#He eventually buys Richie a new one

[nobodyproblematic]

Imagine if during their first ever sleepover, Max accidentally breaks one of Richie’s prized Hatsune Miku figurines. And so while Richie is downstairs getting snacks, Max is just fucking PANICKING as he searches every crevice for some sort of superglue.

And when Richie finally figures out what happened, he’s just, eerily calm about it.

And then hits Max with a “Where do you want to be buried? :)”

Max sleeps with one eye open the whole night.

Wise choice.

[johnbrand]

Silver Fox News

Out of breath, Richie shut the door behind him. The sun was already shining into his childhood home, the suburban frame one he had seen little of over the last four years. With his college a few states over, Richie was practically only home for the holidays, spending his summers at local internships that kept him away from where he grew up. He did not have anything against his town, or his dad for that matter; he had simply always been too busy. And now, freshly graduated and without a job quite yet, Richie had returned for the time being.

“Dad?” Richie called out, searching the kitchen. Typically, his father waited for him once he got back from his morning run, seated at the counter with a morning coffee and whatever protein-stuffed breakfast appeased him. But now, Richie could not find his dad anywhere.

“Scott?” Richie tried, but no response. Sweat dribbled down his lean, hairless frame. He liked to keep slim and clean-looking, knowing it was attractive for the men he usually slept with. While quite the flirt back in his college town, Richie had yet to hook up with anyone at home. He still had not had that talk with his father yet.

Richie scouted a bit longer, eventually finding his father in the master bedroom. Digging through his closet, Scott seemed to be tossing out all his blue clothing. Anything remotely near that shade even. After another “Dad?” Richie finally caught his father’s attention. Richie had only been home for a few days now, but he had never seen his father so invested in a task and yet, so out of it completely.

“Have you watched the news this morning, son?” Scott asked, to Richie's surprise.

“Uh, no…?”  The sweat had already dried against his exposed frame by that point, so without bothering to take a shower, Richie followed his father out into the living room. He just hoped whatever it was his father wanted him to see would be short, as he was practically naked besides his running shorts. Grabbing the remote, Richie did not expect the first channel to be a Fox News affiliate.

“Really, dad?” Richie questioned. He had never placed his father as the conservative type. He had typically been more independent, while Richie’s perspective was wholly liberal. It was a bit strange to see the network, but maybe Scott had changed while he had been away in college. Speaking of which, had his father always been so salt-and-peppered on top? Richie also took a moment to appreciate his father’s musculature, which he had somehow not noticed until now.

Richie returned his eyes to the screen. On top of the typical Fox News logo was the word “Silver” in an old fashioned font. And instead of the typical newscasters, stories, and lineup, there was just a slide displaying some text. 

“Thank you for tuning into Silver Fox News. Your program will begin shortly.”

“Did you buy some kind of premium subscription?” Richie openly questioned his father, who seemed to be absorbed by the television. “Okay, you got me in front of the news; what did you want to show me?”

Richie’s answer came quickly. The text disappeared, revealing a simple red spiral with flashing commands. It was not anything special, but it was enough.

“Pretty colors…swirling…” Richie slurred after a minute, his tongue becoming heavy in his mouth. “Soothing, silky…the spiral is so…hot…I love…the spiral…I love this feeling…I listen…to the spiral…”

When major research institutions began to announce their predictions of voter turnout for the upcoming election, alarms began to ring off within the Republican party. An assumed 41 million Gen Z voters would be hauling into polling stations, with numbers as high as 43% confirmed to be liberal. It was a staunch difference, one that many leaders could not accept. So instead of following the traditional tactics to sway voters like they had in the past, they decided to take a new route. Why sway voters, when you could make them?

Thanks to the research and funding of a certain well-known tech billionaire, the necessary resources were simple. Leaders believed that the easiest way to eliminate the problem was by creating the solution in the most efficient way possible. Social aspects would include basic background, education, and upbringing. Physical aspects would manage age, size, and demographic. Mental aspects would focus on tradition, individuality, and compliance. But the beauty of it all was that the programmers did very little of the work. Instead, they simply utilized the victim’s preconceived notions.

“What does…being Republican…mean to me…?” Richie drawled, his voice having dropped an octave since the program began. Instead of installing a literal trigger into the victim, the channel exploited the stereotypical beliefs victims already held. “I must become…Republican…that means…middle-aged…suburban…uneducated…Christian…”

As Richie chanted his prejudices out like a spell, his body was subsequently altered. His age more than doubled, ripping away the hair from his head and leaving the beginnings of a horseshoe to splatter the rest across his body. Wrinkles and age lines began to form, but so did musculature as his body beefed up, becoming stronger in the way that most Conservative men naturally are. Daily maintenance of a large suburban home did that to a man after all. 

“Traditional…simple…heterosexual…” Richie continued as a beard formed around his lips. His past was rewritten to better fit the portrait he was painting. Sundays in church, dropping out of high school to later receive a GED, working hard to earn his privilege and not understanding why it was handed to others. Fear of God, fear of big government, fear of outsiders influencing how things were. Disgust for “progress,” disgust for pronouns, disgust for sexual interactions with other males. Pride in his country, pride in being a male, and pride in taking nothing from nobody.

“...handsome…masculine���arrogant…” Before this had all began, researchers already knew that many of their victims would end up the same, as the stereotype of the average Republican was firmly held. What they had not predicted however was the amount of people who held hidden desires for this “average Republican.” A hypothesis arose quickly: if the liberal holds stronger prejudices, then they will become a more attractive Republican. “...alpha…virile…superior…” The choice of naming their channel "Silver Fox News" had been an appropriate one.

Richie, or Dick as he would now be referred to, would certainly provide further evidence to support their theory. As the program finished, the new, Republican silver fox readjusted back into reality, finding his best bud Scott standing before him. Dick could not remember what had just happened, but he liked what Scott laid out as a plan for the rest of the day. Work in the garage for a few hours, run out and purchase the new Trump propaganda, and then end the night at a Hooters. Dick could not decide which part of the plan he would enjoy the most, but clutching his massive pouch, he knew which he was most excited for.

[planetcleer]

another one of my silly little headcanons is that after That Summer, eddie basically lives at the tozier household. more than ever wentworth becomes his father figure, teaching him, like, how to shave and how to change a tire when one of richie’s goes flat junior year and letting him light the grill during summer cookouts and calling him sport and champ and chief. maggie calling out “hi, richie, hi, eddie” every day after school from somewhere in the house without even having to look that he’s there, fielding frantic calls from sonia and refusing to take her bullshit bc as long as eddie wants to be here we will never turn him away, coming home from freese’s department store every once in awhile with new clothes for them both or making sure to grab his favorite ice cream alongside richie’s on grocery runs.

they make up the bed in rachel’s old room in case he wants to spend the night and eventually just start leaving extra blankets and pillows in richie’s closet when it becomes apparent eddie prefers sleeping in there. his clothes slowly but surely start making their way into the laundry. they always buy an extra ticket on family movie nights, and take him along for the Tozier Monthly Mall Trip up to bangor without question. a spare inhaler and epipen live in the junk drawer of the kitchen just in case.

and there is always, always, always a place at the table, set and waiting for him.

[munsster]

Hiiiiiiii loved your Eddie munson x wealthy!reader fix, I was wondering if you could do a billy Hargrove one? Thank you bby💗

billy with a wealthy s/o

A/N: its 100% giving reluctant allies to lovers gif cred: @selinasdalton

Warnings: partying, drinking/smoking, insults (mostly playful), pet names (sweetheart), implied sex

the FIRST thing i thought of was reader rolling with the popular crowd

ie harrington, tommy, carol etc

and seeing billy for the first time at a party

honestly, he probably offers you a drink or better yet a smoke

and you’re disgusted (horny)

and he thinks he’s totally gonna score (you accepted his drink offer)

neither of you really remember how or when it started

you can never agree on an anniversary date

but you both know he fell first

mainly because he was absolutely floored by just how many insults you had ready in your back pocket

“the ball goes in the basket, airhead” “you look like rob lowe if he was a woman and a munch” “my dog could sink more free throws than you and he’s 20 years old”

honestly, he was a little flattered by your creativity

which is why he knew he had to get in your pants somehow

and the first time you invited him over to your house, you wouldn’t hear the end of it

“hey, richie rich, where’s your robot maid?”

“oh, it’s her day off”

“…”

“i’m kidding,” you tease, “she’s not a robot”

he does not know how to handle the amount of shit you spoil him with

“billy… i really like your necklace”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“i can buy you a new—”

“i dont need a new one, sweetheart”

and you don’t know how to handle the fact that he doesn’t want to be spoiled

but you eventually figure out how to be sneaky with it

making him lunches (con caviar), ‘accidentally’ misplacing his shoes so you have to buy him new ones, taking him to fancy barbershops and paying half the cost so it still seems like he’s paying the full price

some may say it’s manipulative. you say it’s loving.

and the first time he buys you a meaningful, mildly expensive gift, you tear up a little bit

you bringing him to the golf course and finding out 1) he’s really good at golf and 2) he is excellent cougar bait

not that you want the over 60’s hitting on your man, but it’s very sweet when they send him drinks and call him a handsome young man

you definitely encourage him to play into it with some “how are you young ladies this evening?” and “don’t you have to be 21 to sit at the bar?” action

he has his fun with it, but he really only does it ‘cause it makes you smile

would never BEG for anything…. but he DOES get really sad when you don’t bring him to the mall to watch you try on shoes or sweaters or whatever.

yeah, if there’s something he’d beg for, it’s that

he lives for the moment you walk out of the dressing room, do a twirl, and ask (like clockwork) “do you like it?”

his answer is always yes, but you claim to know the differences in his tone that indicate what he actually likes

sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll let him sit inside the dressing room. watching you change. watching you change.

he is the reason you’re both banned from sears at starcourt

the first really expensive watch you gift him is INSANE

it has like four dials and you said something about alligator leather and 18 carat gold

he can’t decide between wearing it on special occasions to preserve its value or never taking it off because he loves you

when you do stay at his house, usually no ones home

but you have met max

and she likes to stay away from you

but you took her to get a new skateboard and you think that might’ve helped her warm up to you

just a smidge

now she lets you gossip about stupid boys and watch shitty action movies with her

she even promised she would go as croft’s robin for halloween if you swore you’d go as wilson’s batman

that was an interesting halloween for billy

your mansion house has this shiny ass gramophone in one of the downstairs offices

and you told billy that the last thing that had played on it was a glenn miller ‘best of’ album

and that was just not good enough for billy

so one night, he brought over his twisted sister vinyl and convinced you to dance with him while what you don’t know blasted through the brassy pavillon

he also may or may not have convinced you to make out with him while the rest of the record played

even though you drive a brand new, cherry red benz (convertible, he might add), you still love it when he drives the two of you in his camaro

but you also let him drive your car whenever he wants. and he wants to most of the time.

in fact, he’s pretty sure he drives your car more than you do

he also loves to let you dress him up

and do his hair (please practice that cute hairstyle you saw on him. he’ll think about your hands in his hair for hours on end)

even if youre just going on a chill diner date, you still drag him into your (now shared) walk-in closet and pick out these satin shirts and pressed slacks and the shiniest shoes he’s ever seen

but of course, most of your dates are lavish and breathtakingly creative, anyway, so he’s already dressed accordingly

his new catch phrase is something along the lines of “what happened to eating somewhere normal. like pizza hut”

sometimes, his only requirement is “as long as there’s no chandelier”

you flatter him so often, he gets grumpy on days you forget to call him handsome (or pretty boy, which has really grown on him)

typically, he wouldnt go for all the fuss and feathers, but he likes to see you happy.

and boy, does prettying him up make you happy

seriously, you get the wildest look on your face. it’s fulfilling enough that billy feels safe to say he’s content being your ken doll forever

if you’d let him

masterlist

[chefkids]

Knife Theory

This is the third part of the Spoon-Fork-Knife Theory  that I believe makes up the main themes of the whole series and each season. Make sure to read The Spoon Theory and The Fork Theory too.

Carmy was on his literal last knife, as none of them were sharp, until he found his good knife on the floor after trying Sydney's stew. Sydney spent years working at Michelin restaurants and then overworking herself and spreading herself too thin with her catering business, and this was her her last hope and push forward after failing on her dream. Carmy has been on non stop knife mode for a decade, he did not even stop to grieve his brother, he just kept working and working.

When Carmy didn't have any "spoons" or help, he hurt himself using a knife. The same thing happened to Sydney because she was over exerting herself. Both of them are used to living in full knife mode. Carmy was selling jeans and his brothers jacket just to buy meat. He was literally giving his blood, sweat, and tears for this place.

Season 1 was all about Sydney and Carmy's "knives" and having to push themselves to the limit because of their passion to try and make The Beef into something better. Sydney used her knives and overspent her energy until she hurt Richie, the person that kept getting in the way of her using her knives both literally and metaphorically, and eventually she broke down and crashed. Carmy who was already on his last knife, struggling just to keep the lights on before Sydney arrived, finally felt the burn out when she left and almost let the restaurant burn down.

At the start of Season 2, Carmy is at a somewhat peaceful and chill place where he actually has free time, and the first thing he does when he's by himself is play with a knife. He needs the chaos and he doesn't know how to exist without being on high alert and pushing his passions to their limit. He then goes and sets practically impossible standards by planning to open in 3 months. He thinks he's using his knives to push himself to greatness but at the end of it all, what he has done is created new set of problems, also known as "forks", by avoiding his responsibilities and forcing others to have to use their "knives" and "spoons" to get things done because he is absent.

Tina ends up getting Carmy's knife both literally and in terms of being the one to push herself to her passion. She was putting all her energy into helping Sydney with the menu and to trying to get Ebra to have the same drive as her. Both things that really should have been Carmy's responsibility as Syd's partner and Ebra's boss. All while Carmy is off doing whatever with whoever.

Now, in the words of Carmy: if they want a Michelin star they are going to have to care about everything, more than anything. They are going to have to push themselves to their limits and they are going to have to use their "knives" again, but if they do there will inevitably come a big crash and burn at the end when everything comes catching up to them.

Read The Spoon Theory

Read The Fork Theory

[blueaprondelight]

hi mae bae!! can you do richie finding our reader is pregnant liek his reaction??

-🩰

tysm for requesting! | cw: pregnancy, brief mention of morning sickness

from the moment you saw those two faint pink lines on the test, you knew your life had changed.

it was a usual morning for you and richie. he woke up early in the mornings as he usually does, getting you a cup of coffee and setting it down on your nightstand before waking you up with the gentlest of kisses. "good morning, my love." he wished, promising to be home later that night before sneaking out the front door to work.

the smell of coffee bothering you was the first sign. the morning sickness was the other.

so, your plans of housework were delayed until you took a pregnancy test. it was a gut feeling, really. this feeling that you and Richie could be having a baby?

it should have scared you. but rather, after seeing the positive result on the first test, it felt comforting. you took a second one to be sure, and it showcased the same results - pregnant. there was no doubt: you and richie were expecting a baby.

of course you wanted to tell him in a fun way. rushing to the store and buying a small baby shirt that says "hi daddy!", perfect for pregnancy announcements. taking both tests and setting them on top, you waited for richie to return home.

once he did, you kept your composure. "i have a surprise for you in the bedroom." you say after he greets you with a kiss. setting his things down, a smirk forms on his face. "oh yeah?" he follows close behind you, and you let him enter first.

it's a pause. he reads the shirt over and over, the words setting in deeper. 'daddy'. the two tests getting scooped into his hands, he shakes them like an etch-a-sketch, almost like the results would fade soon.

"oh my gosh." he says softly, as you watch him from the doorway, smiling. "it's still early, but i had to tell you now. i have an ultrasound appointment scheduled for next week and-" your words are cut off by him scooping you into his arms, holding you close.

it's a mix of feelings, truly. he already had a daughter, and the first time he found out about her he felt the same way. the confusion comes first. an actual baby, growing inside the person he loves. then comes the excitement. he gets to bring a new life into this - albeit scary - world and he gets to do it with you.

then comes the anxiety. what if he messes up somehow? what if something happens to you, or the baby? he knows he has a reputation for fucking things up, so it's a bit terrifying to think about. until eventually you tell him he's gonna do great. you and him will be experiencing this together.

[princess-glassred]

Au where Eddie and Henry swap bodies (based off a movie i watched recently).

I love a good body swap.

For those who don't know the movie freaky, it's basically about a serial killer who body swaps with a teenage girl. I decided to take the body swap horror concept and use it on Eddie and Henry.

In this au, Henry is not given back his knife by Patrick, but steals a knife he finds just laying around the library, little did he know that Mike had picked up this knife because it has magical properties. It's a native american artifact that was once utalized to infiltrate warring tribes, and can swap the bodies of the murderer and victim. When he stabs Eddie with it they both get injured and pass out, only for Henry to wake up surrounded by the losers club and Eddie in Henry's car. Henry is now in Eddie's body and Eddie is in Henry's, and naturally this creates some feal fucking problems.

Eddie can't really go anywhere because he looks exactly like the escaped mental patient on the news, and Henry is fully preparing to utalize this to stealthily kill the losers club. Eddie can't even warn them because... well, to them he's Bowers, they'll literally attack him if he goes near them.

Eventually he does convince them one by one, with Richie being convinced after he tells "Henry" he can't be Eddie cause his mom isn't fat enough and Eddie tells him "FUCK YOU" and everything clicks.

After the inital shock, the losers club realize the severity of the situation and that they only have about six hours to track Henry down (who's basically on a killing spree), stab him, and switch them back before it becomes permanent. Still, despite the grave seriousness they get into some hijinks along the way.

Eddie and Richie seem to be in a competition of who can make the other more uncomfortable in this situation, with Richie calling him Henry any chance he can get and Eddie hugging him A LOT. And of course Richie Tozier wouldn't be Richie Tozier with out asking "soo... how big is it?" while Eddie's using the bathroom. They also get into a big wrestling match over a pair of scissors because Richie REFUSES to let Eddie cut off that mullet, despite Eddie's insistence it probably has cock roaches and unnamed diseases in it, it's much more funny if he keeps it.

Henry's having some of his own hijinks, Myra repeatedly calls him and when he finally picks it up out of curiosity and she yells at him there's a loooong pause of silence, followed by him hanging up and throwing Eddie's phone in the lake. He also gives Eddie a whole new makeover, complete with leather jacket and sunglasses.

Richie is literally losing his mind over here, because on one hand, Eddie telling him he's gonna slit his throat is very hot, but he's Henry, with on the other hand, Eddie's personality is still so attractive, but he LOOKS LIKE HENRY. The love of his life looks like the guy who called him the f slur and he's just supposed to be fine with it!?

Eddie's not really having a good time in this body, he can't run for shit, everything smells like juicy fruit and clorox bleach, he looks homeless, and he can't really do anything with out it looking ridiculous, but there are SOME things about it he's having fun with.

For instance, he hasn't had fast food in literal years since he married Myra, usually just buying it for her and eating a salad or something, but he can eat whatever he wants now and does so! Which Richie makes fun of him for too ("Jeez HENRY, you sure are hogging those oreos. Keep doing that and you won't even fit in your shitty sleeveless t-shirts anymore.").

Eddie also cites how it's kinda nice after spending his whole life being pushed around or coddled, people find him intimidating and ""scary"". He doesn't enjoy scaring people, but it's nice not having people wanna fuck with you cause you look passive and easy to trick.

I'll post more about this au later on, this drawing took 11 hours in ibis paint but i think it was worth it. :) i hope you sincerely like the drawing and the au. @hatchetblogging

[bedaesung]

hello! i'm denver [sh/th, cst, 21+] and i'm stoked to be joining wannabe with hwang daesung, a character i've loved for many years and explored many renditions of 🫶 i have a pinterest board for him here if you're interested in taking a look at that, and you can read all about him under the cut! as per usual, please like this post if you're interested in plotting and i'll come to you asap!

i.

hwang daesung, english name dylan hwang, was born june 14, 2004 in queens, new york as the first and only hwang child. his parents, lee "mona" mirae and richard "richie" hwang always intended to have at least two children, but then they met dylan and they loved him so intensely that they didn't feel like they needed another.

family is important in dylan's story, so here's a rundown on the main characters: richie is a life-long dreamer, often getting carried away with the potential of what could be rather than what is. he's a fun-loving, enthusiastic man who spent his life playing in bands that never got as famous as he wanted. made most of his money as a studio musician, and shortly after dylan's birth, he opened a record store called just strings that became the family's financial stronghold. / mona is grounded in reality, rarely allowing herself to dream at all. she's a hairdresser, though any passion she had for it must've died in beauty school. but a job is a job, and it's what she's good at. she loves richie, which is why she doesn't pursue more than what she has. she's the stable one so that he can take risks. she's realistic, but never pessimistic. she loves her family and they are the most important thing to her. / edward "eddie" hwang is richie's older brother. as a teenager and young adult, he lived similarly to richie; but with age, he settled down with much less resistance. was an accountant for much of dylan's early life, and a frequent babysitter. arguably knows dylan better than his parents.

dylan's earliest memories consist of listening to and watching his dad play music. he was always at his dad's side; the gentler, more forgiving parent, and it didn't take long for dylan to decide he wanted to be just like him with both the music and the exuberant personality. he put on countless air-guitar performances for his extended family at holidays, and even more lousy stand-up comedy routines. he loved attention, and he got plenty of it.

finances started to dwindle a bit as time went on because richie seemed to be getting sick often and didn't have enough help to keep the record store open regularly; tensions rose in the family, but dylan was shielded from most of it. he did start to pull away from his parents a bit out of concern that they were keeping something from him.

TW CANCER, PARENTAL DEATH / eventually, months-long complaints of headaches and nausea followed by a bout of doctor visits saw richie getting diagnosed with brain cancer in summer 2016, which he had suspected by neglected to get checked earlier in a state of denial. by early 2017, he was gone. / END TW

mona used the life insurance payout to relocate back to seoul, south korea, where her parents were, as she felt the need to be close to them and suspected that she would need financial support and help raising dylan. eddie followed suit to stay close to dylan, and re-opened just strings in mapo-gu to honor richie.

for a while, things were tough. dylan immediately started going by his korean name, daesung, to avoid sticking out... but his newfound behavioral issues made him stick out all the same. grief manifested as anger; he was acting out at home and at school, and said a lot of things that he couldn't take back. didn't start to calm down until early 2018, when he completely threw himself into music. started getting more serious about the guitar especially. his mom, desperate to see him happy, gladly forked out money to buy him any equipment that he wanted/needed and paid for instrument and vocal lessons. did occasionally try to steer him away from music considering she watched her husband try and fail his whole life, but ultimately she knew that music was the one (1) thing that he felt connected to, and that it helped him feel close to his dad, so she agreed to support it as long as he was certain it was what he wanted.

let's speed-run through the rest of this... extremely average grades in school, excelled in creative after-school activities / started his band, backyard bones, in 2021 and really started to lighten up again since he had this thing that he was passionate and excited about / didn't plan on college, but his family talked him into it—enrolled in kyonggi university march 2022 as an animation major (because it "sounded fun" and his family just wanted him to have an education, any education) / has been half-secretly* aspiring to be an idol since 2018-2019. is happy playing independent music, but views idoldom as a shortcut to fame; and he wants to achieve the fame that his dad never did. *i say half-secretly because he's never passed an audition and tries to make it sound like a joke if he gets to talking about it to protect his own feelings, as he doesn't really feel that capable. is down for whatever happens first: his band getting signed, or becoming an idol trainee.

ii.

has an addictive personality, which is his achilles heel. does not know when to quit, does not care to know. since enrolling in university, he's gotten increasingly into partying/clubbing. (often hungover, which has cost him a few jobs—luckily, he always has the record shop and his mom's salon to fall back on when he's in need of work.) is obsessive, throwing himself completely into whatever piques his interest; a lot of times, this is a person who he'll make the center of his universe for a month of two and then ditch when the feeling of new-ness wears off. awful at maintaining relationships, romantic or platonic, and does not care to improve. many acquaintances, very few friends; and he's likely on thin ice with any friends he does manage to have. swings from high highs to low lows.

overall, he's kind. rarely (if ever) speaks maliciously, and never aims to hurt. in fact, he often aims to build people up. loves giving compliments and cheering up someone who's sad. in denial of the shitty parts of his personality, great at convincing himself he's not in the wrong. good comedic timing, somewhat charming, and usually down for whatever. a very fun person to be with in the moment; a difficult person to deal with long term, as he never seems to take anything seriously and, when it comes down to it, will almost always put himself first.

is in unreliable narrator and exists in a morally grey area. he will do whatever it takes to succeed.

iii.

open to all kinds of plots!!! but here are some basic ideas:

a long-term bff. maybe someone he met in early-mid 2017, shortly after he moved to seoul? this would be a somewhat tumultuous relationship as daesung is pretty inconsistent and self-centered, but i'd imagine they've stuck around because of how good a friend he is when he's present + a sense of obligation to look out for him? the only person who can reel him in when he starts to get out of control. i will go wherever you go. his rock, but as the person he's most comfortable with, they also get the worst of him. are they over it yet?

a new bff. someone who daesung might've known for a while, but only became close to in the past couple of months. naturally, they haven't seen his mood swings yet and haven't been a victim of his long-term ghosting/abandonment. peas in a pod. where have you been my whole life? of course, all things come to an end. it's just a matter of time.

some girl who gets her hair done by daesung's mom who absolutely adores her. every session is filled with mona talking her son up to this poor girl who might be humored or maybe just wants her to shut the fuck up and only keeps coming back because it's cheap. either way, mona's pretty sure this is daesung's future wife, and she will be arranging an "accidental double-booking" for her next appointment so that she's too busy and daesung has to be one to cut her hair.

+ any customers at the salon would be fun. daesung isn't actually trained/qualified to be cutting hair, but he's been helping out long enough that you'd probably never guess. or maybe you would. but there's bound to be some good conversation, right?

regulars at the record store too... lots of directions to go with this. someone who comes in to buy music and has to deal with daesung acting like their taste sucks and he knows more about music than they do? musicians who come in to buy supplies? where's the regular daesung's actually trying to charm and they couldn't possibly act less interested in him...

short-term exes. nothing serious. dated for a month or so, had a whirlwind romance, and then daesung got bored or they realized his heart wasn't really in it and ditched. does he still text? only when he's romanticizing what could've been. do they answer?

fans of backyard bones, if such a thing exists. someone who's trying to get closer to daesung, but whom he's currently holding at a distance out of fear of disappointing them / someone who never misses a show / a heckler who thinks this band that keeps playing at their favorite dive bar fucking sucks.

gaming buddies (pokemon, mtg, d&d, any card or board games really) / any previous victims of his ghosting really... close friends turned almost strangers. did he ditch when they needed him the most? people who will call him out. / previous coworkers, or current coworkers; he is a job-hopper and has a new job every two months or so. who's having to train him on some laggy pos system? / acquaintances from the indie music scene; drinking buddies, clubbing buddies / etc etc etc... again, i'm super open! please plot with me! <3

[losers-club-hcs]

Headcanon: Bill and Richie are the two least fashionable members of the Loser Club. For entirely different reasons. Richie just buys whatever fits without a second thought. If it’s in his size and he needs a new shirt, he takes the first one he sees off the rack. Bill, on the other hand, tries and fails to be fashionable. He’s always two steps behind the latest fashion trends at the very best and doesn’t know how to look even slightly good without the help of his entourage 

Oh ABSOLUTELY, Bill is like the human equivelent of the tiktok v. Youtube shorts, you know how tiktok trends eventually creep their way to yt shorts but by then the trend is dead. Bill has to get the stamp of approval of at least 4 of the losers before he's allowed to even step foot out of the house. Richies mismatched chaos of a closet fits his personality well and he manages to somewhat pull it off, not that it looks good in the slightest but he wears it with confidence, simalar to all the really weird cloths on websites with all the fur and feathers, it looks nice on the model but you know anyone else wouldn't be able to pull it off.

[unfinishedslurs]

Flip of a coin

(I got really into Richie and Patty fics for a while so this is based off all the ones I read. Which was every single one published before roughly halfway into 2021)

Patty remembers that Stan always had a strange obsession with Richie Tozier.

He kept up with the news around him, watched his specials even though he rarely laughed and hated them with a passion. I don’t know why, Babylove, he’d say, but I don’t think he writes his own stuff. Have you seen his interviews? They’re much funnier. It was one of his little oddities, like his need to buy every Bill Denbrough book ever published, or buy clothing from the Rogan&Marsh line, even though he’d never much cared for fashion. These obsessions made a lot more sense after Stan’s hastily scratched letter, detailing a clown and impossible things that Patty clung to in a desperate attempt to rationalize.

She knows, distantly, though gossip and magazines at the store, that he’d broken down on stage the same day Stan died. She knows he’d cancelled all his future events, made a serious video where he confessed the ghostwriters, came out as bisexual, and said he was going to take a break from comedy.

According to the internet, he’s currently on a cocaine binge in Guatemala. According to Patty’s eyes, he’s in Georgia, looking less like a man on cocaine and more like a man whose life had been steamrolled with no idea what to do with the empty space left behind.

“Patty Uris?”

She looks at him, and sees a tragedy told in three parts. A greeting, some growing, a goodbye. She looks at him, and sees a mirror.

She looks at him, and knows he sees her too.

“Blum-Uris, actually,” she says, and opens the door to let him inside.

—

“You could always try voice acting.”

“You sound like my manager. I came here to get away from my manager.”

—

Richie makes Patty laugh for the first time since Stan died

—

Richie has a nice chest for crying, she thinks, and hysterical laughter tumbles out with her tears.

—

“It’s just…I love them. I do. They’re my family, God, they deserve every happy ending they get, but I’m jealous. I’m jealous and angry and I don’t understand why they get to move on when...”

“Our happy ending was with them.”

“Yeah, that.”

They stayed silent for a while, until Richie breaks it by taking a swig and saying, “Bev’s pregnant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she’s freaking out about it. I don’t think they meant to have a baby this soon. Or ever. I don’t think they realized that with the clown gone they could have a baby. And she just got out of her shitty marriage after her childhood with a shitty dad, and…yeah, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. She’s had about five panic attacks since she found out.”

“When did she find out?”

“Yesterday.”

Patty isn’t resentful. She thinks of all the years she and Stan spent trying to conceive, and how they eventually decided they’d be better off waiting anyways. They’d looked up adoption agencies a few times, but ultimately agreed it wasn’t the right time. She isn’t sure whether she’s grateful they never got around to it, that she doesn’t have to be a parent all on her own on top of everything else, or if the fact that she could have a piece of Stan right now, a small, babbling infant with his eyes and blood, makes her want to cry. Probably both.

She isn’t resentful, but she is jealous. It doesn’t matter. She’s a big girl, she can handle it.

She is going to be the best aunt ever.

“Do you think she’d appreciate another girl talking her through it?”

“Probably. You should call her and see.” He takes another long pull. “They want to name it after one of them. Stan or Eddie. Maybe both. She asked me to ask you whether you’d be okay with that.”

It takes a minute for that to register, and another five to get around the ache in her throat. “That’s…he’d love that.” He would. He’d pretend it bothered him, or that he wouldn’t want it, but he’d probably cry the minute he heard it.

Traditional, too, to name the baby after him, though she wasn’t sure he’d care so much about that part. She doubted his friends even realized.

“That a yes?”

No. “Yes.”

—

“He said…Patty,” he sobs. “Patty, he loved me back. He loved me back, but it didn't matter because he died and he’s gone and I spent two months begging and praying and getting drunk off my ass and it didn’t matter because he’s fucking dead.”

“It mattered to him, Richie.”

“Not enough to survive. Not enough to fucking say it without choking on the fucking blood in his mouth just to say—” he chokes the words down.

She rubs his back. “Don’t let it fester,” she reminds him, and the dam breaks.

“Why the fuck didn’t I just say it?” He explodes. “Why the fuck did I spend my entire fucking childhood pining for his firey ass when we could have had some fucking time? Why didn’t he say something? If he’d just fucking said it sooner, said anything…he was always the brave one between us. And it ended up with him fucking dead, and me on this fucking couch with you crying over misssed opportunities like a fucking…I dunno, Pats.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mean I don’t like sitting here with you,” he adds unnecessarily. They both know it’s unnecessary. She lets him do it anyway. “I just wish we were bonding over fucking…wedding photos or some shit.”

If she lays her head back and closes her eyes, she can picture it.

—

Patty breaks her fist on the wall.

It was bound to happen eventually. She’s been cycling through the anger stage of her grief for a month. Something was going to give.

Not the wall, though.

Richie takes her to the hospital.

“Sorry,” she says on the way there. She thinks she may be crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just happened, I swear—”

“Patty.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. She’s not talking to Richie anymore. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

She doesn’t realize that he’s pulled over until he’s grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into his arms, both of them leaning uncomfortably over the gearshift. She doesn’t mind.

“I don’t understand,” she sobs into his chest. “I don’t know what I did wrong. Why couldn’t he just stay?

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Richie says. She thinks she can feel him shaking. “It…he made his choices.”

She pulls away, suddenly furious. “That’s the problem! He fucking made that choice! He deliberately decided to leave me! And everyone says that he must have been suffering, that he must have been secretly unhappy, but I know better. We were fucking happy! Life wasn’t fucking perfect, but it was good. And he threw it all away, for—for what? What the hell was it all for?”

“I dunno, Pats, I think it was to save me and my friends,” Richie says dryly, and she knows, okay, she knows she’s angry, she knows he uses humor as his coping mechanism, she knows those two things can make a deadly combination that will leave ash in her mouth for weeks.

She says it anyways. “And look how well that worked out.”

His face shutters, and the regret comes pouring in as he turns back to the steering wheel without saying anything else. “Richie…”

“I know,” he says, holding up a hand. “I know you didn’t mean it. Let's get you to the hospital already.”

The rest of the drive is silent.

—

“Richie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Pattycakes. I forgive you.”

“I know, but I need to say it anyways, because I’m glad you’re here, Rich. I want you here. It’s just…”

I wish things were different.

“I get it.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t, not really, but it’s the closest thing she has. Just like she’s the closest thing he has. They’re two sides of the same coin, aren’t they?

“I blame him sometimes, you know?” Richie admits quietly. “For Eddie. It was supposed to be the seven of us…sometimes I think we could have all made it out, if he hadn’t been such a fucking—” he breaks off, taking his glasses off to rub a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“No, I get it.”

They smile at each other, bitter things in a bitter world, because she knows Richie’s thinking the same thing she just was. She doesn’t get it, not really, but she knows better than anyone the pain of loving and hating Stanley Blum-Uris.

Flip of the coin. Heads, a life together, tails, a life apart.

—

They’re not filling the holes in each other’s lives. They’re too…them for that. There’s nothing romantic about the way Patty will sometimes make Richie’s coffee with two sugars and no cream and break down, or the days Richie will get a far off look in his eye when she does, and then they’re both mourning two different kinds of loss. They’ll never know how Eddie liked his coffee, after all.

Nothing romantic about the nights Richie wakes up screaming Eddie’s name either. They both have nightmares, but Patty’s are quieter.

They’re not filling the holes, but they’re not not filling them either. Hole-adjacent. The ache in Richie’s voice when he says Pats instead of Eds, the equal aching in her chest when she wakes up to see a dark head that isn’t her husbands.

So, no, they’re not in love. She doesn’t feel that way about him. Doesn’t think she could, even without the dead hovering over their shoulders like shrouds. They’re too similar in their differences, not each other’s types, any number of reasons they could never fall in love.

Sometimes, though, she wishes they did. Wishes Richie were the one she met at that party, wishes Richie wore a matching wedding band to the one she’s moved to her right finger.

She knows it’s less about Richie, though, and more about not feeling like she’s being picked at from the inside out. The fantasies are there because he is, not of any actual desire for a romantic connection. Doesn’t stop her from dreaming.

She only voices it to him once.

“Do you think, if things were different, we would have made a good couple?” Patty doesn’t really think so, or want to think about it, but the wine is making her maudlin and she misses him. Misses Stan so much her insides feel like a bag of rocks that’s just waiting to split open and spill out every part of her. She hates it, the missing. More than anything.

Richie snorts.

“No, really.”

“Maybe, Batty-Patty,” he says, shooting her a grin that misses humor by a mile.

She laughs at that. “I am batty for asking, aren’t I?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He did, just through the name, but she won’t point it out.

“We’re not compatible.”

“Nope.” He punctuates it with a drink.

“I wish we were,” she says fiercely. “I wish I’d fallen in love with you instead.”

He lowers his glass, expression somber, and watches her for a minute. Whatever he sees in her face makes his mouth quirk.

“You don’t mean that,” he tells her.

“I want to.”

“And I want to have not wasted my career parroting other people's bullshit. It is what it is, Batsy.”

That makes her giggle, despite herself. “Batsy?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“I love it,” she says. She does. It’s fitting. “Pour me another glass.”

He indulges her, then himself. “We never could have been a good couple,” he says, trying and failing to seem flippant, “but, you know, my mom always wanted me to have a sister.”

“A sister, huh?” She stares at him, considering. “Is that what we are? Siblings?”

“Well, no,” he shrugs, “but I think it fits better than anything else.”

—

They make a chore chart.

It’s kind of dumb, Patty thinks. Objectively. They’re not college kids, they should be able to do housework on their own, without prompting.

She and Stan had never needed one.

But that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? Stan’s gone, and Richie’s here, and they both have days where they can’t even get out of bed, much less remember to make dinner or wash the dishes. The chart helps. It helps a lot.

—

Patty doesn’t sing much anymore.

—

She and Richie both have a four drink limit, established sometime between the third time Richie finds her sobbing in the bathtub, and the seventh time Patty finds him comatose on the floor. They pretend not to notice when the other breaks it.

[dickfics69]

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 9

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

AO3

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: A lot of shit goes down. A lot of hurt comfort. I made myself cry writing this so you've been warned

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original character\

Words: 6.7k

My personal Daryl playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

TY to @dumbslxtclub for being my editor and hype girl (if you're a fan of eddie munson and stranger things, this girl is writing the most wonderful fic and you should check it out :)

Chapter 9: Chimney falls and lovers blaze

The group fell into an exhaustive silence, happy, in theory, to be leaving behind the hell that they had just endured. But all were reeling with a trauma only viable from living in an apocalypse. Horizontal rain battered the windscreen, and the ancient wipers were struggling to keep up with demand. The storm had made her sodden residence for good. Thankfully their destination for the night, a small and secure cabin, was only about half an hour away. However, Daryl had severely underestimated Peri’s inability to drive a manual vehicle. Her unconvincing “mmm…not really’ was actually code for ‘I have never ever once in my life done this, ever.’ His mind shot to images of richy-rich parents buying their daughter a brand automatic new car and paying for precious med school. But that was a little unfair, he hardly knew the woman. Still, in an apocalypse it was pretty damn important to be able operate any kind of transportation. Daryl never had the luxury of being taught to drive, no one was ever sober enough, and pretty well no one cared. It was something he’d had to figure out shakily for himself. Like most aspects of his life. He was nowhere near a great driver (much preferring the solo rumble of his motorcycle) but he made do. Rick was really the master of the clutch. All the years on the force in the Old Crown VIctoria really solidified his ability. Not that his insight was any help to Peri right now. An icy cold silence swelled from somewhere behind Daryl. He might have thought the Deputy asleep if it weren't for the rage filled daggers being bored into the side of his skull. The Jeep bunny-hopped yet again, and Daryl was reluctantly forced to intervene. 

“Ya gotta rev mbore when ya change gears!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do, Daryl?”

“I’dunndo, but y’ain’t findin’ the friction point fast enough! S’mbakin’ the whole damnd car bounce.”

“Well if you hate it so much, why don’t you fucking drive?”

Daryl shot her a weary glance. ‘You know I can’t.’  He didn’t want to vocalise his complete ineptitude for any focused activity, and prayed she’d get his telepathic message. He hoped that his glassy eyed stare and unspoken thoughts were reason enough to absolve him of driving. Strangely, he was thankful for the unsteady bumping of the vehicle. He knew, without the loud grumblings of the engine, he would’ve fallen into a desperately feverish slumber. 

Daryl felt a surge of relief when Peri returned his gaze with one of understanding. They held eye contact for a split second before her hand drifted from the gearbox to the pocket of her jeans. She struggled against the drizzle-clad dampness of the denim, but eventually pulled out a small blue pot of something. 

“Please don’t bite my head off, but I grabbed this for you.” She held out the small vessel towards him, semi-shaking it so that he would accept the gift from her hands. “Just thought you could use it…”

Daryl grabbed the small pot from her hands, probably a little too aggressively. It was his natural instinct to refuse help from everyone, always. Well, if it was life or death, maybe not. Daryl just had a cold. A small glance down at his hands revealed the object in question to be an almost empty vial of vapour rub. He thought briefly about rejecting the offer, saying he was fine and trying to keep up his miserable facade. However, at this point, denial was a pretty laughable state of mind. Daryl hadn’t caught a glimpse of his own reflection since this morning in the prison bathroom. He looked frightful then and felt a millions times worse now. Safe to say no one was buying the “I ain’t sick” schtick anymore. Not even Daryl. The almost constant urge to sneeze had subsided somewhat since the morning, which he was vaguely thankful for. Although he’d prefer the ticklish outbursts over the wheezing crackle in his chest, the bunged up sinuses and the febrile trembling. Those symptoms were actually starting to worry him. He’d been sick often enough as a child to remember the drowning sensation of infection well. It was only a matter of time before someone forced antibiotics into him, probably Peri, maybe Herschel. Not that he deserved any. He didn’t really deserve anything right now, except maybe Rick Grimes’ wrath. Which was still brewing in its potency. 

Still, Daryl was grateful for the small comfort Peri had given him, and huffed his appreciation back to her with a forced smile. The action felt completely foreign to him and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt genuine contentment. Rick’s disappointment and anger, that house, the murder of that little girl, - all rattled around inside the sick man’s head. Panic was inching its way back in again and Daryl was goddamn tired of it. Tired of feeling brittle and pathetic. Tired of the ceaseless pity. Fuck! He needed a cigarette. He so longed for the slow rumble of nicotine through his system, no matter how angry it made his congested lungs. But he was pretty sure Rick still had his lighter from early, and there was no way in hell he was asking for it right now. Deputy Grimes might actually kill him. Letting out a shuddered sigh, Daryl unscrewed the lid of the menthol flavoured gold and held it up to his chapped nose. He couldn’t smell a goddamn thing, but if the burning in his eyes was any indication, the product definitely had some potency left. 

A sudden jolt of the car sent his already sensitive nose thrusting into the jar of translucent cream. The broken skin of his nostrils made brief contact with the powerful substance and set them alight with an intoxicating burn. Daryl rubbed his face aggressively, trying to rid himself from the sudden pain.

“Yo, Peri, what the fucgk-”

“-Shitting-dick-fucking-fuck-piece-of-shit-fucking-machine!” Peri cast out a rapid line of expletives, and a small pang of panic arose in her eyes.

“Already told’ya, engage the-”

“Yeah, engage the goddamn clutch! That’s what I’ve been fucking doing Daryl!” She shot him a glance that very much said “stop telling me what to do asshole” and then redirected her manic attention towards the dark, wet road. “Something’s wrong with the car, it’s not me this time…Listen…”

Daryl forced himself to silence the sounds of his own misplaced frustration and he listened. And sure as shit there was something wrong with the car. The erratic jumping and sputtering of the engine weren’t the result of crappy driving anymore. Shit. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Rick’s drawl emerged from the back seat. ‘Oh, so now he talks?’

“Endgine’s havin’ a goddamnd meltdown.” Daryl responded, still absentmindedly rubbing at his stinging nostrils. “Pull over.”

Peri did what she was told, a slur of expletives muttered under her breath all the while. She pulled over and further into the undergrowth, aware that camouflage was key to survival no matter where they pulled up and for how long. Daryl let out a weary sigh, knowing full well he had to brace the hideous weather again in order to check the engine. The day turned to night continued to be a bane to the sick man’s existence. He watched as Peri popped the hood internally, doing a small double take when she went to exit the vehicle. 

“Th’hell ya doin’?”

“Looking at the engine? My uncle had a Jeep, I think I might know the issue.”

“Bullshit y’aint, stay ind the car!”

“What? You gonna stop me, Daryl?” She shot him a daring look that might’ve made him laugh if he wasn’t feeling like fresh death. “You’re welcome to keep my company, of course.”

And with that she shut the door and became visible only from the shadows of her hands backlit by the torch in her mouth. Daryl gnawed on the side of his thumb once again, flinching as his teeth made contact with evergrowing raw flesh. What would little miss med-school know about cars? Daryl was the mechanic of the group, not her. The hunter was on the verge of a mental spiral about his efficacy in the found family when he heard a snigger from behind him. He turned and witnessed Rick huffing out an emotionless, snide sort of laughter. 

“Th’fucgk you laughing at?” He spat back. But before he could entertain a response from the other man, Daryl was out in the cold again. Shivering. With his crossbow held weakly at his side. He couldn’t remember the last time he was warm or comfortable, and that just made him feel even more miserable. Pulling leather tight around his torso he joined Peri at the hood of the car, trying to make heads or tails of what she was looking at in the dark. With an obnoxious ‘popping’ sound, she withdrew the torch from her lips and handed it to Daryl. She looked smug and a little too pleased with herself. Daryl hated that.

“Clogged fuel injector.”

“Okgay, so?”

“So?”

“How ya gonnda fix it, smartass?”

“Uh try and clean it out, but it probably needs a whole-”

“-Whole new onde, yeah.” Daryl finished Peri's sentence, somewhat impressed with her knowledge of mechanical issues. “I’ll tinker with it. Jus’ stand watch ‘kay? Dond’t really feel like bein’ blind walker bait righ’ now.” 

Daryl put the flashlight in his mouth and leant further into the open engine. It took a few minutes to adjust his watering eyes to the pipes and metal in front of him. Apart from the rapid beat of rain on the hood above him, it was all but silence between the pair. Just the way he liked it. Daryl found the source of the problem, but the meek torchlight was flickering, and his hands couldn’t quite turn the injector cap. It was too slippery, and his eyes kept blurring in and out of focus.The dizziness reminded him of the last time he had gotten shit-faced with Merle before the world turned to shit. They were sitting outside his brother’s trailer, smoking and drinking cheap gin in a hot Georgian summer. They were having a competition to see who could sink the most pistachio shells into an old can. At least that's what he vaguely remembered doing. But the night was a blur after the first ten or twenty minutes, and clearly Daryl had lost that little game. Daryl shook his head, desperately trying to avoid painful memories of the only family member who had ever shown him an ounce of care. Damn, he missed his brother. He was a jerk, but he missed him. His trail of melancholy was interrupted by a hurried nudge at his side. 

“Daryl, man, we got company…” The hunter turned to match his gaze with Peri’s. Two shadowy figures were hobbling their way towards them, their snarls getting louder with every second. Daryl cursed and reached for his crossbow that lay perched against the wheel of the car. Before he could aim the weapon, the young doctor waved him off.

“I got this.” She supplied, lunging forward in the darkness. Daryl could’ve been anxious about her disappearing into the night but down deep in his soul, he knew the woman could defend herself. She’d proved herself as a worthy fighter in his mind. Some grunts and thuds of bodies followed a while later, and Peri emerged from the immediate forest, a spatter of congealed blood adorning her blades and the corners of her wet coat. Daryl let out a trembling breath he didn’t realise he was holding at the time.

“Y’kay?”

“Yeah, those cunts had it coming…” she responded brashly, wiping her knives on the inside of her damp jacket and ignoring the stymied way Daryl was judging her use of language. “How’s the car looking?”

“Ndeeds a new injector, but I’ll get it goin’ in the mbornin’” He shrugged a shoulder, and then proceeded to close the bonnet with a metallic squeak. “Cabins’not too far from here, s’too dark to try and fix it now…”

Peri nodded and Daryl sniffled back some snot that was threatening to leak out of nose. He was drenched yet again, but that just seemed to be the new normal. He hung his crossbow along the length of his back and rapped on the back door of the car, not bothering to open it.

“Grab yer stuff, we’re goind’ on foot from here.” He yelled through the closed doors, and watched Rick and Carl share a look before they joined him in the rain. The four group members gathered about the trunk of the jeep, picking up what was needed for the night. Pre-packed backpacks and a couple of duffle bags from the house raid hung off their dripping bodies. It was better to take more than necessary, so as to not be caught out. Of course, weapons were pocketed too, with extra ammo. After the events at the cursed red-brick mansion, they all felt like extra caution was paramount. 

Daryl led them through the wet, overgrown forest. He instructed them to keep close as there was scant visibility through the excessive downpour and dense foliage. The hunter actually felt useful for once, being the only one who could successfully navigate their way to respite. Thunder cracked above them like gunshots, making them tense every time the sky echoed its fury. Fortunately, the dissipating booms were keeping the walkers confused and scattered, and away from the four beating hearts traipsing through the woods. Daryl really goddamn hoped it would stay that way. 

After about ten minutes of travel, and silent navigation, Daryl led them all into a small clearing. There was a small but sturdy cabin in the near distance. He raised a hand and they all stopped in an instant. Rick left the tail end of formation and stood flush with his partner at the front. Daryl listened intently for danger, and scanned the area for threats. When he was satisfied he turned to Carl and Peri and began instructing their next moves. 

“We’re gonna stay t’the left side of the tree line. There are bear traps along th’ perimeter, s’watch ya feet.” Daryl was about to move again but Rick caught his bicep in a firm grip.

“Bear traps? That really a necessary addition to the place?”

“You tell mbe.” He quipped. Yanking himself out of Rick’s calloused vice, he sauntered over to one of the traps in the distance, where the shadow of a walker was thrashing in place. Daryl dealt with the rotting being before the others could even blink. His eyebrows hit the roof of his head when he made it back to the group, smirking slightly when Rick hung his head in a sigh. Daryl whistled to garner the group’s attention, then slowly but surely led them toward the safety of the cabin.

Once securely inside, there was a group exhale of alleviation. A reverie of calm swept over the small room, each individual person allowing the idea of safety to enter their bodies for the first time in hours. Daryl ravaged the space, pulling out some oil lamps and lighting them, bringing some visibility in the gelid darkness. He was about to grab some firewood when a small voice stopped him.

“Daryl, this place is great! You really fixed it up all by yourself?” Carl’s puberty ridden voice slipped into the space, a keen child-like admiration adorning his eyes. 

“Hmph, yeh I guess kid…”

Daryl had fixed up the cabin. And a few more to boot. Originally it started out as a selfish project, having a place to stay when he needed alone time to hunt. But as the months rolled on he had started growing nervous when his family started going on longer and longer runs without sufficient safety. As a result he found a few abandoned spaces and did them up, so to speak. Daryl Dixon was not an interior designer by any stretch of the imagination, but he made sure that they were safe, had food to eat and a place to lay down. In the early days of being together with Rick, he’d often freak out and need to get away for a while. Going out on ‘extended hunting trips’ he said. But he really just came to one of his cabins to clear his thought-logged mind. It helped then. And it was a useful resting place for now. Daryl wanted to feel accomplished, he really did, but the guilt and shame rattling around his body were making his throat tight. He needed that cigarette. Now.

“M’goin’ out for a smoke.” He uttered to no one and walked his way over to Rick with a very pretend sense of everything is fine. Daryl nudged the man with his foot, eyeing him as he started to unpack a dry set of clothing. Daryl kept his resolve whilst Rick pinched the bridge of his nose with continued exasperation. The hunter was going to get his lighter back goddamnit! Begrudgingly, Rick stopped what he was doing, reached into his pocket and held out the desired item, glaring up at the sickly man in the process. 

“Really?” He twanged with spite.

“Yeh.” Daryl snatched the lighter from Rick’s hand, and stomped his way over to the door. He knew Rick wasn’t done with him. There was going to be a shit show of contempt and blame and sure as shit Daryl would be at the receiving end of it. But he needed to be alone. Just for five minutes. To wallow in his own specific brand of misery. With nicotine and his own flagrant mind.

“Hey Daryl, where’ya goi-”

Daryl closed the door behind him refusing to entertain another question. Couldn’t everyone just leave him the fuck alone? Christ. They were safe, with dry clothes and food, what more could anyone possibly want from the living picture of torment? It was freezing and wet. And yet Daryl leaned up against the porch railing, inviting the wet sprays of storm onto his already sodden clothing. He fiddled with one of a few cigarettes he had left. He brought it up tremblingly to his mouth, flicking the lighter a careless amount of times. Flame met dart and he held it there, just watching the orange glow spread. His throat was tight, painful, lumpy. Everything was shaking and breathing was arduous. Daryl wasn’t stupid. He knew what a panic attack was. He used to do odd jobs for a Vietnam War vet, what seemed like a million years ago. Adam? Abraham? Aaron? It didn’t really matter anymore what the guy's name was. That was the old world. Adam-Abraham-Aaron would often mistake a young Daryl Dixon for some sort of enemy, try to lash out, realise his mistake and cower in a corner. He’d be gasping for air and crying and shaking uncontrollably. Daryl didn’t get paid enough to deal with that. But he did, becoming all too aware of anxiety symptoms in the process. So yeah, Daryl wasn't an idiot, trying to convince himself he wasn’t about to succumb to a tidal wave of feverish emotions. He was just trying to postpone it with all his might. As he had been striving to all damn day. 

Just as the flame was about to die, Daryl brought the cigarette up to his lips and inhaled as though he wasn’t knocking on death’s doorstep. The nicotine hit his system, a warm glow spreading like a sunrise through his extremities. 

It was so good.

. 

Until it wasn't. 

The coughing fit startled him out of any sort of tobacco related respite. With a hand clamped to the pillar beside him, Daryl was forced into convulsions from his ailing lungs. Vomit, spit, snot, - they all threatened their existence as the sickly man gasped for air. So much for relief. 

—

Rick was tired. Oh so very tired. The sheer number of mishaps and wrongs that plagued the man’s day made the last eight or so hours span into what seemed like weeks. The Deputy stood by the rickety cupboards in the old cabin, firewood clutched to his chest like it had a heartbeat he needed to protect. He was going to start a fire. He was sure he was going to start a fire. But time seemed to move around him without a thought for how he felt on the matter. Carl and Peri had changed clothes and were drying their hair with a singular hand towel. They were laughing about some comic book character, musing about “how wrong Michonne had it. The Punisher was going to destroy Jigsaw.” Or something like that.

Rick wasn’t really listening, he was too busy overthinking. Trying to decide what he was going to do about Daryl. Fuck, Daryl. How did everything become so goddamn strained and complicated? Rick’s heart was breaking for the other man. Sick, embarrassed, angry. Two of the ailments probably directly related to Rick’s unhelpful actions. Images of Daryl's sick face flickered through his memory like an old time-y film. The feverish flush, the sadness, the fragility. Quite frankly, Rick had never seen Daryl like this before. Sure, he had acted like a grouchy wounded animal in the past but there was something far beyond defeat that Rick couldn’t quite put a finger on. Why couldn't that stupid stubborn man just accept some goddamn comfort? And then there was what he did at the house. Fuck Daryl was acting like a completely different person. Anger and frustration swelled from Rick’s gut, a terse grip forming over the kindling in his arms. The Deputy was caught between a rock and hard place. The rock being his heartache, and the hard place being his white hot rage. Leaning into the hotter of the two plights, Rick settled for his valid fury. He could worry about Daryl’s affliction later. He needed to sort out the bullshit.

Hell hath no fury like Rick Grimes.

“Carl. Start a fire.” Rick hissed, tossing the firewood to the ground. Peri was placing a bandage on his son’s forehead. They both looked up at Rick with bewildered expressions. Expressions that Rick felt mildly culpable for. “I’ll uh…i’ll be back.”

He nodded to no one and headed towards the door of the cabin. A muffled, wet coughing fit met Rick’s ears stopping him in his tracks. Rick didn’t love the fact that Daryl smoked at all, but let it slide here and there. The harsh new-world realty was that cigarettes weren’t going to kill him. But the fact that he was smoking now, with a raging chest infection, well. That just pissed Rick off more than we wanted to admit. He waited until Daryl had stopped before joining him on the small porch.

“You shouldn’t be smoking those.” Rick gestured towards the lit cigarette that hung limply between Daryl’s fingers.

“Why don’t-cha take it off-a mbe?”

“Look I know that wasn’t my best move, but you know it’s just makin’ you worse.”

“Mb’fine-”

“Don’t you fucking say it, Daryl!” Rick snapped. He took a step forward and made contact with the weary blue eyes of the hunter. Melancholy and wild indignation stared back. Rick wondered if Daryl would snap back, and engage in the argument. Maybe he’d punch Rick - it’d happened before over much smaller things. 

“Wha’, ya gonna slap mbe again?” 

“Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I did what I had to do.” 

“Hmph.” Daryl tossed the extinguished cigarette to the ground and tucked his hands into his armpits, strongly resisting the urge to shiver.

“What? That’s all you gotta say?”

“Rick, can we just talk about it later?”

“Nah, we’re doin’ this right now.” Rick stopped his senseless pacing and pierced the area around Daryl with his index finger. “What the fuck happened back there?”

“S’nothin’”

“Cut the bullshit, Daryl! You were half passed out on that wall! A few more seconds and you’da been gone to the damn walkers.”

“Didn’t need no help, I had it.” Daryl returned his gaze to the ground in front of him and Rick rolled his eyes with an icy scoff.

“Bullshit! You could barely stand, and you think you had it? What about when I told you t’go, and you completely ignored me? Y’almost got yourself and me killed! Because of what? A cold you were too goddamn pigheaded to admit to? Was it really worth risking everyone’s lives for the sake of your pathetic pride?”

“It ain’t…It ain’t like that Rick.”

“Tell me then. What’s it like?” Rick waited, hearing only the sounds of wind and rain whipping around them. He watched Daryl biting at the inside of his thumb, and hoped somehow he could read the soft-hearted redneck’s mind. The hunter was normally fluent in silent communication but Rick couldn’t understand a word. “Well?”

“Didn’t want-cha to worry ‘bout it.”

“Didn’t want me to worry?” Rick emitted a sort of high pitched manic laughter that seemed to surprised them both. “Hell, Daryl! That’s the only thing I’ve been doing all goddamn day! I tried to convince myself you’d be fine because you’re my right-hand man and I needed you. But I should-da put my foot down this mornin’, let Glenn come instead. You clearly weren’t up for it, but hey, maybe that's my fault ”

Rick watched his words topple around in Daryl’s head. He was so drawn in on himself now that Rick could barely see his face behind the damp shaggy bangs. He was shaking, and the Deputy could hear the distinct sound of teeth chattering together. He didn’t know what kind of response would follow. If there was a response at all. Daryl sniffled and opened his mouth to speak. 

“Ya don’t trust me anymore.” It wasn't a question or a statement. Just words brokenly whispered out as nothingness, being carried away by torrid winds.

“I do…I will, I just…” Rick didn’t really know how to respond. Did he still trust Daryl? Rick needed the man like he needed air, and the hunter had saved him more times in the last two years than he wanted to admit. But things just weren’t right. A chainsaw couldn’t cut the tension that hung between the pair.

Rick leaned against the sliding of the cabin so he was opposite Daryl. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a tension headache that was brewing. “I took a chance today, letting Carl come on the run. I spent so long tryin’ to get him to do normal stuff and just be a kid again. But he’s a man now, and I wanted to give him the opportunity to be one. I was meant to be worried about him, Daryl, not you. Christ! He saved your damn life out in those woods! He’s my son, I can’t…That can’t happen again, okay?”

Daryl flicked some hair from his eyes and nodded his head weakly, seemingly cognizant of the mistakes that he had made. A neutral quiet befell them, while the horrid weather continued her blistering monologue into the night. Rick felt somewhat relieved to get some bubbling frustrations off his chest, but there was still something sour lingering. Like there was a war raging in his partner's head that no amount of allyship could end. Rick was sick of being shut out, so he had to try. 

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but this ain’t you Daryl. Just tell me what’s going on, please.”

“Ya wouldn’t get it.”

“Then make me.” Rick almost pleaded. He leant forward slightly, hoping to make contact with Daryl’s icy blue eyes. Yet they remained distant, the very indication that there was to be no follow up to Rick’s desperation. The Deputy intimately knew the mistake he was making, cornering Daryl, basically begging him to talk. But it had been like this for weeks, and Rick didn’t know what to do anymore. He needed Daryl to open up. And if he couldn’t do it with the man who loved him, the man who pounded his prostate every other night, who would he talk to? Probably Carol. Man, Rick wished he could garner advice from that woman right now. Was this how Lori felt everytime she pressed him to open up? Woof, Rick, don’t open that door. 

Instead, Rick sighed ruefully and pressed forward with fruitless interrogation.

“Were you going to tell me you were seein’ Merle again?”

“Ain’t a big deal.” Daryl said with a congested sniffle. The hunter clearly had no qualms with quipping back, as long as it suited him.

“Of course it is, Daryl!” The Deputy exasperatedly ran a hand through his damp curls. “You should’a told me.”

“You didn’t tell nobody about Lori.”

“That’s different.”

“It fucking ain’t.” Daryl looked up now, piercing blue eyes illuminating from behind sickly shadows and hickory hair. Rick sighed silently, fervently trying to keep his temper at a low simmer. The way Daryl had spat out his late wife’s name had sent a chill deep into The Deputy’s core. Not because his lover was jealous. Not because he felt guilty for falling in love again. But because Daryl was right. Rick had waited far too long to divulge the magnitude of the ghosts that plagued him after Lori’s death. And when he finally admitted to his waning mental state, he never explicitly told the most important companion in his life. His best friend, his comrade, his second in command. He never told Daryl. The hunter had, however, instinctively put two and two together and waited with open arms to comfort Rick when reality and grief had boiled to a head. The realisation of his sudden hypocrisy hit him like a baseball bat. He felt ashamed and angry. Emotions probably on par with the shivering man in front of him. 

Rick knew he should concede to the stalemate and end the porch side argument before either man did something regrettable. But there was a stubborn pit of lava sloshing around his insides that refused to satiate until Rick had fully unloaded the expanse of his concerns. 

“Th’last time this happened, your brother was missin’, without a hand, and you’d impaled yourself on your own bolt. Now Merle’s dead, and you’re sick as dog and it’s happenin’ again.” Rick watched Daryl flinch at the blunt mention of his brother’s passing. A reality of unresolved mourning embedding itself deep into sinewy skeletal muscle. Muscle memory doesn’t forget pain. Rick could see the thin ice laying before him, but overarching concern pushed him forwards.

“Daryl, I’m worried ‘bout you and not just ‘cause of today. You’ve barely mentioned Merle since he died and that just ain’t healthy. I know, okay? I’ve been there, and we both know what that does to a person. I just wish you’d talk to me, hell, anyone about it!”

“And what?” Daryl spat, squaring his shoulders from where he sat propped against the old railing. “Ya think singing fugckin’ Kumbaya and talkin’ out our feelings like stupid housewives is gonna mbake everything better?! It ain’t, Rick! They’re all dead. Merle. Lori. Talkin’ about it ain’t gonna bring ‘em back.”

The sick man’s voice trembled on the last of his words, his emotions fighting against steadfast resolve. Daryl was undoubtedly angry and hurting. His pain amplified by cruel viral tendrils lodged within his once stoic body. Rick’s heart was breaking beneath a sheath of misplaced contempt. 

“No it won't. I wish it could, god, do I wish that.” Rick paused, trying to assemble some version of articulation in his brain. “I just know that bottling up trauma can ruin a person. Especially in this world.”

“Pfft.” 

The weak and dismissive exhalation of air was so juxtaposing to Daryl’s previous fervour. The hunter was once again retreating from partaking in serious discourse. Rick had had enough. 

“Jesus, Daryl!” Rick launched himself from the wall of the cabin and took some long strides in the hope of calming himself down.

But Rick was Rick, and pacing on a small semi-dry veranda was not enough to pacify months of suppressed frustrations.

“I know this-” Rick gestured rapidly between the pair. “-Has been a huge adjustment. To me, to Carl, to everyone, to you. I get that, I know that. But fuck Daryl, I’m so tired. So goddamn tired of you running away every time things get hard. Every single day feels like one step forward and five steps back. Falling asleep in the same bed is a wildcard with you if you’re just gonna take off in the middle of the night. And yes, I know when you do and it makes me sad. I wish you’d tell me about your dreams so I could help you, like you did for me when Lori died. I love having sex with you but I just wanna be naked together without being terrified that you’re going to flinch away at the slightest touch. I want to shower with you, I want to rip your shirt off. I want you to trust me.” 

Rick forced himself to take a much needed breath. He watched Daryl for a sign of rebuttal, but the hunter remained glued to the spot, his eyes taking intent interest with the ground. 

The Deputy couldn’t stop himself. 

“Daryl…I’ve seen them. The scars... I know that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s the truth. I’ve seen them and I don’t care. I mean, I do care, I care how you got ‘em, I care about you. But they don’t make a difference to how I feel about you.”

Rick shut his eyes forcefully, taking a momentary reprieve. The word vomit escaping his lips was not eloquent in the slightest, nor could it be controlled. 

“I need you, Daryl. I need to know you. Please, please, let me in.”

Rick’s frantic pacing found himself once again facing the sick body of the hunter. He searched desperately for a response in the misery that sat opposite him. Rick watched as Daryl’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to formulate something audible. Moments felt like hours before chapped lips formed to create dialogue.

“Rick, I…” Daryl’s voice was weak, thick with congestion and evident emotional tumult. He stopped abruptly, inviting a wave of quiet between the feuding lovers. A few wet coughs and wheezy inhales escaped the broken man sitting before The Deputy. Eventually, Daryl seemed to  steel himself enough to return his gaze upwards to the pleading face of a man who wanted too much, who wanted everything. Rick could see the tears pooling in the basements of his lover’s eyes. Eyes that were red-rimmed and exhausted beyond recognition. Eyes that told Rick to stop, to retreat, to leave. 

But he couldn’t. 

“Daryl, please.” 

Before he could stop himself, Rick was inching forward without sense, dropping low to his knees so he could look up at the sick man. So he could plead for trust, for love, for hope. He knew he was inviting a world of mistakes, lunging himself into Daryl’s emotional and personal space. He was quite literally cornering a wounded animal. But he couldn’t stop. Rick was compelled by a force called sheer desperation.

“Rick, don’t.”

“Daryl…”

“Rick.” A warning. 

Rick was now crouched in front of Daryl, blue eyes meeting blue in a haze of warnings and pleadings and needs unmet. Now that Rick was finally up close with the other man he could see the feral energy behind the hunter’s glare. His cheeks were ruddy and feverish. One was visibly pinker than the other. The warm hue trickled down his angular face to an open slit in the corner of his mouth. Blood had coagulated heavily where Rick’s hand had met Daryl’s face earlier in their frightful day. Shameful bile sloshed needlessly in the pit of his stomach. 

He did this.

Rick's hands reached out before sensory neurons told him to. Fervent filled fingers made brief contact with frighteningly freezing ones. Rick gasped at the desperate contact.

Before he could shudder another breath, Rick was shoved forcefully backwards by arms that had had enough. He landed awkwardly on his backside, frustration filling his shallow cup once again.

“Don’t fugckin’ touch mbe!” Daryl had said as he pushed Rick to the floor of the decking. 

Rick sat there for a moment. Embarrassed, angry and hurt. The emotional toll of the last half an hour had taken his rationality and replaced it with blinding dismay. This wasn’t right. Nothing about this made any goddamn sense. Two broken men in the midst of a tornado. Daryl stormed away and Rick couldn’t control himself.

“Fuck I hate you sometimes.”

The words sliced the air with their anger. Words that should never have been said. Words that tumbled out of impulse and reactivity. Words that landed in complete betrayal. 

An utterance from Rick’s soul he didn’t know he had access to.

The Deputy sat there completely flummoxed. He couldn’t fathom why or how he had said what he had. Maybe he didn’t say it. Maybe he just thought it, as a hair trigger reaction to Daryl’s violence and months of stubborness. 

One gratingly slow twist of his head proved him disgustingly wrong.

Daryl stood eerily still, his back facing Rick, stopped in his tracks by the disarranged outpouring of exasperation. The strong, wide shoulders that held the weight of the world, crumbled in an instant.  A strangled sob escaped the man, shattering Rick’s heart into a million pieces. Daryl was visibly shrinking in on himself. His fever wracked body was heaving hard with turmoil. Rick had witnessed Daryl cry a handful of times before, but never because of him. Him, the leader who had sworn devotion and alliance and care to the volatile red-neck. This was a brand new chapter of agony.

The hunter had heard Rick’s words loud and clear. It wasn’t a dream, it was real. It was a waking nightmare. 

Rick scrambled to his feet ungracefully, knees popping unceremoniously as he raced to right his wrongs. Shame was too lenient of an emotion right now. He was disgusted with himself. A fleeting moment of unbridled possession threatened to unravel everything Rick held so dear. 

“Daryl, Daryl, please, I’m so sorry-”

“-Fuck you, man.” Daryl croaked. The voice was small, broken, irrevocably sick. Distorted by hiccuping sobs and window shattering winds. Rick stepped closer, desperately trying to close the distance between the pair that seemed to grow wider with every passing second. 

“I…I didn’t…It ain’t true…You gotta believe me…I don’t…”

Rick’s brain was short circuiting. There was nothing he could say to undo the mess his bleeding subconscious had created. Blinding fear and cascades of regret twisted their way up from The Deputy’s stomach and formed an unmerciful lump in his throat. His eyes felt the telltale burn of a tearful tsunami. But he grit his teeth and clenched his jaw against bodily instinct. Rick would not feel sorry for himself. He would not cry selfishly in the presence of the heartbreak he single-handedly shattered. 

He was about to advance again when a sudden bolt of pain burst from his jaw. In a split second, Daryl had whipped around and clocked Rick with an excruciating blow to the face. The Deputy stumbled, pressing a hand firm against the impact zone. He felt his blood boil and quickly evaporate as he realised it was the least he deserved. 

When Rick eventually straightened he was face to face with Daryl. The younger man was staring back at him with a tapestry of complicated emotions. Tear tracks stained his flushed cheeks and his lower lip trembled faintly until it was stopped by anxiously chewing teeth. Glassy crystalline eyes peered deep into Rick’s soul, screaming with explosive pain. 

“Mb’done, Rick.” 

The hunter tensed and dropped his gaze as he pushed past Rick. He sluggishly picked up his crossbow from where it lay against the railing. A slew of muddy coughs escaped the man who was palpably too fractured to care anymore.

“Goin’ on watch. Don’t follow mbe.”

And then he left. Heavy boots and a sluggish frame disappearing into the night without looking back.

Time slowed to an excruciating crawl. Rick couldn’t do anything. He just stood there, blinding pain in his face and anguish crawling out of his chest. He stared out into the black expanse in front of him where Daryl had been engulfed by darkness. 

Rick had fucked up. Real Bad.

Daryl was done. Done with what? Done fighting? Done talking?

Oh.

He was done.

It was over. 

[abandoned-mars]

happy 4/20 here are some thoughts on my humanstuck au

kankri (marcus) + mituna (tatum) live together. damara (ana) has been crashing there for a few weeks/months after she found out her bf had been cheating on her

when marcus moved in with tatum he only had one stool and one couch that he would sprawl all over and tate told him to buy his own furniture. so he did, he bought an old love seat from the thrift store and would not let tatum get close to it. a couple days into ana crashing there, marcus told her that tatum will make her do that. the guys helped her get some of her old furniture from her exes and now all of their stuff is mix matched

latula (presley) + roxy (macy) live together and they have a chalkboard wall in their apartment

john (ivan), dave (dominic), + karkat (donnie) also live together

dominic had always been halfway interested in photography but never had the means to fully pursue it. so when ivan starts studying film and bringing home cameras, dominic started talking to him about it and looking over his notes and getting really into the science behind photography yk

this is like. a halfway college au. marcus studies law, tatum studies computer programming, porrim (elle) studies fashion marketing, meulin (laurie) studies art, macy studies bioengineering, and ivan studies film

marcus and donnie are half brothers, their dad married laurie’s mom when she + marcus were in highschool

pretty much everyone is 20-23ish, the oldest being kurloz (jesse) at 25 and the youngest is donnie at 20

jesse and laurie are dating + have been for 3~ years, which would’ve been right after laurie graduated (jesse is a bit of a creep in this but tbh in canon he ain’t much better)

i have a lot. a lot of ideas as far as backstories/how everyone met and im not really sure which one i want to stick with but here are some of those

marcus, tatum, and elle grew up together. marcus and tatum were really good friends (bcus of their dads) throughout elementary/early middle school, but then tatum started hanging out with the people that marcus had told him to stay away from. they drifted apart quickly and by high school tatum had become one of those. popular asshole stoner funny guys. and although he had tried to stop his new friends from making comments and jokes towards marcus, he ultimately realized he didn’t care too much. marcus and elle had stayed friends, but she too had made better friends that she had more in common with. honestly not quite sure what id do with ana in this idea, i bounced either having her move to town when she was like in 4/5th grade her and marcus become friends then, or having her be like elle or macy’s frjend first, or have everyone meet her later. idrk. basically this is just the “tatum/marcus friends to enemies to roommates tension” au (it is heavily inspired by this fic). as far as the other characters, i think tate would’ve met jesse in highschool and gone crazy w him, also met presley in highschool? maybe that whole situation could happen then? idrk. don’t love this idea there’s too much lore id have to detail

ana and marcus were friends all throughout middle school, but grew apart when she moved in highschool. at her new school she met tatum, presley, + macy and became quick friends. after graduation, tatum had moved in with jesse for a bit but got kicked out, and crashed at ana’s very tiny very shitty apartment for a couple days. by the end of day 2, they were already drunkenly formulating a plan of moving in together which became a real plan + they ended up renting a three bed one bath apartment ! they live together for like 2/3 years until ana moved out to live with her boyfriend at his very nice house (yes this is rufioh, his name is richie). tatum posts an ad for a new roommate, and eventually marcus responds. he moves in, and a few days later ana comes to visit and the two reconnect. anyway, after a bit of ‘tate/marcus roommate tension’, ana finds out abt her bf cheating, and crashes at their apartment. she relaxes the atmosphere greatly. i like this one in theory but i feel like it needs more marcus/tatum tension other than just. oh he’s messy and he’s bossy and they don’t like living together yada yada yk

okay so this one i haven’t really. written down the plots? of the backstory i just started writing a story and wanted to change the relationships so it’s kinda random. actually it’s just kind of a mix of the other ones. anyway, the whole marcus + tatum friends to enemies to roommates thing is still happening, but ana went to a different school. there she became besties with macy, and later presley when she moved there in 8/9th grade. macy + presley live together across town, and ana used to live near them w her boyfriend until they broke up and she wanted a change of scenery. not quite sure of how or when ana + presley met tatum and the rest but yea they all became good friends and ana started crashing there + ofc presley + tatum got together.

idk i have a lot more but also like not really .. i just need to get an actual story down

anyway. as far as romantic relationship goes the only ones i am for sure doing are presley + tatum, laurie + jesse, and eventually ana + marcus . also jumping between dominic + donnie or dominic + ivan but also like they’re more of background characters

tatum, presley, jesse, and laurie 100% go to raves together

elle is intersex and does drag

presley and macy are roommates + coworkers + besties (it sounds like it would be hell after a while but they make it work)

tatum, marcus, + anas apartment does allow animals, tate has two cats named j.peg + kitkat

presley + macy’s apartment only allows two pets but they secretly have four cats, vodka mewtini, geegee, citrine, + tulip (all of them besides tulip are macy’s, tatum gave presley tulip as a gift)

lauren + jesse aren’t supposed to have pets but jesse does keep a snake

ivan, dominic, + donnie’s aren’t allowed to have animals but dominic has been trying to test that theory with some of the crows that come to his window

elle can have pets, she has a big german shepard type guard dog named fangs and a soft calico named felicity

one of ana’s top teeth is chipped from a soccer accident

presley is from new jersey

tbh this has been the only thing i’ve been thinking about for like. months so i also have a bit of art of what i hc that they look like, so i might post some of that. it’s not very good but i also made them all in the sims like multiple times LMAO . i also have some stories that are mainly about ana + marcus but according to chatgpt they are not good so. maybe eventually … idk i just hope all of this makes sense to anyone else but me

[angelaofwhite800]

Supernatural x sister!reader (Bring it) Chapter 8: Jericho (pt. 3)

Word count: 1,918

Jericho California, 2005

Songs: "Evergreen" -Richy Mitch and the coal miners

"Hermit the frog" -MARINA

"Icarus" -Bastille

As the Winchester siblings met up on top of the bridge, Y/n rushed forward to see if Dean was alright. Dean, Caked head to toe in mud and sewage, was more concerned with other things. Dean rushed past Y/n to his beloved car and started inspecting it to make sure that all was well. Sam and Y/n chuckled at this, Sam asking Dean

"Car alright?" Dean shut the hood of the car and let out a sigh of relief 

"Yea, whatever she did to it seems alright now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" He yelled out, making Y/n laugh. Dean sat on the hood of his car, flicking some of the mud from his hands

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure" Sam said, then asking "So where does the trail go from here genius?" As he sat on the hood of the car next to Dean. Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. Y/n standing in front of the boys, took a few breaths through the nose and then looked at Dean saying

"You smell like a toilet" With a disgusted look on her face. Dean tilted his head slightly before replying 

"Oh yea?" And grabbing Y/n, pulling her into a hug and rubbing his hand on the top of her head, getting mud and sludge all over her as well. Y/n, struggling and yelling at him to let her go, was finally released, huffing in annoyance with her oldest brother. Sam laughed at the two of them causing Y/n to turn and look at him, putting her arms out as if suggesting that he get a hug as well. Sam immediately stands up and puts his hands up in defense, backing away from her

"You stay over there, pond frog" Y/n tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at Sam

"Oh i'm a pond frog am I?" She asked before lunging forward to grab him, trying to make sure he got his fair share of river sludge. Sam took off running in the opposite direction and Y/n chased after him. She gave up a few moments later, knowing there was no chance of her catching him. Dean sat on the hood of baby, laughing at his little siblings. He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, especially not Y/n or Sam, but seeing them laughing and joking around and having fun... it was his favorite thing in the world. They didn't get it often, so when it happened, it was very special to him

The three of them eventually got into the car and drove to the nearest motel. When they approached the front desk Dean tossed the fake credit card he had in his wallet at the time onto the front desk saying 

"One room please" The man standing behind the front desk picked the card up, squinted at it, and commented

"You guys having a reunion or something?" The Winchesters shared a confused look before looking back to the man 

Sam asked "What do you mean?" 

The man explained "Had that other guy, Burr Defromian, came in a little while ago, bought out a room for the whole month." Y/n, Sam, and Dean all shared a look, before returning their gaze back to the front desk manager. Sam, quickly jumping at the opportunity before either of his siblings could say anything, replied

"Yea, thats our uncle. We were supposed to meet him here, but ya know, plans changed at the last minute and he decided to just have us meet him at the river front" The front desk man nodded along with what Sam was saying as he turned to start booking us our room "He did ask us to swing by his room while we were checkin in to grab a few things for him. Do you mind grabbing us a key?" The man behind the front desk seemed to buy it. He gave them the key for a new room, as well as the key for 'Mr. Burr's' room. The three of them went the the room that they now knew their dad had been staying in and opened the door

The room, smelling of fast food that was clearly days old, body oder, and salt, was an absolute mess. Pages of news paper clippings and printed out articles lined the walls. There was a ring of salt surrounding the bed, indicating that John was trying to make sure something wasn't able to get to him. Y/n looked around before stepping inside, followed by Sam who was pulling Dean in by the back of his jacket collar. The three of them started to look around at the things on the walls and shelves trying to decipher some clue as to where their dad went

"I don't think he's been here for a few day's at least" Dean said after picking up and smelling a burger that had been half eaten and left sitting on the motel dresser. Sam and Dean looked around at the papers on the wall on one side of the room, while Y/n looked at the one's on the other side of the room

"I don't get it" Dean started, looking at the pictures of all the different victims from Centennial highway from over the years "Different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" As Dean was speaking, Y/n's eyes finally landed on a piece of paper pinned to the wall with the words 'Woman in white' written on it, which was hanging right above a printed out version of the article that the three of them had found in the library the previous day. That's when it clicked. Constance Welch was a woman in white, an angry spirit who punishes men for being unfaithful to their wives

"They were all cheaters" Y/n said in response. The boys looked at her confused before she pointed at what she was looking at on the wall. The boys came over and Y/n went on, saying "He figured it out. He found the same article we did about Constance Welch. She's a woman in white." Dean turned to the articles of the men Constance had killed and said

"You sly dogs" With a smirk. Y/n rolled her eyes at him before he went on, saying "Okay so if we're dealing with a woman in white dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it" Sam looked at the pictures on the wall thoughtfully

"She might have another weakness..." Dean walked over shaking his head, saying

"Dad would wanna make sure, he'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" Sam shook his head

"No, but if I were dad, I'd go ask her husband. If he's still alive" Sam and Y/n walked away from the wall, Sam examining more things around the room, Y/n walking over and taking a seat on the bed

"Okay, how about you two go see if you can find an address, I'm gonna go  get cleaned up" Dean said, taking off his jacket and heading towards the bathroom. Y/n hopped off the end of the bed and went over to Sam

"Can I have the key to the other room? A shower sounds like a good idea right about now" Sam handed her the key and she left the room walking a few doors down and walking inside. Y/n went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. As she stood under the warm water, she closed her eyes, finally getting a moment to just be by herself and relax. even if it was only for a little bit. As the hot running water washed all of the caked on mud and sludge, Y/n started seeing things. The dream she had the other night in the car, of the fire. She opened her eyes, panicked, but every time she blinked, glimpses of it played. She turned the faucet off and looked around panicking. blink, glimpse, blink, glimpse. Over and over and over. she hopped out of the shower and turned on the sink water to the coldest setting it could go and splashed the icy water in her face. The pure shock seemed to do the trick, because when she blinked she was no longer catching glimpses of the horrible scene. She got back into the shower, now running the water on cold 

When she got out and finished, she opened the door walking back to the room where her brothers were, she saw Dean walking out. He saw her and called over

"Hey! I'm going to get food from the diner down the street, you wanna come?" He asked. The thought of greasy diner food sounded amazing to Y/n right now, she jogged over to her brother

"hell yea." The two of them started walking over to the impala when Dean looked over and saw a man pointing two police officers from the bridge in their direction. Dean turned towards Y/n and pulled out his phone, calling Sam. before Sam picked up he simply told Y/n, "don't run". Y/n looked at him confused before noticing the cops walking up to them, and panic started to set in for Y/n. Sam picked up the phone and Dean told him that the cops had spotted them and that he needed to leave. He then hung up a turned around just in time to greet the officers who were approaching them

"Is there a problem officers?" Dean asked. Y/n made sure to stand behind Dean, keeping her distance from the officers. Y/n is historically very bad with dealing with the authorities. She tends to either run away or get very snappy, despite the many times that her family has tried to coach her to just play it cool

"Where's your partner?" one of the officers asked Dean. Dean tried playing dumb asking him 

"What partner?" But they clearly remembered Dean from the bridge and were not buying it. One officer went to go investigate the motel room that Dean had come from, while the other one stood there and talked to Dean

"So, fake federal marshals, fake credit cards. You got anything that is real?" The officer asked. Dean, knowing that at this point they weren't going to be able to talk themselves out of this situation, decided he was able to get snappy

"My boobs." He said with a straight face and then flashing a cheeky smile at the officer. He grabbed Dean, starting to try and arrest him. He was able to turn Dean around and pull his hands behind his back. Y/n, stood there, watching panicked, not knowing what to do. Dean, now facing his little sister, mouthed the word 'Run' and Y/n immediately took off running

"We got a runner!" The officer who was detaining Dean called out to his partner. The officer who was going to check out the motel room immediately turned and started chasing after Y/n, who had already gotten quite a bit of a head start. She ran through bushes and ducked around the corner of a building, freezing when she realized that the alley she had turned down was a dead end. Before she could even turn around the officer who had been chasing her tackled her to the ground, causing her to get more then a few scrapes on her face and legs. Before she knew it, she was having a panic attack, cuffed in the back of a squad car, next to Dean, on the way to the police station 

To Be Continued...

[simkermellebel]

Lockwood Lepacy (p. 10)

Juno wrote a sweet love letter to Matthew Hamming on a night off. She hopped he absolutely loved it.

After waking up, Juno enjoyed some nice plasma juice for breakfast.

While moonlighting at the Brightmore, Celeste met 1-star celebrity Stella Striker, the wife of famous athlete Richie Striker. They hit it off and exchanged numbers. As friends, of course.

Celeste had been noticing something was up with her sister and decided to make her come clean. Juno confessed she had been turned into a vampire, and Celeste wasn't very happy about it.

Stella called to invite Celeste out to the Spring Festival. She wanted to become the Spring's Dancing Queen, but was too afraid to give it a shot all by herself. After dancing their butts off, Stella took Celeste out for dinner. They were giving a meal of horrible quality and sent it back to the kitchen. The restaurant manager recognized them, as Celeste was now slightly famous too due to her actress sister, and they got a huge discount on their meal.

William Fangmann came over to the apartment and Juno decided to invite him inside. They had some fun together, after which Juno went to do her own thing, not really caring what William was going to do.

Celeste had some shrimp cocktail at the bar and pulled out her eating sticks, just like her grandfather always did. May the Chinese custom pass down to many generations!

Juno was invited to William Fangmann's party and ran into Matthew Hamming. She started making out with the guy, and even woohoo'ed with him in the shower! William didn't suspect a thing.

Celeste met up with her girlfriend Raquel at the park to discuss some issues. Raquel wasn't very keen on listening and decided to leave. As she left, Celeste decided to just text her they were breaking up.

To feel better, Stella invited her out and they decided to go to the butterfly plantsoon. Stella had broken up with her husband, Richie, as she had lost feelings for him a while ago. They had a nice night watching the butterflies, and even shared a kiss.

Realizing she might be playing a dangerous game with all these vampires and celebrity relationships, Juno decided to head to the gym and do some strength workouts.

To promote one of the studio's new movies, now Personal Assistant Juno was sent out to hand out some flyers at the Banzai Lounge. It was a sunny day and Juno was burning up a little, so she grabbed her sister's colorful umbrella from the car.

Stella came over to the apartment and she and Celeste became girlfriends!

Juno decided to take up her old hobby of painting, feeling some peace in reliving the old days.

Celeste received some beautiful flowers in her favorite color from Stella. What a sweet thought!

The girls went out to the vampire bar together and looked awesome.

Celeste got a chance to moonlight and made her sister a Plasma Punch. Juno pretended to love it, and spit out her drink as soon as Celeste turned around.

The next night, the girls went to a different bar and blew some bubbles.

Juno went skinny dipping in the hot tub and Celeste thought it was hilarious to steal her clothes.

Richie Striker joined Juno in the hot tub and she tried to make a move on him. He laughed out loud, but eventually consented to a kiss.

But Richie didn't want to make out with her, so Juno left the hot tub embarrassed, only to find her clothes missing.

Celeste and Stella headed to the Summer Festival and the food truck happened to be right there, so Celeste enjoyed a sweet taco.

Celeste went down to Eugi's and tried out the bar once again. She liked the dive bar very much and decided she would be its owner before the night was over. She headed to city hall to buy the property and succeeded! Back home, Celeste renamed the bar to Juno's.

Celeste was just about to call Stella when she came by the apartment. Celeste took her out for a picnic in the park for dinner.

After their picnic, Celeste drove them to the lookout point and proposed to Stella. She said yes!

Wow! Juno is famous enough to ride around in a limo now.

Celeste and Stella got married at Juno's with their closest friends and family in attendance.

They cut their delicious cake and enjoyed it with everyone.

A paparazzi got into the wedding venue and Juno was bit thirsty, so she decided to drink from the woman. Let that teach her a lesson! Sadly, Juno was publicly disgraced for it later.

Once everyone had left the venue, and it was just the newlyweds, Stella showed Celeste her piano skills.

[gloomy-prince]

Ok so 3 and 5 look really good on eddie because I feel like red is his color but blue also looks nice on him so the last 3 you made were actually just stunning. My question is even if you do like richies adult outfit how would you change it to better compliment the new eddie designs? (I absolutely love your art it gives me so much happiness thank you for feeding us)

I don't currentlyyy have plans to change it I do like Richie's outfit, one change I was considering with Richie was maybe having his shirt half tucked so you can see his belt. I think the colors of both outfits work very well off each other so I don't want to change it, and I designed the last three specifically to both suit Eddie better AND compliment Richie's outfit so I don't feel the need to alter Richie's at all. I already drew his outfit so I could put Eddie's outfits side by side with them and see if I like them together lol (these are my top 2 picks atm).

I WILL however maybe make a second outfit for Richie because they're there for two days and none of them change clothes??? Why did they all bring luggage if they weren't gonna. Change clothes. SOME of them not changing I can buy but ALL of them? You're telling me even EDDIE didn't change??? Or put on some pjs??? Like I know he eventually is the single one to put on a different outfit but that's only because it gets covered in blood and vomit and something tells me this man would rather die than wear the same clothes two days in a row and not shower in the morning

[toyboy-molloy]

:: reddie but eddie is a mechanic

“What’s the damage?”

Went addressed the pair of legs sticking out from under his car. Instead of answering, Eddie rolled out from under the car, wiping his grease-stained forehead with the back of his arm. He jumped to his feet, quickly wiping his hands on his dirty overalls.

“You were right. There’s a problem with the brakes. There’s not much I can do about it here but if you bring it into the shop, I’ll have a look at it.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Went sighed in relief, clapping the mechanic on the shoulder, “I’m glad Richie recommended you. I’d have had a look at it myself but my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

“It’s fine. I wish he was more like you. If Richie gets a problem with his car, he just sells it and buys a new one.”

Went laughed, “yeah, he takes after his mom.”

“Are my ears burning?” The man himself entered his parents’ garage nursing a steaming mug of cocoa. Eddie rolled his eyes fondly, wiping his hands on the dirty cloth he’d draped over his shoulder.

"I was just telling your dad...”

Richie didn’t hear the rest of Eddie’s sentence; he was too busy staring at his best friend. He’d never seen Eddie in his work outfit before. His overalls were stained with motor oil and grease, his hair was slicked back with a mixture of grime and sweat, there was all manner of filth smudged onto his cheeks and hands. Eddie looked positively filthy and Richie was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

“Why are you wearing that?” He blurted out, somewhat high-pitched, as he gestured vaguely at Eddie’s uniform. Richie avoided looking at his dad, knowing full well he was grinning at him.

“What do you expect, Rich? You can hardly expect him to wear one of fancy suits when he’s working on my car!”

“Yeah but it’s so...dirty.”

Richie didn’t like the way his dad was grinning at him, not that the look of complete confusion Eddie was giving him was much better. Was he blushing? He hoped not. Eventually, Eddie just sighed and said something about a shower before leaving Richie and his dad alone in the garage. Went just smiled, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically as he passed.

-

Eddie was about halfway through his shift the following day when he noticed a familiar face in his auto shop. Richie was sitting in his dad’s car, playing a game on his phone as he waited. He resisted the urge to smile as he approached.

“Hey, Rich.”

Richie looked up and was greeted with the sight of Eddie in dirty overalls, like he hadn’t spent all last night thinking about it. He stood up so fast he almost hit his head on his dad’s car.

“Hey, Eds. I...brought my dad’s car in.”

Eddie nodded, looking over the vehicle, “okay, well, I was about to go to lunch. I’ll leave it with one of my colleagues and we can head out-”

“No!” Eddie, who had been about to leave to change out of his work clothes, stopped dead, staring at his friend as if he’d gone mad. Richie rubbed the back of his neck, smiling innocently, “I mean, I can wait. While you work on the car. I don’t mind.”

Eddie stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Richie held his breath for what felt like an age before Eddie shrugged, “okay, if you’re sure. It makes no difference to me.”

Richie just about managed not to exhale deeply in relief. Eddie made a show of rolling his sleeves to his elbows, feeling Richie’s eyes on him as he did so. He popped the hood of the car and leaned over, fiddling with things Richie didn’t understand or care about. He was too busy eyeing how Eddie’s overalls seemed to fit him extremely well. He couldn’t help but stare when Eddie reached for a wrench from his back pocket. Richie quickly looked away, suddenly feeling very hot.

“You know,” Eddie said, his head still buried in the engine of Went’s car, “I’m starting to feel like one of those car wash bikini girls.”

Richie frowned, “huh?”

“You can at least try to be a little bit subtle,” Eddie looked over his shoulder, smirking at his friend, “I’m at work.”

Now Richie knew he was blushing. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, “fuck, you noticed...”

“Yeah, dumbass, I noticed,” Eddie was smirking as he retrieved his creeper, setting it on the floor, “so, what is it, Rich?” He laid down, rolling underneath the car and set to work, “the dirt? The uniform? Or have you been watching too much porn?”

“Give me a break, alright?” Richie muttered, placing his foot on the creeper and dragging Eddie out, “it’s not anything, okay? It’s just...a weird thing...”

 “You have a manual labour kink.” Eddie was smirking smugly, twirling his wrench triumphantly. Richie sighed irritably, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“No, you idiot, I have a you kink,” that wiped the smirk off of Eddie’s face. Richie just shrugged, “now get up here, for fuck’s sake.”

He helped pull Eddie to his feet and, not wanting to waste anymore time, planted an eager kiss on his lips. Eddie giggled, pulling away and wiping at Richie’s face.

“I’m gonna get oil on you.”

Richie just held him tighter, grinning like an idiot, “oh yeah, baby, talk dirty to me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but still kissed him again, ignoring the sniggering of his co-workers. It was worth it.