#PAPA MORE MOVIE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-dragonsqueen · 2 years ago

Text

I read every chapters at once last night and omg I’m in love this is sooooo good !! I’m excited to read more :))))

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

in which you come to a few realizations while remembering the very first night you'd met eddie. a phone call with steve leaves you with more questions than answers.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, heavier angst this chapter but all will be well soon, two uses of y/n, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ word count: 4.4k+

→ a/n: shorter chapter today but the focus here is the memory! finally making some progress haha. also trying out something new with formatting/the summary situation. if i hate it, i'll probably change it. <3 also, italicized portion is a memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

7:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: [image attachment]

DINGUS: y/n just texted me this. we’re not getting an update this hour.

BIRDIE: what the hell happened?

DINGUS: she hasn’t said yet, as you can see in the photo, robs.

ARGYLE 😎: what do we THINK happened?

BIRDIE: my best bet is fighting?

ARGYLE 😎: lover’s quarrel? Makes sense.

BIRDIE: i’m adding nance back into the chat

BIRDIE added NANCE to the groupchat.

BIRDIE: @NANCE explain what you meant earlier please. we’re having a code red. the bad kind.

DINGUS: there’s a good kind of code red?

NANCE: Oh God, what happened?

DINGUS: y/n texted me saying she fucked up, and we’re assuming either she’s finally murdered eddie, or they’re fighting again.

NANCE: I can call Eddie, if you guys want?

JOHNNY: So does this mean we’re all $500 richer?

BIRDIE: @JOHNNY if you still think this is about the money, you’re a fucking idiot

—

HOUR SEVEN - 10:00 PM

There had been a time in your life where you believed you didn’t hold a single mean bone in your body. A time where you were soft-spoken, a time where you overflowed with kindness and dotted out compliments to random strangers. There was once a version of you in this lifetime that worked so fervently to be the type of person people liked and enjoyed the company of. You always swore to always treat others with the same grace as you would prefer to receive as well.

A year ago, that version of you had been sidetracked.

You stare at the wooden frame of Eddie’s door with blank eyes. He wasn’t going to open it any time soon. You’d tried knocking multiple times, calling out to him in a soft voice, begging and pleading and begging and pleading. His response continued to be silence.

“All I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

With the haze clearing, in the midst of the aftermath and sour clarity, you wish you would have corrected him. Eddie and you had surely hurt each other countless times, but it is not all he’s ever done.

You can remember the better moments clearly now. The time you’d tripped walking up the steps of one of the bars on Main Street, and Eddie had been the only person in your friend group to stop completely, reflectively reaching out to catch you from embarrassing yourself. The night of your birthday, in which he hadn’t come to the party due to “work” as Steve had explained, but had sent a card along with your friends that contained a gift card to your favorite coffee shop. You hadn’t even realized he knew your favorite coffee shop, and you’d come to find out that he didn’t even ask a single one of your mutual friends for it. You’d brushed it off as a lucky guess. And there was the time you’d forgotten your wallet during a brunch with the group, and he hadn’t hesitated to pick up your bill with his own. He didn’t even give Robin the chance to argue; he’d simply snatched your bill from across the table when you’d paled as you dug through your bag, and didn’t say a word about you paying him back.

Small moments. Glimpses of kindness, bandages on wounds that you’d been ignoring to keep up a war between the two of you that you’d always assumed he’d started.

Eddie Munson wasn’t the enemy, and the first night you two met was never a red herring; it was a glimpse into who he actually was. A clear look past the armor he hadn’t formed yet when it came to you.

—

A YEAR AGO

“They’re going to love you!” Robin insists as she continues to shove you from behind through the entrance of the bar. Steve is ahead of you, guiding you through the rough crowd to the table the rest of the group had already snagged.

You turn your head over your shoulder, reaching up and grabbing the hand that Robin rested on you, “You don't know that. What if they hate me? What if they think I’m the worst person they’ve ever met?”

Even as you wore a smile, there was a truth to the fear in your words. You were petrified that these strangers, strangers who meant so much to your only friends on campus, would turn their noses to you. There was nothing Robin or Steve could do to extinguish the fear. It was already a terrible knot in the pit of your stomach, tying and untying itself like a nuisance as Steve started to wave at a brunette who had been scanning the bar as if waiting for someone.

She’s pretty. Wavy hair barely brushing her shoulders, sharp features accentuated in the shadows of the busy location. The moment her blue eyes locked on Steve, all the concentration on her face faded to be replaced with an excited smile.

She returns the wave, and the boys surrounding her at the table all glance in your direction.

You’re still half-hidden behind Steve as the three of you approach the group. Robin bounds out from behind you, scooping the woman you assumed was the famous Nancy into a barrelling hug. Your eyes flickered to the boy sat to Nancy’s right, shaggy hair flopping against his forehead and smile creases exposed as he nods to Steve and holds up his drink in greeting. Beside him, another man sits, long and shiny hair flowing over an outrageous Hawaiian print shirt and topped off with a baseball cap that looked to be the merchandise of a pizza shop. His smile is welcoming – something comforting in the relaxation of it.

You’re almost completely captivated by the warmth that bled from the group when Steve and Robin are suddenly taking their seats. Robin sits beside Nancy, while Steve takes the seat across from the man with long hair.

The only seat left open was between Steve and a man who’s back was turned to you.

His hair is in a loose bun, unraveling against the nape of his neck. You could see each and every defined curl. His broad shoulders stiffen beneath a leather jacket and denim vest, and his ring-clad hand cradles a short glass of something dark, something fizzy.

“Alright, everyone!” Steve announces, turning and beckoning you to take this seat. Your stomach twists again, realizing you’d be sitting beside a stranger. One who had yet to even spare you a glance, “This is Y/N.”

There’s rounds of greetings and introductions as you brush shoulders with the stranger to take your seat, and try as you might to keep up, all you can focus on is not looking at him.

You’re guess was correct – the pretty girl that Robin had hugged was Nancy. The boy with floppy hair at her side was Jonathan, and the man with long hair told you his name is Argyle. His tone of casualty matches the comfort of his smile as he holds a hand out to you across the table, both your elbow and his brushing against empty baskets once filled with bar food as you shake.

Finally, you turn to look at the stranger beside you, Steve reaching around to clasp his shoulder.

“And mister oh-so-welcoming here is Eddie.”

Eddie. He finally turns to look at you, with doleful eyes and a tight-lipped grin, and you almost forget how to breathe.

He was intimidating. All broodish glances and stand-offish energy. But then Argyle cracks a joke, and suddenly, it all fades. The air in the room crackles frantically as you watch him chuckle slowly at first, until he finally descends into cackles with Steve and Jonathan alike.

That’s when the first vine sprouts.

The second one does when the conversation becomes overwhelming, and you find yourself lost amongst the sea of new friends. They’re nothing but friendly, trying to learn more about you but easily falling into well-established inside jokes at times. When you descend into silence as you watch them recount a story of a time that Argyle snuck them into his job after hours, you suddenly feel Eddie lean in closer to you.

“I think they tell this story every time they get drunk,” he whispers, tilting his head so that the words only reach your ears, “I’ve probably heard it a hundred times by now.”

You bite back a smile, “Just tonight, or the entire time you’ve known them?”

“Both.”

You have to fight hard to swallow down giggles, Eddie hiding his with a sip of his drink. A waiter who had taken your order nearly ten minutes ago arrives with your own drink. An amaretto sour.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says as you taste the drink. Its citrus bursts across your tongue and you nod.

“So Steve mentioned.”

“Yeah, but I felt bad for not introducing myself,” he shrugs. You were facing him fully now, no longer trying to stick vehemently to Steve’s side. “I didn’t want to seem like a dick, just… had a long week.”

You knew all about long weeks.

“I get it,” you assure him, “Are you in school, too?”

“Night classes,” he supplies with a wave of his hand, “Midterms are a bitch, especially after working all day.”

“Tell me about it. I think I’m about ten seconds away from getting fired at my current gig,” you joke, and Eddie laughs. It occurs to you that you’d probably do just about anything to hear his laugh more, and already begin to conjure up terrible jokes to pull that sound from him once more. It’s even more comforting than Argyle’s friendly cadence, than Steve’s elbow knocking yours to remind you he’s still there.

“Why would you think that?” Eddie’s nose scrunches, more curls falling against his cheek. Your drink is immediately forgotten.

“He caught me talking shit,” another laugh falls from Eddie’s lips at your deadpan, more reserved than the previous but just as melodic, “I give it a week. He was already looking for a reason to send me to the chopping block. Says I talk too much to customers.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently.”

For a moment, in the smoky bar, it’s just you and Eddie. All knotting nerves have been replaced by the weight of the vines that surge higher and higher in your chest, growing at impossible rates. They don’t strangle you like your fears of the night had; their weight is a comforting hold, something solid to reach out for in the unfamiliar territory of new socialization. Without the mask of intimidation, Eddie feels like an old friend.

You assume that everyone else is distracted by their own conversation, but Robin catches the way you lean into him as the two of you joke. She nudges Nancy subtly, and they both share a look when Eddie blushes at you being impressed as he tells you that his battle vest is hand-sewn.

Your vines are not as hidden as you assume they are, certainly not when the first bud of hopefulness begins to grow.

“So how long have you known Steve?” you ask him quietly, still under the guise of the two of you having created your own small bubble of a moment.

Eddie downs the last of his Jack & Coke, something you caught onto by smelling it on his breath when he had gotten particularly close to you during conversation, “Too long. We all met in high school, actually.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” you groan, and your forehead dramatically falls into his shoulder without second-thought. He stiffens beneath the connection, “I’m infiltrating a friend group that’s stood the test of times? I’m doomed.”

You nearly lift your head from his still stiff shoulder, afraid to make him uncomfortable, when he brings a hesitant hand to pat your back jokingly, “There, there. I think you’re fitting in fine.”

“Just fine? Ouch,” you finally lift your head as you had planned to, just as Eddie had begun to relax into your touch. His hand doesn’t fall too far from your back, resting on the back of your chair. His shy grin is impossibly charming, “You could have just said I’m crashing and burning, you know?”

The night carries on like that, you and Eddie lost in private conversations only to be occasionally dragged back in on whatever debate the group is having. It’s a spring reaction; once one or both of you have given your two cents, you return to one another, finding solitude in joking and Eddie updating you on the group’s ‘lore’, as he puts it. Steve shoots several glances in your direction, always prepared to offer comfort in what should be an overwhelming situation, but he never has to. Every time he glances at you, Eddie is already taking the lead of entertaining you, qualming all your anxieties into non-existence.

Your vines decorate with buds of hope. Every laugh you pull from Eddie, every fleeting touch that passes between the two of you, every new inside joke he decides to make with you rather than indulging in ones set in stone already with old friends - they all whisper of new friendship. They whisper in potential, in new beginnings and coming home after long weeks.

By the time Nancy announces she has to go to the restroom and invites you and Robin, you’re in full bloom. You’re convinced that Eddie is a friend. And you can see it in his eyes – he’s convinced of it too, looking nervous when you stand and agree to go with Nancy. He looks like a child about to lose their social crutch, and it has potential to be devastating.

It’s almost enough to make you ignore your bladder, but you need to pee, and you need to socialize with more than just Eddie tonight.

You’re not sure what happens at the table during your trip to the bathroom. But something surely does happen as you giggle with the girls under the humming lights of the restroom, as you all stand in the mirror side by side and fiddle with your hair and makeup and Robin makes a comment about how terribly cliche the moment is. Nancy slaps her on the arm, mutters something about the importance of girls bonding, and when you return to the table, you see it immediately – Eddie’s mask of indifference has returned.

His cheeks are flushed, and all the boys are sharing nervous glances between one another as you all sit down again.

There’s no more fleeting touches. You sip on your now watered down drink, and you try and pull Eddie out from wherever he’s ventured in your absence, but it’s no use. A conversation was had while you girls had been in the restroom, and it left Eddie in his head, out of reach. The buds of hopefulness quiver on their vines, and you try to reassure yourself that it’s nothing personal. It’s nothing personal when he clearly holds back any laughs at your jokes you lean into his space to whisper to only him, it’s nothing personal when his arm never rests on the back of your chair again, it’s nothing personal when he won’t meet your eyes the rest of the night.

It’s nothing personal, but it’s sorely disappointing.

You end the night, everyone splitting up, Eddie heading off towards his motorcycle. He hadn’t even mentioned driving a motorcycle during the night, and you curse the way you watch him straddle the seat as he secures his helmet over his tied-back hair. You desperately wish to know what was said while you were in the bathroom, what had happened to make him retreat so far from you after spending the entirety of the night tending to the greenery that had grown attached to your ribcage.

“You like him, don’t you?” Robin teases at your side, bumping shoulders.

Something aches in you. The thrill of meeting someone new, of getting along, of finding them cute and endearing, is beyond your grasp.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

“I did,” you whisper softly. A reverberation of past-tense, an exhale of worry.

You did. But he didn’t even say goodbye.

—

Eddie still hasn’t opened the door. But to his defense, you haven’t tried knocking again.

That ache from that night, the feeling of a delicate rush of possibility taunting you from a distance, still remains. Even amongst now rotted vines, even as petals fall from your hopeful buds. It never really went away. With each group hangout that followed, it echoed louder and louder, demanding to be heard and demanding to be felt as Eddie grew colder. You were an idiot the first few times; you’d still gravitated to him, falling right into his orbit and begging for his attention. You’d still seek him out in every room, craving to find the warmth that had once sparked in his eyes only to find them averted from you entirely. And when you couldn’t take the hint, when you wouldn’t leave him alone when Steve and Robin left you to your own devices at the hangouts, he became mean.

You took it as a joke at first, but six months ago, something inside of you finally wisened up – it wasn’t a joke. Eddie Munson hated you. Somehow, he hated you, and yet he also swore to protect you. He hated you, and yet he would still pay for you without you asking him to. He hated you, and yet he still remembered your birthday. He hated you, and yet, he still knew your favorite coffee shop.

He hated you and yet.

You stand, unable to take your racing thoughts anymore, moving to pound on the door again, “Eddie. Open the door.”

You’re not asking anymore.

You don’t care for answers any more. In this moment, you truly believe you could let it all be water under the bridge. Right this second, if you looked into honey brown eyes and goddamn dimples, you’d forgive him.

“Eddie,” your voice cracks, and you scorn yourself.

All I ever do is hurt you.

Even in locking himself away, he’s hurting you. Putting that distance, choosing to not work this out like adults, is hurting you.

“Can you- I don’t know, at least let me know that… that…” you trail off, huffing in frustration and finally smacking a flat palm against wood, watching the door shake on its hinges from your force, “Just let me know you’re alive, Jesus Christ, Eddie. We still have to take the stupid fucking photo for this hour, and we-”

Mid-tirade, the door swings open to reveal Eddie. He doesn’t look irritated, he doesn’t look mad. He looks tired.

The war between you two has weighed heavy on him, too. He doesn’t look like the same person you met a year ago. The battles raged, the fights lost, the victories celebrated through bloody teeth – they all show on the shadows of his face, a clear mirror image to your own.

“Take the photo,” he says in monotone, hardly leaving the door cracked enough to catch a proper glimpse of him.

“What?”

“The photo. Take it. For the chat, so you can get your money when it’s all over.”

You’re stunned for a second. The money hadn’t even crossed your mind; you had just been rambling, hoping to find the right thing to say to get him to unlock the barrier between you two.

Who the fuck even cares about the money anymore?

You do. You’re supposed to. And so is he.

You sigh and pull your phone from your back pocket, and turn your back to him before lifting the camera to capture the two of you. The door creaks open an inch more.

There’s no fun pose. There’s no smiles. There’s nothing. It’s even more lifeless than the first photo taken. You can’t stand to look at it longer than necessary as you send it off to the group.

Just as you turn around to face him again, to try and talk to him, the door shuts again. You can hear the soft click of a lock. The ache is heard, the ache is felt, as you refuse to look back at the wood that still separates you physically, at the emotions that separate you mentally.

You don’t really know why you do it. But you walk out to the living room, deciding against sitting outside the door any longer and continuing to make yourself miserable. Your feet carry you straight to the sliding door of his balcony, and you press outside into the cooler night air, shutting the door behind you.

What happened when I was in the bathroom that night?

The thought haunts you, a new ghost that had been lingering and gathering dust since that night. You never asked anyone, certainly not Eddie, and refuse to overthink it until now. But after tonight, after practically reliving your first encounter with Eddie all over again, the deja vu and the curiosity are winning over.

You dial Steve’s number.

“Hell-”

“Why do me and Eddie hate each other?” you blurt out, cutting off Steve’s greeting.

“I- What?” Steve’s confused, understandably so, “How should I know? I don’t keep a list of every time you rant about him to me.”

“What about him?”

“Okay, you know I love you, but I’m not a mind-read-”

“What about a list of every time he rants about me?”

Silence buzzes through the line, and you glance up at the night sky. It’s a cloudy black. The city pollution hides most of the stars, and from Eddie’s balcony, you can’t locate the moon.

“I also don’t have one of those.”

“Why not? Because, Jesus Christ, Harrington, I have questions-”

“Because he doesn’t rant about you. Especially not to me, but Nancy says he never talks about you usually either,” Steve explains in an even tone, still not sure how his answer should be helping you. You are the one, afterall, with Eddie right now.

Even if he is locked away in his room right now, refusing to speak to you.

“That makes no sense,” you sigh, exasperation creeping its way into your bones, “I rant about him all the time. I’ve bitched to you and Robin more times than I can count about him. He should be doing the same.”

Steve says your name softly, “Why are you asking me this?”

You laugh humorlessly and shake your head, even knowing Steve can’t see you, “It’s stupid. Forget it,” It’s not stupid to you, and you can’t forget it, but this doesn’t concern Steve, “Can I ask you one last question, though?”

“Shoot, babydoll,” you can’t help but grin at that nickname. Steve pulls it out at random, every time he’s trying to make you feel bad. He knows that neither of you can take it seriously.

“Um, that night you introduced me to everyone,” you begin, stepping up to wrap your free hand around the iron railing of Eddie’s balcony, letting the cold seep into your palm, “At the bar, you know?”

“Right…” he encourages, “What about it?”

“Me and Eddie got along,” you spit it out, letting it tear from your chest and score your throat on its way out, “We… we were getting along at first, and then I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he…. He…”

He was gone. The Eddie I’d first met had vanished. Where’d he go? Why’d he go?

“Shit, your memory is way better than mine,” Steve chuckles, sounding nervous, “But, I mean, I kind of remember that. You two getting along, at least. Guess that’s why we all were really confused when you started hating each other. But I’m still not understanding the question - are you asking if I remember the night? Or if he’s ever talked about it? I was a jock, you’re gonna have to spell it out for my pea brain.”

“Stop insinuating you’re stupid,” you scold on instinct, scowl settling along your features as you lean onto the railing and glance down. It’s only two stories, but the ground feels impossibly far as you ask, “What happened when all us girls went to the bathroom? When we came back, he acted differently. Did he mention hating me that night? Did I leave a bad first impression? Was it all just a joke to hi-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. One question, remember?” you’re sure Steve can hear the panting in your breath over the line, the way your chest heaves in the memory, “I’ve gotta be honest - I don’t remember. I know that’s probably not the answer you’re looking for, and I don’t know what’s going on with you two right now, but I was already well on my way to drunk. I think Jonathan and Argyle poked some fun at Eddie, maybe teased him about something, but I really can’t recall what it was about. Maybe his hair? Who knows?”

The answer isn’t helpful. It’s only more confusing, more hurtful.

He stopped joking with you because someone made fun of his hair? You lost access to the warmth buried beneath his surface because his friends teased him?

“Okay,” you sound defeated. You feel defeated – defeated by the weight of still feeling like an outsider, defeated by the barrier of some measly wooden door, defeated by the hurt in Eddie’s eyes as you admitted that he only ever hurts you, “Okay, thanks, Steve.”

You hang up before either of you say goodbye. When you pull your phone down from your cheek and ear, you see your phone still open to the photo of Eddie and you that you’d sent to the group.

You were wrong. There wasn’t only nothing. Your face may have been void of all emotions, but now looking at it, you can see Eddie’s isn’t.

He’s looking at you and not the camera during the shot, face crestfallen, eyes nearly teary as the corners of his mouth tucked downward.

He’s looking at you with regret, with sadness. He’s looking at you as if he can see the vines he’d planted in you, all rotted and dusting away, and he’s mourning them just as you had.

It’s bullshit, or your imagination, or your innate need for Eddie to bleed the same way as you have over your entire situation with each other. You lock your phone and don’t bother to look at the photo again as you enter the living room, as you toss your phone onto the loveseat, as you curl up on the couch and don’t even bother to go to ask for a pillow or blanket. He probably wouldn’t answer the door, anyway.

You don’t say goodnight to Eddie, just as he never said goodbye to you the first night, and wonder if he notices the absence of your salutation.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed. <3

#papa more movie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst

2K notes · View notes

seaslugfanclub · 5 months ago

Text

This is literally like, the perfect Ratigan x reader looks like. Take notes people.

Oh, Rats

You find a wounded rodent on a stroll by Big Ben and being the kind lady you were, you take it home and tend to it until it gets better. Little do you know what you've done.

(This was really inspired by @sindysugar and @lilgrimmapple I really adore their artwork and story involving The Great Mouse Detective and If you get a chance please check out their stuff. Warnings for Ratigan being in bad shape with some broken bones.)

"I don't like that."

"Don't like what?"

A thunderstorm rolled across the sky that night. The sun was just setting over the horizon with the last few rays of daylight disappearing but it was hard to tell when the dark storm clouds took over the sky and claimed them as their own. Thunder shaking the lanes of the windows and lightning sounded off like an angry whip from whatever deity was angrily stomping around the clouded skies, lighting up the sky and city below for nothing but a brief second.

It would've been absolutely dark if you hadn't lit up a few candles inside the comfy room and placed them on the table to light up the room. The warm light comforting against the scary night sky that just appeared as the last few daylights were chased away. The candlelight lighting up the scowling scrunched up face of the old maid that peered downwards at the rather large vanity in the room. It was large enough to be used as a vanity, work desk, and table so you used it as such. But lately it's had a new purpose. And it's purpose being the temporary home for your temporary new roommate.

"I swear whatever this...this THING is it's evil!," she spoke pointing out a little but decently sized caged sitting on the vanity. It had been an old bird cage stored in the attic but you'd brought it out again to use it for someone else. "The way it just looks at everyone..." She shivered. "I swear it's almost human like! It's disturbing!"

"Calm down, Olga." Your calm voice usually soothed the older woman of any worries but lately her insistence has been a bother. Soft hands closed the curtains to your window hiding the sights of the gloomy storm outside. "He's just a harmless little mouse, and you don't have to take care of him. So why does his presence in one room of the house where you can just easily avoid him forever bother you so?"

The woman never looked up from where or more accurately WHO and WHAT she was staring at giving a loud huff of disapproval. "Hmph. It's his look that bothers me. I swear that evil smugness he always gives me is unlike a rodent!"

You sighed again as she finally turned up her nose, laundry in her arms. This happened every day since you first brought it home. Brought HIM home. Ignoring her worries, your footsteps echoed in the room making the small journey across the room to the vanity and smiled at the little occupant of the cage.

"Hello there. Is Olga being a worrier again?" Your voice softly cooed.

Black eyes turned up towards you from the inside, teeth on display but you knew it wasn't malicious. He just seemed to like his teeth showing. Honestly it looked almost like a smirk but that was ridiculous. Mice couldn't have enough thought process to smirk. Olga was just imagining things as usual.

"I find it disturbing how you treat it?"

"Don't like how I treat him how?," you questioned playfully wagging a finger at the cage like it was a kitten instead of a mouse.

"That! Like THAT!!" A finger released itself from the laundry she held to point at you. "You talk to that creature as if it was a human! It's disturbing and not normal!"

You again sighed tiredly before looking at her. "I talk to them the same as I do everyone else. Is that so wrong?"

"YES! It's not an equal it's a filthy vermin!"

"He's not filthy. He had a bath yesterday and I cleaned the cage this morning."

"That isn't what I meant and you know that."

Another soft sigh left your mouth along with a tired eye roll. This has happened over and over again with Olga. Honestly the older woman didn't like any animals unless it was cooked on a plate for her to eat, so this wasn't an unusual occurrence but it has been the first time she's been so insistent about you getting rid of the animal. She must really not like like mice.

She hated him the moment you brought the poor thing home with you. It was on a similarly stormy night actually just like this one some weeks ago. You were taking a stroll through the streets of London after a day of shopping but lost track of time. A storm was coming in from the thick fog and made itself known. You decided to take a short cut past the famous Big Ben to get home faster but something else had caught your hurried attention.

As you hurried down the sidewalks with thunder sounding overhead and the fog clouding the streets, your footsteps echoed throughout the dark streets eerily, something caught your eye. A single black lump laid out upon the middle of said sidewalk making you slow down to a stop until it was but a yard away from you. What was..that? It looked at first like a black blob a little larger than a single one of your hands within the fog but as you slowly approached, it began to form more clearer and take shape. It was a-..

A large mouse? Rat maybe?

Whichever one it was, it laid face down splayed against the concrete covered in some kind of tattered black cloth. ..Poor thing. Many people considered rodents in general a burden and considered it good fortune at seeing one dead but you couldn't help but feel sorry for it. Maybe it was because you loved animals but you did feel sorry for it. It must've been stepped on by someone or maybe run over by a moving carriage the wheels throwing it onto the sidewalk with their momentum. Although you hadn't the faintest idea why it was covered in black fabric. Maybe it crawled out from a dumpster tangled in it? Or had someone tied a bag around it only for the animal to shred it apart? You had no idea.

But SOMETHING important caught your attention as you took a closer look at it. It's chest slowly and shakily rising and falling in shaking breaths. A wheezing breathing gasping sound exiting it's mouth as it desperately clung onto life. It's body shook lightly with every gasp. It was-

"You're alive."

Olga shrieked when you got home shopping bags around your elbows and a half dead unconscious rodent in your hands wrapped up in your handkerchief. She shrieked at you that it carried diseases and it was dirty and it should die and you should throw it out the door right that second! You ignored her of course because she always reacted this way whenever you brought home an animal and sent for the local veterinarian.

"He's incredibly lucky to be alive," the doctor had told you after the animal had been properly cleaned up and treated. "Any more time out there, especially in the rain, and he would've died. I don't know where you find these beasts but as my best customer my service is yours."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Certainly! He has some broken bones specifically some broken ribs and some wounds but with proper treatment he should be back to normal again in no time! I'll write down the care he needs and prescribe some medicine that ought to help."

Your care had been going on for a while now since then and he's been doing so much better! You made sure he was given a good clean space to stay in and comfortable things that seemed to make him feel better. Though it was quite odd for a mouse. He seemed to prefer the water you gave him in a smallish wine glass (small to a human not him), and he seemed to not like the scraps you tried giving himself. You tried giving him fresh food cut from your daily meals, which worked better. It was almost like he preferred to be served actual meals like you were a maid instead of feasting on scraps like mice usually do. But you supposed after spending so much time outside any animal would want fresh food instead of old scraps. His bed was an old cushion that was torn apart by a cat you were also caring for but had managed to sew the scrapped fabric up enough to make him a small pillow to rest on. Which he was doing now.

"You said that about every animal I've cared for," you pointed out to her raising a brow. "Like the dog with the broken leg. You said he was possessed by an evil spirit. Or the carriage horse. You say that he's waiting for you to get in front of him to run you over!"

"I stand by both of those statements still thank you very much! But this thing-" she shuddered hard. "There's something else about him that's borderline evil!"

"He's not evil. He's a mouse-"

"That thing tried to bite me through the cage first week he was here!," he accused.

"That's because you yelled at him and hit his cage which I told you NOT to do!," you countered back with a frown and crossed arms. "He was hurt, irritated, and you scared him being aggressive like that."

You remembered that day. Olga shrieked and SWORE he was smirking at her and called him a qoute 'disgusting, filthy, disease carrying, germ and flea infested, ugly RAT' before hitting her fist on top of his cage. She almost got bit when the mouse let out a rather loud squeak. A rage fueled squeak that sounded almost like a shriek itself as it lashed out and was almost able to catch her pinky finger in his teeth. To this day you've never heard any rodent sound like that. You had to physically shove the hysterical screaming woman out of your room and lock the door to prevent her from swinging the broom at the cage and it took nearly an hour and a half for the mouse to calm down enough for you to safely look over himself. Thankfully both were ok but you've banned Olga from going into your room at all unless you were there and made it clear if anything were to happen to him, she'd be fired immediately. You were now tired of her continued antics.

"Just leave him alone!," you ordered firmly. "He's very well behaved and he's not staying here forever. It's just until he gets all better then I'm going to release him back outside."

"Hmph. Well that's the only good thing about him being here! I swear that thing is evil and I won't change my mind. "

"Oh come now. If he was really bad he would've done something to me by now. He's so good even the kitty I'm looking after likes him."

"You mean that obese beast that eats all our good fish and lazes about all day? She's almost as bad as him."

You scowled harder at her making her sigh. The poor kitty had fur torn from her making bald spots and looked like a pack of stray dogs got her. You brought her back home to recover about two weeks before you found the mouse. Both seemed to like each other very much when you accidentally left the door open one day and came back to find both cuddled up with each other. But surprise surprise Olga didn't like her either.

"She's on a diet so she's not used to not getting so much food. Whoever owned her previously probably just over spoiled her so she's not used to portions." You didn't see it but the mouse gave you an eye roll of slight irritation before you smiled back at him. "He's a little extinguished gentlemen. Here. I'll show you."

Olga looked physically disgusted before you reached out and with a click slide the door wide open. Her face immediately paled as your hands reached in cupped and you cooed at him like you would a kitten to come over to you.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

You looked up at her shriek not seeing how he stood up on two legs before turning on a heel and flopping onto your palms smugly. "I'm taking him out. He's always so well behaved." Her expression worsened as you pulled your hands out with the mouse in it and smiled brightly holding him up. "See? Isn't he such a cute little guy?"

Instead of answering she squealed out as the mouse stuck it's tongue at her not that you saw and pressed herself Against the doorway in her panic fumbling with the doorknob. Wretching it open a sheet dropped from her arms as her fearful squealing continued down the hall and towards the downstairs. You blinked for a moment as the door slowly creaked closed again and more thunder rolled above you. Eventually sighing as the mouse flipped onto his stomach and regarded you with a smile as you shook your head.

"I swear that woman just hates any animal she doesn't eat. You're certainly a gentleman no matter what anyone says. Let's get you back to bed now."

Gently your hands pushed him back into the pen and laid him stomach down on the comfy pillow. However his front paws caught onto your pointer finger and a small kiss like motion was felt on your skin. Blinking you pulled your hand away from him to look at it then at him.. before shaking your head and relocking the cage. Kissing your hand. Too many of Olga's fears was getting in your head. He probably just licked you as any animal would do.

After all he was just a rodent and nothing more.

#papa more movie #the great mouse detective #ratigan #ratigan x reader #more I need MORE #our community is in a desperate need for Ratigan fics

226 notes · View notes