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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 16

First time reader click here

Summary/TWs: Trouble is brewing. Canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and Clint whump. Bad, terrible, no-good medical accuracy. Aliens. Reader is an anxious genius with low self-esteem and PTSD. ✨spicy sadness✨

From now on, chapters will be posted un-beta-ed. She's taking a lil break. 💖💝✨

I liked to think I had made peace with the fact that my boys and girls had one hell of a dangerous job. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky frequently left for missions and while I missed their usual bickering in the background, it wasn't like the tower's common room became absolutely quiet. The fact that they mostly did recon-only missions helped, too, as they would come home unharmed and in one piece. The worry was there but subtle - like setting the table and including silverware for the people who were gone on a mission.

Peter's patrols went less smoothly, usually. He was small and even in his spider-suit, the boy was frequently underestimated by common thugs. Apparently, they didn't know how to read the news - it was blatantly obvious the hero was enhanced. And yet somehow, Pete more often than not sported all sorts of bruises, scratches and tears.

Tony and I routinely tore out our hair over the spiderboy's carelessness. The engineer had a funny way of showing he cared for Peter. Once I got to know him better, my brain dubbed them as Irondad and Spiderson. And it wasn't weird at all, somehow, that I was basically fucking my best friend's dad. Tony never made me uncomfortable, if anything, he went to great lengths to accommodate my whims. Tony continuously found time for me, answered my dumb questions and soldiered through the shenanigans I got up to after having too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Sitting in the quiet, empty common room was unnerving. It was shortly after dinner time - the evening news skipped their usual political debate in favour of the battle that was raging downtown, the reason for my headache and wrung hands.

I missed Tony's running mouth. The aliens the team was fighting looked quite hilarious, murderous intentions aside, and I could only imagine the way Tony and Clint would mock them. Hentai rejects. Tentacle porn knock-offs. The aliens were squid-like, about half the size of a human and very, very slippery, from what I spied on the TV.

An irritated-looking Stephen had me equal parts apprehensive and drooling - one after another, he conjured up a series of small portals, teleporting the aggressive octopods only god knew where. It would have looked incredibly badass if not for the exhausted sheen of sweat I could see on his brow, even despite the camera footage being shaky and grainy.

The news footage showed Tony - Iron Man, soaring contentedly through the darkening skies and taking out the squirmy mass of tentacles with his plasma beam repulsors. Steve and Bucky and Loki appeared too, sporadically, being well-oiled murder machines. Nothing new.

Yet, I worried. The little worm of doubt was squirming full-force. I tried to ignore it, yet pacing, sitting and playing Candy Crush got me nowhere. I pestered Friday to order pizza, the team's usual post-mission order plus a large one for me - stress-eating was better than stress-popping-molly in a tower full of superheroes. It took some courage to admit to myself I'd gotten attached enough to be this much from running away from all that in a blind panic.

And it would be the best option for them, really, because they had much sensible things to worry about than me. Yet every time, my selfishness won against even the most logical arguments I presented. I hated fighting myself but it was all I did - not only I was in love with Tony, I loved him.

Even when he forgot about my existence for five days, to emerge from his workshop with a new piece of tech that revolutionised one or another or something else. I loved him when he annoyed the ever living fuck out of everybody, me included, because I knew that it was hilarious to see people getting riled up over totally trivial shit. I loved Tony Stark when he ran away from his feelings, and everybody else's, because he never managed to run far enough. Or he didn't want to. I loved him, because he was like a multilayered puzzle, complex and captivating and beautiful.

I thought a lot about it, more than people would have noticed. For someone as selfish and goal-oriented as me, Tony lived in my head rent-free most of the time. And nobody would find out if I had the choice because let's face it, I'm a short cameo in his life. I'm a fuckin' catch and even then, I can't expect to hold his attention forever. His genius is too brilliant to settle for one when he could easily have the whole damn world.

Another hour consisted of me pacing and accompanying the pizza delivery boys to the common floor. It was hilarious - they were obviously star-struck about walking the same carpet as their heroes. I could see the faint hope of meeting one of the Avengers in their eyes, their posture. All they got was me - in my sweatpants, Tony's tee and no bra. My tits got the attention they deserved, at least.

My lounging was interrupted by a golden circle noisily appearing in the middle of the room, followed by Clint abruptly falling through it with a pained moan. I froze, the pizza in my mouth turning to ash - Strange poked his head through the hole in space, finding my eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Help him, I don't have much time," He breathed and disappeared, closing the portal behind himself.

The pizza piece flew back in the box as I stumbled, jumped over the headrest, kneeling beside Clint in no time. "Bird, tell me what hurts," I demanded. Not that I had a clue what to do. I mean, I knew basic first aid and...

"My leg," He gritted out, curling in on himself. Fear flooded me, limbs turning to lead. Hawk had a good pain tolerance, I knew he could break an arm and not utter a single syllable until he thought it safe to showcase his vulnerability. "That squid motherfucker stung me, I don't know. My whole body is on fire," His speech was slurred.

I nodded, deciding to limit the touching to only the necessary actions. The leg of his pants was torn and the wound itself was shaped like a whip mark, thin and red and angry. It oozed a yellowish pus-like substance, it smelled bitter, almost like stale water and seaweed salad. I didn't know much about aliens but jellyfish stings, I could work with. A short Google check later, I had an approximate plan.

"Friday, run diagnostics." I ordered, taking a deep breath and filing away the fear, the panic and anxiety for later.

"Mr. Barton has a wound that appears to be contaminated with an unknown chemical that is causing an adverse reaction. The elevated body temperature suggests that his immune system is fighting it. I would suggest a blood test to examine the offending specimens."

A blood draw? I could do that. I definitely, absolutely, could do that.

"Bird, Clint, did you hear that?" I gently touched his shoulder only for him to recoil from my hand, muttering unintelligibly. "Pretty bird, I'm going to help you. Let me." My bedside manner needed improvement - with brain running a mile a minute, I babbled utter nonsense as Friday directed me to the needed supplies. Getting the blood was a feat on it's own - I had to physically sit on top of Clint to get but a tiny vial of the red liquid.

A few tears escaped the emotional fortress I had to build within myself. Clint was in so, so much pain - pain I was inadvertently making worse by touching him. I sprinted to Bruce's lab, feeding the sample to be analysed by Friday, tearing through the room in a hurricane. First aid kit, IV, saline, antibiotics. Restraints, too, just in case.

"Analysis complete. The contaminant appears to be acting similarly to a parasitic infection with a short life-span. Primarily feeds on copper, iron and various metals contained in the human body. Does not appear to reproduce or multiply, my algorithms cannot determine the cause of said behaviour. Calculating..." Friday's mechanical voice paused. "I have calculated the approximate duration of Mr. Barton's symptoms. Onset of critical stage in one to three hours. Complete extinction of parasitic organisms in approximately sixty hours."

"Fri, do you think I have a chance of saving Clint before he goes crazy from pain? And have you figured out what's causing it?" My brain was all over the place.

"I have the best faith in you, miss." The AI sounded almost... Comforting? "I am still running multiple diagnostics. My algorithms suggest the organisms may be attacking the nerve endings - reason unclear."

An idea struck me. A crazy, brash, absurd idea. The pathogen was alien and we didn't have antibiotics to kill it. Even if I gave Clint some sort of medicine, it could go awry really really quickly. Besides, wasn't there a medical team for this..?

"Friday, alert the medical suite."

"Request denied. Per Mr. Stark's protocols, only Sir himself and Dr. Banner are authorized to request medical assistance in case of alien pathogen contamination."

"Fuck. Fuck, that makes no fuckin' sense!" I yelled helplessly. "Okay, do you have blood matching Clint's type laying around?" I asked sarcastically. This protocol pissed me off. What was Tony scared of? That someone would steal alien germs? Too late for that, there were plenty of samples all over the sidewalks downtown.

"A-positive, blue refrigerator, top shelf." Friday's answer was curt.

My hands shook. My whole body shook. Clint was laying in fetal position right where I'd left him and the man wasn't looking better - he became paler, dark circles under his eyes, clammy sweat breaking on every exposed part of his skin. Moving him was out of the question - Clint violently recoiled from me once I tried to touch him.

Reluctantly, I dragged the dining room chairs and piled up whatever heavy things I could on top of them, praying to every god that they would hold a trained man trash around in pain. Then, came the restraints. Belts with clips unlike one could see in a movie with a psych ward. I fumbled with them, then with Clint - very slowly, but I got both of his arms fastened and the man rolled onto his back.

"Wwhat... S'appening..?" Hawk finally slurred, cracking his eyes to see my (probably) disheveled and panicked face.

"This is going to hurt, I won't lie. A lot," I rambled, setting up the tools needed for both a blood draw and a blood transfusion. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a scientist. You have alien parasites in your blood. I'm going to get rid of em," I announced, not mentioning the fact that I had to Google all the things I was going to do to him.

"S'okay, I trust you," Clint slurred again, moving about much more weakly than before. The tips of his fingers began to turn blue and the blood vessels on his face stood out in a pink-purple web. Not good.

My finest thinking moment: laying out some tarp around the archer and putting on gloves and a mask to minimize the possibility of getting infected. I started with the wound first, carefully wiping away the yellowish goop and immediately sealing it into a biohazard container. Some alcohol around the edges, the wound began emanating a faint wisp of smoke as Clint yelled hoarsely. I didn't even react - man, aliens and their germs were fuckin' weird.

Another biohazard container traveled next to Clint's arm. I had a disposable scalpel in one hand and my courage in another - it was now or never. The vein I was cutting was a minor one, but with Clint's body in total disarray, it was an ugly fountain of pinkish-purple liquid that spurted from it. I was no doctor but blood shouldn't have looked like that.

I stared at the timer on my phone. Twenty seconds, thirty, fifty. Eighty seconds, the blood was beginning to have more of a red hue. Clint's breathing slowed, tremors subsiding by a smidgen. One hundred and eighty seconds, the stream was a healthy deep red colour. With a swift motion, I wrapped up the wound, folded his arm, tied off the blood flow higher up his arm with a spare restraint. Clint wasn't moving much anymore; my hand that periodically checked his pulse shook but dutifully did it's job. His heart was working steady.

Compared to having to drain a friend of his blood, setting up the IV with a transfusion was a walk in the park. My mind was empty of any thoughts but for the actions needed to complete the process.

The container with contaminated blood, closed, sealed and put in a plastic bag, along with the gloves and the tarp. My own exposed flesh, meticulously scrubbed with alcohol until the skin became red and raw. All the instruments, Clint's pants, my clothes - in the bag.

The archer himself was laying still, his breathing steady and calm, face no longer looking like he was one step away from the grave. After undoing the restraints, I wiped down every surface we touched with Tony's vodka - rubbing alcohol had run out and I was too emotionally drained to go downstairs and leave Clint for too long. Whenever the booze collided with a stray drop of blood, a wispy smoke emerged. Such an interesting reaction. Part of me couldn't wait to examine the phenomena together with Bruce. The other part was considering the possibility of having a panic attack in a seafood restaurant.

"Fri, keep an eye- a sensor on Clint for me, will ya? I need a shower and some pants," I denounced tiredly, padding to the communal shower. I found respite, however brief, under the steam for a few minutes. Then I found Tony's old tee and a pair of someone's sweats - I didn't care whose. Post-stress adrenaline shivers had me feeling stark naked in the middle of Alaska despite the room being a toasty, comfortable temperature according to the digital thermostat.

Now I just had to think about what to tell the team.

Propping Clint's head on a decorative pillow and covering him with a soft fleece blanket was the least I could have done for the long suffering archer. The floor was hard but I sat next to him, running a hand through his matted hair, my brain an incomprehensible mess.

✨ TAGLIST OF MY LOVELIES (OPEN) ✨

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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Day 25 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

Well.....here we are. The 25th of December, Christmas Day. This isn't a full on fanfic to be honest, this is kind of an epilogue to everything I've posted this month. You're gonna see snippets of everyone on Christmas Day, and so I hope you enjoy it.....let's do it!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch @bim-trimler @bimlee-trimmer @shawn-flynn-the-switch @goog-ler-iplier @robbie-lee-zombie @jack-leeboyman @silvlee-shepherd @yandere-ipli-ler @thehostofleetrature @ed-edlee @google-switchy-red @googlee-oliver @erik-lee-derekson @ericleederekson @googlee-green @thegoodnewsdoctler @doctoripliler @marvin-lee-magician @marvinleemagician @marvin--the-magnificent @bingy-switch @bingylee @dr-schneeplestein @dr-schneeple-switch @bright-light-mark @kingoflesquirrel @king-of-lee-squirrels @chase-brodlee @darkipli-ler @darkipliler @giggles-and-pink-mustaches @wilford-lee-warfstache @the-authler @the-dapper-switch @its-lee-mad-mike

Plus, all the other characters included that don't have accounts in the community that I'm aware of: Harold B Darrensworth, Blankgameplays, Abe the Detective, Goopiplier, Kinkiplier, Benjamin the Butler, Gooper, Mini Bing, Angelicsepticeye, Angus the Survival Hunter, ~ Isaac Brody, Marceline Brody, Sofia Schneeplestein, Luca Schneeplestein (All first names are NOT CANON, I just made em up) ~ Madpat, Natemare, FNAF Night Guard, District Attorney (Y/N), and Celine ~~~ALSO PLEASE BE AWARE THAT I DON'T HAVE EVERY EGO IN THE TAGS BECAUSE I COULDN'T FIT THEM ALL!

Also, if anyone's interesting....the total word count for the series was 59,546.....wowie....okay, now onto the fic!

So…here we are, the day is at hand…I’m not going to go into detail because y’know, I want to leave them all to it, but I can set the scene for all of you. The main living room is full, and there’s nobody sat on their own…but it’s not overwhelming either. It’s just perfect.

First off, Harold was with Anti, curled up and giggling against his chest as the glitch smirked fondly down at him. Harold had never looked more dishevelled and out of order, but he was so damn happy. Anti had found a spare stream of emerald and silver tinsel, and was using it to tickle around Harold’s ears and neck….at Harold’s request. See, when they’d finally worked as a team, decorating together, and the more and more tinsel Harold felt….the more and more he wondered how it would feel at his tickle spots. Of course, Anti was more than eager to have the chance to tickle Harold again, and so was just enjoying the feeling of the flustered man giggling and squeaking into his chest….it was the most precious sight.

Then there was Bim and Shawn, who were sat with Google Blue and Blank. Shawn was blushing into Bim’s shoulder as Bim rambled on about the beauty of Shawn’s carving at the top of the tree, much to the fond amusement of Blue and Blank. The four of them shared a couch, with Bim, Shawn and Blue sitting, whilst Blank lay atop them with his feet in Google’s lap. Every few moments, as they listened to Bim, Google swiped his fingers up his boyfriend’s feet with a cheeky wink….because why the hell not.

Then we have Robbie and Jackie….surrounded by so much chocolate. So much. Robbie had already eaten so much of it that he was practically vibrating as babbled to and jostled the superhero, filled with giddy joy. Jackie of course was relishing in it, because Robbie was too darn cute and he adored him so much. Also, Jackie had the luxury of Robbie insisting on feeding him chocolates, I mean, how he could he refuse a) such a sweet offer, and b) Robbie’s adorable face? He just couldn’t.

Now, here we have our first cuddle pile consisting of a detective and a VERY snuggly polyamory. Consider Abe adopted. They’d found a particularly comfy rug together, engaging in a cuddly tickle-fest where no one was safe. Host would get tickles as punishment for his board game antics, Silver would get tickles just for being adorable, Yandere would get tickles when they were being a sassy brat, and Abe would get tickled by the whole poly because they loved to gang up on their loved ones. It was adorable.

Now, onto our next cuddle pile on another rug….where we have two blooming couples on our hands. Especially in Eric and Google Green’s case because Eric was insisting on never taking off his flower crown. He was snuggled into Green’s torso and softly nuzzling his core, purring at the warmth and giggling at how Green would twitch and blush. Then there were Google Red and Ed, the former lying on his brother’s legs whilst Ed basically lay upon Red’s whole body. Ed was nuzzling Red’s core, whilst smirking and playing footsie so he could watch his Google turn into flustered little cranberry.

Now, let us have some absolute cuties. In addition to his normal gag, a certain ego (Wilford) had gifted Kink a pair of cute, purple, glittery padded handcuffs….which he was now wearing after being persuaded by the doctor and the, supposedly, innocent android. Now, he was being subjected to the most debilitating, sadistic teases from the doctor in his ear as Oliver teased all his tickle spots, both of them cooing about how vulnerable he was and about how he loved it. They weren’t wrong, and Kink felt like they were the best gifts he could have asked for.

Now, this next group are a subtle group, nestled together on another couch covered in quilts and smiles. Mike was wearing one of Benjamin’s shirts as a pyjama shirt, whilst he fed Benjamin spoonfuls of his experimental festive ice creams. Gingerbread, Candy Cane, Christmas Pudding, there was a whole range…and Benjamin was in heaven. Meanwhile, Jamie was wearing Celine’s shawl over his pyjamas whilst Celine wore his Christmas jumper (which was adorned with a pattern of pocket watches wearing Santa hats). They were holding hands, fingers interlaced and legs entangled as they competed over who could give the tickliest of kisses. This was a contest that was to remain ongoing for a very, very long time.

Now, we have a playful revenge taking place. Mini Bing was squeaking and giggling on the floor in-between two people, encased by an amber mist….a tickling charm no less. Marvin’s eyes gleamed with fondness as he relaxed on the floor with Bing, who was snickering with satisfaction, both at the vengeance and at Marvin’s wonderful assistance. Not only this, but Bing was also playing with Marvin’s long hair because it was absolutely frickin rad and soft….and Marvin certainly didn’t complain.

Now we have our egos of the outdoors, the two angels, the hunter, and the King. King had allowed himself to be coaxed inside, and was happy he’d let it happen….because he’d met so many lovely people, as had his subjects. Some of them were occupying themselves with nuzzling the wings of Angelo and Angie, who were both in happy stitches from it all. The King himself was giggling too, because Angus had decided to playfully try and lick off some of his peanut butter beard, and it was the cutest, giddiest battle of all time.

Here now, we have a father, son, and that son’s newest unlikely godfather. Schneeple was regretting his decision a tad though, because now said godfather (the Author) was sat on top of him and attempting to coach Luca in the arts of tickle torture. However, the little boy was only really interested in giggling his heart out every time his father laughed….so Schneeple was getting wrecked by the Author, but everybody was having a hell of a lot of happy fun. Also, having his daughter Sofia heckling him and teasing him along with Madpat certainly helped….make it even more fun.

We have another father too….also being completely and utterly ganged up on. With Isaac sat on his chest, Mare straddling his waist, and Marceline pinning his hands….it’s made Chase’s face oh so wonderfully vulnerable. Mare was smirking down at the dad as Marceline fluttered her make-up brushes all over Chase’s cheeks, and every time he squealed, Isaac clapped his hands giddily. This was frankly horrendously cute, I think you can all agree.

To a more intimate pair now. Yanan and Guard shared an armchair, and the former was really blushing up a storm. Guard was teasing them, relentlessly purring in their ear about all the ways he was going to tickle them and make them smile and feel all warm and flustered inside. Yanan loved every second. They gasped when he talked about nibbling their ribs for Christmas Dinner they squeaked when he teased about teasing their bare feet….and they squealed and hid in his chest when Guard simply cooed about how much cute mirth he was going to coax from their pretty lips. It was beautiful.

And now, our final group….oh what a myriad. First, we have all the Jims, and a group of Jims I believe is called….a Jim. A Jim of Jims. Well, three of them were clamouring to Dark whilst the youngest blushed. Reporter Jim’s brothers were gushing about the gift album he’d made to Dark, and Dark was just enjoying hearing about such a loving deed….and smirking at the flustered Jim, winking at him occasionally because he was an evil shit who wanted to keep him blushing for as long as possible. There was another young man blushing too, namely Goop….who was being frantically hugged by a squealing Wilford Warfstache who had just opened his lava lamp gift. So much love, so little anxiety.

Then….there’s our guy. Our glob. Our globbins. Our goop. Our gloop. Our goopy. Our Gooper. Going round from ego to ego, person to person, child to child….and being given so much love that he didn’t know what to do with it all. Cuddles, tickles, kisses, nuzzles, pokes, coos, kind words….there was just so much love. However you should know, that Gooper had no festive duties today, the egos had insisted upon it. From chef to Santa to present bearer to comfort giver to cook to organiser….he’d done it all, and now it was time for him to relax and enjoy everything the day had to offer…..and he did. Everyone did.

Well....that's it. I really hope you guys enjoyed this, I know I have. I urge you to please reblog and comment or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this Christmas series....it would honestly mean the world to me. Luv yous xx

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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Word Count: 3K Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Humor; Friendship-Turns-To-More; On-the-case Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Reader/Female OC, Cas [ever-so-briefly*** ] Pairing(s): Dean x Reader Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post, minus tags and links, in an effort to make it show in searches; more post-story Overall Summary: Dean, you thing-breaking dumbass, this is why we can’t have *nice* things.... Okay, but really: A fellow hunter finally finds it, the answer to solving a case she never quite put to rest; enter Dean and his penchant for picking up, dropping, and breaking things.

“I broke it.”

Dean immediately made some sort of slightly cringy face that I’m guessing he thought came off as adorable, then Sam looked over his shoulder at me with the same routine, albeit nervously.

I couldn’t say what expression my face had taken on, but Castiel was staring at me like I was either going to vomit or combust.

“It was an accident,” Sam tried.

And failed - I was seething.

“I can’t kill you, I know, ‘cause that never seems to take,” I said to Dean. “But I sure as hell can beat the tar out of you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes a bit at me, and I knew he was trying to judge if I was serious.

I was serious.

Several moments of near-painful silence went by, which Dean, naturally, broke.

“It was… look, this thing on the side… here… and the… is… it wasn’t my… then my hand, so… see?"

"Uh-huh,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I’m going to go. I think I should check on the bunker,” Castiel said to me as he backed up, sticking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh-huh,” I repeated, only seeing him out of the corner of my eye, as I was still focused on my target.

Dean frowned. “Nice, Cas, thanks a lot.”

“You’re most welcome,” Castiel replied, then promptly zipped away.

I was proud of him. That was some absolutely-on-purpose, right-back-atcha sarcasm. I was also glad he had 86′ed himself, one less thing to stand in between me and laying down that aforementioned ass-whooping.

Dean rolled his eyes, then warily brought them back to mine. Sam sighed and leaned over in his chair, getting a better look at the pieces scattered around Dean’s feet. He reached out.

“Nope! Don’t. You. Dare,” I said.

Well, possibly yelled. Could’ve been a shout. Either way he jumped back, held up his hands briefly as if I were going to arrest him.

“What is your problem?” Dean snapped.

My jaw dropped. “You. You, with the constant touching things and handling things and us having to watch you like you’re a four-year-old!” I snapped right back.

He glared, and I started pacing around, gesturing with my arms and hands, and I probably looked like a raving lunatic but I felt like I was dealing with a lunatic, so he deserved a little crazy dished back at him.

“I honestly don’t get it - I really don’t. Consider me boggled. With the knife spinning and the gun flipping like you’re in some movie, and then the behind-the-back shots, and the sliding over to some nasty or away from some creeper, like you’re on a damn baseball team, all those moves, and I just - how can one man have that level of coordination and still manage to fumble everything else? Huh? Can either of you tell me that?”

“You know, you’re being a real—”

“I don’t know how Sam survived childhood, with all the dropping him on his head you must’ve done, but hey - maybe by some stroke of luck you activated a hidden part of his brain and that’s how he ended up a genius.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks!”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean told him.

“The hours… the days…. the weeks… months… all wasted,” I went on. “There’s not another one. It’s one of a kind. Nothing else like it. You have single-handedly screwed me.”

Sam stood and walked over. I’d quit pacing, but my arms were still up and out. I brought my hands to either side of my head. I was muttering random sounds, essentially growling at no one in particular. Sam hesitated briefly, but then took me by the wrists and gently lowered my arms, sliding his hands down to hold mine, giving them a few good squeezes as he spoke.

“Listen, lemme just… if I can just move all of it to the table, get a real good look at the damage, maybe there’s something that can be done to fix it.”

“Sure, super glue should do the trick,” Dean said dryly. He was still hanging out on the side of the bed. I had to give him credit, though - he was holding onto what was left of it like it already had been coated in super glue, not making the first move to touch the rest.

I made myself inhale and exhale a deep breath before responding. “I appreciate that. I do. I wish you would let me do the moving. ‘K?”

Sam nodded. “Okay. And we’ll go pick up some dinner, let you have some space, that sound good?”

“Good. Yeah.”

“What can we bring you?”

I almost said a time machine so we could all go back ten minutes, so I wouldn’t have left it with Dean, and so he wouldn’t have picked it up in the first place. But I didn’t - Sam didn’t deserve to be treated that way. His brother on the other hand…

Dean stood.

“Don’t move!” I exclaimed, pulling my hands from Sam’s and rushing away from him, dropping to my knees near Dean’s feet.

“I can step over—”

“Put— put it down on the bed, and please, just— please take it slow.”

He did so, but then I felt him staring at me as I surveyed the mess around us. I looked up, and I admit, the anger was fading and the panic was starting to set in. He must’ve seen it because his expression got a bit softer and there was actually a little sympathy in his eyes.

He glanced away for a second, then back. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I know.”

“If I thought it would slip out of my hands, I would have—”

“Stop, will ya?” My head had already dropped again, as I gingerly picked up one of the larger pieces that was directly in his path. I leaned up briefly to set it on the bed, away from the edge, then back down I went. I grabbed the back of his calf, scooted myself to the side, then prompted him to lift. “Step clean over these smaller pieces, alright?”

I raised my free hand so he could steady himself. He responded with a firm grip and allowing me to guide the leg til his foot was planted, then we repeated the action with no problem on his opposite side. I let out a huge sigh of relief - so did he.

“We’ll be back in no time,” Sam told me, and I heard Dean fishing his keys from his pocket, but I was focused and didn’t acknowledge them. The door closed without any of us saying another word. And that was when the tears finally came to my eyes.

Here was the thing: the Winchester brothers had helped me over the last few hurdles in my quest to find it. I was more grateful than they’d ever know. I needed it to put a long-time cold case of mine officially to rest, and I couldn’t figure it out on my own, which had pissed me off to no end, but not getting the assist just wasn’t an option.

Sam had labored for countless hours over piles of clues and hints and other nonsense that had been tripping me up for years. Dean had been a champ out in the field, often checking leads on his own when their cases took them near some place that held promise, clocking who knows how many miles. We’d hung out socially a few times when they were in my neck of the woods, I’d spoken with Sam at least every-other-week, texted with Dean just as frequently, and well…

I considered us friends. Good friends. Maybe my only friends. MaybeI was their only friend, too.

And I thought about that, all of those things, as I stood over the table, staring down at what we’d worked so hard to find. Nothing was cracked or chipped, thin motel carpeting be damned. None of the pieces were tiny or crumbled, the smallest of them still taking up my entire palm.

It almost seemed… it shouldn’t have, really… it hadn’t felt like it…

Yet there were things about it I hadn’t noticed before, all these intricate details. Diagonal grooves on the piece Dean had managed to keep in his hands, along with oddly-shaped spaces that almost looked like they tunneled. I studied the smaller pieces - similar grooves. And on the sides that had faced internally, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, now that tears weren’t clouding my vision.

I was just starting to smile when the door opened.

“Hey that’s good to see,” Sam said. He was carrying our drinks and headed straight to the dresser - he knew better than to set them on the table with it.

“What’s good to see?” Dean asked. His arms were full of bags stacked atop a small box, so he kicked the door shut behind him.

I don’t know what came over me, but I rushed him, and the poor klutz would’ve likely dropped his cargo had I not pressed in so far as I put my hands on either side of his head and pulled his face in close, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

It was a toss-up, what I saw on his face - horror or surprise - when I pulled away and wide eyes stared back at me, but I couldn’t have cared less.

“Oh you beautiful man,” I told him, now smiling so much my cheeks hurt.

He blinked a few times, still startled. “I got you cupcakes.”

“What?” I asked.

“What?” he asked right back.

“What?” Sam chimed in. “I mean, what happened, why are you—”

I went to turn from Dean, but he wobbled, so I thought better of it. I grabbed the bags, leaving him with just the box. I mean, priorities and all, but I wanted those cupcakes. I answered Sam as I made my way to the dresser.

“He dropped it, but he didn’t break it - looks like it was supposed to come apart.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed.

“We need to all stop saying ‘what’,” Dean said, and in a gruff tone, so I glanced over at him.

He met my eye, then immediately turned his back to me and started sorting out the food. I frowned slightly, but I didn’t have time to figure him out. I walked back over to the table where Sam was standing, taking a good look at it.

“I liked the compliment and all - but you are the genius,” Sam told me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Did you see, on these, how on the inside they’ve got—”

“Yup! Think those might twist and turn and snuggle up all nice and cozy into these gaps?”

Sam grinned, pulled me into a huge hug, held so tight I almost gasped. “I’m really happy for you,” he said, and heaven help me, wrapped those never-ending arms even tighter.

Dean cleared his throat. Loudly. Twice.

Sam let go and I chuckled as his stomach growled. Loudly. Twice.

“Let’s dig in,” I announced, heading over to the spread Dean had laid out.

“You don’t wanna—”

“Nah. It’ll still be there when we’re ready.”

Dean was on his bed and I was on Sam’s, both of us propped against the headboards, a handful of cupcake wrappers tossed on the bedside table between us.

Sam didn’t join in on dessert, instead making a beeline for the table, and was currently in a chair, hunched over, working on the puzzle. He’d made good headway - I’d barely set in to my second cupcake when he’d already gotten three pieces back in place. In their new places, that is - because that was the key to my little mystery. It wasn’t supposed to stay the same.

“It’s looking good,” I told him. And it was - it was turning into a completely different shape, but one that seemed much more sturdy. Dean had noticed immediately.

“It’ll stand up now, on its own, instead of being wonky on bottom, won’t it?” he asked.

“Looks like,” Sam replied. “There’s still something that needs to go over here, to keep it steady, I think.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take over?” I asked.

Sam looked up, shot me a little wink, then shook his head. “No way. This is the fun part.”

“You’re the boss.” Then I looked at Dean, who had just killed off the rest of what had to have been his fourth cupcake, adding the wrapper to the pile. “For someone in a love affair with pie…”

“Pie understands me.”

“You know, at first I thought that was going to keep us from being friends.”

“Hmm?”

“My cake preference.”

“We all have our faults.”

“Truer words,” I replied with a laugh. I pushed myself off the headboard, made my way to a sitting position on the side of the bed, grabbed my boots and started putting them back on.

“What’re you doing?”

“Well, if Sam’s not gonna let me help, least I can do is make a beer run.”

“That’ll be great, thanks,” Sam said.

Dean watched in silence as I laced up, then grabbed my jacket off of the chair Sam wasn’t in. He waited til I’d almost had my hand on the doorknob before he got up, told me to wait a minute, he’d come with me. Then I heard his keys jingle.

“I’ll drive.”

“My car’s here,” I reminded him.

Dean all but shoved me aside when he reached for the handle, pulling the door open even though I was still partially blocking the way. I gave him a look.

“Well?” he asked.

I looked pointedly at his arm. He moved back so I could pass, and out into the parking lot we went. We were nearing the Impala’s driver side, but I waited to go around, instead turning so fast Dean stopped just short of running into me. The odd vibe that had been hanging over us for months had to come to an end.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier, I really am.”

“You had every right to be. Anyway, I tend to have that effect on women.”

I glanced down. The last quarter of his jeans and most of his boots were coated in a thin layer of dried mud, leftover from what he’d brushed off before getting into the car. I knew there must’ve been plenty of bruising on his arms and legs, too.

My mind went back to earlier that night, all the work he’d done to retrieve it from the abandoned, mostly caved-in mine out in the middle of nowhere. Sam was too big to fit through what little of an opening was left, and he’d physically held me back, fussing with me about the danger of a full-on collapse, when next thing we knew, we were alone. Dean had climbed down and started making his way inside while our backs were turned.

I looked back up to find him staring at me, not making a move to go around me or rush me, remind me that the beer was out there all alone, waiting on us, needing a good, loving home, and I added that to the list of oddities.

“Still. I shouldn’t have. Being that close to something that… I’ve just been looking for it so long, to think it was right there and in one second…”

Dean nodded. “We’re good.”

I nodded as well, but didn’t budge. “I believe you. So can we… can we stop being weird?”

“Who’s weird?”

I gave him another look.

He gave one in return.

I let out a little huff.

The side of his mouth quirked up ever-so-slightly.

“It’s been… tense,” I pointed out. “Not just you making with the clumsy and all. I mean the past couple times we’ve been around each other. Then over this whole trip, we’ve been… Listen, I know what a basket case I’ve turned into, as we got closer to it, and I wanna make sure it hasn’t wrecked our friend—”

Dean planted his lips on mine just as abruptly as I’d done to him earlier. Only this was different. He’d shut his eyes. And he lingered.

He pulled away for a fraction of a second, I suppose to see how I’d react, and I didn’t give it much thought before I leaned in and kissed him right back.

It wasn’t what I would’ve expected. I’d seen him kissing other women. There was always this urgency to those kisses, like he was trying to speed through it to reach a finish line, to hurry and get it out of the way.

This, though… this was a slow burn, then just as slowly, his hands were creeping around my waist and slipping under my jacket, pulling me in, and I found myself following suit.

“See? Here you go again, with the touching…” I mumbled into his mouth.

“….and the handling….”

“….all the moves….”

He stilled, stopped another kiss before it really even started, though he didn’t move away. “But am I fumbling it?”

“Oh, this is a horrible idea,” I replied, my lips still brushing against his.

“Huge mistake,” he agreed, eyes shining.

We were kidding, sure, but there was truth behind it, and that was something we both damn well realized. And I realized I was probably the one who had to play the grown-up, so I let my hands fall away from him, stepped back. Not by much, though.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Liiiike….”

“Like you do at the chicks in the diners and the bars. That bartender last time we were all together - the look.”

“And it’s how I’m looking at you, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm. It happened when you knew all you’d have to do was snap your fingers at her. Just like all of ‘em, when you’d know… ooooh.”

He hadn’t stepped into the space I’d created, just leaned, dropped his head to my neck, started planting barely-there kisses, and at that moment had landed on a nice spot just behind my ear.

“When I’d know what?” he asked, lazily kissing his way back around, under my jaw, then higher, to my cheek.

“Know you’d… how… it’d be a sure thing… that you were… you know… gonna get it.”

Dean brought his head around to look at me, and one of his patented, pleased-with-himself smirks was planted firmly on his face. “Well - I did get it.”

“Horrible idea and horrible jokes, I’m loving this whole thing we’ve got going.”

He dropped the smirk, turning it into something with a touch of sincerity. Something a breath away from being serious, and I didn’t quite know how to feel about it. About any of it.

“Not what I meant,” he said.

I drifted closer; he closed what little distance remained.

“That right?” I asked, and I couldn’t help it - it came out as a whisper.

And he whispered into my ear once he’d pulled me into his arms.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ve got it for you.”

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2: Several folks asked what “it” was, and so I made a post explaining - you can find that link on the original story post, via my master list.

Like I say - this is a repost leaving off links purposefully, so that’s why you’re not directed to it so if you don’t feel like looking but want to know the “secret”, just shoot me an ask and I’ll link you.

Author’s Note #3: In case you wondered, this was written for a challenge involving taking inspiration from outtakes of the show. And the ***ever so briefly on Cas was because the challenge runner doesn’t like him but I snuck him in just long enough tee-hee-hee

#Supernatural Fanfiction #Supernatural Fanfic #SPN Fanfic #Dean x Reader #Nash Writes

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wendibird · 6 years

Text

If This is a Dream... (Ch. 1)

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Sam X Eileen Wordcount: 4,803 Warnings: Canon Character Death (already happened), Angst (eventual happy ending), Sex mentioned but nothing explicit is shown Summary: Directly following the events of 14X13 "Lebanon" Sam receives a tip about a restless spirit haunting a particular patch of woods in South Carolina, one who is deaf and has asked for him by name. He must now deal with the thought of putting to rest someone he once cared for a lot, but will things go that simply? And in the midst of all the other problems on his plate, is he even ready to deal with the feelings of loss that he's tucked away for so long? Author’s Note: This was spawned from a writing prompt given by @becaamm for a Valentine's Day challenge. We had a list of songs and a list of lines, and we had the option of picking one of each or two lines, but I just zeroed in one of the lines which immediately inspired what this fic has turned into. "If this is a dream, I really don’t want to wake up"|

Also, I'm a horrible procrastinator who procrastinates and I didn't get the whole fic written up in time. BUT, I'd say I have enough done for a fairly decent first chapter. It will probably only be 2 chapters in total, though it may extend to 3 depending on how far down various plot-bunny trails I go. (It was SUPPOSED to be between 500 and 7,000 words, but I'm pretty sure it's going to go over that.) Cross-posted on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796449/chapters/41985947

Artist Credit: @idreamofplaid made the wonderful aesthetic board for me to go along with this. She’s awesome!

Sam's dreams had never really been anything to look forward to. As a child they had often been filled with flames, or shadowy figures moving just out of the field of his vision, or yellow eyes and a voice telling him dark things he didn't want to remember. After Jess there were more flames, but the face within them had become one he knew intimately better, and those persistent feelings of longing, guilt, anguish and anger pervaded everything. Years upon years of fighting evil and not always winning only seemed to add more fodder for his subconscious to torture himself with. Almost two centuries in hell hadn't exactly helped either. So when he sometimes found himself dreaming about one other person he'd failed to save, one other person who'd meant something to him but was now gone forever, well, he honestly hadn't thought too much of it.

Sometimes when he dreamed of Eileen, she was running through some darkened woods, her breathing fast and heavy with more than just her physical exertions. There was sometimes a note of panic, of desperation in every breath that passed her lips, and sometimes another creature's breathing could be heard, or felt; harsh and snarling. Sometimes he felt searing pain across his own back, even as the invisible predator pounced on her. Other times, the forest was still and the moon was full, and he and Eileen sat together, curled in the roots of an ancient tree, talking with hands and lips and eyes to one another about things he could never remember upon waking. And still other times they clutched each other in a tight embrace, hands gliding over sweat-dampened skin and unfulfillable promises murmured from desperate lips in between sharp intakes of breath and tingling surges of sensation that left him gasping awake, disoriented and aching with the sudden loss.

They didn't happen that often. Though every time they did, Sam felt the persistent, hollow pain of her death linger for days. With everything that had gone on since her death though, there were plenty of other nightmares vying for his nightly attention, and if he hadn't really noticed that they never seemed to happen at the Bunker, or anywhere else west of the Mississippi, well, he could probably be excused.

Tonight he probably wouldn't have had to worry anyway, even if he weren't in the Bunker. A crushed pearl and then his father had been fading from his sight, for the second time in his life. Although this time... well, he wasn't exactly happy, but it wasn't the same as before either. Things he'd wanted to tell his dad for a long time had finally been given voice, and a certain feeling of resolution soothed old scars he'd almost forgotten he'd even had. But it didn’t quite take the sting out of the knowledge that they’d had him there for a short while and then had to lose him again, like so many other people in their lives. His brother and Mom had retired to the kitchen some while ago to reminisce over a bottle of whiskey and he'd settled himself back into the library, going through yet more materials on angelic lore. He seriously doubted he'd even be going to bed before the next day dawned.

Once Cas had been filled in on the strange events of that day, he’d offered to heal both him and Dean from the injuries sustained while fighting his alternate self, but they'd both declined, claiming nothing was damaged that wouldn't heal on its own, and their angel's powers had been noticeably affected by Heaven's energy crisis. They didn't want him draining himself on their account when something much more pressing might come up later. Now, Castiel was down in one of the supplementary store rooms, as determined as he himself was to find another way of dealing with Michael than that metal box. He was going through the various books and boxes of relics that Sam hadn't had a chance to get to yet, and would bring him anything that looked promising.

With a heavy sigh Sam thunked another weighty volume onto the "not any help" pile on the table, which was sadly, much larger than the "might be some help" pile. (Which was still larger than the as-yet non-existent "will actually help us" pile. But, he still hoped, and still had a clear spot reserved for it, just in case.)

He took a moment to absently rub at his temples, considering the magnitude of the problem they faced. Thoughts of magic golden eggs, metal boxes (a coffin, really), spells, charms, Enochian sigils and an industrial grade fridge door held closed with a screwdriver all floated through his head. So many directions things could go, and most of them not good. But he'd meant what he'd told Dean, that they would find another way, and he was determined to keep that promise.

Just as he was about to reach for the next book in the "yet to go over with a fine-toothed comb" pile, he was interrupted by a jingle from his phone. With a sigh, he reached into his shirt pocket for it, his brows furrowing when he saw the unknown number listed on the screen. He briefly considered letting it go to voicemail, but then decided against it. Between their Hunters, Jody’s and Donna's contacts, and the few other Hunters they had a passing understanding with, there was too much of a chance it could be someone or something important. (Or just someone they knew who'd had to replace a damaged or otherwise compromised phone.)

So with that in mind he swiped the "accept call" symbol. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end came through a bit choppy, apparently not having a good signal, but he could still make out the gist of the words. "Hello? -is Sam Win-ester?"

"Yes." He responded, still feeling a little guarded. "I can barely hear you."

"-old on." There were some sounds of shifting around, and then a few sharp swears as whoever he was apparently tried to move to a better location. "Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah," Sam responded, still not recognizing the voice on the other end, although it did sound vaguely familiar. "Who is this?"

"It's me!" came the oh so helpful response. "Ed."

Sam waited, hoping for more to go on.

"Ed Zeddmore."

Sam thought his eyes might roll out of their sockets if they weren't attached in so firmly. "Oh... Right. Ghostfacers." He couldn't keep the tiredness out of his voice. "What do you want?"

"Well..." came the hesitant reply, "Not really the Ghotsfacers anymore... Harry left for good. Got back with that girl he was interested in and married her."

Sam couldn't really bring himself to feel sorry for Ed or care about his personal issues, not with the main big problem along with a bunch of other little problems all heaped onto his plate. "Look," he tried. "I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out with you two. But I don't really see how I can-"

"Oh! No, not... not asking anything like that." Ed interrupted then continued on briskly. "I still look up hauntings you see. Solo though. Still interested in the paranormal and all that but... well, I try to stay away from the really dangerous sounding ones."

He didn't outright say it, but Sam could practically hear the unspoken "The ones you guys usually take care of." With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Um, that's probably for the best, you know."

"Yeah." The despondent tone in his voice was clear even over the still somewhat staticy line. Sam really wished the guy would just get to the point of why ever he'd called.

"So..?"

"Right. Yeah." The other man audibly cleared his throat. "So, I was looking into this haunting in South Carolina. Just some sightings really, and a few odd occurrences happening, but no deaths. No injuries even. Just witnesses saying that this ghostly figure would sometimes appear, running in the woods like they were being chased by something. Sometimes screams were heard. Sometimes it seemed like they were trying to communicate with people but it never seemed to work out well."

Sam had already resumed reaching for the next book on the table as Ed was relaying the details of the case. "Okay... sounds like a non-violent, restless spirit. Probably either needs closure of some kind or to be put to rest. You should be able to handle that." Sam had to admit to himself, even if the Ghostfacers HAD been annoying, they had managed to get enough of a real picture of the supernatural to deal with something low-scale like that, even if Ed was going solo.

"Oh, yeah." He agreed readily. "Yeah, I mean, I was going to. Even tried talking to her. But I think this one... well, it's really something you should come down here to help with."

"Why's that Ed?" Sam asked tiredly, flipping through the pages of the old, leather-bound treatise on the intricacies of the angelic hierarchy.

"Well, 'cause she asked for you. By name." Sam's hand froze, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. Something niggled at the back of his head. Like, the various threads of information should already mean something.

"What?"

"Yeah, she was asking for Sam Winchester. I tried talking back to her but it was like she couldn't hear me. And it looked like she might be trying to use sign-language. I mean... have YOU ever heard of a deaf ghost?"

It felt like the edges of the room started to white out as his heart suddenly clenched in his chest.

South Carolina. A wooded area. A deaf, restless spirit, asking for him. By name.

A cold, heavy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach along with a spreading numbness. A numbness that some distant, clinical part of his mind unhelpfully informed him was a typical reaction to sudden shock, intended to help the individual deal with the present situation so they could sort their feelings out later. With a slight tremble, his hand reached for the pad of paper and pencil he had nearby for taking down notes. "Where?" His voice came out rougher than he'd wanted.

"Um, here, I have coordinates." As he rattled them off, Sam wrote them down. And yeah, it was the same area where she'd been found. "So..." Ed ventured uncertainly, having picked up on the sudden shift in Sam's emotions.

"Yeah." Sam said tightly. "I'll take care of it."

"Want some help on it?" The other man offered, seeming all too anxious to team up with someone again, even if he hadn't had the best track-record in the past of working with the Winchesters.

"No." Sam didn't even try to soften it, as the lump in his chest seemed to grow tighter. "No, I'll deal with it. I'm... I'm already familiar with... Just, go on. She... she's not going to hurt anyone." It had been well over a year, but the pain of her loss was already welling up inside him, like an old injury that you thought had mostly healed until you managed to wrench it just the wrong way and it made itself known again.

"Okay. Um.. yeah." Ed stammered, having not expected the emotions he could hear in the Hunter's voice, despite Sam's efforts to keep himself under control. "So, good luck, and all that." Sam ended the call before he said something he'd regret.

His phone fell to the table and his head fell into his hands as he tried to fend off emotions that now assailed him, reverberating through his mind like a damned echo chamber. The certain knowledge that this was Eileen. The gut-wrenching pain he'd felt when he'd gotten that call from Jody, telling him that she'd been found dead. The even worse feeling when they'd gone there and seen her actual body, cold and still like so many others they'd viewed over their bloody careers as Hunters. The knowledge that she'd been trying to reach them but hadn't made it. The questions left unanswered, until the day he'd cracked into that hard drive he'd taken from the BMOL's base and among other things found her case-file and the cold, clinical explanation of what they'd... of what Ketch had done to her. He'd never directly brought it up to the former assassin, once the man had more or less joined their side. But after the fall-out of Michael’s initial possession of Dean he'd firmly suggested that if Ketch still wanted to help them, to do so overseas. To follow up on leads in Britain and Europe that they had no way of seeing to themselves. Ketch hadn't argued the point.

Even as Sam was still reeling from the news Dean's distinctive footsteps wandered in from the hallway to the kitchen and up the steps into the library. "Hey, Geek-boy," he said by way of greeting.

Sam startled a little, raising his head from his hands and trying to wipe casually at his face, as if he was just tired. "Hey... Mom turn in?"

Dean took in his brother's posture, the quaver he tried to hide from his voice, the extra moisture on his cheeks as well as his red-rimmed eyes and sighed heavily before plunking one of the tumblers he'd brought with him down in front of Sam, filling it half-full from the bottle of Jack he was also carrying. "You know..." he ventured, taking the seat across from his brother, "you coulda joined us. I know-" he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, "well, you and Dad seemed to have kind of worked some stuff out, but it couldn't have been any easier on you than the rest of us."

Sam shook his head a little, not drinking from the glass, though Dean figured from the look on his face that he really needed it. "Dean... it's not- I mean, yeah, that wasn't easy but that's not why-"

"And look," Dean continued, having noticed the various piles of books, "I know you're all gung-ho to find some special archangel fix-it in all this stuff, but man, you gotta sleep too."

Sam's sigh was almost exasperated, though there was still a slight hitch in it. "Yeah... sleep. Cause THAT'S ever nice and-" his head suddenly tilted and his brows furrowed, as he got that look on his face that Dean had become well accustomed to over their lives. It was the look of his braniac brother fitting seemingly random pieces of information together into something that made sense. "Son-of-a-bitch..."

Dean waited a few moments to see if Sam would continue, but when his brother's expression shifted from dawning comprehension to something distinctly more pained, he spoke up, trying to lighten the mood. "Care to share with the class?"

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment before pushing the pad of paper over to Dean, who swiveled it around to take a look at it. He saw notations of book titles and page numbers, a few lines here and there that didn't make a lot of sense to him out of context, a few lines of symbols that looked to be Enochian and then larger and away from everything else, some numbers that looked like they could be map coordinates. They were heavily circled also. Shooting a questioning look up at Sam, he shrugged. "Are the coordinates for someplace special?"

The taller hunter nodded. "Got a call about a non-violent, restless spirit. She's been appearing sometimes, trying to communicate but apparently that's been difficult because she's deaf." Dean started to get a sinking feeling in his gut, one which only got worse as his brother continued. "But she managed to ask for me. By name. And this is where most of the sightings have been."

Dean didn't keep map coordinates in his head, but even without that, he had a fairly good guess where this was leading. And the clench in his gut only got worse as his brother's behavior began to make sense. "It's Eileen, isn't it?"

"Yeah, probably." Sam was resting his forehead against one of his hands now. "Those are for the area where she was-" he couldn't quite say it, but Dean didn't need him to.

"Well..." he knew nothing could make this situation "okay" but he still wanted to find something to help his brother out with it. "I mean, you said she's not being violent. So, that's good. Maybe she just needs closure or something."

Sam was nodding. "Yeah, that's what I'm hoping too." He straightened up again, seeming to have come to a decision and began to shut down his laptop. "Look, I know there's still a lot to do here, and I don't want you to think I'm ditching-out on you, but I think I need... I mean, she asked for me specifically. I owe her that much."

"Hey, seriously," Dean did his best to reassure his brother, "it's okay. Look, I'm in no shape to drive tonight, but we can get an early start in the morning, and-"

Sam shook his head. "I'm leaving tonight Dean. And it's okay." He pointedly pushed the glass of whiskey back over towards the other Hunter. "I'm fine to make the drive. This should only take a day or two."

Dean blamed the five or so other glasses he'd had already for being a bit slow on the uptake, but when it finally clicked he felt his "Big Brother Warning Bells" going off like crazy. "Wait, hold up. You're NOT just gonna waltz in there alone. If you're that desperate to leave tonight, fine. For this I'll let you drive. But I'm coming with you."

Sam was already shaking his head. "Dean... look. I appreciate it." Dean could tell from his tone that he meant it, "But I need to deal with this alone."

"Sam-"

"No Dean!" A hint of the anger and desperation that he'd seen in his brother's eyes a few nights ago in a parking lot in Iowa was resurfacing as he abruptly rose to his feet, shoving the chair back with legs and almost knocking it over. "This is going to be hard enough as it is. I have to put her to rest, one way or another. And I just had to send our Dad back to the past so he could die like he's supposed to." Dean flinched a little at that. No one had really asked, but he knew that there was no way they would have made their Mom be the one to crush the pearl, and when Sam had set things up to do it himself, he'd honestly been relieved. He wasn't sure if he could have done it either, as much as everyone had understood that it had to happen. But he should have realized it wouldn't have been any easier for Sammy. "And if things get bad with Michael... if I can't find another way in time..." He didn't need to finish that thought for Dean to see where it was going. Not with the promise he'd extracted from both Sam and Cas to put him in the box if things went south.

Dean shook his head and rose, swiftly stepping around the table and over to Sam to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey!" He squeezed, wanting to make sure he had his attention. "Hey," he continued a little softer, "I told you I believe in us, Sam, and I do. And I believe in you. I know you're gonna find something. So, don't let that keep hanging over you. But..." his gut twisted a little, his instincts yelling at him to not say this, but he could tell it was important, "if you really need to deal with this alone, that's okay. I'll stay here and..." he made a vague gesture towards the heaps of books on the table.

Sam's eyes widened a little. "Seriously? You're going to do research?"

Dean tried for mock-offended. "Hey, just 'cause I don't usually like to research doesn't mean I can't. I'll have Cas and Jack fill me in on your system here and we'll be all set."

Sam still seemed more than a bit surprised, but he managed a half-smile. "Thanks, Dean. Maybe you'll see something I overlooked." Reaching up to give his brother's hand a squeeze, he then stepped away so he could close-up his laptop and tore the part of the sheet of paper with the coordinates on it off from the rest, folding it up to shove into one of his pockets.

Dean grumbled something under his breath about that last remark as he fished in his own pocket, bringing out the car keys which he tossed to Sam once he'd turned back around. "I don't wanna see a scratch on her, y'hear?"

Again, Sam seemed a bit shocked, but he nodded, giving his brother a tight smile before heading off to his room to get his gear together.

When Sam was out of sight, Dean sagged against the table and shook his head. "Once, just for once couldn't we catch a break?" He wasn't sure who exactly he was asking though, as he was even more sure than ever that Chuck had skipped the universe a while ago. Picking up the glass left on the table, he downed it, welcoming the burn and hoping it would help numb the ache he was feeling for his brother. The kid didn't deserve this. He hadn't deserved to lose a woman that he'd so clearly cared about, and who just as obviously had cared about him. And he definitely didn't deserve to have to be the one to put her to rest. Though, hopefully it wouldn't turn ugly. And maybe... maybe this would give Sam a chance to do what he hadn't been able to before. Maybe now he could say goodbye. Hell, maybe that was what Eileen needed too.

He almost considered taking the bottle of whiskey with him off to his room, but resolutely decided against it, instead leaving it in one of the little corner cabinets next to one of the poofy leather armchairs. He'd been serious when he'd told Sam he'd start looking through this stuff, and making his impending hangover worse wasn't the best way to go about that.

As he wandered back to his room, he scrunched his brows together, realizing he hadn't found out just what exactly Sam's "Eureka moment" had been about.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Back in his room, Sam slid his laptop into his backpack then reached over to the ledge he kept a number of books on, grabbing the one titled "Learning American Sign Language". The pages were well-worn and several slips of paper marked various places in it, but it also had a thin coating of dust on it. It had been some while since he'd picked it up. With a tightness in his throat, he put it in his backpack too. He pretty much always kept a duffel ready with the basics of clothes and whatnot in case he had to head out in a hurry, so it was just a matter of adding a few specific things to it.

Almost ready to go, he paused a moment, his hand hovering over his backpack before finding its way to a smaller pocket on the side. Unzipping it, he gently took out what was inside, sitting down on the bed without really realizing it as his memories drifted back, almost unbidden, to the last time he'd seen her alive.

She'd been crushed over having accidentally killed a human, even a human as douchy as that Renny guy had been. After holding her for a while Sam had gently suggested that she try taking a shower to relax, and that they should all get some sleep. Later that evening, after he'd had his own shower and was reading for a bit he'd heard a low knock at his door. Eileen was there when he'd opened it, the overlarge (on her anyway) flannel he'd lent her the previous day now being worn as a nightshirt. "Sam... I..." her eyes had been downcast, so he'd gently raised her chin with his hand before signing that it was okay. "I just, I don't want to be alone right now."

He'd nodded and pulled her into another hug, softly stroking her still slightly damp hair. They'd slept together that night in the strictly literal sense, Eileen curled up protectively in his arms, and as he'd felt himself slowly drifting off he'd felt that feeling somewhere deep in his chest that he'd always felt when spending time with her, even if it was just face-timing on his phone or computer. It was a feeling that he'd hesitated to define, but right then it was growing, as if it could have filled all of his being. He'd had his share of one-night-stands and random flings, and even though he and Eileen hadn't ever had sex, hadn't even kissed for that matter, he'd known that what he'd felt for her was stronger anything he'd felt for any of those others. He'd known that he would do anything he could for her, known that what he'd wanted most was to protect her. And he'd instinctively known that she was very emotionally vulnerable right then, and pushing her into something physical, something she wasn't really ready for at that point could have truly hurt her.

That thought alone had been enough to keep his libido in check and just appreciate her presence; the feel of her soft warmth pressed against him, the rosemary scent of her shampoo, the slow sounds of her breathing and the way her fingers had slipped under his t-shirt and held onto his side even in sleep. His last thoughts before falling asleep had been wishing there could be more of all that. More of her. More of them. For them to be a "them".

When morning had dawned, her look of gratitude had been enough to reassure him that he'd made the right choice. Though her words telling him of her decision to go back to Ireland had landed like a punch to his gut, but he'd tried to hide his disappointment. She'd seen right through him though, and her expression had grown a little sad. "Not forever. I promise I'll come back. I just... I want a chance to connect with who my parents were, and hiding under the Men-of-Letter's noses might be the safest place for me, since they'll probably be looking for me in the States."

He'd nodded, understanding her reasoning. After a quick breakfast of toast and some eggs that he'd miraculously managed not to burn, he'd helped her carry her things outside to her car, giving her another long hug before she pulled away, but not to leave just yet. She'd spent a few moments looking deeply into his eyes, as if she could fully plumb their depths. "Thank you Sam. For everything." Then she'd surprised him by sliding a hand up to the back of his neck and drawing him down while reaching up on tip-toe, pulling him into a kiss that started out sweet and soft before gaining heat. He'd been a little surprised at first, but definitely not reluctant, and for a few moments that had felt like eternity and yet also entirely too brief, the world around them had seemed to fade away, and all he'd known were her lips and the feel of the two of them pressed as close together as they could have managed to be.

When they'd finally broken off the kiss, she offered him one last, sad smile before wishing him goodbye and to keep himself safe. He'd done the same, waving at her in a bit of a daze as she'd driven off.

Later, when he'd gone back into his room he'd found something she'd clearly left for him on his desk; a lock of her dark brown hair secured with one of those little black hair-ties.

He held it now as he sat there, feeling the softness of it and still catching the faint scent of rosemary. "This is why you visit my dreams sometimes, isn't it?" He murmured softly. "You're tied to that forest, but you're also tied to me through this, and I take it with me whenever I go out on hunts." He found himself having to blink a few times to keep the tears at bay. "Guessing the Bunker's wards keep you away when I'm here though... But I'm coming. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry it took me this long." He couldn't keep his tears from falling this time as his voice broke. "I'll be there soon."

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dreamersscape · 5 years

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Note: This ask is from ages upon ages ago, and I’d like to offer my deepest apologies to whoever requested this. It was very important to me that I answer thoroughly and in as articulate a manner as possible, and I’m embarrassed how slow accomplishing that took me. I hope that somehow you’re able to see this post, and you’re able to get something out of my rambling.

Thank you again for your patience in awaiting my answer, nonnie! I’m excited to put this headcanon of mine into words. It’s not often I have really specific and/or detailed HCs, I’ll admit; usually I stick to extrapolating off of canon. And while that’s sort of what I’ve done here, it seems to have happened mostly on a subconscious level, stewing until I realized a pattern forming within nearly all my fic plot bunnies.

It’s also possibly a key to how I understand Allan as a character, so… that’s kinda cool.

Okay, so Allan doesn’t really present as an overly anxious person, does he? At least, not in comparison to some of the other characters, like Much, who is utterly incapable of suppressing his anxiety. If Much is feeling apprehensive about something, you’re going to know it. So why then did I begin to notice my habit of, once he’s been stressed past a certain point, characterizing Allan’s emotional breaking points almost always as him tailspinning into a state of profound anxiety/panic? Well, partly because Allan just really REALLY sucks at dealing with negative experiences/emotions. His preferred method of coping with anything is to internalize the heck out of it, stuff it deep down inside, and then hope he never has to think about it ever again i.e. avoidance at all costs. And that appears to work… for awhile. He’s good at living in the present, ignoring past events and future repercussions. (Side note: a big reason why I also think substance abuse or other similar escapes could be quite alluring to him.) Eventually though, because it’s never been dealt with or even confronted, something triggers the release of all that pent up stress and negativity. He basically builds this towering pile of Bad Things, and so when it gets knocked over, it manages to completely overwhelm him. But until he’s thrown off-kilter and the pile loses balance and tips over, he’s mostly able to coast along, maintaining a relatively calm exterior while mired in turbulent inner seas.

Now, I realize I haven’t given much in the way of evidence for this yet, or explained why I think this all happens within the framework of a very anxious mindset. Hopefully I’m getting there. But that preceding paragraph is there to show how I find I characterize Allan as a result. (I probably wouldn’t have figured out this pattern of sorts if I could ever resist making things the Absolute Worst Imaginable Confluence of Events for Allan in my fic ideas, but that’s a “problem” for another day.)

What I’ve found is the key for me to get in Allan’s head and see things from his perspective is this: fear is his #1 motivator and it constantly feeds into his #1 priority, which is self-preservation. That goal of personal safety develops and eventually changes over the course of the show, but certainly for the greater part of the first two seasons, that is what primarily drives him. (For what I believe drives him from the end of 2x12 onwards, see here.)

For the most part, I’d say it’s pretty safe to say self-preservation-as-priority-number-one in regards to Allan’s character is generally widely accepted by the fans of the show. But opinions on why and how that came to be might vary more. I don’t know, maybe proposing that fear is the major driving force behind Allan’s decisions and behavior is not very revolutionary, but that is what I’d like to posit and explore in this post.

So, why do I think Allan is constantly consumed by his own personal well being above all else, to the point where its essentially become an automatic filter overlaying the way he interacts with the world? (I’m not intending to dramatically overstate things here, BTW; this is just how deeply ingrained I believe it is.) To me, this indicates at some point early on in his life something or a series of events convinced Allan that the world was an inherently dangerous place and you needed to always be on your guard for the next threat around any corner. This trauma could have taken a variety of forms depending on your headcanon, but IMO it’s clear from Allan’s canonical behavior that it happened. Things that could point to this include, but are not limited to, the sparse background information we do learn about (Tom abandoning him and simultaneously stealing all his belongings, his apparent total lack of vocation despite his father being a blacksmith) as well as how he interacts with his brother (his over-identification with Tom–”I was like him once”–mixed in with the understandable trust issues, Tom’s borderline antisocial behavior in general, and I also wrote here about how their dynamic possibly alludes to a dysfunctional home life). With that as a fundamental part of your worldview, it’s easy to understand why you and your anxiety might have become good friends. He has no base level understanding or measure of being/feeling safe. Or maybe he once did, but there isn’t a way to go back or recapture that.

Another component of Allan’s anxiety I’d like to highlight is his personal locus of control. Locus of control is a psychology term that evaluates ‘the degree to which people believe that they have control over the outcome of events in their lives, as opposed to external forces beyond their control.’ It’s usually described in terms of being internal (belief that one can control one’s own life) or external (belief that life is controlled by outside factors which the person cannot influence, or that chance or fate controls their lives). ‘Individuals with a strong internal locus of control believe events in their life derive primarily from their own actions: for example, when receiving exam results, people with an internal locus of control tend to praise or blame themselves and their abilities. People with a strong external locus of control tend to praise or blame external factors such as the teacher or the exam.’ I definitely believe Allan has an external-based locus of control, and I think we see this in how reactive and defensive he is to his environment and in his tendency to shift the blame or not take personal responsibility for his actions. As opposed to Marian’s and Robin’s “everything is a choice” mantra, Allan often feels he has/had “no choice”, or feels “stuck”. Consequently, this lack of perceived ability to dictate and be accountable for one’s actions can make you feel very powerless. And if you believe the world is a unpredictable, dangerous place and there’s little you can do to affect or change that, you’d likely feel pretty fearful and anxious. Indeed, there has been research that concludes that people with an external locus of control tend to be more stressed and are more prone to clinical depression.

Now, I realize the preceding two paragraphs are either relying heavily on speculation or pretty technical terminology, so I’d like to conclude by referring directly to Allan’s behavior as evidence of his frequent anxiety. It is still in production, but I am working on a comprehensive gifset of every time Allan outwardly demonstrates anxiety. I’ll link it here once it’s finished. (Spoiler warning: it’s going to be a whopper of a gifset.) But until then, I think it’s notable that Allan exhibits a wide range of behaviors that typically denote anxiety. Licking his lips, swallowing/gulping, sweaty palms, fidgeting with something in his hands (could also be a sign of excess energy, but there are three instances of this in the first two episodes of the show alone, and this often seems to happen when it’s implied Allan has excess nervous energy), shifty eyes or a gaze that is unable to meet anyone else’s, hands on head in dismay, etc. It’s subtle because Allan’s doing his best to suppress it–he doesn’t want it to show because that would mean looking vulnerable/weak, which is not safe and a terrifying prospect when you live in a unpredictable, dangerous world–but if you’re looking for it, it’s there.

In summary, on the outside Allan projects a calm, self-assured, doesn’t-take-anything-too-seriously, cheerful, amiable image. And that is a legitimate part of who he is. He’s cultivated that facade for so long that it has taken on a life of its own. However, on the inside, he is ALSO a lot of the time an unsure, self-doubting, self-destructive, fearful, angst-ridden bundle of nerves. So that’s why when I read a story where Allan is ONLY portrayed as the former with none of the latter, it just doesn’t feel like Allan to me. In those cases, it’s as though I’m reading about a vaguely Allan-shaped empty shell. And I get it–it’s hard to always show all those sides of Allan when he’s not one of the main characters or he’s not the primary focus of the fic. Or the author might not be at all inclined to have Allan’s role be more than a surface level portrayal, and that’s okay. Not everything should be about Allan! But I also think there is often room for hints; Allan’s facade does have cracks. All this to say, Allan’s layers and contradictions are an intrinsic part of his character’s essence for me, including his anxieties/insecurities/fears, and his life has largely been built on that apprehensive foundation.

TL;DR Allan’s anxiety not only exists, it dictates much of what he thinks, says, and does, and the poor guy needs a ton of therapy.

sources for the locus of control info:

Rotter, Julian B (1966). “Generalized expectancies for internal versus external control of reinforcement”. Psychological Monographs: General and Applied. 80: 1–28. Carlson, N.R., et al. (2007). Psychology: The Science of Behaviour - 4th Canadian ed.. Toronto, ON: Pearson Education Canada. Benassi, Victor A; Sweeney, Paul D; Dufour, Charles L (1988). “Is there a relation between locus of control orientation and depression?”. Journal of Abnormal Psychology. 97 (3): 357–367.

#ask dreamersscape a question #anonymous #answered ask #allan a dale #robin hood bbc #bbc robin hood #robin hood meta #my stuff #as happy as i am that this is finally finished #i'm also high-key terrified about posting it #this is absolutely how i see allan but i like group consensus so much and it makes me super uncomfortable to stick out like a sore thumb #and i don't want it to sound like my seeing allan as deeply traumatized and #having such a messed up mindset excuses his poor/harmful/dunderheaded decisions #my intention is not to woobify him #(although i must admit i'm not sure if i fully understand the term?)#but i am /deeply/ curious about everyone's thoughts on what i've postulated here #does this all make sense?#because it's so integral to how i view allan...#please come talk to me about allan it's been so looonnnggg #oh also #*dons cap*#this is my amateur psychologist's hat #my mom was a school psychologist though #so i come by my fascination with the subject naturally :)#my gang to me day will never be over in our hearts queue

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ravenbell-exchange · 6 years

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Here come the prompts!

These are for all of us to use, so please feel free to peruse, reblog, explore, comment, and be generally delightful. Everyone will be receiving their assigned prompts later today, but remember that we are writing two stories each: one from the assigned prompts, and one from this list. You are free to pick anything apart from stuff you yourself prompted. All Dear Author letters that were published before now are linked below, but please do check the prompter’s blog just in case -- they might’ve posted a letter later on.

If you didn’t sign up for this challenge, but want to use any of the prompts below to write a fic -- go for it! As long as you make sure to credit where you got the prompt from, you are very welcome to play with us.

Now, without further ado:

Url: @raiindust

Dear Author letter: here

Prompt 1: ❝We won’t ever be holy, or galaxies or whatever else I’ve ever fucking written about. We are built upon too many ruins, but my god, some ruins are known as wonders of the world. And you’re mine.❞ Source: here Raven + Bellamy + at the edge of the world: setting off with a group on a post-apocalyptic road trip. Stumbling across a long abandoned city; deciding that it’s as good a place as any to begin anew.

Prompt 2: Raven + Bellamy + Grounder Alliance: Raven and Bell are chosen as emissaries of Skaikru to help develop relationships with the various Grounder clans, and spend the better part of (insert your preference of period of time here) moving and living between one, two or multiple clans.

Prompt 3: ❝You’re the girl I want to be slow dancing with at 2AM in my kitchen.❞ Source: here

Raven + Bellamy + things you said to me at 2AM: canon compliant, canon divergence, modern au. Raven and Bellamy have a lot of things to say, so why not say them to each other in the dead of night, when things are still.

Prompt 4: Raven + Bellamy + Modern AU.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: Unnecessary angst, torture or heaping of awful things onto individual characters (so basically canon for my ray of sunshine Raven Reyes) is absolutely not a thing I want to see, hear and especially read. A light sprinkling of personal angst is absolutely fine, but anything more than a tablespoon and it hurts my soul. So character death is pretty much off the table as well.

Also: I tend to stay away from super heavy kinks, or anything that isn’t moderate smut then fade to black. Despite my issues with canon representations of these things, devaluing Octavia’s relationship to Bellamy, or Finn’s importance to Raven as a person are also things I don’t like to see. That being said, if your plot doesn’t call for it, also don’t feel the need to throw it in there for the sake of it.

Url: @finnicks

Dear Author letter: here

Prompt 1: i thought this time last year i'd be dead.

Prompt 2: you had so much to give, you thought I couldn’t see.

Prompt 3: here

Prompt 4: shy

Prompt 5: i just want to stay here with you

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: Super heavy kinks. Smut for the sake of smut. Character bashing - it's a little unnecessary. Ship bashing. Would prefer it if it's pure Raven/Bellamy, and if any side ships are merely sides/mentions. No AUs where they're in the modern world; I prefer it if it's an AU on canon. First person or second person.

Also: I've seen all seasons of the show, so I'm okay with any requests that point out a specific season.

Url: @wells-jaha

Dear Author letter: here

Prompt 1: An intimacy

had grown between us

like a forest around a castle.

- Louise Glück, excerpt of The Sword in the Stone

(taken from here)

Prompt 2: (Art) Heist AU

What I kind of want (a few examples):

1) In which Raven and her gang have been part of a series of heists all over the continent and Bellamy is the private detective/ police detective (if you really want to) set out to stop their next possible heist. But maybe he's impressed, maybe a little into her? Who knows!

2) In which Raven and Bellamy are part of different rival heist groups both set on the same object, naturally that means that they will clash somehow.

These are of course only examples, you can do whatever you want. It doesn't even have to be an art heist. I'm however kind of set on Bellamy and Raven being on different sides for this, so that it (hopefully) turn into to nice frenemy making out stuff.

Prompt 3: And we fall through empty corridors

And we talk in useless metaphors

(Only cause we're lonley)

A Vague Prompt around the topic/theme Friends with Benefits with Ben Howard's Empty Corridors (Youtube Link Here) as inspiration. Can be canon compliant, doesn't have to be.

Prompt 4: Something about longing, about being in love, but never finding the right words, about circling each other for years and years, always missing the right time, always having the courage in the moment the other is in a relationship or not there. A horrible dance, Bellamy and Raven are caught in.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: daddy kink, gruesome death scenes, gore, a successful suicide

Also: my fandom blog is named wells-jaha, so guess which character I would like to see a) living b) as a friend/former partner of Bellamy or Raven?

i'm fine with Octavia being in the fanfiction, but either revise the whole character (make her like season 1) or deal critical with her actions.

I'm fine with a lot of stuff, but would prefer if the writer could tag: abuse, self harm, suicide, alcoholism (note: only use if a character has an alcohol problem, not if characters just drink alcohol)

Url: @kinselllas

Prompt 1: Raven's on a date waiting for Finn, and he takes so long to show up, Bellamy ends up sliding into his seat to take over so she doesn't feel stood up (could be taken in a few directions)

Prompt 2: Bellamy and Raven reunite at a wedding, slow dance, admit that maybe...deep down...there's always been something ;)

Prompt 3: Pre-series/Season 1 AU- Bellamy is the person Raven comes to the ground for.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: N/A

Url: @ravenbells

Dear Author Letter: here

Prompt 1: Modern AU with a proper millennial vibe. Think debt, lack of stability and shit jobs, but also strong political opinions, easy access to sex ed, social media. Let them negotiate boundaries, use sex toys, struggle with navigating both commitment and casual sex, change jobs and houses all the time. Obviously I’d like Bellamy and Raven to be front and center, but if you want to make them function within a group of family/friends (Octavia, Monty, Miller, Harper, Lincoln, whoever else you please), be my guest.

Prompt 2: The Ancient Rome AU I Deserve. I don’t really care how you place them. Republic? Early Empire? Late Empire? I am not the boss of you. Just let them be Romans.

Prompt 3: Canon-verse. Bellamy thinks of his body as a shield.

Prompt 4: Bellamy and Raven agree to have a casual, no-strings-attached relationship, except they both catch feelings embarrassingly quickly. You can make this canon or modern, I don’t really mind.

Prompt 5: Canon-verse. Anything exploring parenthood. It can be a pregnancy scare, or an actual baby, or maybe just a conversation about sex/contraception that turns into Bellamy and Raven discussing their options.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: Overly sugary view on parenthood; major character death; erasing Raven's disability.

Also: I have only seen the first 2 seasons, please have mercy on me.

Url: @tentaclabia (shortitude on AO3)

Dear Author Letter: here

Prompt 1: (canon-ish) The one where they keep cuddling each other for no good reason, just casually in a snuggle pile talking about life and the future or the past, or just sleeping. Casual contact, casual offerings of comfort, and of course they mean so much more.

Prompt 2: (future!au or canon-deviation!au) There is a unanimous decision to explore more land, so it's Bellamy and Raven in a car, on a roadtrip, being at peace and exploring and feeding their curiosity and feeling free and happy. Also in love.

Prompt 3: (once-upon-a-canon) The one where they talk about the elephant in the room: that time they had sex. (And how they'd totally do it again.)

Prompt 4: (the trashiest prompt) Raven is convinced that Bellamy has feelings for Clarke and is determined not to let history repeat herself when it comes to love. Bellamy is just confused and wonders how much more can he do save for write 'RAVEN REYES PLEASE LOVE ME' on his forehead for her to notice just who he's really pining for.

Prompt 5: (canon reinterpretation) Season 5, except Raven and Bellamy have been together for 4 and a half years and there's nothing that can tear them apart. Alternatively, what season 5 would look like, if they were.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: death. angst over death of parental figure (please don't). trauma and exploitation of trauma. torture. unhappy endings.

Also: I haven't mentioned it, but it goes without saying that I will be glad for all and any smutty content :)

Url: veritykims (twitter)

Prompt 1: Thieves AU: Any AU where Bell and Raven are both thieves of some kind (con artists, burglars, hackers, pickpockets). Favorites include Robin-Hood type criminals (think Leverage) and rivals trying to steal the same thing/con the same person (think Imposters); but any take is cool. I would absolutely love to see this set aboard the Ark in the canon verse, but other settings are cool too.

Prompt 2: Android AU: Any AU where Bell and/or Raven is an android! Contemporary settings are cool, but so is futurism. I would really like to see this as a canon divergency too, given that ALIE sort of gives us the basis for self-aware AIs. Up to you!

Prompt 3: Reincarnation AU: Any AU where Bell and Raven keep meeting across lifetimes. I really like the variation where one of the two is immortal for some reason (vampire, robot, demon, deity, etc.) and the other is either a human or a mortal supernatural creature; so that’s a safe bet; but I’m sure to love any take on this.

Prompt 4: Pirates AU: Historical pirates! Anything will be cool, but I’m a big fan of Raven as either Captain or Quartermaster, and Bell as an ex-navy soldier who heavily resents the Empire.

Prompt 5: Other prompts (I can’t post a Dear Author so bear with me): Modern Holmes/Elementary AU. Professors at the same college AU. Queen Of The South AU. Any vigilante/superhero AU. Pride and Prejudice AU. Space pirates/space bounty hunters AU. Pacific Rim AU.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: No pregnancy or babies, but I’m cool with adopted children and teens. No AUs that erase Raven’s disability. No canon-compliant fic that portrays the Griffins, Octavia, Murphy or Finn in positive light (I would much rather they just don’t exist, at any rate). No abuse, no assault, no rape.

Also: I don’t mind canon compliant fic, but I haven’t watched in a couple seasons, so I only really know the characters and plots for s1, s2 and part of s3. I love Nathan, Wells, and Monty; as well as Lincoln, Jaha, Kane, Indra, Anya, Sinclair, Gina, Harper and Monroe; and I love seeing them integrated into stories. Big fan of Bell/Nathan and Bell/Wells as well as Bell/Wells/Raven and Gina/Raven/Bell, so if you wanna go for polya… And, JSYK, explicit stories are more than welcome!

Url: @growlereish

Dear Author Letter: here

Prompt 1: gina/bellamy/raven - gina and bellamy are dating. raven is pining for both of them, but unbeknownst to her they're both also in love with her! somehow they all work this out and get together.

Prompt 2: bellamy/raven - post-breakup, learning how to be friends again.

Prompt 3: bellamy/raven - virgin!bellamy enlists his best friend raven to experiment with this whole sex thing. casually. but then both of them catch feelings.

Prompt 4: bellamy/raven - marriage of convenience which they are both determined will stay platonic. of course, it does not.

Prompt 5: bellamy/raven - doing fun activities together and enjoying their life and being happy!! some sadness is also okay but i just want my kids to have a Good Day for once in their lives.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: kidfic, pregnancy, power imbalances

Also: pls warn for self-harm and coming out stories involving parents

Url: @icouldnotsee

Prompt 1: Bellamy and/or Raven in political office, whether this be in a monarchy or a democracy. Bonus if there's a coup (that they're the subject of or that they're behind). Also bonus if one or both weren't expecting to be in power, but they were runner-up to someone else and now are thrust into that position and must find their footing.

Prompt 2: Telepathy, where after getting sick with the disease that the Grounders sent to the 100 through Murphy, Bellamy develops the ability to hear thoughts but he can't hear Raven's. Of course, that's just the version of it that came to my mind, but anything with mind reading/telepathy is cool with me, canon or AU, any set up or situation.

Prompt 3: They meet in the Ark, either really young, after Bellamy becomes a guard, after Finn takes the fall for Raven's spacewalk, or after Bellamy's a janitor.

Prompt 4: Hurt/Comfort. I have no other specifications on this one, I just really love that trope.

Prompt 5: Angel/demon or angel/human or human/demon or angel/angel or demon/demon stuff! I love seeing that in stories and it'd be cool to see interactions with creatures beyond humanity.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: I'm rather not receive smut beyond it being implied. Also, I really would not like to see any infidelity or character bashing in the fic I receive.

Also: No nsfw content.

10.

Url: @laufire

Dear Author Letter: here

Prompt 1: Braven + Mythology AU. Specially if they’re still humans who get mixed up in some Gods Drama™

Prompt 2: Raven + her love for science. Preferably canon-verse. Can be gen or shippy.

Prompt 3: Braven Historical AU of your choosing.

Prompt 4: Post-s4 canon divergence: all the sex in space. Zero-G sex, kinky sex, healing emotional sex. Just. Sex.

Prompt 5: Bellamy/Raven/Shaw – Canon Divergent AU: Different First Meeting (as in, Shaw meets Braven/the Space7 in a different way).

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: Clarke written in any positive way. I don’t want them cheating on other people (poly ships are more than fine). Any rating works for me. No watersports, humiliation. I’m not really into Modern AUs or Soulmate AUs. And PLEASE don't erase Raven's disability.

11.

Url: @maybenowforeverlate

Prompt 1: Bellamy admiring Raven In Space. Raven on earth was already incredible, and that was her adapting to a new environment. but the environment she's from? in her fucking element??? i'm into it and so is Bellamy. competence. kink.

Prompt 2: "She could not remember, now, ever, feeling happy or sad. Only hungry. Only empty, and greedy, and insatiable. "

(Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless)

Raven centric, canon or AU.

Prompt 3: Raven being subtle about taking care of Bellamy. prefer a loose canon-verse, but can be modern AU or any type of AU.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: I do not know what's happening in the most recent season, and I would prefer any canon-verse/divergence to be from before Bellamy and co get back to Earth w/Raven in space.

12.

Url: @becketted

Prompt 1: The 100 are sent down to the ground but in batches of people, rather than all at the same time, Bellamy is among the first to go to earth, Raven among the last ones. When she arrives Bellamy is the one who has to show her the ropes on how earth and the Grounders work, he geeks out about both the plants/animals stuff and the bits of earth history he's discovered (so different from what they teach in the Ark!), while Raven uses her skills to help everybody face the structural challenges of living on the ground, Bellamy admires a lot, they fall in love, etc.

Prompt 2: 1960s AU where Raven is a mechanic and the Space Race inspires her to become an astronaut, her trials to become one, etc. Bellamy can be a geek working at NASA (national security staff?), a journalist covering Raven's amazing career, her supporting boyfriend, I don't mind, I just want Raven as a 1960s/70s astronaut. It doesn't have to be a super detailed AU, just the flavor of the era would do.

Prompt 3: Arranged marriage/marriage by lottery. It can be on the ground or in the Ark, I don't care, I just love this trope a lot, I just want them awkwardly sharing a bed and pining a lot.

Prompt 4: Pirates AU, because who doesn't want that? (Historical, but space pirates are okay too, as long as Raven and Bellamy do some swashbuckling)

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: Pregnancy. Anything that involves Murphy in a positive light (Murphy being in the fic is fine, as long as the portrayal is negative). I will not read/write Kane/Abby stuff. Other characters are fine.

Also: I'm very partial to stories about the Grounders (both reading and writing them), they're my faves.

13.

Url: chll51 (AO3)

Prompt 1: It can be canon compliance or not but just something to do with this quote:

"I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we've suffered enough."

Prompt 2: modern AU: First day at a new job and the boss is Bellamy, who Raven has Hooked up with the night prior.

Prompt 3: high school reunion: need a date.

Things they don’t want to find in the fic you write for them: I don't care much for smut but if it's fit with the story then sure. also, I have vanilla taste so I guess keep it like that.

#ravenbell exchange #blayesnetwork #rellamy #braven #ravenbell #bellamy x raven

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polkari-seuta · 7 years

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[Fic Request] Celebrity Crush

Eh-heh, please ignore the parts that say, “2 years ago”...

Anyway, here’s a two-fer. Sorry that I took so long. I doubt the anons who requested these prompts are even around anymore, but I can’t leave a prompt undone, even if it takes another two years.

Title: Celebrity Crush Word Count: 2.6k Pairing: Jikook Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant; kind of humorous, too, I guess Summary: Jungkook thought bringing up celebrity crushes with his boyfriend Jimin would be fun, but it bit him in the butt.

Also on AO3.

Beta-ed by the awesome @jikookielove

Jungkook really enjoyed his and his boyfriend Jimin's post-coital conversations. After the intense heat of sex and passionate love, it felt good to laugh and just enjoy each other's company.

Right now, Jimin was curled under the old faded yellow duvet (Jungkook made a mental note to buy him another), pressed against him, his legs nudged between Jungkook's. Their bodies were warm and a little sticky, but familiar and filled with easy comfort.

"You know how some couples give their boyfriend or girlfriend a pass on celebrity crushes?" Jungkook brought up, sliding a hand idly up Jimin's waist.

"Hm?" Jimin uttered, his voice soft and gravelly, "What do you mean?"

"Like if you were to let me cheat on you with one celebrity in the world, who—"

"Jungkook, what the hell?" Jimin cut in indignantly, poking him hard in the chest. "What kind of couple does that?"

"It's just for fun, baby," Jungkook soothed, kissing his nose. "I wouldn’t really cheat on you. It's just…" Now, he felt bad. It seemed more amusing when he read about it on the internet. "Eh, forget I said anything."

But then Jimin let out a relenting sigh. He burrowed himself further into Jungkook, as if he could lose physical contact with him any second, "No, no, sorry. I'll humor you. Who's your celebrity crush? Wait—IU, right?"

Jungkook giggled and kissed him again; this time on the top of his head. "You know it."

"You're so predictable." Jimin said it in a scoff, but something mild still laced itself through. "But sure. If we were in some twisted universe, I'd allow you to fuck IU… only once, though."

"Once would be all I'd need."

Jimin scowled. He still looked uncomfortable about it. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

Jungkook didn't want him to go to bed feeling crappy. "Jimin-baby, we don't have to keep talking about it. I know it bothers you—"

"No, no…" Jimin was getting stubborn.

"Fine. How about you?"

"Me?"

"You have a celebrity crush, don't you?" Jungkook went through a mental list of people he recalled Jimin answering with in interviews and random conversation—strangely, he had more vivid memories of Jimin and his preferences than his own. He expected Taeyang from Big Bang. Or the choreographer Brian Puspos. And didn't he say Rachel McAdams one time?

But instead, what came out of his mouth was, "Lee Taemin."

Jungkook's heart sank into his gut. He pulled back to stare at his boyfriend, bewildered. "What?"

Jimin looked confused by his reaction, his eyes wide and far too sweet for the irritation he currently caused him. Maybe he didn't really understand this 'game,' but regardless… "Lee… Taemin? You know—"

"Yeah, I know," Jungkook interrupted, his jaw tense. "Your friend. That doesn't count. Your friends don't count."

"Jungkook-ah, he was my celebrity crush before he was ever my friend."

"Babe, he doesn't count anymore. I'll never let you fuck Lee Taemin."

"Jungkook, I would never, ever—"

"Choose someone else."

Jimin felt his boyfriend's frustration and let out a little huff of breath through his nose. "You said this was for fun, Jungkook-ah."

"It's fun when the celebrity is unobtainable." Jungkook knew he was being petulant, but now he felt all sorts of insecure. "You're far too close to Lee Taemin."

Jimin reached over to glide his thumb over the tight, massive frown on Jungkook's face. "See, baby? Not such a fun thing to talk about."

"That's 'cause you ruined it."

"You know I'd never cheat on you. I mean, you do know that, right?"

Jungkook sighed, his eyes fluttering closed when Jimin moved his thumb over his cheek in a warm, tender caress. "I know."

"I'm sorry, Kookoo-ah." Jungkook felt Jimin wrap himself around him with affection. "I have a better answer, okay? How about Taeyang?"

"Big Bang?"

"Mm-hm."

Jungkook sighed in relief and reopened his eyes. His gaze instantly found Jimin's. His love, his life. The only person he wanted to wake up to forever.

Never Lee Taemin's. Ever. Not for a second.

"I'll allow it."

"SHINee's gonna be there," Jungkook told Seokjin in a deadpan. "SHINee. At Music Bank in Singapore."

"Yeah?" Seokjin stared at him warily. "What about them?"

"That means Lee Taemin's gonna be there."

"I mean, I don't see why he wouldn't? Don't tell me you're jealous of Taemin. Jimin is far too devoted to you to—"

"Still." Jungkook sat himself down on the edge of Seokjin's bed—right on top of the pile of clothes that the latter was just about to put into the open luggage next to him. "He's going to be there and he's… he's going to talk to my boyfriend."

"Oh, boy, talking," Seokjin remarked with a roll of his eyes. "With one of his best friends. Come on, Kook. You need to have more faith in Jimin than that. Trust him."

"Lee Taemin's not the one with these stupid rules from the staff. I don't even get to touch my own boyfriend during the show."

"You can't keep from being gross with him for half a day?" Seokjin asked, slapping Jungkook's thigh so he would get off his clothes. "You can save your nastiness for afterward."

Seokjin wasn't sympathetic at all, so Jungkook left his room. No one else—not even Jimin—seemed to be around, so Jungkook sulked back to his own room to take out his frustrations out on video games.

His mood didn't get too much better when the group finally got onto the plane the next day. Jimin did his best to cheer him up, but all Jungkook did in return was complain to him about Lee Taemin being there, super cool and talented and hot. Lee Taemin, Jimin's celebrity crush who he considered fucking.

"Jungkook-ah, c'mon. You know me and you know it's not like that…"

Jungkook pretended to ignore him and continued to glare daggers out the window. There wasn't anything fascinating about the stillness of the concrete, but he just felt too petty to entertain his boyfriend.

"Jungkook-ah…"

Why the hell did Jimin sound so playful? Was his predicament funny to him?

No, you idiot, logic berated him. Jimin loves you. He's trying to make you feel better.

So, Jungkook, being the gracious guy that he was, finally looked back over at his boyfriend.

"What, hyung?"

Jimin stopped to briefly furrow a brow at him. He had grown accustomed to Jungkook dropping the honorifics—they got close enough for Jimin to allow that, to expect that. He only used hyung for broadcast or when speaking to staff or people of authority.

"Nothing," Jimin said. "I just love you."

"Hmph."

Jimin grinned as he lifted the armrest between them. Then he leaned over to kiss Jungkook's massive pout. "I love only you, Kookoo-ah," he cooed.

Jungkook flushed at the nickname. It was somewhat embarrassing, although endearing, hearing it in public.

"You love everyone," Jungkook retorted.

Jimin remained undeterred by his mood, his body twisting slightly so they pressed against each other better as he kissed him again, sakura petal-soft at the corner of his lips. "But Kookoo-ah…"

Jungkook felt an insistent twinge in his heart. God, Jimin really did love him. But Jungkook was way more stubborn than Jimin could ever be.

"I bet you're looking forward to seeing Lee Taemin—"

Jimin slid his lips fully against his for a few seconds of pure, unadulterated bliss. The twinge expanded, blossoming into something sweet and spellbinding. Their kisses, even up to now, never lost their magic.

"Kookoo-ah," Jimin persisted softly. "Please."

Jungkook's insecurity melted with each reassuring kiss, each utterance of Kookoo.

There was no way he could resist Jimin, so of course the extra attention made him feel a lot better.

At least, for now.

Other than rehearsing with the group, performing with the group, and overall being unable to breathe because of the constant surrounding of the group, Jungkook barely saw Jimin. When they finally had time to sit down together, they were both too tired to hold a long conversation.

Jungkook was glad when the concerts were over and done with. Now all he had left was the ending stage with the rest of the idols who participated in the concert.

Including Lee Taemin.

Jungkook was lightning fast in spotting Jimin with him downstage, lost in animated conversation. Gossiping probably, but his mind liked to play tricks.

I hope Jimin tells him how great of a boyfriend I am, Jungkook thought with spite.

He moved on to where the rest of Bangtan stood near them, but he couldn't help a second look at Taemin. He hoped the guy felt the scorching hot stare melt his brain.

"Babe," Jungkook whispered as he passed behind Jimin. He said it extra pointedly, too. Damn right—Jimin was Jungkook's babe.

"I'll be there in a bit," Jimin responded without looking at him, much to Jungkook's dismay.

Lee Taemin himself tossed him no more than a glance, nodding politely before turning back to Jimin.

Jungkook briefly considered breaking the rules of don't push your affection in front of cameras, especially at major events like this and you're to indulge your fans, not your personal significant others to reel Jimin away, but he was better than that. Jimin expected him to be mature about it, so he was just going to trust him to join them later, like he should.

Jimin never made his way back to the group. He, Taemin, and the rest of SHINee seemed to have shifted away, even, and that irritated Jungkook.

He tried to think about other things—Bangtan's success, the extravagant dinner promised to them by staff after the concert. He even thought a lot about future hectic scheduling, but all he really did was glower at Taemin, hoping the words Jimin is Jeon Jungkook's reached his head somehow.

It wasn't until the mass of idols herded themselves offstage to the dressing room hallways did Jungkook manage to bump into Jimin. Imagine—bumping into his own boyfriend like they were mere, unattached acquaintances, like they hadn't seen each other in a while.

"Hey, sweetie," Jimin chirped, smiling brightly at him.

"Hi," Jungkook said, a little curt, and hooked his arm possessively around Jimin's neck.

Jimin laughed a little as he collided lightly into his side. He seemed a little concerned. "Are you okay, Jungkook-ah?"

"Now that you're finally here, yeah." Jungkook couldn't help the shade, but he always had trouble pretending in front of Jimin, who always caught on quick.

"I haven't seen Taeminnie-hyung in a while. Is my talking to him bothering you?"

"Well…" Jungkook had no right to be so jealous. They were friends. A damn stupid celebrity crush, but good friends. Jimin needed at least one of those outside the group. After all, Jungkook had his own.

With that in mind, he just sighed, loosening the territorial hold on him. "Sorry, baby."

"Don't worry about it." Jimin reached for the hand around him and sneaked a kiss onto it, mouthing Kookoo-ah against his skin. Jungkook liked to think the name became permanent there, a tattoo that told the world whose name it was, and who it belonged to.

But no more than a day later, the calm formed a storm.

Jungkook threw his phone across his room. It pathetically just missed the wall, its arc too low as it landed on the carpet.

He hated Lee Taemin.

Jimin called him a good friend, a funny hyung, but Jimin had Jungkook. His boyfriend of nearly two years should suffice as a good friend and more.

So, there was no reason for Jimin to have sneaked off with Taemin at some empty area backstage, for them to face each other so intimately as they talked. Jimin had been so casual when he told Jungkook about him after the concert—he and Taemin hadn't seen each other in so damn long and he missed him.

There shouldn't have been photographic evidence shot in a way that elicited suspicion and scandal. Now everyone on the internet was talking about them. Them, and not the subtle moments between himself and Jimin that he knew existed for everyone to ponder.

"Baby, why is your phone way over there?"

Speak of the devil.

"I threw it," Jungkook admitted in an annoyed voice.

Jimin tsked as he walked past him to retrieve it. "What are you mad about?"

"Nothing."

"Baby," Jimin warned lightly.

"You," Jungkook grumbled.

Jimin frowned and then glanced down at the phone—still showing the photograph.

"Jungkook," Jimin sighed. "We didn't do anything. These photos aren't what you think they are."

"Everyone ships you two."

"Ship? What are you talking about?"

"The fans think you two look adorable together. You. And Lee Taemin. As a couple."

"You shouldn't look at comments like those, baby." Jimin walked over to him. He had such a cute, irresistible pout up close, but Jungkook was still furious. "Don't fans do that sort of thing with everyone? About you and me, too?"

"Not as much as Park Jimin and Lee Taemin, who snuck off backstage by themselves. When did you even go, anyway?"

Jimin shrugged. "I probably went to the bathroom and bumped into him."

Jungkook scowled. "And you needed to let him drag you to some dark corner for a post-pee chat."

"The bathroom was right by there. It was convenient. Jungkook, you're best friends with Yugyeom. You'd probably do the same thing."

"No, I wouldn't!"

Jimin's form grew rigid at the rise in Jungkook's voice.

"I don't want to argue, Jungkook," he muttered after a moment's pause. "But I love you; I really do. Even if the fans think I'm dating someone else, you and I both know that my heart belongs to you."

Jungkook chewed the bottom of his lip. My heart belongs to you hit home, carving guilt into his heart with the sharpest of knives.

In his silence, Jimin stepped into his space and wrapped his arms around his waist. He held him tight, protective enough to make up for Jungkook's recent insecurities.

"Believe me, baby," Jimin continued, resting his cheek against Jungkook's as he murmured into his ear. "I know how it feels. Did you ever notice the amount of hate I get from certain fans when I supposedly get between you and Taehyung?"

Jungkook blinked with confusion as he folded his arms over Jimin's shoulders. "What does he have to do with you and me?"

"Exactly." Jimin sounded hurt. "They… would rather see you two together, even though I consider you the love of my life. They get heated over you and Tae having some sort of affair."

Jungkook never noticed. He pulled back to run gentle hands through Jimin's hair and cup his face. His boyfriend's eyes shined with tears from the unfortunate recollection. "Baby, I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?"

Jimin's smile was faint but genuine. "Because I know that you love me. And I know Taehyung's not like that. You're not like that. I don't worry a lot about it because of all of those things."

Jungkook tilted his head downward for a kiss on the lips.

He shouldn't worry, either.

"I'll reassure you as much as you want, if you need me to," Jimin told him. "I shouldn't have said Taemin's name in that conversation. I don't want you to think—"

"Jimin, it's fine. Let's just forget we ever talked about it." Partly because he still had his insecure moments from time to time, but mostly because Seokjin was right—he needed to trust Jimin. They've gotten this far together, almost two years now, and they were doing quite awesome.

"Honestly, you'd make a better celebrity crush," Jimin said cheekily.

"Oh, please," Jungkook laughed, pecking him on the nose. "And you call me cheesy. And what'd I say about unobtainable?"

Jimin didn't counter him. Instead, he kissed Jungkook; slow, steady, tranquil. The kiss formed holes in the memory of Lee Taemin the celebrity crush, eroding it to the nothing it should be.

Even if the photos stuck around on the internet, and even if the fans liked to think or postulate otherwise, Jimin, in reality, belonged to Jungkook, and only that mattered.

[ masterlist ]

#jikook #kookmin #9597net #jikooknet #jeonlous #bts #bangtan #kpop #rpf #rps #fanfiction #plkrst fic

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trash-the-tozier · 7 years

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The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough (8/10)

Title: The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough

Length ~60.8k (~7.1k for this part)

Summary: The summer between junior and senior year of high school, Bill’s little brother Georgie goes missing.

Warnings: It’s relatively canon-typical in terms of content. For this part there’s explicit language and copious amounts of Richie

Pairings: Richie/Eddie and eventual Ben/Beverly

A/N: hey! Formal apology for this chapter, because it kinda breaks away from the format I wanted for this fic: it's all from Richie's point of view. I know, I'm sorry, but I started writing the scene and didn't realize it was over 8k words until I'd finished it. It's got a lot of stuff I wanted to have be from Richie's perspective, and when I tried reworking it to be from different perspectives it just felt clunky. So... yeah. This chapter is a little longer than the others, and it's all Richie, but we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming in the next part! Thank you for reading!! also posted to my ao3 here (much more readable tbh) Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Richie thought he would need to knock on the front door to get Sonia Kaspbrak’s attention, but all it took was for him to set one foot on her lawn before she was out of the house, lumbering down the porch steps towards him. Her beady eyes were angry behind her glasses.

“What are you doing here?” She asked shortly. Richie gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.

“I just wanted to check on Eddie! Make sure he’s alright, you know. He had a nasty fall. A fall that was not any of our fault, by the way.”

She huffed at him.

“He’s in bed. You’ll have to come back later.”

Richie raised an eyebrow.

“You’re inviting me to your house later today?”

“No.”

“Well, now I’m just confused.”

Her nostrils flared, and Richie didn’t need to say anything more. He was informed that he was a loudmouthed smart aleck (which he already knew, thanks) and he found that despite how much she hated him, it was actually hard to get her to stop talking to him.

“Well, I’ve gotta scram.” He finally said after a couple minutes spent inching closer and closer to the road, cutting her off mid-word. “Not that it hasn’t been lovely, but I’ve got someplace to be. A date, if you will. And Mrs. K, I really do miss Eddie. Tell him hi for me, alright?”

He gave a wave, then started up the street. Eddie was just around the corner, waiting for him.

“Geez, that took a while. Did you two solve world hunger or something?”

“It actually wasn’t me doing most of the talking, thank you very much.”

“Okay, for once in your life.”

Richie reached down and took Eddie’s hand, grinning when it made him flustered, and they started together towards town. The more people they saw the more Richie was unsure if Eddie wanted to keep to holding his hand like this, but any time he tried to pull away his boyfriend’s grip was steadfast, and Richie’s heart soared.

“...and because of your nasal turbinates and uvula, you’ll probably snore when you’re older.” Eddie was saying. He was using a bunch of medical terminology for normal body parts, and as a result Richie barely could follow what he was talking about.

“Uh huh. Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop saying uvula. I don’t think I have one.”

“It’s just the dangly thing in the back of your throat, Richie.”

“...oh.”

Eddie laughed at him, sighing a little.

“Thanks for this. You were right; I was going a crazy in there.”

Richie grinned.

“Say that again. I barely ever get to hear anyone say that I’m right.”

“No.”

“Please? Come on Eds!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Eddie? Richie?”

They turned at the familiar voice, face to face with Mike. He was slowing his bike to a stop, hopping off when he reached them. Richie caught his eyes going to their entwined hands, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“How are you guys? I haven’t heard from either of you.”

“Alright.” Eddie supplied. “Could be better.” He held up his cast, the bulky plaster making his upper arm look even tinier than usual. Mike nodded a little.

“I tried to call your house, but your mom got mad and wouldn’t let me talk to you. Well, that and she didn’t know who I was.”

“...sorry.” Eddie said, but Mike waved him off. “Have you talked to anyone else?”

Mike shook his head.

“I called Stan this morning, but he wasn’t home. I think he…” He trailed off, glancing across the street. “He’s right there, actually.”

They all turned. Bill, Ben, and Stan were walking along the other side of the street, an overnight bag slung over Stan’s back. Mike waved and Ben noticed, stopping the other two to point and wave back. Richie met Bill’s eyes across the road and Bill’s lips fell into a line, Richie feeling his own expression harden.

“Let’s go talk to them.” Eddie said, starting forward to cross the street. Richie didn’t move, and Eddie glanced back when he felt the resisting tug on his hand.

“I don’t want to.” Richie confessed. “I think Bill’s still mad at me.”

“Well, let’s walk over and find out.”

“Eddie--”

“I’ve spent three days stuck in my room and I want to see my friends.” Eddie insisted, letting Richie’s hand go and stepping into the street. He was halfway across when there was the rev of an engine and a wild yell, Henry Bowers’s black convertible roaring down the street at him. It was on a collision course, slurs from the Bowers gang ringing in Richie's ears as he ran out after Eddie, Mike shouting and grabbing at his shoulders.

“Someone's got him! Careful!”

The car blasted past them, Richie realizing that if Mike hadn't been there to hold him back, he'd be roadkill. And true to Mike’s word someone did have Eddie, a man on the other side of the street having picked him up and out of danger, lifting him like a sack of potatoes and running out of the way. The man had the hood up on his jacket and a pair of long pants on, his face angled down. Then he looked up to grin Richie’s way before darting off, a noticeable limp in his gait. His face was streaked with dirty white face paint.

“Fuck!” Richie jumped back into motion, Mike right at his heels. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen again, that again the clown had Eddie and again Richie was chasing him. But the other three across the street had already caught onto what was happening and also jumped into motion, giving pursuit down an alley. There was a hand over Eddie’s mouth and nose but he was still squirming and struggling, a kick to the clown’s injured leg causing him to stumble. Then Stan stooped and picked up a metal pipe from a pile of scraps to be taken with the garbage, hitting the clown in the back of the knees. The man crashed to the ground, dropping Eddie as he fell. He scrambled up just as fast but Richie didn’t care about him anymore, kneeling next to Eddie on the asphalt.

“Fuck Eds, are you o--”

“I’m fine.” Eddie said quickly. And maybe he was physically, but his eyes were blown wide with fear, his limbs shaking with adrenaline. “Did… Did I just almost get kidnapped?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Mike said after a moment. To Richie’s surprise, none of them had pursued Pennywise, the entire group crowded around Eddie instead. Eddie held up a hand, and Ben helped him to his feet. He was just looking around, his eyes still a little frantic, flinching when Bill touched his arm.

“Eddie?” Bill asked hesitantly, and Eddie properly looked at him, then stepped closer and Bill pulled him in for a hug.

“Do you want to go back home?” Richie asked. Eddie shook his head against Bill's chest.

“No, my mom'll be mad. I don't want to deal with that right now.” He stepped back and looked a bit calmer, glancing around at all of them. “Thanks for not letting him get me.”

“He tried to get me too.” Stan said. “Yesterday.” He let the metal pipe go and it fell to the ground with a heavy clanging sound. “He came into my house last night, when my parents were out. I hid until he left.”

“Holy shit, Stan.” Richie said. Stan glanced at him, shrugging a little.

“So I spent the night at Bill's, and I'm doing it again.”

That explained his bag, and Eddie looked up at Bill.

“Could I do that too?” He asked.

“Yeah, but w-w-will your mom let you?”

“No, but I don't care.”

Richie found himself grinning at that.

“Big sleepover at Big Bill's?” He proposed, looking around at them all. “It'll be fun. It'll be good to have some fun.”

Both Mike and Ben looked over at Bill, because really it wasn't Richie's decision to invite people to someone else's house, but Richie had known Bill long enough to know that he wouldn't have a problem with it. Sure enough, Bill nodded.

“S-sure. You're all invited.”

Ever polite, both Mike and Ben thanked him before going separate ways to get what they would need to spend the night. When Eddie realized he didn't have any of that stuff either, he began to fret.

“I don't have my meds, or my toothbrush, or a change of clothes… I'm gonna be grounded for at least two weeks the second I go back home, though. I wouldn't be allowed out. But I can't not take my medication, I just…”

“I'll get it for you!” Richie offered quickly. “I know where you keep all that stuff. I'll grab whatever you need.”

Eddie smiled at him, but Bill still looked troubled.

“How can you sleep over without telling her? She'll t-tear up t-the neighborhood looking for you if you don't come home.”

That was true. Eddie sighed.

“I'll just call her when we get to your house and see how well begging really works. If it doesn't she'll just pick me up, I guess.”

They split ways at the road leading out of town, Stan, Bill, and Eddie going to Bill's while Richie walked back to Eddie's house. It was simple to get into Eddie's room, finding a canvas bag and stuffing a clean outfit in. Under other circumstances Richie would have had a lot of fun with being in control of Eddie's next outfit but this wasn't the time, instead simply grabbing something that looked comfortable.

He was making his way down the hall to Eddie's bathroom when the downstairs telephone rang. Richie held his breath as Sonia Kaspbrak got up to answer it.

“Eddie?!” It was apparent by her voice that she hadn't yet found out that her son wasn't tucked away in his room like he was supposed to be. “Where are you?”

Richie winced, continuing on to the bathroom. It sounded like Mrs. K was yelling, actually, full-on yelling, which was something she never, ever did.

“Sweetie. If you're unhappy, we can just put you on some antidepressants.”

A long silence followed, Richie listening closely, wishing he could hear Eddie's side of the conversation. The last thing Eddie needed was more pills; Richie wasn't sure he'd be able to get down the trellis stealthily enough with the amount of rattling all of Eddie's medication would doubtlessly be doing. He opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to find that Eddie needed refills for nearly everything in his daily pill case, cursing under his breath. His mother refilled the box weekly, and it was time for her to do it again. He'd just have to go to Mrs. Kaspbrak’s bathroom, swipe a bunch of stuff, and hope Eddie knew which was which.

He made it to her bathroom easily enough; she was still extremely preoccupied with her phone conversation. Her voice had simmered down to a quiet, sickly-sweet sort of rage that made Richie's stomach turn.

Sonia's bathroom was surprisingly less than spotless, but Richie tried not to think about it, opening the cabinet on the wall next to the sink. Eddie's medications were all on a shelf of their own, all of the boxes and bottles carrying two stickers. One was standard and white, with Eddie's name and dosage instructions on it. The other was a bright red rectangle, with nothing on it but “PLACEBO” written in large white lettering.

He stared at the word, and the word seemed to stare back. It felt like a bizarre conspiracy, but the evidence was there, right in front of him; placebos. Eddie's medications were all fake. Even a box with an extra asthma inhaler had a placebo sticker on it. Richie searched through all of the bottles, only finding one without the sticker, and it turned out to be the painkillers for his arm. He stuffed those in his canvas bag, feeling conflicted as he looked over the rest of the pills. Eddie didn't need them, so Richie didn't want to take them. But still, Eddie deserved to know the truth. Richie grabbed the fake inhaler and a box with some of those red and white pills that he recognized and put those in the bag too, wrapping everything with a sweatshirt to keep the rattling to a minimum. Then he closed the cabinet, walking back out into the hallway.

Mrs. K was still on phone, but the conversation seemed to be wrapping up.

“Fine. But Mrs. Denbrough needs to be aware that I will be there at six to pick you up tomorrow morning, and that's when you'd better be ready to go.”

Then she hung up, and Richie hurried back to Eddie's room. He was back outside in no time, the overnight bag over his shoulder, dashing off to Bill's. Mike and Ben were already there by the time he arrived, and everyone was smiling.

“Mike brought s-some stuff, we're going t-t-to make dinner.” Bill explained as he let Richie inside, leading him to the kitchen.

“Oh, so we're burning your house down. Fun!” Richie called out a greeting and waved at everyone, Eddie hurrying over and taking the bag from his hands to search through what he'd brought. He noticed the lack of his regular medicine and looked up in silent question, confused. Richie took his arm to pull him aside, speaking quietly as Bill went to rejoin Stan, Mike, and Ben by the sink.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Is it about something bad?” Eddie asked, equally quietly. Richie chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Then can it wait?”

Richie was all too familiar with how Eddie must be feeling, desperate looking for any sort of escapism, and nodded, kissing his forehead.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Stan let out a loud, giggly sort of laugh, the both of them looking over to see him armed with the kitchen soap while Mike had his thumb over the faucet, aiming the water flow and getting Stan's shirt soaking wet. Both Ben and Bill had jumped back, out of the splash zone.

“No!” Eddie exclaimed, hurrying forward, letting his hand trail down Richie's arm as he stalked towards the commotion. “Stop it! I told you guys to wash your hands!”

Richie laughed, going over to throw Eddie's bag on Bill's couch. Bill approached him, a cautious look in his eyes.

“Hey, Richie…” He looked at him for a moment before his gaze went straight to his feet. “I shouldn’t h-have pushed you. Or p-p-punched you. I’m sorry.”

Richie considered him for a moment, and in his silence Bill glanced back up. To his credit, he really did seem very sorry about it, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyebrows drawing together. Richie sighed.

“I’ve gotta say, I'm not really sorry for pushing you, Bill. But that’s only because it didn’t seem to do anything. You’re like a brick wall.” He chuckled, Bill giving him the slightest of smiles back. “But I did say some stuff, some stuff that I really didn’t mean, and… I’m sorry too.”

Bill pressed his lips together into a thin line, swallowing harshly. He looked upset, as though upon getting the forgiveness he’d sought after, he felt he didn’t deserve it. Richie stuck out a hand.

“Are we good?” He asked, making eye contact with Bill and holding his gaze. Bill stared at him for just a moment more before stepping forwards, disregarding the proposed handshake completely and pulling Richie in for a crushing hug. Richie couldn’t help his laugh of surprise, wrapping his arms around Bill too and giving him a squeeze.

“You guys are being really cute over there and everything but we’ve got a situation!” Mike called to them, and they both looked over. “Situation” was one way of putting it; Eddie was chasing both Stan and Ben around the kitchen with a rather aggressive-looking egg beater. Richie went weak-kneed in laughter, Bill disentangling himself in an attempt to do some damage control.

Eventually, after a dry shirt for Stan and a lot of direction from Mike, dinner was underway. There was meat in a pan, pasta in a pot, and a mound of steamed broccoli when they were finished, Richie helping Ben set the table. To Richie’s pleasant surprise, the food they managed to make together was actually really good. But Mike had orchestrated the whole thing, and as he currently held the record for the maker of the best soup Richie had ever had, he figured he shouldn’t have expected any less.

They all inhaled their food, Richie finishing up a third helping as Stan, Mike, Bill, and Ben all carried their dishes back into the kitchen. Eddie stood up to do the same, but Richie stopped him.

“You can stay the night, then? How did the phone call with your mom go? What did you tell her?”

“I…” Eddie shrugged. “The truth, kind of. I told her that keeping me inside was making me unhappy. It almost backfired, but I managed to keep her from getting me on antidepressants, so that’s good. I told her that a sleepover would make me happy, then I asked her if she wanted me to be happy or not. I feel a little bad about guilt-tripping her, but it worked.”

Richie considered that, scratching his chin.

“Do you think that’ll work when she finds out about us?”

“...when?” Eddie echoed after a moment. Richie blinked at him.

“Would you rather it be ‘if’?” He asked back, and Eddie sighed.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry Richie, I just… I did come out to her once, you know. She pretends it never happened. Asks me about girls all the time. Besides,” he gave Richie a little grin. “I think finding out that I picked you out of the entire male population might give her a heart attack.”

Richie nodded a little. They didn’t need to talk about this right now, he supposed, winking at Eddie instead as he got to his feet.

“I tend to have that effect on people.”

To his great surprise, Eddie reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I know. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

Richie was powerless against the blush rising up his face.

“That just isn’t fair.” He protested weakly, turning to the door to see a red-faced Ben Hanscom standing in the doorway.

“Hi there, Ben. Benny. Bean Burrito.” Richie was rambling a little, caught off guard, and Eddie looked close to mortified.

“...hi.” Ben finally said, ducking past them to get to the living room. They were silent for a moment.

“Well. I guess he knows now.” Eddie remarked, and Richie laughed.

“Wanna just tell everyone tonight?” He asked. The idea excited him, his spontaneity seeming to surprise Eddie a little. “Bev already knows. And Stan knows I like you.”

“Oh. I guess so, then. Sure.”

Richie beamed, leading the way back into the kitchen. Mike was in the middle of washing their dinner dishes but Richie wrestled the sponge from his hands, insisting that he had done enough already and to let himself and Bill do the washing up instead. That nearly escalated into a water fight as well, and by the time everything was cleaned, dried, and put away it was well past eight o’clock. They all sat around in the living room, waiting for it to hit 9:00.

“Your parents really don’t mind all of us being here?” Ben asked. He looked concerned, but Bill shook his head.

“My dad said it’s okay as long as we clean up after ourselves, and my m-m-mom… She’s just in bed a lot these days. W-we probably won’t even see her.”

The second hand on the wall clock ticked, turning 8:59 to 9:00, and instantly the telephone rang. All six of them jumped up, sliding on sock-clad feet to make it to the phone. Richie picked up the receiver, leaning against the doorframe. He stood on one foot, crossing the other so only his toes touched the floor, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses unnecessarily. He gave Eddie a smile.

“Hello? Zachary Denbrough here. Oh, well good evening Mrs. Kaspbrak.” Of all of the terrible voices Richie made and the horrible impressions he couldn't really do, he had one good one: Bill’s dad, Mr. Denbrough. Or rather, Mr. Denbrough over the phone; they’d never had to try it out in person. Sleepovers had a slim-to-none chance of being approved if Mrs. K knew Richie was going to be there, so when she called at nine p.m. sharp to ask who it was that the Denbroughs were letting sleep in the same house as her son, they lied. Richie told her that he wasn’t there, sympathizing about how terrible of a child he was. He quite enjoyed it, actually. It was fun.

“Hello.” Mrs. Kaspbrak responded haughtily. “Is Eddie there?”

Richie wiggled his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Eddie.

“Yes, Eddie made it here. He’s been here a couple of hours now, with Bill and Stan, and a lovely friend the boys made while at the library named Benjamin.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Her voice got dangerous, and Richie winced. He should have kept it to the usual crowd. All eyes turned to look at Ben, who’d begun to blush.

“Oh, Ben? I’ve heard all sorts of things about him from my boy.” Nervous, Richie was getting little heavy on the nasally tone that was faint, but ever present in Mr. Denbrough’s voice. Stan pointed to his nose, Richie nodding in understanding as he adjusted. “A real stand-up citizen, trust me. He got top marks in the English class they had together.”

Ben’s face was definitely red now, Bill putting a hand on his shoulder with a grin.

“...fine. I’ll have to ask him about that. What about Richard Tozier?”

“Richard? Why would that hooligan be in my house?” Richie’s face took up an expression of pure horror. Mrs. K couldn’t see his face but Eddie sure could, and Richie wanted to make him laugh. It worked; Eddie giggled behind his hands. “No, no. Ever since you told me what color that vomit was on your flowers, I’ve made sure he stayed clear of my front lawn.”

Mike looked both confused and vaguely horrified, Stan offering an expression that was supposed to mean “we’ll tell you later”. It was hard to tell if Mike understood the sentiment.

“Good.” Sonia sounded rather miffed. “I’d rather Eddie keep away from him.”

“Yes, well, we can only control so much of our children’s lives, you know.” Richie’s voice was attempting to imply years of wisdom beyond his age, but with a mental age of seven, he didn’t end up sounding all that astute. “One more year of that rowdy child, then our own will be off to college and won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Bill began to tap his foot. It was unusual for Mrs. K’s calls to take this long. She seemed in a chatty mood though, continuing to talk.

“College, yes… Where is William going to school?”

“Bill? Where he’s going to school? Oh, uh… The University of…” Richie caught Bill’s eye, desperate, but Bill just shrugged back helplessly. “University of North Edward College. He’s studying…” Another painfully long pause; Richie’s mind was blank. His next words came out in a rushed, uncharacteristic squeak. “Squirrels. Must be off now!”

Richie hung up, and the group collapsed into laughter.

“University of North Edward College?” Stan asked, incredulous. “What does that even mean? And squirrels, really? Literally anything you could have said would have been better than squirrels.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Richie exclaimed. “My default response to ‘what are you majoring in’ is ‘Eddie’s Mom’, but I couldn’t say that to her!” He stepped forward, slinging an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “But I saw your face, and was struck with a squirrely inspiration.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Tozier.”

“Would love to, but I’m not quite flexible enough.”

Stan made a face, shoving Richie off him. The group made to go to Bill's room, but Richie hung back by the phone.

“Coming?” Bill asked. Richie waved a hand.

“There's one more call I want to make. I'll catch up with you.”

He knew it was cryptic but nobody pressed him for an explanation so he didn't give one, dialing Beverly's number. She deserved to be here too.

“Hello?”

“Bev?”

“Yeah, it's me.” She paused. “Which of my wonderful teenage boys am I talking to?”

Richie laughed. “You wound me. It's Richie! We're having a sleepover at Bill's, and I wanted to know if you can make it.”

She was silent for a good while.

“Am I invited?” She asked after a moment.

“You'd have to climb in through Bill's bedroom window, if that's what you mean.” He answered. “But we'd all love to see you.”

She was quiet again.

“I'd have to wait for my dad to go to sleep, and he's not even home from work yet.”

“It's no rush. You don't even have to show up if you don't think you can. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks Richie.” There was a smile in her voice. “I'll see what I can do. But don't wait up for me, okay?”

“Whatever you say, buttercup.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed, saying his farewells and hanging up. He got up the stairs just in time to hear Eddie's watch going off for his evening medications, Eddie excusing himself with his overnight bag over his shoulder and nearly running into Richie outside Bill's bedroom door. He thrust the bag into Richie's hands.

“Tell me what's going on.” He requested. Richie twisted his fingers up in the bag’s straps, suddenly nervous.

“Should we go downstairs for this? Or… You should at least sit down.”

“Just tell me! You're freaking me out.” Eddie exclaimed. Richie reached around him and closed Bill’s bedroom door, just in case. Then he pulled the bottle of painkillers out and handed them over. He had to take a deep breath before he could speak.

“This is the only medication in your mom's cabinet that's actually helping you.”

Eddie frowned at him.

“Richie, what are you talking about? These are temporary; they're my painkillers for this thing.” He lifted his cast arm up. Richie nodded.

“I know. Everything else in your mom's medicine cabinet looks like this.”

He pulled the other bottle out, placing it in Eddie's hands. The placebo sticker was facing up, bright red, and Eddie stared at it.

“Placebo…?”

“It means the drugs are fakes. They don't do anything.”

“I know what placebo means!” Eddie snapped, and while Richie knew the harshness wasn't truly directed towards him, it still made him take a step back. “Just… You said all of them were like this? All of them? Even--?”

Richie pulled the inhaler box out too, and Eddie snatched it from his hands. He opened it and looked at the inhaler inside, identical to the one he always carried with him.

“How?” He asked, and Richie didn't know what to say. “How did--since--when did she… I don’t --”

“Eddie! Eds. Breathe.” Eddie was taking gasping inhales and heavy exhales with every word, his chest heaving. He gripped tightly to the front of Richie's shirt, bringing the inhaler to his mouth. It took a little but Eddie brought his breathing under control again, Richie rubbing circles on his back.

“You okay, Spaghetti Man?”

“It worked.” Eddie said after a moment. He held the inhaler a bit tighter. “If it's a fake, how come it worked?”

“Isn't that the point of a placebo, though?” Richie pointed out. “To make you think it worked? Even if you don't have asthma, right?”

“What are you talking about? Asthma attacks--”

“That's the thing though, Eds.” Richie cut him off, and Eddie looked a little angry. “What just happened to you, and all the other asthma attacks you've had in the past… I get those too. They're called panic attacks.”

“Of course I'm fucking panicking! How could I not be fucking panicking?”

Richie pulled him in for a hug, letting his chin rest on the top of Eddie's head for a moment.

“I can't not take my medication, Richie.” Eddie mumbled softly into his shirt. “I just can't.”

“If you really need me to, I'll go back to your house and get everything else.” Richie said. He wasn't sure how he would slip past Mrs. Kaspbrak, but he would try. “But for now, just take these,” he pressed the painkillers into Eddie's hand, “and these, if that makes you feel better,” he traded out the inhaler for the red and white fakes, “and just try not to think about it. Okay?”

“...okay.” Eddie finally said. He turned the bottle of placebos over in his hand. He let his eyes fall closed for a moment. “Thanks for telling me, Richie. I'm… I'm glad I know, at least.”

Richie returned with a smile that he hoped was comforting, surprised to find that he was relieved that Eddie believed him. He got Eddie a glass of water, noticing with pride that he only swallowed down one pill, putting an arm around his shoulders in front of Bill's closed door.

“Alright, Eds Spagheds. You ready to go back in there?”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don't be dumb, Richie.”

Richie could tell that at least some of the brazen attitude was an act so he stepped into Bill's room grandly, throwing open the door and striding in with his hands on his hips, garnering everyone’s attention while Eddie slipped inside quietly.

“William Billiam! I require soft sleeping pants!”

“Okay, but I'm getting you a s-s-shirt, too.” Bill said dryly, but he was smiling. “And you're going to w-wear it.”

Richie made a show of complaining, lamenting that “what is a shirt, if not a cotton prison”, but thanked Bill when the sleepwear was handed over and changed quickly. They arranged themselves comfortably around Bill's room, conversation beginning easily. They talked about family first, mostly because Ben wanted to know if Richie actually had a sister, or if his mother was actually dead. The answer to both of those was no, but it was still pretty funny.

Whenever a natural lull fell around them Richie wanted to spill the beans about himself and Eddie, because Eddie just looked much too cute in an oversized hoodie and tucked under his arm. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how. A couple times he considered pulling the “guess who has two thumbs and is dating the cutest person in the world” line, but he didn’t just want to spring the announcement on Eddie as well as everyone else, considering all he’d been through today. He wanted the conversation to naturally just flow that way, but he was having a hard time trying to steer it. Finally, he managed to stick his foot in.

“Hey Ben, do you remember that question I asked you about Beverly the other day?”

Ben blushed red, but before he could say anything a muffled voice came from somewhere outside Bill’s room.

“Are you guys talking about me?”

There was a sharp tap on Bill’s bedroom window and Stan jumped, letting out a yell in surprise.

“Bev!” Richie exclaimed in excitement, Bill getting quickly to his feet to let her in. He opened the window and Beverly tumbled in from the tree outside Bill’s window, laughing a little. She brushed a couple of leaves off her clothes, grinning, everyone except Richie looking stunned to see her.

“Y-y-you, w-w-w-w-w-we… What?” Bill stammered out, and Beverly giggled.

“I called her! I invited her.” Richie said, Beverly sending him a wink. “It wouldn’t be a group sleepover without her.”

“Hi.” Beverly finally said, waving, getting waves back as she sat herself down happily next to Ben. Everyone was still staring at her, and she laughed.

“What Bill, never had a girl in your room before?”

Richie could've sworn all of them blushed. Maybe except Ben, but that was because he hadn't yet stopped blushing from Richie's question earlier.

“I'm glad you managed to escape.” Richie said. Beverly looked a little guilty, nodding.

“My dad said he wanted a drink when he got home, so I crushed up a sleeping pill in his beer.” She confessed. They all gaped at her.

“Isn't mixing alcohol and soporific drugs like… Super fucking dangerous?” Eddie asked hesitantly. “Couldn't that kill him, or something?”

Beverly looked hilariously unconcerned.

“Sleeping pills and stuff have never really had that much of an effect on him.” She said with a shrug, Richie wondering how it was she knew that. “I'm sure he'll be fine. What are you guys up to?”

“We ate dinner, and now we're just hanging out.” Mike said with a shrug. “Are you hungry, Beverly? There's food left.”

Beverly considered it for a moment before nodding.

“Sure, I could eat. Thanks.”

Mike got to his feet with Bill and Ben following behind, Bill looking like he was trying hard to be a good host, Ben looking a bit disappointed that he hadn't thought of offering the food first. Beverly reached over, ruffling Stan's hair.

“You okay?” She asked him. He shrugged.

“Been better.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You look weird.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“Eddie looks weird too.” Beverly said, turning her attention to Eddie now. “Did something happen today?”

“A lot has happened today.” Eddie said with a nod. “The clown...”

“You guys saw him?” Beverly asked. “When? What happened?”

“We should talk about it with everyone.” Stan said. “But… I saw him yesterday, and all of us saw him today.”

“I did a little more than see him.” Eddie mumbled, and Richie suddenly felt guilty. He'd been completely useless, powerless to stop any of the terrible things Eddie had gone through in the past week. He wanted to be better. He needed to be better than that.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly. Eddie looked up at him.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“I haven't been able to do anything.” He explained. “Not in the Neibolt house, not earlier today… Hell, it was even my idea to go outside today, if I hadn't suggested it then--”

“If you hadn't suggested it, then I'd be in bed getting pills shoved down my throat by my psychotic mother.” Eddie interrupted. Richie frowned.

“Yeah, but--”

“No.” Eddie cut him off, taking both of Richie's hands with his own. “I would have been completely miserable, but instead I'm here with all of my friends. I have you to thank for that. You’re the one that’s keeping me from completely losing my fucking mind.”

Richie smiled a little, in spite of himself.

“God damn Eddie, could you please just let me blame myself for this?”

“Not a chance, Tozier.” Eddie had a small smile playing on his lips too and Richie decided fuck it, he didn’t care about an audience, leaning in and kissing him. Bev and Stan already knew anyways, to some extent. He realized though, once Eddie's lips touched his, that it wouldn't have mattered much if they knew already or not, because this was so, incredibly worth it.

There was the heavy thunk of glass hitting carpet behind them and Richie and Eddie both turned to see the rest of the group in the doorway, Bill standing front and center and letting the water from the cup he'd just dropped seep into his socks and the carpet below. He looked stunned.

“W-w-w-w-w-wh…?”

“Okay Bill, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to do a little better than that.” Richie told him, because he was suddenly nervous about what Bill might say, or do. He tried to remember Stan’s words about how worrying was stupid, and the rational part of him knew that Stan was right, but that rational part was very, very small, especially in the face of something as terrifying as possibly losing a best friend.

“I-I-I-I-I…” Bill stammered a bit more. “...what?”

That wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I like Eddie.” Richie explained. Eddie hit him in the arm. “A lot.” He tacked on.

Eddie hit him again.

“What?” Richie asked indignantly.

“I don’t know!” Eddie replied. “Just…” He gestured at Bill.

“He might be broken.” Richie said gravely, just to have Eddie hit him again.

“So Eddie is the one you asked me about?” Mike cut in. He slipped in the room past Bill, holding Beverly’s plate of food. He handed it to her, Ben entering after him and giving her silverware. “I mean, I kind of figured.”

“You asked about me?” Eddie asked, surprised.

“I… Well--”

“He told me he thought he might be in love with someone, and asked me what he should do about it.” Mike interjected, Richie turning on him.

“Hey!” He protested. “That was a private conversation!”

“No it wasn’t.” Stan said. He was inspecting his fingernails rather closely. “I heard the whole thing.”

“Both of you suck.” Richie said, crossing his arms.

“L-l-love?” Bill croaked out.

“We did break him.” Eddie muttered.

“Come on you two, tell us everything!” Beverly requested, and Richie balked. When he’d said he wanted to tell everyone, he was thinking of it in more of an announcement fashion: “Everyone, could I have your attention please. I am super gay for Eddie Kaspbrak. This has been a PSA.” He wasn’t prepared for any storytelling. But, he figured, the “show” part of “show and tell” was his fault, and he took a deep breath.

“Well, I talked to Mike. Then I talked to Ben, because he’s such a romantic.”

“I am?” Ben asked.

“And the day I told Stan was the day I was sure about it.” God, why was he blushing so much? “So I figured I would just wait for the right time, or something. But then we went to Neibolt and got attacked by Giggles McFuckface and I kinda figured that any time that we weren’t dead was the right time. So I told him that I liked him, or whatever.”

“Eddie, please tell me he said more than ‘I like you, or whatever’.” Stan said seriously. “You’re worth more than that.”

“He did.” Eddie said quickly. “It… It was really nice, actually.”

“Yeah, because you kissed me. Damn near knocked the wind out of me, you know.” Richie replaced his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, grinning. “And then I kissed you, and you said it was the best kiss you ever had.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.” Stan muttered dryly.

“No! Tell ‘em, Eds.” Richie nudged him, delighting how red Eddie’s face had become.

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie grumbled back.

“Stop embarrassing him.” Beverly protested, because Eddie was blushing harder the longer Richie talked. “You’re just as bad as he is, if not worse.”

“Hey, I just want everyone to know how great of a kisser I am, now that I have evidence to prove it. We've spent the past few days in Eddie's bedroom doing--”

“You cried when he told you he loved you.” Beverly said, crossing her arms in triumph. Richie’s mouth fell open.

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

“Beverly, you knew?” Ben asked. “When did you guys talk to each other?”

“Midnight ragers.” Richie said quickly. “She’s been eating all of my Cheetos.”

“...is that a euphemism or something?” Mike asked, as Bill finally seemed to get over himself, coming into the room again and sitting on the floor.

“I’m happy for you guys.” He said earnestly, and when Richie glanced over he saw Eddie beaming.

“Thanks.”

“So, now that all of my secrets have been spilled, what do we want to talk about?” Richie asked with a sigh. “Anyone want to hear about the time I ate hot glue in fifth grade? I was going to take that secret to the grave with me, but I’m coming to realize there’s no point in trying.”

“I want to hear about what happened today.” Beverly said. “About Pennywise, and all that.”

Ben nodded in agreement.

“Something happened to you, right Stan?” He asked. Stan nodded a little, launching into the tale. The retelling of the events made him visibly uncomfortable, curling in on himself as he spoke. Mike put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“And then he left me a balloon, which was just incredibly thoughtful.” Stan finished, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I called Bill, and he came to pick me up.”

“I would hate to think I scared all the little boys away?” Beverly asked, repeating what Stan told them Pennywise had said. “What does that mean?”

Stan shrugged.

“He t-t-tried to take Eddie too.” Bill said. “Eddie was crossing t-the street when B-B-Bowers came at him with his c-car. Pennywise grabbed him out of the w-way, but t-then tried to run off. W-w-we stopped him, but…”

“He tried to do this in broad daylight?”

“Well, who wouldn’t try to steal Eddie?” Richie asked. “I mean, look at him!”

What Richie didn’t expect was for the entire group to actually look over at Eddie, who suddenly seemed very self conscious in his striped athletic socks, grey shorts, and big green hoodie.

“Yeah.” Mike said after a moment. “He’s small.”

“Not what I meant.”

“No, it makes sense. He's small.” Ben agreed. “If you're going to kidnap someone in the middle of the day, with witnesses and stuff, they have to be easy to carry.”

“Well, I'm not easy to carry.” Eddie said. “I kicked him in the leg.”

Beverly held her hand up for a high five, and Eddie took it.

“Okay, but why?” Bill asked. “If he w-wants to make s-s-someone disappear, why not someone easier? Someone y-younger, or something?”

Richie thought back, still distracted by what the clown had said while going through Stan’s house. He couldn’t take Ben, he couldn’t take Mike, and he couldn’t take Bill because Bill was the one he needed.

“He’s setting you a trap, Bill.”

“He w-w-wants to kidnap one of you to… To what? To g-get to me?”

“It would work.” Mike pointed out.

“But he already h-has my brother.”

“But he thinks he scared us away.” Beverly finished, nodding a little. Richie felt slightly sick.

“Why me?” Bill asked. It was quiet for a long moment, then Stan spoke.

“Because you’re the only one looking for him. You’re the only one, maybe ever, and you keep getting closer. Hell, Bill, you’ve been inside his house four times. And he doesn’t like it.”

“S-so… He’s trying to kill me?”

Mike sat back in Bill’s desk chair with a sigh.

“It wouldn’t exactly be out of character.”

#it 2017 #reddie #reddie fic #benverly #benverly fic #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stanley uris #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #tdogd #myfic

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blindtaleteller · 4 years

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Ouch Exerpts - DREAMS - ‘the drop’ [Gamora] Ch. 7

One thing I both cringe at, fear and am excited for at the same time out of the result of Infinity War and Endgame, especially being someone who loved Guardians: is maybe seeing how the canon writers deal with the death and displacement of Gamora. Because, think about what happened there; and it’s a horrible part of the story as an emotional and psychological twist. But also has so much potential, from a storyteller’s point of view that, I hope to god they don’t waste.

Think about that, especially from Peter Quill’s point of view; and it’s so, so bad and absolutely heartbreaking, and more than a little cheap how the mainline Avengers story glazes over it with that singular shot of Peter looking for her in the viewer. Makes my heart hurt just to think about.

That said, I touch that a lot with my Quill muses. Because it’s simultaneously the thing they feel most cheated on, and the thing they absolutely simmer about, in a lot of ways. Peter’s never really allowed time to mourn having been part of the snap’s victims; and when you think about the extra awkward, and the little weird hope coming back from the snap he definitely had there?

Ugh, and yeah; they project so many feels at me that it had to be addressed. And it had to be done in a way that fit Pete himself.

In DREAMS in particular, it gets sidelined early on too: and this one, is the section where Clint catches up with Loki a little more in realizing it after Pete gets pulled into their business and literally to the other side of the world. Clint has even closer deaths to mourn in DREAMS that connect the two of them even farther so. This scene is as hard on Clint in particular with DREAMS changes mostly being centered post Endgame because.. lets not forget. Clint had the up close and personal view of what the Soul Stone asked for in retrieving it.

“ Clint, where’s Nat? “

===========---------CHAPTER SEVEN : Photograph (Ed Sheeran)

There was just a few moments, looking at him like standing there like that, backlit by that otherworldly shimmer and haze of water lit by the fluttering movements of the unassuming and actually he had to admit very beautiful animal slipping through the water in the wall-length tank: where Clint didn’t think he’d forget that particular moment he almost turned by half and looked right back at him. Those few seconds had a strange sort of weight and a silent agreement to them Clint’s conscious brain couldn’t quite hook; before a buzz sounded off from the small table where Quill had dumped his stuff on when they’d brought the fish in: pulling both their eyes that way and snapping the moment shut.

Peter was on it quick, tugging his other phone out again with a sigh and getting a small scowl from Clint as he brought it over and sat himself down on the free pillow he’d set down next to him as offer. “ ..sorry. Forgot when Lily started flopping around. ‘S good though.. “ and he tapped the back of the phone; a clipped on device blinking yellow. The phone buzzed again and Clint leaned to get a look as Pete checked the new message, and Loki stirred a little behind him.

And maybe he shouldn’t have looked, because he ended up feeling like twice the ass after seeing the time stamps; and being reminded the guy had his own issues he was trying to deal with.

From

SwordsNSass [8:26 AM]: And I meant it, by the way.

SwordsNSass [10:45 AM]: cannot believe you left us behind.

SwordsNSass [11:17 AM]: You know, I thought the *point* of these was to be able to communicate more easily?

SwordsNSass [12:07 PM]: Did you take the powder we picked up on Pailene with you? It’s missing and Groot is really mad.

SwordsNSass [1:02 PM]: At least answer or call us?

SwordsNSass [5:24 PM]: You know what, fine. I don’t know why you’re even angry at me; but it had better not be about this morning. You dragged me into this, not the other way around. Time we had a talk, you and me.

SwordsNSass [6:58 PM]: Brunhilde is taking us up, you had better be there.

SwordsNSass [7:02 PM] : And we aren’t done with that conversation, just so you know.

SwordsNSass [8:12 PM]: Rocket says you asked him *not* to let us back on the Benatar until upgrades were finished?

SwordsNSass [9:21 PM]: Okay. Where are you Peter.

SwordsNSass [9:23 PM]: We’re back on board. Contact us if you don’t want me to shoot an annoying little rodent and find a way to lock out this new program.

“ Go ahead and make the call man. “ called attention to the fact he’d been snooping; not that Peter seemed to mind. He looked combination pissed and .. Clint wasn’t sure how to label the rest of it. Tired, definitely. Distressed? He was staring at those messages with an almost flat expression, a little too still before he finally nodded, pressed the call button and brought it to his ear. Clint settled back, watching the jellyfish; half waiting for Peter to stand up and take it outside.

He didn’t.

And Clint took that for what it was, him and Quill both knowing well enough he would hear every word when he heard the pickup; and Peter took a breath, keeping his voice low.

“ Before you say word one ; know if you actually wanna hear me, this is as loud as it’s gonna get; and I am hanging up and shutting this off if it sounds like you’re not gonna actually listen : cause there’s somebody else sleepin’ in the room and I ain’t waking him up after the long-ass day we’ve had. “

‘Where the hell are you? Was having them leave us behind your way at getting back at me f--’

“ I ain’t playin’ that game right now, Gamora. I asked him to leave you and your sister behind, ‘cause the both of you’ve been on attack mode for almost a month with no given reason or reprieve; and I didn’t want that slowin us or the Benny down long enough for someone else to catch on and tag her, and make it worse. Time saving . We at it ; and frankly.. I am not for draggin’ our feet on this any more than the two I’m with want or need to. Especially not when you’re like this . When it’s not me? Now there’s Loki, and that’s bullshit. You never even met the man for more’n a minute or two in passing. Haven’t bothered to try even talking to him, or his guy. “

If she had anything to say to that, it didn’t come. He rubbed his brow between his fingers; and Clint knew that look, all the tired and trying to be patient. Still nothing. Not from her end. Just quiet, and he could see it pulling that tension, and pulling it; until it snapped with some small metallic sound from the other end that had nothing to do with anyone’s voice; a sound that poked and burst the bubble he had barely brushed on the too-still surface of his breath. “ ‘ Course. Why am I not surprised. “ and he blew out a breath and let his head fall back. “ I thought, I didn’t wanna do it like this; but you know: I think any other way’d just be worse for all of us, so here it is. “

Clint felt a slow cringe creeping up his core at that tone, because that kind of phrase never meant anything good was coming after it once it was said. The clench wasn’t as low as it should have been though. And he didn’t feel like he should get up, or plug his ears into something else. He wanted to tuck the guy, hearing the tone to his quieted voice. Sounded way too familiar, and it snagged his sleeve and tugged a little, not that he was wearing the kind of shirt that had any. Part defeat, a dead acceptance for it and whatever he was about to spit out. “ I’m done. “ was about half what he expected. “ And I hope you’re listenin’ cause here’s your out: if all of this is too much for you? Any of you? Take the Benatar and get to the nearest yard on the way to finishing up what we need to do for Thor and his folks and maybe picking up M if she’s ready. I’ll open up my savings and buy you something to get you around to wherever you go that isn’t here, doin’ whatever you want that isn’t this. “

‘Quill! You do not get to pull this kind of crazy shit and just walk it off!’

“ Shut up a minute, cause that ain’t what this is and I ain’t done. Loki found the Milano, not that you’d remember her; and the Benny was always more Rocket’s bit than mine, no matter how much I messed with her. Kraglin only put her in my name cause Rocket had his licenses and permits revoked in so many quads. Which, we already got fixed since. So if he wants her, she’s his whether he stays or goes; though, I’m pretty damned sure he’s all in, same as me. I seen and heard too much. I ain’t good for standin’ aside, and sure as hell not for beatin’ the ones we should be helpin’ down in the process of finding out where we fit next to ‘em.”

“I can wait for the Milano, however long it takes. If his work fixin’ her’s as good as what I’ve seen of it so far, I’ll pay the god triple the tribute she’s worth to get her back, no matter the wait: if he even wants it. “ a breath in. Peter had a staying capacity he envied; the kind that went way past the physical. All that, and he had barely raised his voice over a whisper even once. Though he was pretty sure he was going to regret this. “ What I can’t wait for any more, is a solid answer from you. It’s been almost a year, and nothin’. Today was it. That’s all I had left. That talk you messaged me about? That’s over. That was over when he pushed her off that cliff; “

Fuck, I almost forgot about that. Shit.That was a sucker punch, kid.

“ and I just …...I am, so tired ; of getting kicked in the gut, the head, or the balls every time I try, just try and believe there’s a tiny chance we can start over and step around that. So here it is; I’m gonna treat this like I should have when the whole story was piled in my ear and knotted up in my chest seeing you standing there; breathing, looking down at me. “

And what do you say to that? What do you say, when you realize; the other reason he’s whispering, isn’t because he has to? That he didn’t have the breath himself, for anything more. The guy was so damn up sometimes; so seemingly put together where it counted. Steady and on point it was so easy to forget what else he’d been carrying around all day, and longer. Easy to forget, the first words he’d walked up on well before they'd gotten into each other's faces.

That this one; this girl he was talking to, was the days of the past copy. That his her had been killed in hand by the shitstain that had been the closest thing she had to a father, as a trade for one of the rocks they were recollecting. The same trade that had Nat had outright fought him to give her life willingly for, for them ; but without the willing part having anything to do with it. Peter's Gamora had been murdered. So Thanos could kill a lot more. His kids. Laura. So, so many others. Half a universe worth. Peter included. And he'd come back to this.. probably thinking they were brought back together: and getting something else.

“You want to help? Your sister wants to help? Then stay on, sure. Pick a ship and stick to it if you wanna. You’re part of the fam regardless. That ain’t gonna change. But don’t go thinking I’m looking for or expecting any more, from here on out. You’re right. I dragged you into this. “

' Peter...‘

“ And I’m sorry about that. “ the depth of the inhale between, made Clint want to scoot over and actually pet him through the set that followed; and that felt.. right, and weird all at once. “ Real sorry, about it. A whole lot of sorry cause I absolutely did, and I knew better. I knew better and I chased this anyways. But, and you gotta have seen this coming; I’m also sorry partially ‘cause it took me spending the whole day toting a living, breathing infinity stone in a big plastic box full of salt water and tiny baby shrimp with a pair of crazy people who know me less than you do; and they managed to make me feel more comfortable, welcome and needed than I’ve felt in the last almost ten months straight in my own home: even then . You don’t want whatever this is, Gam. If you wanted this, if you were feelin’ this even a little? We wouldn’t be having this conversation almost a year later. Tell me I’m wrong. “

And there was that silence again; and for all the ouch he was being allowed to listen in on: that absolute hush had the most dig to it out of the whole lot. “ Yeah.. that’s; about what I figured. “ he was staring at the ceiling, head back on the bed. “ I’m not mad at you. Still want you around. Everything else aside you’re a friend and one of the best fighters I know; and if you want it, that’s still there. But this is done, whatever this is, okay? I can’t take it no more, girl. So .. who all’s left needs to make up their minds. First rock … Fish, is in the net. It’s time to buckle in, or get out the crew seat; and either bail: or shut up, take a deck bench and enjoy the show. Cause the rest of us are stickin’ together and doin’ this as a family like we always have. That said ..you got anything to say, say it now. After all the crazy-cool shit today I am tired and sprung as all hell, all at once and just.. in need of a break. Really tired, of feeling like I'm half talking to myself; hoping you’re actually listening. “

It took a few seconds, but finally there was an answer. ‘ Get some sleep. We’ll ..be waiting for you. All of us. ’

Quill lifted the phone from his ear to check it like he knew before either of them saw the CALL ENDED message; grunting at it before he sent a quick response message finally to let them know he was shutting it off, powered it down and half tossed it between them; far enough it landed somewhere on the carpet below his knees. He let out a long breath and pretty much mirrored Clint’s position: hands up behind his head, ankles crossing after he unbuckled and toed off his boots to the other side. The new phone came up out of Pete’s pocket, along with the earbuds and a few other small items he let dump on the floor between them, and Clint watched him in his peripherals as Quill almost plugged both in; hesitating before offering the second one over to Barton without actually looking at him.

He was too connected to the stillness in the room between them not to take it. Too curious not to stick it in his ear; and too strung in next to him not to just listen when he hit play, almost surprised by the sound of violins that strung out the intro: and they sat and watched the almost eerie, really, actually beautiful glowing red and violet sea umbrella open and close, pushing and pulling itself along on it’s own way exploring the water in its new tank again. The piano rung in like singing bells with the first breath-hushed verses, and Clint was caught; eyes trying not to close as he let the song wash over sink into him. Because he knew what was being said even between the lines, and where his head and heart was more with every word.

‘How can I say this, without breaking?

How can I say this, without taking over?

How can I put it down, into words?

When it's almost too much for my soul alone?

I loved, and I loved and I lost you..

And it hurts like hell...’

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