#who the fuck helped mike with his fourth challenge????

[daisyishedwig]

I was literally spinning around my kitchen giggling and twirling my hair listening to the latest episode and I can't wait for the official drop to come tomorrow because I need y'all to hear this. (I do have a tendency to do this with most episodes of woe.begone but this one was a particular joy to listen to)

Very spoilery screaming in the tags below.

[antisociallilbrat]

Freefall

Read on Ao3

Summary: Bill Denbrough smokes his first cigarette when he’s fourteen years old.

A/N: I am someone who struggles with nicotine addiction. I've been struggling to quit but so far this time is sticking. So what do I do to help me this time? I project onto my favorite character. You've probably heard this a million times but if you have never smoked Do. Not. Start. To those who are also struggling to quit, we got this.

Bill Denbrough smokes his first cigarette when he’s fourteen years old.

Richie and Bev were smoking in their new clubhouse- courtesy of long hard hours put in by none other than Ben Hanscom. The pair were huddled together under the latch door, (at Eddie’s insistence, he has asthma!) their knees knocked together as they passed the cig back and forth. It was winter and even underground the air was brisk. A moth-eaten blanket from Mike Hanlon’s closet that was charitably donated to the clubhouse was draped across their shoulders. Eddie had already made his concerns about them catching the blanket on fire known. Richie had simply called him a worry wart and ruffled his hair. Eddie did not blush. 

Bill was sitting deeper into the clubhouse, his arm lazily draped around the shoulders of Stanley Uris as the boy was deeply invested in the story of Mice and Men. Bill and Stan weren’t a couple, not yet anyways, but they also weren’t just friends. That aspect no longer scared Bill as it used to. When he used to force his mind to keep picturing burning red hair instead of golden curls in his dreams.

Now he just doesn’t care- he fought a space clown, it’s hard to bring yourself to care about social norms after that. They’re not dating, but it’s unspoken that they will- sooner than later. At fourteen (Stan at just thirteen) it feels like he has all the time in the world, and he knows what he has with Stan will last forever so there’s no need to rush it along. Or maybe that’s just what the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy tells himself. 

Mike was flipping through a magazine, casually looking up to smile at his friends, and Ben and Eddie were working on a lego tower that Ben had gotten for an early Christmas present from his aunt. Bill’s eyes kept drifting back to Richie and Bev. They were now sharing a new cigarette, having discretely thrown the butt of their last one in the corner when Eddie wasn’t looking. 

Richie’s magnified eyes met Bill's and the corners of his lips turned up into a Cheshire grin. One that always meant that their Trashmouth was up to mischief. Rich took a hit, white smoke clouding his face on the exhale, and dangled the cig out in his direction, “Wanna hit Big Bill ?” he teased. 

Up until now Bill always declined. No particular reason, just never felt like it. But now Richie is challenging him and he’s never known how to back down from a challenge. He fought a fucking space clown. And honestly, he supposed that it was inevitable that he’d take Richie or Bev up on the offer one of these days. A guarantee that would happen no matter how much he put it off. Like dating Stan. 

Bill looked to Stan who was now looking up from his book. He raised his eyebrows silently asking ‘Will you be mad?’.

Stan was always great at reading Bill so he just rolled his eyes and muttered “It’s your lungs, do what you want,” and went back to reading.

So Bill reached out for the cig between Richie’s fingers with poorly painted black nails. Part of him was a little eager to see what all the fuss was about. Bev and Richie love to smoke so it has to be enjoyable, right?

He wasn’t expecting the horrible taste and barrage of coughing that happened when took his first real hit. Eddie panically smacked him on the back while he was coughing thinking he was helping while Richie laughed his ass off. 

That poor experience didn’t stop him from turning down the next times he was offered a cigarette. The second one sucked still, the third one less so, and by the fourth, he was able to smoke one without making a fool of himself. He never stopped to think about the significance of training your body how to smoke. 

By the time he turned fifteen Bev started sneaking him whole packs like she did Richie. He didn’t consider himself a smoker- he never smoked when he was alone- but there was a certain satisfaction that came with pulling out his own pack when he smoked with Bev and Richie. Somewhere along the way, he discovered that he preferred Marlboro Menthols to Bev and Richie’s Camels. Richie called him a pansy for smoking them but he didn’t care.

At the age of sixteen smoking plain old cigarettes went to the back burner of his mind. Sixteen was the age of high school parties and underage drinking. Most of the parties the Losers weren’t invited to but they showed up anyway. Free beer was there. 

Why would he smoke cigarettes when he could drink beer? Richie would smoke when he was drunk, saying it “Enhanced the experience,” but soon Bill discovered something called Mary Jane and Richie agreed that that went much better with alcohol. So did Stan, surprisingly. Although Stan always stayed away from cigarettes the rare times they were offered. 

At one point, Bill’s brief fling with cigs was completely forgotten. Stan didn’t want to kiss him when his mouth smelled like an ashtray and Bill was too hormonal to not kiss Stan. He’d much rather smoke a joint with Stan and make out with him in the back of his silver pickup truck. Roaming teenage hands wandering as far as they dared go. 

Then, suddenly, Bill wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was an adult at college. One who quickly realized he could not go to class stoned if he had any hope to pass. He did give the whole college thing an honest go before he eventually dropped out. It was one of those inevitable things again. 

When he was in college he was desperate for anything to take an edge off the tension without losing focus so he picked up smoking again. It wasn’t a big deal; even Stan understood. He smoked more when projects were due and he smoked less on the weekends when he had alcohol and Stan to take the edge off. 

One night, mainly out of curiosity (he’s seen it in movies) after he had fucked Stan good and hard on their twin-sized mattress in their dorm room, he smoked a cigarette. He stood by their cracked window in just his tighty-whities and watched Stan snore softly underneath their duvet. The nicotine in the cigarette only added to his smug satisfaction that he fucked Stan so good that he passed out afterwards. The movies were right, smoking after sex is good. It slowly became a more common thing for Bill, to smoke after sex- much to Stan’s dismay. Thankfully he was usually a sleep when Bill did it. 

As time tends to do, it moved quickly and Bill found himself at twenty-two, a college dropout with a new golden wedding band on his finger, and finishing up his second novel. His first one was a commercial success so the demand was high for him to hurry up and get a second one out. 

Except…this one wasn’t coming to him as easily as the first one did. The characters were too bricked in or they were too loose. The plot was riddled with holes and the bandaids he’d patch over them would just add more.

He found himself smoking more and more but he was too frustrated by the lack of progress on his story that he didn’t notice. It was lucky for Stan that Bill liked to write on the screened-in back porch of their new, quaint, starter home. He could often find Bill sitting back there, typing away on his laptop, a furrow in his brown and a cigarette dangling between his lips. 

Eventually, his second book was written and published. It was an all-around flop. A flop that was quickly forgotten when Bill got a second wind for writing and published his third not too long after. That one went on to be adapted into a movie, which like the book, was a critical success.

The life of Hollywood called to him as he went from Bill Denbrough, a humble writer from Derry Maine, to Bill Denbrough, the Master of Horror.

There were awards and interviews. Dinners with big-time celebrities and articles fruitlessly trying to slander his name. His darling Stan who ran his own accounting firm followed him through this. It didn’t matter if he was dining with The Audra Phillips for a promotion of his next book turned movie, what mattered to him was that Stan was at home waiting for him. 

Stanley managed their income and Bill would even dare say he enjoyed the extra money Bill’s books supplied them with. They had a new home with enough bedrooms for each of the Losers to stay in when they visited and then some. Plush carpets and velvet drapes. Stanley Uris deserved a lavish life and Bill Denbrough was more than happy to give it to him. 

The only thing Stan worried about, often remembering how Bill was back in high school, was that Bill would fall into hard drugs. It was a promise he made Bill make- and he kept it. Except for the one time when at an after-party for some awards show an author he respected came up to him and offered to snort lines of coke with him. The author said everyone who's good at writing snorts coke.

Afterward, he felt like shit. Mainly for breaking his promise to Stan and partly because the drug left him feeling physically ill. His love a fair with cocaine was over before it even began. 

Smoking cigarettes still followed him though. By the time he was thirty, he had tried to quit numerous times. Each time was unsuccessful. He just never even considered it an addiction in the first place. 

He didn’t get addicted to coke and he barely smoked weed anymore. Hell, Stan smoked weed more often than he did, and that was primarily because Stan smoked to help his headaches. Even with drinking Bill never had a problem with it. He would go months (albeit accidently because he was too busy writing his next novel) without an ounce of alcohol entering his system.

Nicotine was just a different story. He used it to cope. A good reason but at this point he smoked almost every chance he got; he’d never admit how many cigs he went through in a day. His lungs hurt. Every cold season he caught the flu because smoking had caused his immune system to go to shit. He had veneers because he didn’t want to have to deal with the effects that smoking would cause on his teeth. 

Bev and Richie had both quit a while ago. Richie vaped but even that was rarely now. Bill was the only one still hooked. He was still in the clubhouse reaching for his first cigarette. 

He had tried everything that was out there to help him quit. Apps, journals, breathing exercises, going cold turkey, the patch, medication, nothing worked. He often denied this but he really was a stubborn man so each failure to quit stressed him and made him frustrated. This just gave him the urge to smoke. A vicious cycle. 

Stan had started whispering about babies. A happy surprise for Bill who always wanted to be a dad. Eddie and Richie had a baby girl via surrogacy named Myra and Bill has seen the way Stan looked at the happy family.

Babies were a big fucking deal but Stan told him plainly that they would not push forward with it if Bill could not quit smoking. He would not bring a child into this world with Bill if he was just going to die of cancer a couple of years down the line. Stan couldn’t do that to their kid. 

It was the first time Stan had ever stated Bill needed to quit. His Stanley knew exactly when to push Bill and when to lay back. The promise of kids with the man he loved was his final push to quit.

The longest he managed to ever quit before was two weeks so he at least knew what to expect. It’s what happened after those two weeks that hit him like a horse. Smokers flu. He honestly thought he was dying. After so many years of his body on nicotine, the withdrawal was a bitch. He sweated more than he thought a human could. Nausea would wrack his stomach at the worst times and his chest felt physically tight. Signs that his body was working the nicotine out of his system. 

Stan didn’t know- and would never know- but Bill almost gave in around the one-month mark. He almost snuck out to go buy a pack while Stan was away for the weekend. What stopped him was the brochure for surrogacy programs he found on Stan’s desk. Bill went back into the living room and gorged himself on Junior Mints instead. 

One month turned into three. There were points where he wanted to break down and smoke again but now he had a distraction. A surrogate by the name of Patty Blum was pregnant with his and Stan’s first child. They both ‘donated’ so they didn’t know who the biological father was. It didn’t matter to them. 

When he got the urge to smoke, he went into their nursery and worked on painting the elaborate mural of birds they were going to have behind the crib. He folded baby clothes and online shopped for binkies.

As the months went on and despite the distractions of his oncoming child, the urge to smoke was still there but so was the sense of newness. He could go up a flight of stairs without breaking into a sweat. He could smell the roses from Stan’s rose garden. He didn’t tire out immediately after having sex with Stan. His lungs felt better. He felt like a new person.

The few times though, when the urge to smoke was overbearing, he would pull out the ultrasound of their unborn daughter. He would trace the nubs of her knees and the roundness of her head and he would whisper to her “I’m not going anywhere peanut.” His daughter isn’t going to have the tragic story of a dad who could not quit smoking and died of cancer.

A year after he quit smoking he was sitting in the nursery, rocking his daughter who was only days old and bundled up in a pink blanket. Georgia May Denbrough cooed softly in her sleep. She looked so much like Stan, and that didn’t bother Bill. It just made him love her more. More than he ever loved smoking. 

Bill Denbrough was thirty-one years old when he held his daughter in his arms for the first time. 

A/N: Thank you for reading! Much love!

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 34!! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz @yarchurr @dakotafinely @yarchurr @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

“This is fucking stupid.” Raph was pacing anxiously, his frustrations coming out in the form of heavy breaths.

“I totally agree.” Donnie agreed, “But you know Leo. He’d not gonna let this go.”

“He he fucking ought to! We ain’t got time for this shit!”

The Leo’s were both separately getting ready for the spar, but with such an open space it was nearly impossible for them to get out of each other's line of sight. This resulted in what could only be described as a heated staring content between the both of them as they sharpened their katana and odachi almost passive-aggressively. The brothers and sister of both proud ninja were intermingled in a group together— their brothers’ antics weren’t enough to drive them apart completely, but it was enough for a wedge to be stuck between them.

“Is Leo gonna be okay?” Michelangelo appealed to Donatello, grabbing a hold of the older teens arm.

“I don’t know Michael.” Donatello sighed, sticking his nose in the air in his frustration, “Leon’s always getting himself in this kind of trouble! It’s gonna catch up to him eventually!”

“Hopefully not today.” Michelangelo said, looking to Leo. “Other Leo is very large. He’s jumbo sized!”

“Sadly, his brain didn't get the memo.”

Mikey was looking between both of the Leo’s with no small amount of guilt. Donnie had given him the clear after he had calmed slightly and the pain in his chest wasn’t so bad, but now the pain had been replaced with an intense sadness. Michelangelo nudged his brother and pointed to the sad box turtle, and then both brothers nodded at each other with similar intent as they marched over and each took a seat beside Mikey. 

“Why the long face?” Michelangelo pouted.

“I dunno, Mike, seems kinda… oblong to me.” Donatello motioned vageuly to Mikey’s face.

Mikey gave the slightest chuckle before he started to cry softly. Michelangelo frowned and looked to Donatello, who quickly pulled a tissue from out of his battle shell and offered it to Mikey. Mikey accepted it and, after a moments thought, said,

“You just carry tissues around wherever?”

“I never know when I’ll have to break out the dramatics~!” Donatello struck a pose.

“Are you okay?” Michelangelo gave Mikey a gentle stroke on the shoulder. “You look sad.”

“I’m just… useless.” Mikey hung his head.

That statement caused both Hamato brothers to erupt in loud, overlaying denial as they practically swarmed Mikey trying to convince him otherwise.

“You’re not!”

“You’re really not.”

“You’re incredible!”

“I once tried nunchucks for a day. Hit myself in the head, cried in a corner, slept in said corner. Very traumatizing.”

“You can do lots of things!”

“Except fight, apparently…” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms. “I just watched my dad and your dad get taken and I did nothing!”

“You’re not the only one who did nothing!” Donatello offered.

Michelangelo swatted Donatello and scowled at him a second before turning back to Mikey. “You panicked— that’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

“We were there! We— we could’ve helped stop them! We—“

“What could we have done…?” Michelangelo asked softly, laying a hand on Mikey’s knee.

Mikey gave a long, tired sigh reminiscent of someone far older with many more years of life bearing down on his shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” Michelangelo said, “But what we could’ve done is gotten hurt! He took out all your brothers in one swing! All we would’ve ended up doing is getting taken out with them.”

“But don’t you think—“

“Come on.” Mikey’s words were interrupted by his Leo, who had lost what little patience remained as he strutted forward with the confidence of gods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Leo was the first in the dojo and he stood there as if he was still challenging Leonardo to back down at the cost of his honor. Leonardo didn't move from his place where he was still polishing his odachi.

“Well?” Leo prompted, “Come on! You challenged me to this, remember! Don’t you want to defend your honor?”

Leonardo thought for a second, and then shrugged. “Eh, never really had much of that to begin with. And I have all the time in the world baby!”

Despite his words, Leonardo seemed to accept his counterpart's challenge and stood from his seated position, giving his odachi a few experimental swipes before he came to join Leo in the dojo.

“This ain’t gonna end good...” April shook her head. Her face was painted to match Leonardo’s markings and she brandished a blue flag in support. Upon seeing Leonardo entering the dojo, however, she promptly cheered, “WHOOP WHOOP! YOU GOT THIS LEON!”

The rest of the gathered mutants— all except Raphael, who was still sleeping off his exhaustion— gathered in a tight group to watch as the scene unfolded. Donnie split from the group one last time in an attempt to appeal to his brother.

“Leo, this is crazy!” Donnie said, but it was like talking to a wall, “You can’t fight him!”

“Why not?” Leo asked calmly without dignifying Donnie’s concern with even a glance.

“Well, one, he's a child.” Donnie deadpanned, “And two, we need to be focusing on finding Master Splinter.”

“Trust me Don, this isn’t gonna take very long.”

“What you gonna do, punt the fifteen year old?!”

“He’s the one who picked a fight.” Leo growled.

“Yeah. Oh course he did.” Donnie leaned closer to his brother and spoke slowly, as if Leo were dense, “He’s. A. Teenager. A dumb, confident teenager!”

“So are we.”

“We’re gonna be twenty next month— I hardly think it counts!”

Leo didn't respond. He stared forward with a determined look and simply walked away from Donnie, leaving his younger brother staring after him with a frustrated disbelief.

Leo faced his counterpart. “Do you know the duel rights?”

Leonardo shrugged almost cartoonishly.

“Of course not.” Leo sighed, then carried on, “Rule number one: The offending party has the right to an apology and, if it is accepted by the offended party, then the duel will not carry to term.”

“Okay, so you gonna apologize them?” Leonardo asked, almost hopefully.

Leo narrowed his eyes and gave no answer. “If there is no apology met, then the next rule of order is to choose a second. The seconds are the judges— they try to reach a peace, and if a peace is unable to be met, then we move onto phase three. My second is my brother Raphael.” 

Raph grunted softly and split off from the group to hesitantly come to Leo’s side. 

“Don, you feeling up to it?” Leonardo looked to his brother.

Donatello gave it a moment's thought before shrugging and sauntering off almost in a bored fashion to Leonardo’s side.

“How do we win?” Leonardo asked.

“To win, you must knock down your opponent and hold your blade to their throat. Rule number three! The seconds try to negotiate a peace.” Leo gave a nod, and Raph lumbered forward to meet Donatello in the middle. The two of them quickly fell to a hushed discussion.

“Hello.” Donatello said, his eyes half-lidded and his voice dull.

“Hey— can’t you just try and get your Leo to apologize?” Raph almost pleaded, “You know this ain’t exactly a fair fight.”

“I know.” Donatello replied with little enthusiasm. “Your Leo’s gonna get knocked flat on his Gluteus Maximus. That’s science terms for buttocks. Aka: ass.”

Raph gave a half-amused snort. “No offense, pancake, but I think we both know that ain’t right.”

“Oh wowwwwww, so original.” Donatello slumped, “I’m so hurt. Then again you do have a good point.

Raph smiled, thinning himself victorious until Donatello added,

“I mean, there’s nothing Maximus about his Gluteus.” Donatello motioned to Leo with his thumb.

“No—” Raph growled and forced a smile as he addressed Donatello with slow words, “What I meant was that your brother is gonna end up with the same fate as a firework on Fourth of July.” He made an explosion motion and added his own sound effects, “I mean— come on! It’s like a dodge against a semi-truck— your bro stands no chance!”

“I think we can stand to disagree on that.” Donatello defended his brother calmly.

Raph fixed Donatello with a deadpan expression. “You’re not gonna back down are you?”

“Negatory.” Donatello finally smiled— little more than a slight curve of his lips, but still a smile. “Or way— would that be an affirmative? Eh. Doesn’t matter. Either way I believe we are done here.”

Without another word, he spun on his heels and carried himself confidently over to his brother’s side. Raph grumbled as he often did before taking his leave a few seconds after. There was a minute of stressful silence as both seconds reported to their brothers before Leo stepped forward again.

“Rule four. Draw your weapon only once there is a medic on sight with his back turned.”

Leonardo whistled. “I mean, not that I couldn’t beat you with my back turned, but seriously?”

“Not you.” Leo growled, “Donnie will be our medic on standby.” Leo motioned the tech genius to turn around, and Donnie hesitantly obeyed. This left only the Mikey’s watching. Once Leo was satisfied, he went on, “Rule five would usually include dueling at dawn, but I hardly think it matters down here.”

Leonardo looked up at the high ceiling and then down at Leo. 

“Rules six and seven are also moot given our particular circumstances. Unless you have a god you pray to…?”

“Eh, some may describe me as a God, but I think I forgive myself for my sins~”

It took everything Leo had to keep his cool. “Rule number eight. Your last chance to set the record straight.”

“Hey! That rhymed! Good for you!”

“Wait are you just getting these from the Hamilton Musical?” Donatello started to ask, but was interrupted; even as Leo spoke over him, he still continued to talk until he finished the sentence.

“Rule number nine! Look your enemy in the eye.” He and Leonardo locked gazes, “Meet your enemy in the middle…”

Leonardo and Leo took four paces each until they were directly in front of each other.

“Summon your courage in any way necessary.” Leo said cooly, giving a bow that Leonardo returned, “Take a minute to breathe, then take ten paces back.”

The Leo’s were almost in perfect sync as they took their paces backward, now several paces behind their seconds while still facing each other.

“Ready your sword…”

Twin katana and a single odachi were held at the ready.

“Take one final breath…”

No one in the room breathed.

“And count to ten. One… two… three… four...”

“...five...six…seven… eight... nine...”

“Ten.”

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

It’s time again! Thoughts on Taskmaster s11e03, written as I watch it:

- The fact that Mike’s glass model of animals fucking broke is very disappointing. Partly because it was a great idea that should have gotten him lots of points and he was cheated out of it, and partly because I wish I could see what it looked like before it broke. But I do think Lee deserved the five points he got for the prize task. A baby mask on a dog is pretty shocking.

- Lee winning a task with a combination of good aim (he is a darts player) and his motorcycle helmet was quite badass.

- Charlotte trying to run faster than water could fall was very adorable.

- I enjoy how not bothered Sarah was about her approach. She figured out she could make it work by putting ice on a bridge and waiting for it to melt. And she was fine with that. She has solved the academic problem of how to complete the task, and the fact the fact that she had to wait for ice to melt in a time-based task was fine.

- …Okay, I wrote that last point after seeing Sarah’s attempt but before seeing her score. Knowing that the person who melted ice was the fastest of the four contestants who’ve been shown so far just makes it better. Of the four (haven’t seen Jamali yet), Lee throws a motorcycle helmet and comes last. Sarah melts ice and comes first.

- Task: Make these stones hiss from behind a rope. Jamali Maddix: I’m going to chase Alex to make him get me a balloon faster and then set the whole thing on fire. Fantastic.

- I really liked Lee trying to argue that the sizzle of the fire wasn’t really a hiss and getting into it with Jamali about that. There is something fantastic about aggressive competition between two people who came fourth and fifth in a task because one threw a motorcycle helmet and one set shit on fire. While the other contestants, who all did smarter things and performed better, are content to just watch them fight about it.

- The order of operations is Lee argued that Jamali’s hiss shouldn’t count, Jamali argued back that it did count, Greg shut Lee down and said Jamali was right, Lee looked annoyed about losing the argument and Jamali looked extremely pleased about winning. Immediately after that, Alex announced that Jamali had taken more than twice as long as the fourth-place finisher (who happened to be Lee) anyway, so it really didn’t matter. And then Lee gave Jamali this incredibly smug look that’s certainly my favourite thing I’ve seen so far this episode. Excellent. God I love this show.

- Enjoying the saga of Jamali and Alex and the phrase “What’s up?” It feels like it has similar but in some ways exactly the opposite energy of James Acaster refusing to say hello to Alex in season 7.

- I really hope Jamali complaining about Alex being too slow when helping becomes a running joke in this season.

- My guess before the episode started as to who would say the title (“Run Up a Tree to the Moon”) was Mike Wozniak. Instead, Greg Davies said it. So far, he has said it twice.

- In season 9, I found it funny that three of the four contestants had to look up the Taskmaster theme tune for a reference when they had to write lyrics to it (the only two who knew it off the top of their heads were Rose and Ed, which tells you who in that season was really into the show and wanted to win). In season 11, Jamali Maddix just had to be prompted to remember Greg Davies’ full name.

- Charlotte’s clock that didn’t work at all is adorable. I actually think it was a great idea, and making a clock like that was my first thought as to what I’d do in this challenge. But I’d probably make it on cardboard or something, not use an actual clock with gears to mess it all up.

- It’s very on brand for Sarah to think that obviously the most reasonable way to remember the months of the year is to sit in a specific position and touch your joints in a certain order.

- Honestly I think everyone was terrible on task two. None of those are good ways to remember the number of days in each month. There were so many ways to just do a simple visual representation.

- This luggage task is activating my anxiety. Such an unpleasant situation. One of the few advantages of COVID is I’m not supposed to have to see airport security at this time.

- Okay, normally Lee Mack is a comedian whom I very much like, one of my favourites, and one could describe that as a “celebrity crush”, but a mostly fairly platonic one because the element of physical attraction is normally not really there (I do like the Northern accent though). But every once in a while that changes, usually based on what he’s wearing. Anyway. I just thought I’d mention that while watching this luggage task. Not to be objectifying or anything but when Lee takes off his Taskmaster jacket he’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath. The shirt fits him quite well.

- “It didn’t say you can’t bully your way through.” – Jamali Maddix, summarizing his approach to this entire show

- I just spent a bunch of seconds watching the team of three act out a nursery rhyme and yelling at my screen because it was incredibly obvious what they were doing but Greg somehow wasn’t getting it. How was he not getting that it was clearly The Itsy-Bitsy Spider? Yeah it knocked me down a peg when it turned out to actually be Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

- So far, Lee and Mike are two for two in terms of getting five points for team tasks. They make a great team; putting those two together was such a good idea.

- Good job to whatever behind-the-scenes person managed to write a poem that summarized the episode and get it into the autocue before it ended. That should become a tradition.

- Well that was a very fun episode. Now it’s time to listen to Ed discuss it with Katherine Parkinson, and I hope he mentions that she has now been joined by a new person in the club of people who appeared on Taskmaster while clearly not knowing what the show was. At least Katherine knew Greg’s name.

[love-of-fandoms]

Pokémon (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

Prompt: “Why do you keep Pokémon cards in your back pocket?”

Requested by HailHydra920 on Ao3

Tony loved to hang around the lab whenever you worked on Bucky’s arm. You had no idea why, but from routine maintenance check ups to that one time he had walked in beat to all hell with a scowl and half the metal plating on his arm torn off, Tony would be there. You weren’t sure who Tony enjoyed annoying more, you or the brooding supersoldier. Some days he would be trying to get a reaction out of Bucky, and others he would be teasing you relentlessly.

“Did you get a haircut?” today, it seemed, you were his target. You sent him a scowl as you reached for the pliers, he knew exactly what happened to your hair. The ends were burnt off when you were helping Bruce and Tony develop a new battery core for one of Tony’s specialized suits, since the general one wasn’t cutting it. In fact, Tony had been the one to start that particular fire. “It’s a little uneven, can you get your money back?” he pressed, and you pursed your lips, tearing back a bent plate on Bucky’s arm that would need replacing.

“Well, the guy who did it is fucking loaded,"you shot back, and Bucky raised his eyebrows at you and the hostility in your tone. You shot him a small smile before the scowl returned to your face. “And you know, I could just fuck up some of his really fancy suits,” you saw Tony’s face pale, and you smirked in victory. The billionaire went silent for a couple moments, and both you and Bucky revelled in the silence. 

“You let Stark cut your hair?” surprisingly Bucky was the one to break the silence, and you scoffed.

“No, he burnt it off,” you saw Bucky’s flesh hand clench into a fist in agitation, and you gently nudged him. “It was an accident,” you whispered to him, not wanting to acknowledge that to Tony but also not wanting Bucky to kill him. He nodded, relaxing minutely. You worked in silence after that, at least until you dropped the wire cutters.

“Fuck!” you swore, bending over to grab them, and as you straightened Tony piped up once more.

“Why do you keep Pokémon cards in your back pocket?” he asked, and you ignored the fact that he was staring at your ass as you bent over, instead answering him.

“Because women’s jeans don’t have real front pockets,” you replied without missing a beat, and Bucky huffed out a chuckle.

“Touché,” was all Tony said, his phone chiming a moment later. “Well, I got a date,” he said as he hopped down from the lab table he had been sitting on. “Don’t break my lab!” he called over his shoulder as he left, and you scoffed.

“Out of anyone,” Bucky started, and you glanced up to meet his eyes before returning them to your task. “He’s the most likely to break his own lab,” you laughed softly at that.

“All it took was a year and a half of fixing your arm for you to crack a joke,” you teased him. Not even a couple months earlier he had still been giving one worded answers and only spoke when you prompted him to. Bucky chuckled.

“It’s a rare thing regardless of how long you’ve known me, doll,” he said, and you felt your cheeks heat at the affectionate name. “Hey,” he called your name, and you looked up at him again, humming in question. “What are Pokémon?” he asked, and you giggled, setting aside the wire cutters and pulling the two cards you kept handy out of your back pocket.

“You know how people trade baseball cards and stuff?” you asked, handing him the cards, and he nodded as he studied them. “These are kind of like that, with different types of creatures. Some are more powerful than others, and there’s a game you can play with them. There are also TV shows and video games based off of them,” you explained, and Bucky’s brows furrowed as he looked at the cards.

“They’re… cute,” he finally said, and you laughed softly, nodding.

“Part of the appeal,” you shrugged, and Bucky nodded in return. “Can you flex your hand for me?” you asked after a moment, picking up a replacement plate you kept handy for repairs like this. Bucky did so. “Touch your fingers to your thumb,” he did so. You ran through a couple more exercises before deeming that his arm was in working order, and began to attach the plate.

“Okay,” you chirped after a couple more minutes. “You’re all set!” Bucky gave you an appreciative smile, sliding off of the table on which he had been perched and awkwardly standing right in front of you for a moment. Your cheeks heated at the proximity as he stared down at you, his blue eyes bright with intensity, but before you could say anything, he nodded at you and left the lab. 

You took in a deep breath, sighing heavily as you began packing up your stuff to head back to your apartment. That man…

The next week, you were hanging around the common room in the tower with Bruce, Clint, and Tony. You were playing Mario Kart, and were proud to say that you were winning.

“I’m choosing the next map,” Clint grumbled as the race ended, you in first, Bruce in third, Tony in fourth, and Clint in 10th.

“If that’ll make you feel better,” you teased, and he glared at you for a moment.

You ended up winning that round as well. 

“That’s it!” Clint shouted, throwing his control onto the table and standing up. “You’re cheating!” he called over his shoulder as he stormed to the kitchen, and you and Tony laughed at him.

“Sore loser much?” you asked, and Clint didn’t even respond.

“Hey!” you heard your name called, and you snapped your head over to see Bucky and Steve exiting the elevator, both sporting wide smiles.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” you asked, and Bucky and Steve looked at each other with smirks for a moment before turning to you.

“We challenge you to a Pokémon game!” Steve declared, pulling a stack of cards out of his pocket, and Tony spit out his water as he sputtered. You hopped off of the couch with a disgusted face, you had been sitting next to him.

“Ew!” you groaned, and Tony glared before turning to the two super soldiers.

“Since when do you play Pokémon?” he asked, and Steve turned to Bucky with raised brows.

“Well… last week you told me about Pokémon,” he said to you. “So I looked it up and Steve and I got a couple of cards and we’ve been playing-”

“The two fossils have been playing Pokémon?” Tony interrupted, and you smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow!”

“Let them finish, dumbass,” you scolded, and he pouted at you as he rubbed the back of his head.

“But we’re not sure we’re doing it right so will you play with us?” Bucky looked at you, his eyes widening, and you swore he knew exactly what those baby blues did to you as you blushed brightly.

“Okay!” you squeaked, averting your gaze from his face, and he and Steve cheered before they were pulling you up to their shared floor.

A couple of games later, you were wide eyed sitting next to Bucky, wondering how the hell Steve just beat you.

“Wha-” you gaped at him, and Bucky chuckled, throwing his metal arm around your shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“He was always really good at picking up games,” he said, pulling you into him, and you were glad you had the Mike’s hard lemonade you had all been drinking to blame for your red cheeks. “Don’t take it personally,” you shook your head.

“It’s still not fair,”

“Like you always winning Mario Kart?” he shot back, and Steve snorted in laughter. You glared at him.

“That’s different!” you argued. “I’ve spent years playing Mario Kart!”

“Do I hear a sore loser?” Steve teased, and you pouted.

“No! I-” Bucky placed a kiss to your temple, almost unconsciously, and you cut yourself off with a sputter and a blush.

“Relax,” he whispered your name. “Just accept it,” you grumbled, but relaxed further into his side.

Even though Steve beat you at Pokémon, you were glad that he and Bucky asked you to play. Especially when he asked you on a date at the end of the night.

[henriiiii-1001old]

rambling pt 10(?) - fnaf world

a i g h t rambling time bc fuck it i wanna talk more fvgbhnjm

i’m just gonna copy and paste some hcs abt this concept bc it’s LONG and i’m too lazy to type anything (i will be making adjustments to some of the copied messages bc i’m picky xdd)

loooong hcs down below

categories: william’s first visit william’s second/permanent visit chica’s magic rainbow/end of michael’s tyranny omc and william’s family fredbear and springbonnie

William’s first visit

i have made an official hc a while back that fnaf world is kind of the equivelent of the underworld from greek mythology. everyone who dies goes there, no matter if you have been good or bad. they separate you into different areas of fnaf world depending on how good or bad you have been. upper floor/animtronica is good people, 4th level is the worst people.. at least it should have been that way but someone else went into power of fnaf world.

soooo after the fire in ffps, william ends up here along with charlie, elizabeth, kathryn (william's wife), two fazbear employees (mike schmidt and fritz smith), and michael (who calls himself mk even though mk is still alive :/). thing is everyone is separated throughout, and william first appears in the plains part (the green thing in the world? i don't remember the names of the places qwq). he and the other missing children (who have been there since the year prior to the ffps fire) head off to find everyone else. it's basically fnaf world version 1. so he's found everyone except for michael. where does he find him? where you're supposed to be fighting animdude (i will explain this in the next part because i don't want this to be too long) sooo william defeats michael and in my au, michael's like, self proclaimed king, so he's got like his own mini castle which have portals to different dimensions and timelines. william sneaks into the castle and finds the portal back to his timeline and dips aaaaaand then vr happens but i'm gonna skip that because we need to cut to the juicy part.

William’s second/permanent visit

the second time he gets here is after something going on in sb (yes ik it's stupid to have hcs before a game comes out, but idc they just came man qwq) where [SPOILERS HERE I DON’T WANNA EXPLAIN YET >:(((( i will be referring to a specific character as vivi tho bc why not] and they both now end up in fnaf world. william is reeaaallly salty he officially died again and vivi is freaking the fuck out. and guess who comes into the scene. fucking michael. he introduces himself to vivi as mk, but vivi actually knows who mk really is, and michael just makes it seem like mk was a liar (vivi obviously doesn't believe that tho. william on the other hand... yeah xddd). now all of a sudden, michael sees vivi's soul is FULL of remnant (side note here: souls cannot hold remnant by themselves in the living world and it must be removed. they can hold it in fnaf world though since the world is made from remnant, but they lose it slowly overtime. michael thinks he can extract the remnant from souls in fnaf world though and he thought when william came back he'd have a lot, but as william was stuck with vivi after vr, most, if not all, of his remnant transferred over to her). aaaand william actually tries to defend her saying "fuck you", taking vivi, and booking it out of there. uuhhh that's all i got for now. ig it's kind of like version 2 of the game because you get animdude as a playable character in that version, and the two are trying to find him so power could be restored in fnaf world

Chica’s Magic Rainbow/End of Michael’s tyranny

you guys remember the bitch chica's magic rainbow? uuuuh yeah that's vivi. here she was manipulated (and kind of mind controlled??) by king michael (the bitch majesty himself uwu) to help him take down william and make him suffer like he's supposed to. thing is, before the fight william and vivi found animdude, the actual caretaker of fnaf world and is kind of like god ig, so animdude helps william fight king michael and chica's michael’s magic rainbow. michael loses and vivi kind of... dies? she just gets knocked out really if anything but she wakes up just fine. animdude takes his place back as the caretaker, michael is sent to fnaf world's version of purgatory, and william is sent to his own personal hell (don't worry he isn't a bitch abt it like he'd usually be xddd) and william's personal hell is a challenge that he is supposed to die over and over again and never win (guarded and managed by cassidy), but if he wins at least one night of hell, he will be able to roam fnaf world freely (he was given this "if" situation since he helped animdude take back fnaf world. it was like a "thank you, but still get fucked" thing ya know?)

OMC and William’s family

so um.. omc’s not really that developed as a character, but what i can tell you is that either he's just only gonna be william's dad or there could possibly be two old ppl consequences and it's probably gonna be both his parents. when they died they at first inhabited the first sublevel of fnaf world where the "you were pretty good in life" people go, but when michael took over fnaf world and claimed himself king, he moved whoever was in the fourth layer to the third causing a lot of overcrowding, and put william's parents and older sister down there to wait for william to come so they could be his personal tormentors later on. amelia, william's sister, was of course wanting revenge, and she sat at the bottom of the lake, her spirit changing to adapt to the environment around her since her regular spirit form cannot survive underwater (also i just came up with this now, but the more you travel the sublevels downward, the more your spirit changes to adapt to the environment around it. those in the fourth layer get morphed the worst since the worst people are supposed to be down there). william's parents on the other hand, cherry afton and idk what the dad's name is gonna be yet so i'll just call him omc, do not want to do this since they don't know about anything he's done other than kill his sister (he would've gone to the third layer if he only killed her but.. that didn't happen :/). they do get out of the fourth layer eventually, but the fourth layer changes spirits forms extremely quickly so the people down there can suffer for eternity for longer since the changing of a spirit's form is extremely painful. so what ended up happening is that amelia ends up as a deformed siren who cannot survive on land, omc is a literal crocodile, and idk what i wanna do w/ cherry yet :/

Fredbear and Springbonnie

soooo my henry and william are as follows in terms of personality: william: bitchy bitch, child life nabber, hates his kids (except michael), springy boi kinnie, furry, g a e  a s  h e l l henry: baby boy, poor man who needs therapy, loves kids and adopted three idiots later in life, fredbear kinnie, maybe a furry, g a e as well but if you switch their personalities, that's fnaf world fredbear and springbonnie. fredbear acts EXTREMELY william-like and it even creeps out william himself. like.. william kinda gets a redemption arc while he's fighting his dead antihero son king michael bc through fredbear, he sees how fucked up he was as a person (doesn’t excuse his actions though *spits on him*). he also learns bc vivi basically turns into his therapist ig xddd william takes two full trips through fnaf world, first time fredbear was his mentor, telling him to "find the clocks" and all that shit. but the second time, it was actually spring bonnie, helping him and vivi stay out of king michael’s sight and help them find animdude. he got to see both sides of both characters during his two trips. fredbear and spring both have a happy-go-lucky side, but they both have darker, deeper, more real sides to them that reflect into the real world.

[def-initely-soul]

For the realistic one can I have the 'mortal enemies... ' with jae?? Can it be crack? (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

mmm, i’ll think about it 👀👀 jk, i tried to make it crack but... 😬 hope you like it either way

bias: jae from DAY6

prompt(s): mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every fucking year (not exactly mortal enemies??? idk, i think i lost it man)

genre: slice of life; fluffish?

warnings: mature language

words: 1.7k

“Why does this shit have to happen every. freaking. year?” you mumble through clenched teeth, staring ominously at the source of your current misfortune. Who looks a little bit more excited than you to see you’re yet again dressed in matching costumes.

You can’t even fathom how this happened. You were extra careful this year to not let anyone else know what your costume would be, as to avoid any unhappy surprises, but it seems luck is not on your side this year as well.

It all started 6 years ago, on your first year of college. You were invited to Wonpil’s halloween party, a guy from your literature course, and since you had nothing better to do than stay at your dorm, binge-watch some halloween movies and reminisce your high school days, you decided to give it a go. Plus you already knew some of the people attending the party (mainly Wonpil’s friends) so it wouldn’t be that bad.

So you put on your best rendition of The Bride of Chucky’s costume and headed over. The thing is once you arrived you realised that one of Wonpil’s friends, Jae, was dressed as Chucky. You had laughed awkwardly then, not knowing too much of him to actually feel comfortable around him or joke about the incident, although he didn’t seem to mind, as people automatically assumed you both were dating.

And that was okay really. And it would have been if it didn’t proceed to happen every single year after that. At the second year he was the Elsa to your Anna, then the rabbit to your magician. At the fourth he was the Gomez to your Morticia, then Vincent Vega to your Mia Wallace, and last year the Mike to your Eleven, making you believe he kind of did it on purpose. And it certainly didn’t help that Jae didn’t actually bother to refute those rumours that had you two dating. It had lost you more than enough dates over the course of 5 years, something that made you scowl whenever you saw the blonde boy in near proximity.

Sungjae sighs from next to you, dressed as an unsuccessful Count von Count, as everyone practically assumes he’s dressed as his evil counterpart, instead of the loveable Sesame Street character.

“At this point, I’m more amazed than annoyed. How do you two manage to pull this every year without it being intentional?” he comments and you groan out loud, wondering how indeed.

“I have no fucking idea. You know at first I thought maybe he knew about my costume each year, and that’s why you were the only one I told about it this time. But I swear to god, it’s like he has mind-reading powers! like what the fuck dude?!” you rant as you glare from the corner of your eye at his matching costume of your 10nth Doctor from Doctor Who. You’re dressed in a matching brown, striped suit, with Chuck Taylors, a tie, glasses and of course the essential sonic screwdriver which was actually made from scratch, using a multi-pen that was lying around your desk.

And Jae is dressed like the Tardis. Like, no kidding, dressed from top to bottom in full blue attire: blue pants, blue boots, blue t-shirt with a tardis print, even his hair is dyed blue with one of those fake spray paints used only on halloween. 

He looks pretty satisfied with his costume as he waves condescendingly at you from across the room and you refuse the urge to groan out loud.

“Is it like his yearly halloween goal to piss me off?” you cross your arms on your chest, turning your back on him to stare indignantly somewhere else.

Sungjae looks at you in thought. “I don’t think he’s trying to piss you off?” he says more like a question, “At least not intentionally,” he corrects once he sees your less than amused frown, “I just think it’s his own way of... having something in common with you?”

Your friend’s words confuse you, the emotion clearly depicted on your face as Sungjae sighs once more before he attempts to elaborate.

“You’re our friend for what now? Six, seven years? You’ve become a part of our group and you’re close to every single one of us. Except for Jae that is,” he explains calmly, and you admit his train of thought makes somewhat sense.

“Yeah, okay but it’s not my fault I’m not close with him as I am with you guys. I tried to at the beginning as you recall and he repaid that by continuously feeding into the rumour of us dating! I haven’t had a normal date in six years because of him!” you counter, knowing you’re right and Sungjae will have no answer to that.

And yet his eyes are looking at you as if you’re the one missing the point.

Which confuses you more. “What?”

He cocks his eyebrows but still says nothing. Okay, this is getting annoying.

“What?” you ask, once more when it finally hits you and your eyes widen comically at what Sungjae is insinuating, a gasp falling from your lips.

“Hey, guys, whatchu talking about?” said man approaches the both of you with an overly innocent smile on his lips, as if he doesn’t know you’re talking about him, although he probably doesn’t know exactly what it was about him that you were talking about.

At the recent information, you find yourself unable to look at him as you normally would, instead sparks flowing into your nervous system as you struggle to speak, only for it to come out as unintelligent gibberish.

Jae chuckles as he turns to a smiling Sungjae, who looks too satisfied over your reaction. “Dude, what did you say to her? You broke her.”

Sungjae raises a challenging eyebrow at you. “Nothing she didn’t already suspect,” he says and you mask your flushing cheeks with your cup as you take a sip of your drink.

“Guess it takes people by surprise when you give them hope,” he adds victoriously and you almost exhale your drink through your nose, as you try to manage your sudden cough.

“Hey, you okay? take it easy...” Jae is quick to pat you on the back to help your choking and once your breathing pipe is clear, you turn to glare at Sungjae, only to see him disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Jae alone.

And shit. 

You’d like to say Sungjae was talking shit, but the truth is he kinda wasn’t? I mean, yeah Jae did piss you off when he inevitably came up during dates as the guy you were rumoured to be dating, but that’s not the only reason you were pissed at him. Mainly because even though he didn’t do anything to refute the rumour, he also didn’t do anything to help it become true.

“Thanks...” you mumble, looking at him from the corner of your eye, as you take a sip of your drink.

Jae gives you a tight-lipped smile as he waves you off. “It’s nothing, I’m sure you’d do the same.”

Another beat passes where there’s silence, not knowing what to say to him now that you know what you know and it seems your awkwardness spreads to him as well, as he looks anywhere but you.

And yet he doesn’t look eager to leave.

“So... the Tardis, huh?” you make an attempt at conversation, with the only thing that seems reasonable to mention.

Jae chuckles nervously. “Ah, yeah, what are the odds, right? I mean you as the doctor, me as the Tardis? It’s like we’re jinxed!” he jokes with a careful giggle as if he’s not certain about your reaction suddenly.

“Oh, yeah, definitely...” you answer with a chuckle, suddenly very self-aware, not at all as you would’ve answered normally, taking Jae by surprise.

“And, uuuh, I like your costume! It’s pretty cool you made this yourself!” he says with more enthusiasm now that you seem calmer around him.

Although his words send a confused frown to your face. “How did you know I made this myself?”

Your question makes Jae’s eyes widen, making him realize his mistake and he opens his mouth, struggling to find a proper excuse. 

But when none seems believable enough, he just sighs tiredly.

His eyes remain on the floor as he answers you, “I actually have been secretly matching my outfits with yours for halloween.”

Your eyes widen but instead of feeling vindicated for having your suspicions come true, you just feel nervous. Extremely so.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “How long?” you manage to mumble and his eyes are instantly on you, bewildered once he hears no anger in your words.

It seems your expression has him even more confused as he struggles to reply. “I, ugh... Um, for the last three years...” he admits carefully and instead of focusing on why he did that, your mind is trying to figure out how he did that.

“But wait, okay, the last two years it was pretty easy to find out what I was getting dressed up like, but this year I told no one! How did you know?” you ask with intrigue as Jae looks at you weirdly for not yelling at him.

“Um, Wonpil told me.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “Wonpil?”

“Yeah, it slipped from Sungjae one day and Wonpil told me...” Jae admits and you nod in understanding.

There’s one more question you need to ask, and if Sungjae is right it could change everything. But as you see Jae turning redder by the second you decide it’s not the time yet.

“Well, now I guess everything makes sense!” you chuckle out loud as Jae stares at you like a deer caught in headlights. “I was starting to wonder if you were a psychic or something...” you joke calmly with him, giving him a soft smile to put his worries at rest.

His eyes remain still for a second before an impromptu laugh escapes his lips and he shakes his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that...”

You bite your bottom lips to stop the involuntary smile as you look at him. “You know, the next time you wanna dress in matching costumes you can just simply ask...”

Your words have him halt and stare back at you as if not believing his ears. But as he sees the honesty in your eyes and the way you try to stop from smiling, his shoulders relax and an easy grin takes over his lips. “Right, I’ll remember that...”

“For now, how about a drink?”

[katecarteir]

burn, crash, romance (i’ll take what i can get from you)

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] w/ side mike hanlon/stanley uris/patty blum [stanpatlon] word count: chapter count: 1 of 8 of the fratboy eddie project w/ @reddietrashclub, chapter written by me! summary: Richie didn’t know Eddie very well, not that he would want to, and even just looking at him now, he knew that Eddie Kaspbrak was exactly all the things that Richie had tried to tell Stanley that frat boys were. His brown hair flopped into his brown eyes, pressed down by some red snapback worn backwards and beige khaki jeans that looked glued to his legs. He was hot and the smirk on his face showed that he knew it. warnings: intoxication, sexual flirting

frateddie!taglist: @aizeninlefox, @appoloos, @mrs-vh, @playwiththeflowersofmysoul, @tyrror, @alonelystarfish, @blueskies-and-fucking-sly-smiles, @captainbartholomew, @edneedspie, @im-therosaline-tohisromeo, @invitedtoapityparty, @it-crack, @kasp-brakz, @merriebaby, @proton-disaster-blaster, @purpleposionedgem, @ra-ra-rasputine, @richietoaster, @stanielthemaniel, @tenderlydeliciousstrawberry, @trshmth-richie, @wheezyeds, @wintersember, @youll-kill-me-if-you-stop (let us know if you want to be added!)

perma tags: @jwilliambyers​, @eddiecare​, @thorn-harvester-ven​, @wonderfuleds, @kasbprak

read on ao3.

Richie turned around in his desk seat when his roommate, Stanley, came barging in. Now, Richie had been sharing a room with Stanley Uris for nearly a full three years and he wasn’t much of a barger. Admittedly, Richie was sure he’d gotten to become a bad influence on his friend over their time together- because Richie could be a good student and still have fun, thank you very much- but Richie was still able to recognize out of character behaviour in his best friend.

Stan moved quickly towards his bed, grabbing at the clothes he’d yet to unpack from his trip back home for Passover. He started tossing clothes over his shoulders in search of something, and Richie startled. “Whoa, buddy!” Richie cried, forcing a laugh. “Where’s the fire?”

Stan turned towards Richie and glared at his clothes. Richie had already settled in for the night, wearing nothing but a slightly larger band T-shirt and his boxers. His contact were out, glasses settled on his nose and hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of his head.

Stan let out a disgusted noise. “Get dressed,” Stan said, shaking his head. “We’re going to a party.”

“What the fuck, it’s Wednesday!” Richie cried, tossing his hands up into the air. “Who the fuck throws a party on a Wednesday? This isn’t fucking Frosh week anymore.”

Stan started jumping into what Richie had loving dubbed his “My girlfriend pegs me” jeans, and rolled his eyes. “Mike’s fraternity is having a party, and he invited us. All of us. So we’re going.”

Richie groaned. He liked Mike Hanlon, he really did, but ever since his best friend had started growing close to farmer boy-turned- frat boy, Richie had found himself being forced into a lot more social interactions then he cared for. “That frat boy has the hots for you.”

Stan���s cheeks flushed and he flipped Richie off. “I have a girlfriend, in case you’d forgotten.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Just because you have a girlfriend, doesn’t mean that somebody else can’t think you’re a hot piece of ass.”

Stan chucked the first pair of Richie’s jeans he could find on the floor towards him. Richie squawked as it hit him in the face, then fell into his lap. “Shut up about Mike like that. We’re just friends!”

“So, you’re going to introduce him to Patty then?” Richie challenge, looking around for a shirt to shrug on. He settled on his simple grey UCLA sweater, over top of his acid wash skinny jeans that were ripped from wear rather than style. He paused, debating for a moment doing something with his hair and putting in his contacts, but ended up shrugging it off.

Stan was glaring at him. “Why are you saying that as though I’ve purposely been keeping them apart? Their paths just haven’t crossed yet, it isn’t anything serious. But yes, Patty is coming tonight. So you can let go of this weird idea you’ve thought up that Mike likes me.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Alright, whatever. Let’s go.”

Stan frowned at Richie, looking him up and down. “You’re actually wearing that? Richie, put in an effort.”

Richie scowled. “Why? You’re one going out to a party on a date with your girlfriend and the hot frat dude who wants to fuck you, not me.”

Stan grabbed hold of the hem of Richie’s sweater and tugged on it. “You could use to be laid! You haven’t been serious with anybody since Sandy back in freshman year- and this is your longest dry spell in ages. Mike and I were talking today and-”

“You and Mike were talking about my sex life?” Richie squawked, yanking away from Mike and tugging his sweater back into place. “What the kind of fuck-”

“We were talking about your lack of sex life!” Stan replied. “Richie you used to be kind of a slut-” Richie made an offended noise but Stan barrelled on over him. “And that was an issue, but now you’re sort of the opposite side of that. You gotta find a good medium, Rich, and there’s gonna be tons of chicks and... frat dudes-”

“And you’re telling me that the frat dudes won’t be wearing UCLA sweaters?” Richie challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. Stan’s mouth dropped open and he raised his brows, but he merely stared at Richie gap mouthed. “That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Eddie Kaspbrak dodged the fourth overly-muscled guy of the night, taking the solo cup he offered him and swerving away. He moved towards the sink in the kitchen and dumped the cup down the drain. His best friend and fellow frat brother grinned at him, reaching out to adjust the hat backwards on Eddie’s head. “Dodging all the m-m-en is starting to make you look m-m-messy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I need to start bringing a bat to these things. Can’t get them away.“

Bill chuckled, handing Eddie a drink he could actually trust. “It’s because you’re the hottest gay on campus. They can’t h-uhh-help it if you’re out of their league. Aim high. That’s my motto.”

“Don’t I know it,” Eddie said with an eye roll. Bill Denbrough had the highest kill count of anybody in their fraternity, but he no doubt that the highest count of strike outs as well. Denbrough had never shied away from a challenge, and Eddie had been by his side through countless successes and failures. Sometimes so many successes that Eddie was a little disgusted, and so many failures he couldn’t help but laugh. You could only be so supportive of bro. z

“Looks like Mike brought his little nerd boy tonight,” Bill said, leaning back on his elbows against counter in front of the sink. Eddie followed Bill’s gaze towards the front door of their frat house, watching Mike Hanlon ducking into the doorway with prim looking dark haired boy and another two friends, one female, one male. “How long do you think it’ll be b-be-before he gets some of that?”

“Mike Hanlon?” Eddie asked, sighing a little wistfully. He shook his head, smilingly fondly. “Personally I’m surprised he hasn’t locked in already. Not like people to take the long road when getting some of him.”

Bill suddenly let out a low whistle. “Might have something to do with that.”

Eddie looked back over, wincing at the sight of Mike’s crush- Stanley?- with his hand suddenly entangled with the girl who’d come in with them. “Ah, fuck, a Straightie. Nothing worse than that.”

Bill let out an annoyed noise and sucker punched Eddie in the shoulder. Eddie burst out laughing and punched him back, the two of them socking each other in the chest and shoulders for several moments. Eddie turned slightly away from Bill, still laughing a little breathlessly, when the man who had come in with Mike and Stanley caught his eye.

His hair looked black from so far away, but Eddie supposed it must be brown, and it was piled up on top of his head in a messy bun. He had rimmed glasses sitting on his nose, with a pair of old looking jeans and a regular gray UCLA sweater on. He wore a bored expression, like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Eddie’s stomach flared up hot just at the sight of him. “Who’s that? The other guy?”

Bill looked over his shoulder, frowning. “The dude who looks like he just rolled out of bed? I don’t know, some scholarship nerd, I think. He was in my Intro to Psychology class last year, but I think he took it because he was actually interested. Weirdo... why?”

“I want him.” Eddie said, licking his lips before tossing back the rest of his drink.

Bill looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What... him? Kaspbrak, look at him.”

Eddie smirked. “I am.” He skipped in place for a second and then quickly moved towards the other man.

Richie shifted awkwardly through the uncomfortable tension within his friends. The second Stan had made it apparent that he and Patty were in a relationship, Mike had seemed to grow quiet and disconnected. They’d been laughing and joking together one moment, and now Richie could see how Mike seemed to glancing around for a source to escape.

Stan was holding Patty’s hand awkwardly like protected him from the world and Patty was... well if Patty was openly drooling over Mike’s muscles then that wasn’t any of Richie’s business. Stan had told him so.

“Want to give us a tour, Mike?” Patty asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger like Richie hadn’t seen her do since she and Stan were just starting out. Stan’s gaze followed the movement and frowned.

“Sure.” Mike said lightly, shrugging and gesturing further into the house. Patty dropped Stan’s hand and moved to quickly follow him. As Richie moved to go as well, Stan pressed a hand to Richie’s chest and pushed him back. He shook his head and mouthed “no” before taking off after Patty and Mike.

“What the fuck!” Richie cried, tossing his hands into the air.

“Hey, there.”

Just as Richie was getting ready to dwell on how his friends had abandoned him, yet again, a voice whispered into his ear. Richie spun around, fight or flight reflexes turned on, but his shackled quickly lowered when he took sight of the person behind him. Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie didn’t know Eddie very well, not that he would want to. Even just looking at him now, he knew that Eddie Kaspbrak was exactly all the things that Richie had tried to tell Stanley that frat boys were. His brown hair flopped into his brown eyes, pressed down by some red snapback wore backwards, pair with a oversized red muscle shirt that showed off a ridiculous amount of sides and stomach and beige khaki jeans that looked glued to his legs. He was hot, and the smirk on his face showed that he knew it.

“Hi.” Richie said coldly.

Eddie leaned in closer, pressing against Richie’s side. “You know, I sort of run this shit. I’m in charge around here.” Eddie dragged his fingers down Richie’s bare arm, Richie trying to pretend that he didn’t get goosebumps. Eddie pressed completely against him to whisper in his ear. “That means I get my own room. The bed is a king sized. You wanna see it?”

Richie let out a bitter laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve gotta do better than that.”

Eddie pulled back, blinking as the persona left his face completely.

“What?” Richie snickered, less bitter and much more amused this time. “Not used to being rejected?”

“Not really, no.” Eddie said slowly, shaking his head as though the last moments were imagined and he’d be able to knock them out.

Richie hummed. “Poor, poor, King Kaspbrak. Are you at risk of losing your crown?”

Eddie startled, looking Richie up and down quickly. “You know who I am?”

Richie gave him a disgusted look. “Don’t act all humble now, aren’t you the one who just waltzed up here talking about how you run this shit as though it’s some sort of achievement.”

“What’s your name?” Eddie asked, tucking his hands into his back pockets and nodded at Richie.

Richie checked Eddie out quickly then scoffed. “You want it?”

Eddie shrugged as though he couldn’t care less, but Richie saw how he flushed in the dim light of the house.

“Then earn it.”

Eddie let out a disgusted noise, scowling at Richie. “You’re not that hot, you know? Who shows up at a party wearing some school sweater?”

Richie scoffed. “You’re wearing the exact same sweater, dude.”

Eddie looked down at himself and flushed when he realized that, yes, he was wearing the same UCLA hoodie, right down to the style and colour. “Well! I’m a party of campus life, I have school spirit! What do you do?”

“Hurt the little fragile feelings of some Bambi-eyed frat boy, apparently.” Richie grinned cheekily down at Eddie, whose face flushed deeply. “There’s probably a hundred guys around here who would let you into their pants. Go find one of them.”

“Bold of you to assume there’s a hundred gay guys at this frat party.” Eddie said in a low voice.

“So go turn somebody,” Richie said with a waggle of his brow. “You’ve got gateway gay written all over you.”

“Gateway gay is so offensive, oh my God-” Eddie said, voice hitting up a pitch as though maybe it was supposed to sound like that. Richie jerked towards him, furrowing his brow while Eddie bit his bottom lip. “Whatever. Fuck you. No! I don’t want to fuck you.”

“You did 30 seconds ago.” Richie rolled his eyes. “And I think you still do.”

“Only because I think it’ll be hard for you to talk with your mouth stuffed full.” Eddie was standing at his full height, which was still about three inches shorter than Richie, and was openly glaring at him now. Richie couldn’t deny the burning that was starting in his gut, but from hatred or something else he wasn’t sure yet.

“Kaspbrak, that’s dirty.” Richie challenged with a wink. “Do you kiss your frat brothers goodnight with that mouth?”

Eddie pursed his lips, turning on his hip and storming off back towards the large groups of people. Richie laughed to himself, giving himself the chance to check Eddie Kaspbrak out as he walked away. He almost regretted turning him down- almost. It had just been too fun to resist.

Moving quickly through the crowd of drunken classmates, Richie finally laid eyes on Patty and sprinted towards her. Her face light up when she caught sight of him, though there was a delay between her smile and her eyes that implied she was more than a few drinks in. “Richie...” She cooed, reaching up and poking his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. “I love you! Where have you been?”

Richie chuckled. “Your boyfriend banished me so the two of you could ogle at Mike without be dragging you down.”

Patty’s eyes opened wide and leaned in close, despite only coming up to Richie’s shoulder at full height. “He’s like a God.”

Richie laughed, wrapping Patty up into a huge bear hug and swaying them around to the music. Patty let out a high pitched giggle into his chest, squeezing her arms around his waist.

“Stop stealing my love, Tozier!” Stan called through the crowd. Richie looked up to Stan and Mike coming towards them, walking a little too closely together, and Richie pressed Patty closer into his chest.

“Sorry, you can’t have her.” Richie sang, rocking softly on the spot with Patty. She giggled against his chest while kicking at his shins, and Stanley’s smile was all too fond to actually be annoyed.  “She’s had enough of you and we’re running away together.”

“Richie!” Patty laughed against his chest, pulling away just to turn to face Stan and Mike, while resting backwards against Richie and allowing his arms to stay around her.

Stan rolled his eyes, smiling, then his gaze seemed to settle on something over something over Richie’s shoulder. He frowned. “Tozier, why is Eddie Kaspbrak glaring at you like you said something real offensive about this mother?”

Richie glanced over his shoulder, finding Eddie in the crowd quickly. The second their eyes met, Eddie gave him the dirtiest of looks. Richie purposely licked at his bottom lip and he swore he could see Eddie inhale.

Turning back to his friends, Richie caught sight of the look on Mike’s face. “Oh my god, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

Mike grinned, reaching out to grab Richie’s hand away from Patty and pulling him towards Eddie and his floppy haired frat brother. Patty and Stan followed quickly behind, Stan’s hand falling into Patty’s to keep her from stumbling and falling.

“Hey!” Mike called happily to his brothers, draping an arm around Richie’s shoulders and forcibly dragging Richie to stand in front of them. “Haaaave you met Richie?”

Oh fuck.

“Noo.....“ Richie groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the look of victory on Eddie’s face, though he felt it all the same.

“Richie, huh?” Eddie asked, voice dripping with smugness. “So that’s your name?”

Richie opened one eye, frowning. “Yeah. Congrats somebody gave you the answer. It’s not the same as winning.”

Eddie smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “I kind of think it is. So..” He stepped closer to Richie, slowly dragging his eyes over his torso. “Since I know your name now, does that mean I get to make you scream mine?”

Richie made overly loud vomiting noises, watching the awkward expression settling over Eddie’s face as his frat brothers began to laugh behind them. “Get better fucking material.”

Richie turned away, biting back his own grin, and walked off. Patty broke out into a fit of giggles, needing Stan to wrap an arm around her to lead her away from the boys. Mike turned to Eddie, an apologetic look on his face but Bill couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Looks like Kuh-Kaspbrak fuh-finally met his muh-match!”

“I know where you sleep, Denbrough.”

[spectrumscribe]

the kids aren’t alright

A nudge in the spacetime continuum, a shift in storylines, and it’s April O’Neil who descends once again into the hidden city of yokai... but in this world, she’s on her own... until she meets a few unexpected (but fated) allies.

(It’s the Baron Draxum Raises the Turtles AU everyone, I told ya I’d get to writing it eventually.)

-///-

April rips a legging as she lands, she just knows she does, feeling the awful sensation of skinning her knees as she rolls. It’s by virtue of pure instinct that she dives to the side to hide behind a stone pillar right after, not even pausing to catch her breath. The wackos with their killer dogs are so close nearby that she’s not really sure how she managed to escape detection.

Probably because her little cat-dog friend is screeching their head off inside their bubble prison. For such a small creature, they’re sure loud.

April, hidden from sight for the moment, sucks in a breath and takes in her surroundings. What she sees steals her breath all over again.

Craggy cliffs are dotted with ancient looking buildings- torchlight flickering in windows and tangled roots clutching roofs. A city sprawls in the distance, made up of those, and even from far away April can see that the residents walking and flying and climbing around that city are definitively not human.

“Ohhhhh my god,” she whispers in awe to herself. Her first impulse is to grab her phone- no one will ever believe- but the heavy, scraping steps moving away from her hiding spot remind her of her priorities.

Right. Rescue her little friend, avoid getting caught, and get the hell out of dodge. Real simple plan in theory, but probably not in practice.

April is a lot of things- socially awkward, a bad employee, kinda lonely- but she’s anything but a coward. Squaring her courage, April slips out from behind the pillar and hides behind the next, trailing the freaky dudes and their massive dogs... right up to a veritable castle tower, with a vibe that screams danger.

Well, April didn’t get her Gryffindor sorting on that buzzfeed quiz for nothing.

April rushes (sneakily) inside.

-/-

The honest to god secret passageways in this place are pretty easy to navigate. April thinks they should be more complex, or maybe boobytrapped at least, so intruders can’t just waltz around like she is. Not that she’s complaining about the waltzing, the waltzing has been very convenient.

It’s just not as excitingly challenging? Kind of anticlimactic.

She finds her lil friend within the first ten minutes of poking around. They’re caged by a scary guy that looks like a cross between a goat and a wrestler, whose monologueing masks April’s footfalls as she skirts around the room. There are two small gargoyles flying around goatman- Baron? Uh uh, she’s not calling him a title, pompous asshole. All of them are speaking plain English, which is the least weird thing in this situation, but still. It’s weird.

April studies the layout of the room- she can make the jump no problem- but the rescue mission won’t work if she doesn’t have an escape plan following her initial assault. She needs a weapon, and possibly a distraction to get the monsters away from her friend.

April is very pleased that with the next secret tunnel she takes- seriously, such a security hazard- she finds a whole atrium of weapons.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she says to herself, grinning as she advances on the first rack.

Does she know how to use any of these? Nope. They don’t cover sword fighting or melee or magical items in public schools. But it can’t be that hard, right? Keep the stabby end aimed at her enemy, don’t stab herself in the process, etc.

As she examines the stock of deadly arms, April wonders if she’s taking this all in stride too easily. In books and movies, people tend to freak out way more when they find out magic and monsters are real. Then again, she thinks as she admires a hefty club glowing acid green, I always thought those people were wimps.

Besides, this is New York. She’s seen plenty scarier things on the A-train than goatman and his sidekicks.

Absorbed in her pep talk with herself, April doesn’t hear a soft landing on the stone floor behind her. She does, however, hear the whisk of wire being extended.

Swinging with her full strength, April spins and aims for the head of the person creeping up on her. She gets nothing but air and a startled noise as her target disappears.

The person behind her is headless.

April screams once and tries to hit it again, only for the headless body to jump out of the way.

“Jesus, girl! I’m just trying to-” April swings a third and fourth time, ignoring the voice coming from inside its torso. The green-skinned headless monster abruptly dives downwards and somersaults away, it’s shell curve aiding the maneuver. As it comes to a stop and turns to face her again, a head pops out of the space between its shoulders.

April stops, meeting the glare of the monster. It’s grimacing, crouching low and twining the sturdy wire of its weapon around its few fingers.

“You really, really shouldn’t be here,” it- he?- says gravely, voice young and nervous. He has a mask over his eyes, black, and a loincloth-shorts combo like goatman was wearing. Rows of small blades and unidentifiable weapons are strapped to him, going over one shoulder. In the monochrome grey and black of everything else, the bright orange spots that pattern his limbs and shell stand out.

He stands slowly, not attacking, but not putting down his bladed wire-weapon either. “D’you even know what happens to humans brought here? What Draxum does to intruders?”

April skips her shock at yet another talking monster- the novelty is wearing off at this point. She keeps her club raised and firmly replies, “I don’t care. Goatman’s got my friend and I’m not leaving here without them.”

“You mean the-?” He shakes his head, short mask tails flicking. “It doesn’t matter, you gotta go before it’s too late. You can’t help your friend now.”

“And if I say hell no?”

“Then- then I’ll have to knock you out and take you to him!” he declares, but April can hear his heart’s not in it.

“So why give me a chance to escape,” April asks carefully, “if you’d turn me in anyway?”

The turtle monster’s momentary fierceness fades, dark eyes averted. He chews his lip, conflict in his expression, before answering, “I'm not gonna turn an intruder in if she’s gone before I can catch her. Please? It’s super not fun to be a mutation experiment, trust me. Go back up to- to above, okay? I won’t say anything if you leave now.”

The desperate undertone to his words makes April pause, reconsidering. But she shakes that off a second later.

“I’m not going back. Not until I have my friend.”

The turtle monster stares at her for a beat, and then tosses his head back and makes a supremely annoyed groan. April lowers her weapon slowly as he stomps in a small circle, muttering to himself. Huh. The air of danger he’d had at first is totally dispelled; he reminds her of neighborhood kids more than anything, now.

Weird choice of bad guy sidekick. A little fucked up, maybe, if the monster is really as young as he acts.

“Ugh god FINE,” says the turtle, stopping his pacing and pointing a finger at her. “This is the last time I ever do this, I swear.”

“Do what?” April questions, eyebrow raised.

“Help you humans!”

“Uh, I've never been here before-?”

“Not you! Just- ugh, c’mon, let’s go before anyone else finds you.”

April is bemused, now, by the turtle monster. So he’s done this before? Trusting him to help her is probably a bad idea, but that fact gives her some hope it’ll turn out alright in the end. One more bad decision is no big deal with the night she’s had.

“Sure, let’s go,” April agrees finally, swinging her club up to rest against her shoulder. She sticks out a hand to the turtle- who flinches minutely at the gesture. April continues without commenting. “I’m April by the way. Thanks for not taking me to your evil overlord, I guess?”

“I’m f- I'm, um, Mikey. You can call me Mikey.” He gingerly takes her hand, eyeing it and her like it might be a sneak attack. “And he’s a Baron, not an overlord. Baron Draxum.”

“Could’a fooled me,” April says with a shrug, dropping Mikey’s hand. “Y’all got hella evil mad scientist vibes.”

“Haha, yeah, kinda...” Mikey glances around awkwardly, before nodding a direction. “C’mon, someone’s gonna miss me sooner or later. Let’s just- get this over with.”

“What kinda plan you got?” April asks as they start moving. Mikey takes her over to a different corner of the room, far from where April entered.

“Uh, distraction, maybe? Or I could- no, he’ll notice, ugh- fuck, I don’t know.” He sighs as he presses on a trigger disguised as a stone, the wall grinding open gradually. “You wouldn’t happen to be a kunoichi by any chance?”

“A kuno what now.”

“Guess not.”

April rolls her eyes, underwhelmed by Mikey’s evil henchman skills. He sees her do so and he scowls, sticking out his tongue. April lets out a gigglesnort in surprise, caught off-guard by the childish annoyance.

Her laughter dies as she sees a figure looming in the newly opened passageway. At April’s sharp intake of breath, Mikey spins and makes a strangled squeak.

“Shit,” April says, getting her club ready.

“Uh, hi, I was- we were- it’s not what it looks like?” Mikey says in a rush.

The huge monster steps partially out of the passageway, towering over both of them. Clothes like Mikey’s, but with ragged tears in spots, and none of the hin knives the smaller monster has. And with the scars dotting his rough scales, his shit brickhouse form, the snaggled-tooth fangs he has- he’s lot more imposing than Mikey had been.

The much more threatening looking turtle stares at them both with yellow sclera for a long moment. Then, he sighs.

“Mike... please, not again.”

-/-

“Sorry?” Mikey says in a tight voice, one Raph has heard more times than he can remember.

Things had been looking up, what with the agent being returned and the first experiments taking place- Raph had been hoping they get some downtime, enjoy the Baron’s good mood for a few days. If Draxum is happy, they get to be happy.

The human girl glaring daggers at him right now throws that all into jeapordy.

But Mikey picked her- he’s decided to try and save her, which counts for something- so there’s nothing for it. Raph isn’t going to even try convincing Mikey to change his mind; either Raph helps, or he steps back and watches Mikey face the punishment he’ll get all alone.

God, Raph is so tired. He misses winter, when he’s allowed to just sleep for days in a row.

But that’s months away and Mikey needs him right now. Moving his eyes to the human girl, Raph sizes her up. Just from how she’s meeting his gaze and standing her ground, he can tell she’s a fighter. Hell, he can’t even tell if she’s scared or not. That’s serious guts right there.

“We’ll talk later,” Raph says softly, looking around them. He’s the only one who noticed Mikey slipping away from the big breakthrough celebration. He’s hoping that lasts. “Crazy girl, you ready to haul ass once we get you outside?”

Mikey’s face lights up, a smile following. He doesn’t smile anywhere near as much as he should, in Raph’s opinion. This is going to bite him later, but right now, making his littlest brother happy is worth it.

But then crazy girl says, “Oh hell no, I told the same thing to your buddy here. I ain’t leaving without my friend.”

He frowns at her. Of course she isn’t going to go easy. “What, the delivery guy?” Raph asks. “He’s already imitation crab bits, dude. If you hurry you’ll catch him.”

“Not him,” Mikey says, same time as the girl says, “The white guy? You should let him go, too, but I’m here for the little guy.”

The little guy? Oh, she’s not- nope, Raph sees her expression and knows she’s a hundred percent serious. Damn it. She had to want the most difficult to retrieve prisoner.

Raph counts to ten and bites down on his temper before it rises. Damn it, damn it, damn it. “Oh, of course, yeah that’s great. Love it. Let’s do this before Don finds out and uses crazy girl as his newest project.”

“I got a name, dude.”

“Does it matter?” She opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t.”

“She’s April,” Mikey says, winding his kusarifundo’s wire around his fingers, a habit of nervousness. “She almost took my head off with that club.”

The last part is said in an admiring sort of way and Raph feels exasperated. No matter how many times he’s told otherwise, Mikey can’t quite get that yes, all humans are bad, not just most of them.

...But maybe that’s because part of Raph hasn’t ever really gotten that, either; he’s the one setting the example, after all.

“Sorry, you spooked me,” April says, and the apology is almost sincere sounding. Raph side-eyes her, mildly surprised. Humans always scream or run when they see them, they don’t say sorry for defending themselves.

He shakes off the interest he’s developing in the human girl. At least one of them has to have his head on right, which means he can’t indulge in thinking of April as anything but a potential threat.

(He privately looks at her sharp red glasses, her sharper stare, the fearless attitude she’s taken with stealing from one of the Underground’s most powerful figures- and he thinks she’s, maybe, just a little bit really cool.)

Raph ushers both of them into the passage, eager to just get on with the dangerous endeavor.

-/-

With three party members, it’s not too hard. The snarling yokai in their cage isn’t useful any longer to Draxum, so Raph just has to direct attention to the other side of the room. It’s simple until Raph sees Leo come back from wherever he’d been. It’s simple until he sees April and Mikey doing something with the controls of the lab core. It’s simple until he sees Leo noticing the duo, until the warning lights on the core start flashing without noise, alarms disabled.

Raph locks eyes with Leo, who holds his gaze for a long, long moment. Raph silently begs please, let this go, I won’t say anything about you letting it go just PLEASE, Leo- 

And Leo cocks his head, giving a lazy hooded stare. He looks between his options, cradling his arm close in its sling. A bad fall, last training session. When it’s better, Draxum’s promised to double Leo’s workload to get rid of that weakness.

Leo’s blank expression becomes a leery smile, shrugging. He doesn’t care about this, same as he never cares about anything other than staying in good graces and slacking off chores. The look he shoots over his shoulder, as he walks back out, says I won’t forget this. Oh well, better Raph owe his brother a favor than Mikey get in trouble.

In his distraction, Draxum has lost interest in the bullshit plans Raph threw together, in danger of turning around and seeing. But Donnie jabs a spider leg into the paper and says, “Ra- subject one is wrong. We should hit the figureheads of the population before we move onto the masses. Wall Street is the best starting point based on my calculation of how to induce swift widespread panic.”

“Hm, you make a good point, subject two,” Draxum says thoughtfully, refocusing on the plans.

“Of course I do,” Donnie scoffs derisively, the only one of them so bold to take that tone with the Baron. Raph doesn’t even care he’s been showed up, Mikey and April are safe (for the moment).

And then the alarms finally kick in, the vine tree and the ooze and the mosquitos all lighting up bright neon, and it all goes to hell.

-/-

Mikey probably should have known April wouldn’t be okay with the whole ‘conquer humanity via mass mutation’.

Still, she didn’t have to blow up their home.

The last thing he sees of her is the human clutching her tiny friend close- the upwards curled fangs of the creature makes Mikey think dragons and sends a shiver through his shell- and the two of them looking to him.

April mouths something lost in the noise of the room collapsing around them, but Mikey thinks she’s saying thank you as her furry ball of mayhem teleports them away.

From his hiding place, Mikey sighs. At least they got out. At least he wasn’t anywhere close by when the alarms started. At least their dorms weren’t caught in the destruction...?

Ah, shit. He sees Baron Draxum clawing his way out from under a slab of concrete. Raph is helping as much as he’s able and getting yelled at for it. Leo is leaning in a lab doorway, looking on in languid amusement. Donnie has lifted himself up on his extra legs and is poking through the rubble of their ‘greatest triumph’.

Mikey decides he should make an appearance and creeps out of the alcove he’d shoved himself into, nimbly gripping with his hands and feet both as he lowers himself. Scampering to ground level, he puts on his best clueless/panicked expression and lies about having gone for refreshments.

Later, perched up on the edge of the roof, Mikey stares at the dome ceiling of the Underground and wonders how he got away with it all. He’d been expecting at any second to get caught. Somehow, against the odds, on such an important night no less... he pulled it off.

Mikey feels a wave of heavy relief all at once and lets out a loud sigh, flopping over. Boy, what a night, what a freaking night.

He lays with his eyes closed for a while, legs dangling over thin air and a seven story drop. The city near and distant is noisy, but muted, and the air smells like acridic burning vines. Draxum is still storming around downstairs, furiously trying to salvage his projects, and Mikey is good out here, thanks. He wasn’t implicated by what happened at all, so he doesn’t plan to stick around and catch the brunt of that frustrated ranting.

Sometime later, the sound of mechanical joints moving together approaches him. Mikey opens his eyes to see Donnie standing over him, having climbed up the side of the tower.

“Sup,” Mikey says, not flinching as Donnie’s spider legs lift him over his body.

“Hey,” Donnie says tonelessly, which is an unusually subdued greeting, even for him.

“Somethin’ up?”

“Not really. Just our, you know, creator and owner violently grieving the ruination of his life’s work. I put out some fires, salvaged a few samples of mutagen, the like, just fun family bonding stuff.”

Mikey doesn’t let his unease show. Donnie’s words are flippant, but he still has no inflection or emotion. “That’s... sucky,” Mikey says, forcing away his need to fidget with his ‘fundo. “I mean, jeez, talk about a setback. Who knows how long it’ll take to catch all those skeetos, eh?”

“Mhm,” Donnie replies, lowering himself onto the stone roof beside Mikey, legs folded in a cross. “He’ll probably have to take completely new samples of our DNA to synthesize everything all over again, if we don’t catch them all.”

Mikey’s arms feel itchy just thinking about it. He scratches at the pockmark scars in his elbow, trying to not remember the biotech vines sucking pints of blood from his veins.

“Yeah,” Mikey says sullenly, “guess he probably will.”

They sit silently for a beat. Mikey stews in guilt and trepidation, knowing it’s his fault they’ll be going through this because he let himself be weak. He should’ve captured April and dragged her down to the Baron, shouldn’t have faltered at how brave and kind she was, trying to save her friend, he shouldn’t have-

“She got home safe.”

Mikey’s thoughts derail. He sits up a little too quickly to be casual, staring at Donnie. His brother, who doesn’t care about humans, who wears hints of purple like Draxum, who has happily combined his body with biotech to make it stronger- he has a carefully emotionless mask in place, Mikey sees that now. Donnie feels, just as much as any of them. He just never admits it.

He’s scared. Donnie is scared of something.

“...Really?” Mikey asks after a too-long pause.

“I had a drone follow up on the profile I found online. She’s home with her new pet.” Donnie makes an aborted motion with his hands, and then goes through with it and takes off his mask, rubbing his face and scalp. Without the near-black purple bandana, Donnie looks as tired as Raph often does.

“How badly did you want her to escape?” Donnie asks in a quiet mumble, eyes fixed elsewhere. “Badly enough for this? To risk-?”

“Yes,” Mikey says without hesitation.

That makes Donnie stutter, mouth twisting in a scowl. He recovers, hissing, “It’s inevitable, Mikey. Draxum is going to beat humanity, and we’re going to help him, this setback is just that. A setback. We’ll get the carriers back, or- or make more, and it will happen. You’ve just prolonged it all, this didn’t change anything.”

“It changed things for her!” Mikey snaps without meaning to. Donnie glares, but he doesn’t cower. “...It changed things for her,” he repeats, calmer. “She got to go home, her friend got to go with her. Humans don’t have to get wiped out for another few months at least.”

Donnie pulls a face, scoffing. “Why do you care about some random human girl? They keep us down here Mikey, it’s their fault Draxum made us and- uses us.”

“Her name is April,” Mikey says plainly, fingers finding his kusarifundo and winding it’s wire tight around his thumb.

“...‘Her name is April’,” Donnie mimics, disgusted. But he doesn’t say anything more, just sitting and glaring and being his typical prickly self. Mikey winds his wires tighter, tighter, tighter; thinking about faint memories of Donnie being softer and letting them closer, somewhere warm and safe. Somewhere not here.

But that’s a dream, unreal in his earliest memories, conjured by wanting for comfort when he didn’t get any.

“I hope this was worth it for you,” Donnie says eventually, back to his toneless voice. “We’re covering, but... this can’t happen again, okay? None of us can do this anymore, we’re too close to the finish line.”

Mikey nods, unwinding his wire from throbbing fingers. “I know. Um, thanks.”

“Mm,” Donnie says, not acknowledging he’s done anything. Mikey slides his bruised fingers over to lightly poke his brother’s, invitation unspoken.

A moment of decision, whether he’s pissed off still or having a no-touching day Mikey isn’t sure, Donnie moves his hand and links their fingers together. It’s apology and forgiveness in a single, wordless gesture.

-/-

Pacing the length of his cell, pink clawed toes clacking on the stone, someone bides his time impatiently. His sentence is near completion, he’s been given recommendation for early release for good behavior. It’ll be simple to ditch his parole officier’s watch, even after nearly ten years out of the game.

A former man and current mutant prisoner, in situation and body both, looks to the small window of his cell, and swears not for the first time that Draxum will pay for what he’s done, and for what he plans to do.

(He wonders, also, whatever happened to his children. He worries, nightly, daily, constantly. What did Draxum do to his four sons, the unexpected saving grace he’d hidden away for almost five years? Are they alive? Do they know he’s alive?)

Lou paces his cell faster, tail lashing, barely keeping the splinters inside himself from cutting deeper still.

-/-

Somewhere in an ordinary New York neighborhood, in an ordinary apartment complex, an ordinary girl lays on her bed with her new fuzzy friend and thinks to herself, hey, what the fuck was that.

She has no answers for herself. Well. If nothing else, she got her parents to let her little pal stay. After the insanity said pal got her into tonight, April is deeply relieved to have something go according to plan. (Is ‘insanity’ a good pet name? Maybe ‘chaos’? Ugh, she’ll keep workshopping it.)

When she goes to bed, much later on, and sleeps fitfully and shallowly, April somehow thinks that’s the end of it. She has a new roommate, there’s an underground city full of monsters and magic, and there’s a history test tomorrow that she didn’t study for. The only next step she has is go back to normal, pretend it didn’t happen.

So, she does. And nothing else weird happens for a few days, other than Mayhem teleporting into her school bag despite her telling them they should be at home, jesus, she doesn’t need detention on top of her homework pile and job searches,

Things resume normalcy, almost mind-numbingly so... until there’s a knock on her window about a week after it all, and a freckled scaly face peering through it.

-/-

“Uh, hi?”

“...Hi.”

“Sorry to- I was just passing through so I thought- I’m, uh, glad you’re doing okay! I’ll go now I’m sorry I shouldn’t’ve-”

“Hey, hey, no, just hold on.”

“What?”

“...You wanna come say hi to Mayhem, too? They’re, um. They’re doing okay, too.”

“I’d... yeah! Yeah, I’d, yes, I’d love to. Thanks. Could you just, um, move sideways a little-?”

A window on a third story apartment home slides shut. Behind its hastily shut curtains, a cautious friendship is born.

.

.

.

.

My ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/A3022DE7

My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary -  Tom finally speaks with Danielle properly for the first time in months, but it does not end how he expected when she verbally castrates him.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously. 

Mac Tíre is pronounced Mac tier, it is the Irish for wolf and means son of the earth.

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog  @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions

“Mum.” He called after her, but the older woman did not respond. It was then he noticed Mac Tíre, Elle’s German Sheppard cross dog looking at him from across the garden. “Hey, Mac.” He smiled. It was actually him who had got her the dog, it was a scraggly stray pup that had shown up at a set he was working on that was in bad shape, and since Elle’s dad had been a veterinarian, he thought she could help it. Mac was a bit weedy looking still, not as well built as other German Sheppard’s, but he had a good sheen to his coat and was as fit as a fiddle, joining Elle when she went jogging or cycling in the woods nearby.

Mac eyed him for a moment; usually the dog would make straight for him when he acknowledged the canine, seemingly remembering who had helped save him, but as though knowing what the women had been talking about, Mac rose to his feet and trotted to the house, scratching once at the door before it was opened to let him in.

“Even the bloody dog hates me,” Tom mumbled walking to the door, knowing it was better to deal with everything now. “Mum.” He looked into Elle’s kitchen. He could hear the shower on upstairs. “Mum, I’m sorry.” Diana gave an ‘hmm’ in response. “I’m jetlagged and hungry, and to be honest, jealous, that you have spent the day here and not with me.”

“And I am hurt that you thought going to the beach and making a holy show of yourself rather than spending time with your family was a better use of your time Thomas. I am tired of having people ask me are you having some sort of early midlife crisis to say you are going to teenager concerts looking like a chaperone rather than a partner of someone there, and I am embarrassed at how you have treated someone this family holds dear in the manner you have of late.”

“Wait, what, who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Mum, I don’t…”

“What is the real reason you did not have Danielle collect you today, as she has done for four and a half years, and why have you not spoken to her once since Christmas, not once. What did she do to deserve that?”

“Wait, I have…”

“When? Today perhaps.” Tom did not respond, he had not realised it was true. He used tag funny pictures to Elle on his private Facebook, or send her some training tips he got from some trainer if he thought they were beneficial to her, but of late, he had not even looked at her page, he had no idea what was going on in her life. “I really do not know what to say to you Thomas, is all of this worth it, to gain fame and perhaps notoriety, is it worth it when you cost yourself people who care about you as a person?”

“I have to take the next step, get as big as I can.”

“Well, when Hollywood bores of you, I hope those who care about you that are not family are still there my boy because there will be someone new, someone fresh; we all age, and there are always people ready to take our place. Elle cares for you; she is willing to put herself out selflessly for you. She brought food to your home so that you could come home from a shoot, or a long flight and have something ready that is good and filling, she got everything you wanted from London so you could rest tomorrow, and she did not care if you even knew about it being her that did it, after eight months of no contact, she still did it.” Diana’s anger seemed to have dissipated, but in its wake, was a sadness and cold truth that terrified Tom, eating at the insecurities he had that he had not voiced himself. Diana placed the containers of food she had organised for Elle on the counter and walked out of the house, leaving Tom to stew on her words.

When Elle came downstairs, she was tying her hair back so that she could be ready for work. She paused when she saw Tom in her kitchen looking at her, looking then to the containers and back to him.

“Mum sorted them.” He pointed to the food.

Elle gave a forced smile and nodded slightly before noticing the dog. “Mac Tíre, get your hairy ass outside now, you know you can’t stay in when I’m working.” She scolded. Mac did not move. She opened the back door. “Out.” Mac rose to his feet and eyed her for a moment, then Tom, then back at her. “It’s only Tom, come on, out you go.” Mac gave the actor one last apprehensive look and trotted out the door. “Diana will feed you at eight.” She stated, closing the door. There was a moment of her and Tom looking at one another after she locked it.

“You know he can’t understand you right?”

“He seems to get the hint, which is more than can be said for many humans.” She responded.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I have clearly offended you in some manner.” Elle cocked her brow and pursed her lips. “I am sorry I have not spoken to you in a long time or bothered to contact you and check on you, but in my defence, you weren’t exactly running to contact me either.”

Danielle started counting on fingers. “Your birthday, I sent you a ridiculous picture and a big not with it, Patrick’s day I sent a funny picture, April Fools, I sent a funny joke, St George’s Day I sent a mocking text, the day of the Presidential dinner, the MET Gala, the Emmy nomination, all top of my head examples, need I continue?”

“I didn’t get half of them.”

“I bet you didn’t, and by half, I bet you mean everything since the day before the MET, right?”

“You don’t get to say anything, you don’t even know her.”

“You’re right, I don’t, because when she was here, I was not worthy of introductions, was I?”

“You could have come over.”

“I could, but the glut of paps and the security got in the way, I was told I was not allowed, that it was private property, in fact, my favourite part was when they called the police, but thankfully it was Joanne and Mike that got called out, who know I actually live next door.”

“You never said…”

“But I did, but you clearly you didn’t get the message, I wonder why. Tell me, does she scan all your texts, or is it just me she blocked.”

“What, that ridiculous.”

Danielle took out her phone and brought up his number before pressing the call button.

“We’re sorry, but you are not able to be connected to this number, please hang up and try again.” The monotone recording played.

“So can I ask, is it just me out of your female friends that you have not heard from of late?”

“She hasn’t been alone with my…”

“Have you gone to the bathroom, the shower, the gym, even left your computer on?” She challenged, Tom bit his lips together. “I guess you know the answer to that too. Have a nice day Tom; I am off to actually do something other than open your eyes for you. Get some rest for yourself before you go back to the circus.”

“Circus?”

“GQ, Esquire, Time Magazine, Forbes, they are where you want to get a front page, they are prestigious, but you, you have been plastered on the front of the National Enquirer Tom, as the bit on the side to the arm candy, that’s hardly a prestigious publication.”

“You always mock tabloids and magazines, and here you are reading them.”

“They are in front of me, plastering every shelf when I enter Tesco’s and Sainsbury’s Tom, I don’t need to read them, I can see headline after headline, picture after mortifying picture; speaking of which, please tell me that Fourth of July t-shirt was you taking the piss out of yourself, or a dare, or a bet you lost, please tell me you did not do that willingly of sound mind.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Jesus, it wasn’t. That is so embarrassing, I am actually so mortified on your behalf, before I was cringing, but that, that actually made my insides hurt, I didn’t know should I laugh or cry for you, and to be honest, thinking back, I still don’t.”

“It’s not your place…”

“But you made it my place, me and every last person you whored yourself on the cover of those publications to. Those weren’t pictures taken without consent Tom; they are proper staged photo’s; that is the notable thing here.”

“Whored?”

“Well, that may be a bit harsh, whores tend to realise they are getting fucked and get paid for their work, I hope she gives you a hefty allowance of her earnings.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He snarled viciously.

“Don’t you think it is weird, you used get spotted by fans wherever you went, but it was always fairly anonymous, here, LA, New York, everywhere you went; but now, everywhere you go, everywhere you are, there are paps, and a tonne of them.”

“That’s the business, you wouldn’t understand.”

“But they were not at your mothers before, they were not hounding your sisters, your niece, that one gets me the worst, she is five years old Tom, she is not famous, she does not want that, but then again, I doubt you or ‘fame hungry Barbie’ checked with that.”

“Sarah did not say anything.”

“Like she had a fucking choice, you didn’t warn her in advance, did you?” She challenged, her voice raised.

“You’re just fucking jealous, that’s all that’s wrong with you, jealous that for once, you were not the centre of my family’s life.” He bellowed back.

Danielle had a few different laughs, her snigger when she knew she shouldn’t, her snide one, for when she and Emma would bitch whatever co-star Emma had that was only on a production for reasons other than her acting ability, her one for when she wanted to laugh more, but she was embarrassed to do so in front of those she didn’t really know, and the one she had when she found something so hilarious, propriety be damned, she would erupt into laughter. Tom’s statement was met with the last one. Danielle erupted in laughter so strong; she went red in the face. “That…jealous…” She took a deep breath before standing straight again. “I do not envy you, Thomas, I pity you, so fucking much it actually is beyond words. I mean, what do you two even talk about, does she know anything about Yeats, Shakespeare, Wilde, hell even Tolkien? She will get her next album material or her next piece of boy meat, and you will be a pariah, to both decent women and good productions, and if you don’t believe me, look at her previous conquests, the guy from One Direction, where is he now, trying to get an album together apparently, Gyllenhaal, he practically has to freeze his ass off for a role and his depiction was seen as mediocre, and that guy from Twilight, is he even making movies now? And as for her bickering, let me just say this Tom, I’ve read that West and Kardashian are not supposed to be the greatest people alive, or Perry, or Bieber, or whoever else she is pissed off with this week to sell music, but no one who is nice has that many people arguing with them. She is accomplished, no one can take that from her, but you are going to be left in her wake, another ‘boyfriend of Taylor Swift’ and not your own man, and you will have that tattooed on your resume for as long as you act, are you really okay with that? Become the Tom I know, would not have been.”

“You mean the Tom you knew.” Tom glared at her, hating her for voicing what Benedict, Chris and Luke had clearly been hinting when they were introduced to Taylor.

Danielle let his words linger for a moment, kissing her lips and nodding. “You’re right.” She conceded. “I don’t know this shitbag in front of me, and to be honest, I don’t fucking want to.” She shrugged. “Get out of my house, and when this shit fest hits the fan, if the real Tom Hiddleston is in there, let him know I will probably still be here, and I will accept his apology, but not yours, you are nothing more than some ‘Taylor-trash’.” She turned and left, not waiting for him to say anymore.

[avidfanficwriter]

Barbie (Chapter 11)

Chris Pine X Reader.

Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?

Warnings: Cursing, as per use.

Author’s note: Yes, i know, it’s been a long time. Writer's block hit me hard for this one but thank the gods, my mind sprung an idea!

Masterlist

Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards 

A few years ago

“Why do you think you have these feelings?” The question appears as if you’ve entered a dream sequence or a really lousy drug experience that creates this inability to feel oneself. The room is spinning and your body is spinning at two different speeds, two different directions. It is entirely fucked. It’s a dissociative state, you’re there, your body is but your mind isn’t. You can see but you can’t figure out where you are. Fucked. “Y/N, are you there?”

The question acts as a fishing line, reeling you back to reality but still managing to leave you dangling from the hook on full display. “What?”

“This is the fourth time in the last hour, you’ve been inattentive.” The man says as he checks his watch, his name ceases to come back to you. He’s nameless, his identity hidden beneath the layers of time loss. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“I don’t need medication.” The first real sentence you’ve spoken today.

“From the comprehensive review of your file, I think it would be wise if you did.” You’re lost. Physically and mentally, you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing or why you’re sitting on this scratchy green couch. “Y/N, you’ve suffered a traumatic experience most of which the details are sketchy also the reason you seem to have suffered a mental breakdown. In order to properly help you overcome these issues, I need you to be present.” 

Each word seems to hit harder than the last, pulling at your heart and only making it harder to concentrate. “Tell me about that night.”

The tick of the clock is beginning to create a headache, each noise seems to be heighten with the intent to create pain. “Nothing happened.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath from the other body. “According to the report, you were brought to the emergency room with what resembled a case of domestic violence.” There’s a sound of shuffling paperwork before he speaks again, the voice is male. Definitely male. "The hospital staff noticed who they believed to be the person responsible enter the hospital and then barricaded himself in your hospital room, essentially holding you hostage."

You roll your eyes, it's unbelievable. It's completely false, as if someone was writing a book or playing a game of make-believe. "It sounds worse than it was." Not a denial but not the truth. It's got just enough to possibly satisfy him.

"Hmm... Which part has been an exaggeration? Being locked inside your hospital room with your abusive boyfriend who held a gun to your head or covered in bruises with your refusal to testify against him?" It's the kind of snarky comment that ends with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied look that says one thing: 'Ha, take that.'

"I have to go."

"You have been court ordered to attend a one-hour session that was productive, which you have not been. You are unable to leave until I am satisfied that we have had a conductive session." It's defeat. Complete and utter defeat. “Y/N, I know this is difficult and I don’t wish to make you stay here any longer than you need to be but you have to meet me halfway.” It sounds like a plea. He’s truly trying to work with you. "I know it doesn't seem like it but I'm trying to help you."

“It got out of hand." A partial truth. He doesn't respond. "Is there a such thing as craving the negativity?" The question changes the conversation but he's happy to oblige on the fact that you're finally speaking.

His brow arches as he begins tapping his pen on the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. "There are some people who feel comfortable in a negative environment, no matter how hectic or unsafe, there are those who seek it out. It’s familiar and to them all they know. Is that what you believe you do?"

You swallow hard, "No."

"Is Beau surrounded with negativity?" He ask, immediately making you regret you question.

"At times."

"Mmm... Was he surrounded with negativity when you were at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"If there is a negative aura that he emits, why are you so unwilling to rid yourself of him?" He questions and suddenly you have the urge to slap him. "I'm glad you're aware your in a negative situation but I want you to do something about it. Realizing the danger and hostility you’re in is only step one. Step two is doing something about it."

With every passing minute, you panic, you’re sitting in the living room with your eyes glued to the door. Waiting for him to return, he hasn’t called and it’s been an hour. He should have called by now. You tell yourself. What if he lied? If he just up and left? He could be the one getting rid of his apartment and leaving you instead.

Finally, you’re cell phone rings and his name lights up the screen, “Chris… you were supposed to call an hour ago.” You say quickly into the phone but you’re met with silence. “Chris? …Chris?”

You could have counted the hours before someone spoke and the first sound of someone breathing. “This is Dr. Luke Valdez at Good Samaritan Hospital, I found your number on Mr. Pine’s recent contacts list. There has been an accident.” Your heart stopped and now your body feels light, as if you’ll pass out any second. “Mr. Pine was in a car accident.”

You’re moving on auto-pilot, the pain in your foot is non-existent now as you gather your keys and phone before quickly heading out the door. By the time you make it to the hospital, your eyes are full of tears and your thinking the worst, he’s dead, but they can’t tell you that over the phone. He’s been killed. The fear doesn’t stop when you enter the hospital, the emergency room is full of tears, shouts of pain and panicked doctors shouting colors and ordering more test. It's chaotic and for a brief second you contemplate leaving.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a white coat asks, noticing the panic on your face. 

“Ye--yeah, I’m looking for Chris--Christopher Pine. He was brought in a while ago.”

She nods, walking over to the desk and glancing at the computer. “Oh, he’s right here. I’ll take you.” Each step you take feel worse than the last, it’s like an anxiety attack is beginning. You feel your arms slowly getting cold, your extremely aware of your breathing and you can’t focus on one thing. The lines on the floor are to overpowering, the sounds are morphing into one loud sound and suddenly the pain your foot is back with a vengeance. 

“He’s right here.” The woman says, pulling the privacy curtain back just enough to allow you entrance and closing.

“Jesus.” The harsh whisper pushes past your lips, involuntarily. Chris is sitting up in the bed, currently getting stitches in his head while a nurse wraps his right hand in a bandage. 

“Oh god, I told--” Chris looks at the doctor besides him. “I told you not to call anyone.” he smiles. “I’m fine.” 

“Fine? You’re covered in blood.” You say slowly walking towards the end of the bed, trying to reach out to touch only to change your mind. 

“It’s looks worse than it is.” he lets out a small groan in pain as the nurse sets his hand down. “But you, you shouldn’t be standing or even walking, come sit down.” 

The doctor finishes Chris’ head and explains his injuries and the medication he’s being prescribed for the pain.It’s doctor jumble and rather than listen all you can do is stare at Chris, he looks broken, worse than the night Beau got ahold of him. Covered in dried blood with pain in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You ask when the doctor leaves. He nods, sucking on his lower lip. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” He chuckles. “Come here.” He holds out his uninjured arm for you to sit next to him seeking comfort that will help not only him but you as well.  

There’s a slight feeling of fear that runs through your spine as you approach him, you sit next to him, trying to keep most of your weight away from him so he doesn't get hurt but he won't have it. Pain or no pain, he instantly pulls you into him, stifling a groan as he does.

Your eyes are tearing up and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. This was your fault, if you hadn’t of been stubborn and hurt your foot; Chris never would have been on the road, the car never would have hit him and he wouldn’t be here looking like he just survived a round with Mike Tyson. 

 “What happen?” You finally crack out. 

“I was on the way to your place and this car in front of me lost control and hit me head on. I’m lucky I didn’t break my leg. Few stitches in my head, glass in my hand and busted face but I’m fine.” 

“God, Chris...” You sigh. 

“It’s fine.” He reaches his hands out, gently holding your face, forcing your swollen eyes to face him. “Relax, I’m fine, A little banged up. Just think about it this way, now it’s your turn to play doctor.” 

There was no stopping the fit of laughter you both break out into. “What happened to the other driver?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, bringing his hands down and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Poor guy is probably more upset about his car than anything.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Guy had a nice green challenger.” He remarked, shaking his head. “That now has regular black paint on it thanks to my car.” 

You shake your head and scoff, “You could have died and you’re talking about a car.” 

“It was a nice car.” As Chris lays his head on your shoulder, gently resting his eyes.

You don't know what comes over or why you brain decided this was your next comment. "So, I suppose this is a bad time to ask if you got my stuff?" Chris stifles a chuckle.

"No, the other car prevented me from achieving that goal." He responds in a low whisper, gently kissing your shoulder. "Just don't go to your place, okay? When I get out of here, I'll go. My card is in my wallet, whatever you need just buy it brand new."

There goes your independency, not only were you seeking refugee in his house but now he was giving his credit card to support you. You had jumped fifteen to twenty steps in terms of of your relationship, living together and financial responsibility. If it wasn't for the bruised man besides you, seeking your comfort, you'd probably be one step from freaking out. Too much was going on all at once but right now, it felt normal.

Just as your slumber starts to creep in, the startling realization hits you. 'Nice green Challenger.' A green Challenger hit Chris head on in the middle of the night, a green Challenger like the one Beau owned.

[daisyishedwig]

The funniest part of the new episode is Mike actively lying about his conversation with Jamilla to make himself seem more chill and suave when he's really just a pathetic little meow meow who opened the door and whined when asking if she was there to kill him.

The biggest questions from the new episode is, who the fuck is eagle? Is he Ruvi? Kaz? A completely new character???

Also the continuing question from last episode, who helped Mike complete the fourth challenge? I originally thought Hunter, but Mike clearly didn't recognize the voice on his death recording, and Hunter is not a voice you could forget.

[banesbottombitch]

When You’re Strange

A Patrick Hockstetter / Reader fic

Original Link

Warnings: Violence, swearing up the ass, Tozier!Reader beating ass, Richie and Tozier!Reader’s Trashmouths. She/Her Reader.

Description:  As a military brat, you’ve learned to pick up everything and run at a moments notice. Ending up back in Derry for your senior year and moving in with your aunt and uncle, you’ve come to realize that with Patrick Hockstetter’s sights on you there is no room for running.

Word Count: +4,600

Other Chapters: Part 1, Part 2

Part 3: Rebel Yell

A/N: I whipped this up pretty fast, but I’m going to take short break from WYS for work. I’ll be back in a few days though, worry not. Rebel Yell is by Billy Idol, check out the song you nerds.

“You gotta death wish, don’t you?” Richie pushed his glasses up the length of his nose, squinting at you while you worked at the straps of the blue tarp that shielded your trunk.

“What’s that thing you guys yell at Richie when he’s being a pest?” You asked Eddie, not bothering to look at either boys while you climbed into the back of your truck, tossing the tarp aside and hauling Richie’s bike to the tailgate.

“Beep Beep Richie.” They spoke in unison, your cousin rolling big brown eyes and bouncing on his heels.

“I’m just saying, threatening the Bowers Gang? Really? We all saw you doing it from the cafeteria. You’re here for like, I dunno, less than 36 hours and you’re already picking a fight with those shit lickers?” Richie continued, taking the handle bars of his bike and helping you lower it to the parking lot asphalt.

“He’s got a point.” Eddie chimed in, much to your chagrin. The freshmen shared a look between them as you hopped out the back of your truck before slamming the tailgate closed with a satisfying clap.

You leaned against it, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your windbreaker and giving them an even look.

“Listen, I’m just…” You trailed off, sighing. “I dunno, trying to get them to back off? They seem to genuinely scare you guys. I thought it would help to let them know that I’d take a bat to their heads, y’know?”

Richie threw a long leg over his bike, Eddie climbing to sit on the edge of the seat that the taller boy left him. “Just don’t get yourself killed, we can take care of ourselves.”

Wearily your cousin kicked off, pedaling slowly to round your vehicle. “I’ll see you later.”

“By Eddie!” You raised a hand still stuck in your pocket, Eddie shifting to wrap his arms around Richie’s thin torso and waving back at you. “Make him come home by eight!”

“Nine!” Richie challenged, working his legs to pedal faster and out of ear shot before you could argue. In the distance, you saw him encircle Bill and Stan as they kicked off from their bikes, Beverly riding on Mike’s handal bars and Ben chasing after the other six as he quickened his pace to follow the group out the parking lot.

You clicked your tongue, dragging your keys from your pocket and slipping into your truck. Your backpack sat in the passenger side the two boys had occupied that morning, folded in on itself and limp. You leaned over after stuffing the keys in the ignition to let the car idle, shoveling out the contents in search of the mixtape that had been gifted to you. It took a moment, but you found it, hidden under the gym uniform given to you during your fourth period P.E. class. You had put it in your pocket earlier, but changing had forced you to toss it in your backpack for safe keeping.

Again, you flipped the tape to read over the songs. Beverly had chosen the first song, a Psychedelic Furs classic, ‘Pretty In Pink’. Mike had chosen The Police’s hit ‘Message In A Bottle’, Bill had gone surprisingly wayward and picked a Depeche Mode song ‘Policy Of Truth’. Someone was going through an edgy phase, you mused, impressed nonetheless. Ben as a wildcard with his Billy Idol choice, and you smiled a little, finding that his pick of ‘Rebel Yell’ was a perfect fit for you at least.

Stan had thrown in a surprise guest, Pat Benatar’s ‘Heartbreaker’. You had always wondered what kind of taste the Uris boy had, but honestly, Pat wasn’t too much of a surprise. He seemed like the type to enjoy dramatic and passionate lyrics like those you’d find in Pat Benatar’s music. Eddie had picked a Cyndi Lauper song that held a special place in your heart, ‘The Goonies r’ Good Enough’. You still had vivid memories of watching The Goonies with the four original nerds when it came out in theaters during a small gap in summer when you had flown up to Derry for a visit. It had been easy enough to convince them to dress up with you and go adventuring with them by the barrens, and easier still to let Richie and Bill lead the way for the five of you to build a crappy little fort in the woods.

Richie’s contribution was what really made you beam though, his carefully chosen song for you was a personal favorite of yours. ‘How Soon Is Now’ by The Smiths.

You carefully switched out the tapes, retiring the other one to your wrinkled and torn up cardboard cassette box that rested in the beaten up floorboards of your cab and taking off as the slow rhythmic beats of The Psychedelic Furs filled your truck.

You carefully searched the parking lot for any sign of a blue Trans-Am, surprised not to see any edivdence of it. You shrugged off a rather nervous feeling in your gut at the observation, figuring the Bowers Gang must have snuck out of school after lunch. They didn’t exactly seem like the type to conform to the social norm and actually attend a full day of school anyhow.

The greenery in Derry was a nice change from the ever browning palm trees and sandy tropical gardens of Galveston. The skies were just as blessedly blue, streaks of cream casting cool shadows from the clouds that covered Derry on that October afternoon. It didn't reek like the ocean in the small town, it wasn’t clogged with smog, and the muggy heat of texas had thankfully not followed you north. You felt close to your element in Derry, to your great surprise. It was the right kind of environment for you, but you would admit to already missing the bustling populace of Houston or even the smaller city of Sugarland.

Rolling down your window, you left Derry High behind you, creeping down Pasture Road before turning down the Kissing Bridge to cut over to Canal Street and head back home. You neared the overpass that stood above the canal ways, but slowed with a curse when you spotted that goddamn blue Trans-Am.

It sat empty, but what worried you the most was the pile of bikes left forgotten by the roadside, completely deserted.

“Fuck.” You swore, pulling off to the side and snatching your keys out, kicking the driver side door open in a rush. You hesitated a moment in silent deliberation, eyeing a tool beneath the cassette box.

A sudden hoarse yelp of pain, one you listened to with horror when you recognized it as Richie’s, decided your actions for you. You shoved the cassette box aside, grabbing the heavy tire iron from the floorboards and jumping out the car. You flew through the underbrush by the bridge, hearing what sounded like grunts and swears- namely from the mouth of your Trashmouth cousin.

You stumbled out of the woods, finding a break in the path and crashed out in a flurry of crunched up leaves and panic, tire iron raised.

From the looks of it, you had ended up by the canalside, the rocks littered with the fighting forms of your cousins friends and four enraged, hostile and very unlucky seniors.

Eddie was out cold, face pressed into the ground, a little scratched up but seeming mostly unharmed. Stan was attempting to over power Belch’s hulking mass, who had Bill’s collar in a death grip and was smacking him around like a rag doll. Mike was taking on Patrick and Vic alongside Beverly and Ben, the latter of who was flushed in the face and positively livid. Mike’s torn lip and Beverly’s scraped knees were nothing compared to the absolute wreck that was Richie Tozier’s face however.

Glasses? Shattered. Lip? Busted, bruised and split. Richie’s nose bent at an awkward and certainly painful angle, and there was a long cut alongside his eye, as if someone had carved him with a knife or a piece of glass. That didn't stop his mouth from flapping though, and even with his cracked voice and split lip he shot zingers like the Tozier he was.

“You fucking-” He spat at Henry Bowers, who wrestled with the smaller boy and dug his back into the tough and jagged rocks of the canalside. “Bruce Springsteen lookin’ mother fucker!”

“Aw? Mad, Flamer?” Henry taunted, gritting his teeth and driving Richie harder against the stones. “Upset we knocked out your little faggy boyfriend?”

He cocked his fist back, knuckles bruised and red with Richie’s blood.

You launched into action, roaring with a feral rage and lurching off from the path, bringing your weapon down on Henry’s side with as much weight behind it as you could muster.

“FUCK-” Bowers howled, clutching his side and pushing himself off Richie, who gurgled some kind of greeting that you didn't hear, your vision going red as you knocked Henry further back with the bottom of your docs.

You raised the tire iron, eyes burning and teeth bared, bringing it down where the mullet haired boy would have been if he hadn’t scrambled back.

From your side vision you spotted Belch, who was coming at you with arms out, ready to take you down. Side stepping him, you knocked against his back using the tire iron with a positively bruising force, kicking him for good measure as well and returning your focus to Henry.

“What did I say?!” You screamed, throwing the weapon down again and again, growing more and more irritated as you missed him.

“You’re fucking crazy! Bitch!” Henry spat, pushing up from the ground and scattering pebbles in his wake.

“What did I say?!” You repeated with even more venom, Vic and Patrick hovering beside Belch, who watched your dance with Henry wearily.

“You’re dead!” Henry ignored your prompt, pointing at you and digging into his pocket, whipping out a knife.

You gripped the tire iron tighter, eyes flashing and lip curling. “I like my odds, Bowers. Do you like yours?”

Blue eyes flickered to his wounded friend and the other two who seemed content to keep out of this particular fight. “Get her, Patrick.”

“With pleasure.”

You whirled around, slashing at the lanky boy who was a safe distance from you, a wild look in your eyes. “You think I’m above kicking your ass too, Hockstetter? Don’t fuckin’ try me!”

Patrick edged around Belch, watching you carefully. “Why don’t you settle down, Princess?”

Adrenaline pounded through you, your blood a rush in your ears. You let out a growl, pointing at him with the weapon. “You wanna dance? Let’s dance, Hockstetter.”

“[First Name]!” Stan shrieked, the crunch of pebbles shifting with weight alerting you back to the threat that loomed behind.

Spinning with the weapon ready, you landed a solid blow on Henry’s shoulder, but he had used your distraction to his advantage and you felt the white hot hiss of a cut rake down your right arm. The knife sliced through your windbreaker easily, slicing your forearm good, and scarlet poured freely as Henry stumbled back, looking pained.

Panic set in now, Patrick’s presence hovering along the sidelines, a snarl at his lips and Henry raised his knife in silent challenge once more.

“One more good whack, Bowers, and you’re in the hospital.” You sneered, rolling the weapon to your other hand, knowing you’d be sloppy with the change, but still effective. You spared Patrick a glare. “And I’ll aim for your head, Hockstetter.”

“Sounds tough coming from you, Tozier.” He taunted, a bottle of hairspray shaking in his hand as he fixed on you with an eerie gaze. “I’ll melt that Trashmouth right off your pretty little face.”

You saw the kids scramble to Richie and Eddie, the Bowers Gang focused on you entirely. Belch attempted to rise, but stumbled back down in a kneel, swearing. You had gotten him good, it seemed. Vic didn't want to press the matter at hand, attempting to help his friend stand instead of facing you.

You winced, bending your wounded arm and taking your keys out of your pocket, hurling them at Beverly, who caught them with an uncertain look.

“Get in the truck, have it running. Id im not out in five, drive.” You ordered tensely, eyes flickering between Patrick and Henry, the latter of whom seemed to be having trouble standing, his breathing uneven and restless.

The freshmen swarmed the two broken boys, your cousin fighting their helping hands and calling after you. You ignored him, waiting for either of the bullies that crowded you to make their move.

“What now, boys?” You carefully stepped to the side, eyeing them as you edged back to the path that would lead you to the truck, Richie’s friends racing away with him and Eddie in tow.

A spout of fire that curled and preened shot out at you, Patrick closing in all too fast in response. You swore, not expecting him to have that much range, Henry throwing himself at you when you faced Patrick.

The two of you went flying, the cut burning as Henry shoved you to the bank, the action knocking the air out of your lungs as your back met the uneven and sharp rocks. You struggled, throwing the tire iron up to block his jabs and slashes of the knife, the edge coming dangerously close to your eyes.

“Look at you now, Trashmouth!” Patrick hooted, running up to come beside Henry.

You writhed under Henry, finding an opening and, with a valiant cry, jerked the bottom of the tire iron to strike Henry’s temple. He gave a cry of pain and ripped himself off you, roaring as he clutched his now bleeding head. You kicked yourself up, just barely breaking from Patrick’s grasp as he hurled himself after you.

Henry was down for the count, but Patrick was more than happy to pursue you through the winding and twisting limbs of the underbrush. The path was caked with wet leaves, unsteady earth and littered with specks of blood from Richie and probably Bill, but you came out the other side and skidded across the Kissing Bridge, chest heaving, victorious despite the challenge of the terrain.

Patrick was right on your tail, always inches from catching you, his eyes lit up with a gleam that horrified you to the core. He was enjoying himself as he increased his speed while you sprinted to the running truck.

“TAKE OFF THE BREAK, TAKE OFF THE BREAK!” You screamed, hearing the chaotic laughter behind you.

The gang was in the back, all shouting after you to hurry, Bill and Richie leaning heavily on each other in the trunk of the car, looking like hell had come after them and spat them back out. Beverly was at the wheel, screaming in time with the others as you threw yourself into the open trunk bed, Mike shoveling you far inside as Beverly shot off like a bullet. You all lurched forward from the force, the bikes that had been stuffed in the back rattling beside each other, and you gave a cry when you felt Patrick’s hand just barely graze your boot, your head turning as you watched him slow to a trot, giving up in his chase.

“We’ll get you later, Tozier!” He called after you, bending to catch his breath, eyes boring into you as Beverly whipped the truck down the street and carried off far from the bridge.

The truck was driven far away, weaving behind Derry through back roads that even you were unaware of. Mike carefully climbed through the open back window, directing Beverly with a calm voice, the only one of you who had the sense to keep his emotions in check.

The wind whipped at your hair, the cool air welcomed to calm the heat in your veins, to tame the fire in your belly. You were going to fucking murder Bowers, if it was the last thing you did. Carefully, you shuffled past the bikes to Richie and Bill, taking care to raise Richie’s head to inspect the damage.

“What happened?” You asked, your question falling on Stan or Ben to answer.

You glanced over your shoulder, Stan looking distraught as he watched Bill roll his head, his left eye swelling shut and jaw reddening with bruises. Bill attempted to speak, his speech slurred.

“B-b-buh-bowers,” He finally got out, heaving a sigh. “Ben. Tell h-her.”

Ben shifted, his face dirty and flushed, but seeming mostly unharmed. “Bowers caught us at Kissing Bridge. He was pissed you had tried to order him around, so he started picking on Richie… And, well, you know Eddie,” the boy nodded at Eddie, whose head rested on Stan’s lap, his breathing relaxed. There was a knot forming on his forehead, but at the very least he seemed safe enough. “He got angry that Henry was messing with Richie and he mouthed off to him, which made Henry angry, which made Richie cuss him out and, well.”

Ben sighed. “They chased us to the canal, Patrick and Henry shoved Eddie down and he was out like a light. Richie tackled Henry, Bill went for Belch when he tried to kick Richie off Henry and Patrick got on Mike. Bev and I ran to Mike after Stan ran to Bill and Vic knocked me down. You showed up after i got up and Henry started wailing on Richie.” “Fuckin… Idiot.” Richie spat, breathing heavily as Beverly finally slowed the car, pulling the parking brake as she came up beside a pasture and climbing out, panic fresh on her features.

“You’re the idiot!” She yelled, a wetness in her eyes as she crawled into the truck bed, reaching for Eddie and cradling his face in her hands. “Eddie, Eds?”

The boy gave a sharp inhale, hazel eyes fluttering open as he flinched awake. “What-” He sat up, swaying only slightly as Mike took the wheel. “What the fuck happened, OH MY GOD, RICHIE!”

“Where do we go?” He asked, looking over his shoulder, worried gaze resting on Richie and Bill.

“R-r-ree-rich- FUCK,” Bill cursed, angirly stirring in his spot. “Richie’s!”

His eyes hardened, furious with either himself or his predicament, you weren't sure. Mike looked to you for an okay and you wearily crawled from the back to the inside of the cab, letting out a soft moan of pain as you overworked your wounded arm.

Eddie took your spot beside Richie, eyes pricking with tears as he practically hyperventilated. He was speaking a mile a minute and you didn't take the time to decipher it as Mike began to drive forward, heading down the road to make it back to town.

“Eds.” Richie croaked between heavy breaths, Eddie continuing on some kind of rant about broken noses. “Eds.”

Beverly gingerly looked over Bill’s face, Stan hovering at her side and looking forlorn as they bounced in the back from the dents and potholes of the roads. Gravel kicked underneath the truck, crunching loudly as Mike led everyone past farmlands.

“Eds.” Richie said firmly, reaching out and catching a panicky hand of Eddie’s, folding his fingers together with the smaller boys and arching in to a sore stretch. “Stop, i’m begging you.”

Finally, Eddie silenced himself. A loud sniffle could be heard as he shuffled closer to Richie, forcing your cousin to lean himself on him. “You’re a fucking idiot. Idiot.”

“Nice.” Richie mused with a broken laugh, coughing and groaning. “This is all your fault, [First Name]. Just sayin’. If I die, make sure they bury me in a coffin without nails so I can pass over to the promise land and let god know how much of an ass you are.”

“Considering you want ‘Highway To hell’ played after your hespied, you turd, I don’t think you’re making it to the otherside.” You snapped, sliding off your jacket and eyeing the nasty cut, courtesy of Henry Bowers. “I was just trying to help.”

Richie scoffed, but you decided against fighting further, it did you no favors. Maybe Richie was right. You had been too aggressive, way too damn fast. The Bowers Gang meant business, it appeared. Something told you that if Patrick had caught you at the bridge that you’d have been dead meat, no holds barred. Just threatening those boys had landed you in a heap of shit, and, like Richie had pointed out, you had barely been in town for two days.

Mike watched you from the corner of his eye, and you sighed heavily, closing the window to the back and scrunching up your face in distaste.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” You asked him, already gathering that he was the wisest of the group, the most grown up and least opinionated.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. “You Toziers are good at two things; talking smack and causing problems… But at least you were trying to do right by us.” He smiled a little, rubbing at this split lip. “Even if it did get us a little roughed up. It shows you care.”

“Richies beat bad, Bill’s going to be swollen up and colored purple.” You said regretfully. “Eddie was out for longer than five minutes, and you’ve got a busted lip. I did a swell job trying to do right by you guys, huh?”

“You’re hurt too.” Mike pointed out softly, turning down a rural road. “Bowers cut you up pretty bad.”

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you guys.” You said honestly, peeking back at the others in the back, all of whom who were huddled together in a tight circle. The breeze ruffled curls and upset need styles, but at least all of them had tired smiles. They looked valiant, proud to have escaped with a few scrapes and their lives.

“Toziers.” Mike murmured, shaking his head and giving a defeated sigh. “You need to watch it around Bowers, I’m just warning you.”

“I can handle myself.” You defended lightly.

“I saw. But if Patrick had jumped in, I’m sure you wouldn’t currently be in this car.” He said, attempting to resonate with you. “You took that tire iron to Henry Bowers pretty hard core, sure, but he isn't the only member of the gang, [First Name].”

You clicked your tongue. “I’d take him on again if I could, Mike.”

“I know.” He agreed, eyes dancing with amusement.

You were quiet for a while, letting the scenery pass by before suddenly you sat up, blinking in surprise.

“WAIT? CAN YOU EVEN LEGALLY DRIVE?”

Underneath the blood that caked Richie’s face was a simple broken nose and torn lip, nothing too major despite what it had seemed earlier. You and Richie was miraculously able to convince your aunt that he had simply fallen off his bike and roughed himself up slamming into a pole. Your cousin had an endless supply of glasses, so it was an easy fix as far as the two of you were concerned, and Bill’s eye lessened in its swelling after he applied an ice pack and Eddie tended to his cuts. Mike said his lip was nothing to worry about and Ben put countless band aids on Beverly’s knees, the tenderness evident behind his sweet smile and Beverly’s warm gaze. Eddie’s bump had receded considerably and was barely there now, but he had kept ice on it for a while just to be safe.

It took the combined power of Stan, Bill, Mike and Beverly to hold you still so Eddie could patch up your arm. You thrashed around, having preferred to just rinse it off and tape the wound up in a classic Tozier fashion, but Kaspbrak nagged the shit out of you before he ordered the attack on you to be made.

Richie was too doped up on the pain medication that Eddie stole from his cabinets to bring to your house for his emergency aid, so the bespectacled nerd could only let out a few slurred “Suck the wound ”’s before he seemingly passed out on the couch in the Tozier home’s basement.

“Hold her still, come on.” Eddie snapped, a cotton ball of peroxide in between his careful fingers as he applied the antiseptic to your gash.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow-” You whined, wiggling around despite the combined weight that kept you seated in the office chair stolen from your uncles computer room.

“Is she going to need stitches?” Stan questioned, much to your added distress.

“No, she isn't. It's just a flesh wound.” Eddie assured everyone, Ben letting out a thankful sigh in place of yourself.

Richie gave a sleepy chuckle, rolling on the couch. “Flesh wound…” He was promptly ignored.

“Calm down, you’re alright.” Beverly shushed, smiling down at you. You flinched as Eddie patted your cut dry, pressing gauze against it before begining to wrap your arm tightly with bandages.

“Thanks mom.” You snarked, wincing at the pressure applied, but calming down nonetheless.

Eddie stepped back, sighing. “Done.”

All four teens released you, and you shot up, heading to the couch to sit with your cousin, licking your wounds per say.

The others mingled for a while before leaving, everyone thankfully not as roughed up as before and wearing smiles. You waved them all out the basement entrance before going back to Richie, slinging the battered (and drugged out) boy’s arm over your shoulder.

“Come on champ.” You encouraged, heading upstairs. Shutting the door to the basement behind you and maneuvering to the second story, pausing at the base of the staircase to bid your aunt and uncle good night.

"We're heading to bed. Love you guys."

They didn't bother to turn from the television, leftovers from the night before in their laps and eyes glued to the news.

“Assholes. They don’t even care...” Richie muttered lowly, but you shushed him softly, leading the boy one step at a time to the second story hall, where you dragged him to his bedroom.

Richie swayed as you reached to turn on his light, taking the boy to his bed and gently settling him a top the covers.

“[First Name]?” He slurred your name adorably, barely keeping onto his consciousness. You hummed in response, undoing his laces and setting his shoes on the floor beside his twin bed. He squirmed in the Star Wars covers, slipping his glasses off and dropping them on the nightstand.

“I’m glad you’re back.” Richie whispered hoarsely, scratching at the tape stuck to his nose from Eddie’s handiwork. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too Bucky Beaver.” You felt your heart melt and expression soften. He watched you with his big brown eyes, looking dead tired and bruised. He was still in his clothes from earlier and you sighed, knowing what you had to do. Walking to his dresser you grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a shirt from the drawers before returning to his side, shifting the dirtied jeans off his legs.

He let you do the deed, complaining only when you jerked the jeans too roughly off his ankles and drawing his pajama pants over bare legs. The change into his shirt was easier, and once that was over with and you had combed any mud that was left in his hair out, you straightened and threw his comforter over top his aching form.

“Love you, bud.” You said, stepping away from his bedside.

“Love you too.” He murmured, eyes fluttering in attempt to stay awake. “Thanks for beating up Bowers with a crowbar for me.”

“Tire iron.” You corrected with a chuckle, heading to the door. “You’re welcome, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do we get up at six again?”

“No, we get up at six forty-five. You get to sleep in.” You walked to the door, turning off the light. Lost in his delirium, and maybe from the light headedness of his pain killers, Richie gave a quiet cheer.

“Yay.”

[aion-rsa]

As Spider-Man Rumors Persist, Andrew Garfield Reveals a Downside to its Fame

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Andrew Garfield’s personal life can currently be described as events that occur when he’s not publicly denying rumors of involvement with Spider-Man: No Way Home. The actor, who broke big from relative obscurity with his two-film run in director Marc Webb’s abruptly-ended duo of The Amazing Spider-Man films, has been bombarded by questions—in some cases accusations—that he, along with preceding portrayer Tobey Maguire, will appear in Marvel’s multiverse-threaded threequel alongside current star Tom Holland. While he is undaunted in his denials, the actor is also reflecting on the path that playing Spidey has set for him.

Garfield’s Spider-Man turn will probably always be overshadowed by its status as an ignominiously forgotten casualty of industry events. Indeed, the grandiose franchise aspirations of the 2012-2014 Sony-licensed Amazing Spider-Man films were unceremoniously abandoned for a historic deal with Marvel Studios to bring about Tom Holland’s shiny new version of the Wall-Crawler. This was especially shocking for those who recall the pure, palpable passion Garfield displayed for the role, both on and offscreen. It also yielded him an (eventually-ended) IRL relationship with onscreen co-star Emma Stone, who played Spidey’s inevitably doomed love interest, Gwen Stacy. Yet, notwithstanding the nature of its end, his recent comments to Total Film paint an intriguing picture of his (maybe not so bygone) Wall-Crawler days.

“I don’t know about reincarnation, and if there is one opportunity for me to be alive, and I get offered the opportunity to do a prolonged dress-up as my favorite character of all time, there’s no way I can say no,” says Garfield. “And, yeah, the only thing that I knew was going to be a challenge was the fame aspect, and I knew that a lot of good would come with that as well. I knew it was going to provide a gilded prison… As a creative person, I knew I would have to balance it out with theatre and with waiting for the right movies to come along that would make sure that I stayed an actor, rather than this idea of a movie star. I love movie stars. I love The Rock. I fucking love Tom Cruise. This is in no way a detriment to them.”

For Garfield, the opportunity to play Spider-Man for a major release was too powerful, despite being a stage-driven actor-type who seems to prioritize the craft over the commercial. In fact, so great was the opportunity that it superseded any apprehension he may have had about the inevitability of instantly taking on the kind of merchandise-friendly fame he seemingly eschews. Yet, his apprehension was shared by a significant portion of the general public, since the 2010-reported initial news of the movie project that would become 2012’s The Amazing Spider-Man was widely perceived as Sony’s cynical attempt to spin an unnecessary reboot, especially since the Maguire-headlined previous iteration’s last outing, 2007’s Spider-Man 3, was still relatively fresh, and rumors of a fourth film remained ubiquitous and topically diverse.

However, the early days of Garfield’s sentence in his proverbial gilded prison was nevertheless permeating with optimism. Details were slowly starting to be divulged about an updated, more serious version of Spider-Man—in contrast to the often-outlandish tone of Raimi’s films—emerging to match the significantly raised level of comic book movie pathos of the money-printing MCU movies. Moreover, Garfield provided a monumental moment at 2011’s Comic-Con, in which he appeared in a fan Q&A during the film’s promotional panel disguised in a cheap, pajama-level Spidey costume, at which point he ripped off the saggy, eye-holes-poked mask to reveal that he was the genuine article for the then-upcoming film, creating a raucous wave amongst attendees and those watching later on YouTube. Indeed, Garfield was anxious to prove himself, and, as he now reveals, his preparation for this layered, loftier, conspiracy-unravelling iteration of Spidey involved a significant amount of research.

“My intention… I started studying myth, which is the basis of comic-book films and comic books generally,” he explains. “And you go, ‘Oh, right. The responsibility of modern filmmakers is the same as the person telling the story around the campfire.’ Stories are the things that remind us of who we are as human beings, and we actually have an opportunity to provide deep wisdom and medicine and guidance. So, for me, it was like: How do I help to infuse this with as much soul and universality as possible, knowing that millions of young people are going to be watching? So, it’s not an exercise in selling t-shirts and mugs and Happy Meals, but it’s giving young people the opportunity to feel their own extraordinariness, and their own ordinariness, and seeing someone who’s just like them struggle with those two things living inside of themselves. So, for me, it was about that. And then, you know, there’s everyone else that’s serving their own masters.”

Read more

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Spider-Man: No Way Home Trailer Breakdown and Analysis

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Spider-Man: No Way Home – Breaking Down The Sinister Six Villains

By Joseph Baxter

The tchotchke-churning franchise prospects were initially validated when The Amazing Spider-Man went on to gross $757.9 million worldwide in 2012, creating an upsurge of studio plans for not only the obvious sequel, but an Avengers­-esque team-centric megamovie focused on Spidey’s coterie of archnemeses, the Sinister Six; plans that, even now, purportedly remain in place. Indeed, Garfield, in a recent interview with Collider, intriguingly shed some light on the state of things at Sony regarding that never-realized project, which had tapped a genre veteran in writer/director Drew Goddard. “I don’t know how close it got, but I definitely had a few meetings, and it was really exciting,” recalls Garfield. “I’ve got to say, because I love Drew so much, and I love Cabin in the Woods, and the other stuff that he’s made. We just got on like a house on fire. I loved his vision, he’s so unique and odd and off-kilter and unconventional in his creative choices. So that was definitely a fun couple of months, but life.”  

Pertinently, the professional drawbacks Garfield divulges about his otherwise-fulfilling Spider-Man cinematic sojourn might be another form of denial amidst the wave of rumors that currently consume his days regarding Sony’s MCU-adherent Spider-Man: No Way Home. Said rumors snowballed significantly upon the long-awaited release of the film’s trailer, which confirmed the long-rumored notion of its plot centering on Multiverse concepts wrought by the magic of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Doctor Strange. In fact, Garfield found himself in denial mode earlier this week during a remote appearance on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, where the host confronted him over recently-viral pictures of what is believed to be him on the film’s set. Perhaps at a point in which he’s used to his denials being met with instant incredulity, Garfield takes a light-hearted tone with his answer—in contrast to the exasperated tone of previous denials—stating, “I heard about it. And I did see it. And it’s a Photoshop. Look, if they want to give me a call at this late, late stage in the game, you know, I’m just sitting here in my tracksuit.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Regardless, it will be interesting to see if Andrew Garfield’s internal struggles over commercialism as an artiste will ultimately lean a certain way for a nostalgic big screen trip as his angstier, skateboarding version of Peter Parker/Spider-Man in the live-action manifestation of the Spider-Verse for Spider-Man: No Way Home, which is scheduled to hit theaters on Dec. 17. In the meantime, fans can witness his chameleonic transformation (that, in no way, was a reference to villain the Chameleon,) as disgraced televangelist Jim Bakker, in The Eyes of Tammy Faye, opposite Jessica Chastain’s equally uncanny title role.

The post As Spider-Man Rumors Persist, Andrew Garfield Reveals a Downside to its Fame appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 42 - EDM - Thirsty Thursday

3-2 OT Win

When I was an undergraduate in college there was this special night of the week called Thirsty Thursday. A lot of my classmates created their schedules, so they had no classes on Fridays creating a prolonged weekend for all the activities Animal House taught you college students do. Thirsty Thursday was the beginning of that debauchery. Specifically the mid to late evening as the party people dressed to the nines emerged from their dorms, already tipsy, and climbed into Ubers, Lyfts and Cabs to go to the skankiest clubs and try to cross the border into Canada. Niagara Falls is pretty lit on the other side in case you weren’t aware. The Buffalo Sabres had themselves a bit of a Thirsty Thursday yesterday. This time however I’m excited for the consequences. I drew attention to GM Jason Botterill’s planned 5:30 radio appearance before the game against Edmonton so that when it was called off it seemed cowardly. Not that my lone tweet riled up an angry mob like the gif I used implied, but the timing seemed… well very bad. Dalton Smith was put on waivers the day before after an embarrassing affair on New Year’s Eve against Tampa and it all seemed for nothing: as if our GM had no clue what he was doing and now he was hiding from facing the fans. In reality perfect setups like that never happen. When WGR550 was told Botterill couldn’t make his regular radio hit the negativity around the team right now would naturally make you think of that dodging the press theory. Us wild and crazy optimists hoped against hope he was busy working on… dare I say… a trade!? The whispers came in as game time approached and Thirsty Thursday kicked off with a three-way (Normally something reserved for the end of the night if you know I mean). At about 6:40 pm the team announced a 2020 fourth round pick had been acquired from the Montreal Canadiens for Marco Scandella. The next part unfolded when the team announced at about 6:50 pm that the same 2020 fourth that was yielded from the Scandella trade was going to the Calgary Flames for RW Michael Frolik. No salary retained or conditions, it was essentially Marco Scandella for Michael Frolik.

Set aside all your newfound appreciations for Scandella, even his revitalization was to inflate his trade value. Not to be harsh but he won’t be missed; especially when Jeremy White’s Super-Secret Sabres Source (SSSS) then tells him they’re not done, and they want to bring Lawrence Pilut up from Rochester. This humble blogger says good and good. Scandella for Frolik constitutes a wash in terms of salary if not a little bit more taken on by Buffalo. However, if it gets Pilut back up to Buffalo and or Colin Miller out of buying tickets out of town then it’s a win in my book. In spite of how few trades we saw in the last five months of 2019 it does make a lot of sense that this is the prelude to bigger trades. One can only hope. I hope this analysis of it is outdated by the time I post it. Although we all thought the Jokiharju trade was the prelude to a bigger trade that never came so it could go both ways I suppose. All this figuring out distracted me from the actual game unfolding. I looked up and suddenly the Sabres were down 2-0 to the Oilers at home and certainly a blood bath was to ensue if another egg was laid in downtown Buffalo. Then as soon as I had that thought Thirsty Thursday ticked up again, but this time with some good clean action: Marcus Johansson disposed an Oiler along the wall in the offensive zone and went around behind the net. Johansson got it to Curtis Lazar who tapped it in past Mike Smith in net. It was now 2-1 and Jason Botterill had that much more cover to come out and face the press in the first intermission like we hadn’t gotten three hours earlier while trades were unfolding.

Jason Botterill spoke for about seven minutes saying a lot of things you might expect: Michael Frolik will bring even strength scoring, he’s won a Stanley Cup, has playoff experience and what not. Perhaps the most important things Botterill said is the special teams have to be better. He said that Frolik could help on the penalty kill and could be a bit of a rover on the wing. Botterill spoke to greater roster competition as something of a rationale for seeing as many players publicly want out. Assuming this isn’t the only move to be made its just refreshing to hear that the GM does understand what’s going on. The Dalton Smith Fiasco will probably be pushed under the rug 1984 style and that’s probably the only way to handle it at this point but pushing forward the point that there is in fact a plan here will allow some optimism, however scant, back into the fanbase. Once again, assuming there are more moves coming this move helps. The move itself is more or less whatever. If you get what Frolik was in years past then maybe he’s not just another piece to be traded at the deadline. Getting Frolik was one of those rumors from months ago and evidently the conditions on this Thirty Thursday were just right to make it happen. Conditions were not just right in the second period and apart from a slash on Jack Eichel and the Sabres taking over the lead in shots on goal, nothing really happened. Then it creeps into your head, like I hear it does for the party people at some point in the early morning hours on Thirsty Thursday, that all this momentary excitement could just melt away with nothing truly rewarding coming from it unless… unless you kiss that hot little number down the bar. It was unlikely another trade would happen as the clock ticked past 9pm last night but the clap-back Sabres awoke again. As an early offensive push unfolded in the third period for the home team they began cycling the puck around in the Oilers’ zone. Zach Bogosian took a shot that Sam Reinhart redirected in for the 2-2 equalizer and… well what do you know: Reinhart’s 100th NHL goal. For a moment try not to think about the impending second coming of the Reinhart contract drama and just savor what Samson does and who Samson is. But just like most things with this team, darkness follows close behind and Victor Olofsson was escorted out of the game after a weird fall all on his own just after he got the secondary assist on the equalizer. No new word on that today either mind you, just Scott Wilson getting called up because you can’t let us get too high, right?

The third period went on and the Sabres threw everything and the kitchen sink Zemgus Girgensons at Mike Smith. Nothing went through and we found ourselves in overtime. To Ralph Krueger’s credit most of the Sabres overtime periods have been tight possession affairs like they should be, even when they’re losing efforts. The same happened last night until an absolutely bonkers ten seconds about a minute into the extra frame. Jack Eichel went end to end, like from behind the Linus Ullmark net all the way to Mike Smith’s mouthguard on the other end. Along the way he drew a penalty when Oscar Klefbom hooked him on his final approach. That was good for a penalty shot but before the play was even over Jack almost scored on the rebound. This Thirsty Thursday was about to see it’s last act. That hot little number down the bar I mentioned earlier, that was Jack mother fucking Eichel, and we kissed his greatness to cap off the night. He took the puck, skated in and snapped it far side past Mike Smith, 3-2 Sabres in Overtime! And so the inebriated masses stumbled out of their rides in the wee hours of the morning; still concerned about their future but sated for just a time until the next party comes. Hopefully more parties to come then sadness they hope.

Like, Comment and Share this blog now because some of you will not like what I say next. The game on Saturday was moved to 1pm in the afternoon because the Buffalo Sabres organization shares an owner with the Buffalo Bills and is therefore allowed to be self-aware. You probably already knew that. To those of you whom pointed to that move as a sign of the Pegulas caring more about the Bills I’d just ask you to take a deep breath, maybe play your favorite video game and relax. There is good evidence that theory is true, but the Buffalo Bills also happen to be in the playoffs for only the second time in twenty years. Forgive the whole City around you if they want to focus on that team when they come on at 4:35 tomorrow! I know its 90s night… or afternoon now tomorrow, but please, let good things be good. Enjoy yourself a little bit. The Florida Panthers will be a challenge and then they’ll be off for four days, hopefully while Botterill is making more trades and Michael Frolik is getting his Visa figured out so he can actually come and play. Then its six games leading into the bye week of varying difficulty but mostly difficult. I would guess even if the Sabres miraculously won eight straight going into that break they still might only crack the top three in the Atlantic Division given the spaces between games. Nonetheless the tide of this dissent into another lost season we’ve been experiencing since before Christmas can be reversed this month. It will likely take more work on the part of the GM even though the deadline is still several weeks away. Yesterday’s Thirsty Thursday events were not enough for me to fully get back in the conductor’s chair of the hype train but whether it be for hoped for trades or just the first Buffalo Bills Playoff win since I was in diapers I can enthusiastically say right now: Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. According to NHL PR that OT Penalty shot goal by Jack Eichel made him the first player in Buffalo Sabres history to do such a thing. That is some kind of surprising stat.

[junker-town]

The Jaguars only have themselves to blame for the Jalen Ramsey debacle

Jalen Ramsey has requested a trade from the Jaguars.

In the last two years, the Jaguars have made all the wrong moves and alienated their best players.

Jalen Ramsey was every bit the player the Jacksonville Jaguars hoped he’d be when they drafted him top five in 2016. But now the two-time Pro Bowler is headed to the Los Angeles Rams.

The good news for the Jaguars is that the trade ended up getting them the haul they were after. About a month after Ramsey first demanded a trade, the Jaguars relented with a trade to the Rams that nets them first-round picks in 2020 and 2021, as well as a fourth-round pick in 2021.

The bad news is that a great player — the only First-Team All-Pro they’ve drafted in the last 13 years — is gone.

His Week 2 sideline spat with Doug Marrone wasn’t the reason Ramsey requested a trade. That was just the tip of the iceberg. It was a brouhaha with a Jaguars executive after that game — reportedly executive vice president Tom Coughlin — that officially caused the cornerback to ask to be on another team.

The reality, though, is that the cornerback’s frustrations with the Jaguars were brewing for a long time. And frankly, how could they not be?

Twenty months ago, the Jaguars played in the AFC Championship against the Patriots. Had it not been for a poor officiating call in that game, the Jaguars likely would’ve gone to the Super Bowl too. In the nearly two years since, much of that roster has fallen apart.

Jacksonville did everything possible to alienate its best players and create the mess it currently has on its hands. When Ramsey asked for a trade, they had won just two of their last 14 games, and all that losing had taken its toll.

“I just want to fucking win,” Ramsey said in a press conference less than 24 hours after reports surfaced of his request. He didn’t say much else during his presser, a change of pace for a player who’s refreshingly honest — sometimes to a fault — about his thoughts. This time, he didn’t have to spell things out, though.

It’s clear Ramsey lost faith that the Jaguars are an organization capable of turning things around. If not for a shockingly strong start to the career of sixth-round rookie Gardner Minshew, the Jaguars very well may be a winless team right now. It’s not hard to understand why Ramsey wanted out.

Just one defensive player has received an extension in the last 2 years

Jacksonville’s 2017 season was a success because of its elite defense. No team in the NFL allowed fewer points, yards, plays, or time of possession per drive than the Jaguars that year. That defense forced a franchise-record 33 turnovers and finished with 55 sacks.

Six Jaguars made the Pro Bowl then, all of them defensive players: Ramsey, Calais Campbell, Yannick Ngakoue, Malik Jackson, Telvin Smith, A.J. Bouye.

Yet, the one player who was rewarded handsomely for the Jaguars’ deep postseason run was turnover-prone quarterback Blake Bortles. He signed a three-year, $54 million contract with Jacksonville that included $26.5 million in guarantees, despite finishing that 2017 season 20th in passer rating.

It, unsurprisingly, blew up in the Jaguars’ face.

Bortles didn’t magically transform into a quarterback worth that kind of money. He continued to throw too many interceptions and struggled when injuries wiped up much of the offensive talent around him in 2018. He was released after the season and the Jaguars are eating $16.5 million in salary cap space just to have Bortles off the team.

The significant investment for the Jaguars in the 2019 offseason was again at quarterback. The team dished out a four-year, $88 million deal to Nick Foles with $50 million guaranteed — bidding against themselves in the process.

Why did the #Jaguars pay so much for Nick Foles if there were no other big bidders? We discussed here. pic.twitter.com/QOiulR6dcH

— Mike Garafolo (@MikeGarafolo) March 11, 2019

It’s not the Jaguars’ fault that Foles suffered a broken clavicle less than 10 minutes into the season. It is their fault that the overpriced contract is a big reason why salary cap space is running low.

It wasn’t until the end of August when a key defensive player finally got a contract. Myles Jack — a player who wasn’t a member of the Pro Bowl sextet in 2017 — signed a four-year, $57 million contract before the 2019 season began.

But in the time between that AFC Championship run and Jack’s extension, much of the dominant defense was gutted. Defensive tackle Malik Jackson and safeties Tashaun Gipson and Barry Church were all released, defensive end Dante Fowler Jr. was traded to the Rams, and cornerback Aaron Colvin left in free agency.

Ngakoue, who tallied 29.5 sacks in his first three seasons — more than any other player in his draft class — held out from training camp in hopes of a new contract and didn’t get one. Ngakoue isn’t even half the mercurial personality that Ramsey is, but voiced his displeasure about how the negotiation played out.

#Jaguars DE Yannick Ngakoue: "They had a chance to sign me for a long-term deal but it didn't get done. It is what it is. I love football, love my teammates, and I'm here to play games." Could a deal get done before the season? "It's out of my hands. I don't even know."

— Phillip Heilman (@phillip_heilman) August 4, 2019

Ramsey also made his desire for a new contract known in 2019 and was told it wasn’t even worth asking.

Jalen Ramsey says he has been told by the Jaguars that he won’t be receiving a contract extension this year

— John Reid (@JohnReid64) June 11, 2019

That decision made sense with Ramsey under contract through the 2021 season, thanks to the fifth-year option on his rookie deal.

However, three of the four players picked ahead of Ramsey in the 2016 NFL Draft — Jared Goff, Carson Wentz, Ezekiel Elliott — have already signed lucrative extensions that make them among the highest-paid at their respective positions. Meanwhile, Ramsey is making about $3.6 million in 2019, despite having a strong argument as the top cornerback in the NFL.

While he wants a raise, Ramsey brushed off the suggestion that it’s the reason for his trade request. But he did mention that he was happy to see Jack get a contract extension, and told the media multiple times that Ngakoue deserves one too.

Ramsey’s dissatisfaction with the Jaguars’ roster-building strategy was understandable, especially when the team was terrible on the field too.

The Jaguars’ coaching is failing the talent

One of the most surprising aspects of Jacksonville’s fall from grace was the amount of coverage busts allowed by the previously dominant defense. For some reason, the Jaguars opted to play a puzzling amount of zone defense in 2018, leading to coverage lapses.

That’s been true in 2019 too. The Chiefs carved up the Jaguars in Week 1, recording 491 total yards and 40 points due to gaping holes in the Jacksonville secondary.

TWO FIRST QUARTER TOUCHDOWNS FOR SAMMY WATKINS ‍♂️ @sammywatkins pic.twitter.com/1WclllgsjN

— The Checkdown (@thecheckdown) September 8, 2019

The Jaguars defense has too many veteran players to make those kind of mistakes, but it’s also worth questioning why the team is playing that way. There was no secret sauce to Jacksonville’s success in 2017: It bullied teams up front and locked down receivers with a pair of top-flight cornerbacks.

Ramsey is fed up with the team not getting back to what made it great in the first place:

One of the best pure cover corners, Jalen Ramsey wants to play man-to-man and lock a WR down. One issue has been having him play zone https://t.co/7RIlT8bx4X

— Ian Rapoport (@RapSheet) September 16, 2019

Doug Marrone’s decision to ignore Ramsey’s pleas for a challenge in Week 2 initially seemed like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jalen Ramsey is not happy, part II pic.twitter.com/FzJUJR7N3t

— Rivers McCown (@riversmccown) September 15, 2019

Ramsey denied that was the case.

“Requesting the trade was something that has kind of been building for over a little bit of time,” Ramsey told Nate Burleson. “It was more about the front office and the organization.”

According to Ramsey, it was a postgame meeting with the front office was sealed the deal. “Some disrespectful things were said on their end that made me definitely walk out and call my agent as soon as I walked out,” Ramsey added.

Alas, nearly two years of bad choices by the Jaguars led to the molehill quickly becoming a mountain.

A trade became an inevitability

This saga didn’t have to end with Ramsey getting traded this season. The Jaguars were asking for two first-round picks and change, and that’s what they got mostly because they had no sense of urgency to move him for anything less than that price.

It helped too that the whole damn league wanted Ramsey.

I'm told Jalen Ramsey is fine playing TNF tonight, but a source just told me he doesn't anticipate being a member of the #Jags next Sun. Teams like KC, BAL, MIN, OAK, PHI, SEA hv all made substantive inquiries, but my understanding is almost every team has at least placed a call.

— ig: josinaanderson (@JosinaAnderson) September 19, 2019

Owner Shad Khan advocated for keeping the cornerback. According to the Associated Press, Khan had several meetings to try to resolve the conflict and was reportedly ready to give Ramsey the contract he wanted.

But Ramsey didn’t back down on his request. He told Burleson, “I’m not sure if I’ve played my final game for the Jags yet or not, but my trade request still stands.”

Still, it seemed like a situation that could be resolved in the offseason — especially after Ramsey helped the team beat the Titans, 20-7, in Week 3. It looked like Ramsey planned to continue to play good football for the Jaguars all year. It was, after all, in his best interest to continue proving he’s worth a pricy investment.

Having Ramsey on the field was a good situation for the Jaguars to keep benefitting from. But it was also in Ramsey’s best interest to stay healthy, so when his back wasn’t quite feeling 100 percent, there was no reason in his mind to play through it. He sat out the Jaguars’ last three games and the defense struggled as a consequence.

His absence pushed the trade request into an inevitability and now he’s a member of the Rams. The Jaguars got their asking price, but before they celebrate too much, they should ask themselves how they ruined such a good thing so fast.