#no like his little happy freakout made me so god damn happy with the “so you do! laugh!�� | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stevetonyweekly · 2 years ago

Text

SteveTony Weekly - June 5

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I read this week. Be sure to leave your author a comment or kudos if you enjoy a story!

***Marks my recent favorites

~*~

Hidden Facets by Sineala

The weirdest consequence of Tony's unexpected telepathy is not the fact that he now knows Steve has secret gay fantasies. It's not even the fact that Tony has a starring role in them. That's absolutely fine. Better than fine, even. But what Tony can't figure out is why all of Steve's secret gay fantasies about him are so goddamn sad.

Take Me Home by iam93percentstardust, Sagana_Rojana_Olt

Bucky thinks he and Steve have found a meal. He's wrong - they've found a mate.

Sore Winner by Captain_Panda

You ever meet a couple who does puzzles together?

That's Steve and Tony. Except they're not a couple.

They just keep meeting in the middle, because Tony's competitive streak and Steve's midnight boredom both yearn for satiation.

Also, Tony Stark refuses to lose.

****Today Was a Fairytale by iam93percentstardust

Today was a fairytale

You've got a smile that takes me to another planet

Every move you make everything you say is right

Today was a fairytale

Steve gives Tony daisies.

And it’s… nice.

Tony’s suitors send him roses and exotic orchids and genetically modified blossoms that bloom in impossible colors no one could ever hope to find in nature. His mother makes sure there’s always a fresh bouquet of irises in his room—they usually come from her own garden, but he still doesn’t know how she manages to find them even in the middle of winter.

And Steve… Steve gives him daisies.

When I Think (Oh, it Terrifies Me) by celli

Look, some mornings you wake up and little green men are invading New York City; some mornings you wake up and you can hear Captain America's voice in your head. Tony has been an Avenger long enough that he saves his freakout for important things.

The Sound Silence Makes by ladyshadowdrake

“We need exactly what we don’t have,” Tony observed, annoyed and tired. He started to giggle and couldn’t stop himself. “Power.”

He cast a glance back at the door, sealed shut behind him, and he didn’t foresee the cavalry charging through anytime soon with a generator and a bomb kit. Tony took a deep breath and asked, “How much reserve power does the suit have, J?”

“The suit is currently running on the arc reactor, sir. You have approximately one hour of power remaining before the reactor reaches critical levels.”

Devil with an Easy Grin by ladyshadowdrake

Steve meets a charismatic stranger at a club for a one night stand, and expects to never see him again.

Breaking Tony by AvocadoLove

In a world where everyone is born beta, leaders chosen by newly founded packs become alpha. Omegas are not born or made, they are broken.

Steve wants Tony to become the Avenger's omega.

familiar, unbidden by ohjustpeachy

Tony was a great friend, and an even better teammate, once they got past the ugliness of their first few weeks together. He didn’t want to mess it up. He didn’t want to fall for the first person who was kind to him, who looked at him like a person rather than a medical marvel or a tactical miracle, in his whole long life. How pathetic would that be?

Or, after a near-kiss with Tony, Steve takes off on a cross-country road trip in the hopes of making peace with his past and his present.

Failed Step One by SoldiersShield, zappedbysnow

So no, the real problem is not that Steve Rogers is the love of Tony's life and he never had the chance to tell him; the problem is that he’s the love of his life and he has no idea how to tell him. Regardless of his aversion to both shellfish and overused metaphors, the world is Tony's oyster now. He’s got one shot at this, and under no circumstances can he screw it up.

So, naturally, he screws it up in a way that only Tony Stark could be capable of.

(Or: Tony accidentally proposes before they're dating, because the man's a god damn mess.)

Written for the SteveTony Better Together Zine!

Jink by FestiveFerret

When Steve agrees to dog sit for Colonel Rhodes, he doesn't expect Rhodes' unusual, intriguing, and painfully attractive whirlwind of a best friend to show up unannounced.

Growth Spurt by FestiveFerret

Tony: Remember that guy I had the hots for in high school that I was telling you about?

Rhodey: The Steve guy? Yeah.

Tony: He's here.

Rhodey: Oh shit.

Tony: He grew a beard.

Rhodey: ...

Rhodey: You're fucked.

Tony: IKR.

The Problem With Communication by itsallAvengers

Steve is terrible at flirting, but when he finally picks up the courage to talk to the adorable barista who makes his drinks, he finds himself hitting a small snag:

That being, Tony is deaf. He doesn't know what Steve is saying.

But never say Steve Rogers does not rise to a challenge.

***Dangerous Kitchen Tools by ladyshadowdrake

Engineering prodigy, billionaire, and heir to the Stark Industries empire, Tony Stark turned the business world on its head by opening a restuarant and burying himself in the kitchen. Years later, he covers an informal evening cooking class for his friend and fellow molecular gastronomist, Bruce Banner, where he meets famously camera-shy comic artist Steve Rogers.

***Early Morning Calls by Tahlruil

There's nothing quite like getting yanked out of a dead sleep by a phone call, especially when you don't even know the person on the other end. But when you're as used to crazy as Steve, staying on the line doesn't seem like a bad idea at all.

And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live by shinkonokokoro

Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none

Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.

Survival by missbecky

Usually it's just an academic question: how far would you go to survive in hell? Two years as a prisoner in Jotunheim, and Tony Stark knows exactly what it takes to stay alive. Even if it costs him his humanity.

Out of Many Waters by Arukou

A freak accident sends Tony and Steve hurtling onto an alien planet. They've only each other for survival, and both have an unfortunate tendency towards monumentally stupid self-sacrifice.

In a Land of Shadow by Bragi151, LePeru (Nizah)

Steve Rogers has woken up in a post apocalyptic Earth with no memory of how he got there. Guided by the ghost of Tony Stark, Steve finds his way through the wasteland to try and fix his world, or at least stop other worlds from meeting a similar fate. At least, that's who he thinks is guiding him and what he thinks he's doing. Steve isn't quite sure himself. See End Notes for Warnings.

Secrets of a Successful Marriage by valtyr

Tony Stark lives a double life; he's secretly the supervillain known as Iron Man. But his loving husband Steve has a few secrets of his own, as Tony is about to discover.

you don't need me (but you won't leave me) by brandnewfashion

It was a gradual thing.

There was no shock of lightning, no epiphany or choir of angels.

There was no particular moment where Tony was struck with the realization that he was in love with Steve Rogers.

Apparently Only One Meal From Barbarism by valtyr

The Savage Land: "All kinds of mutates and dinosaurs and big cheetahs and a surprising amount of acceptable nudity." - Spider-Man

The Highest Form of Friendship by ChibiSquirt

“Imagine if I’d met you back in my hellion days,” Tony says, and Steve groans out loud.

There’s a mental image, here. Well, Steve’s a visual kind of guy; mental images are how he operates.

The mental image is of a baby Tony - okay, not baby; Heyday Tony, let’s call him - and Heyday Tony has dark eyes and a wide mouth, and the little pin-scratch frown that Nowadays Tony wears all the time these days has been magically retrotransformed into a confident smirk. Heyday Tony has the same lean strength that Nowadays Tony has, but he looks taller because he bears himself more aggressively, more straight-backed. Heyday Tony has poofy hair and a tendency to look all the way down, and all the way back up, at a person - regardless of gender - before meeting their eyes.

Steve knows: he’s seen the videos.

Has maybe studied the videos. Has maybe spent more time on that activity than strictly appropriate...

“Can we not?” he pleads. “It didn’t happen that way, and it did happen this way, and that’s how it is.”

With a Child's Heart by Scarlet_Ribbons

“Oh, god.” Steve whispers, sounding as horrified as Tony feels. “You’re so young. Tony, he’s so young.”

Spider-Man coughs once, a frail, baby-bird sound.

The (Not Really) Secret Origins of Movie Night by nightwalker

Somewhere along the line the Avengers have become a pretty good team. But Tony's still the odd man out, and Steve's determined to change that.

we should just kiss like real people do by theappleppielifestyle

Hoodie-guy stops in front of Steve just as he snaps, “FINE, I want to bang Tony Stark like a screen door in a hurricane, could we drop it now?”

“UM,” Sam says, loud enough that they both turn to look at him. He’s wide-eyed as he jerks his head meaningfully, gestures getting looser and more pointed as they continue not to get it.

Steve stares at him. This is why Sam is never picked for a partner when they all play Charades.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Steve turns to see Hoodie-guy smiling. Steve opens his mouth to say do you need something when he realizes why the man’s face is so familiar.

“Hi,” says Tony Stark.

Steve blurts the first thing he thinks. “Fuck.”

Visible At last by AvocadoLove

Based in a world where everyone has a soulmate's name written on their arm -- but not visible to the world until they touch.

1-900-SOULMATE by SailorChibi

Later, Tony would maintain that it wasn’t his fault. He was drunk and bored (lonely) and it just… happened.

Pepper would look at him and, in the driest tone that Tony had ever heard, remark that he was the only person in the history of the world who would stumble across their soulmate while drunk dialing a phone sex line.

Deep in the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

Veteran single dad Steve runs a tattoo shop. Pepper arranges for Tony to get that tattoo he always wanted, and he winds up with the mother of all crushes instead. Jumping out of airplanes is one thing, but love requires real courage. Steve struggles with letting someone into his life. Tony tries to keep his heart intact while Steve works on his issues.

Craving a realistic depiction of a romantic relationship featuring PTSD, mental health issues, and characters who discuss their problems? This might be for you. No magic fixes here but a happy ending is guaranteed!

#stevetony weekly #stevetony #stevetony fic rec #rec list #stony #stony recs #fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america

53 notes · View notes

tedturneriscrazy · 3 years ago

Text

Through the Looking Glass Ruins. No preamble. Let's do this.

Oh, hey, I finally figured out how to do the "keep reading" thing! Neat!

So that's how they're explaining Willow not being in this, huh? Pixies must be a nasty piece of work.

Incidentally, I really hope we get a Willow-centered episode this season.

"What's the point of being good at this if I can't do anything good with it?" Helluva line

Gus lying on the floor groaning in frustration is a mood

Fuck yeah Gus has a Bad Girl Coven shirt

I don't know how King was talked into recording that "leave a message" bit, but I'm into it.

Hi Willow. Bye Willow.

Loving Luz's permutations of "Gus"

Okay but the whole library card bit implies Luz does this all the damn time.

I'd ask why not get her own, but then I remember who she lives with.

I must admit, it's somewhat jarring to see Gus so filled with self-doubt.

Braxus! (Not worried about his fate so I can just enjoy his presence)

So Construction = earthbending. I knew it!

I also knew that Warden Wrath and Braxus were related! Turns out Wrath is a single dad.

Yes, Gus, those are their tracks.

Mattholomule (God, I hate writing his name) simping over Bria, aka how some people are about Felicia Day. (No problem with her, for the record, I'm just being a smartass)

Gus is actually invited to the adventure rather than offering to come along? That's a refreshing change of pace.

How long was Luz holding her breath?!

It seems the call to adventure won't take no for an answer, Gus.

I know Gus crushing on Bria puts a damper on the Ace Gus headcanon, but consider: Ace Biromantic Gus!

Eda making headlines with her human market, we love to see it

Planet of Humans "Too implausible" lmao

Ah, there's hair down Amity! So good!

"Finally! I can learn how to summon the Dark Lord!"

Luz is yearning

Do Ed and Em just...go around like that?

"Nah, looks like you've got that covered." So everyone just knows, cool cool.

Ooh, they/them date for Ed!

In this episode: blushing, and lots of it!

Also Luz is such a bi disaster it's great.

The twins definitely know what's up. Then again, Luz and Amity are not in the least bit subtle.

¡Más español!

Amity breaking the rules to help her gf? Now that's character development!

(Although it seems to me they could've just tried asking Malphas about that diary, but whatever)

"You have to do everything I say" I'm sure this won't come back to bite them.

Man, Matt really is quite little. Even Gus is taller than him now.

HADOKEN!

(Not sure if he figured out it was a fire glyph or if he was just guessing)

I say the buffing properties of illusion magic are underappreciated.

Ooh, what if the Galderstones were made by illusionists? That might help explain why illusions aren't boosted by them!

Forbidden Stacks really going hard, huh?

More blushing, always nice

So that's how Amity has her own secret room in the library.

Potential future date in the human realm is a powerful motivator, I see.

That "Don't tread on me" snake never said anything about poking.

Make the butterfly boi lookout, sure.

Beginning to think Bria is not as...nice as she puts on...

Grave robbing is a perfectly wholesome activity for teenagers, right?

Yup, I was right about Bria.

"Who's that Pokémon?!"

"Deadwardian Era" I love this show's wordplay

Y'know, considering all these ancient books have their own separate area, they are not kept in the best condition.

This is still cute as hell.

So much for the being quiet part...

Of course Malphas talks like an old hippie. Why did I expect any different?

That whole exchange...I just...😭

The "doing stupid things," the dawning comprehension on Amity's face, Luz vowing in Spanish to make things right...so much to unpack here!

Also, I'm still waiting for Amity's turn to have a proper cry this season. That doesn't count.

"It's a faaaaake!" Callback to the Pokémon bit and a Star Trek DS9 reference? I am a master wordsmith!

(Disclaimer: I haven't really watched any Star Trek. Everything I know about it is through osmosis)

Strange, Gus seems less than thrilled by being hugged by a frazzled old man.

Illusionists guarding the Galderstones makes perfect sense, but unfortunately it does require that that fact not be widely known.

Call me crazy, but I think Bria was bullshitting when talking about "changing things for the better."

Wait, are they making Matt less of a shithead? I think I'm okay with this.

Oh, Angmar, a shame you have to hang with such a crowd.

Regardless of that development, I maintain that Angmar>Alador in the contest of butterfly bois.

Come on, Gavin, you can't seriously be falling for this. (Everything about this is hilarious. Big mustaches, man)

"I'm not dumb enough to fall for these tricks!" Give it a moment.

ANCIENT SINS ANCIENT SINS

Yeah, it's an obvious reference, but it's a good one, dammit!

Damn, Gus, going ham with all that. And the whole graveyard, to boot!

That's the thing about illusions, you can get super fucked up with them. Look what they got away with for a TV-Y7 rating!

Welp, Gustholomule just got some fuel.

Aw, sibling bonding moment.

"Is that so bad? You weren't happy before."

New hair color!

Luz is into it!

Ed and Em are us.

Time for lore!

Ah, conveniently timed wind blowing through Luz's hair, I see.

"Don't worry. You have a way of sneaking into people's hearts." This is some Kingdom Hearts bullshit and I am here for it!

I think I spent all my freakout energy last night, so no all caps for the kiss.

Oh who am I kidding AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Luz's turn for dawning comprehension!

Amity's whole reaction to what she just did is 100000/10

The way Luz just sinks to the ground

So yeah, that was something, huh? Gus adventure and Lumity development! What more could you ask for?

(Maybe a few things, but we can talk about that elsewhere)

Anyway, I'll be doing this again next week! Probably sleep deprived as usual.

#the owl house #toh s2 spoilers #the owl house s2 spoilers #the owl house season 2 spoilers #toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers #gus porter #luz noceda #mattholomule #amity blight #lumity #edric blight #emira blight #toh bria #toh gavin #toh angmar #yes all the screencaps are lumity #i'm not apologizing

65 notes · View notes

kikilefangirl · 4 years ago

Text

Old Ties

Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x Reader

(Word Count: 1629)

This was your first time back from school since Christmas, and you missed home. You had elected to stay in an apartment near campus for the summer and rarely went back.

This was your birthday weekend, and you had to see your family and old friends after going so long without. Sometimes your mom joked you were too slippery to answer the phone, let alone stay on for long. It was true, with one notable exception: your baby brother Jamal.

“Y/N!” He hollered excitedly. You laughed when you pulled up because he had a fake neck brace on as his injury of the month. And his friends were there, all grown up.

“‘Mal! It’s so good to see you.”

“What about me?” Ruby asked incredulously.

“You too, Ruby. Monsé, look at you!” You praised. Then you were one off your count.

“Where’s Cesar?”

He was the only one missing from the group. Each kid had different emotions flash across their faces. Oh. You knew the feeling.

“Well get in, we’re going to get him.” You declared. They let out a chorus of protests and excuses, but you had already started the car.

“A seat has some of my bags in it, so one of y’all sitting in the middle.” You added.

You hadn’t been home five minutes and were already on your way to him. Indirectly, of course. All three kids piled in, and you drove off after a moan from Ruby about sitting in the middle seat.

“How do you know the way there?” Jamal asked skeptically. You gave him some throwaway response and put on some lip gloss.

You knew damn well why you expertly made the short drive to Spooky’s house, but they didn’t need to know that. Sooner that you were prepared to, you pulled up and hopped out.

You never once broke your stride past Santos and hynas. You heard your car doors slam, so the others were behind you, but you pressed on without soaring them a glance.

The music blasted along with the roar of engines and laughs from partygoers and clinking bottles. Your breath caught in your throat as you headed farther back in the driveway.

There he was, sitting down smoking a blunt next to him was Cesar. Damn, the kids had gotten older.

“Never thought I’d see you here.” Oscar said, finally.

He exhaled, and stood up not two feet away from you. Plump lips, intense brown eyes, no. You were never able to turn away from him.

Oscar was still fine as hell and you were losing focus.

“I came here to get Cesar.”

Not you.

The unsaid words were heavy between the two of you. Everyone who wasn’t drunk or oblivious could see the battle of wills going on. Even Cesar looked confused, and it was technically about him.

“He goes.” Oscar started, bringing a hand to your cheek, “You stay.”

Closure, you decided, was some bullshit because after two years of heartbreak and your determination to stay away...You accepted his trade.

Jamal, of course had heart palpitations the second a yes flew out your mouth. Ruby paled at the idea, and Monsé was staring at Cesar.

As soon as they left, it gave you some peace watching the four of them go off like they used to. Oscar struggled with the worst hand he could’ve been dealt, but his brother didn’t have to go through the same. Cesar was a different kid; Cesar was still somewhat allowed to be a kid.

Oscar put out his blunt and brought you inside.

You filled your eyes at the hoots and whistles from outside as you shut the screen door and then the real one.

You and Oscar were truly alone, now.

“How long before you’re gone, again.” He lamented, pulling out two beers from the fridge.

You winced at his words.

“The weekend.” You admitted. Spooky scoffed at you as he popped the top off of either bottle. He slid one over to you as you tapped your nails on the counter.

“Got over your little cholo phase and dipped, huh.” He spat out. You slammed your hand on the counter. Your palm stung from the impact, but your anger was more pressing.

“You know good and goddamn well that wasn’t it. Do I look like some white girl who took the wrong bus and got lost!” You roared at him.

He made it seem like an easy choice for you. That it was easy leaving everyone and everything for a whole new world you’d never even really seen before.

You flared your nostrils at Oscar, mostly to keep the tears at bay.

“I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this shit, Osc. You gonna keep doing your Santo shit, and I’m supposed to what? Sit here popping out your babies so twenty years from now they supposed to do the same shit? You go down, and I don’t got nothing to stand on? No.”

You shook your head violently. No. No, no, no. You spied where he kept his good liquor and grabbed it. You guzzled as much as you could in one pass.

Oscar stood there watching you with a look you couldn’t care to decipher.

Modesty wasn’t exactly a priority between you two. You and Oscar dealt in the raw, honest truth. It was what cooled the two of you, and it was doing so now. You knew it and he knew it.

“You messing with anyone up there?” He asked. Oscar was steady in his slow, rolling voice. Never tentative, always patient.

“Nothing serious.” You admitted. There was a fling that lasted a couple weeks in May, a failed date or two, and a car hookup once. In short, no one was ever him.

“You?” You stared intently at him, searching his eyes for any hint he was holding back.

Oscar’s list of names was shorter than yours. And to your surprise, you let out a sigh of relief.

He smirked and put his hand over yours, squeezing it for reassurance.

“We’re okay.” He said and against all reason you believed him.

He leaned in closer, and pulled you into a hug.

But like the ass he was, Oscar chose a less romantic course. His breath fanned your neck, and you short circuited. You always went blank when Oscar was so close to you and he took full advantage.

You had the willpower of a goldfish.

You hopped up on the counter, the two of you exchanging hungry, passionate kisses, desperate to make up for lost time and old grievances.

...

You stayed at the house well into the night.

You sweated out your edges, smudged your makeup, and damn near limped back to your car. By the time you left, the party had gone somewhere else and the lot was quiet. Not even Cesar had returned.

You sat in your car and Oscar leaned into the window.

“Happy Birthday.” He said. You smiled and gave him a long kiss, savoring the memory of him. When you pulled away, you deflated.

“I’m going back to school on Monday.” You said softly. You drummed on the steering wheel.

“Then come back tomorrow.” He suggested. It wasn’t the same anymore. You two weren’t teenagers sneaking away during football games. His life was as real as yours, if not more. You held in the tears threatening to spill over.

“I’m sorry, Osc. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

The silence that came next was deafening. You stared straight ahead and let the tears stream down your face with no abandon. A gentle hand wiped them away.

“No crying. You gotta go see the world for the both of us, ‘kay.” He told you. There was no bitterness or sadness in his eyes. Just love. Love for you, for him, and for everything the two of you went through together.

You let your forehead rest on his.

“I promise.” You whispered to him. At that, Oscar stepped back and you saw him in full view.

He nodded one last time, and you pulled off into the night.

...

“Oh. My. God. Is that a hickey? That’s a hickey. You let Spooky give you that! You could be infected with all kinds of diseases that will haunt you for the rest of your life!”

Jamal’s freakout made you crack a smile. He had only seen Oscar as the Santo Spooky, Cesar’s scary ass older brother. But you had known him since you were twelve and had been with him since you were fifteen.

“We had history, it’s over now. Chill out.” You replied.

“Damn it, Y/N you know I can’t fight, why would you put me in this position!” He barked out. You smiled.

“Oh I know you can’t fight, you know being a D1 athlete and all.” You teased. You knew he’d eventually work up the nerve to tell your parents the truth, but it was fun messing with him in the meantime.

“Okay seriously, are you and Spooky gonna keep--ew, I can’t say it.” He rambled. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Jamal, listen. I love Oscar and I always will. But we’ve outgrown each other. We grew up here, this our home, but you and I have stability and a way out that Oscar never had. Neighborhood will drag you back in and I can’t afford to do that. Grown decisions, ‘Mal.”

You plopped down on your bed, and stared at nothing. It really was over.

Jamal hugged you tightly, and you hugged him back. You hoped Cesar wouldn’t share his brother’s path. You had given up hope a long time ago that Oscar would. He couldn’t.

And it was cruel of you to hold onto him any longer, so you didn’t.

#black!reader #poc!reader #on my block #Oscar Diaz #spooky #spooky diaz #spooky diaz x reader #oscar diaz x reader #on my block fanfiction #julio macias #Oscar Diaz angst #sad ending sorry #spooky Diaz angst

381 notes · View notes

tellywoodtrash · 4 years ago

Text

immj2 04.11.20 lb

ok speed-watched the 3rd nov ep and here are the highlights:

mummy and kabir ka freakout about ragini being alive.

someone in a mask (siya??????) knocking already paralysed riddhima out with chloroform when she tries to make a call to kabir.

kabir sneaking into the mansion and riddhima passing on a message to him in the form of a conversation with vansh, during which she challenges V that she'll steal ragini away from him.

kabir looking 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽 hey boy are you a family pack of haldiram's aloo bhujia coz you AN ABSOLUTE SNACCCC. (i think there was a convo between him and mummy ki she has to help riddhima so that riddhima can get him to ragini. but i was too busy staring at his neck/chest coz......... tharak. 😜😜😜)

vansh digging a grave in his backyard at midnight like the fucking weirdo he is, and riddhima being like smh really, i got horny for THIS dude???????

some cocky talk by vansh next morning about how his mission for revenge is finally gonna come to a head today and how riddhima should be happy coz this means that they can start their new lives together. followed by some truly savage dahi-cheeni eating that grossed me tf out. this show really doing The Most to make this hot dude absolutely repulsive to me.

vansh instructing ishani to keep an eye on riddhima to make sure she doesn't leave the house today.

ok now that you're caught up, onwardsssssssssss!

———————————————————————

*pink panther theme music playing*

mummy distracting ishani from noticing riddhima in the most Boomer way possible; phone mein app download nahi ho raha, mere liye kardo plssssssss.

“teen saal pehle jo kaam humara fail ho gaya tha woh waapas aa raha hai.” 0.0% surprising revelation that they the ones who tried to murder ragini.

mask person has knocked riddhima out YET AGAIN. THE SECOND TIME IN LIKE, 12 HOURS. DUDE. THIS CAN'T BE GOOD FOR HER HEALTH. Y'ALL FUCKING CRAZY.

oh thank god, dadi is finally back. not that inki kuch khaas chalti hai, but at least these three raisinghania hellions will stop constantly giving riddhima mini-comas every 6 hours, on the dot. yes, i'm fully including siya in it, i'm absolutely sure that she's the mask person now. idk why, but i am.

mummy is like oufff isko nikalna tha aur behosh ho gayi aur ab yahaan baithi juice pee rahi hai manhoos.

riddhima like yup, there's definitely another person here other than ishani who's helping vansh. YEAH IT SIYA YOU DUMBASSSSSSSS.

riddhima doing bukhaar waali acting and i'm sure has hacked the thermometer hum hain raahi pyaar ke style to show temp of 103.

a doctor has been called and kabir has been informed ki riddhima is awwal number ki nikkami jisne saara plan fail kiya hua hai.

but behen is super duper determined and convinced that she will beat vansh no matter what. yeah sis. beat him. beat him over the head with a danda.

lmaoooooooooooooo look at these two smirking at each other over their shady shenanigans. the real love story of this show.

“aise important mauke waste karna hi uska talent hai.” i truly live for mummy's verbal evisceration of riddhima.

kabir sure ki this is part of riddhima's plan. get you a man like kabir who has fulllllll confidence in you. not one like vansh who constantly underestimates you. oh, and paralyses you.

ishani is truly Forever Mood.

gaadi ruk gayi. smirky boys not smirking anymore.

snort. someone’s been watching a little too much ipk on hotstar.

riddhima has picked up a trick from the raisinghanias. aur do issko ideas.

“i'm so proud of you riddhima!!!!!!!!”

i love his snarky asssssss so much.

SHE WAS RUSHING AROUND SAYING TIME NAHI HAI TIME NAHI HAI HAR EK MINUTE KEEMTI HAI RAGINI KO BACHAANE KE LIYE, BUT NOW SHE HAS TIME TO STAND AROUND AND IMAGINE HER TWO BOYTOYS DEBATING ABOUT PYAAR AND FARZ. GODDDDDDDDDDDDD

waise bhi, do hotties ko saath mein imagine karr hi rahi ho toh bhi yeh lameass debate? wouldn't be me. my imagination would have them shirtless and wrestling for my hand in marriage.

BITCH EVERY MAN IS A UNIQUE NIGHTMARE IN HIS OWN WAY; STOP WASTING TIME OVER CHOOSING ONE OF THEM AND JUST GET YOUR ASS MOVINGGGGGGGG

rrahul's angry acting is unbearable.

doctor has to be a dumbass not to ask her why it took her HALF AN HOUR to just give one injection. and what's with the drastic change in eye makeup situation?!?!!?!?! the patient gave you a makeover?????

ishani yeh ghatiya blue lenses hatao toh tumhe dikhe jo mummy ko dikha.

idhar they've literally been standing around doing jack for one hour. in this time, literally 40 autos have passed him and he didn't think to hail even one of them.

EVEN NOW HE'S SCREAMING AT THE CARS TO STOP AND NOT THE EMPTYASSSSSSS AUTOS. ARE YOU ALLOWED TO BE A MAFIA LEADER OR WHATEVER THE FUCK HE IS THAT MADE HIM SO GODDAMN RICH IF YOU'RE THIS FUCKING STOOOOOPID????????

pachchis minute to reach aaaaaaaaaaaaaand...........

yup. this is the choice he makes. wonderful.

riddhima’s new gig as an uber driver has commenced with an auspicious customer.

RACE SAANSON KI.

RACE CHAAHAT KI.

RACE DHADKAN KI.

MY HEART IS RACING ON!!!!!!!!! (because i am very very unfit and have severe anxiety.)

watch out milind soman, you got competition in the hot-dude-running-for-absolutely-no-good-reason department.

ishani knows bhaabi sus as hell and damn near breaking the door down.

but dadi came and took her away. but not before they peeked in and saw SOMEONE in bed and assumed it's riddhima. raisinghanias really got shit for brains.

meanwhile..........

yeah, this looks like it's going as well as i expected.

he just hurt his leg and then when he stood up the pant leg still spotless white.

if kabir wasn't a murderous psycho who wanted to murder ragini himself his righteous anger seeing her haalat would totally turn me on rn.

LMAO WHAT, YOU WANT HER TO TAKE RAGINI OUT WHILE YOU HANDLE THE NURSE?!?!?! HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE HOW IS TINY BIRD LIKE RIDDHIMA SUPPOSED TO SMUGGLE AN UNCONSCIOUS WOMAN HER SIZE OUT???? LET *HER* HANDLE THE NURSE AND YOU CARRY RAGINI OUT, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS.

“usse harm mat karna.”

kabir nods yes AND THEN PROMPTLY GOES ON TO SUFFOCATE THE NURSE. MAN, YOU PPL IN THIS SHOW REALLY TAKE UNCONSCIOUSNESS VERYYYYYYYYYYYYY LIGHTLY.

how is ragini's hair so shiny and conditioned and still in the braid after being bedridden for 3 years, when my hair is a fucking chidiya ka ghosla after a half hour nap????

lo, yeh mahashay finally pohunch gaye.

OH SHITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

oh thank god. idk why i'm so invested in kameena kabir getting away with his shit, but i am. i just like him better.

he knows someone is here and made the nurse unconscious. THEN WHY THE FUCK IS HE YELLLLLLLLLLLING AND LETTING WHOEVER IS TRYING TO GET RAGINI KNOW THAT HE’S HERE AND COMING INTO THE ROOM?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?

pls god can this show free rrahul??? he needs to be in a softboy romantic role where he can flash his puppy eyes and sassy smile. this role is just notttttttt a good fit for him. THIS IS LIKE WHEN THEY MADE OMKARA A CRAZYASS JUNGLEEEEEE IN DBO ALLLLLL OVER AGAIN. IT JUST DOESN’T FIT THE ACTOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LMAO ISKI KHUSHIIIIIIIII TOH DEKHO. truly, nothing makes me happier than a woman who has fucked a man over and made him miserable. and this one toh particularly deserved it also. i know it’s all gonna turn to shit later coz she’ll have ruined some mission that had a “noble” reason behind it, but for now, i’m happy she managed to get at least a small badla for the paralysis thing.

#ishq mein marjawan 2 #immj2 #immj2 lbs #episode liveblogs

22 notes · View notes

grody-cosplay-n-crap · 5 years ago

Text

The Ones that Die

After everything he’s seen, this might as well be next. Sentient lights that feed off the fear of mortals make an afterlife seem kind of dull after all.

Eddie is a ghost, but it doesn’t bring him any more clarity.

I never really knew what “this fic got away from me” meant until I started writing this. Wanted to explore Eddie being able to realize Richie was in love with him and vomited this out instead. I hope you enjoy the result.

on ao3

__________________________________________________________

Slowly, he blinks. Once, twice, three times. He was standing, or at least that’s how it seemed. His body somehow felt wrong, not heavy enough, not…dense. As he contemplated gravity’s seeming lack of power over him things came into focus. A cave. Well…cave might be generous. A nasty, damp hole might be more accurate, and god what the fuck was that smell? After a few moments of just wrinkling his nose as hard as he could he glances to his left, almost physically jumping when he realized there was a group of people immediately next to him. How fucking long had they been there and what the fuck were they doing hanging out in this hell hole (what was he??) To be fair they looked like they were ready to leave ASAP and he became vaguely aware that the area around them seemed to be all but falling apart. Clearly this place should have been blocked off to the public this was a HUGE liability. It looked like one of the people had already been hurt, slumped against the wall-

Everything stopped.Sitting there, eyes glassy and unblinking, dark thick blood still dripping off of their chin, a trail that led his eyes down to a gaping wet hole. He doubled over to vomit only to realize he couldn’t, as if his organs had been stolen out of his body cavity. There in front of him was himself, unmoving and very clearly dead.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the EVER LOVING FUCK

Slowly he realized sounds were coming back to him, like someone turning up the volume on a TV. How had he not noticed everything was silent? Now voices, breathing, ambient sounds and distantly rocks falling. If he still felt like he had lungs he’s pretty sure he would be hyperventilating. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Was this a new more detailed type of lucid dream, could he be medicated for this? What if he was the first case EVER and there is no treatment-

“-we got it man-” His panicked thoughts come to a screeching halt and he finally really looks at the people standing around his -definitely a hallucination- body. Gravity suddenly feels like it has been turned back on as memories all fall into place in a way that is nothing if not devastating. He knows why he’s down there…he knows who these people are. He knows that he…..that he really is dead. It feels like his heart is back and a cold hand has wrapped around it and squeezed.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” He whispers “ It got me, that motherFUCKING clown-” covering his mouth and squeezing his eyes closed acceptance seeps into him. After all he has seen this might as well be next. He’s not sure why he has not been crippled by grief and pure raw panic by now, except for the strange feeling that his mind is missing something it had in life, just like the density seems to be missing from his bones. He supposes after the alien shapeshifting sentient lights that fed off the fear of mortals and a….a turtle?? an afterlife seemed almost dull. He really thought for a minute he had killed that motherfucker, his bright eyed joy seemed truly embarrassing now. Somehow the memory of the shameful irony is more powerful to him than the memory of the physical pain. God being dead had really fucked up his priorities. How long had he been spacing out since remembering what was going on, seconds? Minutes? Was time even real anymore? God what a cliche. He could see Richie’ s face in his mind right when he had been stabbed and that hurt more than the actual claw going through his organs. Oh god Rich.

Time snapped back to moving normally again and he was once again watching his best friends all gathered around his corpse.

“-he’s alright, we just got to get him out of here, he’s hurt man-"

What? He looked at Richie with confusion, frowning. The denial in his voice, as if he truly believed what he said…. Eddie was clearly gone, his eyes staring endlessly into nothing. Why would his friend say that, so utterly out of touch with reality?

"Honey… honey he’s dead…” Bev’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“Richie…” Eddie said, his voice sounding just the same to his ears as it always had “It’s true man, I’m gone… I’m gone."

"We gotta go-” Bill. He watched as Richie took his body into his arms in a gesture more tender and desperate than he could ever remember seeing from the other man.

“Richie come on…. Why are you-that-” he gestures “ That isn’t me anymore. It’s okay you can just leave it-” A recoiling feeling hit him at the thought of being stuck in this place forever, but he pushes it away. Not him, just something that used to be. Rocks were starting to fall. “ You guys can’t get hurt over… over a body!” Ben, Bill and Mike are trying to pry Richie off now and he only clings tighter.

“We can still help him guys, we can still help him-!!”

“Let me GO Richie!!” He all but yells, feeling like stomping his foot in frustration, just like he had countless times as a kid.“ Why are you being like this?!”

“We can still help him-!!!” He was being dragged away now, successfully separated from Eddie’s body, but he’s struggling.

“Just fucking go, asshole.” Eddie mutters, a violent fear that the others will be hurt seeping into him. He hears one last cry of “Eddie, No-!!!"before they are out of sight. The other worldly detachment he has had since waking dissipates completely. He misses it immediately.

________________________________________________________

He blinks back into existence outside on Niebolt Street. Bone deep relief washes through him as he sees the rest of the losers club run out of that shitty house before it starts to properly collapse. Well, he thinks as he watches, the meat sack that was Eddie Kaspbrak is officially gone, buried under tons of rock and dirt. It should upset him more but deep down he knows a pristine embalmed body in a casket would have made no difference. Next to him he realizes someone is struggling, trying to get back to the ruin. Richie.

"We gotta get back in there and get him, he’s still in there!!” It takes both Mike and Ben to hold him back. “Eddie, Eddie!!!"

Eddie snaps "Richie, what the fuck are you doing?!” He yells right into his face. “Why are you acting like this?? It sucks man, I know, it fucking sucks but what exactly are you going to do?!?” He points to the pile of rubble. “What if someone else got hurt what if-” a sudden realization. “What if you had just…just stayed?? You would have died too! For no reason!! Do you…do you think any of us would want that…. If, if we… for someone else to… ” he trailed off as he watched the fight drain out of Richie and he all but collapsed onto the road below.

“You always were different.”

The breath he didn’t need anymore leaves him all at once as he spins to his right. A new man was standing there, looking right at him. He had soft, wise eyes partially hidden behind reading glasses and a tamed mop of curly hair.

“Stan?”

“Hi…hi there Eddie.”

“Holy shit, holy fucking shit.” Stan watched quietly as he had a little freakout. “God damn it, sure, sure why not, christ. I… God, Stan I have so much to say to you.” Stan gave a sad little smile, but Eddie got distracted again quickly. “Wait what do you mean I’m different?”

“To him.” Stan gestures to Richie. “You were always different than the rest of us.”

“What?” Eddie said, watching as the other losers gently pull Richie up off the ground “That doesn’t make any sense, you were his best friend, man.” A sinking feeling hits him “Ah fuck, Richie…”

“Hm.” Stan said quietly “Maybe.”

________________________________________________________

He and Stan were sitting next to the water in the quarry, just waiting.

“Why…” Eddie broke the silence awkwardly “Why did you…do it?” Stan kept staring over the water.

“I suppose you will never get my letter… I remembered as soon as Mike called. And I knew that I couldn’t…. I was too scared to come back. But I couldn’t let you guys try alone either. I just knew if I let you face It without me…” He swallows slowly “you would all die. So this..this was my other option.” Eddie frowned.

“I don’t understand.” A sigh.

“My absence would only be okay if I couldn’t be here. I had to take myself out of the game.”

“Shit Stan…” Eddie looked out over the water too “We missed you like fuck. I’m not… not mad but, fuck. Do you regret it? At all?”

“It worked. I would take myself out to save all of you a hundred times over.” He gives another painful looking swallow. “Most of you.” God this was so fucked. “But I wish…. I wish I could have just been brave instead. Maybe if I was here we all could have made it out. We would all have a chance to be…” He took off his glasses and pressed his fingers hard into his eyes, exhaling shakily. Eddie couldn’t quite bring himself to try to touch Stan’s shoulder, could they even touch?”

“Were you happy?” Stan looks up at him. “Your life… was it good? Were you happy?”

“Yeah…” he breathed “I was pretty happy. It would have been better with all of you in it though.”

“God I’m fucking sorry Stan.”

“Were you happy?” Stan says in reply, sounding as if he already knows the answer. Eddie gives a humorless laugh.

“No, no I don’t think I fucking was.” he ran his hand through his hair “I think my life might have fucking sucked.” Stan was quiet for a moment.

“All of us were…. stunted by what we went through. It seemed like we grew up but really it’s like we were all on pause until we came back, remembered, and ended it.”

“Yeah well, you were the most grown up back then too. Probably why your life was okay.” He chuckled then groaned, putting his head in his hands. “That summer I stood up to my mom. I remember now. I realized she was full of shit and I stood up to her and then I forgot. Right back to square one and she’s dead but it doesn’t matter because I fucking married version 2.0, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“We all regressed in some ways. All of us repeated mistakes after our memories were taken.” Eddie didn’t say anything or lift his head. “If you still could…. What would you do next?” Eddie finally looks up.

“I want to think…God, fuck… if I could stop being a fucking chickenshit I know exactly what I’d do. I’d leave Myra, leave that fucking city I hate. Do something worthwhile with my life. I don’t think med schools take many 40 year olds but I could be a radiologist or something. A nurse practitioner maybe. Fucking Richie would probably be an asshole and call me a “murse” or something.” His chest tightens again. “This really fucking sucks Stan. Really not fair, you know? Is this just going to be forever? Just hanging around for eternity rotting? Because that sounds a lot like hell.”

“I don’t know.” Stan says “No one has told me the rules of the afterlife.”

“Glad religion turns out to be so helpful.” Eddie snorts “Hope you’re not too disappointed Stan.”

“ Religion was more my father’s thing.”

They are interrupted by a loud splash. Bev, as always, had just lept first into the quarry from the cliff above. ‘That should really be blocked off, that is NOT safe-’ Eddie’s thought is cut off as he saw four other figures leap into the water. He and stan watch as they swim around, cleaning themselves of blood and grime. Eddie found his eyes wandering to Richie the most. He was moving less than the others, mostly staring at the water.

“Eddie would have hated this.” Eddie’s gaze switches to Ben.

“What, cleaning up in dirty water?”

“Yeah I fucking would have you assholes.” Eddie groaned “But kind of irrelevant now, huh?” Bacteria seemed pretty fucking unimportant when you no longer had a body to be infected. How many hours had he wasted worrying about microorganisms when he wound up just getting fucking impaled??

“He would be looking out for us, like he always was.” warmth flooded his chest and for the first time in a while he felt like crying. He really wasn’t ever going to be able to talk to them again, to touch them, to really be with them. But they were smiling at his memory and that’s what he wanted, for them to be okay, to be happy.

“Right Richie?”

Richie wasn’t smiling. For once in his life he had nothing funny to add. Instead he was sobbing, curling into himself in the waist deep water.

“Fuck.” Eddie says aloud. He is immediately up, walking towards where all the losers were converging, holding Richie comfortingly.

“He won’t be able to hear or feel you.” Stan says.

“I know!” Eddie snaps, focusing on how he can feel the drag of the water around his legs but they don’t seem to be wet at all. When he reaches the group he awkwardly mimes draping himself over Richie’s back. He concentrates hard and when he softly leans his forehead against him it doesn’t go right through like a cartoonish ghost, thank god. Rich and the others might not be able to feel him, but the idea of comforting them is good enough.

“Rich come on.” He whispers. “Where are you? You’re strong, why are you…taking this so badly??” Not that he wanted anyone to take his death WELL, but they had just remembered each other, knew the danger they were facing, had thought about their own deaths and the deaths of everyone else. And Richie had never been the most sensitive of them, had always had a thick protective layer of humor and smarts around him.

“I don’t have my glasses so I don’t know who you people are, but thank you.” Eddie physically sags with relief when he hears Richie finally crack a joke. Thank God.

“No really, I can’t find my glasses.”

“Idiot.” Eddie says with a small smile.

________________________________________________________

He and Stan are back on the shore, watching the other losers still splashing around.

“Is he going to be okay?” Eddie asks suddenly and it is very clear who he is talking about. “Just like…. I was thinking. You were his best friend, and he’s not… not coping well with me being gone, I’m just fucking worried-”

“I don’t know.” Stan says and Eddie can sense a little fear in his voice.

“Come on Stan you are the senior ghost here you’re supposed to have the answers.” Stan raises his eyebrow but smiles a little too “I just… don’t understand man. I mean I know I got stabbed right on top of him and that’s pretty fucking traumatizing but-” he exhales trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve never seen him like this.” He hears Richie’s desperate screams of his name replay and a lump forms in his throat “I’ve never seen anyone-”

“I have.” Stan interrupts “Patty. When she found me.”

“Patty?” Eddie’s eyes widen with realization “Your wife.”

“Yeah.” Stan’s voice was quaking slightly “I wish I didn’t have to do that to her.” A deep breath “But when you’ve made someone a part of yourself and suddenly they’re gone…. That’s what it looks like.”

“But Stan that’s your wife.” Stan gives him a meaningful look and they lapse into awkward silence, even as the living losers finally climb out and head back to the inn.

“I know I said this already but this really fucking sucks.” Eddie finally says. “I still exist, but I can’t do anything. I can’t talk to anyone, or feel anything or grow or fix my stupid fucking life. I can only watch for eternity. Sure I know my friends are okay but to them I’m gone. I can’t help them or-!” he lets out a frustrated noise. “I think just ceasing to exist would have been better, at least then I wouldn’t care, I couldn’t hurt.”

After a moment Stan speaks up. “We may be here because of our connection to Pennywise. There are probably other beings like it…. out there.” Eddie does NOT want to unpack that.

“At least one thing I suspected about the afterlife is true” he says instead “It’s worse for the ones that get left behind than the ones that die.”

_________________________________________________________

When the losers make it back to the townhouse Eddie and Stan arrive there too. Eddie is not sure if he has to be wherever they are, or if he just wants to be. What’ll happen when they split up to go home? He supposes he can just take turns traveling to each of them in turn. God, when he was a kid first learning his mom was forcing him to leave his friends behind forever he would have given anything to be able to teleport to them at will.

Almost everyone immediately showered to actually clean themselves, except Richie who had to be bullied into it.

“You will feel better afterwards.” Bev had said. Richie had given a short humorless laugh.

Eddie’s room was still covered in his and Bowers’ blood. Mike and Ben clean it quickly while Richie is in the shower. When they are leaving they stop next to his bed, staring at his abandoned suitcases. They convien with Bill and Bev.

“Someone needs to inform his wife.” Mike says barely above a whisper “And his belongings should be returned to her as well. I hate to say it but we should also agree on a story of what happened and keep it consistent. I doubt his wife will simply accept his death without question and I can’t blame her. The Derry police are not going to do much of anything, but who knows about her local police.” Everyone glances around uncomfortably. Bev has her hand over her mouth, eyes damp.

“I can take them…. and talk to her. I live the closest and maybe… I’ll be able to break it more gently.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ben says softly “no one should have to do that alone.” Bev gently took his hand, smiling.

“No, I’m going to do it.” The entire group jumps, spinning to where Richie was standing, jaw and fists clenched. “Having a fun little secret meeting?”

“Richie.” Bill was using his leader voice as the others glanced around guiltily. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“I don’t fucking care.” Richie spits back “You’re not my fucking boss, Bill. I’m taking his stuff back to New York. And I’ll… I’ll tell his w-wife-” his voice starts to tremble and he scrubs his face hard. “Fuck.” Bill steps forward and everyone is tense until he throws his arms around Richie.

“Okay Richie.” He says quietly, rubbing his back “Okay.” Richie buries his face in Bill’s shoulder and trembles silently.

Eddie had forgotten that Myra probably did need to be informed that he was dead. She may be controlling and possessive and occasionally demeaning but she was a person and deserved to be treated like one. It would be a shock but she would be okay, he has good life insurance, ironically, and they had never really loved each other anyway. (would life insurance pay out if they never found a body?) Maybe he should be more worried for her but it was hard when all his focus was stolen by Richie, who now had Bev’s head on his shoulder, Ben and Mike placing their hands comfortingly on his arms.

“I’m…… I’m okay.” he finally breaths “I’m going to go…. Get his things together.”

“Do you want us to-” Bev starts

“No. No, go get some sleep. I’ll… go to bed soon too.” he gives a shaky smile.

____________________________________________________________

Richie has been staring at Eddie’s suitcases for half and hour. Eddies has been silently waiting just as long. He almost felt like he was part of a standoff, except one member of the party was an inanimate object. Finally with a shaky sigh Richie leans over to start unzipping the first one. He begins to go through it carefully, putting pill bottles to the side in their own pile as he comes across them. When he was up to ten he paused.

“Jesus Christ Eddie.” He whispers with a small smile.

“Listen, asshole” Eddie replies instantly “Just because I’m prepared-” he didn’t finish, realizing that a) most of the conditions these pills were for were probably fake ( gazibos, his mind supplied) b) none of this had done him and good when he was fucking gutted by a clown. Richie had started actually reading the medication now, with a strange concentration. After a minute he pockets one that Eddie recognizes as a sleeping aid. After yet another moment he reaches back into the suitcase and also pulls out a soft grey sweatshirt. Before Eddie can even begin to question what he’s going to do with it Richie has strode out of the room with purpose. Eddie follows hot on his heels, passing Stan in the hallway.

“What the fuck, did you only bring one change of clothes? What are you doing with that?” He watches as Richie dumps several pills into his hand and knocks them back. “Richie the fucking dose for those is two you asshole!” Eddie looks horrified as Richie falls down onto his bed. Improper dosage is suddenly the last thing on his mind as Richie takes his stolen hoodie and brings it to his face, curling his entire body around it as he lays down on his side. His shoulders begin to shake.

Stan is in the doorway now, and he can tell from how he is gazing at him that Eddie’s face looks just as devastated and confused as he feels.

________________________________________________________

Richie is screaming in his sleep. Eddie had been sitting vigil on the end of the bed. At one point he had a moment where he realized he couldn’t sleep, like ever. That had given him a mini freak out moment, he couldn’t even take a break from consciousness for a few fucking hours? He calmed down a bit however when he realized that if he simply let focus slip time would move by as quickly as he seemed to want. It had slammed back to normal when Richie’s first scream cut through the air. Eddie scrambles up towards the headboard immediately, intent on shaking the other man awake. This time when he tries to touch him his hand sinks right through like he’s in a fucking episode of Scooby Doo. Fuck. Richie is tangled up in the blankets he hadn’t bothered to get under before, sweating like he had been running. The stolen hoodie was still in a vice grip against his body.

“Rich wake up!” Eddie yelled in desperation “Come on man!!” There is a scrambling noise followed by Bill bursting into the room, the others close behind. He glances around the room, sleep clumsy, as if to make sure there is no actual monster inside. Immediately after he stumbles toward the bed.

“Richie! Rich!!!” He yells, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. Richie sits ups so quickly he nearly smashes his skull right into Bill’s. He’s gasping violently, looking wildly around the room.

“Hey, hey Richie, it’s okay. You’re awake, we’re here. It’s dead, It’s dead.” Richie’s breathing slows slightly as he looks Bill in the face. His eyes then flick over his shoulder.

“Eddie.” said man feels the air leave the room. Richie looks back at Bill and the expression on his face tells him all he needs to know. He crumples in on himself and can’t hold back as he begins to sob. Eddie feels a bit like dying all over again.

_________________________________________________________

They all part ways the next day. There is some doubt at first, with many worried glances at Richie, but in the end it is unanimous that they want to get the fuck out of Derry. He and Stan watch as they all pack, Eddie’s suitcases going into Richie’s car. He’s wearing Eddie’s sweatshirt.

“Where are you going to go?” He asks Stan, who is still very quiet. Quiet and sad.

“I’ll stick with you wherever you go, for now.”

“You sure?” Stan had other people he might want to be with, check in on.

“You’re going with Richie, right?” Eddie’s jaw clenches slightly as he nods. Stan doesn’t say anything else. The living losers hug countless times, promises are given over and over. They will check in with each other every day. A group chat is established, two, on different messaging services. Plans are already being made for how many times a year they are going to meet. It takes them forever to actually part ways. Bev and Ben leave together, Bill on his own. Mike has a little longer to stay before he can finally get out of Derry forever. In the end it’s just Richie sitting in his ridiculous rental car. He is going to drive to New York, Eddie has a feeling he didn’t want to be around a ton of strangers right now like he would be in an airport. Eddie was sitting in the passenger seat, Stan in the back. It felt incredibly ridiculous. The car is on but they haven’t started moving yet. Richie had been staring out the windshield for minutes, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. Eddie wishes he could at least send some kind of…. Comforting vibes at Richie. The tension is heavy. Finally, Richie puts the car in gear, a look of purpose on his face. They drive slowly through their shithole of a home town and Eddie starts thinking about how he’s actually pretty grateful for his new found ability to to make time pass faster for the drive. If he could just stop worrying about Richie long enough to relax. He looks, quite frankly, like shit. Eddie was pretty sure he had not slept again after waking up screaming. His mind was still working trying to figure out why his death had hit him so much harder that it had the others. Even harder than Stans. The vice that felt like it had been around his heart since the day before keeps tightening. He is startled when they pull over suddenly.

“Where the fuck?” He asks as Richie gets out, glancing back at Stan. Stan is just looking out the window with a strange expression. He almost looks like he was expecting the pit stop. He glances at Eddie and then nods out the window as if telling Eddie to follow Richie out. He takes a minute trying to open the door before remembering he can just be outside of the car if he wants. Ghost rules are weird. Once he’s outside he recognizes where they are.

“Is this the fucking kissing bridge??”

“Hm.” Stan says in vague agreement, now standing next to him. His eyes were on the other side of the bridge where Richie was now kneeling, facing the railing where so many names and initials (and some dicks) were carved.

“Did Richie… have some secret childhood love we didn’t know about in the fucking town? Who the hell did he even talk to that wasn’t us?” He felt strangely grumpy and exasperated by the thought. Stan stayed silent, just continuing to stare over at Richie. The man had pulled out a pocket knife, flicking it open.

“Is he carving something now?” Eddie mutters, utterly confused. Stan finally gives him a look that says ‘just go over there and find out, idiot’. Eddie does.

“Hey man,” he says, getting very used to not expecting answers anymore “what the hell are you even doing-” The moment he really sees the letters being re-carved into the shitty old wooden railing sound turns off around him. His vision seems to zoom in as if it was a camera in some shitty action movie.

R + E

He looks up helplessly at Stan, who simply looks back with melancholy and understanding. He glances back down to make sure he read right, make sure those were the initials Richie had refreshed with his knife. Richie was gently touching them now, smiling but with eyes watering, threatening to spill. Eddie is vaguely aware Stan is next to him now.

“That-” His voice comes out slightly choked. He swallows. “That…. E doesn’t stand for Emily Williams from 8th grade math class, does it?” Stan gives him a small shake of the head. It was strange to feel the perspective of his entire life suddenly shift all at once. As if every memory he had was now under bright new lighting.

“Rich…”

Bickering endlessly while the other losers sighed with exasperation. Richie mocking him for his video game skills, even when it was painfully obvious how happy he was that Eddie had agreed to play. Eddie snatching Richie’s notebook away when he realized he was writing angry Richie had been that Bill didn’t even seem to care that Eddie had almost died in Neibolt, that he wanted to go back. The day Richie seemed to deliberately stop touching him, the strange look of fear he had when skin contact lasted too long.

“Oh shit,” Eddie covers his mouth “Oh fuck Rich, all this fucking time?” Richie Tozier was a loudmouth who couldn’t be touched by doubt or insecurity. Richie didn’t spend days torturing himself over how other people felt about him. Richie didn’t keep secrets for years out of what…?

“Why didn’t he ever say-”

“He was afraid.” Eddie looks at Stan.

“You knew?” Stan nods.

“Only for a moment, he told me the night before he left Derry. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. But he was…terrified Eddie. As though I would immediately be disgusted by him once I knew, as if we would all throw him away once we found out he was ‘defective’.” Eddie really felt like being sick. All this time one of his best friends in the world had been letting part of himself eat him away inside. The most confident man he ever knew felt like he had to push down who he was so deep even he couldn’t acknowledge it all these years later.

Richie had slid down to sit on the ground, head leaning back on the railing next to the initials, eyes closed. Eddie is sure that he has never wanted anything more than he wants to be able to touch him right now. His entire adult life he had felt incomplete, hollow. His professional and personal accomplishments had never felt as good as he thought they should. His connections with other people had never been as deep as they were supposed to be, shallow imitations of friendship, of love. He wasn’t sure he had been happy even once before sitting in that chinese restaurant with the losers. Hadn’t been happy until he was sitting there next to Richie. Richie, who had always made him feel MORE than even the other losers. He had made him angrier than anyone else could, but also made him happier. He thinks of his sham marriage, how he just accepted this was normal, to feel numb at best towards a person that was supposed to be his other half. What would it have been like with someone different? Someone like-

He slides down the railing and slumps next to Richie. Trembling he reaches towards his hand, praying he will be able to touch him, almost crying when his own hand gently rests on top. He swears he can feel the warmth of Richie, alive, and he realizes he has actually begun to cry. Fat, embarrassing tears roll down his cheeks. He had wondered earlier if he could even cry anymore, he supposed now he knew. Being dead really gave him no more peace or insight than being alive, only a feeling of somehow being even more helpless.

“Fuck.” He rasps “Fuck.” he squeezes Richie’s hand and can’t help but to hope for some kind of a reaction. There is nothing. “It’s not fair.” anger is rising in him now “This just isn’t. Fucking. Fair. My whole life….. How many other ways did I waste the whole fucking thing??” He knew his pitch was rising, angry tears not slowing. He tries to take a deep, shuddering breath. He finally looks back up at his other ghostly companion. “We were just kids, Stan.Why did we have to be shoved into a war with a fucking interdementional being of evil? How the FUCK did that land on us?? We…we were just normal kids who wanted stupid normal kid stuff we didn’t deserve this, to have our whole lives altered, ruined! It’s not fucking fair!!” He knows he sounds hysterical now, taking big gulping breaths, the way a child would while having a tantrum.

“It’s not.” Stan whispers. He covers his mouth, turning away, his own facade cracking. Eddie is startled as Richie begins to rise, unaware of the breakdown happening beside him. Eddie reaches out on instinct, as if he could grab his wrist and make him stop but Richie just goes right through him. He feels Stan’s hands on him, pulling him up and embracing him, hard.

“I miss him too.” Eddie buries his head in Stans shoulder, hot tears still leaking out.

“You were the best one of us.” Stan chuckles as if to say ‘I don’t know about that’.

“I missed you all so much.” He actually says “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to meet you all grown up.” his voice cracks slightly and they lapse into silence, Eddie squeezing himself even tighter into him. Stan places his head on top of his gently.

“What are you going to do now?” he says softly.

“Stay with him.” Eddie answers immediately, obviously.

“How long…?”

Eddie looks up at Stan’s face and knows there is only one answer to give.

“Forever.”

11 notes · View notes

wheremytwinwatches · 4 years ago

Text

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 31

Last time: Roy gave Riza his number, war was hell, and there could only be one Doc. Onwards!

Envy is not happy to change jobs from Doc Marcoh’s waiter to Scar’s maid, cleaning up his latest mess of brain matter. And so much for the guard dog. Or dogs? There’s an empty collar… Riza’s seeing Ed out after tea, when Ed worries about her new job as a hostage she waves it off as a better chance to kill him in his sleep. That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. One message to pass on about Scar being back, and thanks for talking about Ishval, and Ed’s off. Quick, go save your brother from his new admirer! Episode 31 - “The 520 Cens Promise“ Cens? Is that like an Amestris version of a penny, or what? Ed catches up with Al at a clock-fountain, you can tell how much hearing about Ishval got to him when he calls himself “practically a kid”. And it definitely casts a light on Roy’s drive to become the Fuhrer, if it’s really just setting himself up for Mob Justice. Speaking of the future, they talk about their plans after they regain their bodies. Food for Al, of course, he should still be carrying around that “Stuff to Eat” book. Ed claims that he’s been so busy just trying to get his limbs back he hasn’t thought about what comes next. Maybe some courtesy calls NO NO NO NO Leto-damn it, boys! “Let Granny and Teacher know we’re all right”? “They’ve both helped us out so much”? “They’ll be smiling when they see us”?!?! Stop it, you’re signing their death warrants! Oh my Leto stop with the optimism, you are painting great big targets on yourselves for the Irony Gods. Moving on, moving on! Ed talks about his plan to get around Uncle’s Anti-Alchemy Field with Alkahestry, I’m a little concerned about that seeing as Uncle changed his method to counter Scar’s mixed style, but it’s still a starting point. Time to get lessons from a little girl! A little girl who has skipped town, apparently! Doc says she left his house/hospital that morning. Wow, I get that you’re upset Ed, but there’s no need to just hang up on the Doc like that. And people wonder why he’s snippy all the time. Now, how to track down the little princess? It’s not like she has a unique identifier like a foreign animal companion OH WAIT Elsewhere in Central, Havoc gets visited by Breda and a gift of dumbbells, a farewell gift before he gets shipped off to the West. Fuery and Falman catch up as well as the latter goes to drop off a chess board, Falman griping about the cold of the north. I feel ya buddy. Up in Roy’s office Riza stops by as well, to get a few things she forgot but also to tell him about Scar being back and tell him to take care of himself. Then it’s just Roy, on his own in a big empty room. No pawn (what, just because Fuery’s short he gets the pawn?), no bishop (always serious Falman), no rook (stocky Breda), no knight (poor Havoc), and no queen (CAN’T STOP THE SHIP). But don’t count out the wannabe-king just yet! He’s still in play. And so is the Conspiracy, hidden message in the king! Go Falman!

Hey, Ed? You might wanna work on your drawing skills, or at least don’t inflict your own Angry Gremlin art style on a poor panda. At least Al’s there to show people what it actually looks like, but the day goes by and they haven’t gotten anything. Suddenly the Colonel drives by and offers them a ride, as well as any leads on May he finds. Anyways, about that- Leto, watch where you’re driving man! Anyways, about that money that Ed borrowed to panic-call Winry? [Ed]: “You remembered?! C’mon, how much did I borrow, 500 cens?” [Irate!Roy]: “It was 520 cens!” Titledrop! Ha, nice. “I’ll pay you back when you become Fuhrer.” Now he has even more reason to wait why is the music menacing? Seriously, Roy? You’re asking how Ed learned of your ambition to become Fuhrer? It’s not like you’ve kept it a secret. A bit of snarking about paying back pocket change after each time Roy improves the country, seriously though the music is making what I would normally be chuckling at depressing as heck. Stop it. Alright, back to their ro- Person in the room, look out! Wait, who. Oh jeez, it’s Ling’s other bodyguard, uh… *rifles through past posts*. Fu, right! Last we saw he was escorting Ross to Xing. Yeah, so while you were gone a couple of things happened… Really, Roy? One day without your Conspiracy, and you go drinking. I am- [Roy]: “Hey.” [Bar full of ladies]: *turns* [Who dis?]: “It’s Roy! Well I’ll be damned. Long time!” What. Who are you and why are you hugging Roy. What is going on. Riza, Riza I need you to get over here now. Uh anyway, we have a new character in the owner of this ‘establishment’, Madame Christmas. *Sigh* Come on Roy, I know that you and Riza aren’t official, but you just called her your queen! Show some- Oh. OH! The epic plotting music has started up, Roy’s passed a note to the Madame asking for something special. Secret informant group, go! One that has a direct line to General Grumman, no less!

Mid-episode pictures of Roy scowling at his King, and That Ass Kimblee strutting around in his white suit from the intro. Uh oh. Fu is not happy with the bodyguard he left to watch his liege. Lost her arm, Ling got Goth’d, and now moping in a dingy basement. Look dude, with all the foes WHOA nope! No hitting the lady! I get that you’re upset, but she did the best she could! Then it finally sinks in that Lan Fan lost her arm. Wait, what? [Lan Fan]: “Please forgive me, Grandfather.” He’s your grandpa? I thought it was just a teacher/student job, but they’re family? Ouch. Still very upset with you for hitting your granddaughter, dude, not letting you off the hook. But yikes, this has got to cut deep. You leave for half a season, and come back to this. Alright, time for a roadtrip! Lan Fan needs to meet up with Winry in Rush Valley to get her new arm. Or not? Come on gramps, this it not the time for foolish national pride, you can’t just- Oh. Ok yeah, the Goths have seen Lan Fan’s face now and have already threatened harm to Winry unless Ed toes the line. If she patches up one of their foes? It sucks, but they have to find another way. Fu thanks Doc for saving Lan Fan’s life, and I’m sorry this is a touching scene and all but I can’t get over the magically floating cigarette whenever Doc talks. Sweet scene of him blustering and trying to act grumpy and all, but really. That cigarette. Later, ninjas. Gather your strength, save your young lord, and give that old fart back in Xing immortality (again, ruining any chance of Ling advancing, but whatever). Greed? You just take care of Ling’s body until we can kick you out. The Doc’s resting on his couch, now that he can actually use it, thinking about… um. Thinking about a basement operating table with corpses strewn around the room. Um. Whatever THAT was, it’s compared to May and Lan Fan thanking him for his treatment, which he scoffs at. Yikes. His grumpy attitude and self-dismissal make a lot more sense now. Knock at the door, Doc goes to answer- “Uh, g-good evening Dad. Good to see you.” “It’s been awhile, how are you?” This is his family? His ex and son who were in the area and decided to stop by? And for the son to say he plans to become a doctor? To the tune of tinkly music? Yeah, no. I call bullshit. This is some Goth nonsense right here, I’d say a trick of Envy except there are two people so I don’t know how. But no way this is happening, especially after the giant middle finger to the Irony Gods earlier in the episode. Bracing for awfulness! Dude is crying as he gets some cups for coffee, asking God for a break. Just asking to enjoy some time with his family.

Next day in Central, looks like a cell with OH FOR LETO’S SAKE NO. How does Kimblee have that Stone? Wow, really officers? You gave this Blood Knight the most powerful MacGuffin in your setting, and after he did your dirty work you expected him to just hand it over and file a report on the power he once wielded? How have you survived this long? So it seems Kimblee got arrested for their murders, but no one else knew he swallowed the stone so he’s had it since. But if that’s true, why the heck has he just been sitting around in a cell all these years, not even escaping when Mr. Freeze tried to recruit him? He’s being released? Wrath, what are you up to? I can only assume that you knew he at least had a Stone because the Goths spearheaded the whole process, so why keep Kimblee locked up all this time only to release him now? How does this help you? Could be a distraction for the Protagonists, I suppose. Oh! I see it now, it’s for Scar! Throw the murderer of his people and family at him so he stays away from you. Kimblee’s walked out by a grumpy Warden who might as well be talking about his retirement party in three days. Death flags everywhere for this fool. Kimblee’s outside at an open gate, turns around to shake the man’s hand- and Transmute a bomb to his wrist. Leto, that’s- a baby chick? Wow, ok. Strapping a fake bomb to the man, just to see his freakout? You’re an ass. So now that the jerk’s free, he gets waved into a car by a MP who yup is Envy in disguise, here to give Kimblee a job. Marcoh’s gone. Or maybe not? Oh yeah, that missing guard chimera. If Marcoh could transmute living tissue to make a fake body, ala the Ross Deception, then he could have escaped with Scar. So the job’s to kill Scar and retrieve Marcoh, and then wipe a- A town?! Holy Leto, they’re gonna target Resembool! Scar, kill this ass! Ugh, and then in addition to his hidden Stone Kimblee gets a fresh one from Father, made from the assistants of Marcoh that first time. Makes sense in a jerk way, I guess. If you have to kill off the witnesses, why not grab those souls they aren’t using any more? Scar and Marcoh are hiding out in an alley, Scar explaining that Marcoh’s more useful alive to provide info on Kimblee and info about his brother’s research. Right, there’s that whole thing about Amestris’ alchemy being strange, and not just in that it’s different from alkahestry. Oh, and May’s caught up! She’s curious about their new companion, Scar’s quick to shut that idea down. He’s just the guy who made the Philosopher’s Stones-

Bleh. May hears “immortality” and jumps on it, she’s tugging on Marcoh’s sleeve and begging him to teach her how to make a Stone. Little one, stop. You have no idea what the true cost of a Philosopher’s Stone is. You can’t- Ah. I can see Scar’s logic here: better to remove the temptation now. I guess Marcoh is… still alive after that HoD? Oh yeah, the doctor is kinda recognizable, needs a new face. But wow dude, dick move to just grab him without any warning. Now, time to go and get his brother’s notes… In the north. Looks like everyone’s going to Drachma! Time to break out the winter outfits!

#wmtw #where my twin watches #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 31

2 notes · View notes

reddeadredemptiontrash · 5 years ago

Text

Y’all I am FREAKING out (in a good way)

So I’m going to call her band momma, because when I was in high school, one of my mom’s friends who was a huge helper in my marching band and also my friend’s mom thus, all of us band kids called her band mom, because she was like the awesome second mom in all of our lives.

Well, she came over to my house yesterday because my mom bought some stuff off of her that she was selling, and somehow (I say somehow, but my mom kind of knows how much I like cute dude and can’t help but slip about it to people) they got on the subject of cute dude and I talking and apparently it went something like:

band momma: Oh, I know *insert cute dude’s actual name*’s mom! I was best friends with her and her sister in high school! I remember him when he was just a little boy, I haven’t seen him in a while though, but I still talk to *insert cute dude’s mom’s name* He told her about Santanna, and she did a little research on Santanna, and I told her about how much of a sweet and kind girl she is! She said that *cute dude’s name* was kind of scared about being hurt again, because the last girl he was with really hurt him, and I told her that Santanna would never hurt anyone, that she was always so kind and respectful and caring and just overall such a wonderful person to have in their lives.

Meaning.... CUTE DUDE HAS TOLD HIS MOM ABOUT ME????? UH??!

Like I’ve never had that happen. And as soon as my mom told me, it made me stomach do all sorts of flips and I had an internal freakout when she was telling me all this. Like a guy... told his mom about me? What did he say? I mean, hopefully good times and from the way band momma was talking, like.... what?

I don’t want to give myself false hope or get my hopes up. (I rambled to my friend and she was like “my god you’re so adorable but if you don’t think he’s interested in you at this point.... well, I love you, but don’t be a damn idiot”😂) but I just.... can’t help but feel... so happy????? Uh?????!????

Bonus: it’s not on subject, but I made him more deep friend Oreos and got him a shirt that reminded me of him, and after he left the store to pump his gas I looked up and saw him grinning to himself and he just looked so giddy and happy and adorable and I was like “is... was that because of me?”

I am F U C K E D my dudes.

#cute dude

1 note · View note

soniathesquishy · 6 years ago

Text

My Dumbass Greyhound Journey Across the Country

#greyhound #jetblue #jet blue #flying #getting over fears #fears #flight #vacation #phoenix #arizona #new york #NY #new #york #friends

10 notes · View notes

rambling-at-midnight · 6 years ago

Text

The Dangers of Sarcasm: Part 2 (final)

The clock continues to blare, much to Sam’s intense annoyance, so eventually he just yanks the cord out of the wall when he discovers he can’t make sense of the many buttons on its surface.

His surroundings are both too simple and too complicated for Sam to make much sense of. The only decoration on the grey-colored walls is a canvas with the words ‘God bless kale— Samuel Winchester’ written in fancy cursive.

Sam frowns. “What?” That’s not something he would ever say, both because you and Dean would ridicule him for it endlessly, and also because he likes eating healthy, but it’s not that important to him. Also, who would ever have that quote on their wall? That’s ridiculous.

There’s nothing unusual about the room, save for the fact that Sam didn’t go to sleep here and he’s never seen it before in his life. You would absolutely hate the black bedsheets and pillowcases, insisting on at least a navy blue. There always had to be a little bit of color and music around you or you go crazy. It’s one of the things Sam loved about you.

Sam frowns. Why’s the thinking in the past tense? Just because he doesn’t know where you are doesn’t mean you’ve, like, died or anything. That would be ridiculous. Everyone knows you can’t die. You’re one of the best hunters ever, plus even imagining you dead is laughable. Nothing could keep you from standing back up, not even Death himself.

The bathroom is the same: only the essentials in the cabinets, the place as spotless as if nobody even lives in the place. The entire house, way too large for just Sam, is the same way. It may just be a regular house, but one person doesn’t need this whole space.

Sam laughs. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters. “I don’t live here. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know how I got here.” But still, he can’t help but feel that this is the place he lives now, and it’s much too large and quiet: the opposite of the Impala, which is always blaring rock and alive with your laughter, cramming the two large Winchesters and slighter Singer into their seats and with beer coolers on the floor.

The only possible explanation Sam has for waking up here is somehow getting super drunk and wandering into someone’s house, but they probably would have noticed and Sam didn’t even drink more than a beer last night before heading to Barnes and Noble with you. So that’s pretty much out of the question.

The fridge is what Sam wishes you and Dean would eat more: all healthy foods; stuff like kale (Sam thinks about the quote upstairs) and lettuce.

It’s when Sam opens his cupboard that stuff gets interesting.

There’s an entire shelf of salt. On each lid someone had drawn a devil’s trap.

On the shelf below the salt is another shelf stocked with only one product: spray paint.

“Definitely a hunter’s house,” Sam mutters. On a hunch, he lifts up the corner of a rug. In this cold, dark house, a rug seems out of place; a cold stone floor would be more fitting. Sam’s beginning to think this place is just an elaborate dungeon. It certainly feels as oppressive as one.

Just as he’d suspected, there’s a Devil’s trap painted onto the floor underneath it. Sam bets there’s one under every rug and bed in the house. It’s what he would do if he had a house.

Sam climbs the stairs back up to the bedroom. His phone is lying on the bedside stand, but it doesn’t have the occasional crack on its screen from getting thrown around by monsters and it’s not slightly bent at the bottom right corner. It’s pristine, just like the house.

He pulls open the one drawer, hoping for a clue as to who the house belongs to, but the contents inside only confuse him more: a CD and a single glossy photo Sam’s almost sure he doesn’t remember taking: you and him, so young it was obviously taken before he went to college, talking, sitting cross-legged and face to face in front of the Impala.

Sam and you talking isn’t exactly a monumental occurrence, so that scene could very well have happened, but Sam knows for a fact that no one in his family is particularly fond of taking photos. So who took this photo of you and Sam together?

Dean.

The thought comes to him completely unprompted. It definitely wasn’t Dean; that wasn’t something Dean would ever take a picture of. Dean prefers to take embarrassing photos of you and Sam for blackmail, not something that could even be considered sweet. It goes against his ‘tough guy’ persona.

Now that he’s thinking of his brother, Sam has a thought that he should’ve had the second he woke up but for some reason didn’t. He dials his brother’s number. Dean picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

Sam sags with relief at his brother’s voice. “Dean! Hey, Dean, where are you? Are you at the motel room?”

“Who is this?” his brother asks instead of answering.

Sam frowns. His brother has his number saved in his phone, all of them. “Dean, it’s me. Sam.”

Dean hangs up.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters, running a hand through his hair, and calls his brother again. Dean picks up on the first ring this time.

“I don’t know if you’re actually Sam or just a monster, but don’t call me. Call again and I’ll kill you.”

“Wait! Dean—”

He hangs up again.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam asks himself. Why would Dean be angry with him? He hadn’t done anything last night, had he?

Maybe he’d accidentally hurt Baby. That would definitely be something that Dean would try to kill him for.

Sam dials again.

Dean picks up with an exaggerated sigh and immediately starts talking. “Look, man, I don’t know if you can’t hear suddenly, but I don’t want to hear from you. Like, at all. So leave me the fuck alone.”

“Wait! Please don’t hang up,” Sam pleads, sensing that his brother’s thumb is hovering over the ‘End Call’ button. He knows Dean. “Dean, something happened and I woke up in this strange house and there’s a quote on the wall that says it’s by me, but I’ve never said ‘God bless kale’ in my life, so—”

“Sam, you say ‘God bless kale’ every day,” Dean interrupts. “I’m pretty sure the words are what you cry out during sex.”

That definitely sounds like Dean.

“Look, where are you?” Sam asks desperately. “I’m seriously freaking out, man. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Dean’s voice is hard when he speaks. “Are you with the FBI? You’re not tracking this call, are you? God damn it, Sam.”

“No!” Sam almost pulls his hair out. “I’m not with the FBI, I swear. Dean, we’re both on their Most Wanted lists.”

“ I am,” Dean corrects. “What is your deal?”

Sam frowns. “I don’t know.” His brother doesn’t sound like Dean; his voice is too unconcerned, too cool. Sam’s only ever heard him use that tone of voice with monsters that try pleading for their lives. He checks the date on his phone. It’s the correct day and year. “Yesterday I was hunting with you and Y/N and then I woke up here—”

“Shut up!” Dean barks. Sam flinches. “What, so this is just all coming from a dream? You’re such an ass, Sam. You made your choice and I made mine. I still can’t believe you sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sam roars. “Something’s going on, Dean!”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, so long that Sam has to check that he hasn’t hung up again. Finally, he says, “Okay, then what’s your problem?” Even after all this time, Dean’s a sucker for his younger brother. Other hunters say he’s too nostalgic.

“Dean, yesterday we were in Long Pine, Nebraska, staying in the Long Pine Bunkhouse, hunting a rugaru, and I woke up today in this strange place.”

“How’d you know where I am and what monster it is?” Dean snaps.

“Because we were hunting it together yesterday!” Sam replies exasperatedly. Why is it taking his brother so long to understand this?

“Sam, you haven’t hunted with me since you went to college,” Dean replies.

“What?” Sam screws up his face with confusion. “Oh, come on, Dean, this isn’t some prank you and Y/N are pulling on me, is it?”

Dean laughs, but it’s a sound that isn’t happy. “Sam, trust me, Y/N doesn’t have anything to do with this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

“Why not?”

“You killed her.”

Sam shows up at the Long Pine later that day, ignoring nonstop calls from someone named Nancy. Dean opens the door when he knocks, and Sam’s greeted by three things: holy water to the face, a silver knife, and his brother’s face.

Sam doesn’t remember him having so many scars or hair that short, but he takes the knife and draws a thin cut on his upper arm. Dean nods, finally satisfied, and lets him into the room.

“You do know that if you brought FBI and you’re faking this whole freakout, I’m going to kill you, right?”

Sam looks into his brother’s eyes and finally finds out what it feels like to be a monster the Winchesters are hunting. There’s no teasing in his brother’s eyes, no warmth, nothing. He really would kill Sam and the FBI squad that would show up if he was lying. “I’m not faking it.”

Dean nods and picks up a beer from the bedside stand. As Sam looks around more, he realizes his brother’s room looks like a trash pit. Surely his brother’s liver can’t be well off, considering how much beer he appears to drink. And that’s saying something, considering how much beer Sam is used to his brother drinking. “All right, spill.” Dean pulls out his trusty handgun and rests it on his knee, pointed at Sam.

“I honestly have no idea what happened,” Sam says honestly. “Yesterday we finished up that rugaru hunt and then we went to a bar. Y/N and I left early to go to Barnes and Noble and then we slept in the Impala because you were taking a girl to the motel room. Then I wake up in a pretentious home with the quote ‘God bless kale’ on the wall—I mean, what the hell?”

Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times before handing it to Sam. It’s a YouTube video of Sam, but it doesn’t quite look like him. He’s wearing glasses and his hair is slicked back and slightly shorter than it should be.

“Ew,” Sam mutters and Dean huffs out a laugh.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

The Sam in the video paces around a stage, spewing all sorts of pretentious health tricks and stuff about not letting anything hold you back, not even family. He ends the speech with “I mean, God bless kale, am I right?”

Sam makes a face. “I—that’s—I’ve never—”

Dean just sits and watches him.

Sam quickly searches both his and his brother’s names. Dean’s been on the FBI’s Most Wanted list since ‘09 and Sam has his own law firm.

Finally, Sam searches for you.

“Y/N Singer was convicted for multiple counts of murder, arson, grave desecration, and sentenced to the death penalty. Her sentence was carried out on February 23, 2009,” Sam reads out loud and puts a hand to his mouth. Dean watches him, eyes calculating.

Sam sprints to the bathroom and empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

“I hope you had that same reaction the day it happened,” Dean says coldly, leaning one shoulder on the doorframe and watching as his little brother retches.

“You said I killed her,” Sam says weakly once he’s finished, slumping against the side of the bathtub.

“You went into law, missing Dad be damned, and rose through the ranks of your pretentious law firm,” Dean says, crouching down so he can look his brother in the eyes as he reminds him of his sins, because it would appear he’s forgotten.

Dean’s so livid Sam can’t even see it. How Sam could forget what he had done, how he could dare to speak your name out loud, it baffles him. There’s no excuse. “You were assigned to prosecute Y/N when she was caught, I guess. And your reputation was too important, so you made sure she was sentenced. You know what you told me?”

Sam hugs his knees to his chest. “What?”

“You said you’d help her get out. And then you didn’t, because they could have caught you. And she died.” Dean turns away so Sam can’t see the struggle on his face. Sam can’t be faking this memory thing, because he knows that what he did was unforgivable and that Dean had sworn to kill him if he ever saw him again. So for Sam to show up on his doorstep, acting like the brother he remembers from their shared childhood… the only explanation is that he really is having an episode or whatever.

“Y/N never hurt a person,” he says softly, starting to vibrate with anger. “She was the sweetest hunter I ever knew. You loved her, Sam.”

Sam shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

“You loved her! And you killed her!” Dean bellows. “Because you couldn’t handle losing a case!”

“That wasn’t me!” Sam yells. “I would never, Dean!”

“That’s what I thought, too!” Dean shouts, his face turning red, fists clenching so he doesn’t reach for his gun. “You forget I raised you, Sam! I taught you every trick, every move, every game I know! I sacrificed everything for you! You ate first, you got the bed and I got the floor, and I never complained, because I loved you, and I was happy that you were happy! I was happy that you were turning out good because I had turned into a fucking mother to take care of you, and then you know what you do? You kill my sister. You killed Y/N and then you have the audacity to keep that picture in your bedside stand and say you regret it and say you still love her. You didn’t love her. You didn’t love me. And I shouldn’t have loved you.”

While he had been yelling, Sam had put his head in his knees and started to sob, shoulders shaking, because he knows that this isn’t real but right now he doesn’t have you, and for some reason, for some godawful reason, he’s starting to remember talking with you after your trial and promising to get you out but then his boss had called for a dinner and he had gone to that dinner and you had died. “You don’t mean that, Dean. Y-you can’t.” There’s an awful, hollow feeling in his chest that he should be used to, after years of you being dead, but the thought of being used to it makes him terrified.

There’s memories coming back that Sam knows aren’t real, the memory of the night, that dinner with his boss, and when he got home he was told that there was a scheduling error by his secretary Nancy and that Y/N had been executed already.

And even though it never happened to him, Sam can feel every excruciating detail of that memory, burnt into his memory, and the waves of grief that only Dean could have soothed, and then his brother had called and threatened to kill him.

And now Dean hates him and he loves kale and the only decorations in his room are a picture of you, a CD, and a pretentious quote on his wall.

Dean’s fit of anger fades when he sees his brother’s shuddering shoulders. Goddamnit, but he still does have a soft spot for his brother, no matter what he did, because he is Sam’s mother, after all. Sam’s practically a part of him.

“Dean, I swear to God, I would never do that,” Sam vows, wiping his eyes but keeping his eyes on the floor. His eyes go wide when he realizes what must be going on. “You didn’t happen to piss off an angel recently, did you?”

“What?”

Sam scrambles to his feet. “This has happened before—our memories have been messed with before, remember when I was working IT and you were a health nut? Maybe we pissed off an angel and they decided to pull this trick—”

“Wow, you really are out of it,” Dean says, his eyes half-lidded as he watches Sam. That’s how he is nowadays; wild and extreme mood swings because he’d lost every single person he’d ever loved. “Angels, Sam? Is this some sort of midlife crisis? Has the stress made you lose your mind?”

“Cas,” Sam mutters. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

“Who?”

“Wait, if I didn’t die, then the angels wouldn’t have pulled you from hell, so of course you don’t know Cas,” he continues feverishly. “So no apocalypse because you didn’t go to hell. So you’ve just been a regular hunter all these years?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowns. “What else would I have been?”

“Dean, if you ever loved me, just trust me,” Sam says, standing up and brushing by his brother. “I have a story to tell.”

Dean’s face is blank when Sam finishes the story. Finally, he asks, “How many drugs are you on?”

“I’m not out of it,” Sam insists. “Dude, trust me. What we would do would make people think we’re crazy, but we know monsters are real. And if demons are real, why’s it so unbelievable that angels might be too?”

“Fine, angels, maybe,” Dean relents. “But everyone knows you can’t come back from the dead!”

“What about zombies and ghosts?” Sam reminds him.

“But that’s not really coming back.”

“Look, dude, just trust me. I—”

“Y/N trusted you,” Dean mutters.

Sam winces. “You’ve got to believe me, man. That wasn’t me—that must have been, like, a different version of me. Not this version, trust me. I… I haven’t wanted to be a lawyer in a long time. I’ve loved hunting with you and Y/N for years.”

“Y/N never wanted kids and a normal life like you did,” Dean reminisces. “That’s why she was so nervous around you, because she didn’t think you would still like her if she didn’t want what you did.”

“Dean, if you help me, I promise we’ll get Y/N back. Not just back, but this entire existence—me leaving, Y/N dying, all of it—that will get erased and it will never have happened. I promise.”

Dean eyes Sam warily. “Maybe you’re just freaking out, but sure. Worst comes to worst, you wake up and go back to your lawyering and I go back to hunting and we pretend this never happened.”

“Now we just need to figure out what happened,” Sam sighs. “Cas will know.”

“Cas, who saved me from hell?” Dean asks and Sam nods. “Well, how do we get him down here?”

“I know a ritual.”

“This isn’t gonna work,” Dean mutters. “Angels don’t exist, otherwise hunters would have encountered them a while ago—”

“Dude, most of them are dicks,” Sam interrupts. “I’m sure some hunters have encountered them and the angels smited them.”

“Then why are we summoning a dick down here?”

Sam frowns. “Cas was a dick at first, but he got better. Hopefully he won’t kill us immediately. Maybe he even remembers the timeline I came from. Angels are weird,” Sam adds as an afterthought. “I know something that will banish him, anyway.”

Once they’re set up, Dean hovering by the symbol on the wall, ready to press it to banish Cas at a moment’s notice, and Sam ready to talk to the angel, they share a look. It’s a normal look for Sam, the way they both check with each other to make sure they’re ready before hunting, but it hurts Dean’s heart. He’s missed his brother.

“All right, Cas,” Sam says, finishing the ritual. “Get on down here.”

A white light blinds them. Once it fades, Cas wearing Jimmy Novak is squinting at the two hunters. “Who are you and how did you know how to summon me?”

“Cas, it’s me,” Sam pleads. “Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the angel replies. His angel blade falls into his hands. “Are you the one that’s been interfering with time?”

“Sort of, I guess?” Sam winces. “I want to set it back, though. I don’t like this timeline very much.”

“The Winchesters,” the angel realizes. “You were special, the both of you.” His eyes linger on Dean’s. Dean gulps. “You wish to fix this mistake?”

“Can’t you?” Sam asks. “I know Gabe and Zachariah have done things like this before.”

Cas frowns and shakes his head. “The fountain’s magic is one I am not allowed to break.”

“The fountain?” Sam frowns. “The fountain? Oh!”

“Sure, I wish to have never gotten back in the life even when you came to pick me up from college.”

“Set things right,” Cas says gravely. “My superiors aren’t very happy with you.”

He disappears.

“That was an angel?” Dean asks. “Wow. He sort of sucked.”

“He’s better in my timeline,” Sam mutters. “All right, we have to find the fountain that granted me this wish.”

Dean barks out a harsh laugh. “What, you wished for Y/N to be dead and to be a lawyer?”

“I was joking around with you,” Sam murmurs. “I said something like ‘I wish I’d never gone with you when you came to pick me up from college’.”

Dean looks at him incredulously. “That’s something you joke about?”

“The you I know is a lot more easygoing,” Sam says under his breath. “So, what? Did I refuse to come with you or what?”

Even as he asks that, he remembers it: Sam telling Dean that he would be able to handle it, Jess dying only a little later, and Sam throwing himself into his work to distract himself. You visited sometimes, which reminded him of his old childhood crush on you, and eventually you two got together.

Then you’d made the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

“Don’t answer that,” Sam says hastily when Dean opens his mouth. “All right, well, that should be pretty easy. Destroying the fountain should work, right?”

“I assume so,” Dean shrugs. “I’m still not convinced you’re not bonkers, but let’s go.”

“Fuck!”

Dean crosses his arms as he watches his little brother pace around, spewing expletives, in front of the ‘Closed’ sign of the little Chinese restaurant. The insides are completely barren; whatever fountain Sam’s looking for is long gone.

Sam’s looking a little spare at the moment, his hair ruffled from running his hands through it so much, eyes twitching from tiredness, cursing like a sailor. Passerby give him a wide berth.

“God damn it,” the younger Winchester mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket and answers this Nancy that’s been calling him nonstop. “What the hell could be so important?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but you didn’t show up at work today so I thought you might be sick and your house was empty and ransacked when I got to it—” the secretary on the other end babbles.

Sam holds the phone away from his ear and looks to Dean for help, but Dean’s stopped helping him long ago. Eventually he interrupts Nancy by saying, “I’m fine. I’m taking a vacation right now. Don’t call me again.”

“A vacation?” the girl repeats. “Mr. Winchester, are you all right?”

Sam hangs up and rolls his eyes at Dean, who should smirk and make a sexual comment about his secretary going to his house, but this Dean just raises one eyebrow and turns away. Sam blinks and shakes his head.

“So we gotta figure out where the fountain is, right?” Dean asks.

“If it isn’t demolished,” Sam mutters. “If it is, then I don’t know what we’ll do.” Surprising Dean, though he really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, considering the sort of madness his brother is spewing right now, he sits down on the sidewalk and puts his head on his knees.

Maybe when they were kids Dean would know what to do, but his brother’s been spewing anti-family content for years, making it very clear that he’s not welcome and no amends are going to be made anytime soon. Plus, at this point, the only thing Dean knows about Sam is his name. What he likes, if he’s seeing anyone (though that would be like betraying Y/N, Dean feels like), and all that other stuff is a mystery.

It’s the nostalgia that makes Dean sit down next to his brother, not quite able to bring himself to put a hand on his back. Even if his brother has mysteriously lost his memory and thinks they’ve been hunting together for the past few decades, that doesn’t mean he’s just forgotten seeing that face push for Y/N to be killed.

“Hey, you don’t happen to have a headache or anything, do you?” Dean asks. “You haven’t hit your head or anything?”

Sam gives him a scalding look. “I’m not crazy, Dean. Not yet, anyway.”

Dean frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m starting to remember things that I haven’t done,” Sam whispers. “I remember the trial. I remember pushing to kill Y/N. And I can’t remember some things about my timeline, like where I took Y/N out on our first date.”

“You’re starting to turn into the Sam I know,” Dean realizes.

“I don’t want to be him,” Sam whispers, looking at his brother with teary eyes. “Please, Dee. I don’t want to be him.”

“That’s all right,” Dean says, suddenly reminded of how Sam would cry sometimes when he wanted something from Dean when they were kids. He slings his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You’re not gonna. I won’t let you.”

Sam sniffs. Despite being over six feet tall, his hunched shoulders and inturned feet make him look small.

“Let’s call it a night and get back to it in the morning,” Dean suggests, standing up and taking Sam with him. “I doubt you’ll forget your entire life in one night.”

The brothers track the fountain to one place, but it turns out they sold it to another place, and then that place had it transferred to another facility, but then the truck that had been carrying it had crashed, and somehow the brothers find themselves picking through a dump. Dean looks up to see his brother’s disgusted face as he wades through the leaking garbage bags, but it’s not a regular disgusted face, it’s a ‘this is all beneath me’ face. For a moment Dean forgets about everything that’s happened, seeing that expression on his brother’s face, and wonders why he’s bothering to help his brother.

Then Sam blinks and shakes his head. He smiles at his brother, a tense one but a real smile nonetheless, and Dean remembers. Sam’s starting to squint a bit now, his eyes going as he turns more into the Sam Dean knows. The physical sign of his change is scaring both of them.

If Dean can have his brother and his sister back, he’d do anything, but watching this new Sam turn into the Sam he’s used to is killing him.

Sam almost starts to cry when he finally sees the fountain. It’s sitting in the middle of a pile of black garbage bags. “Dean! Dean, come look!”

Dean scrambles over and looks to where his brother’s pointing. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Sam nods. “I’m sure of it.”

“Then we’ll need to get it to a construction site,” Dean says decisively. “Run it over with a truck, you think?”

“Maybe taking the coin will reverse it,” Sam says. He starts to make his way to the fountain when a shout stops Dean from following him.

Dean turns around with a fake smile. “Yes?”

“This is private property,” an old man with a missing tooth bellows from a few yards away. He must be slightly deaf. “You boys better get off right now!”

“All right!” Dean yells, beckoning Sam over. Sam holds up the penny, glinting in the fading light, and pockets it. “Sorry, sir! We’re leaving now! You think that’ll do the trick?” he adds in an undertone to Sam.

Sam shrugs. “If we wake up and things aren’t changed, we can just destroy it tomorrow.”

“Man, I can’t wait to see Y/N,” Dean says, smiling wistfully.

“Me too,” Sam agrees fervently. “You have no idea.”

Dean thinks he does, but he keeps his mouth shut. One thing about this new Sam becoming more like the old Sam is him thinking less and less about other people. He really hopes this works.

Dean wakes up to a familiar click. When he opens his eyes, his pistol is staring him down. Sam is holding it up, jaw clenched. “Sammy?”

“It’s Sam,” he corrects unconsciously. “What the hell am I doing with you ? Did you kidnap me?”

“Hey, you tracked me down,” Dean says, sitting up fully. His brother won’t kill him, he doesn’t think. “You were having a meltdown. You completely lost it.”

“I’m surprised I’m not dead, then,” Sam sneers. “Considering you’re a professional killer. Maybe I should call the FBI, see what they think about Dean Winchester being here.”

“Well, out of the two of us, I’m not the one that’s killing innocents,” Dean shrugs, his voice light so it doesn’t betray his emotions. That would be embarrassing.

Sam’s hands tremble.

“We both know you aren’t gonna shoot me, Sam,” Dean says, eyeing his brother’s posture. His legs are spread too wide, both hands on the gun. He’s lost his edge, and for the first time Dean’s completely sure that he was telling the truth earlier. No one is good enough of an actor to completely change their posture for a character. This Sam moves and acts, hell, even breathes different from how he’d done it just yesterday. “Put down the gun.”

Dean needs to smash that fountain. This is hell; the way Sam’s looking at him now compared to the way he looked at him yesterday. He wants to cry. He’s lost his brother again, and he might not even get him back. Or you. Somehow knowing that he could have gotten them both back makes it so much worse.

“Don’t fucking contact me again,” his brother spits. He sets the gun down and hightails it out of the room.

“Wouldn’t want to!” Dean yells after him.

When the maid comes in to clean later, she finds the entire room has been wrecked.

Dean runs the bulldozer over that stupid fountain once, then twice, then three times, until the stone is just dust under its wheels, and then he hits the wheel once when nothing happens. Maybe Sam had been faking it after all, a cruel trick he’d devised, or he really was helping the FBI find Dean. At this point, he wouldn’t even care if he was arrested. Knowing his luck, Sam would be the one to prosecute him, too.

Dean revs the engine of the bulldozer and starts to pull it forward, but it jerks to the side so violently he’s thrown out of the car, falling, falling, falling…

Falling right into a bed.

Dean and Sam wake up with identical gasps of air, Dean in the motel room and Sam in the car.

Sam throws himself over the seat, waking you up as he hugs you to his body tight enough to strangle you.

“Uncle!” you joke-wheeze and tap his arm. “Sam, what gives?”

Sam pulls away just enough to let you breathe and buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. He doesn’t think he’ll ever let you go now that you’re in his arms for fear of you disappearing or worse. Being able to smell you and run his hands up and down your arms reassures him that you’re really here and not dead anymore, thank God.

“I just had a really bad dream,” he finally mutters.

You smooth down his bedhead absently. “Clowns or midgets? Did I save you from them?”

Before Sam can answer, the Impala’s door opens and Dean catapults himself into the hugfest wearing only his boxers. The girl he’d brought home stands in the doorway of the room, watching with confusion.

“Let me guess,” you laugh, gladly accepting Dean’s hug as well, “you had a bad dream too?”

“You have no idea,” Dean replies, his eyes meeting Sam’s over your head.

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfic #reader x sam winchester #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #reader insert

2 notes · View notes

theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

Text

OUAT 2X17 - Welcome to Storybrooke

Hey everyone! Say, if Regina cast the curse and made Storybrooke, would that make her a...StoryCROOK?!

Shut up! You know it was funny!

Anyways, onto the review!

Press Release Emma, David and Mr. Gold must protect Mary Margaret against Regina, who is out for revenge and has made it her mission to kill Mary; and Henry, fed up with all of the feuding, devises a plan to put an end to magic. Meanwhile, Regina discovers that a father and son have somehow found their way into her allegedly undetectable town as she and the fairytale characters deal with the effects of the newly cast curse 28 years prior. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past The past has an interesting style to it. It’s not as overt as The Land of Black and White or The Underworld, but there’s a filter that for me is reminiscent of “The Wizard of Oz” movie’s first ten minutes. We don’t see this with other Storybrooke flashbacks, but it feels so nostalgic and nice and pairs well with the idea of going back in time specifically in Storybrooke’s history. Given how the present segment is also in Storybrooke, it makes for a nice symbol of distinction.

The story is really delivered cleverly here. It doesn’t feel heavy on exposition for something that really could’ve easily done so by sheer fact of the details that needed to be established, the reintroductions that needed to take place for Regina’s sake, and the visualization of the monotony of everyone’s day-to-day cursed lives. It’s handled reasonably quickly, especially because of the latter factor, but doesn’t let the novelty take over for the real story, but serves to instead enhance it.

That having been said...I don’t really know if I like the story. The narrative is trying to do two things: Make Kurt and Owen’s situation sympathetic while also doing the same (to a granted lesser extent) for Regina’s situation. The first half genuinely works. Kurt is a genuinely nice guy and Owen is just the best. He cracks me the fuck up and is probably one of the most unique kid characters I’ve seen in some time. He’s flawed, but likably so!

Regina’s situation is...a bit more difficult.

This is Regina during the first days of the curse, and as expected, she’s all too happy to enjoy her victory. Because of that, it’s hard to sympathize with her boredom and desire for her subjects to want to like her. That would be all well and good, but this isn’t played for comedy where it would work like in “Megamind.” As a result, while I like Regina’s bond with Kurt and Owen, it’s barely explore and is so little (She helps get their car fixed before the bond is formed so they’ll leave and when the bond is formed, she hosts dinner) that the steps that she takes in the latter half of the flashback don’t come across like the second chance that she missed out on.

For this to work, Regina couldn’t have withheld Kurt from Owen. It’s so horribly cruel, especially when we know from hindsight that she kills him. Her reign is in no danger by letting them go and Owen wasn’t able to come back as a boy because of the curse’s magic, so instead of sad, because Kurt’s detainment is explicitly Regina’s choice, Regina comes off horrible here, but the narrative is trying to frame it as something closer to what Zelena did in the “Chosen” flashback. Present Henry’s story in this segment is awful. It’s an instance of miscommunication in drama that doesn’t even have the added reason for why the parties can’t communicate. Henry’s very clearly misinformed about the reasons for the conflicts in his life, instead projecting the blame onto magic, and despite the adults having the ability to decry his points by simply talking about the roots of these issues, they more or less refuse to for some reason, causing Henry to spend the episode instead spouting out platitudes to the legitimate tactical decisions his family is making while being framed at least partially in the right for saying them. My least favorite of these is: “You used to be heroes. What happened to you?” Henry’s major conflict and current source of antagonism with Emma concerns honesty, and it frustrates me how when finally given some honesty at the beginning of the episode, deflects and is never corrected.

I found Regina a little up and down in this episode. I really liked her development until Mary Margaret visited her at her house. I felt that the development was earned and it came from a real place, well founded on her love for Henry and her distance from Cora after her death. From there though with the house call, the momentum that was building poofed away. I can somewhat argue it because Regina has been gunning for Mary Margaret form literal decades and it was just a matter of temptation, but she even brought up Henry, the very person who she held back for, so I can’t really buy that! And it makes Henry’s schpeel at the well even more meaningless because the one thing he accomplished there was basically taken back through that action!

That having been said, there were things I straight up liked about the segment. Mary Margaret’s growing guilt in the background allowed for a subtle bit of tension, it was great to see David and Rumple working together again (especially with David’s “family” power move), Emma’s developments with both Neal and Henry felt like genuinely good developments to their dynamics, and as I’ll get to later, Rumple’s interactions with Regina were fantastic! Insights - Stream of Consciousness -I’m pretty sure if you’re in an electrical storm, you should sooner go into a car than a tent! -”You’ll be alright, kid.” Not if you don’t close the tent! -Okay, the reveal of Graham was shot really well! I didn’t notice that the first time around, but the way he’s introduced is such a great buildup with an equally great payoff (And that’s coming from me!)! -It’s so interesting how Regina’s bedroom is predominantly white. To me, that comes off as two things. First, Regina gets a clean slate in Stoybrooke, and that’s something that Storybrooke gets its acclaim for in later seasons. Second, it’s Regina’s constant reminder of the nemesis the curse punishes, Snow White. -Regina, I love how you took to fashion so quickly (And you rock the pj’s), but where is some inkling of a freakout at modern technology? Like, the carpentry alone would be a shock! -”Good morning, cric-- Dr. Hopper.” I will say, I like how she knows the identities of everyone almost instantly. -I don’t feel bad for Cora at all, but damn, is Regina’s grief and even Rumple’s respect really powerful. It makes for a great moment of bonding between them. Like, it gets pretty dark as they talk about Cora’s death, revenge on Snow, and the emptiness inside of Regina that Rumple knows revenge can only starve off so much of. Rumple’s talking to is just awesome. You can tell he respects Regina and is only talking to her as a means of helping her (especially in the wake of Cora’s death -- yes, the pun is intended). -I want the Charmings to cook me breakfast! Yum! -”But she’s Snow White. She wouldn’t hurt anybody.” She hit her husband on the head with a rock and turned a band of trolls into bugs! “She wouldn’t hurt anyone,” my fanny! XD -Way to go David and Rumple: Rumple for warning them and David for making sure he does more! Good job! -Who claims a seat? What are we in, grade school? -”Home of the boss.” Does anyone call Jersey this?! -Poor cursed Mr. Gold. He’s working in his shop and everything all hunky dory, and suddenly, the mayor shows up and starts ranting. -I actually really like how even cursed, Gold is designed to be something of a friend (or at least, someone to talk frankly to) that she can get advice from. It’s pretty meaningful that even though she altered all of her dynamics in Storybrooke, while also altered, hers and Rumple’s remained more or less the same. -Also, with the series finale in hindsight, Regina’s talk about her subjects having to do what she says and not wanting to is just so well put together! -How did Regina get a locket of Cora?! -SHEEP BROS ON THE CASE! -Snow, I get that you’re depressed, but you are being hunted! Get the fork out of bed! -”Not to mention, your grandson’s [life].” “Well, wars have costs.” Fuckin’ hell, Rumple. Emma, your sarcastic “nice” was very much warranted! -”Regina’s even more dangerous [than Cora] because she does [have a heart].” Rumple knows Regina so freakin’ well! -”I know I’m not the greatest cook.” Good on you for improving, though! -Regina’s really funny in the dinner scene! -”They’re almost done.” You just put them in! -Kurt’s attractive. I’m just gonna say it. -”One large sundae. Extra everything.” I acknowledge that that’s bribery, but that’s how you do bribery right! -”You think I don’t know a bribe when I see one?” Henry, eat the sundae! -”Someone should find a way to get rid of magic here.” Give it a few seasons, Henry! Also, I know that there’s no way they set it up this far, but I like that this is brought back later! And Neal’s the perfect character to have this conversation with him! -”My family wouldn’t want to kill her.” No, but chances are they’d still imprison her. -Oh my God! They got Billy! I love this show!!!!! -This Greg and Henry encounter is just the best thing ever! -WHY DO I FEEL SO INTENSELY ABOUT A CAR CHASE WHERE I KNOW THE RESULT? ...I DON’T CARE! IT’S SO COOL! WOOOOO-HOOO! -Regina! Don’t let the kid run out of town on his own! At least let his dad go! -”But it’’l [Henry’s fake love] will be something.” ...Fucking hell, Regina. -How often did Regina come by the town line to wait for Owen? -I’m well aware that this is the furthest thing from true, but as I DO think Snow was in the right to kill Cora, I HC that Snow’s dark spot came from what she and David did to Maleficent. -”And once you blacken your heart, it only grows darker.” ...Suuuuuuuure, Regina. -Regina’s final speech to MM is really well delivered, but it doesn’t come up again (Snow’s darkness destroying their family), so it’s kind of pointless. -Awww! “Growen’s” “I’ll find you” to his [dead] dad is so freakin’ sad! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Snow killing Cora - I like how Snow handles Cora’s death at the moment. It builds off the unpreparedness that Snow exhibited during the last episode. Emma’s lie to Henry - It was good to see how Emma continued to make an effort to do right by Henry after lying to him. Regina’s Redemption - While undoubtedly shaken by Cora’s death, Regina shows that she can still come back from the brink of evil beyond evil. Seeing her destroy that forced love scroll was such a powerful moment! As I said before, it definitely is brought down a lot by the Snow/Regina scene at the end of the episode, but it still counts for something! Favorite Dynamic Rumple and Regina - Throughout both segments, these two were just great together! In the past, I think just the fact that Regina, even after knowing that Mr. Gold is also cursed, still talks to him in this fairly honest and frank way, more or less retaining what they had in the Enchanted Forest is just great and is a testament to the slightly warmer aspects of their dynamic. And that is even furthered by their interactions in the present! The scene where they’re laying Cora to rest is just such a good show of what these two mean to each other. There’s antagonism on Regina’s part, of course, but also a certain softness on Rumple’s part. All throughout the scene (And later as he guards Mary Margaret), he’s trying to convince Regina to abandon her revenge for her own sake. In this moment, we catch a glimpse of the dynamic they could’ve predominantly had and only occasionally did. Writer Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg are writing here, and thankfully, they did a better job here than in their previous endeavor. I still felt like there was a bit of shakiness as to the foundation of their story, but they were a bit more solid here. These guys are good at individual moments when they put more effort into their dialogue than simple platitudes. As I stated before, Rumple and Regina’s scene by Cora’s grave was well written, but also Regina, Kurt, and Owen in both of the diner scene was great as well as Emma, Neal and Henry in the diner (Apparently, these guys just need to write diner scenes) and Rumple and Snow in the bedroom. I feel so much more effort there, Darker Aspects - TW: Mention of rape I get that at this point, the writers were trying to convince us that the Graham/Regina relationship was more consensual than it actually was, but no. It does not work ESPECIALLY when she pulls out his heart in the office. Fucking hell. I’m glad that they stopped after this with trying to prove this particular point, although they did poorly with other points. It’s especially not helped with that love curse that Rumple and Emma discussed. While it was used to discuss Henry, having it in the same episode just makes me associate it with Graham! Rating 7/10. This episode is a bit up and down, but it was genuinely a fun watch with a lot of great character interactions. Seeing the beginning of the curse and what life under it was was a real treat and the novelty of the experience was fun, but not overpowering to the detriment of the rest of the episode. While I took some issues with the stories in both the past and present segments, I truly liked them more than I didn’t. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Golden Heart - “We may have had our differences, but Cora will always have a place in my heart.” And the rose! What can I say? I love them! Swanfire - The teamup here is just really great! Emma strategized Neal pretty decently and her trust in him to take Henry to New York really shows how in their few days together, mending has been taking place between them. ()()()()()()()()() Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales!

I’m sorry this review took longer than they usually do. I guess my laziness (And relative business) caused me to be...selfish.

Maybe the next episode can help me with that. ;) See you next time. Season 2 Tally (149/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (39/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (31/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x17 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #tw: mentions of rape

22 notes · View notes

nickireadstfc · 7 years ago

Text

The King’s Men, Chapter 10 – [Andreil Intensifies]

In which Mission Fix the Twinyards finally kicks off, Nicky values the important things in life (ice cream), Andreil have a Consent Talk, and oh, also the Foxes rule. Natch.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The King’s Men.

After the game is before the game, so the team kicks off this chapter by sorting through the aforementioned applications for new recruits. This goes well by pretty much everyone but Kevin, whose Exy Elitism is making him kind of a little bitch.

Kevin insisted Wymack put out a second request, to which Wymack demanded Kevin be a little more accepting of strikers who hadn’t been raised to be champions.

Exy-actly.

No offense, but chill, my man.

Neil didn’t have the experience or insight to argue with Kevin, but he quietly clung to one of the choices he’d made and refused to let it go.

Okay, but do we ever find out who Neil recruited?

I need to know this for reasons.

REASONS.

Abby stepped in when the argument got too loud and banished Wymack and Kevin to opposite ends of the locker room.

Bahahahahaha. Love me some good Fox mom moments.

In other news – Mission Fix the Twinyards has finally commenced!

Apparently, all is takes to get them to cooperate is to have them shout emotional murder confessions in each other’s faces. Who would have thought.

“One of these days I want you to tell me how you roped Katelyn into it.”

“I asked,” Neil said.

“There goes that ‘asked’ thing again,” Matt said. “Does it mean something different where you come from?”

“Most of the time, yes,” Neil said.

The unexpected honesty startled a laugh from Matt.

Same.

Also, a laughing Matt is a wonderful Matt. In this household, we like all our Foxes laughing and happy, thank you very much.

However, of course, one counselling session isn’t enough to fix years and years of Twin Teen Trauma (even if it’s with Betsy and her magical cocoa powers), so the brothers still aren’t exactly BFFs, as the kids say.

Wymack looked from one to the other. “Is this going to be an ongoing thing? I need tot know how to plan around you.”

“No,” Andrew said.

Aaron flicked him an irritated look. “Yes.”

BahAHAHA.

Wonderful.

In a rare occurrence, the Foxes get a night off, which everyone takes as an excuse to kick back and relax.

In Kevin and Neil’s case, this means marathoning Exy games and taking notes like fucking nerds.

Nicky, once again, manages to be my fictional voice in this universe:

“It’s Friday night and this is how you’re entertaining yourselves? Give me a break! Think about something else for a while, would you? Like ice cream.”

SAME, MY DUDE.

Nicky, in a brave attempt to distract Neil’s nerdy ass (as we all know, all hope is lost on Kevin), tries to convince him to go to the store with him, which of course – works?

Neil looked at Andrew and thought about Nicky’s worried appeal last fall, the warning that one day Exy wouldn’t be enough on its own. (…) Neil built his life around Exy after his mother dies because he needed something to live for, but Neil wasn’t alone anymore.

BITCH I’M CRYING.

I am SHOOKETH.

And all of this over ice cream.

The food of gods, my guys. The food of gods.

Also: Nicky apparently isn’t on Andrew’s insurance policy anymore and doesn’t have the keys to the new car either? Which means Andrew didn’t just give Neil permission to use his car, but gave it only to him?? What kind of gay FUCKERY????

I can’t believe I’m really out here having feelings about car policies. What the fuck has this book done to me.

Speaking of gay shit!

You thought we were done with a little angsty kissy-kissy on the rooftop?

SHIT NO.

THERE IS MORE.

“Question,” Neil said, “when you said you don’t like being touched, is it because you don’t like it at all or because you don’t trust anyone else enough to let them touch you?”

HELL yes, this is what I am about.

Give me that sweet sweet consent talk.

“It doesn’t matter to a man who doesn’t swing,” Andrew clarified.

Neil shrugged. “I don’t because I’ve never been allowed to. The only thing I could think about growing up was surviving.”

Hell yeah again for Neil not having a Gay Freakout over this <33

Only like, a General Life Anxiety Freakout, but when does he ever not have that one.

Maybe this was why this was in that gray area of what was acceptable. It didn’t matter that Andrew was a would-be sociopath or a man; the idea of Andrew was so intertwined with the idea of Neil’s safety that this too was a means of self-preservation.

That’s… kind of poetic, actually.

Damn, Josten.

“I trust you.”

“You shouln’t.”

“Says the man who stopped.”

Ohhhhhhhh, you clever boy, you.

I LOVE this.

Please know that I am giggling gleefully, almost manically, during this entire exchange.

“So are you completely off-limits or are there any safe zones?”

“What are you hoping for, coordinates?”

“I’m hoping to know where the lines are before I cross them,” Neil said, “but I’m open to drawing a map on you if you want to loan me a marker.”

Bless these boys and their sass at all times.

Also DID I MENTION HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS CONSENT TALK I DON’T THINK I DID.

Seriously, this is so, so important and so, so wonderful.

“I’m still waiting for a yes or no I actually believe,” Andrew returned.

“Yes.”

BITCH, YES.

“It’s fine if you hate me,” Neil said.

It was the truth, if a bit of an understatement. So long as Andrew was only physically attracted to Neil, this was safe to experiment with. Neil’s death wouldn’t be more than a faint inconvenience to Andrew.

My boy…

Yeah right. A faint inconvenience, my entire fucking ass.

“Good,” Andrew said, “because I do [hate you].”

Again – yeah right, my entire fucking ass.

“Stay,” Andrew said, and leaned down to kiss him.

And the next part I’m sparing you all because this is, frankly, unholy.

I want to quote everything.

I want to quote nothing, and let us all treasure the absolute gloriousness of the following makeout session in peace.

Because honestly – I read a lot, and I read a lot that has kissing in it, and this is still one of the best, most real, most heartfelt-without-being-tacky descriptions of kissing I’ve ever read. All the kudos to you, Nora.

I am way, way too invested in this pair by now. Holy shit.

All good gay things come to an end, though, and eventually Nicky comes back, diverting the good gay things with ice cream and horror movies.

But – our boys don’t quite walk away from their, ahem, encounter quite as unscathed as they’d like:

Andrew had stayed by the door after letting Nicky in. Thinking that Andrew needed space and time to regroup the same way Neil did almost wrecked Neil’s attempts to get his neutral façade back together.

This is the most beautiful shit I’ve read all chapter, what the fuck.

Any time we see indicators of Andrew not being an Emotionless Void With Arm Bandages, I gain +5 years to my life expectancy.

Phew. We survived the gay shit once again, folks. What’s next?

Oh yeah.

SPORTSBALL.

More specifically, Neil and Kevin have an argument about whether to be a Technical Mastermind Player, The Very Best, Like No One Ever Was, or whether to be an Intuitive, Impulsive Heat Of The Moment Player, Because Fuck You Kevin.

Basically, Kevin wants to bone the perfect game, while Neil wants to bone the suspenseful game.

Oh, guys.

(Watch me revive year old memes at all times, watch me.)

In related Sportsball News – the Foxes have their first death match coming up!

And apparently they’re… Crushing it?

When the Foxes hit the court February 9th, no one was expecting the fight they brought to it. (…) The sportscasters were shaking their heads in amazement.

“I’m not entirely sure who we’re looking at now or what they did with last year’s Foxes, but they’ve completely blown me away.”

BITCH, ME TOO.

Also hah, we almost made it exactly to the date again – three days late, but this is still such a nice touch to be reading this in almost real time.

“This is the kind of synchrony you’d expect from top-notch schools. A few weeks ago we all laughed when freshman Neil Josten said the Foxes were raring for a rematch with the Ravens. No one’s laughing now.”

Hell fucking YEAH for my children. I am such a proud soccer mom.

Exy mom. Whatever.

The seniors exchanged a long look, exhausted and triumphant. (…) The girls came to Palmetto State University knowing it’d take work to salvage that sour reputation and knowing Wymack was their only ally. (…) Despite every loss and every roadblock, they’d made it, and now they were finally getting the nod they deserved.

Uhm, YOU GUYS IMMA CRY.

Honestly, this bit right there just got to me. These three fought so hard, wading through patriarchal bullshit every day of their lives and going on still, and now they finally fucking made it, and we get to see them as a unit, standing proud.

More love towards our Fox girls always, y’all.

TREASURE THEM WITH ME.

(Also, did I mention I’ll be cosplaying these three ladies with two friends of mine at a con here in Germany next month? With full jerseys? And did I mention I’m hella excited? And does that heighten my feelings over this bit hardcore right now??

Absolutely.)

Back to the death match – hey, remember last book when Andrew actually gave a shit about Exy for 0.2 seconds and pulled some really sweet stunts?

Apparently, our boy has decided to up his Giving A Shit game to 0.3 seconds now, because I manages to give Neil a goal shot by – hold on – making Nicky take a red card for fucking flooring a dude, taking the penalty shot, deflecting it like an absolute badass, and clearing the ball all the way up the long ass court.

Holy shit, my dude. Do I want to see what you’re like when you give 0.4 shits, or even one (1) entire shit?

Unbelievable.

Also, there is a description in there of Neil running “like his father was on his heels”, and if that isn’t the funniest, most unexpected bit of gallows humour I’ve seen in this chapter I don’t even know.

[As the match went on] Andrew stopped every shot on goal and bounced a couple rebounds off the strikers’ helmets just to rile them further.

Andrew, I love you.

And of course, what happens as soon as Andrew moves so much as a little finger?

The buzzer sounded on an eight-three win. They’d dominated their first death match and were on to round three for the first time ever.

HECK FUCKIN’ YEEAAAAAHHHHHH.

Sadly, even though he may give a tiny bit more of a shit on the court, as soon as the game is over Andrew is back to being his angsty self. Shame.

Petition for their final game to be the one that finally gets through to Andrew, please.

However, Nicky more than makes up for his mood.

“Can you believe it?” he asked, amazed. “We are such hot shit sometimes!”

Nicky, never change. <3

When they go back to Wymack And Abby’s for a mandatory team celebration, there is another bit of Quality Nicky Content that had me in absolute hysterics:

Matt commandeered the sound system in the other room. Nicky and Allison argued with all of his choices and each other, but they didn’t sound serious so Neil didn’t intervene.

I cannot, cannot stress how much I love this.

PARTY DJS NICKY AND ALLISON. GIVE ME THEM SWEET FANARTS NOW.

Brb, making a playlist instantly.

Neil, sadly, isn’t super hyped about choosing the latest bops, and goes in search of his boyfriend instead, who he finds sitting on a car gazing into nothingness – as one does when one is Gay, Angsty and Dramatic.

“We won,” Neil said. (…) “Would it kill you to let something in?”

“It almost did last time,” Andrew said.

YIKES.

Hope your foot tastes good, Neil, because you just put it real nicely in your mouth.

“You sound like a wind-up doll with only one topic,” Andrew said. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“If I talk about something else, will you talk to me?”

Andrew quirked a brow at him. “Can you talk about something else?”

Oh, burn.

One last thing before we go –

Halfway across the lawn his phone went off. Neil was annoyed enough to answer tonight’s “28” in his inbox with an “Enough”.

No one responded.

Seriously guys, what the happ is fuckening.

If you like what I do here and you want me to continue writing fun things for you, why not buy me a coffee? Every lil bit helps, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!

#tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil #tkm #the king's men #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #sorry for the delay y'all #uni life is stressful rn but hopefully the worst is over soon #also we're more than halfway through by now???? what the heckie?????#where has the time gone #ANYWAYS hope y'all like it #drop me a line if you did #byeeeeeeee

124 notes · View notes

general-du-vallon · 6 years ago

Text

so... way back in November (I just went to find out when) @rhesascoffee asked for a prompt off a list that was passing out in the pharmacy or smth, and... I ... here. Have this. It is half a fic cus the rest of it was too dramatic.

um, WARNINGS: Athos is a recovering alcoholic and anxious and grouchy and I don’t know a whole lot about adiction so im super sorry about that, idk

Athos loves and hates his home. It’s a nice house and he’s by the river and the village is right on the edge of Oxford but still, somehow, weirdly, a village. It has a post office for Christ’s sake. NOWHERE has a post office. It’s twenty god damned seventeen. It also has a Facebook group to be fair. He tries to stay away from that but he’s pretty sure that doing so just makes him more gossiped about. They also have their own tiny little pharmacy and Athos has been going there to get his prescription filled for the last few weeks. Because who doesn’t want the entire village to know one is taking antidepressants? It’s not like he even is depressed. They help him sleep. Not that it’s anyone’s business. Anyway he checked the Facebook page the first few times he picked them up but nothing’s been said so maybe the pharmacist is actually as nice as he seems. Athos stops and blushes.

He’s stood in the middle of the road on a zebra crossing and that is perhaps not the most normal course of action to choose but it doesn’t really necessitate the beeping. Athos walks extra slow on the walk way and stops a few more times, just because it’s HIS right of way and if he IS a bit head in the clouds it’s NOT his fault it is the FAULT of the mother fucking flashback earlier. And, maybe, just maybe, the two glasses of wine. But only maybe. Anyway, he meanders over the zebra crossing (that’ll be on Facebook later) and then marches off purposefully, just to tripply piss people off. He stops in at the corner-shop for cigarettes (the nicotine is in no way good for him but that and the wine are old coping mechanisms and they’re comforting and he doesn’t really give a fuck). The woman behind the till tries to sell him a vape, so he very gently swears at her without thinking.

“Oh goodness,” he mutters, looking down at the countertop. “I am sorry. I have a young cousin who seems to be beginning a cult and I did not mean to take that out on you, ma’am.”

“It’s sir,” the man says, glowering.

“Oh. Right, sorry. Sir. Of course,” Athos says, looking up a moment. He doesn’t usually look much at people. “The eyebrows. Of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Athos says. “Only, you have very masculine eyebrows.” There’s silence so Athos hastens on. “They’re lovely. Um.”

“Thanks. I think. So, no vape, just the death sticks.”

“Yes, sir,” Athos says. “Please and thank you.”

“Packet of death sticks coming right up, Athos,” the man says. How does he know Athos’s name? “Everyone knows your name you’re a famous author.”

Did he say anything out loud? Athos looks around and feels paranoia close in. He puts that down to a.) the flashback, b) the excessive amounts of coffee he consumed post freakout in a great big freaking freak out, c.) the wine he drank to try and calm down. He probably just made a shocked face. He pays for the death sticks, waves goodbye to his new friend with the impressive eyebrows, and heads over to the pharmacy. The cheerful but muted bell goes as he steps inside and he’s greeted by the biggest pumpkin ever, sat round and shiny on the counter, a happy face carved in it.

“Good evening!” the pharmacist calls from the back. “Be right with you, help yourself to the cookies! Vegan on the left, nuts in neither but not swearing to that if you swell up like Veruca Salt!”

Athos peers around the pumpkin and finds two plates. He tries a biscuit from each and decides the vegan ones are, somehow, weirdly, better. He eats another two of those before the pharmacist comes out, drying his hands on a tea-towel in a not-very-reassuring way.

“Sorry. Oh, hi Athos,” he says.

Athos is reassured. He is ALWAYS reassured by the pharmacist. He’s big and wide-shouldered and fat and he’s beautiful and he has the warmest welcoming smile and just exudes competence. He looks a bit off today, but then again Athos is a bit off himself so he sets the cigarette box down so he can find his scrip.

“Hello Porthos,” Athos says, remembering the name he was told a few weeks ago, as he roots about.

“It’s on repeat,” the pharmacist says, going over to the computer.

“What?” Athos mutters, emptying his pockets of conkers, pretty leaves, a slim poetry chapbook, pens, ink cartridges for a pen he lost years ago, receipts, bus tickets, a KitKat and a tenner - Athos pauses to be happy about those two finds -

“Your prescription,” the pharmacist says. “Here we go. Yep, came through yesterday, I’ve already filled it. Good.”

“Why is it good?” Athos asks, restocking his pockets (he stows the KitKat and tenner safely).

“Never mind.”

A bag is passed over the counter and Athos sticks that in his pocket too.

“Nice pumpkin,” Athos says, then turns to go.

“Cigarettes,” the pharmacist whispers.

Which is vaguely creepy but Athos takes it in stride because after all it is halloween and smoking is bad and the pharmacist does run a quitters day every week so maybe he’s trying to spook Athos into joining. Athos picks up the smokes.

“Death sticks,” he corrects, idly.

“What?” the pharmacist says, faintly. Probably from confusion. “Oh, fuckitty fuck.”

“It’s not that bad, I don’t really smoke. Just a little,” Athos says, glancing up in time to see the pharmacist go crashing to the floor in an almighty collapse of: himself, the book off the counter, both plates of cookies, and the giant pumpkin. “Porthos!”

Athos puts the cigarette box back down and pushes himself up on the counter so he can peer over. Porthos is already stirring, blinking confusedly up at the ceiling. Athos hesitates, then gets down and walks around the counter, kneeling at Porthos’s side, helping him sit up, picking bits of cookie out of his hair. The pumpkin is intact and the plates are unbroken but the biscuits were less lucky - they’re shattered, bits of them everywhere.

“Sorry about that,” Porthos says.

“Hm,” Athos agrees. It was terribly rude. His lips twitch at the thought. He brushes cookie off Porthos’s funny little pharmacist smock. “Terribly rude of you.”

“Sorry,” Porthos says again, sitting against a wall and closing his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Migraine. Been bugging me all day, suddenly decided to explode.”

“Time to go home, then,” Athos whispers, hoisting Porthos up off the floor. Porthos stares at him when they’re up. “What?”

“You’re strong,” Porthos says, awed. Athos ducks his head and blushes.

Porthos is always doing that, making nice little comments. Last time it was about Athos’s shirt, because it was a nice one and apparently made his eyes incredibly blue. Then there was the one about his hair being luxurious and the one being envious of his ‘beard skills’ and the thing about his fancy shoes and his shoulders. It has maybe been flirting. Athos isn’t sure. Pharmacists don’t usually flirt with him .

“I need to lock things?” Athos suggests.

“Oh. Here, here, just… give me ten minutes then you can walk me home and fuss at me. It’s closing time anyway, in half an hour,” Porthos says.

“Fuss at you?” Athos asks, letting go.

Porthos staggers a little then waves a dismissive hand and vanishes into the back. Athos collects his death sticks and hovers in front of the counter, glaring at anyone walking by who looks like they might come in and disturb whatever is happening out the back. Porthos comes out, bag over his shoulder, in the middle of a glare and laughs which is hardly fair. Athos takes his elbow and steers him to the door. Porthos locks it behind him then offers Athos his elbow again, touching his forehead and rubbing a moment before setting off with a sigh.

“I know this is a small village but I don’t know where you live,” Athos says.

“‘s’fine,” Porthos says. “‘preciate this.”

Athos nods. Porthos doesn’t live far, just up the road and off to the left, toward the river, in a nice little house with a yellow-painted front door and a big brass knocker in the shape of a badger head. Athos winces at it, it’s so bright, but doesn’t comment.

“Thanks,” Porthos says, riffling in his pockets and coming up with keys. “I’d invite you in but I’m gonna just throw up and lie down in a dark room and not move for a year. Give me your number?”

“It’s 128,” Athos says, dumbly. “The house has a name though, I called it Chickens when I was drunk one night and apparently I registered it with the post office another drunk night. So it’s Chickens.”

Porthos stares at him for a long time before grimacing and rubbing his face, giving his head a tiny shake.

“I have no idea what… what? Never mind. Your phone number, Athos,” Porthos says, holding out his phone and wiggling it at Athos.

Athos takes it and punches his number in, adding himself to Porthos’s contacts. He appears in the list under an ‘Airbag’ and ‘Argonauts’, and above a ‘Bear’ and ‘bill’ and ‘breadsticks bill’. He passes the phone back and Porthos stares at for a minute, swallows, leans on the door. Athos takes the keys and unlocks the door for him and Porthos mutters a thank you and staggers in. Athos closes the door quietly behind him and walks away. He goes down to the river to sit and smoke his way through half the pack of death sticks and eat his KitKat. Then he calls Aramis.

“I had a drink,” he says, when Aramis gives his usual, stupid, languorous, seductive ‘hola mi amor’. “I had two. It was only wine. I’m smoking my way through twelve cigarettes. I’ve had six so far. I ate a KitKat too.”

“Hi Athos, nice to hear from you, glad you called,” Aramis says. “Call your sponsor. Then ring me and tell me nice things.”

Aramis hangs up on him, which is quite rude really. Athos calls Treville.

“I had two glasses of wine,” Athos says, when Treville grunts hello. Treville makes an affirming sound which, yeah, when Athos calls it’s always because of a drink because that’s the point of Treville. “I’m smoking twelve cigarettes. That will help. I drank a lot of coffee.”

“You know coffee will only help so much,” Treville says.

“I didn’t want to work out why,” Athos whispers.

“Ok. Where are you?”

“By the river. The wine is still at home. I went to get my meds, the pharmacist fainted dramatically.”

“What do you want to do, if not think about what triggered this relapse?” Treville asks.

“I dunno. Can you come take the wine away? Can you do that, is that a thing you do?”

“No. But I will,” Treville says. “Seeing as what I’m MEANT to do is suggest you ask a friend to do it and I know you don’t have any friends except me.”

“What about Aramis?”

“Is he going to come remove wine bottles for you?”

“No. He hung up on me.”

“Besides which he’s in Chile,” Treville says, dryly. Which is probably more pertinent than the hanging up thing.

“He’s rude.”

“Yes. What else?”

“Smoke the rest of these. Did you hear about the pharmacist?”

“Yes, I was ignoring that particular dramatic pot of worms for the moment.”

“It’s not my dramatic pot of worms, it’s Porthos’s.”

“Anything you want to do other than talk to me about irrelevant pharmacists?”

“Don’t think Porthos would think much of being called irrelevant. No, I don’t want to talk to you at all, I have no choice in the matter though do I?”

“You do as you please, Athos, I’m neither your mother nor your nursemaid. I’m here to help if you want it, if you’d prefer to go back…”

“No,” Athos admits, to himself as well as to Treville. “No. Ok. I had a flashback, I didn’t want to face it, and so I… Did Not Face It. The way I used to not face things. I hid from it.”

“Yes,” Treville says.

“It was nice,” Athos whispers.

“Smoke your cigarettes, take a nap, have something proper to eat in fact I’ll take you to dinner. I know you won’t eat otherwise and you can get out of the house. Come to mine for dinner, I will pick you and your wine up, the wine from the house, you from the river.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah, better than a bottle,” Treville says.

“Better than Aramis,” Athos says, but Treville’s already hung up. Athos rings Aramis, remembers again he’s in Chile and hangs up on ‘hola mi’. He waits. His phone rings. “You’re in Chile. It’s costly.”

“You have so much money you don’t know what to do with it,” Aramis says. Which is true. Athos hangs up and rings him back. “Athos!”

“Yes, yes,” Athos says because he is being a tiny bit ridiculous. “A pharmacist fainted dramatically when I went for meds.”

“Oh? Oh! Is this the sexy guy who winked at you and made you wet yourself?”

“I did not wet myself. Not that such a thing is shameful, incontinence is a fact of life.”

“I didn’t mean piss I meant-”

“Why are you talking?”

“Is he the winky one?”

“Yes, yes. He winked at me and I may have rang you in a… in a moment of confusion.”

“You were in a tizzy! Ha! Yes these are nice things to tell me. Matthew is a jerk,” Aramis says.

“Your brother is a lovely man who you love very much. If you want to come weep on my sofa when you get home for missing him, you don’t get to complain about him. One or the other remember?” Athos says, which is a deal he made when Aramis was asleep so it might be fair if Aramis doesn’t remember.

“Yes ok, weeping on the sofa is probably better,” Aramis says. “So, why did the hunk faint?”

“He didn’t, he had a migraine I think he just fell over. He said ‘fuckitty fuck’. I supposed he was talking about cookies or somesuch.”

“Cookies?”

“He had cookies. They were vegan and delicious,” Athos says, then he spots Treville coming through the meadow and sighs.”Treville’s here.”

“Alright, that’s good. Is he going to feed you and make sure you sleep?”

“I believe that is his nefarious plan.”

“I’m glad, Athos.”

“Are you really cross with Matthew?”

“Nope, just that I’ve been here three weeks and I am ready to come home and be alone. Without him. For five goddamn minutes YES! MATTY OK ALRIGHT I AM COMING it’s dinner time, Ath,” and then a stream of Spanish

Athos bends over his knees laughing at the way Aramis switches so seamlessly between conversations and remembering sharply how he and Thomas and familial and brothers and he finds he’s not laughing he’s crying.

“Oh shit. Bye Aramis,” he says and hangs up.

Treville comes and drags him to his feet and then into a hug so tight Athos hasn’t breath to cry and anyway he’s safe enough not to need it. Treville lets go and they walk to the car in silence, at least three feet of space between them. Treville gives him a snickers bar and a juice box and drives through the darkening evening back into the city and to his nice terraced house and his nice domestic husband who merely says a warm hello to Athos and indicates his room is ready. Alaman is always like that, he takes Treville’s dramas in stride. Treville takes in waifs and strays and Alaman feeds them. At least Alaman’s daughter isn’t there at the moment, instead living in London and running some rebellious and wonderful magazine while wearing the newest Doc Martins and being political with her girlfriend Ninon.

“Athos,” Treville says. “Food, meds, sleep.”

Athos eats, takes his meds, and goes to bed.

Athos like the Bodleian. It took him a while to find his footing there and not have horrible imposter syndrome that made him want to scream in the middle of the Radcliffe Camera just to make noise. He like the Oxford Professor Aesthetic, though, and sitting in the Bod for hours, especially Upper Reading Room, with the light streaming in the great windows, the quad out there being historic, is great. As is napping there in the weak winter sunshine. That is also aesthetically pleasing. Athos wraps himself in the scarf so big it might as well be called a shawl that Aramis brought back for him this time, and pulls his beanie down and leans back in his uncomfortable chair, arms crossed over his chest, and dozes, his books gathering dust on the desk before him.

Of course he gets signal up here, unlike when he hides underground in the Gladstone Link (it’s term time, down there is full of undergrads now, sweating and tapping at laptops). His phone buzzing on the table is distracting. It’s on silent and it doesn’t vibrate but it lights up and he can just tell it’s still ringing. And then it goes dead and silent and his heart does a horrible tight flip dive thing and he thinks it was probably Treville ringing to tell him Aramis died in an accident or Aramis ringing to say Treville was in the hospital Alaman holding his hand and weeping over him. He sits up and grabs his phone and jabs it with shaking fingers until it lights up for him. There’s an unknown number coming up as a missed call and a text comes in as he watches, from the same. He opens it and doesn’t breathe until he reads the first few words - hi it porthos - then he breathes really really fast and has to put the phone down on its face while he hyperventilates. Finally he gets a drink of water and tries again - hi it porthos wnt 2 gt a coffee? - Oh. That’s not so bad. Athos nods.

Ok. when? Also use whole words please

Nw? im n twn?

No. Words

Now? I am in the city like a gentleman of leisure?

Ok. Blackwells ten mins

Use whole words please

Athos packs up his things, puts his books aside with a note to say he’s still using them and everyone better get their grubby hands off on pain of death (there’s a form he can’t actually say that. Sadly) and hurries down to the Div School entryway. He calls Aramis from under a random statue, rushing until he’s under the old Clarendon building then stopping and waiting for Aramis to answer.

“Hola mi amor,” Aramis seduces.

“I’m being spontaneous. I’m getting coffee with winky. Now.”

“Goodness. Go you. It’s the anniversary Athos, piss off.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I have flowers for you and I made dinner for later so we can just heat it up, and I got the good blankets out and Harry Potter to watch, and there’s ice cream for afters and I have my ‘cuddling human’ hat on.”

“Right. Good about the coffee. Be calm, you’re nice, he already likes you.”

“Just better not call him winky.”

“Or The Irrelevant Pharmacist.”

“Or that. Love you, be kind to yourself. Bye.”

Athos hesitates before hanging up, listening to Aramis’s breathing, checking he’s ok and not ragged or crying or on the edge of panicking. No, he’s fine, just Athos doing the panicking then. He laughs and clatters down the steps and across the road, dodging a bike and six stupid tourists, and running up the steps into the bookshop. Porthos is stood, peering at a display table, squinting. Athos hurries over and then isn’t sure how to announce himself.

“Need my glasses,” Porthos mutters. “Can’t tell if this is queer or just really colourful.”

“It’s not gay but it has a rainbow,” Athos says.

“Oh!” Porthos jumps upright and spins, nearly knocks over the table, and sits down heavily on the floor looking up at Athos.

“Hi,” Athos says, holding out a hand. He pulls Porthos up to his feet. “Sorry.

“Right, hi, um,” Porthos says. “Oh, you look nice, that’s a good scarf. It looks like you could hide in it. Don’t though, flushed with the cold is a good look on you, you look so alive.”

Athos blushes and glowers, frustrated at the blushing. Porthos smiles and he looks pleased, he probably does this on purpose, getting Athos flustered and blushing. Athos strides to the stairs and up them to the coffee shop, queuing. He takes his hat off and Porthos, at his back, laughs.

“What are you drinking?” Athos asks.

“Cappuccino,” Porthos says. “My treat.”

“No,” Athos says. “I’m rich and stubborn, I pay. Ask anyone.”

Porthos doesn’t say anything but somehow, when it comes time to pay, Porthos gets there first and Athos has no choice but to let it go. He carries the coffees, at least. He can assert his masculinity there. Not that he minds too much about paying but really Aramis is right he has too much money. He should do something with it. For now he sets their things on a table by the window (it’s November and not quite Christmas shopping so it’s not too busy right now) and goes back for cake. Porthos watches him there and watches him back, cheek on his fist, elbow on the table, and he scoots Athos’s chair out with a foot when Athos needs to sit and Athos notices that he, like Samara, wears Doc Martins.

“They’re good right?” Porthos says, proudly sticking his feet out for their surveyance. “Yellow for Hufflepuff.”

“And the door knocker. Damn it,” Athos says. “You’re a nerd.”

“Yep,” Porthos says, smiling proudly. “I’m a Hufflepuff nerd.”

“Ravenclaw,” Athos says, sighing. “I’m Ravenclaw. My friend is obsessed.”

“Right. Your friend.”

“He calls you winky but not like the house-elf just because you winked at me,” Athos blurts out. He grimaces.

“Alright. I am super good at winking,” Porthos says, unphased. “Learnt it from my stepdad. He taught me this, too.”

And then Porthos does the most amazing thing ever. He wiggles one ear, raises an eyebrow, then the other eyebrow, then the other ear, like a wave across his face. Then he winks.

“Wow,” Athos says.

“I’m keeping you,” Porthos says, laughing, looking stupidly fond for someone who barely knows Athos. “If that impresses you, I’m keeping you.”

“I’m not for sale,” Athos says, primly, taking a drink of his hot chocolate (he keeps coffee back, these days, because the caffeine makes him jumpy but also it’s more useful if he doesn’t drink it all the time).

“Can I have a marshmallow?” Porthos asks. Athos blinks at him, realises he got some on a side plate (he’d forgotten he did that, the whole ‘do you want marshmallows’ had confused him). He pushes the plate over and Porthos lights up. Athos feels his own face do a ridiculously fond thing for someone who barely knows Porthos. “I guess I am ok with being kept, if that’s your reaction to a few marshmallows.”

“They’re good! Like tiny fairy pillows,” Porthos says, dumping them in his coffee and waiting a moment before scooping them out gleefully, slightly melted, and making a right mess. “Lovely. Thank you. I have a lot of nicknames, the lads are gonna love winky though.”

“The lads. Your contacts have ridiculous names.”

“Yeah, that’s Charon’s lot, they’re a bit of a bunch of dicks but they get good weed.”

“Should a pharmacist smoke? How do you know I’m not a cop? Is this an in-public conversation?”

Porthos laughs again and shakes his head at Athos.

“You’re not a copper, I know the police. Oh don’t go getting that look, I’m not from a broken home or a bad neighbourhood and my Mum’s alive and well thank you very much,” Porthos says. “No sob story here. My step dad was a cop.”

“The one who taught you,” Athos says, and attempts the face-wave. It does not work judging from Porthos’s hysterical reaction. “So there’s ‘Charon’s lot’ who are ‘the lads’.”

“Yeah?” Porthos says.

“I dunno I was trying to make conversation and divert your attention from my facial gymnastics,” Athos mutters.

“Oh ok. I’ve got Flea, too. She used to be one of the lads, as it were, but then she grew up and decided that, like Hailee Steinfeld, she wanted to be like most girls. Ok I’m being facetious. She and Connie are the best feminists ever,” Porthos says.

“I’m lost.”

“Sorry. My friends,” Porthos says, then takes a gulp of coffee and comes up with froth on his moustache, hands tight around his mug. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be. I like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Athos says, relaxing as Porthos goes all shy and uncertain. Athos softens his smile. “You’re nice to me, you haven’t put my meds on the Facebook group, you make vegan cookies that actually taste nice.”

“It’s not that hard you’ve just got to-” Porthos stops. “On Facebook? Jesus, of course not.”

“You’d think that was obvious.”

Porthos is silent for a while, then changes the subject to books, also softening. Athos reaches out and takes his hand and they stay like that for two hours, heads bent close to talk quieter, hands warm in each others. It’s enough for Athos but he worries, as they get up, that Porthos will want to do something like kiss. Porthos just takes Athos’s hand for a moment, then says goodbye. Athos trails back to the library for a few hours before heading home to do some Aramis caring. Aramis is just asleep on the sofa in the middle of the third Harry Potter and Athos is just tenderly covering him up and brushing hair off his forehead and searching his face for wellbeing when there’s a knock on the front door. Athos waits to check Aramis is properly asleep being going to answer it, glaring hard at whoever it is dares disturb Aramis. It’s Porthos.

“It’s late,” Porthos says, stepping back.

“Yes,” Athos says, smiling and leaning on the door frame, deciding the Porthos can knock. As long as he doesn’t wake Aramis.

“You left your wallet at Blackwells,” Porthos says. “I went back for my helmet and found it. Right pair, we are.”

He holds out what is indeed Athos’s wallet. Athos stares at it, wondering how he got in and out of the Bodleian without his card, trying to remember. He might have not had it, he knows most of the guys there, one of them might have let him through if he’d been persuasive enough. He’s done it before, not for at least ten years though. But no, afterall, he has his card slid in his phone case. That’s how he did it, he had his card. His mind manages to recreate the moment from scraps of recall, now. He takes his wallet.

“Surprised you didn’t notice,” Porthos says.

“Oh I’m like that,” Athos says. “I’d invite you in but Aramis is here Grieving.”

“Right, sure, of course,” Porthos says. “No, I wasn’t here to… I heard the capitalization in that. Really?”

“Do not mock me I am a kind and caring friend,” Athos says. Then, softly. “He was a soldier.”

“Ah,” Porthos says, pushing up his sleeve to show off a tattoo. “Me too.”

“That might mean something to him,” Athos says, staring at the inky mark. “Nothing to me.”

“It’s not complex or symbolic, it says Sergeant Du Vallon you plonker. I was a drunk squaddie,” Porthos says, rolling his eyes. Athos looks closer. It does indeed say that.

“Ah,” Athos says.

“I made Lieutenant before getting out,” Porthos says. “They were gonna make me captain but I decided to be a pharmacist instead.”

“Really?”

“No. But that’s how it worked out,” Porthos says. “Tell him I’ll say a prayer.”

“You’re religious?”

“Not particularly, I go Sundays with my Mum though. That’s tomorrow. So I’ll put in a good word for your friend with my friend up there,” Porthos says, then gives a lazy, sarcastic salute and heads off, hands stuck in his pockets, looking like he has a film score in his head for ‘picturesque walking away’.

Athos goes back inside and finds Aramis awake. He sits on the edge of the sofa, a bit shellshocked, and takes Aramis’s hand, strokes Aramis’s hair.

“Porthos is going to put a word in with God for you,” Athos mumbles.

“That’s nice,” Aramis says, around a yawn. “Can I go to bed here?”

“Mm. Mine’s got the hot water bottle in to warm it for you. I’ll be up in a bit with tea?”

“Thanks. You’re good at this, don’t let anyone tell you different ok? Do it your way, it’s a good way.”

Athos smiles and sits up, letting Aramis go. He makes them tea and takes his ipad up so they can listen to BBC funnies and then an audiobook. He sleeps with Aramis, like they used to do as boys at the international school. They’d both moved about and had long periods of nothing but letters but they quite often ended up at the same school again, bouncing around the circuit, Aramis’s Dad a wine merchant and Athos’s military. Athos holds Aramis all night and when Aramis is deeply asleep Athos cries for him, for his lost friends, for Marsac. Mostly for Aramis.

III

“Can you get that, love?” Porthos calls from the kitchen.

Athos is at Porthos’s house. On a week night. Athos is a little baffled by this, it’s not the first time it’s been two months, Porthos likes cooking, but it’s still baffling. And being called ‘love’! (though Porthos has been doing that since their second coffee meeting when he realised it made Athos flush a little). And being asked to open the door! He loves Porthos’s house, though. From its quirky geeky door all the way to its tiny back garden of tangled weeds and overgrown lawn and wild flowers. The carpet in the hallway is red so Porthos feels important, there are photos in frames all over the walls and surfaces, of Porthos’s Mum, his aunt and her wife, his dog when he was little, Charon and Flea in various states of aging. The livingroom is small and attached to the kitchen, only separated by a curtain, the furniture is mismatched and all so comfortable. There’s a little table, with a huge avocado plant on it, that has a horse head and tail and feet. There’s a coffee table with a glass top and fish in blue liquid underneath, just plastic fish floating around like forgotten toys. There’s a small dining table in the corner but it’s always covered in stuff, the two chairs also, clothing and papers and letters and books and every bloody thing. Athos gets up with his wine that is actually grape juice but Porthos could only find a wine glass clean, and goes to answer the door.

“Hello, I’m Flea, this is Constance, and we picked up Treville wandering around the village and brought him along he’s basically Porthos’s Papa and we’re his sisters so,” Flea says.

“I met you last week,” Athos points out, opening the door wider, staring at Treville. “Hello, basically Porthos’s Papa.”

“I thought it better not to say anything. I didn’t realise at first to be fair,” Treville says.

“Thought turning up on the doorstep and startling me a better idea,” Athos says, nodding.

“I didn’t mean to show up on the doorstep,” Treville says, rubbing the back of his neck, then his eyes widen. “Athos.”

“It’s grape juice. Porthos (whose Papa you practically are) does not do dishes,” Athos says, stepping aside.

Constance (who Athos hasn’t met - she looks awesome she has converse shoes) and Flea are watching like this is great TV. Athos blinks until they all file in. They all go to the kitchen and Athos takes a moment in the hall, absently downing his grape juice, before heading through. They’ve all made themselves at home; Flea’s sitting on the counter eating pasta sauce with a spoon out of the pot, Treville’s taken over cooking, Constance is half in the fridge calling out foods and Flea’s calling ‘no’ to each. Porthos is leaning on the counter between Flea and Treville. They’re all talking. Athos, completely overwhelmed, wants to flee, but Porthos catches sight of him and beams a welcome. It’s a tiny kitchen. How they all fit is beyond Athos. He goes to the living room. Porthos follows, calling something back.

“Treville is my sponsor,” Athos mutters, staring at the blue carpet. “And my friend.”

“Oh,” Porthos says. “He’s not great at information sharing.”

“No. Clearly,” Athos says. “You don’t seem shocked.”

Porthos sighs and goes over to the window, opening the curtains so he can look out dramatically. Athos goes to stand beside him, tucking himself under Porthos’s arm and against his side. He’s warm and comforting and it’s reassuring. Athos shuts his eyes.

“My mum dated him for all of four months. They were friends. He got into a parental role by accident, through proximity more than anything. He’s great, when he realised I’d grown attached he stuck around, even after him and Mum drifted apart. But he’s not me Dad, and he’s not good at communicating, and our relationship is… complicated,” Porthos says, resting his cheek against Athos’s head. “He did something a long time ago that hurt Mum. He acted like my Dad without actually being my Dad. He hurt me. He comes and goes and when he’s gone it was hard.”

“Ok,” Athos says.

“Love him to bits, mind,” Porthos says. “Is it gonna interfere with sponsor things?”

Athos snorts. Treville is the most unconventional sponsor Athos has ever had (he’s had a few over the years and across various attempts at sobriety). It might add a complication, but they’ll get by. Or Athos will find someone new.

“Doesn’t matter,” he decides. “We’ll sort it, either me and him or me and someone else. This comes first.”

“Um,” Porthos says.

“Not before my well-being you twat,” Athos says, elbowing him.

“Ow. Just making sure. I’ve seen you and Aramis off on a gloom-streak remember,” Porthos says.

Which is fair enough. That had been an Afternoon.

“Also, twats are wonderous beautiful things, so thank you for the compliment,” Porthos adds, distracting Athos from That Afternoon.

“Sorry,” Athos says, a little sheepish. Porthos has Opinions about Cunts. “Are we going to be social?”

“Wasn’t really planning on it,” Porthos says, lips twitching.

“Dinner!” Flea yells from the kitchen.

Constance throws the curtain dramatically aside and Treville brings the pasta through in a big pot, Flea brings garlic bread, Constance brings salad. They sit on the floor around the coffee table and eat in more-or-less companionable silence. At once point Flea reaches over to squeeze the back of Porthos’s neck in an affectionate move that settles something in Athos. Seeing Porthos connected to people is nice. It reminds Athos of Aramis. When they’re done eating they get stiffly to their feet, Treville cracking his back and grumbling about Porthos’s lack of proper dining options, and take various soft-furnishings. Athos is slow and ends up stood a little awkwardly. Constance clears a kitchen chair for him and offers it with a flourish.

“Or you could sit on me,” Porthos suggests, patting his thigh.

Athos blushes and sits on the kitchen chair, unable to keep from being prim and keeping his knees neatly together, hands neatly resting on them, sitting up too straight. Constance laughs but Porthos looks stupidly pleased about it as if it’s something wonderful, Athos being a weirdo. It goes ok, the surprise of Treville showing up slowing eking away. Athos ends up on the sofa with Treville, their feet up on the sofa, drinking strong coffee and talking politics (nights usually ended like this but with whiskey, thus the coffee, though it’s not bad tonight per se. Just habitual). Porthos and Flea paint their nails or something, Constance watching and taking pics and videos for instagram. Athos tunes out quickly of that chaos and leaves them to it. He feels a little light headed but he’s sure he’s far less caffeinated than he should be by twelve am if he’s been drinking coffee for these past hours. He takes his mug suspiciously and peers into it, then narrows his eyes across the room at Porthos, who is making silly faces into Constance’s phone camera. He notices Athos’s gaze and looks up, goes all wide eyed startled, then puts on the most innocent look. He holds a hand up to his mouth, a barrier between him and Athos, and whispers something into the camera then does lofty innocence. Athos gets his phone out and checks instagram. There’s Porthos, same innocent look from another angle. Athos presses play:

Uh oh my boo just noticed I’ve been switching his coffee out for decaf gotta be mr innocence himself, followers. Shhh.

Athos scrolls through the comments. They say things like ‘I ship it’ and ‘who is mr mystery, mr innocence?’ and ‘when will we meet this mystery boo!’. Athos firms his mouth and looks over at Porthos again. Porthos’s lips twitch. Athos watches it on the video story and likes the way Porthos’s eyes get crinkles.

Boo is reading your comments stop he is sending death glares

The comments start at ‘aww’ and go from there, ending on ‘I want to sit on your face PhantasticPharmacist’. Athos blinks at that one.

Guys, my boo is sat right there reading your dirtinesses. Come on internet, be good for me. Ok I’m peacing out, do nice nail art and tag me so I can see! Goodnight.

Porthos blows the camera a kiss and it blinks out. Athos scrolls idly through Porthos’s insta for a while. He hasn’t looked before but now it seems Porthos is internet famous. Or at least a little. He has followers, anyway. A couple of hundred of them. His insta is mostly pictures of his nails, Flea’s nails tonight, Constance’s hair, a make up tutorial video. Athos clicks a link in the bio to YouTube and clicks on the first video.

“No, don’t-” Porthos says, as the first strains of sound emit from Athos’s phone. It’s too late, though.

Athos watches in fascination as Porthos, in odd lighting, peers into a bulb-frame-lit mirror, starting to do his make-up. It goes on in silence for a few seconds then sound buzzes and cracks like the beginning of a record, and then a strung out feminine voice starts to sing, wordless, cracking, and underneath it a deeper voice, also feminine, weaving ‘If I were a Boy’ by Rhianna into the wordless notes. The video switches sharply to Constance, sat on a toilet with a small mirror touching up her lipstick and examining her hair.

“What?” Athos says.

“It’s a music video,” Porthos says. “Um, yeah. You can stop now.”

Athos turns it off, as requested, but not before Porthos sings along in the mirror, glittering his cheekbones.

“That’s so cool,” Athos breathes, looking at the video, frozen on Porthos with his eyes shut doing eyeshadow. “That… is so cool. You’re YouTube people!”

“No. Flea and Constance do music and rope me in now and then,” Porthos says. “I mostly rant about films on that.”

Athos pokes the back button and sees, as Porthos says, a list of film names with exclamations, ‘@’ signs, ‘~’, ‘#’, ‘$’ and more in various awful combinations of keysmash or Asterix and Obelix style swearing. He so badly wants to watch one, but Porthos doesn’t seem to want him to so he doesn’t. Even though there’s a rant about Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which was awesome and terrible and conflicting and Athos badly wants to hear Porthos’s opinion.

“I should get going,” Treville says, stretching. He claps Athos on the back, gets up and kisses Porthos’s hair, then wanders out.

“Bye!” Constance calls, settling in.

“Yep, see you!” Flea calls, also pointedly getting comfy.

“Oh piss off,” Porthos says. “There is going to be no drama for you vultures to watch. Go make Athos more decaf coffee.”

“I think I’m good actually,” Athos says, lips twitching. “Though I am far more sleepy than I planned to be and it’s freezing outside, do you mind if I crash here?”

He’s slept on the sofa once before (after That Afternoon - Porthos had been baffled but accommodating). He likes it, it’s comfortable; he’s short, it fits him.

“Yeah if you want,” Porthos says, looking pleased. Athos’s lips twitch. “Alright. Athos is ready for bed, so I’m kicking you two out.”

Flea and Constance, terribly entertained for some reason, nudge and cajole as Porthos flaps at them and busies them toward the front door. They spill out onto the drive laughing, running to the car. Porthos gets busy making faces and giving the finger to Flea and Constance who have the interior lights on and are clearly still laughing hysterically. Athos, cold, reaches around him and shuts the door on the chaos.

“Oh, right,” Porthos says, turning, smiling. “Cold.”

“Yes,” Athos says. “I’m happy on the sofa.”

“Don’t be daft, I am gonna take you to bed and ravish you,” Porthos says.

“I’m ok with that,” Athos says. “But maybe slower.”

“Slow ravishings. Got it,” Porthos says, nodding solemnly before grinning again. He reaches out, though, and goes all tender and gentle, fingers touching Athos’s cheek, nudging his chin up till Athos looks right at him. “Slow as you like.”

Athos nods, embarrassed. Porthos pulls him into a hug and mutters some things Athos doesn’t catch, then bounces a little and pulls back to look at Athos. He grins conspiratorial and takes Athos’s hand, leading him up the stairs. There are more photo frames wonkily hung on the way up, a bendy distorting mirror at the top (Porthos pauses to pose and make faces), and then the hallway is lined with framed posters from concerts, plays, films. Athos wants to mooch and nose at all of them but Porthos is flinging open doors dramatically to announce ‘bathroom’, ‘airing cupboard’, and then he holds a door for a second and wiggles his eyebrows at Athos. ‘Bedroom’, he whispers, stupidly seductive. Athos’s lips twitch and Prothos gives a little laugh and opens the door. The room is… messy. Clothes on the floor, a pile of teetering books on a desk, an open wardrobe. The bed’s unmade but looks inviting and warm, and quite clean. The curtains are open and Athos can see quite well. He looks at the walls, looking for more photos or posters.

There is one. It’s A2, framed next to the wardrobe. It’s a picture of a flower. Or… not. Athos tilts his head and reaches to put on the light. Definitely not. There are labia. And a clitoris. There’s writing all around it in a pretty swirl: Proud Cunt Owning Men! And little black stick figures. Athos stares at it for a while, then moves on. There are a few costume designs pinned up, lovely inky lines and fluffy spreading watercolours, elongated necks, high heeled shoes, sequins, black scribbly writing and arrows. Athos moves closer to one, then another.

“Did you do these?” he asks.

“Yeah, for our drag show,” Porthos says, sitting on the bed and pulling off his jumper and t-shirt. “Heating should come in for a bit around now, will you be warm enough?”

“Sure,” Athos says, turning away from the wall adornment and back to Porthos.

“Are you gonna watch me undress?” Porthos asks, shifting.

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” Porthos says, grimacing and looking down at himself, arms around his body.

“You’re lovely,” Athos says. “Beautiful. Wonderful. You look incredible. Do you have anything I can wear as pyjamas?”

Porthos gets him a really big soft t-shirt with ‘Who’s the Huffliest? This guy’ written across it, a picture of a badger swaggering, and a pair of boxers. Athos goes to change in the bathroom, awkward and a bit humiliated about that. When he gets back Porthos is wearing grey cotton pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt that says ‘I be Hufflin’’ and another badger. Athos smiles.

“‘puff pride,” Porthos says, eyes on the carpet, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looks up and meets Athos’s eyes all of a sudden, chin tilting up in desperate pride. “I’m not ashamed of my body, I don’t mind being naked with you, I’m just not ready yet. I won’t… I’m not ashamed.”

“Oh. I thought,” Athos says, then laughs. “I’m not ready yet, either, I thought I was hiding from you.”

“I thought you were giving me privacy,” Porthos mutters. “Should’ve known you weren’t that observant.”

“Hey,” Athos says. Though, fair enough, he doesn’t notice everything. “Can I watch your YouTube videos some time?”

“Sure,” Porthos says, sighing and sitting on the bed. “Not ashamed of that, either. Just that I’m out everywhere, you know? I dunno what I’ve told you.”

“No idea,” Athos says, sitting beside him. “Told me about what?”

“I’m trans.”

“Oh. Me too, what a quinkydink,” Athos says, sarcastically. “I know that, Porthos. Duh.”

“Oi,” Porthos says, sounding hurt.

“You told me,” Athos says, poking him, exasperate. “I don’t know what to do with touchy Porthos.”

“Hey,” Porthos says. “I’m not ‘touchy’. Just uncertain, give over would you?”

“I’m uncertain too,” Athos snaps, then feels sheepish. “it makes me abrasive. Sorry.”

“What an evening,” Porthos mutters. “Ok. Shall we… lie down?”

“Are you ready to sleep?”

“Not really,” Porthos says, laughing. “Are you?”

“No.”

They end up lying on Porthos’s floor and smoking weed. It’s a vice that Athos is actually ok with and not addicted to. It just makes him limp and giddy, lying on the floor among Porthos’s things is lovely, listening to Porthos rambling on and on and on about Hufflepuff house and Newt Scamander who he was so sure was Arabic and probably Iranian but who he still loved and Cedric who is so good at quidditch and didn’t really die it was all a trick and Professor Sprout the absolute best lesbian in the world and probably dating Madam Hooch and on and on and on. Athos shifts so he can rest his head on Porthos’s stomach and feel the rise and fall of his breathing as he talks and smokes. Athos falls asleep somewhere between the Many Lesbians of Hogwarts and the Fat Friar who is probably only the best ghost in the whole entire universe. Porthos wakes him, later. It’s dark and the warm.

“Bed time,” Porthos sing songs, pressing kisses to Athos’s cheeks.

“Carry me,” Athos suggests, lifting his arms and crooking his knees.

Porthos snorts and refuses to do that even though Athos is ever so little and light as a feather. Athos ends up on his feet, Porthos still curled on the floor. Athos hauls Porthos up and Porthos suggests Athos carry him and goes boneless and giggly. Athos drags him over to the bed and they collapse onto it. They wriggle under the duvet, Porthos still vibrating with giggles, and then Porthos starts snoring loudly, lying in a great sprawl on his back. Athos pokes him until he lies on his side. He expects Porthos to be a snuggler, but he’s not; he leaves Athos half the bed and Athos falls asleep too. In the morning Athos discovers that Porthos is after all a snuggler, he just migrates and octopuses in his sleep: Athos wakes up encompassed, squashed, embraced, Porthos’s breath hot on the back of his neck.

“Are we going to do talking?” Porthos asks, over coffee.

He has coffee anyway, Athos has orange juice and toast doing the not caffeine thing again. Porthos is eating an orange, leaning against the sink. He’s dressed and showered, did that almost as soon as he woke up, disentangling himself a little embarrassed.

“I don’t,” Athos says, clipped, watching him.

“Only, that’s stupid,” Porthos says. He makes a rabbit face at Athos. “Sorry I cuddled you without checking. I was unconscious though so you can hardly be mad.”

“I’m not,” Athos assures.

“Ok. Do you like it? Is that what you want?” Porthos asks. “In the daytime, too?”

“I am having breakfast,” Athos says, and finishes his toast in silence, refusing to answer Porthos’s questions.

When he’s eaten he gets up and leaves quickly. It’s not until he’s home that he realises he’s still wearing Porthos’s t-shirt.

Athos is lying by the river, in the grass. It’s cold but he’s got a good coat on. He could lie on the ground at home where it’s warm but Porthos might find him there and Athos is still humiliated after running away in the morning, two weeks ago. Not that Porthos has contacted him or tried to get in touch in any way. Ok that might be a bit of the problem. He can’t call Treville to complain like he usually might. He could call Aramis but Aramis, on the run up to Christmas, is deeply unhappy and could probably do with a break from Athos Drama. Or maybe Athos Drama is just what he needs, as a distraction. Athos is considering this, looking through Aramis’s tumblr (many many reblogged gif-sets of Chris Evans and Chris Hemsworth and Hamilton stuff), when someone comes and lies down beside him. It’s Porthos, obviously, because who else would find him in a field in freezing November and lie down next to him?

“I’m sorry,” Athos says.

“Yeah,” Porthos says, sighing. “I wasn’t looking for you you know.”

“No?”

“I was walking,” Porthos says, shrugging. Athos feels him shrug.

“I can ignore you if you like,” Athos says.

“Doing a good job of that,” Porthos says. “You have my t-shirt, I like that one.”

“You shall have it back,” Athos says. “Are we breaking up?”

“How am I meant to know? You haven’t said a word to me since I asked if you like cuddling,” Porthos says.

“I did, I told you I was eating breakfast,” Athos defends. It’s pretty weak even to him. “I’m hopeless at this.”

“I don’t care,” Porthos says, indignant and frustrated, Athos can hear it. “And don’t you sigh at me like that. I get that you have had this reaction before and it’s nothing new to you. It’s new to me and I’m allowed to react to you ignoring me.”

“It’s not like you texted or anything.”

“It was my duty to text, was it? Me who owed you an apology? Who ran off with a demand that we Never Ever Talk,” Porthos grumbles. Then huffs. “You’re meant to care for me. That’s all it is; caring. You know how to do that.”

“I do?”

“If you don’t I’m not teaching you,” Porthos snaps.

“Fine,” Athos snaps right back.

“Fine,” Porthos returns.

“I do care for you,” Athos mutters, grumpily, into his coat collar. “I just don’t know how to… talk about it.”

“Then find a way to communicate it to me. A way that includes not running away when I ask your consent for something. I, by the way, do like cuddling. You never asked. I liked sleeping with you, you never asked that either. I was ok, that morning, feeling a bit scared but ok. You didn’t ask. You didn’t ask me anything, Athos.”

“You need a litany of questions?”

“I need you to check in,” Porthos says. “I need us to be clear about consent and intimacy. I need to be able to ask you things, when I’m uncertain.”

“Well maybe,” Athos snaps, then stops. Why is he even arguing this? He’s been waiting for an opportunity for the past fortnight and now he’s fucking it up by scrunching up defensively. “Maybe I should apologize.”

“I don’t want to make you do things.”

“No. I am sorry, actually, I’ve been waiting for you to get in touch so I could tell you. I thought perhaps you needed space, I can see now I should have let you know I was giving you space, not just made assumptions,” Athos says. “I do like cuddling but only pre-arranged. No stealth hugs. In the day time. Night time, if we’re sleeping together that is consent for hugs.”

“Promise,” Porthos says.

“Are you ok?” Athos asks. Porthos snorts. “Now. For real.”

“Yes,” Porthos says, softly. “I’m ok.”

“Good. Shall we walk?”

They do, to Iffley lock and then turning back on themselves, still wanting to be together, and heading toward Sandford the other direction. Porthos reaches tentatively for Athos’s hand and Athos gives it to him, then remembers what Porthos said about needing verbal assurance when he was uncertain (that’s what Athos thinks he meant, anyway).

“I am ok with stealth hand holding,” Athos says.

Porthos smiles at him, face a bit pinched with emotion. Athos shakes his head and stomps on a bit, then comes back and allows the intimacy, allows himself to be a little tender, allows Porthos to be whatever he is. They stand close, holding hands, until Porthos’s breathing steadies, then they walk on. Caring for Porthos isn’t, afterall, so difficult, Athos decides. He likes it, he really likes it, his heart feels big as he stops again to let Porthos, distracted by looking at something, catch up. He touches Porthos’s chest and then his cheek and Porthos smiles bemusedly at him. They walk onwards.

3 notes · View notes

trash-the-tozier · 7 years ago

Text

What’s It Gonna Take

Title: What’s It Gonna Take

Length: ~2.4k

Summary: Eddie is curious about kissing, and Richie is damn near about to pass out.

Warnings: gratuitous kissing (aged up losers, ~16 y/o), mentions of underage drinking, another reddie getting together story bc of course there aren’t enough of those out there

A/N: I wanted an excuse to practice kiss scenes and I love reddie, so here this is! inspired by this post also on ao3 here

It was one of those rare Saturdays where all of the Losers were busy. Bill was babysitting Georgie, Stan had some religious fundraiser that his parents had roped him into helping with, Mike had trombone lessons, and Ben and Beverly were on a date to the movies that was probably super sweet and mushy and disgusting. That left Eddie and Richie, Richie popping his head in Eddie’s window and asking if he wanted to hang out. They were sitting by the quarry now, their legs dangling over the edge, talking about nothing and throwing rocks and occassionally kicking each other’s feet.

Eddie’s hair had gotten a bit lighter over the summer, his skin a bit tanner, a few more freckles dotting his face (none of which were cancer; his mother had taken him in to get them screened), his lips slightly chapped and eyebrows furrowing as he looked down into the water. The two of them had fallen silent after an inconsequential argument about breakfast cereals, and now Richie was just sitting there, staring at him. Goddamnit. Eddie glanced over, and he looked away.

“Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question nearly gave him whiplash. His head turned so quickly his glasses nearly flew off, a bubble of butterflies bursting inside his chest. Eddie frowned at him, looking self-conscious for having asked.

“What is wrong with you? Close your mouth.”

Richie’s jaw shut automatically, then he remembered he had a question to answer. A question about kissing. From Eddie.

“I…” He supposed getting drunk at parties counted, right? “Yeah. I have.”

“Oh?” A pause. “What’s it like?”

Richie wasn’t sure how to answer that. Nothing he’d done with other people had ever been serious. He’d kissed both girls and guys, though both teams denied it once they’d sobered up; girls didn’t want to say they’d made out with The Trashmouth, and guys didn’t want to be gay.

“Fun, I guess.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah.” God, this shouldn’t be making him blush. He joked about sex on a near hourly basis; it was wrong for mentioning for something as simple as fooling around to be turning him into a blushing fucking schoolgirl. “Being touched like that. It feels good.”

Eddie went quiet, picking up another pebble and throwing it down into the water. The rock was too small to see the ripple from up where they were. He seemed ready to change the subject, but Richie wasn’t letting this conversation go so easily.

“Why? What’s up?”

“Just thinking about it.” Eddie said. “I’m sixteen, and I haven’t been kissed yet. I thought I might want to try it.”

Richie’s mouth went dry. Eddie was sitting there next to him, thinking about kissing someone. Fuck. He wanted to just splay his body across Eddie’s lap and offer himself up, but that seemed a bit desperate, even for him. And Richie did not at all put Eddie past shoving him into the quarry, so there was that very real danger to worry about.

“I’m sure it would be easy to find out.” He said instead. “Since you’re such a catch. Everyone knows Greta thinks you’re cute.”

Eddie made a bit of a face, and Richie would have been lying if he said that reaction didn’t make him at least a little happy. Eddie had had the opportunity to kiss girls before. Now that they were in high school Richie wasn’t the only one that could tell Eddie was cute, and he’d been asked out a couple of times. He either declined the invitations or only dated for a couple weeks, the habits of a hypochondriac getting in the way.

“Human bodies are just so gross.” He’d said. “Holding hands alone shares so many germs, and spit… I thought about her kissing me and I think I actually broke out in hives.”

Eddie’s reluctance to play tonsil tennis should have bummed Richie out, but if he was being completely honest it was nice to know that Eddie wasn’t sucking face with anyone else. The gross comment didn’t get to him either; Eddie called him gross on a daily basis, so it wasn’t anything knew. In the past, if Richie asked Eddie if he ever wanted to kiss anybody, the answer had been a resounding “maybe”. This change of heart was throwing him for a complete loop.

“I’ve been trying other things lately, that’s all.” Eddie continued, and Richie nodded the best he could manage. Sure, Eddie’s medications had been fake, but Eddie hadn’t found out that some of his allergies were bullshit too until he’d accidentally eaten some shellfish in a pasta dish and not died. He’d recently been testing the waters to see what else he wasn’t allergic to, trying not to let the outside world daunt and disgust him so much. He could now pet both Ben’s cat and Mike’s dog without sneezing, touch latex, and eat bananas, all things he’d thought were impossible before. Richie had actually witnessed Eddie eat something off the floor a couple of days ago, and now fully expected Hell to freeze over at any moment.

(Eddie was genuinely allergic to grass though, as he found out after rolling down a hill and popping up covered in itchy welts. Richie, who had rolled down right after him, found that he was actually allergic to grass too.)

“I don’t want to kiss anyone I don’t like, or that I’m not dating, or, or whatever, but…” Eddie was getting a bit flustered. “I don’t know, I thought I might want to.”

God. Richie was gripping tightly to the rock below him in an attempt not to fall face first into the water, hopelessly in love and desperate to just say me, kiss me, use me, I don’t care. But he couldn’t find his tongue, and Eddie was getting to his feet. Richie opened his mouth.

“Me.”

Eddie froze. The word hung between them for an insufferably long moment, the butterfly wings beating bruises on the insides of Richie’s ribs.

“What?” Eddie finally asked.

“I… I mean…” Richie realized that this was his chance to back out. To play it off. But he didn’t want to. “I could kiss you, if you want.”

Eddie was staring him full in the face, his breathing a little faster than usual, and Richie found himself beginning to babble instead, always desperate to alleviate Eddie of any discomfort.

“I’m just saying! I’m not some stranger that you have to wait to fall in love with first, and I’ve got some experience. I’ve kissed Mike, Ben, and Stan before, so it wouldn’t be weird. Though it was just because we were playing spin the bottle. We can get a bottle if that would make you feel better.”

Eddie was still staring at him. Richie wasn’t sure that he’d even blinked, and he began to get worried. If he couldn’t backpedal far enough on this, he didn’t want to know what the consequences would be.

“Just a quick peck, alright? No tongue. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Eddie said softly, but with none of the anger or revulsion Richie had been expecting.

“I’m just trying to help y–”

Then Eddie crouched back down, took Richie’s face in his hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

The kiss was short and so, so sweet, Richie barely having time to do much of anything before Eddie pulled away again.

“Richie?”

Eddie’s cheeks were red. His lips were pink, and his eyes were a warm brown, looking at him with slight concern, then amusement.

“Well, it shut you up, at least.” Eddie remarked, and Richie felt himself sway slightly, towards the edge of the precipice. Thankfully Eddie noticed too, and caught him by the shoulder. “Alright, Trashmouth?”

“You, uh…” Richie knew he was embarrassing himself but god, he couldn’t help it. Eddie kissed him. Eddie had just kissed him. He tried his hardest to roundhouse-kick his brain back into action. “You caught me off guard there, Spaghetti Man.”

“I can tell.”

They looked at each other a moment longer.

“You aren’t having a big germ freakout.” Richie remarked. “I fully expected one.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” Eddie assured him. “It’s just all internal. But it wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Your mouth didn’t taste like germs, that’s all I’m saying.”

Richie raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing ‘tastes like germs’, Eds.”

“Georgie stuck his finger in my mouth when he was four. That tasted like germs.”

“Alright then. Mental note to self: no licking Georgie.”

“You have to remind yourself not to lick a ten-year-old child?” Eddie shook his head a bit, laughing again. “I guess I get it, though. Kissing. It was nice.”

He made to get up, but Richie stopped him.

“No. I am not letting your impression of your first kiss be ‘not as bad as expected’ and 'didn’t taste like germs’.”

“But you can’t change it.”

“A do-over.”

“Then it wouldn’t be my first kiss.”

Richie decided to ignore that incredibly sound piece of logic.

“I wasn’t ready! I was in the middle of saying something stupid.”

“Aren’t you always?”

The teasing words were a breath of fresh air, a sign that despite whatever was happening now, their friendship wasn’t ruined. It made Richie feel a bit bolder.

“Come on, Eddie Spaghetti. I have a reputation.”

Eddie simply sat, staring at him, and after a few moments Richie had to ask about it.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I was waiting for you to kiss me.”

“Oh, fuck.” There was a cacophony of curse words playing through Richie’s head as his nerves flared up again. Simply hearing Eddie say that made Richie wonder if he’d died and fucking ascended before remembering that when he kicked the bucket, “up” probably wasn’t the direction he was going. If it was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. “Okay.”

Damn it all. Eddie was so pretty, sitting there and looking at him and giving Richie permission to kiss him. Richie planted one hand on the ground, using it to keep him balanced, reaching up with the other to cup Eddie’s cheek. He leaned in slowly, fearing that if he moved any faster, he was in danger of combusting. Eddie’s breathing was shallow, quick and warm against his lips. Richie nudged Eddie’s nose with his own, closing his eyes, Eddie’s lips tilting upwards to meet his.

It was almost too much. Eddie’s lips moved slowly, inexperience obvious in his hesitancy, and Richie found it painfully endearing. He tried to push a little further, to treat Eddie a little less delicately, surprised when Eddie met him with the same energy, Richie having to lean back slightly to accommodate him.

Eddie tilted his chin back to take a quick breath, his lips still parted when he came back to the kiss. Richie curled his fingers around the nape of Eddie’s neck, running his tongue across Eddie’s lower lip, getting a soft, low moan in response that had heat coursing through every inch of his body. That was more than he could take, pulling back.

It was dumb how long it took him to catch his breath and he stared at Eddie, who’d brought his fingers to his mouth, his cheeks flush with color, staring back at him.

Oh, I am so fucked.

“Okay.” Eddie said softly. “That… Yeah. Was better.”

“Yeah.” Richie wanted to kiss Eddie again. Richie wanted to kiss Eddie every damn day for the rest of his life. Somehow, some way, Eddie seemed to read his mind.

“Do you want to…?” Was all Eddie managed out, and it wasn’t the most coherent of questions, but Richie was too eager to care. He couldn’t even tell who moved first but Eddie was touching him this time, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck. Richie broke the kiss rather quickly, wanting to move them away from the edge, and once he’d done so Eddie climbed fully into his lap, bringing their lips together again. Richie was completely taken aback, but then he remembered that this was the same ball of energy that had once jumped headlong into a creek to hurl rocks at bullies’ faces, and it made a little more sense.

“How many times do I need to kiss you before you ask me out?” Eddie murmured against his lips, Richie half convinced he was just hearing things, drawing back to stare him.

“I… What?”

“Earlier, I said that I didn’t want to kiss someone I didn’t like. And I’m kissing you.”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh. “That was way too subtle for me, Eds.” Nerves curled in Richie’s chest. “Did… Did you know I liked you?”

Eddie gave him a slightly apologetic look, letting his arms relax a little from their position around Richie’s neck.

“Bev told me. Though your staring really isn’t that subtle with your giant glasses on. I didn’t say anything though, because I honestly wasn’t sure about the whole kissing thing. I didn’t think it would be fair to you if every time I kissed you I had to run off and sanitize my tongue, or something.”

“But… You’re okay?” Richie asked. The last thing he wanted was Eddie to be uncomfortable. Eddie nodded a little.

“Maybe it’s because it’s you, and I trust you, but yeah. I think so. But if I ever do have a, you know, 'big germ freakout’, or whatever, please don’t be mad. I’m working on it.”

“I could never be mad at you, Eds!” Richie grinned, wrapping his arms around him. “You’re the apple of my eye. The lighter to my cigarette. My…” Richie couldn’t help his gasp of inspiration. “The sauce to my spaghetti.”

“How about your boyfriend, you idiot?” Eddie asked. The word was real and heavy, weighing in Richie’s chest, Richie finding himself mouthing it quietly as he looked over Eddie, taking in the brazen, perfect person in his lap. The title seemed like a privilege he didn’t deserve.

“You’re staring at me again.” Eddie told him.

“Can’t help it.”

“Your face is really red, too.”

“Can’t help that either.”

“So should I take that as a yes?” Eddie asked, smiling a little. Richie couldn’t find his voice, pulling Eddie close instead and kissing him again, his heart soaring when he felt Eddie’s own lips turn up into a smile. Yes.

#myfic #reddie #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it2017

252 notes · View notes