on John’s unshaven face. His hubby was too endearing for his own good sometimes. 

In the kitchen, Sherlock paced back and forth, eyeing his failed experiment with disdain. Which he was totally worrying more about rather than whether his plan would work. Would John like these? Maybe he should have just gone with George’s advice and went to get some takeout Angelo’s like they often did during quarantine, but Sherlock wanted to make this special. He nervously adjusted his shirt collar, looking down to check that he was indeed wearing the purple shirt John loved so much. Apparently it was called the purple shirt of sex or something? The detective honestly had no idea how or why but that wasn’t important, what was important was John. John. He still couldn’t believe the brilliant, patient, and gorgeous army-doctor was....his husband. After the drunk night they had that one day, things got a bit heated and...well, you could say they definitely had a good time and cleared up their feelings for each other, much to Donovan’s chagrin who lost Scotland Yard’s bet by just a week. Mrs. Hudson was the winner, obviously. 

Thank god for Mrs. Hudson’s and Gavin; he didn’t know what he would do without both of them giving him advice, though the DI wasn’t always pleased to be summoned in the middle of a case to help Sherlock out. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Sherlock scanned his surroundings to make sure everything was in place. Ah, he could now hear John about to step into the aisle, right on time. Quickly, Sherlock went back to pretending he was working on his experiment. 

Just a few moments later, John padded into the kitchen, clean shaven, and as expected, looked at Sherlock pointedly. Of course, the detective was used to this and promptly ignored it, waiting for John to say something. 

“Sherlock,” John said, tilting his head to the side a bit, “What is going on here? Why are there little sticky notes all over the place?” 

Sherlock simply shrugged. “Why don’t you go take a look for yourself, John? I’m sure you would be able to find out that way.” 

Sighing, John went back into the living room and perused the various bright colored sticky notes. Sherlock’s scratchy handwriting was on all of them, along with small drawings on some. Stepping closer, John took the first one off the wall above the couch and read the note out loud: 

“Jawn, you’re small and angy, just like the bunch of Copper (Cu) Tellurium (Te) Iodine (I) Einstieinium (Es) we got the other day. Will you be my clemenvalentine?” Belatedly, John noticed a small orange drawn next to it, with a small >:[ face. Sherlock still wasn’t going to let him ever live it down, huh? 

Shaking his head with the faintest hint of a smile crossing John’s expression, he moved on to the next one. 

“John, the first time we met and dined at Angelo’s, I said girlfriends weren’t really my area. What I really wanted to say was that I was Gallium (Ga) Yttrium (Y), John. Obviously, I am married to my work and love of my life now, but would you still be my Valentine again, for the 11th time?” This one was written in rainbow ink, probably one of those pens Rosie got for Sherlock, insisting that he would have some use for them someday. Which he did, evidently.

As John picked up more and more notes strewn around the room, and read more and more puns, some of his favorites being, “Forget Hydrogen–you’re my number one element” and “Why don’t we go back to the bedroom and form a covalent bond ;) Or we could do it on the table, periodically” he didn’t know whether he should have laughed or cried. Maybe both. Some were so bad they were hilarious but the fact that they were that bad just made it more funny and endearing. Oh Sherlock, where would I bee without you? who would I be without you?

Oh god, John realized with horror. Sherlock’s terrible puns were rubbing off him and invading his thoughts. Typical of him, that bloody cute charismatic arse.  

Finally, John reached the last one. 

“John, I know I’m not very good with expressing my affection for you, but I want you to know, especially today, that Iodine (I) Lutetium (Lu) Vanadium (V) Uranium (U). You are my best friend, my lover, my husband, and my lifelong partner. You’ll always be my doctor and blogger at heart.” On the side, a small smiley face was drawn. 

The entire time, John knew Sherlock’s eyes were on him, even though he pretended to be busy with his experiment. The doctor knew those telltale signs: tense shoulders coupled with a nervous biting of his lip. Watching closely, trying to gauge his reaction after reading all of them.  

“Sherlock, were you trying to test my chemistry knowledge again? You know it’s been awhile since I’ve studied all this, right?” 

Of course, Sherlock knew this. Sherlock always knew but was somehow still an oblivious idiot. My oblivious idiot, John thought affectionately. 

“Well yes but I-” a beat. Sherlock took a deep breath. “Well, it’s always you making plans for Valentine’s, and I thought, maybe I should take charge this time, with something other than Angelo’s–don’t worry, I’ve already ordered takeout for dinner, I know you love their food, John, so I still did it. But I wanted to do more for you this time. Mrs. Hudson and Rosie agreed it would help me express myself better, so I tried it out. Um-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence as John walked up to him, and put a finger over those pouty lips. 

“Sherlock, you amazing, adorable, gorgeous man, you’re so cute, you know that? And I did in fact notice your shirt–we will be making use of that later, obviously.” The detective gulped visibly. “But for the record, I want you to know that I know how much you love me, and you know how much I love you, so don’t ever feel bad about having trouble expressing it verbally; I can always tell through the small thoughtful gestures you do for me and the looks you throw my way when you think I can’t see. What you did for me today was very sweet, and it made my day–I will always cherish this memory on this Valentine’s, but I can assure you my love for you will never change no matter what, whether or not you do gestures like this for me. My love is of the same magnitude as yours to mine, and it never stops growing everyday”

Sherlock beamed, that charming crooked grin of his slowly spreading across his face, and John pulled him down for a kiss, both laughing against each other’s lips lightly as their mouths clumsily crashed together. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[angelicspaceprince]

Youtuber!Beetlejuice Headcanons

Ok so Youtuber/Gamer!Beetlejuice has hit my tumblr with a force, so I’m going to write my own set for you here. Also, your channel has a mishmash of subject ideas because I’m trying to cater to everyone. It looks super unrealistic but hey its fantasy bby!

This also didn’t end the way I wanted it to and it stops kinda abruptly, its half past 5 in the morning. I need a nap.

His channel is a MESS

There is no consistency, except for the fact that he posts every day

But every day, no one knows what they’re gonna get

And he does everything

Beej may promise that its going to be a conspiracy theory video, but then he posts a video of him eating tide pods straight from the bag with a shit eating grin on his face with the caption ‘DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME – I’M A DEAD GUY THESE WON’T HURT ME’ plastered all over the screen because he genuinely cares for his viewers

Lydia helps him with editing, Adam and Barbra help set up his recording space which is just a large corner in the attic, Delia helps him plan ideas and Charles just leaves him to it

If he ever posts an ASMR video, do not open it

It’s just a video of him screaming into the microphone and making loud noises with him cackling after each one

Cooking videos usually end with him just straight up eating stuff no one should eat

Gaming videos go between him playing horror and laughing his ass off at how bad they are to him playing Animal Crossings and just being so happy that these people are kind to him and want to spend time with him

Live streams a LOT

It annoys his mods a little bit because he doesn’t have a schedule, and he only gives them a 30 second warning so if they see it, they have to quickly jump on over to mod the comment section

People just love the chaotic energy he radiates and if you mention a video idea, he will most definitely do it by the end of the month because he just wants to try  e v e r y t h i n g

Lydia helps create merch for him so he can sell stuff. Most of the money goes to Lydia or the others in the house for helping him out, although he does save up to get better quality equipment to replace the stuff, he totally didn’t steal

If people mention about how depressed they are or if they feel disgusting but he makes them feel better, or even joked about suicide, in the live stream everything stops and he just looks down the camera and assures them that they are beautiful and deserve to live and suicide is never the way to deal with your problems, trust him, he knows

Everything just goes all serious until he has said his piece, no one is commenting and then he goes back to his happy self and is all like ‘don’t worry babes, I got ya back!’ and continues on chatting about nonsense for a while

He runs constant streams for charities that focus on mental health, it’s his one platform

He rarely accepts sponsors for his videos, he does have a patreon though

He has only accepted 3 sponsors in his time on Youtube, all of them were surrounding suicide and self-harm prevention

Offers really shitty advice but he has the spirit and means well

His followers affectionately call themselves ‘Juicey’s Babes’ which he finds hysterical

Anyone who’s been on a call with him can confirm that he is just as chaotic in real life as he is on his channel, it is not an act

But he genuinely cares and remembers everything about his followers, if one pops up on the stream chat, he will ask about their days and if the date went well with the guy from work etc.

Does do educational videos when he finds out from Lydia that sex ed in the US is pretty piss poor and that’s unacceptable! Teaches you how to put on condoms and what a clit is

Is constantly demonetised from Youtube but doesn’t give a shit

It wasn’t until someone suggested that he do a reaction video for one of your vids that he falls in love with your channel for the first time

It, too, is a mish mash of things but your schedule is a lot more constant, posting 5 days a week as a full time professional youtuber. It was exhausting but you love the work

Video game streaming or singing a cover of a song on alternate Mondays, Conspiracy videos or exploring cold cases and the supernatural on alternate Tuesdays, Cooking videos on Wednesday, general chat and educational videos on Thursday, Story Time, Crafts and Challenges on Friday with a live stream every third Saturday just talking smack

He falls in love with your channel so quick, and during the time he’s not filming or editing or whatever, he’s watching your videos

He joins your discord and talks there often

Lydia reaches out to you to ask if you’d do a collab with Beetlejuice and you agree, loving him on your discord chat and also the few videos you’ve seen

You agree to do a live reaction to the most recent Buzzfeed Unsolved video that was coming out that Saturday for your live stream, and that for his next gaming video you’d join in and play Animal Crossing with him

Beetlejuice is SO nervous when it comes to that Saturday, he really wants to impress you and not embarrass himself

It goes so well, people are commenting about what a good duo the two of you make as you crack jokes with one another, and even after the streaming finishes, you end up video chatting on your private discord for the rest of the afternoon

The gaming stream goes even better, having known each other a little better now and having found your rhythm which lead to a better stream

Suddenly, the two of you were doing collabs at least once a month, and Beetlejuice could feel himself falling hard for you

The two of you spoke nearly every day on Discord, mostly doing it via video or voice chat so you didn’t waste time typing

If either of you ended up on each other’s livestreams on Twitch or Youtube, everyone is a flurry because you end up joking with each other through the comments and its always fun to watch the two of you banter

Definitely have a few people ‘ship’ you and Beetlejuice is confused because what’s a ship?

Eventually, you get offered to go to Vidcon and when you told Beetlejuice, he revealed he did too but he wasn’t sure if he was gonna go

You say that’s a shame because you were really looking forward to officially meeting him and that Changed His Mind Quick Smart

There was so much prep that was going into Vidcon, you both agreed to do your stream there and just do bits of behind the scenes filming together

You both knew what you looked like and both knew you got along, but both of you were nervous the closer the day arrived

End up doing a panel together and that’s when you first meet, mostly because you were running super late and couldn’t meet before hand

Beetlejuice is literally buzzing with excitement and when you walk on stage, apologising for running late, he just beams and tackles you into a hug

He’s just so excited to finally meet you in person

(A video of him attacking you goes up on youtube and is instantly gif’ed and becomes a meme because everyone loves how excited he was to finally meet you and touch you)

You end up spending more time together than initially planned, but neither of you minded

The first video when you get back is filmed at your place and is titled ‘How I managed to snag a hottie for a girlfriend’, with the icon being Beetlejuice pointing at you with an excited look on your face, you rolling your eyes with your head in your hands

Everyone’s OTP

You keep your individual channels but definitely start doing more collabs on the reg whilst maintaining that perfect life/work balance, not everything needs to go on Youtube

You end up moving to be closer to him, you meet the family and Beetlejuice is just so so happy

And so are you

[princessdevy03]

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For @anybodihearme....

QuarantinEdd

They were supposed to be quarantined.

But they were essential employees, so off to work they went, Edd to the hospital and Kevin to the town’s only mechanic’s garage.

Edd going to work made sense. He was an ER nurse and desperately needed in the midst of a pandemic, but Kevin wondered if the governor had lost his mind by letting businesses like his remain open.

He had enough money to pay everyone for ninety days and if he got a small business loan to help offset any losses from the pandemic, he could afford to pay everyone for another ninety more. Not to mention being able to pay for a decent cleaning crew to make sure everything would be safe once the people smarter than him said it was safe to open.

But people were still out driving for small gig jobs like online food deliveries, off and out of work parents were taking the time to teach their now homeschooled kids to drive, and for some reason, the number of fender benders repairs thanks to speeders quadrupled.

And that was in the first sixty days.

It was now day 132 and Kevin’s numb.

He’s down to a third of his crew because someone had either caught the virus or has been in close contact with someone who has, customers that have been coming in for decades were taking their business elsewhere because they just couldn’t deal with his simple requests to keep their facial coverings on and to stay at least six feet from each other in the shop’s oversized lobby, parts were taking forever to come in because they weren’t essential items so they were low shipping priority, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen Edd.

Video calls are verboten in the hospital because of HIPPA, but he hasn’t even gotten a meme from the man in a week.

Stepping out of the hottest shower he can bare to take, he checks his phone.

There were the usual texts from his mother, Nazz, Rolf, and he thinks his baby grandson has gotten a hold of his mother’s phone again, or his daughter in law has had a stroke.

Quickly opening the last text, he saw the baby had sent him a seven second video of himself running with said phone and his mother screaming at his father to catch him while his sister declared that he had to come with her if he wanted to live.

His chuckle turned into a high pitched scream not unlike that of the lead starlet in many of the B List horror films The Eds watched when they were kids when the bathroom door swung open. 

Edd fell to the floor with a cackle, holding his sides as he rocked side to side and laughed til he cried as Kevin stormed out of the bathroom, quickly donned his housecoat, and threw an old quilt some great aunt from Ireland made his father when he was a baby over his head.

“YOU SCARED ME!” He screamed at his husband as he went to stand over the man still tittering on the floor.

“You look ri-ridiculous,” Edd snickered as he sat up and did his best to catch his breath.

“How dare you?!” He huffed, arms crossed, looking rather ridiculous considering his usual immodesty of just walking around naked when no one but Edd was in the house. “And what are you doing here anyways?!”

“I live here?” Edd shrugged and Kevin finally got a good look at him.

His hair was wet and he only had on an old tshirt and shorts he had made out of an old pair of sweatpants.

“You’re home?” Kevin asked softly, a bit disbelieving what he was seeing.

“As of today,” Edd answered as he looked at his smartwatch before taking it off and placing it on the charger on his nightstand, “I get the next two weeks off, pending the results of my latest round of tests.”

“What happens next?”

Edd looked the worried man in his weary face and tried to be as honest but as gentle as possible.

“If I’m not sick, I go back. If I’m sick, I stay home til I get worse and then I go back because I’m dying.”

And for some strange reason, Kevin thinks he can fight Death.

“You won’t die,” he said, voice low, the quilt hitting the floor and his housecoat quickly followed.

Edd had to admire his moxie, even if he was being a bit ridiculous.

“You gonna fight a novel virus for me?” He smirked as he walked over the naked man in front of their dresser, arms crossed defiantly.

HIs back hitting the bed and his shorts hitting the floor was his answer.

But then Kevin realized that if Edd was in the house, so were the germs.

“Where did you shower?” He asked as he straddled him, arms crossed but his dick was getting harder by the second and Edd is about to die.

“Main bathroom in the hall,” Edd groaned, batting at his chest to get him to get back to business.

“Clothes?”

“Washer downstairs? Your stuff is still in the one in the garage.”

The great thing about the house was that the first owners put the washer and dryer in the garage, the next family built a laundry room addition off the kitchen for some reason, but it was awesome because Kevin could always use the old set in the garage for his heavy, greasy coveralls, while the laundry room was used for their everyday clothes.

But before Edd got stuck at the hospital for the last way too long in Kevin’s mind, they both had been using the garage for laundry to keep from bringing the germs the CDC was only now getting an inkling of an understanding of, in the house.

If he used the sanitize cycle on the fancy set in the laundry room, they’d be ok.

“Sanitize?”

“I’ll roast you in it myself if you don’t blow me.”

“But I don’t want to die, Eddward!” Kevin pouted, feeling randy, confused, and oh, so frustrated.

Edd sat up and pulled his shirt off to bring Kevin’s warming body closer to his burning own.

“I’m ok,” he whispered lovingly. “I got the clothes washed and I took a shower, just like you. We can clean the cars tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“Fuck that, I’m having Jimmy’s cleaning crew over here first thing to do it,” he said matter of factly as he wiggled himself off Edd and grabbed his legs to pull him to the edge of the bed so he wouldn’t be roasted in the fancy washing machine.

Tears pricked the edges of Edd’s eyes as Kevin swallowed him whole and his hands lost themselves in sunset red locks.

Never had he been able to hold onto him like this and he distantly thinks of suggesting him never cutting his hair again because -

“OH GOD!” He screams as he pushes him away, embarrassed that he was to the edge so quickly.

“You like that, huh?” Kevin snickered at him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waggled his brows at him.

“I hate you,” Edd huffed back but his body had other plans.

It was a bit like riding a bike.

But it was also almost like going through the motions, though.

Kevin’s mouth nipping at his neck as he grabbed the lube off his nightstand.

Them trading kisses between trading the lube between themselves; Kevin coating his hand and Edd coating Kevin’s dick.

Then Kevin’s first knuckle dropped inside.

Edd hissed in the back of his throat as he quickly squeezed the dick in his lap before he tossed his head back with a groan.

He knew he wouldn’t last long, but this was gonna take a bit.

“Just breathe for me, Babe,” Kevin huffed, trying to set his mind right.

If he was this tight on his hand, he’s gonna lose his damn mind once he gets inside of him.

Edd took a breath and Kevin wiggled his finger as gently as he could. The stretch lasted for only a moment before Edd picked up his hips for a bit more, but Kevin stayed him with a hand on his stomach.

“Breathe,” he ordered as he slipped down off Edd’s torso and Edd’s breath is gone as quickly as he took it because his dick is in Kevin’s mouth again, naturally.

He relaxes into the bed, taking everything in.

The softness of the sheets, the spicy musk of the air freshener plugged into the wall, the soft dampness of Kevin’s hair in his hands, the soaking warmth of his mouth.

When his head hits the pillow, it’s like he’s been wrapped up in something.

He gasps as another finger is added to Kevin’s ministrations and when he tosses his head to the side he realizes that Kevin’s been using his pillow.

Dear Lort…

The man has his head between his legs, two, no, three fingers up his ass, and his pillow smells like him.

Kevin wouldn’t be mad if he came this instant, but he’d rather he fuck him like he wants to do his pillow right about now.

“Kevin, please.”

The way he spoke was just so urgent that Kevin didn’t argue.

He just moved.

He grabbed the lube as he came off of him, squeezing some quickly into his hand and then giving himself a couple of strokes as he got into position. Resting on his knees, he pulled Edd into his lap and said, “You do it, ok?”

Edd nodded because they both knew if Edd could control the motion, he’d be less likely to be hurt.

No one wants a trip to the hospital in a pandemic over something like this!

Bracing his hands onto Kevin’s sides and Kevin doing likewise, he slowly worked his hips back and forth til he was fully hilted, his head falling onto Kevin’s shoulder with a thunk.

Neither moved for a few, long, tense moments.

When Edd finally brought his head up, Kevin whispered, “I’m...I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me, either,” Edd sighed as he placed a chaste kiss to Kevin’s lips and moved a bit.

Kevin groaned into the soft movement, his hands falling onto Edd’s hips, and his mouth searching for those soft lips again.

His gut whirled tight when Edd pushed their mouths together and his brain shorted out when the needy man in his lap started sucking on his tongue like he would his dick.

He moaned into the kiss and Edd’s hips picked up speed.

Lean arms around his neck made his hips jerk up, but he dug his knees into the bed to anchor himself down when Edd wrapped his legs around him.

Hands explored every inch of skin they could touch and they kissed each other breathless as Edd drove himself up and down on his dick as fast and hard as he could.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Edd whined before kissing him again.

But it was harder this time and his hips weren’t moving in any sort of rhythm anymore.

Kevin brought him closer with one arm, the other slipped between them and started to stroke Edd’s throbbing cock.

Kevin couldn’t wait to get his mouth on it again, but for now, he’d suck Edd’s tongue in his mouth to give him a taste of what he wanted to do to him, with him, and just for him for the next two weeks.

The hand on his cock and the mouth on his tongue made his hips jerk.

HARD.

And Kevin’s dick hit a spot in him that hadn’t been touched in weeks.

He could barely scream as he fell apart, his ass squeezing the hard dick inside him as his whole body begged for more.

Long, thick, milky white strips of cum bursts between them as a roar came out of Kevin.

Strong hands grabbed lithe hips and Edd’s gone.

Release like he hadn’t known in far too long coursed through his whole being as Kevin came as hard as he did.

Once the room stopped spinning, Edd realized that they had fallen backwards, their heads at the feet of the bed.

“You need a haircut,” Kevin grinned affectionately at him, running a weak hand through dark, thick, wavy locks.

“And If you ever cut your hair again, I’ll kill you,” Edd absolutely purred, relishing the gentle touch.

“So noted,” Kevin chuckled as he willed himself up.

“Where ya goin now?” Edd whined.

“Bathroom,” Kevin grinned as he snatched the lube up from where it had fallen on his pillow and made his way to the bathroom.

Edd scrambled as best he could on his baby deer legs to follow him.

Kevin didn’t go back to work and Johnny’s cleaning crew didn’t come for two weeks.

Kevin and Edd shrugged it off and said they were busy catching up on projects at home.

[whimperwoods]

titles are hard. it’s d&d-based fantasy whump tho. Arms of the Enemy? somebody give me a better title challenge.

I saw a post about being rescued and carried bridal-style by an enemy and it was great but now I don’t know where it is? If you have it, please shoot it my way and I’ll link it, ‘cause whoever thought of it first was a genius. ^_^

Anyway this got quite long so I’m stopping here and hopefully gonna write more at some point?

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. In the space between the Old One and the Emperor, they might be able to become something else.

Also Ed is hurt real bad and Castor is carrying him out of the dungeon because sometimes he acts on impulse.

tw: blood, tw: coughing up blood, tw: descriptions of deaths in battle

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

Castor stepped into the cell and found himself frozen, his feet unmoving on the floor. It was one thing to see Sir Edmond like this in his scrying orb and another entirely to see it in person.

The limp, battered form of his enemy didn’t move at the sound of the door creaking open, and Castor felt a cold weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d left his room in the tower knowing the knight couldn’t be left in the dungeon, but Sir Edmond had still been awake then, struggling to keep his head up even as the rest of his body lay unmoving where it had been thrown.

His footsteps didn’t rouse the man, either, and the relief he would have expected turned to a sick horror twisting around the weight in his gut. He hurried forward, moving before he could second guess himself, and scooped Sir Edmond into his arms.

His hand shook as he held it out toward the point where the chain around the knight’s ankle was attached to the wall. He had to be careful, had to cast the spell far enough on the other side of the wall that he wouldn’t catch the two of them in it, but he couldn’t afford too long aiming or he’d drop the dead weight in his arms.

He released the magic, and a concussive wave sped forward with a loud crack, breaking open the end of the chain and sending a ripple of cracks outward through the stone, stopping just short of his feet.

Sir Edmond started shifting in his grip, moving weakly, and Castor felt his face begin to burn, unsure how to explain himself. But what was done was done, and he needed to hurry out of the cell before someone could find him in the middle of things.

He’d meant to wrap the end of the chain around Sir Edmond before he left the cell, but up close, there was nowhere to wrap them that wasn’t already bloody, the knight’s body ripped open in so many places that even where he was whole, Castor couldn’t see it through the blood crusted over his skin.

He scooped up the end of the chain, gathering it up and draping it over his own arms before he hurried out of the room, his greatest enemy cradled safely against his chest.

*****

As Ed came to consciousness, everything hurt. His breath stuttered and faltered in his chest, and his eyes teared up in silence as the movements of his own lungs sparked waves of agony that rolled through him like fire.

Something was different. He wasn’t on the ground. He was in the air, held up by - something. Something warm. There was something against his side, against his cheek, that was warm and solid and gave like the floor didn’t.

He needed to know what it was. It was new. He forced his eyes open, desperation and despair settling against his breastbone as even that required two flickering tries to accomplish.

He was being held. Carried. He could feel the motion, now, could identify the additional waves of pain that didn’t match his breathing. The arms around him were strong, but the chest was clothed in a thick sweater he didn’t recognize. The face was blurred with the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back, and he couldn’t identify the man.

He leaned into the man’s chest as best he could, grasping the front of the sweater and holding on, hoping it would help him steady himself at least long enough to blink his eyes clear.

*****

Sir Edmond’s breaths came in shallow, broken gasps that shook his whole body, and Castor was relieved when the man grabbed ahold of his sweater, because it meant that he at least wasn’t trying to get away.

His own heart was racing and not only with the exertion of climbing stairs while carrying a man nearly his own size. Before, he never would have managed. Before, Sir Edmond had been a looming figure, terrifying, his eyes full of fire as he crossed battlefields, kept away from Castor and the other mages only by the strength of Zhok’s rage kept defensively between them. He still had nightmares, sometimes, of Sir Edmond’s sword tearing through an assassin’s chest, the light dying from her eyes before she even realized she hadn’t evaded his notice.

Sir Edmond’s grip on his sweater tightened and Castor instinctively pulled him in closer as they reached the top of the dungeon stairs, his heart racing and his throat filling with an old lump.

He knew where he’d meant to go, but it meant so much extra distance, before the night was out, and Sir Edmond was so weak, so much weaker than he’d realized, through the tiny image of the crystal.

Sir Edmond’s breaths were loud, choking things, and Castor’s feet turned toward the outside, where he’d planned to go, and tried not to worry too much about the rest. It would be extra distance, but the sound of the knight’s breathing wouldn’t echo, wouldn’t be so deafening without the walls to bounce it back to him, hollow and damning.

He just had to get outside. Get to the stables. Not look back, or second-guess himself. He pulled Sir Edmond closer again, hoping he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Things had seemed so clear through the crystal, so obvious when Sir Edmond was lying, ruined, at his feet, and now - now the only thing he could make sense of was that he’d at one point had a plan.

*****

Ed blinked. Blinked. Forced his eyes to open, to close, to open, to clear.

The face above him was familiar, but it took a moment to place, even knowing where he was imprisoned. Castor the Black, Herald of Night, Battle Mage of the Dark Emperor. One of many men who had killed Ed’s soldiers. The man who had blasted common soldiers backward like he had a cannon at the end of his am, who had sucked the life from their battle cleric with one hand and run away so fast even horses couldn’t keep up with him. One of the emperor’s finest.

He sucked in a sharp, deep breath that made him dizzy with pain. His body spasmed around it, his tensed muscles pulling open his injuries as they tried to protect the aching lungs that half-collapsed in his chest. As he gasped to refill his lungs, his whole body convulsed with a violent, racking cough that brought up some of his own blood.

“Shit!” the mage said, stopping in his tracks and pulling Ed closer to him, holding tighter as Ed’s coughing shook them both. “Shit! It’s ok! I’ve got you!”

Ed choked and gagged, every inch of him screaming in agony around the rough jerk of his coughs, and his eyes filled with tears again, obscuring the mage’s face.

He was pressed tightly to the mage’s chest, and the hand he’d balled up in the man’s sweater had instinctively clenched tighter against the danger of falling, his own body betraying him as it fought to live through the coughing fit.

His head grew lighter, and then lighter again, bright sparks lighting up the inside of his eyelids with every sharp, shallow hack his cramping lungs could manage.

His breath only slowed itself after his consciousness slipped away again.

*****

Castor felt Sir Edmond’s grasp tightening in the front of his sweater, but the man’s panicked choking still threatened to wrench him out of Castor’s arms. He slid to his knees, trying to shorten the distance to the ground, and ended up half curled around the man, as if that would protect him from what had already been done.

Sir Edmond’s fingers loosened when he fell unconscious, and Castor took a deep breath, his head sagging forward toward the knight’s bloodied face as he held the man in his lap.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. When it didn’t satisfy him, he whispered it again, more vehemently. “Fuck!”

He sat up.

This was stupid. A mistake. This had always been a mistake. And yet - he looked down at the unconscious body in his arms, the man he had watched through his scry crystal for all those years and hated, watched again for all those months of unbrokenness and scorned, watched in these last days once he was broken and pitied - no. No, he’d made his choice.

He rearranged his grip on the knight and clambered shakily to his feet, hoping to get to the stables before the man woke up again.

*****

Ed hurt. He hurt. He fought through the pain, trying to find a sense of himself, and realized only after a dozen ragged breaths that he wasn’t in his cell. He was warm, floating, held by something, and the surface against his face was - was - things slid into place and he cried out weakly, shoving away from the mage’s chest and going nowhere, his arms too weak to free him.

“Hey,” the man answered, his voice rumbling through his chest so that Ed could feel it in his hands, a pleasant hum in a pleasant warmth, and everything in him hated that Castor the Black was the only pleasant thing in his world, now.

It was a trick. It had to be a trick. A new torment, cleverer than the old pain, like this enemy was cleverer than the ones who had beaten him in the cell, long after he’d given them what they wanted.

“No,” he rasped, his voice more groan than speech, “No.”

A ‘please’ hovered at the tip of his tongue, right there, before he snatched it back. No. No. He wasn’t begging. He had begged before, just once before, and look what it had gotten him.

He shoved against the mage’s chest only to find the man’s grip tightening instead of loosening, humiliation on top of humiliation. His throat tightened, and his breath came harder, made him fight harder for it, made his whole body shudder and quake and threaten to rattle itself into broken, bloody pieces. He was dying. He was dying. Why was he not just allowed to die?

The arms tightened around him, the pressure agonizing against his wounds, but the tightness in his throat was something else, something else, and it was getting worse, and he would not cry in front of Castor the Black unless he was made to.

“It’s alright,” the mage said, the rumble in his chest back, his voice gentle, gentle, a trick. “It’s alright, we’re almost there. I’ve got you.”

“No,” he managed again, barely a whisper, his hands sliding uselessly down the front of the mage’s soft sweater as he tried to push away and found himself falling closer instead, his arms giving out before he could even begin.

Castor the Black had armor, gleaming leather as dark as he could get, almost not brown at all, but in spite of the blood Ed had gotten on it, the fabric under his cheek and hands was soft, warm and comforting, something that belonged somewhere safe, somewhere far from here. His fingers closed around it, and he couldn’t stop them.

*****

Sir Edmond stilled in Castor’s arms, going quiet and unresisting, his fingers locking back into the front of his sweater, and Castor didn’t know if that was better or worse than the knight trying to push away. It was at least easier, which was something, and Castor forced himself to concentrate on that part, on the practicalities of putting one foot after the other and getting to the stables.

His arms ached from carrying the man’s weight, almost as dead and leaden now as it had been when the knight was unconscious.

He wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t trained for it. He’d fooled himself, thinking himself so different from the wizards that made up most of the emperor’s forces. If their positions were reversed, Sir Edmond could carry him with ease. If their positions were reversed, Sir Edmond would have put a sword through his heart long ago.

When he reached the well beside the stables, he set the knight down beside it and collapsed onto the ground next to him, his arms strangely weightless and aching softly.

He knew better than to speak directly into the man’s mind, knew he shouldn’t open up that kind of link, knew it would only frighten someone who had been an enemy for so long. He caught his breath instead, watching the knight pull himself together, curl in on himself in tiny, weak, desperate motions, and split open some of his wounds, barely scabbed over.

“Don’t,��� Castor said, as gently as he could manage, his hand hovering over Sir Edmond’s shoulder as he realized he couldn’t find a place to touch him that wouldn’t be worse. “Don’t. You’ll only open up more of your wounds.”

*****

Ed’s face burned. Castor the Black pitied him. Had he really fallen so far? He moved in tiny, tiny jerks, motions of less than an inch that took all of his strength and sent dizzying waves of pain through him as surely as the mage’s steps had.

It didn’t matter. Breathing hurt, too. Everything hurt. He’d never hurt, like this. Not even with lightning coursing through him in the middle of a fight. A wretched, pained noise fell from his throat unbidden, and he turned it into a growl as best he could, baring his remaining teeth at the enemy mage.

The mage sighed heavily, tipping his head back and leaning it against - something. Ed forced his head up, trying to get a better look, only to find that he didn’t have the strength to keep it there. Fuck. He turned his face away from his enemy as much as he could without grinding it into the dirt, embarrassed and focusing the last dregs of his strength on keeping himself from crying.

“I don’t think I can get you back to the castle tonight,” the mage said eventually, his voice calm and soft. “So we’ll have to make the best of it.”

The mage moved, a rustling sound accompanied by a soft half-grunt, and then footsteps. Ed twitched, an instinctive flinch he only half managed to stop, and another pathetic high-pitched noise wheezed out his throat. He breathed again, his closed eyes tightening against the shame and the motion of his lungs hurting, hurting, hurting.

Make the best of it. Gods, what did that mean? The words thumped dully against his brain, but he was too dazed and overwhelmed to know anything more than that they sounded like the important part.

He breathed, and breathed, and did not cry, even as reopened wounds oozed blood down his back and thighs.

The mage walked away from him, the man’s footsteps becoming fainter and fainter, and Ed lay there, too weak to run, too weak to move, too weak to fight for anything but a last shred of dignity. His throat was thick and his sinuses pressed at the back of his nose. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

The breeze blew over him, gentle, and he waited, and feared, and hurt, and did not cry.

[edsbev]

ok heres a dumb fluffy thing about richie, whos realised his feelings for eddie, not being able to handle all of eddies best friend-touching for yall in this trying, angsty time

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

Eddie plants his elbow on the kitchen counter, holds his hand up, palm spread, thumb cocked, and gives Richie a challenging grin. “Arm wrestle me.”

Richie, who was making himself acquainted with the contents of Eddie’s fridge, pokes his head around the door and says, very wittily, “What?”

“Arm wrestle me, bro.” Eddie wriggles his fingers. “I’ve been working out.”

Richie stares at Eddie’s hand. Poised as it has been a hundred times before, when he’s challenged Richie to an arm wrestle a hundred times before. But unlike all those other times, Richie’s heartbeat builds up in his throat, like he’s swallowed a wild stampede.

See, for as long as Richie can remember, he and Eddie have been best friends. And so for as long as he can remember, he and Eddie have been very comfortable with each other. The kind of comfortable that manifests in a very casual and natural ability to touch each other without thinking much of it. Feet kicked up in each other’s laps, arms hooked around each other’s shoulders, a face pressed into the other’s arm when they’re embarrassed. The two of them watching a scary movie? They’d hold hands, huddle their heads together when things became too tense onscreen, and laugh about it after. The seven of them trying to squeeze into a five-seater car? Eddie would climb up onto Richie’s lap and Richie would lock his arms around Eddie’s waist as a makeshift seatbelt and they’d chat as if it wasn’t strange at all.

(…Oh, Jesus, Richie thinks, they never could do that now).

But you get it. They were touchy. In the most easy, platonic way. Touching Eddie’s arm was like touching Richie’s own arm; like they were an extension of each other. And nothing has changed.

Except at the start of the year, the seven of them all headed off to their various colleges, with their promises to keep in touch, to find some way to catch up as much as they could, and in their time apart, Richie realised that he missed Eddie more, that he missed him differently, than he missed the others.

They would facetime each other in their dorms at the end of the day. Eddie would chat on about his classes, bustling around so much he was only onscreen for about fifty percent of their conversation. And Richie would feel a very deep ache that trickled down from his throat to the pit of his stomach.

I miss you, Richie would think. Only he wouldn’t think it, he’d feel it. I wish you were here.

“Stop fucking moving around, you’re making me dizzy,” Richie would say. Then he’d add, “plus I can’t see your beautiful face,” which was close enough.

It’s the middle of the school year, now, and Richie’s flown out to see Eddie at his tiny, cramped apartment because the distance was driving him close to mad.

But when Eddie had hugged him for the first time in months, when Eddie had mussed his fingers through Richie’s hair and remarked at how long it’d grown, when Eddie had bumped his shoulder playfully against Richie’s and then left it there, pressed up against him, Richie had become convinced that their closeness might be worse.

So in Eddie’s tiny, barely-space-to-breathe kitchen, with a quiet night scene playing through the window, with Eddie dressed in his pyjamas – long checked pants, comfy hoodie, fuzzy socks – it is very nervously that Richie places his elbow on the counter, and curls his hand around Eddie’s.

“Don’t see the point,” Richie huffs, jittery. “Considering I always win.”

“What part of ‘I’ve been working out’ don’t you understand?” Eddie says. He tightens his grip on Richie’s hand.

Eddie’s hands are small but strong, with knobbly, boyish knuckles and spares moles the back of his hand, his palm, near his wrist. Sometimes, Eddie’s hands are dry, from the all hand sanitizer he uses, and sometimes they’re incredibly soft, because he’ll drench them in moisturiser.

Right now, Eddie’s hand is very soft in Richie’s own. Small, soft, steady.

God, Richie should really not know so much about his best friend’s hands.

“Three, two, one, fight,” Eddie says, and then he’s pushing against Richie’s hand, and Richie’s pushing back.

And Eddie has been working out; he puts up a good fight before Richie locks his elbow, strains, and sends Eddie’s hand down toward the counter.

“Fuck!” Eddie pulls away from Richie’s grip to throw his hands in the air, exasperated. “How do you always win?”

“I’m just bigger and better than you, Eds.”

“Well you’re certainly bigger,” Eddie grumbles. And he means that as an insult really, you’re certainly not better, but Richie takes the fact that Eddie thinks he’s bigger, thinks he’s big, and shoots it up like cocaine.

Eddie props his elbow back up onto the counter, a determination set in his brow, and says “best two out of three.”

Richie places his hand back in Eddie’s hand, and he thinks this might all just kill him.

---------

They settle down on Eddie’s couch, watch a movie, after that. Eddie makes some popcorn, they cover themselves in blankets, and they talk all over Superbad. And they slot easily back together. Richie tells Eddie how he messes good naturedly with his roommate, adopting voices for every person in his story. Eddie laughs, pretends to scold him, throws popcorn at Richie’s face. And it’s like they’ve spent no time apart at all. Like nothing has changed. Except Eddie has his feet up in Richie’s lap. Legs bent, knees up, so his pyjama pants ride up his calves a little. And Richie has to stop himself from thinking about that bare sliver of skin, that peek of Eddie’s tanned ankles between the top of his socks and hem of his pants.

And that has changed, obviously. How tense Richie is, when presented with Eddie in such close proximity. How guilty he feels when his thoughts veer to his hand on Eddie’s ankle, slowly grazing up Eddie’s leg, under his pyjama pants.

He shakes that fantasy away quickly.

“It’s bloody freezing in here,” Eddie says, in a good imitation of Richie’s British Guy voice. He doesn’t look at Richie when he says it. Shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, eyes glued to Michael Cera on the screen. “I need to get my heater fixed, but I’m broke,” he grumbles, then snorts at something Michael Cera’s character had said.

And it’s good that he’s not looking at Richie because Richie is looking at him. Thinks that that’s maybe the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Eddie doing one of Richie’s voices, bundled up in blankets on his couch, drenched in blue TV light, his hair fluffy and curling around his ears, the fabric of his too-big hoodie all bunched up at his shoulders, around his neck.

Richie wants to touch him so bad. To wrap Eddie up in his arms, to bury his face in Eddie’s neck, hair, like he used to be able to do without sparing a single thought about it. Instead, all he dares to do is lift a hand and place it on Eddie’s socked foot, which still sits on Richie’s lap. Feels warm and soft beneath his palm. Swallowing thickly, he stares down at it as he says, “Maybe if you had just lived in a dorm like the rest of us, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“What?” Eddie looks at Richie – Richie whips up to look at him, too – and snorts. “And have to share a room with someone?  Wait, even worse, to have to share a kitchen with multiple people?” He shudders dramatically. “The horror.”

“You’re such a fussy old man,” Richie says, amused. He puts on a voice, “such a funny ol’ chap!”

“I just like having a clean, fully functioning kitchen,” Eddie says. “Sue me.”

Richie laughs. “Cute.” Then he realises what he said and his face burns bright red. Thankfully, Eddie just laughs, says shut up, and shovels more popcorn in his mouth.

So, yeah, Richie has a bit of a problem. Not long after that, Eddie decides that he can’t handle the cold. And he pulls his feet from Richie’s lap (Richie’s feels his socked foot slide out from under his side with a feeling of loss) and shuffles over so his side is pressed to Richie’s side, huddled together for heat. A huge problem. 

And, sure, it’s warmer. Heat emanating from where their arms touch. Heat burning in Richie’s cheeks. Heat pooling in his belly. But it’s also torture. Richie can’t focus on anything else. At one point, they turn to look at each other at the same time, and they’re so close that they also bump noses.

“It felt so weird, not having you around,” Eddie says, near the end of the movie. He pauses, fidgets with his fingers on his lap. Richie holds his breath as a seriousness slides into Eddie’s tone. They don’t really talk about it – how they feel about the distance. Maybe because there’s nothing to say – it’s just a given, they miss each other – but mostly it’s because Richie is too scared to say anything. On the off chance that Eddie doesn’t miss Richie nearly as much as Richie misses him. They do see each other often, though only through facetime, but maybe for Eddie that’s enough.

Eddie continues with, “I mean, none of the people I hang around with now get my jokes. I’m starting to think I’m not even that funny.”

And it’s a little disappointing, but Richie replies with, “you’re fucking hilarious,” without missing a beat. His voice is a little scratchy from how tight his throat has been, all tense from holding his breath, all tense from the moment only a minute before, where Eddie had shifted and his hair had brushed against Richie’s cheek. “They’re just not intelligent enough to understand your sophisticated sense of humour.”

Eddie laughs. “You’re right, I’m too big brained,” he says. Then he laughs again. “They’re just not smart enough, I like that.” And when he says that, he glances at Richie, a small, pleased smile on his face, dim light dancing in his eyes. Richie wants so badly to kiss that pleased little smile. Then Eddie looks back at the TV and huddles closer into Richie’s side.

And Richie is sure he’s going to explode.

And it gets worse.

As though coming straight from all of Richie’s dreams, and his nightmares, Eddie suggests that Richie sleeps in his bed, so he doesn’t have to suffer his lumpy couch. Sleep in Eddie’s bed, with Eddie.

Richie fumbles over a lot of no, I can’t, it’s okay, but Eddie is persistent and Richie is unable to come up with a good enough excuse not to. So when it gets real late and they get real tired, Richie follows Eddie to his bedroom, stands, anxious, with his knees bumped up against the bed as Eddie pulls back the covers and climbs in.

It’s only weird if you make it weird, Richie thinks. But his brain is very much making it weird.

They’ve shared a bed before, albeit it was a much bigger bed, but Richie still reminds himself of that, over and over, as he climbs into bed. They’ve done this before, nothing bad happened then and it won’t now, they’re just friends sharing a bed.

“Why, it certainly is cold, ol’ chap!” Eddie says, as Richie slides under the covers. The bed smells like Eddie, but that’s just because Eddie smells like his detergent. Richie lays on his back, right at the very edge of the mattress, and stares up at Eddie’s shadowy ceiling. “What are you so far away for?” Eddie asks, keeping the accent. “Come over ‘ere and cuddle.”

Richie shimmers over only a little, so it’s Eddie who shuffles right up to Richie’s side. He presses his forehead to Richie’s shoulder, pulls away, nudges his leg against Richie’s leg, pulls away. Like he can’t quite decide how they should cuddle. Then he does something which sends a warning signal off in Richie’s brain: he rolls onto his side, his back facing Richie.

Richie has no time to react as Eddie reaches behind himself, fumbles, searches, before he grabs Richie’s wrist.

And drags Richie’s arm over his own waist.

Richie’s body moves pliantly as Eddie pulls. Until he too is on his side, his nose brushing the hair on the back of Eddie’s head, an arm slung over him.

Holy shit.

Yep, this is it. This will be the death of him. Richie Tozier is going to die, right here, in Eddie Kaspbrak’s bed. There’s still a gap between them, but Richie feels it like a presence. Eddie’s body is a little bony, but ultimately soft, beneath his arm. His hair smells like sweet shampoo.

Eddie sighs, snuggles down deeper into his bed. Keeps his hand on Richie’s wrist.

And he whispers, into the quiet-dark of his tiny bedroom – which is kept neat, dusted, shoes placed primly by the door – into the empty half of his bed – because they are only taking up one half, bodies curled in direct copies of each other – so gentle and private – that even if there were a hundred other people in the room, Richie would be sure that these words are meant for him – “I missed you.”

Richie has absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Eddie wriggles backwards, slotting against Richie’s chest, Richie’s knee slotted into Eddie’s knees, Eddie’s ass pressed against Richie’s crotch. (Richie’s brain certainly knows what he wants to do with that). And all of Richie’s nerve-endings light on fire at once.

What - Eddie’s hair tickles Richie’s face his face ­– what the fuck - the skin of Eddie’s neck, exposed, gleaming in the dim light, is so close – what is happening. Something hot-sharp spikes down the centre of Richie’s body. They have never done this before.

Eddie tugs Richie’s arm a little tighter around him. Seems to sense just how stiff, how frozen, Richie is, how he’s holding his breath, because he says, “It’s okay, Rich.”

And…oh.

Maybe Richie is a yearning mess, maybe he’s thinking with the crotch that is currently pressed to Eddie’s ass, but there is something in the way Eddie says that…it’s okay. Echoes around the room, around Richie’s chest. Sounds like Eddie knows what Richie’s thinking, being curled up together like this, those thoughts ranging from tender and romantic to downright erotic, and reassuring him, it’s okay. It’s okay.

Richie tries to swallow the heartbeat thudding in his throat. Stares at the back of Eddie’s head. And he does something that is either very brave or very stupid; he leans over in that tiny gap between them. And he presses his lips to Eddie’s neck.

A small, breathy sound leaves Eddie’s throat. Sounds content. He says, gently, encouragingly, “yeah.”

Richie just about passes out. Fuck. Fuck. But thank god he doesn’t, so he can kiss Eddie’s neck again. And again. Again. Eddie clenches his fingers around Richie’s wrist. Richie grazes his mouth down to the spot where Eddie’s neck meet his shoulder, goose-bumps pricking all over his own skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie,” Richie blurts – there’s so much pent up inside him, he needs to get it all out somehow. He kisses the crook of Eddie’s neck with parted lips.

Eddie laughs, a breathy sort of laugh, and he rolls over, onto his other side, faces Richie. Smiles, brown eyes glinting in the dim-light, as they flick back and forth between Richie’s own – the whole world slows down, as Eddie looks at him like that – before he places a hand on Richie’s cheek, and presses their lips together.

They kiss. And kiss. The brush of Eddie’s hot, soft mouth against Richie’s mouth. They kiss. Until Richie pulls away to breathe, “are you really kissing me right now?” and Eddie snorts and says “yeah, duh,” and Richie says, “good.” Then they kiss some more. Richie grips Eddie’s waist, pulls him flush against him. Eddie licks into Richie’s mouth. Their lips become red and plump, though you can’t tell, in the dark.

At some point, Eddie pulls away, very suddenly and rapidly as though struck by a thought, and Richie chases him with his lips, before he stops, blinks. Watches as Eddie half-sits up, places his elbow on the mattress between them and holds up his hand. Thumb cocked.

Screw that, even in the dark, Richie can tell how red and plump Eddie’s lips are. It’s quite possible that his eyes developed night-vision just to see that.

Eddie grins. When he speaks, he’s still a little breathless. “Arm wrestle me, bro.”

“Wha – ” Richie laughs. His head is spinning, he can still feel Eddie against him, Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, just wants to keep kissing him. “I beat you three-for-three just a couple hours ago. We both know I’m just gonna win again.”

Eddie leans toward him. Richie is drawn to him like a magnet, chin tilted up, needs to feel his mouth again. But Eddie doesn’t allow him to get too close. “Arm wrestle me.”

And well, there’s no arguing with Eddie. But that’s just because Richie is so willing to give him whatever he wants. So Richie props himself up, elbow against the mattress, and grips Eddie’s hand. Three, two, one, they push against each other. And Richie is still so dazed from kissing Eddie that Eddie gets the best of him, at first, until Richie locks his elbow and gets the upper-hand.

He lifts his head, grins smugly at Eddie.

Eddie, who was already looking at him, has a smile playing at his mouth. And as soon as their gazes meet, he swoops in and gives Richie a kiss.

Richie goes slack, because he’s an idiot, immediately melts into it, because he might already be addicted to Eddie kissing him.

Eddie sends Richie’s hand down against the mattress.

“I win!” Eddie says triumphantly, pulling away. “Oh my god, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that, every time we arm wrestle. I always knew it would work.”

“You’ve… always wanted to kiss me whenever we arm wrestle just so you’d win?” Richie snorts. But as he says it, he thinks back to every time Eddie has challenged him, and all those impish smiles take a very different colour.

“Well, not just so I’d win,” Eddie says, a little embarrassed. “…but yeah.”  

Richie raises his eyebrows. Then he places his elbow on the mattress between them, holds his hand up. Thumb cocked. Smiles. “Then arm wrestle me, bro.”

[writefightandflightclub]

What am I up to? (Luna’s autumn/winter update) 🍁

Ok, now that I’ve posted the monster Duke Leto fic and got it out of my system, I wanted to give a bit of an update on what I’ll be concentrating on in the immediate future and through autumn/winter.

Reading my TBR list of fics as I’ve not had time to read and reblog your content while doing so much writing! (I have 25 things I’ve been tagged in to catch-up on and I’m sure that list will grow soon so I’m very excited!)

Updating my masterlist, which is a little out of date now.

I am pausing requests, and, I’m really sorry, some leftover asks from soft blurb week (and some from earlier that have been sat in my inbox for a while) may go unanswered. I promise I answer/ed as many as I physically could but I think I have to draw a line now and start fresh, otherwise I will start to stress myself out trying to get through more than I can manage and feeling like I’m leaving loose ends all over the place! A few things you’ve asked for might appear anyway in future as they’re half done in my drafts, but if your ask goes unanswered or I don’t respond I’m really sorry and it’s in no way personal. My ask box is always open though! Come at me! ☺️ I do my best to get back to you on as much as I can.

I have some one-shots coming up for Poe and Nathan, and some other blurbs on the horizon, but for the most part I’d like to focus on developing (old and new) series and maybe some events and bigger bits of writing during autumn/winter. (Trying to teach myself a bit of patience!)

I NEED to finish my FO!Poe series Violent Delights as I’m sick of promising this and not delivering! It’s also begging to be wrapped up. I also want to progress Two Steps Back. As well, I have loosely sketched series for Nathan and Ezra which may materialise down the line. I want to have a go at finishing the whole thing before posting, if I can exercise some self-control for once.

Also (possibly) working on a Nathan horror story for a halloween event and (definitely) a regency!Poe AU with pegging for Regency Femdom week 👀 Deadlines don’t work well with my anxious brain though, so we’ll see if that happens.

I might do a smut event in November! Similar to soft blurb week but with more prompts / fun stuff, and a format that makes it more manageable for me to complete and to ensure I’m not leaving things unfulfilled. If I can pull it off, I have some very exciting Nathan + Blue ides I might publish that week too.

When Dune comes out clearly I’m going to lose my shit so just be prepared for that in December.

I want to do some more art! It relaxes me, and you were kind about my other art even though I’m still learning 🙏

Aside from this I have like 30 half-complete things in my drafts and a list of about 50 vague ideas so who knows, I may contradict everything I’ve written above any surprise you with... Everything Not What I’ve Just Said. (I am excited about some of these too, but I won’t give too much away!)

I can’t stop writing (seriously, sometimes I worry- I’ve been in a bit of a frenzy) so whatever happens, I will have Things For You and I hope you like them when they arrive! Thank you as always for your support! 🧡

As always, writing is an art not a science, and so let’s see where it goes! I thank you for sticking around and joining me for the journey, and for being patient with me!

Luna out!

🌑

Xx

[characternerdocs]

The Fool, Death, Temperance (for mun, and also Heather :3c)

☀️🌙✨ tarot questions ✨🌙☀️ ||| @icybreaths

the fool: do you have any nicknames?

I go by Eri, it’s not my real name, but it’s my preferred name. Other then that I don’t have any nicknames, though in High School I went by ED in the theatre club, as E and D were my first and middle initials. Though my college roommate did suggest that for a dark persona I could go by Eerie Lorewright, but funnily enough some people at my work do call me Eerie cause they don’t know how to pronounce Eri. I don’t mind the Eerie pronunciation as it give me a chuckle, but the other mispronunciations of my name is “R-Ee” when I pronoun it as “Air-Ee”

Heather//: Oh, I’ve got a ton of nicknames, Vincey Bear calls me Pooka, but sometimes calls me simple thing; not like he’s calling me simple like stupid, tho. And Heath calls her Sis. but I AM his sister so… maybe that not really a nick name… Logan calls me firecracker, Sparky, and fruit loop (But I gave her the a-ok to use that one) Rox calls her Pipsqueak and half pint, still warming up to those.. Levi calls me Tator Tot but he’s also started to call me Boss. Skid calls her Tweetie, I think cause of my yellow hair. Then Beeyel calls me Puck and Fun Size, which is rude. Ramiel calls me freak. And Sammy calls me the weirdest things- creepy things…. and I’m like the queen of creepy but gotta say what he says makes me uncomfy…

death: what are three things you want to do before you die?

Three things I’d like to do before I die, One, publish my writing. Two, I want to do something that earns me a place in the credit roll of a movie. Three, learn how to animate.

Heather//: Interesting, Gotta admit, I don’t really have huge goal from myself. After getting outta Glenbrooke I sorta just live everyday as if it would be my last. But I guess if I had to choose, Definitely want to commit the world’s BIGGEST heist with Vincent by my side. cause that be a dope ass legacy to leave behind. Arm-wrestle the top 27 most deadliest predators of the world. Also be a dope thing to have as a title. Then- prolly convince V Bear of his self worth- Like I know he know he got it, but like i don’t know I want him to see himself like i do, cause he really lets others’ stupid option of him get him down.

temperance: can you describe a strange dream you’ve had?

One of the weirdest and honestly scariest dreams I've had, I was out shopping with my sister and I was really upset with her. So my dad came to pick us up, but I refused to get in the car with my sister, I was so pissed. so instead I walked home thinking and hoping it would cool me off. But as I was walking it started to rain. When I finally got home, my sister was standing in the yard and started to taunt me about about having to walk home in the rain. And I got some mad I beat her into coma. I started to freak out when my mom came out and saw what I've down and simply said: "don't worry, you're on meds for that (my anger) now." And then I woke up.

Heather//:  I don't know... I really don't like talkin' bout my dreams besides with Vincent. their creepy and it leaaves me feeling really raw, having them ans talking bout 'em. They're like, either these gold tinted meremories of a life I don't think is my own or trauma filled horrors of what I was put through at Glenbrooke. Like being summerged in a tub of ice as I was getting that weird sappy serum pumped into me. The Doc always hoverin', spectating overhead. That horrible, awfuling feeling of constantly being under observation but completely alone. Utterly alone. And this miserible state of sub-human exist, reduced to being that lab rat, a play thing for this surgical mask-wearing creep, who sees the live and death of patients as a data point, nothing else.

Thanks for the ask @icybreaths, Hope you enjoyed finding out a little about me and a little bout Heather. You even started to breakdown Heather’s feral, crackhead persona with that dream question.

[in-tua-deep]

Ok so like I’m big dumb and have been stalking your blog for hours and just realized the tua should be pronounced like too ripppp anygays I absolutely fucking love and live for your writing and have a question for you (feel free to ignore it this is your blog!),,,,what do you think would’ve happened if Klaus had died instead of Ben.

asdfgDFSGH okay big mood but admittedly I pronounce as in too-ah deep myself lmao

HMMM that’s an interesting question because if Klaus died, he would just vanish. No one can see him, because he’s the only person that ever saw ghosts to begin with. If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around, does it still make a sound? If a boy becomes a ghost, but no one can see him, does he really exist?

You have Ben, who doesn’t numb himself with drugs but also probably withdraws from the rest of the family. Klaus used to coax smiles out of him, and Five used to throw books at his dead and demand Ben discuss metaphysics with him. Admittedly different relationships, but they were the ones that held him together. And then Five vanishes. And then Klaus dies. 

And Ben is well enough liked by the rest of the family, but he’s not really close with any of them. Luther and Allison are too obsessed with one another, Diego is too obsessed with beating Luther at anything, and Vanya is a ghost that only Five ever really reached. 

Ben leaves the day he hits eighteen. He doesn’t tell anyone, he just leaves. He quietly finds the shittiest apartment on earth, works two jobs, and puts himself through community college during the time he doesn’t have. He changes his name. He keeps the Ben, but ditches the Hargreeves.

He keeps his head down, he works hard, he never mentions the Umbrella Academy and he spends his nights with his hands pressed against his stomach wishing that his ‘superpower’ was anything but what it is. 

He’s a bright kid. He makes friends. He doesn’t have the money for med school, which he wanted since he desperately wants to heal instead of hurt, so he compromises and goes into nursing instead. He gets to help people just as much, and he doesn’t have to deal with the staggering amount of debt he would be in. (He’s still in debt from schooling, just not as much.)

Ben works long thankless hours. He holds the hands of an addict whose organs are failing. There’s nothing the doctors can do but ease the young woman’s suffering. He sees Klaus in the eyes of the desperate young people who come in, and he rolls up his sleeves and tries to help. 

Vanya write her tell-all book, and Ben reads it as carefully as he did the various tomes that Five tossed at him so he would know what Five was yelling about this time. He traces his fingers across Klaus and Five’s names as they appear, and he pretends he isn’t angry that Vanya just pulled back the curtain and exposed their gaping wounds for all the world to see. 

Five and Klaus are not props in Vanya’s coming of age story. They are background characters killed off for development. Ben understands that Vanya is angry, that she was abused, but he wishes she could see that this wasn’t the way to go about it

(Ben understands now, that Vanya was abused. He sees her, sometimes, in the people who float through the hospital with scars on their arms and legs and stomachs. The ones who stare right through the doctors and look away when their very concerned parents speak up. He sees her in the young man whose father yells for all the ED to hear that he is selfish, that he needs to be more like his older brothers who are successful. The father is escorted out, but the young man checks himself out against medical advice. Ben never sees him again.)

He isn’t as impacted by the book as perhaps the others are. No one knows what happened to the Horror. Ben isn’t questioned about it, because no one knows that they should question him about it. He watches the youtube videos of Allison getting accosted by paparazzi and wonders if Vanya knew what she was doing when she published that book.

Somehow, he doubts it. 

He adopts two cats. Their names are Séance and Boy. Ben calls them Seya and Brat. His friends ask him if he was a fan of the Umbrella Academy growing up, and Ben shakes his head with a wry smile. “My brothers,” He explains, “They were always more into it than I was.”

And then Reginald dies, and there’s going to be a funeral, and Ben doesn’t want to go. But he thinks about the siblings he never calls, thinks about the hospital room with the old man who is dying who told him with a bitter smile that he never mended any bridges, and picks up his phone. Ben applies for time off due to a death in the family, is granted it, gives his spare key to the girl across the hall who has vowed to take care of Seya and Brat as if they’re her own, and he goes. He goes to the manor for the first time since he left it, over a decade ago. 

He almost thinks it’s his power at first, that something went terribly wrong because he hasn’t let out the Horror for a good long while and the flash of electric blue was unmistakable. But it’s not him, and the portal in the courtyard spits out a child and Ben’s hand shoots to his mouth and it’s shaking because that’s Five. That’s Five the day he left, all scrawny limbs and drama, in a too big suit.

He ushers Five inside, and gets down some bread to hand to his brother who already has the peanut butter and marshmallows well in hand. (Ben wonders, for a moment, why those ingredients are in the house to begin with. He’s positive Reginald doesn’t like marshmallows, after all. But he has more important things to worry about right now, so he lets that thought go.)

He listens as Five tells them they have eight days, and he believes. Four-Five-Six have always had more nebulous powers that the first three children combined. Strength, mind control, and knife throwing are surprisingly straight forward. Ghosts, dimension ripping tentacle monsters, and fucking with the fabric of space and time are… not so much.

Ben looks at his siblings, who have changed so much and yet so little, and decides that priorities are in order. Because as much as he cares for his siblings, and he does, they’re all grown ass adults. Despite what he says, Five looks very young and Ben has seen too many children with the same haunted eyes and sharp words. 

Somewhere in the middle of all of this there’s an open window, and Pogo saying something about a missing box or a book or something, but admittedly Ben isn’t paying all that much attention. Not when he has bigger things to worry about

And Five has a choice between Vanya, who he loves but doesn’t want to drag into his general bullshit because she doesn’t have powers, and Ben who is a nurse and who seems most inclined to believe him. So after the Griddy’s incident, he goes back to the manor and Ben stitches him up with steady, experienced hands and asks Five what he can do to help

Five looks almost surprised. “You believe me?” He asks, suspicious lacing his voice. It makes something inside of Ben ache, but he blames it on the Horror. 

“I’ll tell you what.” Ben says, looking Five in the eyes. “I’ll make you a deal - I’ll help you with anything apocalypse stopping, no questions asked.”

“But?” Five asks, but he sounds less suspicious and more comfortable with terms on the table. Their family isn’t used to unconditional support, after all. 

“Come stay with me after we save the world.” Ben requests, and holds up a hand before Five can protest. “Yes, I know you aren’t a child. I know you can take care of yourself. But quite frankly, I’ve been missing my brother for almost seventeen years now, and I don’t have anyone to debate the finer points of mathematics with at three in the morning, do I?”

I don’t want to let you go now that I have you back. Ben doesn’t say, because he’s already pushing Five’s ability to deal with sentiment as it is. 

Five’s eyes look suspiciously wet as he looks away, but he spits out a quick “Fine.” and they shake on it. 

And so Ben ends up accompanying his brother to MeriTech to check out a serial number on the back of an eyeball. He places a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder, and calls in a favor with a doctor who he prevented from killing a patient who talks to a friend of a friend and they find out that the eyeball they have hasn’t been manufactured yet.

And hey, if Ben didn’t believe the whole time travel thing before he certainly does now, looking at an impossible eyeball in the hands of an impossible boy. 

And Ben is a trustworthy ally, level-headed with enough deadpan humor to make even Five snort in laughter. Ben cherishes even aborted giggle close to his heart. 

Five comes to him with a shy look and introduces him to a mannequin named Dolores. Ben thinks about the little girl with the spiral fracture telling him solemnly that she wasn’t scared but Mr. Hippo was, and he thinks about all the years that Five spent alone, and he gently takes Dolores’s hand in his and thanks her very much for looking after his brother all those years.

Five blinks in surprise, but it’s a good kind of surprise, and he’s notably warmer towards Ben after the interaction. 

It reminds him, just a little bit, of Klaus before Reginald ruined him. The way he’d occasionally just talk to thin air or react to something that no one else could hear. It makes Ben oddly nostalgic, and probably means that he’s much more tolerant of Five’s interactions with Dolores than he should be.

Ben is with Five when Hazel and Cha-Cha storm the mansion. Luther and Allison and Diego hold their own with knives and kicks and the destruction of one chandelier. No one is taken, no one is kidnapped, because there wasn’t anyone just getting out of the bath with headphones in to catch unexpected. 

Eudora Patch listens to Diego tell her that his mother is dead, and that his brothers are running off together to who knows where, and she doesn’t find a message on a van’s window and go to rescue a hostage. Detective Eudora Patch lives to fight another day. 

Five scribbles probability maps on his walls and tells his audience of Luther and Ben that he plans to kill to save the world. Luther gets up in arms about it, but Ben just stares Five down and quietly tells him - “You promised.”

Because Five can’t stay with him if he’s in jail. 

And Five looks away and says there is one way to get more information, and Ben can already tell he’s not going to like this. 

They don’t have a suitcase to bargain with this time, so Five offers himself. He tells Hazel and Cha-Cha to meet him, because he’s decided to give himself up in return for them leaving his family alone. They get there, and they’re having a stand off, and Five demands that the assassin duo call the Handler.

Between one breath and the next, Five vanishes. Not like he’s supposed to vanish, in a flash of blue light. Just gone between one blink and the next.

Ben may or may not be responsible for the ensuing destruction of Hazel and Cha-Cha’s car and subsequently their briefcase which was located within said car. In his defense, it had been a while since he last drove out to the middle of nowhere and let the Horror go ham. And if, in this timeline, it’s Hazel who gets taken hostage because Ben is furious and he’s not losing his brother again, and Cha-Cha figures she’ll bust her partner out later but for not retreating is a wise move well

“Call your boss back.” Ben says, voice tight as he stares holes through a Hazel that Luther has helpfully tied up with some rope from the trunk of the car. “This is now a hostage exchange, you for my brother.”

“I’m just a grunt.” Hazel informs Ben, helplessly, “They’re not going to trade me for a legend like Five.”

Ben gestures for Luther to drive as he shoves Hazel into the backseat. As someone who has seen a man burst into an eldritch horror and destroy his only chance at going home, Hazel wisely complies. Ben smiles with all his teeth as he informs Hazel cheerfully that he’s going to tell Ben everything he knows about the Commission, the apocalypse, and his legend of a baby brother.

Later, in a family meeting with Hazel sitting tied up on the couch as they all loudly debate what they’re supposed to be doing now, Five shows up in a bright flash curled around a suitcase and scaring everyone

In another world Five brushes everyone off and proceeds to collapse. 

In this one, Ben pats his brother down while ripping him a new one about telling him to full extent of plans for gods sakes and when his fingers come back wet with blood Ben frog marches his brother to the infirmary for Mom to stitch up with his assistance. 

“We are a team.” Ben informs his idiot brother, “Yes I know we have to do everything to stop the world from ending, but it’s no use if you die along the way! I care about you, you idiot! So you’re going to sit here and heal while I go with Diego and Allison and deal with this Harold Jenkins motherfucker, okay?”

And Five grudgingly agrees when Ben pops a phone in his hand and teaches him how to facetime so that technically Five is with them the entire time and kept in the loop. Allison’s sacrifice of her phone for this purpose is duly noted and ignored, and Ben spares a split second to make a mental note to get Five his own phone at some point.

And when Luther finds out about everything, Ben quietly asks Five to pass the phone over and basically informs Luther that yes, Dad was a grade A prick but Luther is Number One. Dad might not care, but the dozens of people that Luther helped save during their stint as the Umbrella Academy? They sure as hell cared. And right now, Luther has a mission. Babysit both assassins sitting under their rooftop, because as proven by the break in Hazel is dangerous and where Hazel is surely Cha-Cha isn’t too far away.

That, at least, keeps Luther from going off and drowning his sorrows. 

Since Diego isn’t wanted for murder in this timeline and Patch is alive, there’s no splitting up involved. Ben and Allison and Diego trick a cop, investigate a hospital, and find their way to Vanya’s cabin where secrets come to light.

Allison reveals that she rumored her sister into believing herself ordinary, and Ben can’t help it when he just loudly mutters “I hate this fucking family.” which breaks the tension and makes everyone stare at him.

Since he is not going to admit that he’s stress quoting a vine (god damn Dr. Hernandez got him hooked on them) he ends up just blurting out “I can’t believe Dad made Allison do that!” because really it’s important to establish that yes, Allison did the thing but also Allison was four it’s not like she knew what she was doing, “I’m glad he’s fucking dead, jesus. What kind of a prick does that to a couple of toddlers? Fuck him like, for real.”

and in the aftermath they’re all just sort of standing there staring at one another?? And then Diego is like “Uh. so. i have a police file on your boyfriend? And turns out his name is also the name of the dude Five says caused the apocalypse? Say hello Five” and Five just waves from his little screen

and Ben puts his hands on his hips and is just kind of like “Five if you repeat any of that language I will gut you like a fish. You’re too young for that.” and Five starts sputtering about being older than all of them and cursing and Vanya is giggling and Diego is grinning and mission accomplished! And then he turns to Vanya and is kind of like “Hey Vanya also if you need me to kick Leold Jenbody whomstever the fuck his name is’s ass, I do kind of have a big old tentacle monster at the ready. But of course, you get first dibs. Also like, have you seen his creepy attic shrine to the academy with all our eyes x’d out and our throats slashed? Because it’s like, honestly up there on the level of creepiness. Not quite as bad as that very explicit letter Allie got when we were fifteen, but not too far off either, you know?”

and look i’m not an expert but Ben just. De-escalates everything. He’s a tiny bit like a capybara who will also kick your ass if you really need him to. 

And they confront Leonard-Harold and he tries to convince Vanya that her siblings are evil and he’s the ultimate good of whatever but it’s really hard when there’s Ben there muttering “God we all need so much therapy” to the side and “why is this family such a hazard to society. why do we always attract the weirdos.” and “this is what we get for the lack of a strong father figure in our lives I just know it” and other weird shit like that

anyway Vanya realizes that Leonard has only ever been using her for her powers and was manipulating her from the start, especially when he pulls out his knowledge of her powers as his little trump card as if they didn’t all just have a weird heart to heart about Allison sort of erasing Vanya’s knowledge of them as toddlers

“So do we just? Lock Leonard up until April 1st passes?” Ben asks Five and he feels a little like he’s cupping a magic 8 ball instead of a phone but whatever. But it’s Diego who just is kind of like “Oh hey I got this, this fucker has skipped out on so much probation and done a runner and shit and I can totally just call Patch to come out here and lock him up. Can’t cause the apocalypse from jail now, can you?”

And okay when Patch arrives to them all cornering Leonard in this cabin and also she sent some people to his house and there is a Whole Ass Dead Body up in there alongside this creepy serial killer shrine and oh yes Harold Jenkins is going away.

After that it almost seems a little anticlimactic to just climb in the car and go home? But I mean. That’s what they do. They argue half heartedly about music choice in the car and arrive home to find out that Five has untied Hazel and they’re both chilling at the bar drinking and honestly no one is sure where the little umbrellas materialized from because surely Reginald wouldn’t allow such a thing in his house, right? Luther is just kind of shrugging in the background (maybe a little tipsy) because you can’t expect him to know what’s going on in Five’s head

on the bright side Hazel seems pretty chill and has decided he is not going to try and kill any of them anymore because what he really desires is to run away with the nice donut shop lady. No, no one knows how to respond to this except perhaps Five who is cheerfully wishing Hazel luck. 

and considering that Luther has the whole general time they dealt with Leonard and the car ride back to come to terms with Vanya’s powers and the fact that Dad sucks and there’s also the matter that in this au Vanya did not slit the throat of his most favorite siblings so i mean. He’s okay with this. He is so beyond caring about the shit this family gets up to anymore. He’s going to need so much therapy when this is all over. 

Ben just sort of looks at this motley crew and everyone just looks fucking exhausted and he’s just kind of like. “Okay! Well. I for one did not get that much time off work for all of this but seems like y’all could use a vacation. My apartment is sort of shitty but i have a fuckload of extra blankets because sometimes I stress quilt, and no, no one is allowed to judge me for that fact, and my sofa is pretty great so I mean. You guys can come meet my cats?”

and that’s how everyone piles up into the car and goes to Ben’s place and meet his cats while buying a metric fuck ton of ice cream (Allison insists because even if Leonard ended up a creep, Vanya liked him at first and so it’s break up time) and no one can agree on a movie to watch and Diego is complaining because Ben put Dolores in the best spot while Five argues it’s because she deserves it

and look. Ben has been quiet and kept his head down and lived his life for a very long time. But looking at his siblings, at Luther ducking his head because he burned the popcorn and Allison gesturing dramatically with a bottle of nail polish as she does Vanya’s fingers and Diego teasing a scowling Five who both cats are fighting over his lapspace

and Ben can’t help but think that if Klaus were here (and his brother’s power was seeing the dead, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility) he would be proud of how far they’d come.

Ben certainly was.

[eddiesasspbrak]

“I read your diary.”

Prompt inspired by one line of dialogue.

Read on AO3

Eddie reads a diary he believes to be Richie's and is pretty sure he just admitted to being in love with him.

3k+ words. Oneshot

That day at lunch, when Richie had announced that his parents would be out that evening, it was decided they would have a little Losers get together at his house. At least once a week they gathered at one of their houses for a game night or to view a movie or TV show they all wanted to watch. All seven of them squished on a couch, under blankets and just enjoying being with one another. Not having any parents around to yell at them when they got too loud was always a bonus.

Upon entering the Tozier home, they kicked off their shoes before going up to Richie’s room to peruse his collection of movies, ditching their backpacks by his bed. The only downside to being at Richie’s, for Stan and Eddie at least, was that most of his movies were of the horror genre and neither particularly liked them. There was a good chance Eddie would end up staying over at Richie’s so that his mom didn’t find out he’d watched something scary in case he woke up with nightmares.

Eddie sat on Richie’s bed while the rest looked, knowing that nothing he said about their choice of movie really mattered. Either way he’d be traumatized for the next week. He looked at the movie posters on his walls and the scattering of polaroids of the seven of them he’d taped up haphazardly. They’d spent so many years together and with their senior year coming to an end, Eddie couldn’t help the feelings of anxiety that gripped him whenever he thought about going their separate ways. Stan had asked once if they’d still be friends when they were older, and Eddie thought about that a lot now. He hoped so. He didn’t want to lose any of them, but they couldn’t be sure what would happen until they lived it.

“Eds, we picked a movie, let’s go.” Richie said with a grin that made Eddie fall in love all over again.

He looked to the door to see all of his friends were already leaving the room. When he stood to follow, he bumped their bags and knocked a few of them over, spilling the contents. He cursed under his breath and knelt down to pick up the things that had spilled while also mentally berating his friends for leaving their bags unzipped. Stuffing a textbook back into Bill’s bag, he went to stand only to stop when something under Richie’s bed caught his eye. Amongst the clutter that littered the floor beneath his bed was a blue notebook with a sticker of the hear, speak and see no evil monkeys on it.

Eddie glanced at the door to see he was alone, his friend’s voices carrying up the stairs. Reaching for the notebook, he felt like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Sure, it crossed his mind that it could have just fallen from one of their backpacks when they fell, but it was far under the bed, partially covered by a sweatshirt. Given the number of things under his bed, there was a chance it had just been dropped and forgotten. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking that it had been hidden there on purpose. Listening carefully for any of his friends coming back up the stairs, he cracked the notebook open and read at the very top “Dear diary”.

He let the cover fall from his fingers and close. There was no denying it then. Richie kept a diary, and this was it. Eddie knew he shouldn’t read it, but he was so, so curious. Richie was the last person he expected to keep a diary and he had to know what kind of things he wrote about. He’d honestly been expecting it to be filled with jokes he’d thought up.

Maybe it was because Eddie had been secretly in love with Richie for years, or maybe it was just curiosity getting the better of him, but he opened the notebook to the last entry and began to read.

“Dear diary, I’m in love with my best friend.”

Eddie inhaled sharply and read that first line over and over again. Who did Richie consider his best friend? Sure, Eddie wanted to say it was him, but there were six of them to choose from. He could mean any one of the Losers. He had to know, so he kept going.

“He was cute again today.” That ruled out Beverly.

“Everything about him is cute. He’s shorter than me, not by a lot, but enough to be adorable.” Richie and Bill were the tallest of the group, with Bill standing an inch taller, so that ruled him out too.

“At lunch there was a spider on the table, and he freaked out. It was so cute I couldn’t stop looking at him.” Eddie, Stan and Ben had all three been afraid of the spider, and Mike had been the one to kill it. So, not Mike either.

“His locker is by mine and I just stand there and stare at him when he gets his books. I don’t think he’s noticed.” Stan’s locker was in a separate hallway, down by Bill’s. Both Eddie and Ben had lockers near Richie’s.

“His locker is so organized and clean and precise, not at all like mine. I’m probably too messy for him.” Ben’s locker wasn’t a mess, but it was usually cluttered, and he often dropped things while trying to pull out books. Eddie’s on the other hand…

Eddie closed the notebook, unable to read anymore. He’d read enough to confirm that it was him that Richie was writing about. Richie was in love with him and Eddie didn’t know how to proceed. Did he tell him that he knew? Did he confess his own feelings and hope that he wouldn’t deny that he loved him too? Not in a million years did Eddie expect this. Richie was always talking about the girls in their classes that he liked and making vulgar jokes about them. Maybe he liked boys and girls. Or girls and Eddie.

“Eds! Are you coming?” Richie’s voice came from the stairs, causing Eddie to jump and throw the book back under his bed.

“Yea…I’m coming!” He shouted back.

Eddie stood and placed his hand to his chest, trying to calm himself down. He had to go downstairs, squish on the couch next to Richie and pretend like he didn’t know they were both in love with each other. Easy, right?

*

Occasionally Eddie was brave, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was a coward. He’d chosen not to stay at Richie’s that night, too afraid to have that conversation with him about what he’d read. Too scared to admit that he’d read what he wasn’t meant to. Instead, he let it torture him over the weekend, the words playing in his mind repeatedly. Every dream he had was about Richie, he invaded his every thought, causing his stomach to churn with a mix of butterflies and anxiety.

When Monday came and he could no longer avoid facing him, he thought he might actually become sick. He’d met his friends like he did every morning. He was the last one to pull up the bike rack, locking his bike up and avoiding eye contact. His first two classes of the morning he was alone, but by third hour he was with Richie again, sitting side by side and pretending like he wasn’t on edge. Apparently, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it as Richie noticed and stopped him after class when he tried to speed off.

“Eds, what’s going on with you?” He asked, pulling him to the side of the hallway by some lockers.

“Nothing.” Eddie answered too quickly.

“You’ve barely spoken all day and won’t look at me. Did I do something?”

The look on Richie’s face was worried and it made Eddie feel bad for making him make that face. He didn’t like a sad Richie. He liked when he was smiling and cracking lame jokes that made him laugh. It was his fault he was looking like that and he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Had to let him know what he’d seen and admit that he’d done something wrong. Betrayed his trust. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset when he told him he felt the same.

“I…read your diary.” Eddie lowered his voice, leaning in a bit so only Richie could hear.

“You did what now?” Richie cracked a confused smile as his eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. I found it in your room and I only read one page, but it was where you were talking about your crush. Richie…I know…”

“You know what?” Richie was full on grinning now and it made Eddie nervous for some reason.

“I know who you like!” He said in a harsh whisper, darting his eyes around the hall to see if anyone was listening.

“How could you, Eds? That’s such an invasion of privacy.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, but I think we need to talk about what I read…”

“What did you read?”

“That you like m-.”

“Richie!” Eddie’s words were drowned out by Bill, who was rushing toward them.

“What’s up, Billy?” Richie asked, his eyes lingering on Eddie’s red face a moment longer before turning to their friend.

“I think I left s-something at your house last week. Can I come by after school to look for it?”

“Yea. What did you lose?”

“It’s my…um…noteb-book.” Bill said, his face flushing slightly.

“What’s it look like?”

“B-b-blue, with a monkey sticker on the f-front.”

Eddie felt like time slowed down around him as he came to a very abrupt realization. It was Bill’s dairy he’d read. He was talking about Stan. Stan was shorter than him, Stan had freaked out about the spider, Stan’s locker was by his, Stan was just as organized as Eddie was, if not more. He felt his cheeks heat up and felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Just a minute ago, he’d been about to confess his feelings because he thought Richie felt the same. Now he felt sick and so, so stupid. God, he was so stupid! Of course, Richie didn’t keep a diary. He didn’t love Eddie.

“You ok, E-Eddie?” Bill asked.

When he focused on them again, they were both staring at him. His eyes met Richie’s and his fight or flight instinct kicked in. He chose the latter. Turning on his heel, he took off down the hall. He heard both boys yelling after him, but their voices only pushed him to run faster. He pushed through the doors that lead out to the fields where he made a beeline for one of the dugouts. They were well hidden and wouldn’t be in use this time of day. Sometimes other students made out there or smoked there, but usually not so early in the morning. He sat on one of the benches, dropping his bag by his feet, and put his head in his hands.

If Bill had interrupted them even a second later, Eddie would be in a much worse spot. At least this way he didn’t have to deal with rejection and messing up their friendship. He’d think of an excuse for why he’d ran away, think of what he was going to say to make up for the misunderstanding. For now, he was going to wallow and deal with his self-loathing in peace. Part of him wondered if he should call his mom, tell her he wasn’t feeling well so he could go hide out at home for the rest of the day. As it was, she was probably going to get a call that he had missed his fourth class of the day. He didn’t really care about that at the moment though. Her lecture would be a welcome distraction from the noise in his head.

Eddie heard the footsteps approaching and tried to make himself small so he wouldn’t be seen. There was a chance it was someone looking to use the dugout for some debauchery, but they could use the other one. This one was occupied, and he wasn’t leaving. It could also have been a teacher doing a scan for students breaking rules because of course they new what they were used for. What Eddie hadn’t been expecting was for the person to jump down and sit beside him on the bench.

He tilted his head to the side and looked up to see Richie sitting there, leaning back slightly on his hands and looking up and out at the sky. Eddie’s stomach sank as he kicked himself for not just going home where Richie wouldn’t be able to find him so easily. He dropped his hands from his face but stayed hunched over, his elbows on his knees.

“You ok?” Richie asked, still not looking at him.

Eddie nodded. It didn’t matter that it was a lie. He didn’t want to talk about what was going on in his head. Especially not with Richie.

“What happened back there?”

“Nothing. I made a mistake. Sorry.” Eddie pushed up off the bench and stood, but before he could walk away, Richie grabbed him by his wrist.

“You said you read my diary.”

“Yea. It was Bill’s. I know that now. Like I said, I made a mistake.”

“So, you aren’t upset anymore?”

“I wasn’t upset in the first place.”

“You can’t lie to me, Eds. You looked like you were about to cry. So, who did you think I liked that was so terrible and isn’t now that it’s Bill who has a crush?”

“I can’t tell you that. It would be betraying Bill.”

Richie huffed out a laugh and tugged lightly on Eddie’s wrist, willing him to sit back down. Eddie complied but kept a distance between them, gently twisting his wrist out of his grip. They were quiet for a moment and Eddie wondered why he wanted him to stay if he wasn’t going to speak. He still wanted to be alone, to be very far away from Richie. He could practically feel the heat radiating off the other boy and he was too hyper aware of every small move he made next to him.

“It’s Stan, right?” Richie finally said, startling Eddie out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Bill’s crush. It’s on Stan.”

“Yea.” Eddie said, because obviously they all knew.

“So, you thought I liked Stan?” Richie grinned.

“Yea.”

“And it’s a bad thing if I do?”

Eddie’s throat went dry and he thought about bolting again. He didn’t want to hear Richie say he had a crush on anyone else. Especially not another boy, especially not their friend. It would kill him, and he definitely could not handle it.

“No…” His voice came out in the whisper.

“Well, I don’t.”

Eddie closed his eyes and let out a silent breath of relief, thanking whoever was listening.

“Eddie.” There was something in Richie’s voice that made all the hairs on Eddie’s arms stand on end. A softness when he said his name that was so laced with caring it made him want to cry. How could he not love this stupid mother fucker?

“Eddie. Look at me.” He said when he got no response.

“We have to get to class.” Eddie said, ignoring him and reaching for his bag.

“I love you.” Richie said as Eddie stood again, stopping him in his tracks.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Seconds turned to minutes, Eddie standing with his back to Richie, not responding to his confession. He screamed at himself inside his head, tried to will himself to move, to say anything instead of leaving Richie to sit there agonizing over what Eddie might be thinking. It wasn’t until he heard Richie move to stand up, that he finally snapped out of it and turned to face him. The frown on Richie’s face was enough to knock the wind from his lungs and make his heart hurt for him.

“Richie…” Eddie managed to say.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Richie said. “Just forget it.”

“No. No, I can’t. Richie…” The tears began to fall before Eddie could stop them. It was too overwhelming, too many thoughts racing through his head all at once. “Richie, I love you.”

His hands gripped the front of Richie’s shirt, his knuckles turning white against the fabric. Richie’s raised his hands to softly hold Eddie’s face between them. His expression was unreadable as his eyes searched Eddie’s face.

“You know I don’t mean as a friend, right?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded, afraid to try to speak as the tears wouldn’t stop. He loved him so much. So much that it hurt sometimes. He was all he wanted, all he thought about. Knowing he felt the same was too much. Richie’s thumbs swiped at the tears that trailed down his cheeks as he continued to stare at him for a long moment. It made Eddie nervous but the look in Richie’s eyes was enough to push those feelings away. A look like he was gazing upon something so precious.

Richie leaned down and kissed him on his forehead before pressing his own against it. Letting his eyes drift close, Eddie let himself enjoy the moment of closeness with the person he loved. Let himself get lost in the feel of his hands on his face, the way he could feel his chest rise and fall beneath his hands as their breath mixed together between them. This, Eddie thought, was a little taste of what heaven must be like.

“You really love me?” Richie asked.

“Yes.” Eddie said without hesitation. “Only you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Eddie nodded and a second later, their lips were pressed together causing his breath to catch. He released Richie’s shirt with one hand and trailed it up to rest against his neck. Richie brushed his fingers against Eddie’s cheek as he let go to grab Eddie’s other hand with his, lacing their fingers together. In this moment everything was perfect, and they felt indestructible. Together.

[cyberdva]

Lost Grieving- Richie Tozier X Reader {Chapter 1☆}

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Summary- The reader gets stuck in strange implications and finds herself in Derry, Maine, the location of the infamous Steven King book ‘IT’. Unknowingly she stumbles across the Neibolt House, the dirty and burnt remains of a tragic fire. She remembers what horrors had happened and is hesitant to stay. What will happen when she runs into the one and only Losers Club? What will they do if the strange new girl claiming to be from another universe, tells them they’re all made up characters from a book? Will she help them ‘defeat’ the morbid Pennywise or give up and be lost in perishable hell forever, filled with lost grieving. Proceed with caution when you drive into this tale of horror, humor, and a handful of twisted romance with Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Main Masterlist 

IT Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 (+)

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2k

Date Uploaded: 10/17/19

A/N: The first chapter got so much love, so I knew I had to write the next chapter ASAP!! Thank you guys so much!! Also the long italicised paragraphs is an excerpt from the book to put into perspective the problem from a background source, kind of like an example basically. 

Warnings: Cursing

 ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Excuse me?” the small boy peered up at me, he picked up what seemed to be an inhaler. He didn’t have his signature cast yet, I was here before most of the catastrophe. How should I approach him, there’s no way I’m telling him directly, he wouldn’t believe me. What the hell should I tell him then? He stared at me like I was crazy, taking a step back for good measure. I mean I don’t blame him, I look like I’ve been rolling in the dirt. I panicked, it was going to happen one way or another.

 “Uh, I think I’m lost.” It was a simple explanation, he kept looking at me, like I had five heads. 

He gave me a swift look of disgust, probably since I was covered in dirt. “I’m sorry my mom told me not to talk to strangers.” Shit. He was the germaphobe, eternally clung to his mother’s side, until she dies at sixty-six. 

“I’m sorry, I need to get home.” He brushed past me and jumped at the sudden contact, his pills flooded out from his fanny pack and piled onto the ground. Some rolled forwards while most of them flew in different directions. An abundance of different pill bottles fell next, the short boy looked at the now germ infested medicine in horror. 

I didn’t know what to do,”Do you want my help or would you prefer me not to touch?” He dropped to the ground and sorted pills by color and stuffing them back into the right tube.

“How do I know that you’re not some psychopath that could kill me?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Fair point, just grab the red ones. Be careful my mom will flip of she figures out what just happened.”

Ah, Mrs.Kaspbrak, a woman that completely overprotects her child to the point of isolation and creates illnesses just to keep him ‘safe.’ I thought of the book, how it showed his mom slowly incasing his youth in a small orange pill bottle.

-

Eddie gasped. He could see a foot floating inside a shole filled with green smoke. The bones in his foot! He crossed his great big toe over his second toe and the eldritch bones in the scope made an X that was not white, but goblin-green. He could see-

His mother shrieked, a rising sound of panic cut through the quiet shoe store like a runaway reaper-blade, like a firebell, like doom on horseback. He jerked his startled, dismayed face out of the viewer and saw her pelting towards him across the store in her stocking feet, her dress flying out behind her. She knocked a chair over and one of those shoe-measuring things that always tickled his feet went flying. Here bosom heaved. Her mouth was a scarlet O of horror. Faces turned to follow her progress.

“Eddie get off there!” she screamed. “Get off there!” Those machines give you cancer! Get off there! Eddie! Eddieee-!” 

-

I remember that chapter, I felt so bad for Eddie and yet I’m here ‘talking’ to him. Reality keeps straying quicker and quicker away from me. Next thing you know I’ll be fooling around with the damn Losers Club. As fun as that seems I had ongoing worry, is my mom ok? Will I be ok? Am I in a coma?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my fate, could I be dying. Is this the last moment I’ll spend until my time is up. In Derry, Maine! The ‘shittiest place on earth.’ After all these murders and that clown rampaging in the sewers I see why the town was coined the title.

Most importantly to the subject, why does Eddie have so many pills? We began to pick each up out of the sorting it didn’t take long to pick them all up. No eye contact was made, my chances were dialing, if anyone could help me with this phenomena it would be the clown-fighting teens.

Eddie looked around, “I’m missing one.” How the hell does he know that. Lurking silence was downed upon us as we glanced around a grim voice cut in.

“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

 We whipped our heads above us, a creature will drool castading out from its mouth crouched holding the last red pill. Its hair was knotted, ratty. Lumps and sores were plucked all over its thin and lanky body. There was no nose, horrible retching sounds came out of it as it inhaled and exhaled. Ripped cloth adorned the body, bandages came as a pair. A huge pile of them were attached to its left ‘foot.’ A moan escaped his mouth area, Eddie groaned. The two of us scattered as we ran from the monster. I remembered this from the newer movie and book, IT is here, he found us. How can I even see it, only people affected by….. Shit. The monster got up and limped towards us, we were cornered. I was racked with fear, tears filled my eyes and my vision was inconceivable. It screamed and retched as we ran towards the dirty Neibolt house. The makeshift cast banged against the ground with such force and rhythm, he was on our tails. 

 Eddie made sure to check back to see if he was dreaming or not, his nerves got the best of him and he kept tripping. A few tears escaped my eyes, I couldn’t be scared isn’t that what the clown wants? I know I couldn’t die from this, but if I see IT what will stop me from just that. We reached a fence, the screaming stopped, as did the banging. I glanced behind me. This can’t be real.

 Above all the grass and weeds was what you could only read about, what you could only dream about, something that you should never see in real life. It should’ve been a fictional character, in a book, but there it was, right in front of me. That’s when I realized I can’t go back, how can I wake up from this, it’s real. It has to be.

                              Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

 Rows of red, rubbery balloons covered his face. His white clown outfit hung in ruffles with three red pom-poms. The balloons went above his head, disappearing into oblivion. A crooked smile was slapped across his face. ‘Just Kill me now.’ I thought. It was him, down to the makeup and hair. Eddie was petrified. 

“Where ya going Eds?” His voice made a shiver go up my spine.                                         “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

The clown looked over to me, “And you, Y/N. You can’t go home, can you?” He giggled. What does he mean, why can’t I go home. I want to be in bed, waiting for that last day of school.

“Come join the clown Eds.” Eddie looked at me. “You’ll float down here.” IT shrugged his shoulders.

“We all float down here. Yes we do!”

A shrill laugh came out of its mouth, why did this have to happen to me! Eddie screamed and I followed him as we ran through a fence parting. His breaths were choppy, the boy fell once more and the sound of a balloon popping was all that was left.

He glanced back at me, “Please tell me you saw that too.”

[pluviophile-bookworm]

AWAE 1x3 rewatch: thoughts and reactions

I took a completely unannounced break from posting my reactions to AWAE. How rude of me. But I hope whoever reads these can forgive me, as I’m sure you’d understand that university is no joke. I’m not going to be posting for a while because I simply haven’t got the time to rewatch and write a reaction post, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. For now, I’m leaving you with my thoughts on 1x3 in celebration of the Netflix release of season 3. 

I’m actually really excited to be rewatching this episode since I’ve forgotten quite a bit of its plot details. I do remember it marks the first appearance of Gilbert, all the kids, and the school setting. I’ve told myself many times before that if this show was just Anne and her friends going about their day-to-day life, I’d still watch it and love it. So let’s dive right in.

I’m so happy to actually see Anne smile from ear to ear while getting ready for her first day of school. She’s nervous, but excited, and she deserves something positive after being denied so many joys for so many years. True, it will not be easy at first, but I can’t help admiring her positive disposition even though she is several years behind and is still not exactly accepted into the society of Avonlea with open arms. 

Anne dropping and breaking that cup reminds me of myself on my first day of middle school - even up to the hope that it’s not a sign of how the rest of the day is going to go. However, unlike me, Anne keeps up the positive attitude and, as I already said, I admire her for it. 

As much as I understand why Anne feels the way she does about her looks (she’s only 13 and she’s probably spent all her life being told she was ugly because of her red hair and freckles, and she never found beautiful heroines in the books she read that had those features), I agree with Marilla on this - Anne should find a worthier overriding concern, or indeed feel lucky she doesn’t have to worry about anything bigger than that anymore. 

Matthew and Marilla have only had Anne for what, a couple of weeks? But they already look like typical parents sending their only child off to school. I love them so much as parents. I just love them in general, too. Now that was a beautiful cold open, of the type I call “gold open”.

Talking to the trees as if they were fine ladies and decorating her hat with flowers is such an Anne thing to do... society may find it odd, but I love her for it. What can I say, I love this girl and that’s that. 

As much as Diana wouldn’t admit it because she was raised by her mother, I believe she loved the way Anne looked with the flowers on her hat. I also believe that she would have very much wants to do the same, but would never be allowed to. Just saying that makes me go back to her awesome development throughout the majority of season 3... Anne has been a big influence on her, obviously. 

“It won’t be long until my parents accept you” - well, they did, but they were still very disapproving of Jerry and his family just because they’re poor - which is probably not their fault. And I know it took saving Minnie May’s life for them to accept Anne, while Jerry never did that... but didn’t his family take Diana in when she was (supposedly) so badly injured she couldn’t walk? Isn’t that a good thing? and instead of accepting the Baynards, the Barries were even more terrible to them afterwards. Double standards much? Ok, I got sidetracked. Let’s go back to 1x3. 

The whole scene of Anne meeting Moody and Charlie has me laughing out loud, from the “I’m Moody” - “I’m sorry” exchange, which makes me think that Moody’s name is dad joke material, to Diana’s “Don’t talk to the boys. They’re ridiculous.” And then she mentions Gilbert Blythe in a way that makes me think - am I correct in assuming she had some sort of feelings for him, too? Did every girl have a crush on him but repress it in favour of Ruby? What would Ruby say about that?

These girls have me in stitches, a much needed change from the tragedy and drama of the first two episodes. And then... there were many “started from the bottom” moments in this season, naturally, but I think Jane is an exception to the rule. She actually started out pretty well, standing up to her brother for a social outcast she just met, and then in season three she almost supports him in something much more terrible. She had potential. That’s such a glow-down. But hey, not everybody can be Prissy.

“Never let them know when you like them, either” Is that what you do with Gilbert, dear? Because I don’t think you’re very good at it. But it seems that Anne took that advice a bit too literally. That would explain a lot of her actions throughout the series. 

Wait, Mrs. Andrews was one of the ladies who invited Marilla into the Progressive Mothers? Seems like Prissy turned out to be more her mother’s daughter than her father’s, then. But it’s a bit of a mystery to me how a progressive woman married a man who takes his son’s side when he assaults a girl... Seriously, the whole Andrews family is a mystery to me. First we have Prissy and Billy, who grow up to be like their mother and their father respectively - while being raised by both parents; and then there’s Jane whose character development is in the wrong direction if it’s there at all. I can’t figure them out at all. 

Anne and Diana’s polar opposite reactions to long division is a perfect illustration of their vastly different backgrounds. While privileged Diana is long done with long division, Anne just realises how far behind she is because she’s spent her young life working in abusive households instead of getting the least bit of proper education. It just makes you wonder how she managed to become such an avid reader when she never seemed to have any proper formal education. But there is the case of Matilda Wormwood who taught herself to read even in the worst possible environment, so why not?

I’m glad the age difference between Mr. Phillips and Prissy is at least acknowledged by someone... while I wouldn’t quite describe him as “old”, he’s more than old enough to make a relationship with 16-year-old Prissy wildly inappropriate and an outright crime by today’s standards. I’m so glad things turned out the way they did for Prissy in the end. 

Wait, so people back then used to think that a simple touch between a male and a female meant intimate relations? No wonder the girls reacted the way they did when the time came to dance with boys in season 3. This, along with the entirety of 3x5, is solid proof how badly these young people need proper sex ed... unfortunately, they won’t be getting it. They’re pretty much on their own when it comes to that. 

I have no idea how i’m going to endure seeing Mr. Phillips for the rest of the season. And half of the second one.  He’s one of those people that just make you wonder how on earth they ever became teachers. Like, even if he was somehow convinced he wanted to become one when he was young, how did people responsible for his higher education let him proceed to that profession with a character like his? Internalised homophobia or whatever Freudian excuse people may think of for him is certainly no excuse for the way he’s treating Anne in this scene. But can I take a moment to share a weird observation I just made - it just so happens that Anne starts her acquaintance with both her teachers in the series by spreading rumours - although accidentally.

“Are they in love?” - “When it comes to intimate relations, I’m not sure it matters.” Anne just spoke a dark truth without realising it. Although her knowledge is vague and filled with unusual euphemisms, she seems to have realised something important - love and physical intimacy aren’t mutually required in a relationship - unfortunately. I don’t even want to talk about it. Maybe I’m just not the right person to discuss such matters. 

Talk about abusive household... even Anne, a very young girl with no sex ed, realised Mr. Hammond habitually raped his wife when he would get drunk... imagine the horrors the poor girl has endured in that family - and the horrors the members of the family themselves have had to go through on a daily basis... and now the girls are isolating Anne because of what she’s experienced... let’s skip ahead. 

“Feminism... what exactly does it mean”? Well, ask Anne Shirley- Cuthbert - I’m sure she can explain it to you. Because you ladies insist on calling yourselves progressive, but some of you seem to not understand that true feminism is about treating all, and that means absolutely all women as equal to each other and to men. 

“Especially for those who are unlikely to marry” - what exactly do you mean by that? Is a girl who doesn’t get married before 17 somehow less worthy of respect in your opinion? I don’t know exactly who that woman thinks she is, but I didn’t like the suggestion in her tone...

I’m just glad Anne plucked away the flowers from her hat before Marilla could see them... of course, she should be free to wear as many flowers on her hat and in her hair as her heart desires, but such is the situation that she can’t afford to do it right now. 

Is this the same Rachel Lynde who represented women in a council made up entirely of men? The one who insisted on adding three more women to it? The one who offered Marilla as one of those women? Well, of course you could argue she is not the same Rachel - she was later changed by Anne, like pretty much everyone else in Avonlea. And I’m glad that such a change took place. Because imagine where Avonlea, nay, where the world would be without Anne Shirley- Cuthbert. How dare whoever is responsible for the cancellation take her away from us?

“I reckon every new idea was modern once - until it wasn’t.” Matthew is just about the best man of them all since day one. In Matthew we trust. 

“You know, there’s a difference between having an opinion about something and pronouncing judgement” - Marilla just put Rachel in her place by pointing out the fine line between voicing your opinion and acting like your opinion is the only valid one. Good on you, Marilla!

Anne is so dedicated to catching up and advancing further in her education... no wonder she ended up tying with Gilbert for first place at the Queens exams. Speaking of Gilbert, I just can’t wait to see him for the first time again. Is that coming soon?

I just can’t help admiring Anne more and more with every scene... she’s so optimistic about each new day that it just gives me hope that the sun will, indeed, come out tomorrow. Oops, wrong optimistic red-headed orphan... anyways, if the sun doesn’t come out, there’s still Jerry’s refreshing sarcasm and snarky one-liners.

Billy has some nerve calling Anne out for saying “nasty stuff” about his sister - sure, what she said wasn’t the most innocent of things, but she certainly didn’t mean it that way. Besides, Billy himself will go on to do way nastier stuff to another poor girl - and never realise the dramatic irony. Because he’s the classic straight white entitled man, one of those people you just can’t like. No matter what they do. 

There he is... couldn’t arrive at a better time, could you, Gil? This is one of my top 5 favourite moments of his throughout the entire series. It’s literally the equivalent of seeing a girl being attacked by a guy and talking to him as if he’s a civilised person instead of taking up his own aggressive tone, and I love that they chose to introduce Gilbert in such a context of all possibilities. “Any dragons around here need slaying?” Gilbert Blythe is a true knight in shining armour and he knows it. 

“Miss? What’s your name? Miss?” And thus begins the story of the two most confused teenagers in Canada, the slowest of all slow burns, the love story to end them all. A shaky start, sure, but it’s a start. 

“You can’t talk to Gilbert Blythe. You can’t even look at him.” Can you believe they’ve come from here to the point where they unanimously decided Anne was the only one who could ask Gilbert how babies are made... isn’t it ironic? But, I mean, from this episode all the way to the end, she did a very good job of convincing every one of them, including herself, that she didn’t care a single bit about Gilbert.

I just can’t get over Anne’s reciting... she’s certainly managed to get all eyes on her - but mostly Gilbert’s, with the most expressive pair of eyebrows above them... once again, Anne has made a strong impression... one that some liked and some will surely condemn - but it’s their loss. 

There goes that scene... the notorious apple from the notorious Blythe orchard we never got to see Shirbert in. And I have to say, Anne might have made a good ventriloquist. Too bad she’s not supposed to talk to Gilbert because... girl code is a thing. They won’t accept her as one of their own, yet she must play by their rules. It just seems unfair. 

Do the people of Avonlea have no sense of relativity and context? A bad rumour shouldn’t be taken so dramatically when it is a prepubescent girl who’s spreading it. She should be forgiven on account that she just didn’t know better. Instead, the very same story was repeated years later with Josie, where, again, nobody cared to gauge the circumstances - Anne only intended to defend Josie, not tarnish her reputation. It’s just the skewed priorities of the time that caused things to turn out the way they did. 

And this is the little moment that most likely started the spark in Jerry’s mind about wanting an education - just a simple remark from Anne that happened to contain a word he didn’t understand. They do say that it takes just one spark to start a fire. This little boy of mine is going far. Not without Anne, though. The two of them took their time to warm up to each other, but who could stop them when they finally did?

Gilbert is positively going to waste all of his chalk if throwing it at Anne is how he intends to get her attention. I have to say pulling on her braid was a bit too childish for him based on how he was established, but hey, we all have our moments, and for Gilbert, this is one of the most iconic ones in the source material, so why would anyone change it? Anne’s story wouldn’t be authentic if she didn’t crack her slate over Gilbert’s head. This immortal Anne of Green Gables scene was impeccably delivered by the infinitely talented cast of AWAE. 

Taking away the E and the Cuthbert from Anne’s name was a cruel thing to do. I can’t tell you how I trembled when I read this scene in the book years ago, just because of the E and how it felt like salt in the cuts left by what had just transpired, but now, the Cuthbert, too - the one thing that is solid proof to Anne that she belongs there - that she belongs to someone who finally accepts, maybe even loves her as she is - that, I have to say, is an awfully terrible thing to do to a young orphan if we look at it through Anne’s eyes. And let’s admit it, we all did in that moment if not in any other. 

Storming off is what any sensitive young girl with a strong sense of justice like Anne would do in her place, and, to her credit, she did walk out in dignity at least up to the schoolhouse’s door. I have to say she handled the situation way, way better than I ever could have. 

I mean, I would have reacted the same way as Anne when she said she was never going back to school, but let’s think for a second. There’s a little boy in the barn who would gladly take her place. Because going to school, however challenging at times, is a privilege. She should take a moment to catch her breath and realise that. 

To sum up, in this episode we saw: Anne’s shaky first day of school; the introduction of all of Anne’s schoolmates; the accidental scandal concerning a supposed scandalous accident; the Andrews family never ceases to puzzle me; “progressive mothers” being not so progressive; Marilla and Anne face similar bad treatment from their respective peers; a shaky start to the slowest of slow burns; a spark is ignited in Jerry; a broken slate and more than one broken heart.

[thefloatingstone]

The whole “they’re just evil” is ableist too though. It’s basically saying well, we thought they were mentally ill, but no, they’re just evil. Similar to how people will say “you’re not depressed, you’re just lazy.” And the whole “evil child” trope can be dangerous. Some child abusers “justify” their actions by framing their neurodivergent (mentally ill, mentally disabled, autistic, etc) child as being evil or unnatural. “creepy” behaviours in movies are common in ppl that are neurodivergent.1/2

I think what it comes down to is that the horror genre is about intent in its subject matter.

The reason I like horror is because when horror is done well, it represents very clearly the fears and paranoias of the era the movie was made in.

Early horror movies (before the hayes code) had a LOT of subtext where the big fear usually was caught up in sex in some way or another. And not in an exploitative way. Movies like Cat People and Dr. Jekyl and Mrs Hyde are to do with young people who are engaged and, because it’s the 30s, are not sexually active with each other yet, but they WANT to be. And a lot of early horror has to do with sexual repression.

And then you have zombie movies which came into their own after Night of the Living Dead in 1969 and became a genre in the 70s. Zombie movies being a cultural fear of losing control of yourself and getting assimilated into a group which is slowly devouring your way of life. This can be a metaphor for immigrants, other religions, a change in social climate and old societal structures no longer being embraced by the younger generation (Zombie movies became super popular in the 70s, after the Vietnam war which was extremely protested by the younger generation, as well as racial tensions in the US rising as African Americans were coming more freely in society following the abolishment of America’s segregation in the 60s)

But some horror movies deal with fears which are universal and not contained in one one era. The fear of death is a big one but rather vague in of itself. And when framed in a movie can be rather shallow (like a slasher movie) or very deep and complex (like Jacob’s ladder or Masque of the Red Death). Other universal fears are things like war, home invasion by a criminal, being hunted (either by an animal or another human), the unknown (this often taking the form of “evil” in terms of ghosts and demons and possession etc etc), one’s own body succumbing to disease (which is where body horror comes from) and the loss of control of oneself (this is where mind control and possession and other dehumanising tropes are used, although these can cross over into the trope of cultural tension. The Invasion of the Body Snatchers is all about loved ones being replaced with unknown enemy creatures and was made (twice) during the US’ cold war with Russia)

One of the great universal fears is the concept of not being in control of one’s own mind. It doesn’t matter if you’re neurotypical or have a form of mental illness, the core concept of losing yourself to your own mind is a horrific one (and I mean this in terms of the concept, not the reality) so I feel horror movies that deal with this trope WELL, understand how to channel that fear into an effective story that resonates with its audience, regardless of who they are. However, this is VERY different than the much easier and lazier method of just claiming a bad guy is “crazy”. Because the neurotypical audience will still nod and go “yes it is very scary to think of people being crazy like that or even of myself losing my mind. That is a scary thought.” but it does NOT use the trope with the complexity and depth it needs to properly express that dark fear.

The other great fear, and one used FAR less frequently in horror movies simply because it is disturbing, is the innate fear parents have that a baby who they wish to love could have “something wrong with it.” not out of stigmatism, but because (most often) parents wish for the best for their children, and the concept of a child having a problem the parents can’t fix is terrifying. This is where movies like Eraserhead come from, however it also ties into the fear of mental illness.

There is also the thing that having mental illness within the bad guy character gives to horror but which is not only reserved for mental illness, and this is where the “evil” explanation comes from; and that is the horror that comes from the idea that a bad person is not someone you can recognise in the street as a threat. That you cannot see someone and immediately go “oh well they have horns so I KNOW they’re dangerous!” but that threat and danger and harm can hide in the nicest, kindest, most ordinary looking people. In modern times we now know you don’t need mental illness to be a threat and look normal, but I feel this is why mental illness is often used.

This brand of horror is also very important because it asks the audience “what is the difference between the person in the movie doing terrible things, and you, the audience member, who probably assumes themselves to be a good person?” Mental illness is a good answer to this because it gives the audience the uncomfortable thought of “if I had the same mental struggles, would I be doing terrible things like this too? What makes me “a good person”? Am I any different than the bad guy at all?”

Horror is a good genre because it shines a light on fears and insecurities and paranoias of human beings. Either culturally, or psychologically. And I feel the problem is that so often complex ideas and reasons BEHIND the horror is lazily boiled down to “oh well they were just crazy. That’s all.” which makes the audience not have to worry about it because “oh of course. They’re just crazy. Not like me. I’m not crazy at all.”

But this is…. this is bad writing :/ and as the previous post said (if you are the same anon) it is the using of the trope in a lazy way which reinforces itself as harmful. And you often see this in cheap horror movies who are NOT trying to say something about humanity’s deep rooted fears, but just want some teenagers to scream in the theater for 90 minutes at some fake blood and a “scary bad guy”.

I agree that modern movies should not reinforce bad stereotypes of mental illness as we often see in badly written lazy horror films, but I don’t think it’s a topic that should be untoucheable in terms of story telling. Because I feel then we deny a huge part of the human psychology.

hmmm…. how do I put this…..

Ok maybe this’ll make more sense.

Silent Hill 2 is a game where the entire subtext and plot is about depression. Without it being a plot point in any way, the game feels like it is trying to EXPRESS depression. And it expresses depression in the form of horror visuals both in terms of monsters and scenery. Depression is never mentioned and nobody talks about the symptoms of depression (not counting Angela’s suicidal thoughts but that’s not really the point here). Silent Hill 2 is a story about depression and fatal illness and suicidal thoughts. It is a game about the horror of those feelings… And you could even easily say the game even features a character with depression who is a murderer… but the game is not presenting depression as an “explanation”. But it is a game ABOUT depression. Through its visuals, sound design, atmosphere, music, it all builds together to present itself AS depression.

And I feel we need stories like that. It presents mental illness in a horrific light… but it’s… it’s different, you know? And I feel having the ability to tell horror stories about mental illness is important because then we can have stories like Silent Hill 2, which in a weird way becomes comforting if you’ve ever experienced depression. It’s like you go back to Silent Hill 2 when you’re in a depressive state and you just feel…. a little better? like “yes…. this is the emotion I am feeling. This is what it’s like. Somebdy else understands it, and this story resonates with me. And I am not alone.”

I know that is a completely different thing than what we were talking about regarding “bad guy characters in a horror movie have mental illness” but I feel it’s an important point…. because Silent Hill 2 is literally about a guy who killed someone and has a mental illness…. the difference is he’s not framed as a bad guy, but as sympathetic. WITHOUT condoning his actions.

And as for “evil” like “oh he’s not crazy he’s just evil”, I understand what you mean but I think of it more regarding either tied to religious beliefs which is a more personal fear and varies depending on who the person watching the movie is…. or the evil which is like…. Ted Bundy…. and I don’t really want to talk about that because it legit makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

(also Horror is AMONG my favourite genres or sub genres. But it depends on the film. But it’s a genre I legit am fascinated by, enjoy depending on the film, and have watched and read and own WAY too many books about).

A big function of horror movies is to acknowledge the fears humans carry within us, as well as the darker sides of humanity as a whole, and horror movies gives us a way to confront that, and not simply try to ignore it while it festers away in the back of our minds.

So it’s difficult because you can’t say “you can’t make a horror movie about x” because it ends up being more harmful than good…. but at the same time reinforcing stigmas that hurt oppressed groups is also something which should NOT be done.

This is why I tend to judge horror movies on a case by case basis X’D and also consider context, era, country of origin etc etc.

And it’s why I’m talking about this topic in such long posts. Because I feel it’s a complex problem.

But I fully agree we need a public ed campaign in teaching people about the context in which older horror movies were made and to understand how to be critical of their themes while still being able to be entertained by them.

….I didn’t even go into how monster movies like King Kong and Creature from the Black Lagoon are about cultural paranoias about people from different ethnicities and cultures “coming to steal our women”, and why you are seeing a lot more “monster fuckers” these days as our culture is slowly learning to be more empathetic to “those who are other”. Like…. I didn’t even go INTO that part of it.

…..I like horror u guys.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 38

Last time: Ed was super composed when talking to his crush, Granny Armstrong was here and gone before I knew it, and Selim stayed out past his bedtime. Onwards!

Riza gets back to her apartment, so shaken up over the Pride reveal that she starts at seeing eyes in the shadows, when it’s just her dog (does it have a name?). Yeesh, she has had a day, hasn’t she? The phone ringing suddenly doesn’t help her nerves, nor does Roy being cheesy and trying to pass off his mountain of flowers to her. Ocne he hears her little huff of stress he does a complete 180 and asks what’s wrong, but since we can’t know if Pride is listening she claims that she’s fine. Roy’s left standing in the phonebooth, glaring down at the silent headset in his hand. Huh, didn’t realize that Sideburns was still having to tag along with Kimblee, thought he’d stay at Briggs. Anyways, Kimblee and the Blondes have wound up at an abandoned mining town. Time to make like a cliched horror movie and split up! Two of Kimblee’s mooks are assigned to follow the Elrics. Episode 38 - “Conflict at Baschool” Now how to ditch the Mooks and the dozen other soldiers with them?

Eh. If it works, it works. They run off from the common soldiers but the Mooks are hot on their heels. Wait never mind they’re chasing them into the building too, they turn the wait what? Where did they… oh yeah, Ed’s an Earthbender. Ha! Nice job pulling up a wall that muffles Al’s heavy footsteps! Uuuunfortunately, while they’re on their own to search Baschool now, in the words of Ed “this place is too damn big”. How on earth are they supposed to find Scar and May in all of this? [Ed]: “If would make things a hell of a lot easier if Scar and that girl just came to us…” [May]: “Alphonse!” Well that was easy. Aw, she still has her huge crush on Al, he’s not helping with his talk about how they were trying to find her and he really needed to see her. Yup, she (and Shao May) are so deep in Crush Mode she can’t even hear him ask for Alkahestry lessons. Ed snaps her out of it by demanding lessons, she tries to let him down gently- wait, “let me out"? Uh oh. [Angry!May]: “Excuse me?! Who is this woman, Al? How could you do this to me?” Aw, sorry May. Don’t worry, you’ll find a guy some day. Hey, Marcoh! Hey… Yoki? Wait, has Ed actually ever met Yoki before now? Yoki sure seems to think they did… Ok, apparently this was a manga story, we’re getting a silent movie but the dialouge is in Japanese so I’ve got no idea what anyone’s saying. Apparently Yoki used to be mayor of a mining town, then Ed came in with a bunch of gold bars and… bought the title to the town? Now hold up, am I understanding that Ed Transmuted a bunch of coal to gold in order to trick Yoki into giving up the title, and then passing it on to the miners who then kicked Yoki out of town? How? Is there such a thing as temporary Transmutation? I thought the effects were always permanent? So after he got kicked out, Yoki went on to try and restore his fortunes through various trades (he failed in each one), “investing his savings” (the casino took the shirt off his back), and straight up trying to steal (from two GIANT women who could honestly give The Mighty Armstrong a run for his money in the muscles department, yikes), which led to him running into a young girl at a piano who… wait… OH MY LETO DID YOU REALLY TRY TO STEAL FROM THE ARMSTRONG MANOR?! HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!

After he somehow survived an Armstrong-propelled piano to the face, he ended up in the Ishvalan compound, where he would do the second-stupidest thing in his life trying to take Scar for a bounty, and he’s finally ended up here. So we’ve got a room where Yoki is ranting about his “epic vengeance”, Winry and Al are trying to calm down a heartbroken May, Ed’s still pushing for Alkahestry lessons, and Marcoh is probably wondering if he wasn’t better off with the Goths. So where’s Scar? Kimblee’s getting the news that Winry’s escaped her own minders, Sideburns volunteers to go look for her and takes command of two troops, brushing off Kimblee’s words. The Crimson Alchemist is left standing there, scowling after a proper leader. Eh, you got some good Manipulator points from last episode, but you’ve still got to make up for your pitiful train battle. Scar’s going through some cans and bottles for food when two of Kimblee’s Mooks show up and demand his surrender. What, you punks think you can take on The Killer of Alchemists? Oh! Apparently they’re chimeras, part boar and part toad respectively. Time to kick some monster butt, Scar! Mid-ep pictures of Yoki and the Chimeras (Zampano and Jerso). Yeah, I’m just gonna call you Boar and Toad. The Blondes and the Brunettes are sitting in a circle now, Ed explaining that he found out what Philosopher’s Stones are made of, and their new angle of researching Alkahestry. And what do you know, Marcoh’s got a book by someone who worked to combine the Transmutation disciplines. Ed’s not too happy to hear that they need Scar to break the code (what, you guys didn’t work on that between the cabin and this mining town?). Ah well, where is the Ishvalan, anyway? *boom* There he is! Ed and Al order the others to stay put and head his way. Toad is surprisingly fast for his bulk, dodging Scar’s HoDs and kicks while Boar launches spikes from his back. Also, Toad can spit goop. One drawback to Scar’s style, it’s entirely melee. The chimeras plan to just stick to ranged attacks to wear him down. Scar tries to run off to the side, but a spike cuts his arm and goop glues his hand to the ground. Oh no, if only there was someone on the way who could save him…

Da dada dah! Ed and Al are here to save the day! Al picks up on them being Kimblee’s goons from Central. Now, how to- “AAAAH! TALKING MONSTERS!” Hahahaha! Oh, that is priceless! Pretend to freak out over the inhuman beasts in the room that are “pretending to be your friends”, so you’ve got an excuse if they report back to Central. Toad tries to slime them but notes that Ed is faster than Scar… and grinning like a loon? Oh yeah, this is his first time fighting with his new automail, it’s lighter than the old set so he moves faster! Hits lighter though, Toad’s back up and spitting actual spit. Thanks for telling us what it is, now Ed can break it down to water and freeze your back! And throw his brother into the Toad? Oh, ouch! Metal Armor + Frozen Flesh = Bad Times. Whoop, Boar’s back up, yelling that he and Ed are on the same side. Oh yeah? Prove it! If you’re human then transform back and ahahaha! [Ed]: “Thanks for the opportunity, sucker!” Alright, one Chimera down, knock out the Toad and LETO! What the hell Al, did you just snap his neck?! Jeebus! Scar’s freed himself from the goop, good. Now we can all head back to the others and what. Ed, no. You were literally just told that you need him to decipher the journal and you’re both working against Central now, just tell him what you’ve learned and WHY. NO. YOU DO NOT NEED TO FIGHT. STOP IT. You want him to pay for what he’s done? Then get his help deciphering the journal, fix your bodies, then you can have a great big revenge brawl. Ok fine, whatever. Ed and Al charge him, you might wanna look out for the HoD or protect your arm… oh yeah, the new arm is an alloy, not steel. Just like when Ed tried disarming Buccy, Scar’s failure just means Ed’s close enough to kick him. But like his file says, when Scar’s in trouble he tends to wreck the ground, he bursts through the rubble to strike Ed- [Winry]: “Don’t hurt them!” Winry?! Ok while I appreciate the character development and the chance to confront your parents’ killer, did you leave the Brunettes? Scar’s distracted by her arrival, giving Ed and Al the chance to knock him down and secure his arm. Before she can talk to Scar though, Sideburns shows up. Hopefully Kimblee’s not too close behind. Sideburns orders “the ungodly experiments by our superiors” tied to a column (so they’re still alive?), approaches Scar wait what no don’t shoot him! We need him to break the code! Ed, Al, stop him! Winry? Hoo boy. Winry’s confronting Scar. [Winry]: “Why? Why did you kill my mother and father?” [Scar]: “...there’s nothing I can say that won’t sound like an excuse. And nothing can change the fact that I am responsible for their deaths. Wait, boom?! What? No! Ok ok, calm down, maybe this is another Ross Deception. Trick Kimblee into thinking that Scar is dead? Sparks and a flame show Buccy underground, still with the Tunnel Rescue Team and saying… uh oh. They’re over the 24 hours, and Armstrong the Great said they’d cover the entrance with concrete after that. Come on, don’t leave these guys stuck! They aren’t Alchemists, they’ll have to go back through the Pride-infested tunnel and find another way out! Well, Buccy tries knocking on the door anyways. Silence. Crap. Alright, back down- hey, it opened! It’s Tank Grandpa! Did you really defy Armstrong The Great’s orders? Nice knowing you, buddy. What do you mean, it hasn’t been 24 hours? I doubt that Buccy went on that mission with an improperly timed watch… unless he was given one, to ensure he got back on time? [Tank Grandpa]: *points to shattered pocketwatch* “It’s a nice watch, isn’t it? General Armstrong gave it to me whenever you guys left.” HA! Best General in the show by far. Sorry Grumman, you’ll have to settle for second. Armstrong the Great is hanging out on top of the fort when Buccy gives his report on two survivors. Apparently she’s outside to look at the mountains, admiring the simplicity of their black and white in the winter. Buccy must be feeling really damn confident right now because he argues that it’s not true, if she just looks up she can see the blue sky. [Buccy]: “There’s nothing that’s entirely black and white.” *MASSIVE SHIT-EATING GRIN* “And thanks for showing your soldiers a little mercy! It means a lot, sir.” [Armstrong the Great]: *smiles* “That’s nice, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

New Ship confirmed! Incoming convoy! Are Kimblee and the others coming back? Did they forget to pack lunch? Oh crap. Central’s already sent some forces to find out what happened to Raven. Explosions! Back in Baschool, Kimblee’s finally shown up to the building where everyone was fighting, sees Ed rush out through the smoke. [Ed]: “You bastard! This is all your fault Kimblee, you were supposed to be watching Winry!” Wait what? NO. Argh that’s Winry being carried by Scar no no how did he escape did May break him out why can none of these idiots just talk to each other?! Argh! Wait, hold on. There’s a bandage on his cut arm… Ha! Elaborate Ross Deception, go!

[winryofresembool]

Love Can Melt the Ice, chapter 20

A/N: 20 chapters?? I can’t believe this. A big thank you of course belongs to you, who have supported my journey :’) (Esp. @criis55 whose commentary actually helped me to write the dialogue in this one.) I’m sorry this is a short one, but I just /really/ wanted to get something out. Because I cut this so short, that also means there are a couple of more chapters to come... I just can’t contain myself, can I? Anyway, please enjoy and don’t forget to review!! I really hope someone’s still around to read this.

Summary: Just some fluff before the party :’)

Previous chapters:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 pt 1, pt 2, 16, 17, 18, 19

Next chapter: [x]

Companion pieces (note: these are all post Olympics happenings so reading the main fic first is recommended): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Words: 1450+ (but it’s all Edwin!)

Genre: flooof

Winry knocked on Ed’s door again about 15 minutes after leaving the room. Now she was wearing an azure blue, knee length, v-neck dress that matched her eyes, and equally blue ballerinas. Her hair was down (Winry explained the bun had felt really uncomfortable) but curled, and her smile wider than Ed had seen during the entire time they had spent together. When Ed opened the door for her, she spun around a few times like she had earlier on the ice, caught the hem of her dress and curtsied to him playfully.

“So? What do you think?” she asked curiously and spread her arms wider, so he could get a better look at the dress. “This is suitable for tonight, right?”

Ed couldn’t speak for a couple of moments. “Y-yeah! Of course! It looks… it looks great!”

“Aw, thank you. You know, you don’t look bad yourself.” Winry smirked and tugged at his ponytail playfully. “This matches the medal I’ll get, by the way.”

“Oh? Good thing I didn’t dye it silver then. Once my teammates almost made me do it.”

“Oh, poor you… Well, shall we go? The others are probably waiting already.”

Since Ed was using his crutches, they couldn’t walk hand in hand, but Winry hooked her arm with his. As they made their way to the cab stop, she realized: soon everyone would know about their new relationship status. She got slightly nervous about how Ed would feel about her figure skating friends’ reactions. Or… simply making it public. Once it was out in the air, there would be no going back. But he had said he would do anything he wasn’t sure about so she reasoned that she shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

“You’re suddenly being quiet,” Ed noted suddenly. “Is everything OK?”

“Of course it is! It’s just… this all is almost too good to be true. Am I… am I really the Olympic champion? Are we… are we really dating now?”

“Why would you even ask that?” Ed growled. “Your performance was awesome! And if you need more convincing on that other matter… I made my decision and I won’t change it easily. I’d be lying if I claimed that one part of me still isn’t screaming of horror when I think about myself dating… but some things are worth it.”

Winry had to blink a couple of times so she wouldn’t start crying right then and there. “You know, you are actually much sweeter than you give yourself credit for… Thank you. I guess… I’m just not used to feeling this happy… Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for everything I have, which is probably more than I’ve let you to understand, but… ever since my parents died, I’ve felt… like I am missing something. But that feeling has been slowly fading lately.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Can you guess if there are any specific reasons for that?” Winry took his face between her hands, so he would have to look directly at her.

“How would I know? I can’t read your thoughts,” Ed asked, pretending to be oblivious even though he had gotten the hint.

“Idiot,” Winry sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s you, of course.”

“Oh.” For a while Ed didn’t know what else to say, until: “Can I ask you one question?”

“Sure?”

“Why do you like me?” He was blushing again, hoping that one day he’d manage to speak to her normally without looking like a dork. “If I’m honest, I don’t really understand it.”

“If you don’t understand it, then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Winry pouted at him like the question had offended her. “Relax,” she added finally, smiling at him softly. “There are a lot of reasons. In the beginning, I guess I was simply curious because you were my childhood friend, so I wanted to see how time has treated you. We had fun talking with each other and I felt comfortable with you when we spent time together. Admittedly…” Her hand briefly stroked the sleeve of Ed’s coat under which the automail was. “I was also fascinated by your automail when I heard about it.”

“You really are an automail geek…” Ed sighed and started hopping towards the cab stop again.

“Hey, automail geek and proud!” Winry exclaimed. “Anyway, I was only getting to my point. For some reason, I felt you were a person who would never hurt me. That is, until you ran away from our meeting without explaining what was wrong.”

“I’m still sorr…”

“It’s OK, we’ve been over it. I know you had your reasons. So, afterwards I talked with Riza and heard about how you had without hesitation gotten between your brother and that Envy, giving you that injury. Then I heard from Rosé you had woken her up and saved her career. And THEN,” she raised her voice when Ed looked like he was about to protest, her eyebrow shooting up as well, “After your tournament had ended in the worst possible way, I heard about your home situation and about the poor little girl, and I finally understood.”

“Understood what?” Ed asked, not seeing where Winry was going with her story.

“That you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” She stopped in front of him, giving him that fierce, stubborn look that he had learned to admire. “Sure, you can be hotheaded sometimes, and I don’t like how you try to keep things to yourself, but I like you despite that. Your first instinct is to protect the people around you, even if it ends up hurting you. I understand now that you were only pushing me away to protect me. But I have some news for you: I don’t need you to do that for me. I can take care of myself just fine. What I want from you is simply you.”

Her demeanor softened as she continued: “I want to spend more time with you, and learn to know more about what you are under that icy, edgy hockey player cover…” (Ed snorted a bit at her description) “… and I want to…”

“Yeah?”

She poked his nose. “I’ll tell you the rest after you tell me why you like me. Equivalent exchange, isn’t that what our relationship is about?”

Ed got flustered. “Wha...”

“Yes?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Eh… I’m super bad at describing something like that, and you probably know it, but I guess I have to try.” He took a deep breath, and continued: “You… You’re damn strong. Much stronger than you probably realize. You know how I’ve dealt with the issues of my life, which isn’t exactly the healthiest way, but your way of coping is so different. Much more admirable.”

He had a brief thinking break, looking at anywhere but her, but she set her hand back on his cheek, looking at him with determination, and Ed finally found the words.

“You have always pushed yourself to be the best you can be in the thing you do. Proof? You’re an Olympic champion. You also want to become a great automail mechanic. You are open to new things and determined to learn. Besides, challenge is always a good thing in my opinion, and you have proven to be very good at challenging me. Maybe at some point we’ll be at each other’s throats, but I couldn’t be with someone who doesn’t have her own will.”

A short break again.

“… But you also have a different side. A s-sweet and soft. That part of you that organized me a birthday party and was there for me when I was having a hard time. Your support has… it has been a bigger help to me than you probably understand. Al would… Al would probably say that you have managed to melt my ice barrier. I… I think he’s right.”

“Good answer,” Winry lowered her voice, inching closer to him. “I suppose I could reveal what I was going to tell you earlier, but I’d prefer a physical demonstration.”

“Ok. This time I can take a hint,” Ed said and freed one of his hands from its crutch before sneaking it around her waste and pulling her for an open-mouthed kiss. She teased his tongue with hers while one of her hands searched for the back of his neck, and one freed his hair from its ponytail.

“Sorry…” she whispered when they pulled away to get some air. “I just wanted to test what it felt like.”

“’S OK…”

He kissed her again, this kiss being more charged than the previous ones. Had they not been outside in the cold, they might have continued much longer, but soon they remembered where they were, and waved a cab to take them to the party.