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carpehistoryandthepens · 5 months ago

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Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 14

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

Sid's house was quiet when Nikita and Papa came back from school. It was missing the happy noise of Marisol and Mike talking and playing. When Papa picked him up, he said that Mike and Marisol had a tough day and might not want to be bothered.

Nikita frowned when told that; he hoped Mike would help him with his math again. This was harder than his last school. Nikita really liked it when he came home from school to them. He hoped that they would continue to hang out after school even after he and Papa moved back into their home. They could hang out, do homework, or maybe play with the mini sticks!

But Papa was clear before they left the car; now was time to be quiet. Mike and Marisol had a bad day.

Nikita liked Sid's house a lot, almost more than his Papa's house. He did miss the basketball court from his Papa's house, though. But Sid's garage was a good place for a football net. Since his Mama returned to Miami, he got his own room with a nice view.

He was a little upset at the constant moving around, though. Mama and Papa had promised him that if he chose a school, he would stay in one place except for vacations, and he only got a few weeks in his room before they had to move again.

It wasn't fair that the house broke. Nikita wanted to stay in one room for a while.

Mike and Marisol were nowhere to be seen when he and Papa entered the house. Sid was at their side in an instant, greeting them in Russian.

One of the other reasons Nikita liked Sid's house is that Sid spoke Russian. So, if Nikita forgot a word or didn't know it in either English or Russian, he could just switch, and Sid could follow – just like his parents! It was nice.

Sid's hair was a mess, and it looked like he had been running his hands through it. Nikita thought it looked fluffy. There was a slump to his shoulders that Niktia usually only saw on his Papa's teammates after long roadies.

Papa paused at the door and glanced around, "Mike and Marisol…?"

"Are in their room," Sid said in Russian. "Marisol needed to be in a bed."

Nikita looked up at his Papa, "Can I go play with them?"

Both adults exchanged a look over Nikita's head. Just because he didn't know what the look meant didn't mean he didn't see it.

"I think you can, buddy," Sid said slowly. "But you have to be quiet."

"And you have to ask," his Papa said, emphasizing the word ask and holding Nikita's gaze until Nikita nodded solemnly, "If they say no or are sleeping, you have to come back, ok?"

Nikita nodded again. "I promise." He said before dashing off, and he would. He would ask! But Mike and Marisol had never said no to him before, and they weren't like the kids from the school; they were nice. He grabbed his iPad from his school bag. There were a few games on there that didn't require sound. Nikita played them while he and his parents were at restaurants.

As he left, his Papa asked Sid, "How was the talk?" Nikita didn't hear Sid's answer, only the low tone of his voice.

Mike and Marisol were in a room across from his. Sid and his Papa's rooms were further into the house. Nikita knocked on the door. Mike opened it up, warily looking around and then seeing Nikita.

"Wanna play?" Nikita asked dutifully in English. Mike didn't speak any Russian, just Spanish. His Papa would be proud. His Mama might say something about proper English; if he had to learn the language, he should speak it right.

Mike scrunched his face unhappily, and Nikita's hopes dropped a little. Maybe he would say no. But Mike glanced back into the room and then back out. "Marisol is still sleeping. We can't wake her up."

Behind him, Nikita saw that Marisol was tucked into Mike's bed. Her bed was on the other side of the room, but Nikita knew they only tended to use one bed often; they both had nightmares they didn't like to discuss.

"Napping?" Nikita asked before remembering to whisper. "I can be quiet!" He said, hushed.

Mike gave him a slight quirk of a grin before ushering him into the bedroom.

They settled down to play an English game on Nikita's iPad, which helped him learn the rules of the language. It was on mute.

"You're really good at this," Mike said after Nikita rapidly beat several levels before losing while at a spelling game while trying to spell 'believed.' Too many 'e's in the word.

"Thank you!" Nikita beamed. Nikita handed the iPad to Mike so he could play a few levels. He was really good at sharing things; his Mama always said so when they were in Miami with friends.

He should make lots of friends at school. Just because he hadn't yet didn't mean he wouldn't! He liked a few of his classmates. It was just hard to talk to them. It was different from talking to Mike or Marisol. One boy was bigger than the rest of them, and he was in charge. Nikita didn't like that boy, and that boy didn't like Nikita.

Mike and Marisol were easy to talk to, even when Marisol was being fussy or acting like a baby or when Mike couldn't talk at all. It was like they were his actual brother and sister! Something he always wanted – but was never able to get. His parents were always firm that they were not planning another sibling.

Mike played for a few rounds before losing at a level, trying to figure out the endings of words. After that, he handed the iPad back to Nikita. After going back and forth for a while, getting to a higher level than Nikita had ever gotten on his own or with his parent's help, Nikita set the iPad aside. "Can we play mini sticks?" he asked.

He missed having his own playroom. Both of his homes, his Papa's Pittsburgh house and his momma's Miami condo, had rooms just for his toys. (The Russian apartments didn't have a separate room, but Nikita never minded.) Sid didn't have that in his home. Instead, they could play with mini sticks in his room, or their room, or…

But Mike shook his head negatively, "No, Nikita. I don't want to."

"Ok," Nikita frowned; who didn't want to play mini sticks? But he accepted Mike's answer because that's what being a brother means, right? Mike had chosen to play on the iPad with Nikita despite being tired; he might not be ready to play something so rowdy.

Nikita wanted to be Mike and Marisol's brother. That way, his family and theirs can stay together. He doesn't understand much but knows his parents aren't getting back together, so his family is smaller than it was. He misses his mom – she left a few days ago to work back in Miami – but it was better with Mike and Marisol there.

"How about we work on your homework?" Mike asked, "You have more math today, right?"

Nikita nodded slowly. "Yeah." The math was hard and wasn't much fun. But his Papa was firm that math was necessary, even for professional athletes. The school used a website for homework, and Nikita logged in to the program online from the tablet. He opened the assignment, and very quietly, he and Mike worked through the numbers.

There were some kids in his class, classmates of sorts who were good at math, and they were mean to Nikita for not being as good as them.

Nikita was so much better than them in English, as they had only moved from Moscow a few years ago, but Nikita never brought it up.

He hopes they will be on a different football team. He knows they won't be on the same hockey team – he's better than most of them at hockey, even if he likes soccer better.

As they got close to the end of the assignment, Mike started to look really sleepy.

"Nap time?" Nikita asked. Most of his classmates weren't taking many naps anymore, but when his Papa, Sidney, and most of the men he knew took them regularly, Nikita didn't see it as childish as they did. He knew a Hockey player's secret: Naps.

Mike nodded. If they all ended up in Mike's bed and crashed out, Nikita was told that nap piles happened while on roadies.

#'sid has a teen he didn't know about' au #sidgeno #8771 #i write?#this will take a while to write #working title: Legacy (what is a legacy?)

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x-bee-x · 5 months ago

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Pac e Mike mind link/soulmate/little bit of angst whoa whoa! This was fun, I'm pretty proud of it. @koithebastard didn't request anything specific, they just like the boys and like my writing (thank you very much btw), so I hope this is alright!

Is That The Kid From The Milk Carton?

1,387 words

Mike walked into the orphanage one day, kind of spiky brown hair and chubby cheeks and green eyes and his first pair of glasses and a thumb in his mouth, when a boy a bit older with black hair and dark brown eyes and a soft smile walked up to him.

"Oi, you can call me Pac, like PacMan, the video game, do you like video games?"

Mike just tilted his head a bit and blinked, because he didn't really know how to answer, he'd never played.

"Quantos anos você tem?"

Mike held up the hand not tucked into a tiny partial fist up by his mouth and spread out all its fingers because he was five.

"That's cool, I'm seven. It's okay, I've been here for about a year, I can show you around. Eu vou ajudar a cuidar de você."

Pac held out his hand, a gentle smile still on his face.

Mike hesitated for a moment, then slowly took the thumb from his mouth- he was a whole five years old, he could do this- and held the other's hand.

A puzzle piece that neither of them realized was missing was put in place as something like a vibration ran through both of their brains.

That was about eight years ago now, when Tazer and Craft met.

When Mike looked into brown eyes and Pac looked into green ones and knew they would be best friends.

That they were soulmates.

And about three years since Tazer and Craft said they would remain together no matter what, even though the orphanage was closing.

They could do it, they would figure it out, and they would do it, no matter what.

Pac was thirteen, he was a whole teenager, and Mike was ten- almost eleven, he was double digits now- they could do this.

The distraction might have helped, it probably did actually, but Pac and Mike had been at this for long enough now that they've gotten pretty good at it.

A couple quick flicks of the wrist that most people wouldn't even catch, and Pac was apologizing to the person he bumped into, with Mike across the street watching him tuck something into the pocket of his hoodie, that was probably too warm to be wearing, but had always been more of a comfort thing really.

Mike smirked and adjusted his glasses as Pac walked up, starting to remove the wallet from his pocket, before following each other behind a building to count how much the distraction left them away from any possible prying eyes.

"Nós fizemos bem, Mikey, I think we can actually sleep in a bed tonight."

Pac pointed down the road and in the general direction of a motel.

A lot of times before, when they've actually had the money to do this, they walk into small lobbies and are sometimes considered for a moment, maybe make an exchange or two of conversation, but more often than not are turned away.

This time, they walk into the motel, are looked up and down for a second- Pac was always the one to go up to the desk, he was older and people usually took him more seriously, he was sixteen now, practically an adult, and the person behind the desk was either too tired or not paid enough to care, or came to their senses and realized he was finally old enough- then given shrugged shoulders, and a room key.

The place was cheap and kind of shitty, so the room probably wasn't much better, and they were right.

It was small, there was only one twin sized bed, but there was a pullout couch too; and the hot water tab didn't work too well, but there was water at all; at least there was a door that latched.

Pac said Mike could take the first shower and get the most of the lukewarm water from the pipes, and Mike said he would and could shower tomorrow, but only if Pac took the slightly and more comfortable and stable bed, so they agreed and went their ways.

When Pac walked out of the bathroom, a towel in his hand and drying the roots of his hair wearing boxers and a tee shirt, he passed Mike who had removed the couch cushions and was now sitting on the sort of mattress and was wearing the same.

It hadn't been dark outside for very long, but Tazercraft were tired, and they were inside of a building that hadn't been abandoned and they didn't have to worry about the roof leaking anywhere and there wasn't the possibility of any animals or other people interrupting.

"Boa noite, Peqi."

Mike took his glasses off and folded the ears, smoothing the piece of white tape that sat on the nose bridge- they had been broken once before when the orphanage was still open, Pac had put them back together, and even though the glasses had been replaced, he had grown used to the look and feel of the off color piece- and placed them on the floor beside him.

"Boa noite, moço."

Pac tossed the towel to a corner of the room, settled in the bed, and turned off the light.

Mike woke up with a start, his body jolted like he was falling, and he tried to chase and catch his breath.

When he brought his hands up to rub his eyes of sleep, both them and the apple of his cheeks were wet, he was crying.

But they did not feel like his own tears.

When he picked up and put on his glasses and looked over to the clock's blinking red numbers and the still dark outside on the other side of the curtains, he saw Pac on his side in the bed and facing away from the other, but he was trembling slightly.

"Peqi?"

Mike sat up fully and rubbed one of his eyes again.

"Tudo bem, moço?"

If it weren't so quiet in the room, or if you weren't paying as close attention, you might have missed it, but Mike was, and he heard Pac sniffle lightly, so he got up and laid down beside the other.

There was barely enough room for the both of them, but Mike laid down anyway, and Pac turned over to tuck himself into the other's chest.

"Shhh, tudo bem, eu estou bem aqui, você está bem, moço."

Mike soothed and he pet the back of the older boy's hair as he cried.

Pac nodded into Mike's chest a few minutes later, so the younger lifted his chin to make eye contact, and they both reached a thumb out to wipe the other's cheekbones.

"You had another nightmare."

Mike stated more than asked, he could feel more than see what the other boy was dreaming about, but he let Pac nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Desculpe, Mike."

"What for, moço? You don't have to talk about things if you don't want to, ever, it's okay."

"Because this happened again, or at all, you shouldn't have to take care of me like this, I'm used to it, plus I'm older."

"Peqi."

Pac raised his brown eyes back up to look at Mike's green eyes who was smiling softly.

"Sim, you are older, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be taken care of too."

"I guess. Still feels weird though, I should be taking care of you."

"And you do, all the time, more than you could ever know. You are allowed to let yourself do this. Because even though we've done this, been on our own, for a while, and we try to ignore the second glances or comments, we are both still kind of young actually. And even if we weren't, even if you still feel like this when we're thirty or whatever, you're still allowed. So even if you don't fall back asleep, if neither of us do, do you think we can keep laying here and taking care of each other, bobinho?"

"Okay, Mikey, obrigado, boa noite."

Mike refolded and set down his glasses, brushed the hair from Pac's forehead, shared a feeling like a hug through the link, and let sleep try to take them, still holding each other on the too small bed and drying tears on their faces.

#pactw #mikethelink #fanfic #creative writing

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survey--s · 1 year ago

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634.

Name all the pets you’ve ever had. I never had any growing up, but as an adult I've had Gizmo and Athena who were sibling tabby cats. I had to leave them with my ex when we split up, though. Then when Mike and I got together, we got Layla (a little black kitten), Purrlock (a black rescue cat) and Toby (black kitten). We lost Layla in May and we now have Simba who is a ginger tabby kitten. We also have Archie the beagle who is five.

Are you on break, or do you still have a couple days of school left? I haven't been in any kind of education since 2011.

Do you like Stephen King novels? I've actually never read any of them, or seen any of his films.

Have you ever had a macaroon? Yes, and a macaron. Macaroons remind me of my childhood.

One of my friends dislikes animals in general. Are you like her? No. My dad is one of those people though, lol. He tolerates my love of animals but it's why I was never allowed a pet growing up.

Do you prefer being on time, or do you not mind being late? I HATE being late. I'm always early or on time unless I have absolutely no other choice.

What is one adventurous thing you’d be willing to do? (ex: skydive) Travel to outer space.

Have you ever made a bucket list? No.

What subject at school did you absolutely hate? Chemistry.

How many cell phones have you gone through up till now? I think seven or eight, maybe. Which is pretty good going considering I've owned some kind of phone for the last 20+ years.

Italian food or Chinese food? I love both. I think overall I prefer Italian though.

Do you have more than the standard earlobe piercings? Yes - three in each earlobe, one in my right cartilage, my nose and my belly button (though I don't wear jewellery in the latter anymore as it kept getting infected).

Ever studied a foreign language? I did a degree in French, and I also studied German for a while. My dad taught me a bit of Italian as a kid too.

Don’t you hate it when your family eats all the ice cream at home? My mum always used to do that and it drove me insane.

Ever been in a near death situation? If so, what happened? Hmm, no, I wouldn't say so.

Do you like to make flash cards when you study? No.

Favorite flavor of gum? Spearmint.

Do you tend to be frugal, or are you more comfortable spending money? I have no real need to be frugal as we don't struggle financially. But saying that, I'm not really that materialistic and only tend to spend money on stuff I need, or stuff that's practical/for the house.

Do you have a connection to any religion? No.

Ever played a team sport, or are you not sporty at all? I was on all the sports teams in school but I never really enjoyed it.

Do you put posters on your bedroom walls? No. I did as a teenager though.

Do you sleep with one leg sticking out of the covers? Sometimes, yeah.

I have extremely weird, frightening dreams. Do you? Not frightening, but my dreams are definitely on the weird side.

Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good singer? No, because I am not. <--- haha yep, same.

Ever been to the Big Apple? If not, do you want to visit? No, but I'd love to visit one day.

Opinion on Gangnam Style? It's catchy and a pretty good song, really.

Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online? No.

Did you ever watch the Lizzie McGuire movie? Yep, multiple times ha.

If you did, do you know what the guy that played Gordo looks like now? (ew) Why ew?That's harsh, lol. Anyway, I've just googled him and he looks normal to me?

How many email accounts do you have? Two.

Ever shamelessly played Farmville on Facebook? No, I never really got into Farmville.

Are you a big fan of dessert? Not really. There are a few kinds I love but generally I'd rather have a starter.

Ever had a brush with the paranormal? If so, describe. No.

Were you one of the popular kids in high school? Nope, definitely not lol.

I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike. I don't really strongly dislike anyone. I either like you or I'm generally apathetic towards you lol.

Do you know the band Vampire Weekend? I've heard of them, yeah.

What do you think about Marilyn Manson? He's a dodgy fucker. He's been accused of all sorts of shit.

In general, do you prefer going out or staying home? It really depends, there is no "in general" because there are so many different variables.

Biggest trouble you’ve ever gotten into at school? I honestly never got into trouble at school.

Do you own one of those “professional” DSLR cameras? No.

Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets? Why would it bother me?

Favorite pair of shoes? Probably my black ballet shoes or my grey ankle boots.

Where were you on 9/11? In French class in year...8, it must have been. Any food in particular you just can’t get enough of? Pizza, bread, potatoes.

Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother? No, they weren't really a thing here.

Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome? I do. It sucks. Yeppp. I hate it.

Are you a fan of British Youtubers? (Marcus Butler, JacksGap, etc) I don't watch YouTubers of any nationality, lol.

Jalapeños: yay or nay? Nay. I can't stand spicy food.

Did you ever play Minecraft? I tried and it just gave me a headache lol.

Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member? I played it a few times.

Favorite concerts you’ve been to? Did you scream until you were hoarse? Plain White T's or Lily Allen, and no.

So where were you when the Boston Marathon bombing happened? I don't remember. At home probably, or work?

Rainy days on the weekend: yay or nay? It depends whether I have plans or not.

Do you look down on girls that wear shorts with Uggs? No, but then again, nobody wears Uggs anymore.

Californian girls talk and dress a certain way, don’t they? I mean, sure, but that's true of people from any part of the country.

Ever crushed on a teacher? If so, what subject did he/she teach? No. I never understood that lol.

Ever take an art class? If so, what’d you think? I did art in school until GCSE's. I quite liked it.

#survey #surveys

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unholyhelbig · 2 years ago

Note

Ronance prompt if you don’t mind!

Max helping Nancy realise she has feelings for Robin not Steve

[A/n: Okay, so I may have gotten a little carried away here. But It's hard not to! Thank you for the request!]

Read on Ao3 | Request a Prompt

I didn't proofread this, I'm sorry

TW: Some mild Homophobia, a little bit of blood, and Frankenstein

Frankenstein and her Monster | Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler

Max Mayfield never spent much time at the Wheeler residence, not willingly. She had been pressed by law enforcement there, something her mother was strangely absent from. And she had pulled her headphones over her ears, picking up one of the magazines that Mike’s older sister had on the coffee table, only pulling her eyes away from the laughable articles when the boys took a break from their latest campaign.

On this particular day, she had beaten Lucas, Dustin, Mike and Will to the Wheeler residence, having pedaled fast and hard until her cheeks were raw from the October air. She had no interest in swinging by Family Video on the opposite side of town just for them to settle on Star Wars again. Max couldn’t figure the difference between the three films, the only thing she had clocked was that it took place in space.

Max was content staying right where she was, her headphones over her ears, the only warm part of her body. She leaned against the oak tree in the Wheeler's yard, listening as her tape had skipped from the movement of dismounting her bike. She still hadn’t caught her breath when Nancy Wheeler pulled the Colony Park Station Wagon into the driveway.

Max clicked the button on her Walkman until the Kate Bush slowed to a stop but kept her headphones on. Nancy Wheeler had always been this elusive, unstoppable force that Max had only glimpsed out of the corner of her eye when she set the pizza down or picked Mike up from school when the snow was too thick to brave.

She would never admit that she had admiration for an adult figure, because if she did that, then it would all come crashing down. But the truth was, she did impress Max. She held her own against what they faced, the only one of the teenagers that usually ignored them that could wield a gun with competence.

Nancy Wheeler picking up the shotgun in a disheveled Byer’s residence, ready to fire at the drop of a hat, had given her the confidence that day to let a nail-filled bat land between her stepbrothers’ legs, blood staining his face.

Max made herself invisible, dipped her head but watched as Nancy Wheeler exited the front seat of her car. She wasn’t alone. Robin Buckley was laughing as she exited the passenger side. The sound was light and bubbly- relaxed, which was something Max had never heard from the taller girl.

They pulled boxes of folded papers from the backseat and then three more from the trunk. They were methodical about piling them up in the garage. Nancy’s hand lingers on Robin’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. Robin laughs again, out of breath. There was a pinkness to her cheeks.

Max had a feverish longing. She wanted to know what was so funny, why they had seven boxes total of weathered newspapers that would most likely dust among half-empty paint cans and projects she knew Ted Wheeler would never get to.

She wouldn’t have a chance to ask. Dustin flicked the bell on his Huffy as he dipped into the driveway. Mike and Lucas weren’t far behind. The moment that the two girls were having evaporated, and they took a notable step back from one another, eyes flicking to the floor. Max hit play on her Walkman.

From that point on, it was nearly impossible for Max Mayfield to avoid Nancy Wheeler. She wouldn’t actively seek out interaction, not more than she usually did, but it was like a song that repeated on the radio five times a week after being mentioned in passing.

More often than not, Nancy wasn’t alone. Robin Buckley was by her side. There was an abundance of soft touches and tender looks. Anything that one could get away with on school grounds in Hawkins Indiana.

They close to one another on the brick retention wall overlooking the student parking lot, eating a split peanut butter and jelly sandwich and looking over a tattered copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It was assigned reading in Mr. Tanners class. Max had it for third period and had refused to pick apart each character.

Robin’s trumpet case was next to her, Nancy’s binder resting against brick. Robin made a point of crossing her ankle of Nancy’s, the girl leaning her head on Nancy’s shoulder as she flipped the page and said something animatedly.

The wheel of Max’s skateboard got caught on one of the many potholes that the school refused to fill. Her heart was in her throat and the wind was knocked out of her with enough force to make her lungs ache.

She could feel the skin tear on her knees, even through her pants. Her palms were torn up, a bright red blood shocking her into silence. Max caught her breath first, and her surroundings second.

When her cloudy eyes looked back at the brick wall, Nancy and Robin were gone. Instead, they were right in front of her, something she had overlooked entirely. Nancy was kneeling in front of her, her sweater a soft and sweet pink. She was saying something that Max hadn’t registered.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Robin asked, kneeling next to Nancy, putting her hand reassuringly on Max’s jacket. “That was quite the spill.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.”

Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen in front of Nancy and Robin, and that she had been afraid to admit that her body ached as a result of it. Nancy didn’t buy it- it was apparent from her stern expression.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Despite her protests, Robin picked up her skateboard and held it with ease by the wheels. Nancy kept a steady hand on her back as she led her towards the nearest bathroom and instructed her to sit on the top of the air conditioning unit under the long-barred windows.

Robin tested the weight of the board in her hand as Nancy wet a towel. “Do you think you can teach me how to ride one of these?”

“I’m not very good.” Max said.

“I’m sure that’s a lie,” Nancy directed her attention to Robin “And absolutely not. You’re not coordinated as it is. Add something without handle bars and we’re all screwed.”

Max felt herself smile at the compliment. Robin rolled her eyes so only Max could see. They argued like her mother and father used to in California before everything fell apart. Before her mother had met Neil at a bar downtown and they were implanted in Hawkins.

Nancy had used warm water and instructed Max to hold her hands palm-up. She winced as the blood was scrubbed away, distilling to an odd orange color. She worked with concentration, like she always did. Only Max saw the way Robin watched Nancy with the same expression of warmth.

In late November, Steve Harrington started to pick Nancy up from school. It wasn’t that Max was watching, because she wasn’t. There was nothing interesting about the doofus with funky hair and the girl that she admired for her bravery. Nothing interesting at all.

Max certainly hadn’t caught the small flicker of hurt that Robin carried like a sword since dulled by the falling leaves. Robin seemed content with lingering in the hallways even after band practice had ended, even as Steve and Nancy began to test the waters of their relationship again.

To Max, it seemed like a lot of things. But forced was one of them. She liked Steve well enough, though she would never admit it. He was a good friend to Dustin and had shown an tremendous amount of effort in keeping Max safe against her dickhead of a stepbrother. But Steve Harrington was no Robin Buckley.

Growing up in California had been an experience. She had seen two women hold hands on the Santa Monica pier on the darkness of night, walking along the beach when they though they were alone. Friends, Max had figured, until their outlines moved closer, lips touching.

Neil Hargrove wouldn’t approve of such things, and neither would the town of Hawkins Indiana. So, though she pushed it to the back of her mind, she knew that liking the same gender was possible, preferred even. And when she looked at Nancy and Robin, that feeling she had on the beach warmed her again.

Max Mayfield didn’t want to add fuel to the fire that burned so heavily inside of Robin Buckley. It was an oxygen exposed blue, eating through fallen logs in the hearth of her soul. The anger roared hot and bright. They both watched Nancy smile at Steve as the car pulled from the schools parking lot.

Robin had given Max a small nod with little emotion forged through the fire. And Max nodded back as the older girl mounted her bike and pedaled in an opposite direction. She didn’t want to feel that anger herself, had no earthly right to, but some foreign part of her brain rushed to the surface, and she found herself heading towards the Wheeler residence.

The wind stung her face until it was raw. She was out of breath and had barely made it to the house by the time that Steve’s taillights vanished down the street. It was getting darker earlier now and the streetlamps had turned on as Max dismounted her board at the edge of the Wheeler’s driveway.

She took a few desperate gulps of air before knocking. Karen Wheeler answered with a confused smile on her face. “Maxine? We weren’t expecting you! Would you like me to get Mike?”

“Actually, I’m here to see Nancy.”

The words sounded stupid and childish coming form her mouth. Why would Nancy Wheeler want to see some freshman? Her mother’s face reflected the fact, but she nodded and gestured for Max to come in, told her to leave her skateboard in the foyer.

Max scrambled to come up with a reason why she would need to speak to Nancy, even as Karen called up the stairs for her eldest. The home had a warm feeling to it, even now as her heart thudded in her chest. This had been a stupid idea, so stupid and so rash. She bet Nancy wouldn’t’ think this hard about a simple conversation.

“Max,” Nancy stood at the top of the steps, head tilted at an angle. “Hi,”

“I wanted to talk to you about a… a lead. For the paper.”

Nancy wasn’t buying it, but Karen Wheeler was. She let out a content hum and clapped her hands together as if this was the most exiting thing to happen in the home when the two girls on either side of her knew it was furthest from the fact.

Regardless of this, Nancy nodded and gestured for her to come up the stairs. This was happening, this was really happening. She was going into the Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom. It was pinker than she imagined, but adult and comfortable. It smelled like cinnamon. Her desk lamp was on, homework spread across the white finished desk.

Cassettes that Max wanted to rifle through rested on the nightstand and a Tom Cruise poster was tacked to the wallpaper that fell in ropes of pink and white. Max stood frozen by the white bedspread, unsure what to do or where she was welcome to occupy space. Nancy shut the door and turned towards her, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

Shit. She had never been more intimidated in her life.

“Did you read Frankenstein?” Max blurted out.

She crossed her arms over her chest “Yes, for Turner’s class. I thought you said you had a lead?”

Max had panicked and remembered the day she had fallen hard on the pavement, a metallic taste of memory filling her mouth. They had been so close, electricity radiating between them and reaching Max across the pavement.

“I do, I just wanted to ask you something about the book first. You seem smart, I mean, and I’m in the middle of a book report for class.” Nancy rose both of her eyebrows; Max pulled her knowledge from open discussions. “European society seemed so against Frankenstein’s monster, they physically attacked him, and I can’t help but imagine how isolating that was for him. To be prosecuted for being different.”

Nancy’s stare dropped to the carpeted floor and then flicked back up to Max’s with the storm of a calming sea.

“But I think… I think that if Frankenstein’s monster was resurrected today, things would be different. Not everyone would be against him.”

“Right, but the majority would.” Nancy clenched and unclenched her jaw. “He didn't ask to be created that way or created at all. It would be easier to stay right in the lab that he was made in.”

“How will he know if he doesn’t try?”

“He could be killed if he tried. People are not inherently kind. Especially when someone is different.” Nancy blinked and shook her head, “Max, what is this about? I’m sure Mr. Turner would be able to help you much more than I could.”

Max grunted in frustration and flopped down on the freshly made bed, she breathed in the scent of detergent. She spoke into the pillow. “It has to be you.”

There was a silence in the room until Nancy lowered herself onto the side of the bed. Still, there was quiet, a calm that could hardly be mustered in any other setting. Nancy sighed into the silence.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? You don’t have to be brave around me. You don’t have to be silent.”

Max sat up faster than intended. It made her dizzy, stars dancing in front of her eyes until she blinked them away. “Me? No! I’m here for you.”

“And that’s appreciated, but I have no idea what you want to talk about.”

“You and Steve.”

“Me and Steve?”

“No, I mean, yes. You and Robin.”

“Robin?”

This was going terribly. She couldn’t get the words to dislodge from her chest. It would be terribly tactless to blurt everything out, but she feared she was being terribly tactless already. So, she took a deep stabilizing breath.

“You’re clearly in love with each other. And I didn’t want to interfere with that. But when I saw you leave with Steve today, Robin looked so crushed and everything kind of” She took a gulping breath before making an exploding gesture with her hands.

There was confusion to Nancy’s expression. The silence was back, and Max had the right mind to believe that she was going to get murdered in the middle of a pink bedroom. The words had been vomited out, unchanged from the thoughts that ran through her mind.

“Frankenstein’s monster wasn’t bad… just different.” She said to fill the void.

“I really hurt Robin, didn’t I?”

Max nodded. Not for one second did she think it was Nancy who was at fault or even Steve. It was easy to hide who you were in Hawkins Indiana. Because Hawkins wasn’t California where two girls could hold hands on the beach. Hawkins was filled with churchgoers who were like-minded. Mobs acted against what they believed was monstrous.

Nancy sniffed and used the base of her hand to wipe away a single tear that had fallen. Max didn't know what to do, she never knew what to do, but she put her hand on Nancy’s knee in case she needed her. She was there, just like Nancy had been when her knees had been bloodied.

“How did you know?”

“How did you not?” Max scoffed and shook her head. “Steve looks at you the way that you look at her.”

Nancy groaned, face in her hands. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Maybe, but at least there’s not a mob of townspeople after you.”

The next time Max Mayfield caught a glimpse of Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, she had just beaten her high school at Dig Dug and cleared Lucas off the board. Part of it was out of spite, the other was pure skill. But she had lost her focus and run her course breathing in the damp air of the arcade.

Robin leaned against the window of Family Video, her forest green vest over her shoulder. Steve was struggling to lock the front doors with the large key ring he possessed. Eddie Munson leaned against the side of Steve’s car, speaking animatedly with his hands. Steve rolled his eyes and Robin ignored that electricity again.

She watched as Nancy laughed and fixed the black tie that Robin wore, fingers lingering a little longer than friends, tracing the silky fabric before pulling away. Blush clouded Robin’s freckles; a smile so big it looked like it hurt.

Nancy looked across the parking lot, a knowing look on her face. She winked at Max, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Robin nodded solemnly at Max.

The skateboard under her feet slid from under her feet, air leaving her lungs as she tumbled forward onto the pavement. Her arms caught the brunt of it, but she had bitten through the skin inside of her cheek and could taste blood again, getting used to the sensation.

“Holy shit, kid!” Eddie was kneeling in front of her, a look of worry on his features. “You alright?”

She swallowed back the mix of spit and blood. “Yeah, fine, just a few scrapes. Comes with the territory.”

Steve had abandoned locking the doors. Instead, he was carefully helping Max to her feet “Maybe we should find some new territory, Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eddie grinned “Can you teach me how to skate?”

“Absolutely not!” Steve shoved him as they walked towards Family Video “You’re not coordinated enough to skate.”

Max smiled to herself, ignoring the stinging pain in her palms where the asphalt had torn everything away. Teenagers were weird.

#max mayfield #Nancy Wheeler #Robin Buckley #Robin & Nancy & Max #Ronance #ronance fanfiction #Steve Harrington #eddie munson #Steddie #stranger things #Ronance & Max Mayfield #Request

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fangirlovestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Chris Cross Applesauce - Chris Evans x reader

a/n- Hey lovely people! it’s Chris’s birthday here so here’s this fluffy piece based on a very random thought I had lol. Happy birthday to this absolutely perfect human. The summary lowkey sucks but I promise it’s pretty cute! Enjoy <3

summary: You and Chris have known each other for forever, and you’ll love each other for more than that.

word count: ~4,500

warnings: panic attack, obliviousness

5 years old

The hot summer sun sent waves of heat across your face as you stood in the street. You were holding your mom's hand, half hiding behind her foot, as she talked with the other mom in front of you. Two little boys were hiding behind her as well, eyeing you and whispering between themselves.

"Sweetie, say hello to our new neighbors," your mom gently nudged you as she put your 2-year-old brother on the ground, holding his hand as well. You had moved into your house a few days ago, and your mother wanted to get to know your neighbors in the friendly little town.

"Hi," you said shyly. The other woman smiled at you warmly. "Hey there, I'm Lisa. Boys? Say hello please," she turned her gaze to them now.

"I'm Chris," one of the boys said. His blue eyes met yours and he extended his hand for you to shake. You took it, telling him your name as well. No one else you knew had ever offered to shake your hand, kid or adult, so it made you feel very respectable. On the other hand, you wondered about this strange boy your age who was shaking people's hands like you've seen grown-ups do. His brother didn't let go of their mom but introduced himself as Scott. He looked closer to your brother's age.

"Well it's been a pleasure to meet you," your mom smiled at the woman. Lisa, your mind supplied, that's what she said her name was.

"Likewise!" Lisa replied warmly, "We'd love to see you around sometime."

You parted ways, you getting into your house as they went into theirs across the street.

That night your mom went into your room to tuck you in. She sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed your forehead gently, making sure the blanket is tight enough around your small form.

"So, what do you think about our new neighborhood? Think you'll be friends with the little boys from across the street?" your mom smiled.

"I don’t know mom," you said with all the self-importance a five-year-old can muster. "They're boys." You scrunched up your nose, frowning slightly.

Your mom felt no pressure to add anything on the matter. "Well, goodnight sweetie." Your mom kissed your wrinkled nose, making you giggle, and got off the bed.

"Goodnight mommy," you mumbled as you felt sleepiness take over you.

6 years old

You entered the classroom, your eyes darting around nervously. You calmed down a bit after seeing a familiar and smiling face in the crowd of strange kids around the classroom.

"Come on! I saved you a seat!" Chris exclaimed excitedly and waved you over. You smiled back and made your way over to his table. You sat down next to him, pulling out your brand-new pencils and notebook and putting it neatly on the table in front of you.

Chris and you were talking about one of your latest games in the yard, where he and Scott were pirates and you were a princess that needed rescuing. "But princesses need to be rescued from the pirates, not by the pirates!" you argued. "But we're good pirates! And besides, hanging out with pirates is way cooler than with some prince or duke or whatever it is princesses do," Chris said. Before the argument got more heated, the teacher stepped in and silence took over the class. For the rest of the day you focused on school, meeting new friends and learning new things.

At the end of the day, you and Chris left the classroom side by side, the pirates argument long forgotten as you talked about everything that happened today.

"And when Anna fell off her chair in the middle of class," you both laughed.

"And the teacher told her not to sit criss cross applesauce on her chair," you said and continued to laugh. "I didn’t know that's how that's called," you said, pleased at all you've learned today. After a short pause you realized, "Hey, that's like your name! Chris cross applesauce!" you laughed. "That's not the same thing," he said indignantly, slightly offended. "Well it sounds the same," you smiled teasingly, but your sensitive nature told you to drop the subject.

You waited for your moms to come pick you up and went home. On your way home you animatedly told your mom about your day, excited about what new things could happen in school.

12 years old

"Chris cross apple sauce!" you called out as you climbed up the stairs of the Evans house. You knocked on Chris' room door. "We gotta go or we're gonna be late!"

"When are you gonna stop using this stupid nickname?" Chris grumbled, fidgeting with his shirt as he opened his room and joined you to go downstairs. One of your classmates, Jenna, was throwing a birthday party and her parents were out for the evening, so she invited the whole class. The whole affair felt very grown-up and exciting, because you've never had a class party without parents.

"Never," you replied with a playful grin. "Bye Lisa!" you shouted out to Chris's mom, who was in the kitchen.

"Have fun kids!" she yelled back as the door slammed behind you both.

You got into your moms' car and listened to some music on your way. You both hummed along to the familiar Disney tunes without realizing it, laughing when your eyes met and you realized what you were doing. You quickly arrived at Jenna's house and jumped out of the car.

"Bye mom!" you told her through the window.

"Thanks for the ride!" Chris added, before you both turned towards the big house.

"Have fun kids! Remember I'll call you when I'm coming back to pick you up!" your mom yelled after you before lovingly scoffing and driving away.

You knocked on the door and waited silently until Jenna rushed to open the door.

"Hey guys!" she smiled at you happily. "Come in, we're just waiting on a couple more people and then we can start the fun."

You went in and handed her your presents, wishing her a happy birthday before sitting down with your friends. Chris and you were friends among yourselves still, but usually when you were with other people you each had your own friends to be around. You sat down next to Anna and Maddy, and you gossiped in hushed voices about what's gonna happen at the party, who broke up with who, and that unflattering shirt Kailee was wearing, just your normal girl talk. Chris was probably talking to his friends about football and skateboards, or whatever it was boys talked about. Honestly, you were never too bothered to ask.

The room filled out a little more and Jenna came back with a few cups and bottles of drinks. None of them were alcoholic of course – this was a 7th-grade party after all. She settled down on the carpet with all of you. There was a chorus of "Happy birthday Jenna"s before an awkward silence settled over the room. None of you really knew what to do next.

"So," Jenna started, "anyone has some ideas about what to do?" she said nonchalantly.

There was a little pause for thought before one of the girls, Katie, spoke up. "Oh! There's this game my sister told me about. It's called seven minutes in heaven," she said with a smug smile. Katie was one of the only kids with older siblings who actually told her things, which made her the pinnacle of knowledge among the girls. "Do you have an empty bottle, Jenna?"

Katie explained the rules of the game. "Every time someone spins the bottle and needs to be in a closet or like, a small space, with whoever it lands on for seven whole minutes, no takebacks! And it has to be boys with girls," she smiled. "My sister told me that sometimes people kiss inside the closet. Once two of her friends went in and after seven minutes, they opened the door on them kissing!" she giggled as if letting you all in on a secret. You were all hooked. That sounded like such a big kid's game and you all wanted to play it. You got in a circle, putting on brave faces as Jenna came back with an empty water bottle. "Who wants to go first? You can go into the coat closet outside," Jenna gestured towards the entrance.

Mike, one of Chris's friends puffed out his chest. "I'll go first," he smiled, seemingly confident. He spun the bottle and it landed on Katie. "Well, after you," he smiled as he helped her up.

They went into the closet and you all dispersed into quiet conversations.

"Think they're gonna kiss?" Anna whispered.

"I don't know," Maddy said. "Katie and Mike actually seem like a good couple to me. Something might come out of this."

You nodded and hummed in agreement. You were thinking about whether you wanted that bottle to land on you or not. If it landed on you, would you finally kiss a boy?

Mike and Katie came back. The girl immediately surrounded her and the boys him, questioning in hushed voices: "did you kiss?" "What was it like in there?". But Katie and Mike kept their mouths shut, cryptic smiles on their faces. "Let's continue the game!" Katie finally exclaimed and you all went back to sitting in a circle.

"Who's next?"

"I'll go next," Chris smiled, encouraged by his friends patting him on the back as he reached forward and spun the bottle, your thoughts spinning with it. Would it be weird if Chris kissed another girl before you kissed a boy? An odd feeling coiled in your stomach at the thought.

The bottle finally slowed down, stopping on Mike. "Spin it again!" everyone yelled.

"Alright, alright," Chris laughed as he spun the bottle once more. It slowed down again stopping on you this time. You haven’t even thought about that. Would kissing Chris be the solution to your earlier question?

The room filled with whispers. Chris and you were friends, everyone knew that. But some people have previously asked you if you weren't, you know, more than that. Boyfriend and Girlfriend. You denied every time – that's ridiculous, you've known each other since you were five, the usual.

Chris' cheeks reddened a little as he got up, gesturing for you to go first like Mike did before. You smiled a little shyly at him and went on, and he followed you into the dark closet. All of a sudden you felt aware of your limbs, and how little space you had to stand in.

"So… we have like seven minutes to pass. What do you wanna do?" you asked, trying to ease the tension.

"Do you think Katie and Mike kissed?" he asked out of the blue. You frowned, thinking it over. "I don’t know," you finally shrugged, "why?"

"Cause if they did, they're totally gonna hold it over us. Like, feel superior, ya know?"

"Guess you're right." You looked up at him and shrugged once more. He was already so much taller than you.

"What if we kissed? Just like, to keep them from getting too annoying about it," he quickly added.

"Well, whatever," you smiled.

He leaned down and your lips touched for a brief moment before you both pulled away, avoiding each other's eyes.

"That wasn't so bad," you said teasingly, trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Nothing happened right? That was your first kiss, but it doesn't mean you and Chris need to stop being friends or anything. It was just to keep your friends in check.

"Yeah," he said and you both laughed awkwardly.

Your friends came to your rescue, opening the closet when the time was over.

The party continued and you had fun. You played some other games, and you were with your friends – it was great. You could officially say your first party without parents was a success.

When your mom came to pick you up you and Chris chatted in the car as if nothing happened. You didn’t tell anyone you kissed Chris, not even your mom. Just at night, when you went to sleep, you whispered into your pillow – I had my first kiss today.

16 years old

You knocked on Chris' room door, notebook in hand. "Come in!" he yelled from inside. You came in, closing the door behind you and flopped down on the bed next to Chris, who was watching Top Gun for like the hundredth time. "Hey, Chris cross applesauce," you greeted as you extended to notebook to him.

"You know saying that is longer than just Chris, right?" he scoffed, taking the notebook from your hand.

"I know, but it's catchier," you said and smiled stubbornly. "Aren’t you tired of that movie already?"

"It's one of the greatest movies of all time," he said absently, trying to both copy your homework and keep enough of his focus on the movie.

"Whatever. Don’t you ever do your homework yourself?" you teased him. "Why would I when you do yours so well?" he smiled cheekily and you rolled your eyes.

"You're gonna have to start doing your homework sometime. Anyway, did anyone reply to you yet?" you asked, genuinely interested. A while back Chris told you he wanted to be an actor. At first, you were doubtful. You've seen him in school plays and such and you knew he enjoyed doing them, but you knew acting could be a tough career. It was also one he would probably pursue away from home, which was weird – you were so used to Chris living across the street from you almost your whole lives. But then you saw how serious he was about this you knew you had to support him in his dream. He sent out a letter to a few summer internships in New York, and he was waiting on answers.

"Actually yes!" Chris jumped up and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to you. You read it quickly, mumbling beneath your breath, "we want to offer you an internship…" you finished reading the letter and smiled at Chris, who was beaming back at you. "That's amazing!" you hugged him without a second thought. You caught Chris by surprise but he quickly wrapped his hands around you. You pulled away, looking down and smiling shyly.

"Yeah, everyone here was really excited to hear about it. I'm surprised you didn’t hear us from your place," Chris laughed, and then his smile turned bitter. "There was one person who wasn't so happy. We broke up." You sent him a sympathetic look. His girlfriend was bitching for a while, you weren't surprised they broke up, but you were still bummed for Chris. When you broke up with your boyfriend a few months ago, Chris was there for you and you intended to do the same.

"Well, I guess you're gonna spend your summer in New York, surrounded by hot girls and tons of shops. Can’t say I'm jealous about the hot girls part, but I wish I could go shopping in New York."

Chris laughed. "I am gonna be working, you know. Earn my money. So I doubt how much of the girls or the shops I'll be seeing."

"Hot secretaries," you argued wittily and he laughed once more, the sound filling your heart with pride; you made it happen. You just wanted your best friend to be happy. "You have a point," he admitted, smiling smugly, and then, "What's that letter? I can’t tell if it's an 'i' or an 'l'." He pointed to your notebook.

"Shut up, that's clearly an 'r'!"

"That's what you call a clear 'r'? It just looks like a straight line!"

You swatted his arm and he laughed. "You should be thankful you're getting my homework anyways." You raised your eyebrows at him. "I am," he said, his blue eyes meeting yours. "I'll be even more thankful if you wrote a better 'r' though," he smirked. You took out your tongue at him and you both laughed.

You were happy for Chris, but you had a hard time picturing summer without him.

20 years old

At 20 years old, you were finally in LA for the first time in your life. The City of Angels did not disappoint, filled with beautiful people and huge lavish houses. You liked NYC better, but you had to admit LA had its charm.

Chris and you were sitting in the corner of a dimly lit Italian restaurant, eating your pasta bowls in companionable silence.

"So, excited for tomorrow?" you asked, smiling at him from across the table.

"More like terrified," he chuckled as if joking, but you knew him well enough to know he was actually nervous. You reached your hand across the table to rest on his, comforting him. "I'm sure it's gonna be great. The only thing I'm worried about is that now you're becoming a movie star and you're gonna forget about us," you added jokingly. To be honest, you knew you shouldn't really be worried about that; Chris was too good to pull something like that. But deep down you couldn't help feeling like he's going off on his own, that he's going to disappear from your life.

Like you read him, Chris knew how to read you. "You know that would never happen," he turned his hand palm up and squeezed yours. "Yeah, I know," you smiled. "You're always gonna be just… Chris cross applesauce." You giggled and he rolled his eyes at you.

"Still stubborn on that I take it," he huffed.

"Always," you winked and he laughed. "But anyway, I'm excited to see you play a jock. I'm sure it would be great," you smiled smugly.

"Oh god," he buried his face on his hands and you laughed. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Probably not," you laughed.

"Ugh," he groaned. "And there's this one scene… whatever, I guess you'll see it tomorrow. Why did I agree to this?"

"You mean this as in this movie or as in bringing me to watch it?" you asked, amused and curious about what scene he was talking about.

"Everything."

"Well, that's your problem I guess, can’t resist the opportunity to do the things you love," you laughed, and then realized what you just said. "Oh my god that came out so wrong!" you put your face in your hands while Chris laughed. "I meant like, acting," you clarified as you laughed along with him.

"I know," he said and smiled, his eyes shining with mirth and… well, love. But that was normal – you've known each other for fifteen years; you wouldn't have stayed friends if you didn’t love each other. It was a given, you never had to say it. But it was a constant that comforted you many times.

You smiled back, and your eyes were probably shining with love as well.

26 years old

There was a knock at your room door. You looked at the clock beside your bed; 1 am. Who could it be at that hour?

You opened the door in your pajamas, still weary from your interrupted sleep. You saw Chris, who was breathing heavily and quite honestly looking like shit, as much as Chris could be.

"What’s going on?" you asked, brows furrowing as you guided him in to sit on the bed. His breathing hitched and you saw tears shining in his eyes. He shook his head, and you noticed his body was shaking as well. You sobered up, putting your hands on his cheeks and guiding his gaze to yours. "Chris, just breathe with me, okay? Match your breathing to mine and we can breathe together. That’s right, everything's fine. You're okay." You kept breathing slowly, encouraging him to match his breathing to yours. You've never seen Chris have an anxiety attack, you didn't even know he had them, but you knew what they were, obviously.

You helped Chris calm down and he closed his eyes, clearly keeping in tears. You wrapped your hands around him in a tight hug and put his head on your shoulder. He sobbed into your shoulder, burying his head in the crook of your neck. You sat there for a few minutes until his breathing calmed down completely. You pulled away and your eyes locked with Chris' blue ones.

"What's going on?" you asked softly.

"I just… there's so much going on right now. Which I ought to be thankful for, I guess. And I know it's self-centered, but… I can't help but feel like all of these eyes are on me. And I," he took a breath, " I might not have all that much going on later. You know how it is- you never know what your next project will be, and I'm not that good anyway. So, I could disappoint them. I'm so grateful for what I have, but the possibilities to fail are overwhelming." You looked at him sympathetically. "But that's just a spoiled thing to say I guess," he added quickly and chuckled, as if dismissing it. "I have pretty much all that I could ask for and I'm still complaining." His head hung low, his gaze boring into the floor and your heart broke for him.

"Chris," you nudged his head up to yours. "You are amazing, and you are entitled to your own problems. The fact is, it is stressful. And you're not undermining other people's problems – I know you don't, you’re one of the kindest people I know. So, if you need help, panic attacks might be a good sign to go and ask for it. If you're in too deep with your own problems, you can't help the people around you."

"Panic attacks?" he looked puzzled.

You raised your brow at him, sending him a questioning look. "Yeah, that's what it seemed like."

"It just happened, like, a couple of times until now, and I'm sure-"

"Chris." You cut him off, "Even if they weren't you should still talk to someone about what’s stressing you out. Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess when I-"

"No, no postponing this," you cut him off once more. "Tell you what. I'll find someone, and once I do, you're going. Promise?"

He looked down, considering what you said, no doubt thinking you were going a little crazy about this. You didn’t care. Over the years, you've seen and heard enough about what anxiety does to people, and you couldn't let that happen to someone you loved.

"Promise." he finally looked up at you.

"Good." You hugged him once more, and it wasn't long before your eyes were drooping low, Chris' as well. You nudged him and you both fell onto the bed, tired out.

You woke up in Chris' arms the next morning. Somehow he managed to become the big spoon during the night. You untangled yourself from his arms, silently walking to your computer to start your search.

You were determined to help your best friend.

28 years old

"Hey there, Chris cross applesauce!" you said, hugging him briefly and sitting down beside him at his kitchen table. "What's up? You sounded nervous on the phone."

He chuckled at your antics. "You know how I was on the fence about taking the Cap role, right?"

"Yeah, I also know I told you to take it and that you'd be the perfect Captain America and you pretty much ignored me." That was a bit of a downplay of the many conversions you had about the topic, which were a little more serious than this. "What about it?"

"I took it," he grinned.

Your mouth literally shifted into an O shape and you gasped. "Are you kidding me? Is this a joke or are you for real right now?"

He shook his head. "It's for real."

"Oh my god, Chris that's amazing! I'm so proud of you!" your smile was so wide you thought your cheeks were going to rip. You hugged him tightly, practically squealing. You pulled away slightly, your face staying close to his. "That was a really brave thing to do. You're gonna be so great!"

"Yeah," he smiled timidly. "There is one more brave thing I haven't done yet, and I definitely should have."

"What, you wanna go bungee jumping?" you chuckled.

"Scarier." And before you had the chance to reply, he crashed his lips into yours, still managing to kiss you softly.

It felt like something inside you finally clicked. Suddenly you remembered everything and you realized; you've loved Chris for years. How could you not? He was your person, always in your corner, and you always in his. You rationalized that it was friendship, but deep down you knew this was more. You remembered the day of your first kiss, and how you could've just told your friends that you kissed and it would've had the same effect. No other kiss made you feel this light and giddy, until now. When Chris kissed you, it felt right. The missing piece was there all along.

You pulled apart, your breaths heaving. Your eyes met his, a smile creeping onto both of your faces. "I-" Chris started, but you cut him off, "I know," you bit your lip, "me too."

Your lips touched once more, more tentative than before, taking your time to explore each other. Time seemed to slow, leaving you both in a bubble of your own. You and Chris were always in a bubble when you were together, now you just gathered the courage to call it what it is – love.

31 years old

You looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. If you were nervous, Chris is probably terrified right now. But you knew it was good terrified.

You took in your white-clad form in the mirror. In spite of your nerves, you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. 25 years of memories weren't nearly enough, but you fondly remembered each and every one of these memories. And you were ready to make a lot more if you could do it with Chris by your side.

You took one more steadying breath as you got ready to walk down the aisle. Today was the day; you were finally getting married.

Finally seems like an understatement. Looking back, you probably fell in love with Chris the moment he offered his hand to you when you were five. It just took you a little time to realize it.

And so, your heart swelling with love and a beam on your face, you were getting married to the love of your life.

39 years old

"Happy birthday baby," you whispered as you both woke up, the sun hitting your face.

"Thanks," Chris murmured as he buried his face in your neck to kiss you, his voice deep from the night's sleep.

"Mommy! Daddy! I can't find my bow!" Ella, your 2-year-old screamed from her room.

"Guess the kids are awake," Chris said in a disappointed tone and you chuckled.

You both got up and went to face the day – like you did so many things since that day thirty-odd years ago – together.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans headcanon #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans birthday #happy birthday chris evans #not another teen movie #captain america #steve rogers

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ilovejevsjeans · 4 years ago

Text

LGBT+ History Month: Mike Beuttler - Formula 1's only known gay male driver

Mike Beuttler raced against many of the all-time Formula 1 greats in the early 1970s - and then disappeared.Even the British driver's closest motorsport friends heard nothing from him over the final 14 years of his life.Then, in late 1988, they learned from his family that he had died in Los Angeles of Aids, aged 48.Beuttler remains the only known gay male driver to have competed at the highest level of motorsport.

He did so at a time when F1 was an especially macho environment. James Hunt, the 1976 world champion, famously had the phrase, 'Sex, the breakfast of champions' embroidered on his overalls and many drivers had reputations for being womanisers.There were no organisations such as Racing Pride, which launched in 2019 to promote LGBT+ inclusivity in motorsport.

So how did his friends view him?

"Mike gave it absolutely everything on track - he wasn't a natural talent but he worked hard," former motorsport journalist and friend Ian Phillips told BBC Sport.

"I knew he was gay, but it didn't matter in my world."

The racing world of the 2020s is a very different place to that of the 1970s.Matt Bishop, a Racing Pride ambassador and Aston Martin F1 chief communications officer, said: "In the early 1970s, people didn't talk about being gay.

"In the United Kingdom, it was only in 1967 that homosexuality was legalised between two consenting adults in private.

"Why would Beuttler be out and proud? He wouldn't. I don't think the word 'out' really existed when he was racing.

"Beuttler did bring a girlfriend and different women to races, perhaps it was a convenient disguise, because it stopped the tongues wagging."

'Blocker' Beuttler's racing career

Beuttler raced in F1 for three seasons, from 1971 to 1973. As well as Hunt, he faced other world champions in Sir Jackie Stewart and Niki Lauda.His path to the sport began to open up after he had success in the late 1960s in Formula 3 and then moved to Formula 2, most notably winning at Vallelunga in Italy in 1971.Phillips met Beuttler in 1970, and got to know the driver well as he competed in Formula 2.

"He was quiet compared to Hunt or [British driver and motorcycle racer] Mike Hailwood and an incredibly friendly guy, but beneath that was a fierce determination and he took racing immensely seriously," said Phillips.

Beuttler got the reputation of being a very rough racer, because he did not like being overtaken and would block anyone who got in his way - and the nickname 'Blocker' was born.In 1971, Beuttler made his F1 debut at the British Grand Prix in a privately funded March car.His career was financed by stockbroker friends and in 1972 he raced as a semi-works March driver, with Lauda and Ronnie Peterson as his team-mates at the Canadian Grand Prix.

"He probably wasn't ready for F1 when he joined, but had a great team of backers," said Phillips.

"He made up for it with his determination and every time he climbed out of the car you knew he had been at work - he was sweating and his eyes were bulging."

In 1973, Beuttler achieved his best-ever finish, seventh in the Spanish Grand Prix. Overall, he scored five top-10 finishes in his career.But then the UK was plunged into financial turmoil by the 1973 oil crisis, and his team did not have the money to stay in the sport.Aged 34, Beuttler retired from racing.Ann Bradshaw, a motorsport PR consultant who first met Beuttler in the early 1970s, said:

"There was no stigma with Mike, he was a nice gentle person - everyone knew he was gay, it wasn't a secret and it was accepted."

'He just disappeared, completely'

After Beuttler left motorsport he moved to the USA, spending time in San Francisco and Los Angeles.

"I suspect it would have been easier for him to live the lifestyle he wanted in LA and San Francisco, whereas being gay in London was a more secretive thing," said Phillips.

"He probably wanted to find his own generation where he could be open and free."

Beuttler's life in the USA remains a mystery, though there are reports he went into the business world.

"He just disappeared completely," said Phillips. "I don't know anyone who had any contact with him, apart from family."

What is known is that Beuttler died of Aids on 29 December 1988.

"His sister phoned me when he died," said Phillips.

"She phoned out of the blue one day and said, 'I am the sister of Mike Beuttler and I am very sad to tell you that he died of Aids in LA.'

"He was such a nice bloke."

'LGBT+ people have always been part of motorsport'

Since Beuttler's death, several motorsport drivers have come out as gay. Le Mans class winner Danny Watts came out in 2017, a year after retiring, while in the W Series there is LGBT+ representation on track in fellow British drivers Abbie Eaton and Sarah Moore. Richard Morris, co-founder of Racing Pride and a driver for the Praga team in the Britcar Endurance Championship, came out as gay in 2018, when already established in motorsport.

"I took my boyfriend to a race before I came out when I was racing in Formula Ford and he was there as my friend," said Morris, 30.

"I had women around me at tracks who were my friends. Some people knew I was gay but I wasn't out - I think that is very similar to Beuttler's experience."

Morris said coming out to the motorsport community has been a positive experience.

"I already had a boyfriend for seven or eight years but I had not told people in motorsport," he said.

"You worry it might affect your relationship with mechanics, you worry you might get extra scrutiny on social media and you worry sponsors will think it is a risk.

"But my team was very supportive and lots of other drivers started putting Racing Pride stickers on their cars - it has been brilliant."

Beuttler's legacy

With LGBT+ people being more regularly accepted and celebrated in motorsport now, how is Beuttler remembered today?

"Regarding his position in the pantheon of LGBT+ sporting heroes, it is time he is rehabilitated," said Bishop.

"If he was alive, he would have been interviewed about Section 28 and gay marriage."

Section 28 was a law that affected England, Wales and Scotland, passed in 1988 by a Conservative government that stopped councils and schools "promoting the teaching of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship".

There were mass protests by LGBT+ campaigners and the law was repealed in Scotland in 2000, before England and Wales did the same in 2003. Same-sex marriage became legal in England and Wales in March 2014, in Scotland in December 2014 and in Northern Ireland in January 2020.

"It is really interesting to look at Beuttler's story now - it shows LGBT+ people have always been part of motorsport and they have been really successful," said Morris.

"It also reminds us of the challenges faced." (X)

#Mike Beuttler #f1 #lgbt+

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mourntheantagonist · 4 years ago

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Steve and Billy going camping with Max n the Party and all Billy wants to do is get in a tent with Steve

Hey I’m here thirty years later!

I had a lot of fun with this one so I hope this is kind of in the realm of what you wanted!!!

read on ao3

How a gaggle of fourteen year olds managed to convince Steve to take them all on a weekend camping trip was beyond him. Okay maybe it wasn’t. All it took was El’s signature pout and Steve was as good as gone. The real shocker however, is how they managed to convince Billy Hargrove of all people to tag along as well.

He’d heard from Max that their relationship had been slowly improving ever since that night at the Byers, and he’d have to agree with Max that Billy had truly become less hostile as the months passed. But this was the first time he’s ever seen Billy acting so brotherly.

Steve had driven the male party members out into the woods, while Billy, Max, and El had driven separately. The three were late, of course. But Steve’s not quite sure he can exactly pin that on Billy. El is definitely poor when it comes to punctuality.

They couldn’t actually set up shop until the others arrived, seeing as they were supposed to select the chosen spot together. But as he watched the seconds tick by on his watch he grew more and more impatient he was close to saying fuck it and making it a boys only trip. That was until, seemingly on cue, the familiar roar of the Camaro echoed through the trees.

Watching Billy step out from the driver's seat was the first reminder that he hadn’t actually seen Billy in a while. Because so much had changed. His hair was less disheveled and chaotic as he remembered. But way curlier. It was slightly lighter too. The arrival of summer brought out the natural highlights in his hair. But it wasn’t just his appearance that had changed. Instead of exiting the car with the slam of his foot, the flick of a cigarette, and a predatory look… he was laughing. Laughing along with El and Max about something entirely unknown, and when asked, wasn’t revealed.

If Steve hadn’t let himself grow increasingly annoyed over the past fifteen minutes he stood there waiting, he might’ve cared to know. But the sun was beating down, he’d had to listen to Mike and Dustin argue about some Star Trek nonsense for the duration of the drive along with the time spent waiting, and he was starving.

“You’re late.” Steve said dryly.

“That’s my fault,” Billy replied with some residual laughter from whatever was so funny. “I forgot to counter in Hopper’s 20 minute ‘protect my kid’ speech when I went to pick up El.”

“Well I’m starving. So let’s find a spot, and let’s find it quickly.” Steve probably should’ve tried at least a little to tone down his irritation.

“Someone’s in a mood.” Max says under her breath, causing El to break out into another fit of giggles.

The gang decided not to test their luck against a hungry Steve Harrington. Especially not one wielding a baseball bat coated in rusty nails. So they piled all their camping supplies onto their backs and hauled ass through the woods.

After only ten minutes of searching, they stumbled across a nice clearing just 50 feet off the lake with a picnic table and fire pit already set up for them. Perfect.

The guys started by setting up their tents, while El and Max worked on gathering twigs for the fire. Dustin has meticulously established the sleeping arrangements. Five small tents. Eleven with Max, Dustin with Will, Lucas with Mike, and Billy and Steve alone in their own separate tents. It’s the perfect set up so long as Lucas doesn’t bring up any conversation regarding Empire Strikes Back being anything lower than number one out of the entire trilogy. Because then there would be chaos.

But when is Mike not the problem?

After getting set up, they finally got to break out some delicious ham and swiss sandwiches (courtesy of Claudia Henderson), and Steve was finally entering into a better mood.

He couldn’t entirely credit the sandwich however, because something about this new and improved Billy warmed something inside of him. He was less abrasive and more relaxed. He wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone and instead was allowing himself to have a good time. Teasing his sister rather than tormenting her. Tossing knowing looks towards Lucas rather than threatening ones. Okay scratch that. They were definitely threatening. But more playful. The typical older brother spiel. The ‘you hurt her, I’ll rip your throat out through your ears’ kind of thing. And he was actually trying to make conversation with him. Only slightly poking fun at him every now and then. Not for the purposes of taunting, instead just his typical charm showing through.

“So what you been up to this summer? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”

“I’ve been working at Scoops Ahoy in the new mall. Not much else really.”

Billy took another bite of his sandwich and nodded. “I recently got hired on at the pool. Teaching lessons and life guarding. Saving up for when I go out to college in the fall.” He didn’t swallow the bite before speaking. New and improved Billy didn’t have table manners he guesses.

“Oh really? Where you headed to?”

“Full ride at USC.” Billy let out a hollow laugh. “Dad’s pissed I’m not enlisting.”

Steve picked up on the way Billy’s smile faltered at the mention of his Dad. He’d remembered Max mentioning once or twice about how her step-father was an asshole. For fucks sake Billy got a full ride to a prestigious university and his Dad is upset about that? He couldn’t even get into Tech.

“I think it’s awesome.” Steve finally said. “I didn’t get accepted anywhere so I’m probably going to end up going to work for my Dad at his company.”

Apparently Steve let his disappointment show in the last statement.

“Shit that sucks man. Dads are shit.”

Steve lets his mouth twitch upward into a smile. He looks back down at his almost finished sandwich and lets out a slight chuckle.

“Yeah. Dads are shit.”

- : -

After they all finished up their late lunches, the kids decided to move the party away from the table and into the lake. They walked along the lake shore for maybe a quarter of a mile before finding an abandoned rope swing attached to a tree directly next to deep waters. Steve and Billy both notice as Max gets this fire in her eye and neither adult bothers stopping her before pushing an unexpecting Lucas into the water. The whole group bursts into laughter as he makes the splash, well everyone except of course for Lucas.

But quickly the rest of them joined him in the water. All of them swinging in by the rope. Surprisingly the most timid out of all of them was Steve himself, who in a moment of desperation had to have Billy give him a push.

Billy followed him in with a much larger splash than he had previously achieved. But it wasn’t a competition or anything.

Billy emerged from the water like a fucking mermaid. Graceful. His hair was completely saturated in water yet his curls still managed to pack a punch. He glistened under the rays of the sun and with the reflection of the water beneath him. Steve felt chills up and down his entire body as he watched him float away on his back. Watching as his chiseled chest rose and fell with every breath and the light from the sun reflected off of the water droplets on his sun kissed skin. He would just excuse it for the cool temperature of lake water.

But it wasn’t that cold to be completely honest. It’s June. One of the hottest months of the year and the weather is peaking at nearly 100 degrees. The water feels perfect in actuality.

Steve swims around for a bit with the boys, plays a couple rounds of Marco Polo, and then excuses himself to lie out on the shore. He watches as they all have a blast. Lucas and Max are basically trying to drown Mike. Will and Dustin are competing to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest. Will has been cheating the entire time and Dustin has absolutely no clue. Billy and El are off in the corner. He’s picking her up and tossing her into the water. They both appear to be having a really good time. Billy is surprisingly really good with El. He’s actually pretty good with all of the kids all things considered. Something must’ve happened when he wasn’t looking because he seemed to be the only one to bat an eye at the mentioning that Billy Hargrove would be joining them on the trip.

Steve inspected the time and decided to give the kids their 15 minute warning. Sun set was inching closer and they still had other preparations. He watched as Max swam over to where El and Billy were and after watching them exchange a couple sentences, Billy swam away and towards where Steve sat on the shore.

Billy pushed himself out of the water and dried himself off with a towel. He wrung out his hair and secured the wet mess of curls up with a purple scrunchie. He threw his sweatshirt on, zipper remaining undone showing off his exposed chest, and he plopped down next to Steve.

Oh boy. Steve hopes Billy didn’t notice the fact that he was staring at him that entire time.

“So what’s the plan for the rest of tonight Stevie?”

Steve feigned annoyance at the nickname (though it secretly made him embarrassingly giddy). “Well we’re going to roast some hot dogs and make some s’mores and hang around the fire before bed.”

“Sounds like a plan Harrington.”

An uncomfortable silence grows from there. The two of them sitting side by side looking out at the lake in front of them. Nothing but the sounds of splashing water and giggling teenagers. Billy is picking at the grass. Thinking. Steve might say he even looks nervous.

“I’m sorry about last November.” Billy doesn’t look up from where it’s pointing towards the overgrown blades of dead grass.

It’s not the snarky and forced apology he was expecting. To be completely honest he never did expect one. Seven months had passed since it happened and not a single word from Billy. He just left him alone like his sister demanded.

“I’ve wanted to apologize before. But I wasn’t in a great place and didn’t want to screw it up. I probably already did by taking so long.” He took a deep breath and finally looked up. Eyes focused on the lake and avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I needed to make sure I was apologizing for the right reasons. Not just to get my sister off my back or to somehow make myself feel better about what I did to your face. I needed to apologize so that you knew that I was sorry. And I needed to be okay with you not forgiving me for it. So that’s why I’m saying it now.”

Billy finally looks over at Steve who has been staring at Billy with wide eyes. It’s weird, because when Steve thinks about it, he kind of forgave him a long time ago. Because yeah, what Billy did was shitty, but not completely unfounded. He’s been underneath someone like that, barreling into him without care, more than once. It would have been easy to say Billy and his interaction was nothing like what he had with Jonathan Byers. Billy was actually a bad guy.

But that’s the thing. He really wasn’t. Not after everything happened.

He wasn’t outwardly kind. But he didn’t start shit. He minded his own business and moved through high school the same way everyone else did. And after hearing Max and Dustin and El vouch for him to come on this trip, well that sort of just sealed the deal. He forgave him before he even apologized.

But here he was. Apologizing. And for some reason Steve was rethinking ever forgiving him. It made no sense. But somehow actually knowing and believing Billy was actually sorry made forgiveness harder. Like in his mind it was easier because Billy didn’t get to know that he was forgiven. He was scared by telling Billy that he would be justifying what he did.

So Steve doesn’t respond. And he can tell that Billy’s upset about it. It’s only been ten minutes but he decides to call the kids out of the water anyway.

- : -

The sun was setting and everyone had gathered around the campfire to roast marshmallows. Things had been ever so tense between Steve and Billy ever since their conversation at the lake. No one else seemed to notice though.

It was easy to distract himself from Billy’s saddened state by watching as Dustin set his marshmallow on fire. Every time without fail. Max wasn’t roasting hers, just eating the marshmallows straight out of the bag because she doesn’t like graham crackers. Billy was intently making the most golden brown marshmallow for El because she didn’t know how to properly roast her own. It was really sweet. Billy seemed happy to do it but at the same time he had that lingering gloomy look on his face that would come in and out of existence.

Steve felt a little bad because he did that. Yeah, it’s the guy who nearly killed him, but he didn’t want to make him sad.

He brightened up a little bit when the bickering began between Dustin and Mike. This was the reason they couldn’t share a tent. Max, El, and Billy moved into their own conversation out of earshot while Steve tried to calm down an overly enthusiastic Dustin.

When the argument ended Billy was looking to be in a much better mood than before. It was a little odd. They noticed the fire starting to dim so Max and El quickly excused themselves to go gather some more twigs from the forest.

Billy was poking at the fire with a stick, trying to keep it alive (masking a developing smirk on his face).

“Hey Steve!!” Max’s voice echoes. “There’s a gaping hole in your tent!”

El is stifling a laugh. Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

Steve rushes over to inspect the damage and yeah, it’s a gaping hole alright. His entire body could fit through it. How did he not notice it earlier?

“Goddamnit!” Steve curses the air.

“I’m sure Billy wouldn’t mind sharing!” El says, albeit, a little too excitedly.

Steve looks over to Billy who is still poking at the fire. “Yeah. I got room, I don’t mind.”

And now Steve can’t just say no. He’d have to give a reason and well… he’s kind of strapped for an alternative so, Billy’s tent it is.

- : -

They stay by the campfire until the sun has completely set and the fire has gone out on its own. They broke out a couple of Beers and after several minutes of constant begging Steve caved and let the party have a small amount of beer each, poured into a red solo cup.

“This tastes like shit.” Dustin made a ridiculous face.

“Still better than New Coke.” Mike chimed in.

Billy helped Steve carry his things over to Billy’s tent. It was extremely awkward. Billy hadn’t really said a word to Steve the entire time and now they were supposed to sleep side by side in a pretty compact space? This should be fun.

An over dramatic yawn released by Max was their signal to head to sleep. The stars were clear above them and they had a pretty eventful day. Steve made sure everything was good while the rest of them piled into their own tents. Once he’s sure the food is secured and everyone is where they’re supposed to be, he sucks in a sharp breath and makes his way over to Billy in his tent.

Billy is already in his sleeping bag. He’s got a book in one hand and a flashlight in his other. Steve quickly discards his shoes and jeans and covers himself in his own sleeping bag.

They’re both facing away from each other. It isn’t until Steve hears the click of the flashlight and the illumination in the tent disappears that he realizes neither of them have spoken.

Steve has been thinking about the apology all night. He planned to just leave it be. Maybe thank him for apologizing but leave it at that. But seeing how much he’s changed and seeing how sincere he was being told him maybe Billy deserved to be forgiven. He also looked like he needed to be forgiven, despite what he said before at the lake.

“I needed to apologize so that you knew that I was sorry. And I needed to be okay with you not forgiving me for it. So that’s why I’m saying it now.”

“I forgive you Billy.”

“Hmm?”

“I said I forgive you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back at the lake.” Steve took in a deep breath and continued. “I wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing. But you’re clearly not the same person you were that night. I just didn’t really see it at first. I’m going to have to get used to this new and improved version of Billy Hargrove.”

Billy smiled to himself.

“Thanks.”

Steve smiled too.

The tent grew silent again after that. But it was slightly less tense than it was before.

“Can I say something stupid?” Billy asks.

Steve turns over to face Billy. He laughs. “Yeah. It’d be nice hearing it come from someone else for a change.”

Billy doesn’t turn to face Steve, but he can tell that he’s nervous because it’s quiet enough to hear his breathing quicken.

“I like you. Like… in that way. Sorry if that’s weird.”

Steve is quick to respond.

“Hey, it’s not weird. Don’t apologize for that.” He’s thinking a lot about Will. He and Dustin had talked about it before. How they’d be sure to make sure that Will knew it was okay whenever he chose to tell them. He doesn’t see why that should be any different for anyone else. Including Billy Hargrove.

But he guesses this is kind of different. It’s not just a confession of being into guys. It’s a confession of being into a specific guy. The specific guy in question being Steve.

It would also be pretty hypocritical of Steve to be weirded out. Not two hours ago he was fully objectifying Billy’s shirtless body. He might not like Billy. But dammit he was definitely attracted to him.

“If you’re uncomfortable I can hike back to the Camaro and sleep there. It’s not a problem.”

Billy had already begun unzipping the sleeping bag. Steve instinctively put a hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“Hey. Billy it’s seriously alright. Look at me.”

Billy hesitated before rolling over. Their eyes met and due to the compact nature of their current sleeping arrangement, their faces lie mere inches away from each other. Steve had planned something to say, but he instantly forgot when he looked into Billy’s eyes. They weren’t the eyes belonging to an egregious asshole. They were the eyes belonging to a scared kid that maybe, given the time, Steve could grow to like.

He could try blaming it on the beer. But Billy and himself both knew he didn’t even finish the one. But still, Steve inched closer and kissed him. It was soft and gentle. Steve moved a hand up to caress Billy’s cheek. Billy gently grabbed Steve’s wrist and deepened the kiss.

Steve could feel Billy’s smile on his lips.

He slithered his other hand underneath Billy and pulled him in closer. Their bodies were completely pressed against each other at every point, save for the thickness of not one but two sleeping bags separating skin from skin.

Still they could feel each other’s heartbeats increase as their pace did the same. The kiss turned from gentle to one filled with need.

Billy began working at the zipper of his sleeping bag with his other hand and was able to break free. He rolled Steve over onto his back and situated one leg on either side of Steve’s hips. Their lips didn’t come unattached. Steve moved both hands to the back of Billy’s head and he took fists full of hair and tugged gently, causing Billy to quietly moan into his mouth.

It was complete euphoria.

Billy was in just his boxers. Meanwhile Steve was still beneath the thick material of his sleeping bag. Billy unzipped it quickly for Steve and immediately tossed it off of him. Billy snaked a hand underneath Steve’s shirt. Moving up and down the full length of his chest. Appreciating his minimal chest hair. On the trip back down Billy’s hand palmed Steve’s crotch where he was quickly becoming hard from all of the friction. Steve let out a gasp as he made contact.

“We can’t. The kids’ll hear us.”

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet pretty-boy.”

Billy waited for Steve to give indication that it was okay to continue. Steve laughed and pulled him back down to meet his lips. Billy hiked up his shirt and they shortly separated to pull it over his head. Billy moved back in to Steve’s neck and sucked harshly on several spots before peppering kisses all along the length of his torso until he reached his navel. Billy stuck his thumbs underneath the waistband of Steve’s briefs and slowly rolled them down.

Billy moves so that he’s in between Steve’s legs and lowers his head into his groin. Steve feels as the tension builds in the pit of his stomach from the delicate touch of Billy’s tongue. Even under the chill from the night air he’s warm all over.

“Feels so good Billy, Fuck!” He quickly puts a hand over his mouth when he realizes he said that a little too loudly.

Steve is just lying there, experiencing the utter bliss that is Billy Hargroves mouth wrapped around his cock making him feel every sensation all at once.

“I’m close.” He whispers. God he really hopes the kids are asleep.

“Come for me pretty-boy.”

And boy does he. Just the way he said it was enough for Steve. He was a goner at the mere drop of the words ‘pretty boy’.

Billy wiped away at his mouth and crawled back up to lay down next to him. Steve immediately pulls him into another kiss. He’s not quite ready to come down from the high he was currently in. Billy’s mouth on his was a fucking drug.

It’s weird to thank people after sex right?

Steve settles for something else when they finally part.

“It’s my turn.”

- : -

The two of them wake up in a single sleeping bag. Steve has his arms wrapped around Billy’s wasted and his head tucked into the crook of his neck. Steve is sweating because Billy’s is a goddamn space heater.

He can hear the rustling of the tents outside and quickly wakes up Billy so they can get out of their current suggestive position.

Billy in his sleepy state gives Steve a quick kiss on the lips. He’s quickly woken up by Dustin screaming at everyone to wake up from outside the tent.

“We’ll talk about this later?” Steve says with a laugh.

Billy nods and gives him another quick kiss before getting up and tossing on a new pair of clothes.

Once dressed they both exit the tent to see everyone making their way to the picnic table.

They pull out several boxes of cereal and some milk from the cooler and begin eating their breakfast. Billy is sitting across from Steve, gently kicking at his feet.

“Hey Steve what happened to your neck?” Dustin asks.

Steve’s eyes go wide and he quickly comes up with a cover.

“Oh uh, there were a lot of mosquitoes last night. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”

They all seem to accept the response and go back to their breakfasts.

Billy smirks at him from across the table and Steve stomps on his foot.

- : -

Max, Billy and El say their goodbyes and head off in the Camaro.

Once the Engine is running and they’ve started driving away they all burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe you actually took a knife to Steve’s tent.”

“I can’t believe you actually fucked Steve!”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #i really loved this prompt by the way #lemons

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nametags · 4 years ago

Text

But her emails...

I aim to be a woman of integrity. I’ve sat on the content I’m about to share for almost 6 years in part because it originally was a private conversation between me and a friend. A friend who happens to be a lead singer of a band, but a friend none the less. However the way people have been speaking about him and what’s been going on in the world lately, I couldn’t let this stay hidden anymore.

I’m tired of people claiming that because Patrick no longer uses social media (and hasn’t for damn near five years at this point) that somehow he doesn’t “care” or isn’t doing anything right now to help the Black Lives Matter movement. I’m also incredibly tired of people ignoring/belittling the fact that Pete Wentz is a biracial/black man in America. You really do not want the social media person in charge of Patrick’s account tweeting things out. It would be hollow and fake.

Below is both a transcript of the conversation I had with Patrick on 12/06/2014, a follow up message he sent to me 08/25/2015, and the accompanying screenshots. Unfortunately I do not have the tweet(s) that prompted me to contact him in the first place nor can I find screenshots of them to provide that context. An image of me and my younger brother Jacob when we met the band at Boys of Zummer will also be attached to demonstrate one of the people I was concerned about in my original email.

The only redactions made were my personal email address and the name of a friend I referenced. Patrick deleted his email account at some point between late 2016 and early 2017. It’s only left in these screenshots as proof for those who knew the address before to see these were legitimate messages. I hope the content reveals not only where his heart lies not only then but where it is now.

Allison White: So I caught the insanity way late, but it's a tricky spot to be in with what's going on. For most of my life, I didn't even identify with half of my race. I was raised with my mom's side of the family and it just didn't click for me. It really hasn't been until teen years and onward that I've opened my eyes to it all. And with that, I began to grow wary of authority in a way. Like I still believe that people go into law enforcement for the right reasons. The few times I have dealt with police officers personally I haven't been concerned, but I have noticed in the past few years that when I spot a police car on the road or an officer just out in public somewhere is if I look "white enough" or do I actually look like an adult who belongs in whatever space I am in. I know Trayvon Martin was murdered by a vigilante and not an actual officer of the law, but that was when I first started to fear for my little brothers. I knew both of them were the sort of young men that could get targeted and most likely justice would not be found for them. And then there comes this summer. With both the Mike Brown and Eric Garner cases coming back with no indictment, it makes it feel as if it's just open season for black people to be hunted by cops. Which is hurtful for the cops who are actually in it to protect and serve, and every citizen who now has to wonder if they are next. I hope that your cousin is doing alright. I hope that people aren't making his job harder right now. Just I know for me right now with all that's going on I am definitely on the side of the protesters.

Patrick Stump: Brief for now; I'm sorry in all that you didn't notice that I'm squarely on the side of the protestors too. That's a failure of my wording

PS: The problem is that I so poorly expressed myself, people thought I was balancing the empathy to be spread across the black community and cops. That's a mistake on my part. I'm angry.

I'm angry that Mike Brown's case didn't yield enough evidence to indict. But that case was a very complicated one...Brown had just (allegedly) committed a violent crime and information was murky. As sure as I was that Wilson straight up murdered the Brown, I understood the limitations of the american Justice system given how little evidence there was. That's the unfortunate reality of justice is that it needs to be just. It needs to be 100%. We can't go in with "I know in my heart." And so that case pissed me off, but I understood it.

With Eric Garner however, this just feels so flagrant. By no accounts was he violent, wasn't he doing anything that could even be misconstrued as life-threatening enough to even imagine defending the usage of deadly force. He was cooperating and they choked him to death on camera. That's fucked up. I'm pissed. I tried to be polite and sit back and not say anything, but I'm pissed.

However, my reason for discussing the side of the police as well is that human beings are complicated. When we boil people down to simplistic stereotypes, when we create a narrative of "Us VS them," we lose sight of the humanity of it all. You can't reason with a "Them." You can only reason with a person and it works better when you remember they're people.

I don't believe in enemies. I'm not religious but I love the way Jesus preached "Love thy enemy." That's hugely influential to me. Hugely important. That's the empathy I mean.

The other night I was holding my son and I thought to myself about a black girl I used to date. And how, we could have had a kid together. Maybe a little boy. And how, that boy could (by no action of his own) be killed just for the color of his skin. Like, I've heard and read words like that before, but to actually connect with it (on as small a scale as that) was horrifying. Gutting. For a little moment I thought, all this joy and all this beauty and somewhere, someone's having a black baby boy, loving him and feeling all the same things I feel for my son. But I wondered if in between their tired diaper changes and their burpings, if they were saying a silent prayer "I hope you don't get killed by a cop." If they say it constantly because they know how possible it is. Or even if he lives to be a 100, what black man won't have an unjust run in with the law? Not to make it exclusively a male issue but seriously, how many black men are in prison right now in America? That's a disgusting thing. The young parent of a young black boy probably considers that and that's maybe the most depressing thing I've ever tried to understood. That's a horrifying thing. There really still is a racial divide in this country, and to not be black is to not say those little prayers. We live in a supposedly free country. What about the pursuit of happiness? Who's defending the right of that little black baby boy born somewhere in America to just be an adorable little baby without any pretense? And when that baby grows up, who's defending his right to walk down a residential sidewalk and not expect to get pulled over and frisked? Maybe worse?

So I'm angry. Just plain angry. But I didn't want to offend anyone so I expressed my anger in the lightest way I could think of.

I'm not sorry for having an opinion, I'm sorry I explained it so poorly that you didn't know what it was.

AW: All of this is hard, and there is so much anger. You shouldn't ever be sorry for your opinions, and I am pretty sure you yourself have told people only be sorry for how you express your opinions. I wasn't upset with you or what you said, I just felt compelled to share that for me there's a knee jerk reaction to the image/idea of police and why. This whole situation has been tough and it's been inspiring watching people across this country let their anger show and demonstrate in the streets against it. It makes me wish I was brave enough to take part in it out in the streets and not just online.

I hope this collective anger and protest leads to real change. That in 2014 we are able to do the things they were aiming for in 1964. I mean recently the full letter the FBI sent to MLK to urge him into suicide was released and it just highlights the divide between how much has and has not changed. There's a lot of value in what religion is supposed to teach. Love thy enemy, love thy neighbor. True love and care for those around you is a great thing and certainly something I'd hope people identified with.

The past nearly seven years there has been this push for hope and change. Maybe the country is finally reaching a point to make it happen?

PS: I have a funny feeling this is civil rights part 2. I'm proud of the protests. I'm so grateful our generation is angry about something it should be angry about for a change.

AW: An argument can be made that our generation (or just post baby boomer generations in general) have been taught and fed nonsense to keep us compliant, but that veers into a territory that I am not completely sure or comfortable with. Overall I do think that this is heading a direction that the powers that be are not ready for in the slightest.

PS: Where did I go wrong? What do people think I said? They're so mad at me, and none of the people have said anything I didn't mean. I'm not getting angry right-wing stuff, people are just calling me a racist. What did I say that was racist? What do I think that's racist?

AW: There's a strong immediate reaction right now of if you sound slightly in favor of the officers that did wrong that you are racist. The swift reaction and need to dogpile on is kind of crazy. I think people took the initial comment to mean "not all cops!!!!" In the same vein as "not all men!!!" and that's where the rage is coming from.

AW: Just to be clear, those who matter know you're not racist. You have shown both in your words and actions where your beliefs lie. I don't know how to calm the masses right now because at least for the time being its not going to get through :(

AW: You could try a blog entry on tumblr?

PS: Nah, I think I've done enough damage for one lifetime. I think I'll keep it to myself but I appreciate your talking it through with me.

AW: No problem. I am always willing to be a sounding board for that stuff if you need it.

PS: I re-read my stuff; "I support our police," is the worst things said. I meant "I support the idea of police and the need for a police force we can trust on a national level," not "I support the police in NYC who are killing people and attacking protestors." That sucks.

AW: If you wanna try to clarify now you can. At least in your Google alert it only had one mention of he mess and it was a tumblr user supporting/defending you.

PS: There's no fixing it. The Internet is unforgiving I think and the reality is, I said that. I didn't mean it in the way that it so obviously sounds, but I said that. So I deserve everything I get.

AW: It will most likely go easier if you let it ride out instead of trying to go out and fight it. That just gives the "he doth protest too much" air about it. Hopefully the energy behind letting you know you said something like that will dissipate sooner rather than later. And that it won't get big enough for someone to write a story about it.

PS: Yeah. It'll sound like back-pedaling and glad-handing. Anyway, thanks for talking it through!

AW: You're very welcome! Thank you for hearing out my side of it this morning.

PS: I never would've ignored your side.

AW: Which is very much appreciated

AW: I say that because in the past two weeks I have lost a handful of friends because of all of what's going on and them being unable to understand how and why their words hurt me.

PS: Well that's awful and unfair

AW: It was but they were all from the "when I look at you I don't see black, I just see Ally" camp and then would go on to say things about stereotypes and "thugs"

PS: Yeah. Thug. "Oh that's so ghetto." Bullshit.

AW: When someone says "thug" it's always clear they wanna say the n word

PS: Or even if they're the kind of "Well meaning," person who knows enough not to say that word, they mean the same thing

PS: "Not like you. You're good"

PS: White America just needs to know what it doesn't know

PS: Or rather, understand that there are things they (we) will never understand. Not from a first person perspective.

AW: It always makes me want to scream. The erasure of identity so then the people known to them stay safe. It reminds me of something I witnessed the other day. My friend [REDACTED] from junior high is now an established lawyer. Needless to say he has been keeping up very much with the recent events. He made a post about it and one of his friends commented with "I wish you would go back to being my friend [REDACTED] and not my black friend [REDACTED]." Mind you there's no denying [REDACTED] is a black man. He can't pass in the slightest so the comment shocked and saddened me. Thankfully [REDACTED] handled it with poise and grace.

PS: If you have to say you have a "black friend," then you probably don't. That's fucked. I guess I just genuinely didn't imagine how pervasive this stuff really is. Like, Pete and Joe and I have been talking a lot today. I was under the misapprehension that we grew up in a decently inclusive area. Just come to find out, nobody used those words around me. The whole time they were heckling kids like Joe and Pete. I thought racism was this thing that doesn't happen here. It's scary how much it's come out post Obama's election. Elected officials sending out mass e-mails of pictures of watermelons. I just didn't get it. Ignorance is bliss.

AW: It knows how to hide in plain sight, which is a lot of the problem. People are taught "don't be racist!!!!" Without being told exactly what racism is. People (myself included at times) aren't aware of words/phrases/ideas have nefarious ties until too late.

PS: I think we get too caught up on words and not enough on what they imply. "Thug," means a prepackaged idea of a black male. It instantly limits his perceived intelligence, his perceived trustworthiness, his perceived value to society, and his perceived prospects in life. That's so fucked. We expect black men to go to prison. Not be doctors and lawyers. When a black man is a doctor or lawyer, we treat him like such a cool novelty. When a black woman asserts herself, she's so "Sassy." "You go girl."

These little words and phrases feel harmless. They never were

AW: Those are the positives. Usually assertive black women are angry, mean. It's so fucked all around.

AW: I really owe Pete for helping me be informed on Ferguson. He tweeted the hashtag the night the protests started in August and it helped me dive in. I am sure tumblr would have got me to it eventually, but seeing it from day one was a definite help.

PS: You know part of my problem? I'm just not brave enough to say what I think. I'm just scared of offending people. Pete's not. He doesn't care. That's powerful

AW: It takes a lot to just put it out there. I am not sure if I had the amount of eyes on me that you do that I would be so "fuck you I will do/say what I want" as I am. Hell I become such a shadow of myself when at work with how quiet and polite I am. I mean I am still pierced and tatted with short hair so visually I say a lot, but then I watch my speech to make us for it.

(Follow up on 8/25/2015)

Patrick Stump: That is amazing and I'm very flattered. By the way; Been thinking about our conversation from a year ago a lot. The takeaway is this: Saying "All lives matter," and "Not all cops," while literally true are contextually horrendous. Really awful. In retrospect I feel pretty awful about saying both. Specifically because "All lives matter," can carry a lot of implications. Who's lives? I meant by it that Latinos and Muslims are also unreasonably targeted/mistreated/murdered by cops. But is it as systematic or blatant as it is with darker skinned Americans? Not remotely. Furthermore, as a white man, I just need to remember how fucking easy I have it. It's easy for me to preach peace and unflinching patience when I've NEVER been a victim of the War On Drugs or the aftermath of straight up slavery. So there's a lot to think about in terms of what I, a white guy, have to say and do about the situation. But not a lot I have to say about the way it feels to be oppressed to the point of feeling like less than a citizen of this country. I shouldn't have spoken about it because I don't/can't know. Well-meaning white folks get to talk about policy changes and do everything we can to help, otherwise we should get the fuck out of the way. I'm sorry, really REALLY sorry to the world that I ever said either of those things. It's more than "Fuck the police." It's "Fuck this whole system." And as aware as I'd been, I hadn't realized how complacent in it I was. Anyway, disgusted I said what I said. Sorry to the whole world for being part of the problem

#text #fall out boy #patrick stump #black lives matter

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make.

Potentially a better love story than Twilight (we’ll let @killer-queen-xo decide when it’s all said and done 😉).

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Rome by Dermot Kennedy.

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Missing In Action

I wish she would stop staring at me.

Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.

Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.

Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.

I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”

“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.

Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.

“What’s her problem?” I muttered.

Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”

Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.

“Yeah,” I answered glumly.

“Maybe it’s your dress.”

“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”

“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”

Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”

“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”

She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.

“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.

Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.

Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.

Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.

Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.

Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”

Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”

“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”

“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”

Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.

“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”

“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Now my interest was piqued.

She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”

“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.

“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”

“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”

Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.

I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”

“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”

They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.

Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?

Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.

After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.

There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.

“Need something?”

I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.

“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.

“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”

I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”

I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”

“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”

I pointed. “The big red one.”

“The Walruses And Me...?”

“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”

“Bestiality 101?”

“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”

“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”

“What? Why?”

He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”

“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”

“I’m extremely athletic.”

“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”

Oh my god, WHY did I say that?

Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.

Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.

“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.

“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”

“This friendliness must not run in the family.”

Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”

“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”

“Done.”

“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”

He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”

“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”

“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”

“That’s cold, ma’am.”

I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.

I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”

“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.

Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.

Long Walks On The Beach

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.

It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.

After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.

“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.

His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”

“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”

Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”

“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”

Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”

“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.

“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”

“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”

Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.

“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.

“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”

“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.

“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”

“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.

That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.

Benjamin

I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.

I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.

“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”

I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”

Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”

Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”

“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”

“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?

“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.

He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”

“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”

Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”

“Have you told him?”

“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”

“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.

“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”

I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.

“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”

I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”

#joe mazzello fic #joe mazzelo x reader #borhap #borhap fic #borhap cast fic #twilight au #twilight #supernatural au

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pjobroadwayslut14 · 4 years ago

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The Seven (+reyna, nico, and will) watch “IT: Chapter Two”

part 2 of this

this is really long i’m sorry also i’ve only seen chapter 2 a couple times because it’s long and mildly boring don’t @ me

They decide to watch the movie in costume, because they liked the first one so much

leo was richie, piper was bev, annabeth was stan, hazel was mike, will was ben, percy was bill, and jason was eddie

they had been looking forward to this the entire time the romans were at camp jupiter

they knew the movie was long so they buried themselves in snacks from the stolls

when they first saw all the adult losers, annabeth was tripping over herself on how good the casting was

jason was pissed that richie and eddie weren’t together before the movie

“myra? wait MYRA? WHY??”

he doesn’t really understand the concept of them not remembering each other

“you’re lucky you’re pretty jason” “LEO ARE YOU SEEING THIS?”

once they meet at the jade, everyone is kind of uncomfortable because the losers don’t know about stan yet and they are joking about how he’s too pussy to come

when eddie says “let’s take our shirts off and kiss” jason starts vibrating with joy so leo climbs off his lap and jason pauses the tv, stands in front of it, and says “DID YOU HEAR THAT?!!”

they rewind like seven times but nobody pays attention except nico, who hears it and says nothing

hazel cries a little when the losers find out about stan

“but,,,patty seemed so heartbroken over the phone!!!”

they’re demigods so they don’t really get scared by too much so it’s pretty uneventful for a while

except for the scene where eddie goes to the pharmacy and the doctor is being weird

nico started giggling to himself

will practically read his mind

“nico, don’t.”

through fits of giggles nico managed a “look will! it’s you!”

nobody heard except will, who supplied “oh i’ll get you for that one” and started tickling him

causing nico to start laughing really loud

which got them yelled at by everyone else

when pennywise starts torturing richie in the park, jason tells them they should skip through this part

nico gives him a small look of appreciation and try’s the few tears that managed to escape

percy almost throws up when ben almost got buried alive

and then it was uneventful for a while again save for leo getting up to go to the bathroom every five minutes out of boredom

then comes the scene with richie and eddie “you’re braver than you think”

they ALL let a few tears escape, except for reyna, who has been nervous the entire time for what’s going to happen during *THAT* scene

richie gets caught in the dead lights and will screams fairly loud

“NO it’s alright i’m fine! it just startled me it’s fine i’m okay NICO STOP LAUGHING”

eddie goes to save him and jason makes a really obnoxious aw sound for a solid 10 seconds

as eddie is straddling richie after the deadlights jason starts chanting

“kiss! kiss! kiss! ki-“

and then it happened

percy threw up, hazel fainted, frank was already asleep, and jason made a sound like he had been punched

half of them missed the final fight with pennywise due to being in the bathroom or passed out

they were all back by the time to see eddie die though

jason started screaming at the screen, piper was sobbing loudly, and everyone else was just in shock as neibolt collapsed

all heads turned to nico, expecting some sort of snarky comment but all they saw was will holding on to nico for dear life as he sobbed and nico facing the tv with his mouth open and large tears streaming down his face in waves

they decide not to say anything

the state of shock only wears off as richie is recarving r+e into the kissing bridge

jason wakes the entire camp.

“ITS CANON OH MY GODS DID YOU SEE THAT ITS CANON THEY WERE IN LOVE!!”

after the movie is over and hazel turns on the lights they all sit stunned for a while

leo was not happy.

“THATS IT?! THAT SUCKED! I WASTED 10 HOURS OF MY LIFE ON THAT BULLSHIT, ONLY FOR MY FAVORITE CHARACTER TO END UP SAD?! AND THAT ENDING?! WHAT THE HELL!”

will and nico leave early to go back to cabin 13, clearly a little too affected by it

percy: “welp. we’re never watching that ever again.”

annabeth:”only the first o-“

she was interrupted by frank, who said,

“what did i miss?”

tag list

@wiggly-chromosomes

@blessedbyapollo

@willowkingdom

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fangirl-imagines · 5 years ago

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Endings Are The Worst Part (P1)//2019!Bill Denbrough x Pregnant!Reader

A/N: Requested by @asdfghemx, sorry this took so long but I had so many ideas for it I didn’t know where to start! This will be a five part series if all goes according to plan! :)

Prompt: When you were a kid you’d made a promise to your friends that when IT came back you’d come back to Derry, no matter what. But of all the times for Mike to call, it had to be while you were painting the nursery. Now being back in Derry with your husband Bill and childhood friends, you’re all on edge.

Walking through the through the woods with the rest of the Losers Club had a bizarre sense of deja vu. The last time you had done this you were all just kids. The eight of you could spend all day out here in the summer time. Hanging out in your very own clubhouse Ben had built you. You’d smoke Beverly’s cigarettes she stole from the pharmacy, not the best idea while in a smallish cavern under the ground you realized now but at the time you hadn’t know better.

You’d smoke with Beverly and read Richie’s comic books over his shoulder, listening to Eddie and Stan bicker back and forth, sneaking peaks at Bill’s sketch book every once in a while when you thought he wasn’t looking. One time it was a picture of you he was sketching, shower cap on your head and all. You smiled fondly thinking back on those warm summer days in the barrens together. It was almost easy to remember only those warm memories and try and push away the dark, vivid ones of sharp teeth, red balloons, and grey water. Walking back through the barrens now though, you were startlingly aware of how much had changed in twenty-seven years.

You held Bill’s hand as you stepped over tree roots and slick moss, trying not to lose your footing. A ray of light through the trees caught the matching bands on your fingers making them shine for one quick moment in the sun. Distracting you just long enough for you to lose your footing and start to stumble forward towards the ground.

“Wow!” Bill quickly grabbed your arm and you latched onto him to keep you from hitting the ground. “Are you okay?”

His eyes shifted over you paranoid, looking for any signs of injury. They stopped on your swollen stomach before going back up to your face. Things really had changed over the years. Being back in Derry, spending time with the other losers while pregnant was a strange experience. If anything, it just further emphasized how much had changed and how far you’d all come to be back here again.

Bill hadn’t wanted you to come back with him. Even before he remembered Pennywise, a deep, buried feeling in his gut screamed at him to keep you and your baby as far away from Derry as humanly possible. But you had with this, as you did with most things, dug in your heels.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You nodded.

Bill shook his head but was smiling softly at you, “Watch your step okay?”

“Sir yes, sir.” You teased with a cheeky grin making Bill chuckle.

“Do-, Don’t you sta-,start!”

“Oi, love birds, care to join us?” Richie yelled obnoxiously from where the rest of the losers had stopped and were watching the two of you with a mixture of happy, proud, and sickened smiles.

No one was really that surprised that Bill and you had gotten married. The two of you were practically joined at the hip as kids and seeing you two together now it was clear that your feelings hadn’t changed a bit except to deepen. You blushed and Bill cleared his throat, still holding your hand as you joined the rest of the losers. Richie wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively for only you to notice. You rolled your eyes and elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Shut up Tozier.”

Richie threw up his hands in surrender, “Hey, Ben, where exactly are we going anyway?!”

Ben shook his head, “The old clubhouse should be around here somewhere.” He said focused and tapping his foot on the ground as he walked. He turned to look at you all, hands on his hips. “I know it’s close by.”

There was a sudden, heart stopping crack before the ground under Ben’s feet collapsed, sending him falling into the Earth. He found the clubhouse. No one moved at first, staring at the spot Ben had once stood in shock.

“Ben!” Beverly was the first to shout, rushing forward with the rest of you on her heels, “Ben?!”

“I’m okay, guys! I found the clubhouse!”

You all exchanged worried glances. You glanced down at Bill’s hand wrapped firmly around your arm as you leaned in to see Ben on the ground at the bottom of the clubhouse; keeping you from getting too close to the edge.

“Seriously, I’m okay. Come on down!”

Mike laughed, shaking his head. He was the first one of you to move down the ladder into the ground. The rest of you followed down. Bill went down first, hands reaching up and hovering over your waist as you climbed down the rickety ladder, creaking under your weight.

“Wow!” Beverly breathed as she stepped down off the ladder. “This place still looks the same.”

You nodded in agreement. “Like our very own time capsule.”

Everyone seemed to lose themselves in their own memories, scattering around the small room. Most of the guys had to duck standing straight in the room. You smiled thinking about how easily eight of you had fit in here as children. You wandered over the corner, reaching up to feel along the top of a support beam and smiling when your hand met the thick pages hidden there. You coughed at the dust you brushed off the cover but smiled at the title. Your favorite book from when you were a kid. You use to sit down here and read it for hours. You flipped open to the back page and read over the notes you’d written there in sloppy cursive.

Ben wasn’t the only one who’d gone through a poetry stage. There’s a flutter in your stomach as your son kicks you. You rest your hand there and take a deep breath.

“Hey, guys!” Mike grabbed all of your attentions, holding up a pink and white shower cap out of a coffee can. “I think we found Stan’s token.”

You smiled weakly thinking about Stan coming down the ladder one afternoon so excited and proud with that coffee can. He’d pulled out plastic shower caps and passed them around to keep spiders out of everyone’s hair. Stan the man, always the worrier, always the practical one, making sure everyone was looked after. You looked down at your feet and brushed away a stray tear.

“I wonder what Stanley was like as an Adult?” Eddie asked from the ground, rolling the broken paddle ball in his fingers, a far off look in his eyes.

“The same as he was as a kid.” Richie spoke up from the corner, hands shoved deep in his pockets and voice thick. “The best.”

He cleared his throat harshly and pushed away from the wall. Hearing about Stan had hit everyone hard.

“Would you look at all this old stuff?” Bill ask, picking up some comics off the overturned crate next to the hamick, trying desperately to change the subject. Mike laughs picking one up.

“You know I can’t believe this stuff is still here!” You smiled, “It’s been like thirty years-“

An ominous laugh stole the air out of the room and made you forget what you were talking about. Everyone turned to look into the black, lightness corner of the clubhouse where the laugh echoed from.

“Time to float!” It laughed.

You flinched, stepping backwards but keeping your eyes locked on the corner. Bill stepped back with you, his body hovering in front of yours. You clutched the back of his shirt in your fist. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Mike picking up a baseball bat.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Richie fell out of the corner laughing hysterically. You sighed, letting your head fall against Bill’s back and feeling his muscles relax.

“Dude!” Eddie shouted in outrage. Mike threw down his bat. “Fuck, Richie.”

Richie laughed, “Remember he’d do the little dance?” He asked, bending his arms and doing a little dance like Pennywise.

You all stared at him unimpressed.

Richie rolled his eyes, “Am I the only one who remembers this shit?”

“Dude, are you going to be like this the entire time we’re home?” Eddie pulled his best bitch face.

Richie shrugged under Eddie’s gaze, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Alright, just trying to add some levity to this shit. Guess I’ll just go fuck myself.” He muttered, throwing up his hands. Had it been anyone but Eddie he could have brushed it off but never with Eddie.

You rolled your eyes, “I need some air.”

You brushed past Bill and the other losers, climbing up the ladder and out of the clubhouse. You took a deep breath of the air. It was so much cleaner here than the LA smog you were used to. You could here the others bickering back in forth inside the clubhouse while you lowered yourself down onto a fallen log to wait on them. You’re back was aching from the long trek through the woods.

You could here the bird chirping in the trees and feel the sunshine streaking through the tree tops. It didn’t seem like time had ever touched Derry. The baby kicked you and brought your hands up to rub the sore spot. It seemed even crazier now to think that you and Bill had wound up together. You’d both forgotten Derry, Main, Pennywise, and your friends but somehow you had found your way back to each other. You shook your head, remembering Mike’s phone call.

Then

“Y/N? Y/N, are you there?”

Mike Hanlon’s voice called out to you from the other end of your cell phone but your dry heaves were the only response he got. Your knees dug into the hard tile of the bathroom floors while you clutched the toilet with one hand and messily pulled back your hair with the others.

“Y/N, are you okay?!” You heard Mike call out to you again when you were finally able to stop heaving enough to pick the phone back up, thankful it hadn’t shattered when you’d dropped it against the tile.

“Yeah, yeah, Mike I’m here. Sorry, I just,” You took a deep breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You said we have to come back to Derry?”

Mike sighed, “Yes. It’s kind of hard to explain over the phone but its important that everyone of us comes back. There’s some unfinished business we all have.”

“Our promise.” You asked weakly, looking down at the thick scar on your right palm. You had never thought much about the scar. You’d chocked it up to an old childhood accident even though you could never really remember what that accident was. But when Mike had mentioned a pact you somewhat hazily remembered a childhood promise of some kind. Mike sounded relived to hear you acknowledge it. “Yes, you promised Y/N. We all did.”

You cleared your throat, “You said we all need to come back. Have you talked to the others yet?”

“I still have to call Beverly but everyone else has already agreed.”

“But if Beverly says no-”

“We’ll all be there Y/N. And you need to be too.”

You pressed your lips together and brought your hand up to rest on your swollen stomach, feeling a light kick in response. “Okay, Mike. I’ll come.”

Mike sighed in relief. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.”

“Tomorrow night?!” Your mind raced thinking of all the things that would need taking care of before you leave.

“Tomorrow night.” Mike repeated firmly, “There’s not a lot of time.”

You wanted to argue but something inside of you told you that you shouldn’t push it. “Okay. Tomorrow night.” You paused, “Mike, you said you already talked to Bill?”

You could picture Mike’s smile through the phone just by the teasing tone in his voice. “Don’t worry, Y/N/N. He’ll be there.”

You could hear the front door slam shut as your husband arrived home from work and your name being called through out the house.

“I’ve got to go Mike. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You hit end call just as Bill poked his head into the room with a frown that deepened considerably when he saw you on the floor, phone in hand.

“Mike?” He asked cautiously.

You nodded, looking up at him like you hadn’t just seen him this morning.

“I’ll book the tickets.”

Now

“Y/N? Y/N?!”

You snapped back to reality at Bill calling your name. Everyone had climbed out of the clubhouse by now and were all watching you concerned but the look on Bill’s face was lined with panic. You forced a smile at him as he sat down beside you.

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully.

You nodded back at him. Ever since you’d set foot back in Derry Bill had been on edge. He had always been a bit of a control freak as long as you’d known him. It was probably how he’d wound up as your group’s leader as a kid. But since you’d come back it had been different, more panicked.

He hovered over you, not comfortable leaving your side. His hand rested over your stomach whenever possible just to reassure himself that you were there with him and the baby was okay. He was wound too tightly for even him and you were worried that when you all actually encountered IT that he might snap.

So in the meantime you nudged his knee with yours and nodded, “Just remembering.”

He knocked his knee back against yours childishly with a small grin that left you feeling accomplished.

“You two sicken me.” Richie shook his head from the tree he was leaning against.

You flipped him off making Ben and Beverly laugh.

Richie rolled his eyes and turned to Mike, “Okay, Mikey, so, what’s your plan here? You drug us all the way out here and now what?”

“We got Stan’s token, now we all have to get ours for the ritual to work.” Mike nodded seriously.

“How-, How will we know what our tokens are though?” Beverly asked.

“You’ll know.” Mike nodded, “It’ll be something important to you. A token of your time in Derry.”

Bill tensed beside you. You closed your eyes. Why does everything around here have to be so fucking ominous and cryptic.

“Everyone has to get their tokens on their own. This has to be an individual journey for everyone.”

You opened your eyes at Mike’s words, “What?!”

Bill squeezed your hand in his turning his knuckles white but you didn’t stop him. “No,” he shook his head, “no, no, no fu-,fuc-fucking wa-,way!”

“Yeah man, I’ve got to go with Bill on this one!” Eddie shook his head, “Statistically speaking, you look at survival strategies and we’ll do a lot better as a group.”

“Yeah, splitting up would be dumb man.” Richie nodded.

Eddie pointed at him in agreement.

“We’ve got to stick together.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Mike shook his head, “We all have to do this on our own.”

“Theres no w-,wa-,way I-, I’m leaving Y-,Y/N al-,alo-,alo-,alone.” Bill struggled to get out shaking his head. You looked down at your entwined hands and sighed, squeezing back.

“We really have to do this alone?” You asked.

Mike nodded.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Okay.”

Bill looked at you in surprise and shook his head again. “Y/N, it’s to da-,da-,dangerous.” He looked so serious you took your joined hands and kissed the back of his palm.

“Bill we don’t have a choice here. If Mike says this is what we have to do, then this is what we have to do.”

You looked at Mike for confirmation and he shifted but nodded. You swallowed the uncomfortable feeling that he was holding something back and turned your gaze back to Bill. You tried not to read too much into the guilty looks Mike had been giving you since you’d gotten here. Bill didn’t look convinced, but you tried to keep your face soft when you looked at him.

“Hey,” You squeezed his hand back, “We’re going to be fine.”

Bill sighed, knowing he didn’t have a choice but to go along with this. “Okay.”

“Alright.” Mike stood up from his crouched position. “We’ll all meet back at the library tonight at seven?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, looking around at each other uneasily. Everyone slowly began to make their way out of the barrens with their minds preoccupied in memories of their tokens. Mike had said you would know what your token would be and it seemed like he was right.

“Do you know what your token is going to be?” You asked Bill, breaking the silence as the two of you trailed behind the others. Your dog eared paperback in your hands felt heavier now with a new weight attached to it. Bill looked up from his own thoughts and shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. I have an idea though.”

You squeezed his hand as the two of you stepped out of the barrens and looked around. Bill looked at you unsure when you pulled your hand back from his.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask him hesitantly.

Bill chuckles, “Sh-shouldn’t I be as-,asking you tha-,that?

You shrugged, “I think I already found my token.” You held up your old book making Bill laugh.

“Yo-, you use to love this thing!” He took it from you and flipped through it but you took it back before he could get to the pages you had written in.

“I love you.” You muttered making the grin on Bill’s face slip into a soft smile.

He shook his head, “I love you so mu-,much.” He laughed, “I can’t believe I almost for-,forg-,forgot you.”

You laughed back and pressed your forehead against his. “Please be careful.”

He nodded, “I’ll se-,see you tonight.”

He kissed you and lingered for a moment before forcing himself to pull away. You tried to ignore the dread in your chest as you watched him walk away from you.

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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Things that change

A/N/ this was requested by an anon, I hope you enjoy! I’m really sorry if it's not what you wanted it to be, I’m sorry! Let me know what you think!

summary: may i suggest richie and eddie post chapter 2 moving in together? feel like a lot of fics don’t focus on the cute bits i want, like richie being so confused at all of eddies kitchen appliances, learning how to make actual coffee with a cafetiere, then eddie being shocked that richies actually a great cook.

Richie is not consciously aware of the small changes Eddie is making in his house, mostly because he barely sees the house, traveling from one place to the other for the majority of six weeks, until he comes home one day, when his tour is finally completed, and it hits him in the face like a pair of bricks.

He just got home after going on tour through the country, where he lived 24 hours a day on a bus that was older then fucking Pennywise himself, the brakes making a peeping sound whenever the bus driver’s foot so much as touched the paddle, making him fear for his life every day. His routine is honestly a little disgusting, even he knew that. Before Eddie came along he survived on frozen pizza’s for about five days a week, and the other two days he ordered in Chinese. After Neibolt and reconnecting with the losers, Richie had figured that his life would go back to what it was, minus the Chinese food of course. He doesn’t know if he can ever stand the smell of Chinese ever again.

That wasn’t quite what happened however. Richie had plans to stay at Eddie side until the latter was healed and was allowed to go home. Richie hadn’t been sure what ‘home’ even meant to Eddie, but he didn’t want to express how he felt only to be punched in the face by it, regardless of how much he wanted Eddie to like him. Sitting by Eddie’s bedside had almost been worse than facing Pennywise, because that was real. He could touch Eddie and he would be solid, and Eddie was actually his best friend, not a rendition of Pennywise, and that made it even more scary.

Richie had fully accepted that he would remain single and alone without Eddie, by the time Eddie was training to go to the bathroom by himself. But no, brave, intimidating and insanely hot Eddie Kaspbrak had different ideas. While Richie spluttered around words and doing everything in his power to keep the subject off of his feelings about Eddie almost dying, Eddie surged forward and connected their lips in messy, but passionate kiss.

It had shook Richie to his core, who had frozen up, as one does when the guy they’ve been in love with since they were barely preteens.

And it made Richie fall even more in love with Eddie, how he could set his mind to something and think fuck it, before doing it without wasting another second. . Sometimes, late at night while Eddie was sound asleep, Richie would talk to him. During the day Eddie and him would spend most of their rime bickering, which Richie was more than fine with. He absolutely loved the way him and Eddie reacted to each other, they way they teased and pushed and waited for the inevitable reaction from the other person. That was all little Richie had ever wanted from adult life, to continue to have Eddie’s attention on him at all times.

He did give Eddie plenty of affection, he was always giving him compliments, but he disguised it in a sarcastic tone, turning it into a joke whenever Eddie got too close to finding out what he was truly feeling in that moment.

But when Eddie was snoring almost inaudible, which he would deny to the day he died, Richie told him how he truly thought about things, how much he truly loved Eddie. The love he shared for the man is blinding in it’s intensity, and he’s afraid of getting blinded by it if he looks to deep into his feelings, but mostly he’s afraid that Eddie would get blinded. He doesn’t want to lose Eddie now, after all the shitload they’ve been through, just because Richie was too clingy and forward for Eddie’s liking.

Especially since he was the one who asked Eddie to move in with him. Eddie had appeared so panicked, and paused for so long that Richie was afraid he would burst into hysteric laughter and confess to Richie that he was only kidding the entire time. Thankfully he didn’t, Richie didn’t know what he would have done if that had been the case. Instead, a smile took over Eddie’s face, the one that he rarely showed but meant he was utterly full with happiness, and said; ‘of course Rich.’, with the same fondness in his voice he always and exclusively used for Richie.

The actual road to getting Eddie to move in with Richie practically, had been harder then either expected. It took Eddie another three months before being released from the hospital, and even that had been a hassle.

When Eddie was in week seven of his revalidation, he was very nearly discharged, if it hadn’t been for himself. He claimed that he wasn’t ready yet, that he felt the wound on his chest itch and that puss was coming out. Richie was almost mad at first, blaming Eddie’s hesitance on leaving the hospital on the fact that he was looking for excuses to get out of his promise to Richie to live together, but then he had looked up signs of an infection, and came to the conclusion that Eddie was right.

The skin around the wound was bright red, Eddie was in real pain whenever he moved, even when the week before it hadn’t hurt at all, and as soon as Richie ghosted his hand over the wound, he could feel the heat radiate for the scar.

Unfortunately, the hospital staff hadn’t believed them, curtsy to Sonia Kaspbrak for bringing Eddie in so many times when there was nothing wrong with him. They were forced to go to a different hospital where they did take them seriously, and Richie had spent weeks negotiating with the first hospital to make a damage claim.

So yeah, sue Richie for being the most happy person on earth when he finally managed to haul Eddie’s ass across the country to LA. Until he realized that thanks to Eddie’s infected injury, he had to leave for tour the day after they would make it home, causing Eddie to be by himself to settle into the house.

God knows Richie tried to change the tour dates, but Steve was ready to kill him, and thanks to the disasters last show he had, for which he definitely had an excuse he couldn’t tell fucking anyone about, he had no other choice but to leave so he could try to save what little of his career was left.

He had asked Mike to stay over for a while, and he had almost insisted enough, but his plans changed when Eddie caught wind of what he was trying to achieve. Eddie refused to let Mike babysit him, adamantly wiping all the argument card Richie had from the table with a firm hand. Eddie wasn’t about to saddle Mike with the responsibility of taking care of an injured man, after all he had done by staying in Derry.

Richie had wanted to argue, but out of fear of sounding to much like Myra and Sonia, he proposed to Eddie that he’d have a nurse come over once a week, to which Eddie agreed, and then backed off. He was fine with anything as long as Eddie was safe.

The only times he could spend with Eddie at home were the short intervals between performances, during which Richie hurried to catch a plane, still fearing a little that Eddie had made the decision to leave when he was gone.

He never was. He resigned himself every time to sit on the black, leather sofa, while facing the tv and the door as well slightly, while eating whatever salad he had cooked up. It appeared to be a routine, because Richie would always know exactly where Eddie would be when he walked in the door. It was something so small and insignificant to most, but to Richie, it felt like the entire world stopped spinning for a moment, caught up in the fact that Eddie Kaspbrak loved him of all people.

It warmed his insides that Eddie waited for him before eating no matter how late it got, and saved him a plate, placed neatly on the table across from his own. It was by far the moment he always looked forward too regardless of what he was doing. Nothing could top those moments.

That was the first thing Richie should have noticed when he returned to his house, but Richie wouldn’t be Richie if he wasn’t so caught up in Eddie, that he failed to see what was happening right in front of him.

The second thing he should have noticed was all the new shit his apartment had miraculously produced apparently, but again, he was too busy basking in the beauty of his boyfriend, that he glossed over the new materials like they weren’t even there.

To be fair to him though, he had been barely seen the inside of the home, but he still almost wants to hit himself over the head for ignoring the obvious.

Now though, now he’s finally home for good, or at least till he starts his new tour, he sees everything in a different light. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when Richie dropped his bags next to the front door, kicked of his shoes, and sleepily shuffled towards the first seating area he could occupy, which would be the couch.

It’s not very comfortable to lay on it, but it would do, since Richie had serious doubts that his muscle would cooperate with him if he tried to move.

Eddie wasn’t home, a bit of a shame really, but he had to go to physio training, and Richie had insisted he went. Eddie more than likely would have gone even without Richie’s blessing, but it was nice to know Richie cared about Eddie enough to put his needs above his wants.

Which means he is home alone with just him and his thoughts to entertain him. The house is complete silent as he skipped walking towards the tv remote to turn it in, and the atmosphere in the room was the same as before Derry, Richie didn’t like it.

So, before he could spiral in a dark, depressing self-doubt that followed him around like a dark cloud, he rolled of the sofa, groaning when he landed it bit harshly. He wanted to sleep badly, but he was adamant about waiting for Eddie before he did, and he knew Eddie would not kiss him unless he showered, so he sighed as he stumbled towards the bathroom.

Again, if he had any brain cells left, he might have taken notice of all the new products laying around on the wash table, however he shook off the feeling of something being off, stripping naked and stepping under a stream of ice cold water.

Richie liked his water cold, he always has from since he was a kid, and he adjusted the temperature from time to time, but never enough for the water to be actually warm. It took a second to register, but the water was scolding hot.

He hisses instantly, jumping out of reach of the shower, already reaching out to damper the warmth.

He frowns in confusion, he’s not exactly sure how that’s possible for a second, until his mind catches up and he realizes that it must have been Eddie that changed it.

He shrugged to himself, laughing when he realized how much of a fool he must look like when he does, than he continues on as he would usually do.

It’s when he tries to take hold of his shampoo with his eyes closed, and he can’t feel the familiar carton of the body wash he’s used for years, that he recognizes that it’s not longer at it’s usual spot.

‘What’, he mutters while opening his eyes. The body wash is nowhere to be find. In fact, neither is any shampoo he has a habit of using. There nothing in the shower, or the shower holder, so Richie allowed himself three seconds of mentally preparing, before he darts back out of the shower, nearly freezing as he looks around his bathroom for something to use.

It’s so cold that Richie wraps his arms around himself in a futile attempt to keep himself warm, while glancing around the room in a hast. There is a variety of shower goods stacked neatly on top of each other, most of which Richie has no idea what they mean.

The names on there don’t ring any bells either, so he stares and tries to figure it out, but it’s getting even colder fast, and the waterdrops are drying on his skin without him even using a towel, so he makes the executive decision of grabbing the first bottle he can get his hands on.

He’s not wearing his glasses, so he can’t read the name of what it is he is holding in his hands, but he can see a picture of a lemon on the front, and figures that it’s a nice enough smell to use. It’s not as good as his usual body wash, Richie decides after he’s covered most of his body in the substance. The smell is a bit too persistent for Richie’s taste, and it feels way thicker than the one he had before, but he is still tired, and mostly just looking for a way to finish up as soon as he can.

When he gets out of the shower again, this time with a town at his disposal, and he has reset his glasses so he can finally see again, he takes another look at all the things that are in his bathroom. And there is a lot. Even now that he can read what they’re called, he still can’t place most of these names, and he’s pretty sure he’s never even heard of some of these.

Richie’s getting interested in what else Eddie has brought into his home without him paying attention to it, so he goes out and checks his bedroom. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, and he figures that the longer he spends inside the room, the more he might get tempted to take a nap, so he exists again.

He looks at the clock and comes to the realization that Eddie is not going to be home yet for at least 30 more minutes, so he figures he might aswell make some food while he waits. He’s really desperate to see Eddie again after so long.

He walks into the newly placed kitchen, his hand drumming on top of every cabinets he passes until he reaches the one on the far left, the one where he stores his food, and opening it with a soft click. His manager had insisted on him having a decent looking kitchen for when guests came over, even if Richie never cooked for himself anyway, but Richie was happy with the end result.

He liked cooking, it was something his mom had taught him when he was just little, and he can remember preparing a few meals for his friends under the disguise of his mother being the one who had made it, beaming when all his friends complimented the dishes.

He stopped after moving out for college however, because cooking for himself made his heart ache more for some reason, as if he was reminding himself that he was all by himself, and nobody to share his talent with.

He threw something together once in a while, something that was very fatty and he should most definitely not eat, but did anyway because why fucking not.

He was so excited when Eddie agreed to move in with, he couldn’t wait to show off what he could do, but unfortunately he didn’t have that option before. He was going to make up for it though.

In his mind, he’s already picturing the meal he’s going to surprise Eddie with, his mind imagining some French fries with a steak and a butter sauce, knowing for sure that he left some fried down in the freezer, but when he opens the pantry, it’s full of stuff he had not bought.

There’s vegetables, and fruit, and plant based butter and a whole lot of healthy and fresh ingredients, which he has not used in forever.

He rummages through most of it, trying to locate anything he used to eat, but he comes up empty handed. He’s standing in his own kitchen deflating a little, for he has no idea what the hell happened in his own damn kitchen.

He sees all these new equipment taking up space, and he has no idea what they are supposed to be used for or even how to use them. His old espresso machine is gone, and in place is an old one he remembers seeing his parents make coffee in, and where his water boiler once stood, now stand a whole new teamaker, completed with fresh tea placed next to it.

He can’t help but his competitive side coming up, feeling as if Eddie was sure that Richie couldn’t cook with fresh ingredients, or with the new kitchen tools he bought, or even cook at all. Richie is going to show him just how wrong he is.

‘Alright Kaspbrak, bring it on.’ Richie is determined to show Eddie that he can make fresh food as good as whatever frozen things he used to make, so he gets work straight away.

Eventually, he decides on making Chicken Parm Stuffed Peppers, recalling the recipe at the top of his head from when he was a kid. It more nutrition in this one meal that Richie is making now, than there has been in the last three years of his life. That fact doesn’t quite set in until Eddie walks through the door, carrying two bowls of salad from the salad bar downtown.

Eddie stops once he sees that Richie is cooking, raising an eyebrow. ‘Can you cook or are you just trying to poison me?’

Richie downward whines when he sees the salad, because he’s suddenly realizing that he had been eating healthy with Eddie the entire time he was home, even though he had never done that before in most of his adult life.

‘You changed me eds’, he says overexaggerating but still meaning the words that come out of his mouth.’

Eddie’s face turns into a scowl, even as he come closer to Richie and presses a soft kiss to his lips. ‘Shut up asshole.’

‘No wait I’m serious, I come on.’ Richie leads the way to the bathroom, hoping Eddie is following him despite Richie behaving like a child.

‘Look, look at all those body washed Eddie Spaghetti. Tell me how I’m supposed to make sense of that?’

‘Oh my god, do not tell me you can’t tell the difference between bath oil, body scrub, body wash, body moisturizer and body butter you idiot.’

Richie stares quietly at Eddie, not having an answer because of course he had no idea what the difference was between all of these things, who did?

‘Are you kidding me asshole? Please tell me you used the correct body wash, please I’m begging you.’

‘I used that one’, Richie says as he points to the body butter. Seeing Eddie’s reaction makes him burst out in hearty laughter, his stomach starting to hurt at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Eddie is very clearly not amused, but Richie can see the small smile he’s doing his best to hide, even if he knows Richie will be able to see right through him.

‘I mean come on Eds, not even your mom used this much. And trust me I’d know because I saw her do it plenty after-‘

‘You fucked her yeah I know, I know asshole. And don’t call me Eds’

When Richie is done laughing, he walks back to the kitchen, pointing out all things that were not there before Richie left. The longer he explains, the more the smirk on Eddie’s face grows.

‘Look at this, what is this? I don’t eat healthy food, I eat take out every single day. And how do you even use this old school coffee thing?’

‘You mean a cafetiere?’ Eddie deadpans.

‘Whatever. And holy shit Eds I hadn’t even seen this we have plates mats now? What are we a fancy restaurant?’

Eddie rolls his eyes at Richie, throwing his arms up in a fed up movement.

‘So I like my stuff what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing I just don’t know what to do with all of this.’

Eddie can hear the hidden meaning behind the words just from Richie’s tone alone. It translates into saying; I don’t know if I’m good enough for you, I don’t know if I’m enough.

Eddie reaches forward again, squishing Richie’s cheeks between his hands. Listen to me Richie, you’re fine. It’s okay if you don’t like all of this, we can change that. I was just alone by myself and I didn’t have your opinion on anything. Now that you’re here, we can compromise okay?’

He waits until Richie nods confirmatively before pressing their lips together tightly as if it was the last time they got to kiss. When they pulled back, Richie scrunched his nose up as he smelled something burning.

It took a second for the penny to drop, before he piped up, rushing towards the stove. ‘My peppers.’

Eddie laughs as hidden as he can, not wanting to make it appear as if he was laughing at Richie. It’s clear however, that the food he was preparing is done and over with, the smoke evaporating before his very eyes. Richie looks like a kicked puppy, looking dejected over the edge of his glasses to see if Eddie was looking at him too.

‘Come on, I’ll order something in for once.’

Richie huffed while he trudged over to where Eddie was standing. ‘I can cook you know, you just distracted me.’

‘I know Rich, remember when you used to take meals with you and claim they were your mother’s?’

Richie stares at Eddie shell shocked, completely surprised that Eddie knew about his secret;

‘You thought I didn’t know, come on now Richie, you’re not in love with a guy for years and don’t notice his telltales of lying.’

Later, when they ordered their food and they’re watching tv, Eddie catches Richie glancing at the cafetiere.

‘Don’t even think about it’, he warns coldly.

‘Oh come on Eds, you have to let me try to use it some time. It could be like a teacher roleplay, I’ll be the student and you’ll be the hot teacher.’ Richie winks at Eddie like he just won something.

‘Yeah not a change in hell asshole.’

#reddie #reddie imagine #My writing #reddie fl #adult reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #EDDIE LIVES #reddie fluff #it chapter two imagine #it chapter 2

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drwnng-ophelia · 5 years ago

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Caught Between the Two of You | Richie Tozier x Female Reader / Pennywise x Female Reader

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long to finish! Quick disclaimer, if you haven’t seen IT Chapter Two yet (go see it, srsly) then this contains spoilers. Read at your own risk! Also: Richie smut is back!

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Female Reader, Pennywise/Female Reader

Summary: You own the Derry Town House and are caught off guard by a group of friends who check-in. You get closer than anticipated with one of them.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, oral sex

Word Count: 3,625

Read Chapter 1 here and Chapter 2 here. I also post on AO3.

Chapter 3

Nervousness made your stomach churn. Meeting Richie’s friends meant meeting the people who Pennywise wanted to torment. It meant speaking to them about the creature. It meant that you’d have to admit that you were very aware of everything that was happening in Derry.

Reluctantly, you followed Richie into the dining room. The Town House felt oddly unfamiliar and strange today, nothing like the warm place you had known your entire life. It was as if Richie could feel your unease, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze.

Earlier, he had offered that you could still leave, that he’d be willing to go with you, but you had shaken your head decidedly. You couldn’t run, and they shouldn’t.

They shouldn’t be here in the first place. They should have rejected the invitation, the call, to come back home. Five pairs of weary eyes rested on you as you slid into a chair, next to Richie. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to have gotten any sleep.

Suddenly, the spacious old dining room seemed almost nightmarish and not even the delicious scent of coffee and fresh pastries could ease the chill that had settled into your bones. There were too many ghosts in this room.

“Someone is missing,” you noted almost absentmindedly, voicing what your instincts had just whispered to you. “One of us cou-couldn’t make it,” someone said. Bill Denbrough. You recognized him from one of his book covers. There was no need for him to tell you that the missing friend had died—had surrendered to his fear.

“Why did you have to pull her into this, Richie?” Mike Hanlon asked sternly. You knew him from the library—knew that he was researching Pennywise and had asked whoever wanted to talk to him about the entity that haunted this place. Sometimes you wondered if your old friend had spoken to him in a human form, just to ensure that he would get false information. Whatever plan he had crafted over the years, it would be faulty. And dangerous.

Richie opened his mouth, but you beat him to it, saying, “Because I asked him to.” The friends exchanged disbelieving glances. “We’re not going out on a picnic today,” Mike clarified darkly. You scoffed. With this attitude, you might as well put the cards on the table right now.

No. Not yet. Wait.

“I’m not as scared as you are, not even remotely,” you said icily, narrowing your eyes. Next to you, Richie let out a small cough, telling you that he was stifling a laugh. “Tell me what I need to know in order to help you.” “I like her,” Beverly said with a smile that melted the room’s tension away. “This is not going to be pretty, I hope you had all your shots.” Anxiety flickered in the man’s brown eyes as you met them. “I don’t think that’s what we should be most worried about, Eddie,” a handsome man said, his gaze resting on Beverly longingly. “Shut up, Ben, you can get all sorts of infections and—” Eddie embarked on a lengthy monologue of all the sicknesses the group could possibly get. No one really listened to him, but slowly frowns and stern faces relaxed, easing into grins and chuckles. This was a tight-knit group. You had to keep them safe. They had lost enough.

It was Richie who, eventually, pulled in a breath and started to lay out their story, their encounter with Pennywise twenty-seven years ago. With memory slowly finding its way back, the friends pieced together the horrifying happenings. It started with Georgie Denbrough getting pulled into the storm drain and ended with the friends making a vow to return to Derry if It should ever return. You felt nauseous thinking about what Pennywise had done to these people—and what he had done to you. This morning. Guilt and shame threatened to suffocate you when Richie rested his hand on your thigh, a gesture of comfort and protection. I’m here for you, I’ll keep you safe. A part of you wanted to get up, to run out, to get away from all of this. But instead, it felt as if you were glued to the chair. Even if Pennywise had changed, had changed for you no less, you needed to restore the equilibrium somehow. The pain needed to be compensated, and you were more than willing to pay whatever settlement would reveal itself. “Let’s get going. There’s no time to waste,” Mike urged and gestured towards the door, “There’s no going back now, [Y/N].” “I gathered as much,” you snapped, growing tired of his tone. After all, it was you who would change his ineffective plan into something that would—could—work. You. Sooner or later, you’d have to push open the door inside you that you had once locked so meticulously. As you all started to head towards the Barrens, Richie started bickering with Eddie. While Bill, Mike, and Ben were wallowing in memories, Beverly hooked her arm through yours. She slowed her steps slightly, the small distance to the others allowing her to speak to you without them overhearing. “Richie stayed with you last night, huh?” she asked, a knowing grin on her lips. A blush crept into your cheeks at her suggestiveness. “Yeah…it just happened,” you shrugged, unsure where this conversation was going. After all, you were two consenting adults. Having mind-blowing sex and helping him solve a mystery didn’t mean you were dating. There really was no reason to have the ‘don’t break his heart’-conversation yet, or was there? “Why are you doing this for us—for him?” she asked, honestly curious. You swallowed hard and answered, “Because it’s the right thing to do. You lost a player and I believe you need someone to stand-in for him. Not that I’m trying to fill his shoes, no one could. But you will need me.” “This might sound weird,” she paused, brilliant blue eyes finding yours, “but when I got caught in the Deadlights, I saw something. I saw our future.” The hairs on the back of your neck rose, telling you that whatever she was to say was important. “I didn’t…you weren’t a part of that vision. I had seen Stanley take his life in the bathtub, everything so far has happened exactly how I saw it. But you, you’re like a blindspot,” she explained. “I believe that nothing you saw is set in stone. There’s always a blindspot, an unpredictability. How can you be sure that what you saw isn’t just what Pennywise wanted you to see?” Beverly looked to her friends, contemplating your words. “Just know that I will be a vital player in this game.” “You keep referring to this as a game. Why?” “Because that’s what this is. To Pennywise this is a game, and we need to get a step ahead of him. Desperately.” You sighed through your nose, a shadow dancing between the trees, catching your attention. Of course, he would be here. He would keep an eye on you. On all of you. In front of you, the men came to a halt and Ben started to test the ground for the entrance to their clubhouse. Richie and Eddie’s playful quarrel had stopped too and he now looked at you, a warm smile on his face when he realized you were bonding with one of his friends. “You say that name with an odd sense of intimacy,” Beverly noted and looked at you intently, searching for answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked. You closed your eyes, ignoring the warning in your head and said, “It’s because I’ve seen Pennywise, too. I’ve seen him for most of my life.” Everyone’s attention shifted to you. And just then Ben crashed through the hatch. Except for Ben’s moans, the forest had fallen silent. The wind stilled and even the birds who had been chirping happily a moment ago had quieted down. “I’m okay, I’m good,” Ben called and cut through the eerie silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Richie asked, the smile on his lips faltering. You could barely bear the disappointment that laced his words. “Because I was afraid.” A half-truth that would have to suffice. “I was afraid of…him.” “But if you’ve seen him for mo-most of your life,” Bill started. “Then it hasn’t slept for twenty-seven years,” Beverly concluded, “It’s been awake.” The friends looked to Mike who had only just called them back now, after Pennywise had eaten parts of the fatally injured man. You were grateful that they didn’t dig deeper, didn’t ask how you had learned about Its existence. “Guys, c’mon now. That thing had written ‘come home’ all over the bridge. I didn’t make this up,” Mike defended himself, holding up his palms in a surrendering gesture. “Well, that thing has apparently been on its best behavior if you hadn’t noticed its return until now,” Eddie spat, gesturing wildly. “Let’s not get into this now. Let’s do what we came here for,” you reasoned, seeing panic flashing in Mike’s eyes. It was bad enough that they didn’t want to be here to begin with, but they shouldn’t start blaming one another. “She’s right. Let’s not get into another fight,” Mike agreed. “Another fight?” Eddie checked. “Yes, remember when I threw a p-punch at Richie?” Bill reminded him and Richie rubbed his jaw as if not only the memory but also the pain had returned. “I remember that, too.” Ben’s voice sounded slightly muffled as if he had already started exploring their underground clubhouse. “We should go down there,” Beverly suggested and was the first to climb down the stairs. While the others disappeared, one after the other, you caught up to Richie. Although you wanted to, you refrained from taking his hand. “I’m sorry, I should have told you,” you muttered softly. His gaze didn’t meet yours. “Yes, you should have. Last night, when I knocked on your door and you invited me in. Before we…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You made my fear seem irrational and unfounded.” “I didn’t know then that you were afraid of Pennywise. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but here in Derry, people are afraid of many different things and not all of these fears stem from the clown. He only feeds off of them. Besides, how do you think it would look if I confess to knowing about an unexplainable, ancient evil creature? You guys, you and your friends, are the first people I’ve met that have survived seeing him, interacting with him. If I were to admit to seeing him, they’d lock me up with Henry Bowers.” “You know about Henry Bowers?” Eddie called from inside the clubhouse, giving away that he had been eavesdropping. Richie’s expression softened a bit and he brushed his knuckles over your burning cheek. “No more secrets, okay? We need to stick together. You’re one of us now. A loser.” He smiled bitterly. “No more secrets,” you repeated, ignoring the warning bells that went off inside your head. Richie helped you get into the underground hideout. The walls would need to be reinforced should this place hold up for much longer. Spiders and other crawlers scuttled into the dirt or nooks, disturbed by the strip of daylight and the unwanted guests. A musty scent lingered in the air which quickly mixed with the forest’s rich scent that streamed in from above. “Nice job, Ben,” you complimented as you imagined what this place had looked like when they had all been young teenagers. “Thank you. It’s in better shape than I had thought,” he said and picked up a cassette tape. “Ah, your real friends.” Beverly chuckled and nudged him playfully. Next to you, Richie let go of a sigh, planting his hands in his pockets while the others were exploring. “Do you miss him?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, almost drowned out by the other’s chatter. You rested your hand on his back and wished that you could take some of his pain away. “It’s not fair that he had to die,” Richie finally said, “We should have—I should have—” His voice trembled and he fell silent. “What happened to Stan wasn’t your fault,” you reminded him gently. Around you, the others had stopped their exploring, ready to back you up. But Richie wiped the single tear that had run down his cheek away decidedly. “Let’s find Stan’s token and get out of here, I don’t want to get any spiders stuck in my hair.” “I think I found it,” Bill noted and held up an old can. He opened it and fished out a floral-patterned shower cap. “Stanley wouldn’t wa-want you to get spiders in your hair either.” Richie let out a breathy laugh. “No, he was the best.” You didn’t care about the others being there when you kissed away a new tear. You would really have to stop Pennywise. For this—for them. For Richie. As the decision settled inside you, you built up strong, adamant walls around it, hiding it so deep inside of you that Pennywise would never find it. Never sense it. “Where do we go from here?” you asked and took Richie’s hand in yours. You would need him now because as you stood there, in this perfect little hiding spot, you unlocked that place inside of you. A familiar tingling sensation washed over every fiber, every nerve of your body and you shuddered. “Are you okay?” Richie asked immediately. “Yes, I’m just getting paranoid now that we’ve talked so much about spiders,” you excused. Power. Pure, untamed power waited patiently in an endless-seeming well. “You will all need to find your tokens, by yourself,” Mike explained. “You want us to split up? That’s the dumbest fucking idea,” Eddie interjected and shook his head decidedly. “It’s important that you do it by yourself. For the ritual,” Mike pressed. “Well, I’m not leaving Richie,” you said firmly. Mike drew in a breath but you shot him a look. “I’m not discussing this with you. I’m going with him and that’s that.” Underneath your feet, the ground appeared to quiver at your words, telling you that you would have to dive into your power slowly. Carefully. The friends exchanged nervous glances. “We should get out of here,” Ben suggested. Great. This would probably end in them being scared of you, too. Once everyone had climbed back into the sunlight, plans were made to meet up at the Town House in a few hours. To your relief, you couldn’t sense Pennywise. Maybe he had grown tired of the reminiscing. Or your affection towards Richie. As you started your walk back into town, you were grateful for Richie’s hand in yours. After all, you hadn’t just gone with him because he had been vulnerable and because you wanted to support him. No, you had gone with him to make sure that Pennywise wouldn’t tear him to ribbons when you weren’t looking. After all, Pennywise might still be playing with the others. But after this morning, he would no longer be playing with Richie. He would hunt him.

“So this is where you would come as a little boy, huh?” you asked, a smile on your face after Richie had ushered you into the closed down arcade. You had passed by this place so many times, wondering why no-one had ever attempted to refurbish it. Even now, hidden under layers of dust, old posters peeling away, and with graffiti splattered over the walls, you could imagine how welcoming this place had once been. Richie’s hand rested on the small of your back. “Let’s just get that token and get out of here.” With a frown, you turned towards him. “Bad memories?” He nodded. “I remember…feeling very lonely here.” These were the things, memories, feelings that Pennywise could draw power from. You needed to cover his loneliness with something else. Anything else. “Well, Richard Tozier,” you started quietly, putting change into the machine, a token clattering down, its metallic sound echoing off the walls, “you’re not alone here now.” “Do you feel lonely? With me here?” you asked, sliding the token into his pocket, your face only inches from his. He closed his eyes and wetted his lips when your hand lingered in his pocket. “Anyone could come in here,” he said huskily. “And anyone could hear. So we better keep our voices down,” you suggested, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You’re wicked.” He chuckled and let you move him against the nearest wall. “Oh, you have no idea.” You breathed your words against his lips and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Your hands quickly went to work, reaching for his growing bulge before fumbling with his belt and pants. “So we’re gonna do this right here?” he got out as you nibbled at his earlobe, fingers busy massaging his erection. “Why, do you want me to stop?” you teased and basked in the way he looked at you as you slowly sunk to your knees. Richie shook his head decidedly and groaned when you licked over his tip, tasting him. “Quiet now. You can be noisy later,” you reminded him. “Oh shit, what’s coming later?” he asked, resting his head against the wall. You ran a hand up his thigh brazenly, withholding your touch just for a little while. “Hm, I don’t know. When we’re back in my bedroom I might tie you to the bed. Then, I might straddle you, deciding how fast or painstakingly slow we’ll go,” you said nonchalantly, “Or you could punish me for lying to you. You could give me a whipping with this belt of yours. You could decide whether or not I’ve deserved to find release.” Richie blinked at your boldness. He hadn’t been rough with you last night, but something told you that was about to change. “I…yes, we can do that.” He nodded eagerly. “Now, shut up and let me finish what I’ve started.” Fire burned behind his eyes when you finally put him in your mouth, licking his underside eagerly. Richie squirmed under your touch. As you started to suck, his fingers wove into your hair, his hands telling you that you could increase your speed. But you didn’t, planning on tantalizing him for just a little longer. There was no need to hurry this along—even if your own arousal throbbed between your legs. With tight lips, you moved up and down his shaft, your hand ensuring that all of him was getting pleasured. Richie let out a small moan when you took him deeper into your mouth with each stroke, your tongue massaging him. From there, you let him dictate the speed and depth, taking whatever he gave you. Letting go of your power over him, submitting to him and his rhythm, added to your own lust. You could barely wait to get back to the house, to feel him between your thighs. His breathing was getting faster and more shallow, telling you that he would finish soon. Muscles tensed under your touch, his pace getting uncontrolled. When he finally stilled, you swallowed his load, sucking up every last drop greedily.

“Fuck, [Y/N],” he breathed and relaxed against the wall, fingers untangling, leaving your hair in disarray. You licked your lips as you rose, brushing the dust off your knees. “How’s that for a new memory?” you asked, a mischievous grin on your face as you helped him straighten his clothes. “Let’s make more,” he suggested and claimed your lips. “How fast can we be back at your house? I want to return the favor.” In the heat of the moment, you had barely noticed the haunting shadow in the corner by the door. Richie wouldn’t see him, the man that manifested from thin air, anger flickering in those blue eyes. “And here I thought I had fulfilled your needs this morning.” He tskd as if disappointed with you. You only shrugged slightly, fingers intertwining with Richie’s as he led you towards the exit. Without awarding Pennywise with another glance, you stepped out onto Main Street, feeling for those protective walls inside you. They were still intact. Strong. Impenetrable. He hadn’t noticed. Couldn’t have. You tried to banish Pennywise from your mind as you found your way back to the house. And yet, the desire that you had felt so intensely only moments before seemed almost washed away. Maybe you had promised Richie something you weren’t ready to follow up on. “I’ll quickly change,” you explained and rushed into your bedroom, closing the door behind yourself. Richie had already opened his mouth, probably offering that he could undress you. Right now, however, you just needed a moment to collect yourself. The boldness that had driven you earlier…it had come from your power. It wasn’t like you regretted your actions, but you couldn’t get reckless later. There was no room for mistakes. You took a deep steadying breath and finger-combed through your messy hair. Just when you wanted to undress, a flicker in your mirror caught your eyes. Not again. “Pennywise, just go away. Go play somewhere else,” you huffed, pulling off your sweater. But when you looked into the mirror, it wasn’t Pennywise who stared back at you. Confused, you let a tendril of power brush against the glassy surface. This truly wasn’t him. He wasn’t anywhere close to your house. So you only stared back, stared into the eyes that were so similar to your own. Stared into the face of your mother.

Read Chapter 4 here.

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@lilwickedred @shockwavee @itssmaugtheterrible @ggclarissa @okokbucky @chillcan @jojo-buttercup @victor-criss-bish @discodeakky @kaetastic @anthonystarksglasses

#it fanfiction #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fanfiction #pennywise x reader #it chapter two #it chapter 2 fanficton

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russian-romanova · 5 years ago

Text

too late

title: too late

pairing: stanley uris

word count: 4.6K

warnings: adult language, mentions of suicide and major character death

notes: i couldn’t find a decent transcript of chpt 2 online, so lots of the dialogue was either skimmed over or guessed at. also, i mention stan as the one who slices open their palms because that’s who does it in the book.

summary: you arrive back in derry after twenty-seven years, only to discover that the clown you hated is back, and the boy you had silently loved is gone.

+ + +

You would never say anything, but you had always loved Stan.

To some degree, you had all loved each other. It was cheesy and hard to vocalize for eight young teenagers, but you had all figured it out. Perhaps that made it more confusing how you cared about Stan so much, perhaps you simply thought you cared about all of them in that way. Looking back, the memories growing the longer you were in Derry, you realized it had been a deeper sort of love that had connected you to Stan.

One of the first clues you remembered was how scared you had been when Stanley had gone missing so close to the end. Seven of you were already looking for a missing Beverly, and you had almost lost Mike to Henry Bowers. You had been crouching there on your hands and knees, absolutely positive that things couldn’t get any worse when Eddie had wondered aloud where Stan was.

Instantly, your stomach had dropped. There was no chance that he had gotten lost in here, you knew it somewhere in the back of your mind. Eddie knew it too, you could tell from the shake in his voice. He wasn’t asking where Stan was hiding, he was asking where It had led him. Collectively, all of the Losers realized the same thing and began looking in the area you had all been, but you froze. You couldn’t move simply because you had forgotten how, because the moment you heard the words you realized that you had a new worst fear.

As a child, less than a month later, you had connected the fear of losing Stanley to the fear that accompanied losing any one of your friends. But when Beverly had gone missing you didn’t feel that. The newfound wisdom that came with adulthood opened your eyes, or else it was the order you remembered Derry in, and you found yourself looking back in awe at how much you had loved thirteen-year-old Stanley Uris. At even the thought that something had happened to him, you hadn’t been able to move.

The second clue had come earlier, although it meant nothing until years later. In the twenty-seven years since your first encounter with It, you had moved on. Every single one of you had, to some extent, and everyone but Mike had left Derry and forgotten all about that summer. Subconsciously, you found yourself remembering bits and pieces. Sometime in your early twenties, your worst fear had morphed from big dogs to clowns, with no real reason as to why. When you walked around anywhere, you would go out of your way to walk at least a good two feet away from any sewers, although you never understood why.

One of the bigger ones, the memories that you would share over lunch with the losers so much later, was the pictures you had made. In the time since 29 Neibolt Street and Pennywise, you had become an artist. You were fairly well known, at least to people within the art community, with realistic paintings of objects and scenery. Two of your more well-known paintings you connected to Derry, Maine.

The first one, and more subtle one was called “Summer”. It was unmistakably the Barrens, complete with a few small and blurry figures that Ben would later point out as four losers: Bev, Mike, Bill, and Stan.

The second piece of art was the only sketch you had put out. It had come to you in the middle of the night, as cheesy as it sounds, and you had grabbed a notebook and drawn it roughly out. Amazingly, you had been able to transfer the small and sloppy sketch to a larger canvas, keeping all the details as you had dreamed them. It was of a boy, no more than thirteen, with curly hair and bloodied skin. His arms were loose at his sides, one gripping a shard of a glass bottle. The boy’s eyes -- dark and tired -- were looking at something off to the side, and his mouth was unsmiling. “Coke Bottle Boy.” It was one of your favorites.

You had been driving down to Derry from New York when you realized who that picture was of, and the memories came back so quickly you had to pull over. It was Stan, you realized despite the spinning of your head. Stanley Uris, who had been the one to slice the palms of every loser before Bill declared that you would all come back, at least if It ever did.

And, as it seemed, It had.

Mike Hanlon had called you earlier that day, and you had gotten the same splitting headache that you would get on the road hours later. Headache wasn’t even the right word for it, it felt as if your brains were being blended and stirred. He had given you in the information you knew in the back of your mind, that It was back, and because of that, you would have to come back. “No,” Had been the first word out of your mouth, a refusal before you even thought about it. “Sorry, I mean…” You had trailed off, unsure of what you had meant.

“Please, Y/N.” Mike had begged, and at his words, you folded. “You have to come, and you know it.” Refusals bubbled inside of you, but you had told him that you would. You had told Mike that you would come back to Derry, almost forty now, and be prepared to fight and die so It couldn’t take any more children. It made sense to you, of course. Save the children, the children are our future. No one deserved to go through what the children of Derry had gone through in 1988 and 1989, but you were so scared. Nothing had scared you this much, not since you had put your first artwork up for display.

The worst part was that you didn’t know what you were so afraid of. What was in Derry that had brought your brain for a spin, given you an instant concussion? Most of your childhood was blurry, things you couldn’t remember and faces you couldn’t quite make out. Yet somewhere in all that fuzz, was fear. Fear that bubbled to your throat, making a home there as well as in your stomach. You wanted to throw up, but you couldn’t. It was terrifying.

But then you remember something nice, and it would be alright for a while. Like the clubhouse in the Barrens, or jumping into the Quarry. Those times you would smile, and your heart would flutter at the fleeting feeling of being young again, being free and unafraid. You could practically feel the air hitting your skin before you broke the surface of the water, the feeling that you would forever associate with flying.

For these reasons, the happy memories of flying and of the people you only vaguely remembered, you left New York and went for Derry.

By the time you drove into the town limits, you remember more. Details about people, mostly, about Big Bill’s stutter and Richie’s glasses, and the way Beverly had cut her hair that summer. You remembered Bev’s fiery hair with such detail, the same details that you had added to the small canvas of trees and a hole in the ground.

In the back of your mind, you must have known the whole time who that painting was of. Your friend Martha had asked you what the paining head about, and you had firmly responded without second-guessing yourself. If you hadn’t remembered you wouldn’t have been so sure, right?

“Where did you say it was?” Martha had tried to peek around you in search of the painting. You had called her at six in the morning, telling her how you had been working on this painting for over a week and it was finally finished, how you thought it was amazing and you needed someone else’s opinion. Joined by the mysteriously covered painting in the background, the two of you were standing in the dim light of your apartment.

With a sigh, you had turned around and began to walk towards the painting. Pausing momentarily once you arrived, you looked at Martha as if for reassurance. The look on her face held no hesitation, and you pulled the white cloth from the painting. It came off slowly and forcefull at first before it cascaded down the side of the painting as if it was a river.

The painting was largely green, with trees and grass coating the canvas almost everywhere. Off to the side of the painting, but taking center stage, a door spilled light into some underground hiding spot. Emerging from it on a ladder was a small boy, his head turned to look back into the pit in eternal conversation.

Off to the side sat another boy, this one is a t-shirt slightly shaded with old sweat stains. The sun bounced warm sweat off his forehead as he relaxed, one leg stretched out and the other bent near his chest. His arms supported him from behind his back, and he looked lost in his own world; alone but surrounded by the people that made him comfortable.

Although it was hard to see, this boy was looking at a taller boy off to the side. This boy’s hands were stuck cooly in his pockets, his red-streaked hair caught eternally fluttering in the wind. Hopeful, his turned face looked into the distance with an ever heroic look. Next to him stood a young girl, her arms crossed in front of her chest with a fiery determination matched only by the bright red of her hair. Here, her hair was short and choppy, easily mistakable for another young boy in the artistic blur. You had always intended for her to be female.

One final boy stood not far from the hole in the ground, looking at whatever interaction the boy on the ladder was having with whoever was in the hole. All at once, this final boy’s face read annoyance and a childish delight that one has from simply having good friends. His hair seemed limitlessly curly, framing the top of his head in brown noodles. There were more than just these five, you had always known and felt that. You just couldn’t see them.

You would have to show the other losers a picture of the familiar ‘Summer' when you arrived. There would certainly be catching up, telling stories of where everyone was in life. When it got to you, your phone could be pulled out and pictures searched up. You could show them Derry-related ‘Summer’, and maybe some more original works if they asked for it. Silently, you decided you wouldn’t show them your drawing of Stan. That one you would keep to yourself, despite the chance that they had seen it somewhere else. If it was anything like Derry, at least they wouldn’t remember.

+ + +

When you arrived at Jade of the Orient, you quickly took comfort in the unfamiliar building. It had been an overwhelming few hours, with all of the familiar sites and memories coming back. It seemed every turn was accompanied by something familiar, and everything you recognized was accompanied by memories hitting you like bricks. Things just kept coming, important things. You couldn't believe how you could forget these things, things that had been as simple as remembering your own age back when you were kids. Twenty-four hours ago, you wouldn’t have remembered any of the names of the other losers, and now you were picturing their faces, visually morphing them within the depths of your mind to show age. Perhaps Richie had grown a beard, or Ben’s hair had gone all grey.

In your mind, things like these details remained separate from the real images you painted. You simply added shading around the eyes and mouth, the personification of age attacking a person. They had done some growing, just as you had, and they would be older now. What if when it came time to fight -- you didn’t even understand what you were so sure about fighting -- you were all too old? It had been twenty-seven years after all, and what if you had fallen out of practice since then? You weren’t warmed up or prepared for anything, and yet that seemed the least of the worries within your mind.

The doors to enter the Jade of the Orient were roughly a dozen yards away from you. So close, yet you couldn’t even bring yourself to leave your car. The back of your mind screamed at you that it wasn’t too late, that you could put the car back into drive and pull away from here, away from Derry and the secrets it kept buried. You smothered the idea.

Quietly, you pushed open your car door and stepped outside. The wind was fairly cold, whipping your hair onto your face and blocking your view every few seconds. ‘Just walk,’ you had to tell yourself. ‘Walk inside and you’ll see them, and you can sit down and it will be okay. You’re scared now, but that’s okay because Big Bill knows what to do and Richie will tell a joke to lighten the mood. It’s going to be alright because it was alright last time.’ There were more factors you pushed out of your mind and instead focused on steadily walking towards the door.

You found yourself wondering what Stan would look like. Would he have gotten taller or wider? You hoped he still dressed up as much as he had in your childhood, with button-ups and adult undertones in his style. For the first time, you considered that maybe the butterflies in your stomach weren’t nervous, they were excited.

A gust of warmer air met you as you stepped inside, colors and lights meeting you from all sides. Eyes flickering from face to face, your heart dropped as you recognized none of them. What if none of them had come, if they had listened to the same gut feeling that had told you to drive away? Or even worse -- what if you wouldn’t recognize them? What if they were there, among these people, and your mind was too far away from Derry to remember what they actually looked like?

Still, you had told the young woman at the counter that there were likely reservations made under ‘Hanlon’, that you were here to see some old friends. The young woman smiled and told you they were in the party room, and your stomach had gone crazy again. Nerves this time, you were positive of it. You were nervous out of your wits to be seeing your old friends, nervous that they wouldn’t want you there anymore or that they would be too different than the children you remembered. Any time left to change your mind disappeared with the movement of the server’s hand, moving in what must have been slow-motion to pull open the door.

Laughter spilled out once it was cracked open, and it came out in rushing waterfalls once it was splayed open. The motion brought all of their eyes to you, and you felt like a deer in headlights. For a moment, the room was void of the adults you had been meeting and was filled with children, seemingly too small for the chairs they sat in, with wide eyes looking at you. Then, all at once, you recognized them and they grew up.

Greetings flew around the room in all directions. You were giddy, looking from face to face as you connected them. Beverly had grown somehow even more beautiful, and Ben was looking more amazing than any of you could have predicted he would. Eddie and Richie both looked the same, Eddie frightened and small, Richie with his glasses and constant smile. Mike and Bill were the two that looked the oldest, you realized. They showed their ages subtly, but it was there. There was something so comforting in the sameness you had walked into, the sameness that had been so unexpected.

You had hugged each of them in turn, giving individual greeting and compliments. Walking in, you had been worried about what to say, about what words would come out of your mouth. None of it was unnatural now, and the greetings and talk came out as if the twenty-seven years had been no more than twenty-seven hours.

When you got to Bill, had told you, “Stan’s just running a little late.”

You didn’t think of how quickly Bill had noticed you would be looking for Stan, just as it didn’t strike you that Stan was never once late in your childhood, you only stood back to tease your leader. “No stutter? Wow, now you really are perfect, huh?” Bill smiled back, and in his smile, you saw the boy who had led you all towards Neibolt.

You settled down next to Beverly, the two of you catching up with rundowns of your lives between leaving and coming back to Derry. When it came up in conversation, Beverly had insisted you show her until you pulled out your phone and searched up a picture of ‘Summer’, passing it to her. Her face had lit up instantly, and after a moment of considering it, she had passed it to Ben. He had looked at it as well, praising you before continuing the pass down the line. In years past, you had always been awkward at handling praise, but this wasn’t awkward. This was normal, and you accepted their words gratefully.

Your phone was stuck for a while around Eddie and Richie, each racing to figure out who was on the painting and who wasn’t. There had been a victorious laugh from Eddie when he realized Richie was nowhere to be seen, but then Richie pointed out how they could always remember how short Eddie had been and Eddie scrunched his face up and quieted down. Everyone had discussed their own fame, and you found yourself wondering how you hadn’t connected any of their names. You had heard of Beverly’s fashion line and thought you maybe read Bill’s book, but the names had meant nothing to you. With the amount you had forgotten, none of you were surprised.

The lunch went surprisingly well in comparison to your expectations. The absence of Stan had settled heavy in your mind, and you found yourself staring at his empty chair on more than one occasion. No one mentioned him, instead opting to laugh with each other at the moment. You supposed they felt the name nagging the in the back of their minds, the same pushing thought that you were here for a reason, and the reason was worse than anything you could imagine.

Maybe Stan had realized it too. Did he have the same thought, the one that silently warned of no return, and that was the reason he wasn’t here? Perhaps he had the smart idea to lie to Mike and simply not came, spare himself the grief and agony of a confrontation that was twenty-seven years overdue. He always was scared, you remembered suddenly, but that had never made him anything less than the rest of you. If anything, you had admired how he had overcome that fear and done his part in the end, even after he was attacked and almost had his face sucked off.

‘If I had remembered anything that happened down there,’ You thought to yourself. ‘I don’t think I would have come back to Derry, either.’

You were pulled back into the conversation as Richie spoke about Mike’s call. “When, uh, Mike called me I threw up.” His eyes flickered between the losers’ gazes and the table. He was nervous, you realized. Richie Tozier was hardly ever nervous.

“When Mike called me I crashed my car.” Eddied added quickly, glancing up at Richie before looking back down. Your mind went to the headaches you had gotten a few times, but those only seemed to accompany remembering.

Bill looked at Eddie. “Seriously?”

Ben jumped in. “Man I hear you, I mean my heart was litterally pounding right out of my chest.” Silently, you pondered the evidence. Why had you all been so nervous? When you had picked up the phone the first time -- before you even knew it was Mike -- you had gotten so nervous. The word afraid echoed in your mind. You were afraid.

“I thought it was only me,” Beverly said softly.

Bill nodded, adding. “It was like pure fuh-fuh-fuh-”

“Fear,” Mike finished, looked at Bill. You had all frozen, your eyes on Bill as he closed his mouth. He had stuttered, probably for the first time in a while. “It’s fear.”

“Why do we all fuh-feel like that, Mike?” Bill asked, ignoring the losers’ looks. “You remember something we don’t, don’t you Mike?”

“Something happens to you when you leave this town,” Mike began slowly. “The farther away, the hazier it all gets. But me… I never left. So yeah,” He looked to Bill. “I remember all of it.”

With his answer, you gulped.

There was a pause as the losers thought this over, forcing themselves to hit the barrier that kept the memories of that summer hidden. You remembered lots, but all of the details centered around people, centered around Stan. There was another face blurred in your mind, and even the blurred shape made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Colors blurred and featured molded into one, but a name floated slowly to the surface.

“Pennywise,” You said quietly. Around you, your friends agreed in a chorus of distressed curses. That was why you had forgotten so much about Derry because you wanted to avoid It and any memories that accompanied It. Your head began to mildly throb, and it seemed to only get worse as the conversation went on. People had gone missing again, a few had even been killed, but the words only served as background noise as you massaged your head. Eddie passed you a concerned look, but you brushed it off with a small nod that you were fine.

By the time someone had suggested that fortune cookies should be opened, it was a little better. At least you could overcome it enough to reach for a fortune cookie of your own, snapping it open and laying aside the cookies to eagerly open your fortunes.

“That’s weird. This says ‘GUESS’.” Eddie spoke up first, looking from his paper to the other losers.

“Mine suh-says ‘NOT’.” Bill said, swallowing down the unfamiliar stutter.

“They probably don’t know how fortune cookies work,” Richie was next. “Mine says ‘COULD’.”

“Yeah, mine is just ‘I’.” You stared at the singular word on your paper, reading it as you scanned the black letter for a hidden meaning.

“I got ‘IT’.” Mike looked up.

“I got ‘CUT’,” Ben held up his paper so you could all see.

“Here, puh-puh-pass it here.” Bill motioned with his hands and you all shoved forwards your fortunes. You leaned over the table to see over the other loser’s heads at Bill’s plan of attack. He was arranging the words as if trying to solve a puzzle, switching around ‘IT’ and ‘GUESS’, moving ‘COULD’ to the front and then back into the middle. Silently you counted the sheets of paper and come up with only six, bringing your eyes up to Beverly’s terrified face.

“Bev?” You asked over the ruckus of your friends. She looked up from the paper, her face drained of any color. “Bev, what does your fortune say?”

She couldn’t speak for a moment, but she turned the paper around to face the group, who was now looking at her. By the time you could read it, she had found her voice. “‘STANLEY’,” She whispered. “Why does it just say his name?”

Your breathing became fast and shallow, watching as Bill carefully took the paper from Beverly. If the previous commotion had been a ruckus, this was certainly a cacophony. Your head pounded.

Hands shot out to rearrange words, voices shouted suggestions and confusing questions. Why didn’t Stanley come? If he had just come, this wouldn’t have been so scary. Deep down, you supposed you all knew why he wasn’t there, but none of you wanted to admit it. Admitting it would make it real, and that would have been the worst thing of all.

All at once, your headache was gone. It faded along with any other feelings in your body as your mind processed and recognized the words that were placed out in front of you.

‘I GUESS STANLEY COULD NOT CUT IT’.

You had very little time to think it over. All at once, the fortune cookies began to move and come to life, attacking you in what you were sure was some trick of It. Mike had finally picked up a chair and hit the table with it in an attempt to kill or at least subdue the nightmarish creatures. It was the type of fear you had almost forgotten you could feel. You would have forgotten the feeling completely if you hadn’t felt a tamer version when you picked up the phone what seemed like forever ago when Mike told you it was time to return.

Now you had made it outside. The whole reunion had been far from what any of you hoped it would be like, but it was what you should have expected. Outside, you had a chance to at least catch your breath before Beverly pulled out her phone to call Stanely. It had to be a trick from Pennywise, you all agreed. Just another trick.

Mike typed in Stan’s number, and you listened to the longest moment of near-silence you had ever heard before.

When it finally picked up, it was a woman who answered Beverly. Your senses felt overloaded with the information that brought, the idea that Stan didn’t answer his own phone, and that a woman was the one who did. You shouldn’t have been angry, and you really weren’t. It had been twenty-seven years, and you had always been too chicken to tell Stanley how you felt about him.

You should have. You knew that you should have because it was too late now.

Every remaining loser heard the words that came from the phone, and every single loser felt their heart drop in the same way. Stanley had killed himself. He was gone.

You didn’t feel anything. No more sadness, no bitterness, no anger. Not even surprise. Just numb.

The eight of you had dispersed twenty-seven years ago as children, and when you returned it was clear you still thought of each other as such. Not a single one of you thought this would happen, yet there wasn’t a person who wouldn’t think later that you had all known from the moment Stan was late.

You had known, but you had known too late.

#stan uris #stan uris x reader #stanely uris #stanley uris x reader #it #it chapter 2 #pennywise #ben hanscom #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #now i am very sad bois #sad boi hours #:(

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billdenbrough · 5 years ago

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i'm going through some rough stuff atm and i've been feeling pretty bad for a while, but the shark puppy au made me smile for the first time in days. thank you so much, to you and to all of the people contributing to it. you made someone's day a lot more bearable

first off, i’m so sorry you’ve been having a hard time recently! i feel that a lil deeply, rip, but i’m sending you all the vibes and care i can, and i really hope things shift for you, because that’s an awful way to feel, but i am so, so happy that anything we did or said today/last night made anything a little easier for you 💕it’s nearly 3am and i have work again in the morning (fucking rip) but i thought i’d put some more shark puppy stuff out there in the hopes it might make tomorrow a little easier for you too!

so this morning before work i answered an ask abt shark puppy and was talking in the tags abt patstanlon (essentially just. thinking abt how to execute it)

and so tonight once i was finally home from work i was talking to a few of the others abt it and @benverlesbians brought up patty’s BA and also how in the book she says bill isn’t a real writer bc he’s a novelist (tangent but i just went back to read the start of that chapter and a, ouch, but b, “Stanley drove a Mercedes diesel—teasing him, she called it Sedanley” this will never not make my heart yell) and that led jem to the conclusion that patty thinks real writing is either non-fiction or non-prose, i.e., journalist or poet

we settled on journalist for her career, but she has a background in poetry from college

@benverlesbians: “patty and mike are like “we both got BAs in english and we are both perfect human beings” and they are correct”

anyway this interview takes place after the Scathing Review from the Conservative Magazine (after richie’s bi ass jeans)

jem posited that bev’s rly protective of the band (and herself, ofc herself, and why wouldn’t she be) and tends to like, vet the interviewers pretty hard, bc she has to be sure she can trust them with their words and their image

and then we were thinking abt how that’s interesting bc like. patty probably isn’t super overt on social media (certainly not just showing her whole self on there, miss ‘wouldn’t admit to thinking richard dawson’s watch chain was sexy if wild horses tried to drag it out of her’), which is like. frustrating for bev’s purposes, but also… kinda relatable? and bev can respect it, on an intellectual and empathetic level, even if it’s annoying that it runs counter to her purposes (but there’s also—-part of bev thinks maybe, someone who can be private with themselves can have some integrity with others, but then there’s another part of her, those self-preservation instincts honed from years of not being able to trust… men specifically, but it’s made all trust harder now, and that part is wary, hard-pressed to give people the benefit of the doubt, not when it comes to her and her friends)

jemma: “bev is like “why don’t you have instagram” and patty’s like “this isnt you interviewing me, this is me interviewing you. please pass the maple syrup, my pancakes are dry as fuck"”

(it starts at a kitschy diner (jem’s idea) bc like, well, there are seven of them. like. that’s too many. but they’re probs not all at the diner, maybe just bev, stan, mike & eddie (deliberate choices from bev, given how she couldn’t find too much on patty—-some good testimonials that convinced her to give the interview anyway, even if patty works for a buzzfeet analogue, bev has less personal hang-ups with them than stan does, even though she loyally disavows them with him—-and she trusts stan and mike to hold their own, and while eddie can be a wild card (it’s not wild, she thinks, not really, because it doesn’t come out of nowhere. it’s just that he’s brave and good and loyal and principled, like he’d have her back, have all of their backs, and wouldn’t let anything slide he wasn’t okay with), she’d rather have that inability to back down at her side when their words and image are on the line than some of the impulsive nonsense richie and bill pull, and ben has a tendency to be too earnest, too quick, and if bev wants to be careful, be sure, before exposing ben’s heart and sentiment and big fucking eyes to that, well, sue her) but then patty is interviewing them, and she’s thoughtful, questioning without being probing, framing things in interesting ways that keeps them talking, keeps them interested, and bev’s already halfway to inviting patty back to the clubhouse (their studio) where the others are when stan, like, references some swedish poet whose translated works he was reading when he and mike wrote one of their songs, and patty, like, gets it? and works tomas tranströmer into her next question, and stan’s expression is just. and he glances at mike, and mike grins (bev doesn’t even know why stan bothered. mike’s clearly thought well of patty the entire time), and stan cocks an eyebrow at bev, and she almost can’t believe it, bc since when does stan ever want to allow interviewers more access? but it’s stan, and he never asks, and so of course she turns to patty, and asks: “got a couple more hours?”)

@chaoticbisexualalien: “pre-meeting stan journalist!pat on twitter giving their album a four-star review but singling him out as exceptional and then a bitter fan is like "oh did he eat you out for that review” and she’s like “I would have given them five stars for that"”

@striffyisme: “omg,,,, the fans start calling her Petty Patty for her excellent clap backs”

britt: “stan sees it and doesn’t get involved directly because he doesn’t want to fan the flames but he admires her from afar and then later on he finds out that she’s interviewing the band and he’s like ”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!“ inside”

alex: “stan, instantly in love and adoring from afar, patty falling for him as she gets to know him, everyone outside the band thinking it was the other way around lmao”

which, yeah, bc when the others catch on, they realise… patty working for a b/zzfeet analogue isn’t a speed bump for patstanlon to overcome, but rather just something stan was holding onto as like, a reminder to himself that ‘objectively she’s not perfect, and the only perfect person in this world is probably mike hanlon, be quiet rich’ but he’s wrong! she’s perfect too! he knows two perfect people! and by the time she’s gotten a job offer for her frankly thoroughly fucking excellent article abt shark puppy and has quit her job at the buzzfeet analogue, he’s pretty much forgotten about that hang-up until she’s like, “god i’m glad i have an actual adult workplace now” and mike laughs and stan feels his heart grow three sizes in his chest

@dykeeddie: “Okay I’m just gonna say it if she’s working at a b*zzfeed analogue for any period of timeShark Puppy Styles Me For A Week… there are 7 of them it’s the only way”

anyway the article is fucking bomb, everyone stan patty blum, and it blows the conservative scathing review sky high into a void of irrelevance

(at the clubhouse, patty makes such an expression at one of bill’s lyrics that richie actually chokes on his coke from laughter)

#shark puppy #patricia blum #beverly marsh #stanley uris #god i've been typing this for hrs i suck at answering asks it's fucking 5am #also the b/zzfeet analogue idea came totally from that ten long yrs of trying to make armie hammer happen article lmao #answered #Anonymous #long post //

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