#things are gonna get awkward pretty soon because richard is going to be urged to invade france

[shredsandpatches]

sunday snippet (I forgot to post until 7:30 pm edition)

I've been in kind of a writing slump for the last six weeks or so because first I got shingles and then I was really depressed over the job thing and I've got over 100,000 words and a lot of the first half (up to about 1388) exists in, like, messy draft form, and now I'm like "I've been wanting to write this for years and now it's not as good as I wanted" and it's all hard on the old motivation.

Today's excerpt was written a while ago and is nominally upbeat except we know how it's going to turn out. It follows (not immediately) on this section I posted a while back.

--

“You sent for my lord of Oxford, your Highness?” the servant says.

Richard starts—of course he’s sent for him, they were going to go hawking—he stammers some sort of noncommittal reply until Anne swats at his arm. He glances at her—she is smiling, and when his eyes meet hers, she nods. He breathes a sigh of relief. “Send—send him in,” Richard finally manages.

“It is all right,” Anne says, once he’s stepped away. “I am not going to stop you seeing Robert just because I am—”

“Your Highnesses,” Robert announces, doffing the magnificent green bycocket he wears for hunting trips and bowing in a most fetching manner that shows off his legs (with the aid of his short gown with dagged sleeves, and red-and-black particolored hose). “I am at your service.” He straightens up and peers at Richard, and then at Anne; he clearly expected them to be ready for an afternoon outdoors. “Are you both quite all right?”

Richard raises a hand to his cheek—his face is warm, and he must look rather flushed. Anne’s face is certainly pink, and her eyes are shining. Can they tell him? Anne is the one carrying the child; it’s her right to say who gets to know, but he can hardly ask her about it when Robert is right here. He bites his lip and casts another glance in her direction.

“We are going to have a baby!” Anne exclaims. So, now it’s out and he doesn’t even have to ask her. Richard clutches her hand tightly.

“You—” Robert sputters a little.

“I mean, I am going to have a baby,” Anne adds, flushing an even brighter red. “Richard helped, of course,” she adds, stammering and clutching Richard’s hand.

For a moment, Robert stares. For a moment, Richard is gripped by anxiety: is he going to be upset? Jealous? It’s not as though he can have a baby, after all, and if he wanted one he could probably have one with his wife—this isn’t a good line of thought, but before Richard can work himself up too much, Robert’s expression softens.

“That’s wonderful,” Robert says. “I’m so happy for you both.” He sits heavily on the settle beside Richard. “You’re going to be a father!” he says, grabbing Richard’s arm.

Richard grins and clasps his hand. “Yes,” he says, “and don’t start acting like we won’t love you anymore once we have a child. I know how you get.”

Robert, unbelievably, blushes. “Of course,” he says. “Christ, Diccon, a baby!”

“It is not due until spring,” Anne says. “My physician says it will not even show until close to Christmas.”

Richard brightens, an idea dawning. “Anne,” he says, “can we ask him to be one of the godfathers?”

Robert laughs. “I think your uncles would line up to skin me alive,” he says. “And you for asking me!”

“I was thinking of asking my brother,” Anne says, “but of course we would need a proxy to stand for him. Perhaps you could do it.”

“We could worry about John of Gaunt later,” Richard adds.

“You’re not planning to name it Wenceslaus if it’s a boy, are you?” Robert raises an amused eyebrow at Anne.

Anne purses her lips. “It is a perfectly good name,” Anne says. “Saint Wenceslaus is the patron of Bohemia.” But then she smiles. “I do know what name Richard wants, though.”

“I’m so flattered!” Robert says. “I think ‘King Robert’ has a nice ring to it. ‘Robert the First,’ of course, because I’m sure your son will be an illustrious king with many heirs.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Named after me.”

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8

WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Richie watched as the sun sank steadily towards the horizon, lighting the sky red, orange, yellow, begging the clock to tick just a bit quicker so he could be free from his job. Britney and Mason, douchebag 1 and douchebag 2, were chattering away like hormone-driven starlings right behind him rather than wiping down the counters like they probably should have been. It was 30 minutes until his shift was up and the flow of customers had more than ebbed by now. Normally, Richie wouldn't want his shift to ever end; normally meant he had Bev or Ben at his side to keep him from drowning himself in the backroom sink. Tonight, neither were here, so he was stuck with the two preppy assholes he was so desperately trying to tune out. On any other occasion the music leaking from the tinny speakers would have been enough to get him through the day, but tonight things were different and the radio was instead tuned to bark out the score of some sports game Richie couldn't care less about but had the one or two patrons (who were already served and seated) tilting one ears towards the sound in interest. If given the chance Richie would have been just fine talking with Britney and Mason; he didn't like them, not really, but his big mouth was begging to run after almost a straight 45 minutes of near-silence and professionalism, and the problem was that they didn't seem too fond of talking to him.

And so, Richie simply stood. And waited. And grew more and more bored out of his mind. His fingers began to drum against his chin which was rested on the palm of his left hand which was- in turn- propped up by his elbow on the slightly-sticky surface of the counter. He fought the urge to tap his foot and he fought the urge to hum or dance or bop his head all because he didn't think he could stand knowing the other two would judge him for it. Judgement wasn't often something that bothered him but the memories of last night's talk with Beverly kept trying to pop up into his brain. Yes, that was another reason he was desperate for something to do- Richie just couldn't stop thinking about that talk. The door to the cafe popped open and, golly, it was Richie's lucky day- in stepped one bite-sized brunette with a tentative scowl on his face full of freckles. Just like that, Richie perked up again, his smile splitting his face right in two and his stomach beginning a circus performance consisting of backflips and pirouettes.

"Well, wouldja lookit that!" Snapping his fingers, Richie leaned forwards and across the counter to greet Eddie with his bright eyes, "Spaghetti-man, welcome! Just in time, I was tempted to throw myself into one of the ovens!" Eddie's scowl vanished and instead came a confused little grin that looked pretty goofy and melted away the last of any problems the world had to face.

"Christ, Rich, that's a little dramatic," Eddie pulled up to the counter and began to say something else but, well, Richie was a little distracted taking in the sight of him alone. It had been nearly 24 hours since they'd interacted and, after his little talk with Bev, Richie couldn't really get Eddie out of his mind. Fitted in a fluffy coral-toned knitted sweater and a pair of black jeans, he was looking adorable. Imagining Eddie with some accessory like a bracelet or black nails was even cuter- suddenly, Richie felt very much like Bev said she did whenever she went digging through his wardrobe. Eddie quirked a brow and snapped Richie right out of his thoughts.

"Sorry? What was that? My head's still a lil' out of it tonight," He straightened his back, blinking his scattered thoughts away and cracking his knuckles as if he were being thrown into a cage match, "Can I get you something to drink? To eat? A seat at the bar, maybe? I could use someone to talk to, I feel like I'm going crazy around here," As he said 'crazy' Richie spun a finger around his temple, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

"I actually just came by to say hello, since... y'know. The party and... and all that shit. We had a deal, didn't we?" Eddie took up Richie's offer for a barstool, leaping up onto it and folding his hands on the counter. He glared down at the tabletop as he spoke, bashful. It warmed Richie's heart and he smiled even wider, clasping his hands and holding them up to the side of his face; his eyelashes battered wildly and then he was the Southern Belle.

"Well, my oh my, ain't you a doll? Stoppin' by just to get a glance at lil' ole' me?" With another roll of his eyes (that seemed to be an Eddie Kaspbrak trademark) Eddie finally looked up again and rested his cheek on one hand.

"I regret it now, Trashmouth. You're gonna make my ears bleed." Laughing, Richie spun on his heel, briefly catching Britney and Mason's gazes and then went straight for the cups to whip up a signature drink for his friend, even if it was against company policy both to create anything original and to give out anything without it being paid for. Who gives a shit, Richie thinks to himself, and gets right to it.

"How's a mocha sound, Eddie Spaghetti?"

"It's- It's fine, but how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Especially not with, like-" Eddie didn't need to finish his sentence, nor did Richie have to actually see him to know he was passing discreet glances at the two coworkers most likely listening in. Eddie was embarrassed about his silly little nickname. Challenge accepted- Richie had plenty of those. Flipping switches, tapping buttons, spinning around the kitchen with practiced ease, Richie pumped out a perfect dark chocolate mocha with steamed vanilla milk and caramel sauce drizzled artistically across the mountain of whipped cream on the top. It was a masterpiece- no surprise there.

"And here you are, Eduardo." the cup was set down and Eddie gave Richie an awkward, thankful smile. "Enjoy it- and here, dip one of these in it," Sliding open one side of the bakery treats display case Richie pulled out a slice of banana bread, "It's fantastic. Like, seriously, Eds. Ten out of fucking ten."

"When did your shift start today? I didn't know you worked," Eddie's cheeks flushed a soft red thanks to his own curiosity and he hid it with a sip from his drink. Richie shrugged,

"Nine. I was exhausted. Had to steal a coffee or two throughout the course of the day like the rebel I am." Richie reached up, popping the collar of today's brightly coloured shirt (pink, blue, yellow, purple, an amalgamation of triangles and circles and squares) and hunching his shoulders in, grimacing dramatically and sauntering back and forth like a biker dude who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and loved the road more than anything else, "I run 'gainst the law, dawg," Eddie cracked a toothy smile and let out a dancing chuckle, "I rob gas 'tations and pick pockets for a livin'," Richie reached a hand up and began to fuss with his hair in an attempt to transform it into an impromptu mullet. Bringing the attention towards his curls Eddie's face screwed up but his smile still lingered.

"You need a fuckin' haircut, dude, like- wow. It's like a whole mop, Richie," And then Eddie's eyes grew wide and he recoiled, "Did you make my drink with that mane exposed? What if- what if you got your stupid hair in it? You know you're committing a guideline 37 health code violation? It's literally against the law not to wear a hair net, you know. And did you wash your hands?" Richie flipped his collar back down as Eddie spoke, letting out a huff and stumbling over to the sink to jam his hands under the faucet. "I heard people's hands carry up to almost five million different kinds of bacteria. You'd better not be putting that into people's-" Richie's hands now soaking wet, he lifted them and flicked them violently in Eddie's direction. The shorter boy cut himself off and let out a startled cry as he was assaulted by these droplets of water, half-jumping-half-falling out of his chair to scramble out of range. "You asshole! This sweater is a gift from my mom you know, and it could get damaged or-" Someone in the shop barked out a hissing 'shhh!' and Eddie went silent, his face bright red.

"The patrons request silence, my lo- friend, jeezly-crow," Richie dried his hands on the towel just near the sink, acting like he hadn't almost called Eddie 'my love' (he only didn't say it because of his coworkers and Eddie's pride) and returned to standing across from him. As soon as he was near enough Eddie delivered a half-assed punch to his forearm that was more teasing than actually harmful.

"That was quite the show," Britney, for once in her life, regarded Richie with a glitter of amusement in her eyes, and then glanced over at Eddie who was now smiling sheepishly and clearly dreading meeting a new person. Britney stuck out a hand, "Nice to meet you... Eduardo, was it?"

"Ah- Eddie, actually, my name is Eddie- Richie is just... just stupid sometimes, sorry," Rapidly, Eddie wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and took Britney's hesitantly within his own. Only Richie noticed the way his brows flicked a little closer together- Eddie was uncomfortable. That much was obvious.

"It's part of my charm, isn't-"

"Oh my God, I know, right? He's such a goofball!" With a horribly dopey grin, Britney pushed at Richie's shoulder and let out a high-pitched titter, "Imagine having to work with him every day!" Both boys let out an awkward chuckle, sharing a glance that said a multitude of different things; Who the hell is this chick? and Well she's just a little rude. and Can she maybe leave us alone? and many, many other things as well. "So, Eds- can I call you that?-" Britney didn't give him a chance to protest even though he wanted to, "How long have you and Richard been friends? How'd you meet him?" Britney leaned in just beside Richie, basically elbow to elbow as she crossed her arms and leaned into them to- oh- everything clicks together just like that, just as Britney uses her arms to push her chest higher. She was trying (and, well, failing, frankly) to flirt with Eddie. It seems that the asthmatic has yet to notice.

"Well, I... Not long, we just met a little over a week ago, I guess. It's actually kind of funny we-"

"Only a week?" Britney batted her lashes and Richie debated on telling her that her interrupting was not a good flirting technique, "But you two seem so close already! Gosh, I'd have guessed you two were high school friends at least!"

"Nope," Richie interjected before she could continue, "Just new friends. He's great, I'm great- that makes double great- Anyhow, Britney, we should let him enjoy his drink shouldn't-"

"Quite the mouth on him, huh?" Somehow, impossibly, Richie had failed to get her attention. Demanding all eyes on him was his specialty, but it was as if Britney had garnered some sort of tunnel vision, like a race horse with blinders perched on either side of it's head. Flirt racing. Place your bets. Richie felt a flame of jealousy and immediately squashed it down, feeling like some bitchy schoolgirl. "Chatter chatter chatter, all day long. How do you deal with it?"

"I don't, usually," Eddie was fiddling with the hem of one sleeve, his cheeks puffed out lightly in irritation. Who knew one man could have so much patience. "I... Well, I kind of like the chatter, actually. My own thoughts race so fast, it's cool to finally have someone who can keep up with them." Shrugging, Eddie turns to Richie and opens his mouth to speak, but, what a surprise, Britney beats him to it.

"I'm sure I could keep up with them, hon, if you gave me the chance," Britney let one eye fall down in a wink and Eddie gaped, frozen. His face drained of colour, a ghastly white that highlighted each and every one of his freckles- then it flooded red and he gripped the sides of the counter, looking at Richie again but this time as a silent plea, a save me oh my God- "What's your number?" She smiled, her rose red lips curling up in a way that could only be described as evil, "Or I can give you mine. I'd like to get to know you better." One part of Richie wanted to let this play out just because it was such a wonderful opportunity to watch Eddie flounder. The other part, the moral part, was screaming at him to intervene.

"Oh- I, I uh- I'm so-sorry I don't-" Eddie's tongue was tied. He swallowed hard and shook his head, his breath beginning to come in hitches, "I- I'm not interested I'm s-sorry if you got the- the wrong idea or-"

"Oh, come on, pretty please?" Britney leaned in closer and Eddie leaned away. "With a cherry on top? I promise it'll be fun-"

"Fuck off, Brit, he said no," Richie tried to keep his tone level, knowing that if he didn't his jealousy would show, but it seems he wasn't firm enough and that Britney didn't quite get the message. Eddie was still shaking his head, patting at his pockets as if searching for something, something to get him out of this more than awkward situation and turning up empty handed.

"We can maybe go to dinner tomorrow night or something like that, I'm a pretty fun girl when you get to-"

"Britney, that's enough!" Slamming one hand down on the countertop and raising his voice, all eyes turned to him- even those of the patrons, though this time no one hissed out a shush. After a beat of silence, Richie continued with a calmer tone, "You're clearly making him uncomfortable, I think you should just get to wiping down the counters or something so we can start closing up," Someone behind Richie scoffed; Mason. His other coworker. Rounding on him, Richie crossed his arms, trying to look somewhat intimidating in the face of this super-jock. "What's your problem, huh?"

"Well, I just think your little friend there's really makin' a mistake," Mason shifted his weight onto one foot, peering around Richie and staring the poor flustered Eds straight in the eye, "She really is a great chick, and... Well, you look like you could use a ride like her." Eddie's jaw dropped and his face went redder. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and Richie was stunned all the same.

"Jesus Christ, man, you can't just say that! What the hell's wrong with you?" Richie took a step forwards, glaring even harder but Mason wasn't deterred, wasn't afraid, was still dead set on either picking on Eddie or maybe actually attempting to give some sort of skewed advice.

"She'll do nearly anything you want if you ask nice," Britney was smiling though she looked a little stunned herself by this show of boldness, "And it seems she likes you, too. You're her type- short, thin, kinda... well, kinda girly to be honest," Eddie stared down at the tabletop, fighting to control his erratic breathing and seeming to have given up on patting his pockets for- oh shit, his inhaler. Was Eddie having an asthma attack?

"Mason, you fucking idiot, give it a rest. Eddie isn't interested. Leave him the fuck alone!" Richie was growing irritated- something about Mason felt off today. Usually the boy didn't outright pick on other people, he was always at least subtle about it.

"Oh, shit-" Mason let out a little chuckle, and stepped around Richie to approach the counter, "Unless- wait, unless you're not into her?" Richie was so close to slamming a fist across Mason's stupid face. After years of not understanding why everyone called his own face punchable, Richie finally got it. Some people just looked like good boxing practice.

"No fucking shit Sherlock of course he isn't into-"

"Unless you're some sort of fairy?"

Oh, the silence that followed this statement was suffocating. It was as if a thick blanket of quiet had throttled the room; Eddie's hitching breaths had stopped- in fact, so had his breathing altogether. His eyes had hollowed out, his face had lost all colour for good this time, and his shoulders had jumped up to his ears. Britney's mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide, breath stolen away in a more figurative sense. Richie was entirely and utterly shocked. He had known Mason wasn't the ideal fella. He cheated on girlfriends and drank too much and stole things, but this- this was... more than Richie had expected. It took a lot for Richie to dislike someone and he disliked both him and sort of Britney for quite the big book of reasons; but downright homophobia was not in his book until today.

"What. The fuck." Richie's voice had gone low, dangerously low. Mason turned to face him instead, his eyes dancing with quite the colorful array of emotions yet somehow appearing haunted, dead, all at the same time. If Richie had to get all poetic and describe it he'd say those eyes were reminiscent of an ocean- chaotic in the crashing of the waves, and yet endlessly empty. He was smiling wide. Proud. Like a shark. Eddie was still silent.

"Maybe I've got things wrong, maybe that was wrong," Mason held his hands up defensively, and Richie made the mistake of letting him continue, "Maybe... Well maybe he's not a fairy." A pause, blood thrumming loudly in his ears, "Maybe you are, Tozier. Maybe you're the little fag-"

"Shut up, Mason. Just shut the hell up." Mason leaned in, arms crossed, smile smug,

"You know, as sick as you are, it doesn't even surprise me." From Richie's right there was a gasp, a choked sound reminiscent of some form of words.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God-"

"I probably should have realized sooner, to be entirely honest. I mean, your hair, your clothes, your stupid nails and your stupider voices-"

"Richie- Richie I-" Richie's head was spinning with red hot rage. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his teeth gritted tightly.

"You don't know a single thing about me you asshole,"

"I guess it's possible both you and your friend here mingle with that crowd, huh? Maybe the- Oh Jesus, maybe the reason you're so defensive is because the two of you are, like, boning or-" And, that was the final fucking straw. Richie didn't register his hands flying out to shove, hard, at Mason's chest until the boy was stumbling backwards, right over Britney taking them both to the ground. Richie was taller than Mason. Mason was heavier than Richie. With the right momentum, the right force and angle, he could- and did- send Mason almost flying.

"You're a fucking pig, you know that? Jesus- and to think I might actually, one day, maybe be able to tolerate your obnoxious ass here at work?"

"Rich- I c-can't-"

"Wow, I was naïve! Do you have a single scrap of human decency in that tiny frocking brain of yours or are you only powered by fucking and alcohol?"

"R-Richie! I-"

"Well guess fucking what, you dog? I've got quite the gift for-"

"Richie!!" Just as Richie was about to spit right onto Mason's stupid face Eddie dragged him out of his furious haze with a choking wheeze. His head snapped right, gluing onto Eddie's trembling form; one hand was grasping at his throat, the other supporting him on the countertop, shaky, pale. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked positively awful with his mouth open wide and his chest heaving painfully up and down. "Rich- I- I-I-I c-ca-can't breathe I-"

"Shit, Eds, I'm so sorry," Richie didn't waste a second in hopping over the counter, tearing off his work apron and tossing it to the floor, discarding his anger with it, "Come on, let's go, let's get you some fresh air okay? We can hurry to your place and get your inhaler, yeah?" Despite the hate, the disgust, Richie couldn't care less about how he must have looked as he took Eddie's hand and began to drag him to the door, half-drunken mocha and quarter of banana bread left for the other two to clean up. On their way out Richie was almost certain he heard one last snide comment, some slur, but his only focus right now was Eddie and the way he was sucking in rasping breaths like a drowning man. Rich shoved the door open with one shoulder, holding it ajar and letting Eddie pass by, resting a hand on his back as he did so and beginning to steer him down the sidewalk in no particular direction. "Where's your house? What's your address? Should I call Bill or Stan or- We have to get you to your inhaler, don't we?" Cowering like a hurt puppy, Eddie shrunk into Richie's side, still gripping and clawing and gasping. "W-What do I do where do I go what-"

"No-" Eddie forced the words out through gritted teeth, shaking his head and holding up a single finger- just give me a minute. The two came to a halt underneath the golden glow of a streetlamp just recently lit. The sky was a dark purple now, growing into blue.

"Eddie, don't you need you inhaler?" He shook his head again, and Richie screwed his brows together, "But your asthma, we can't risk it we should just-"

"NO, Rich- Just-" Eddie gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, "Just give me a- a fucking minute!" Richie shrunk away, pulling his arms to his chest and taking a tentative step back. Eddie turned, hiding his face, and continued to sputter, refusing Richie's help and planting one hand over his eyes and forehead. A minute passed- Richie tried to suggest once more that the inhaler was the safest option. Eddie denied it with another string of breaths and curses. At last, an agonizing three minutes later, the rise and fall of Eddie's chest grew steadier.

"Are... Are you sure you're alright? I... I don't know how asthma works but I don't think ignoring it is healthy." Risking being yelled at again Richie stepped forwards and placed a soft hand on Eddie's frail shoulder. For one quick moment those big brown eyes stared up at him and then they flicked away, down to their shoes instead. The smaller boy's ears burned red with shame.

"I don't-" Eddie scoffed, "I don't fucking- I don't fucking have asthma okay? I'm fine. I just- need to- calm the hell down."

"You- what? You don't have asthma? Then what was all that stuff at the party-"

"It was nothing, okay? It was just my stupid brain being all messed up! It's not asthma, jackass, so just- let it go, please. Jesus," Eddie shook off Richie's hand and took a few steps back, one hand rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He started to pace. "I can't believe that guy, what an asshole! And that girl, I just-" He cried out incoherently, too frustrated to piece together another phrase, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I really am. I don't know what got into them- Mason especially, he isn't usually that bad and I... Well, that wasn't cool. Something was wrong about him tonight and- fuck," Richie brought his hands up to his face, underneath his glasses to scrub it vigorously, "I don't know, man, I'm so sorry." When Richie's hands fell again Eddie was looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against his chest, concerned. A pause.

"Are you okay?"

"What...? Of course I am, I'm not the one who almost choked on-"

"Then what the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" Eddie surged forwards and, this time, pushed Richie with both hands, though the outcome was very different and Richie hardly budged.

"Woah woah Eds what-"

"He could have hit you! Are you stupid or something? That guy would have had your fucking neck snapped before you could even do anything about it and you were just going to let it happen because he said some nasty shit to me?" Again, Eddie thumped a fist into Richie's chest, and then another.

"Of course Eddie he can't just-"

"People have said that shit to me all my life, Richie, you don't have to go risking your stupid neck because of it!" This time Richie caught Eddie by the wrist before his shove could connect, and then caught the other hand right after, holding them tight, "Let me go, Richie I can't deal with you being like this right now it's like you're not even listening to me and-"

"Eddie, calm down you're gonna throw yourself into another fit!"

"I'm okay, asshole, I'm not gonna break down and die right here and now because I'm angry at you! I-I get angry all the time I'm not some child- I-" Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and then he spat out the words coated in acid, "You don't get to act all 'night in shining armor' just because some airheaded asshole wants to tell me what's good for me! I can take care of myself and I fucking hate it when people treat me like some stupid kid!" Eddie was gasping again, though this time he kept his mouth shut tight, trying to hide that he was struggling. He looked furious and terrified and hurt, a trio of emotion that Richie never wanted to see on his face again. Richie let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting go of Eddie's wrists. As soon as he did Eddie crossed his arms and took a step back, averting his gaze. The tips of his ears were burning brighter.

"I... Eddie, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to- to belittle you or talk down to you or anything like that. I just saw that you were getting badmouthed and I acted before I could really think."

"That doesn't surprise me, Trashmouth, you seem to be a little fucking impulsive." His voice strained, it was evident that Eddie was trying to reign in his temper, his 'asthma' already calming down once more. "Just... just please let me handle myself in the future. I can do it, I swear,"

"Yeah, I... I know you can. You're," Richie chuckled, and punched Eddie weakly, tentatively in the shoulder, "You're all sorts of spunk in one tiny package," Allowing himself to grin just for a split second Eddie slapped offense onto his face and wore a pout that would better fit a toddler.

"Are you calling me short? That's real low, Rich, that's just-"

"Low, is it? Yeah, I guess it is, huh?"

"Oh- fuck you!" Eddie rolled his eyes and turned away to conceal his smile as Richie let out his bright cackling, ripping through the silence of the night in a way that was more pleasant than Eddie thought possible. "God, you're just such an asshole, I hope you know that," He jabbed out an accusatory finger and Richie shot up his hands in mock surrender as if that finger were a gun.

"Don't shoot!" He hollered, stumbling a step back, "I have a wife and kids to get back to!" Eddie laughed, dropping his hand, and just barely stopped himself from asking if Richie had a husband to get back to instead. That was a can of worms for another day.

"I'm exhausted now thanks to you. You're like a baby, always whining and shit. Come on, Stan works and Bill's probably asleep by now. Wanna come watch a movie or something? I think we have a copy of Die Hard lying around." Eddie began to walk back in the direction of the cafe- Richie had taken the complete wrong path in their hasty escape- waving one hand for him to follow. Richie was now beaming, knowing just what to say to (hopefully) piss off Eddie even more.

"Oh, awesome! My favourite Christmas movie!" Eddie spun on him. Mission accomplished.

"What the fuck did you just say? Christmas movie?!"

[luluxa]

Oh hey, it’s a minific. :) Fluff all the way!

It would be easier to deal with if it was… edgier. Harder, tenser, and laced with swearing and alcohol haze. But it’s not.

It’s an ordinary day Jeremy’s having, consisting of driving from a pit stop to a pit stop in a crap car, talking at a camera and mocking his colleagues. It’s an ordinary evening, too, when, a bit tired but content, he drags himself to his suite to have a glass of wine and watch some telly. Richard disappears to have a lengthy phone call home, but James invites himself along, which is also perfectly ordinary and expected of him.

Ending up huddled closely on a hotel bed is maybe less common, but not unheard of and certainly quite nice. The sunset light is dimming, the telly is showing something French and artsy, the evening air blowing gently through the window is pleasantly fresh and James’s shoulder pressed to Jeremy’s is pleasantly warm. The bottle of wine they’ve had between them isn’t enough to claim drunkenness, as it provides nothing more but a state of glazed-over satisfaction with life in general.

James expresses this satisfaction by humming and slumping down onto the pillows, making Jeremy look away from the screen and a pretty black and white lady on it. After all, pink-cheeked and messy-haired, James makes quite a pretty picture too.

“Gonna sleep in here, are you?” Jeremy asks with way too much fondness in his voice, regarding James’s lazily sprawled form on his bed. His shirt has pulled up, exposing his soft pale belly and Jeremy suddenly has an urge to lick it.  

“Ah, ‘s big enough to fit the whole crew,” James says gesturing loosely around himself, eyes closed. “You won’t even notice.”

Maybe not the crew, Jeremy thinks, but he definitely can’t ignore one James May.

Still possessed by the pleasant buzz, Jeremy lies down as well and runs his fingers gently across the pale stripe of skin right over the belt, making James smile and hum softly. Jeremy pauses, a concerned but distant voice in his head telling him it’s not right, but James seems to be enjoying his initiative, so what the hell the voice knows?

He sneaks his fingers upwards, under the stupid flowery shirt that would honestly look better on the floor than on James. His skin is smooth and warm and Jeremy settles to expose it, unbuttoning the shirt slowly, revealing a lovely blush as he goes upwards. When he’s done, he decides that what he really wants to lick are James’s nipples and since there’s no reason not to, he wiggles lower down and covers the closest one with his mouth. James gasps, but again, doesn’t protest, putting a palm on Jeremy’s nape instead. A hot wave rushes to Jeremy’s head, drowning his concern for good.

-

In the morning, over breakfast, Jeremy is confused and unsettled. What should sex with your best friend be like, anyway? Before he’s actually done it, Jeremy imagined it could be a bit pushy, more like the rest of their relationship, with James needing to be convinced and then determined to show Jeremy the ‘proper’ way to do it. But it was nothing of sorts.

It was slow and languid and gentle, James arching into his touch easily, moaning softly, while Jeremy was falling apart, breathless under his hot palms.

It was nothing like friendly experimentation or having a good-natured unwinding squeeze before going to bed – something you might, in theory, engage in with a mate. What it was, Jeremy thinks, his ears on fire, looked frighteningly like making love.

He risks a sideways glance at James, who seems serene and unconcerned by anything whatsoever. But it can’t be all right, can it? They both are disillusioned, middle-aged, public men. There’s no room for tender homosexual affairs in their petrol-stained world, filled with sarcasm, chain-smoking, and biting arguments.

“What?” James asks when he finally notices the scrutiny that must’ve taken a while, since James is the most oblivious man in the world. Only Jeremy must be even more oblivious, if he’s having a silent meltdown while James took the love-making in stride, obviously perfectly in tune with whatever has been going on between them all these years.

Jeremy turns away from his amused sleepy eyes and a fond smile and focuses on his coffee, finding comfort in the familiar bitter taste, while everything else is complicated and strange.

The day that follows is just as ordinary as the previous one. They squabble over the radio and mock Hammond for picking a shed of a car, and they spend quite a lot of time on a side of the road while Hammond busies himself with a toolkit under the bonnet. The camera crew is sniggering at Richard’s anger, it’s raining, Jeremy’s back is aching, and nothing suggests he might step closer to James and kiss him, because it just would be ridiculous and misplaced and weird.

And yet, it’s all Jeremy can think of.

An ordinary evening follows the ordinary day, and Hammond retreats after dinner, already on the phone, and Jeremy saunters to his room, hyper aware of James by his side, following him there.

“James,” he tries once the door is closed behind them, but he’s got no bloody idea what to say next.

“Hm?” James says, looking unaware of Jeremy’s struggle. He lands on Jeremy’s bed and turns the telly on.

Jeremy has already considered all his options, drawbacks, benefits, horrible headlines, awkward conversations, and then sad but inevitable conclusions, and decided that the most sensible thing would be claiming tiredness and telling James to get out.

“I only have rosé,” he says instead, toeing his shoes off and padding over to the fridge to produce a bottle, half-expecting James to leave on his own account.

James sighs. “Fine. Bring it here.”

Jeremy complies.

Soon, the wine is gone and the telly stops making much sense, but Jeremy couldn’t pay less attention to it anyway, because James’s lips are sweet and hot and wrapped around Jeremy’s cock.

Jeremy strokes through his messy curls wondrously, suffocating with the desires he’s got so used to deny. He really should’ve told James to get out when he still had a chance. It’s too late now.

-

Their journey ends too soon.

He has the following breakfast at the hotel, hardly able to look anywhere but James sitting across him, but in the evening, he’s alone at his flat and utterly lost.

What the hell happens now? What are the rules? Fuck, are there at least some vague guidelines somewhere?

It seems unreal now, his empty flat serving as a sharp slap from reality.

Can they even talk about it? Or will James pretend nothing has happened and will only slip into his hotel rooms occasionally for a lazy kiss and a grope?

Jeremy spends an hour on the balcony, smoking non-stop and trying to come up with a way to live with this new and likely a one-off thing. He fails completely at the task and goes back inside to have a helpful drink, only then discovering two missed calls from James and one message.

With his insides wobbly and heart fluttering all over the place, like Jeremy’s 15 and not 50, he opens the message and reads it with one eye closed cautiously.

Have you fallen asleep, you fossil? It reads. I have bought some proper wine. Call if interested and  I'll bring it over.

Jeremy opens both eyes and exhales, a disgustingly hopeful smile tugging on his lips.

“I am,” he says when James picks up the phone a moment later. “I have never been more interested.”

He waits.

[dinoalexander]

The Semi-Quotable 2017 Part 4

I never had his problem with Livejournal. I’ve had several problems but never this... Part 4.

——

"Note to terrorists: During WWII, London endured this thing called 'The Blitz'. Google it. They will endure your petty stupidity. Note to Trump: During WWII, London endured this thing called 'The Blitz'. Google it. They will endure your petty stupidity. Keep calm and carry on." -Kevin

"When you scroll to find your name, don't see your name for a really long time, and wonder if you could have squeezed just a couple more fucks in there. Missed fucking opportunities!" -Laura

Jay: "Who doesn't love a Brazilian steak?"

Joe: "Who doesn't love a Brazilian ass!"

C: "Who doesn't love a Brazilian?"

"As soon as American Idol came to America, we were all fucked." -Jenna

"This isn't football, it's boy bands!" -Q

"To quote the great philosopher Cornell Haynes Jr., it's getting hot in herre." -C

"I'll always love UNC but Gonzaga destroyed Tokyo." -Austin

"Make chicken salad out of that chicken shit!" -Q

"If one more person adds me to LulaNotLemon group without asking me, I swear I am going to find every pair of leggings on this island and burn them in a huge bonfire at Bayview Park. #YouveBeenWarned" -Shannon

"Stranger at Walmart just coughed in my face. So I have two, maybe three days to live." -Q

"I got some antibiotics for the bug I've had for over a week. I think it's adorable that CVS colored the antibiotics green for St. Patrick's Day and they taste like mint. I think those lazy bastards just gave me a container of Tic Tacs." Klauss

"I used to date somebody with lazy eye, but she was seeing someone on the side." -Rammson

"Is that a thing? Because I just made it a thing." -Jordan

“What is the current bar for "most awkward human on the planet" in the Guinness Book of World Records? Cause I wouldn't mind getting something back for all my suffering.” -Christina

“You’re like a WetJet with a lab degree!” -Q, on cleaning up the ER doc’s messes

“Supporting my husband’s love for this awful team.” -Kyle

“THANKS FOR NOTHING, CRABTREE!” -Robin

"Had homey on some Globetrotter shit." -Jabari

"NBC: Where Every Night at 8 PM is Fuckin' Christmas." -Klauss

“Diane, it’s ‪Tuesday, August 1st‬ and I’ve stumbled upon quite a few mysteries here at Fashion Peaks. Tully the horse has been sent to the glue factory, The Ascension has a very peculiar taste in music, and my partner, Deputy Dango, has been abducted - possibly by extraterrestrials. That leaves me with two questions: One, who kidnapped Fandango? Two, why didn’t I just call you instead of record this?” – Tyler Breeze

“Wait, so that giraffe still hasn't given birth? Have we explored the possibility that the zookeeper just overfed her a few months ago and lied instead of admitting the mistake?” - Nedeff

“Just finished watching ‪Die Hard‬ for the first time (we can discuss later). ‪Die Hard‬ is 100% not a Christmas Movie. Just because it ends with Christmas Music doesn’t make it a Christmas Movie.” – Dan O’Toole with the most wrong hot take of 2017

“We're still gonna get near-daily articles trying to Understand The Le Pen Voter though right” @pattymo

“Of course any portrayal of a real-life figure is about so much more than physical resemblance, but come on guys: how did they NOT cast Christopher Plummer as J. Paul Getty in the first place?” – Richard Roeper

“Danny Ainge the only American who can outsmart a Russian.” – David Dennis Jr.

“The Yankees haven’t been in the playoffs in a while so I forgot how punchable Brett Gardner’s face is” – Brad Rutter

“HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” – Dougie Jones

“There’s no fucking way he sold 200 Streamdaddy’s” – Prez on IYH

“By far the most bizarre trivia fact about Dean Stockwell to me is that he’s a trained martial artist.” – Allison Pregler

“Don’t Worry, We’ll Let You Know When The Last Surviving World War II Veteran Dies” - ClickHole

“And I thought Ashley Judd’s sleaziest boss was Benjamin Horne.” – Ken Jennings

“Because hey, if you lose $35 Million one time, try try again!” – Scott Keith on Vince McMahon relaunching the XFL

“I don't recommend going to Wal-Mart 2 days before Christmas. And by "2 days before Christmas", I mean ever.” – BFG

“Pepsi: That was the biggest PR blunder of the week, year maybe.

United: Hold My Beer

Sean Spicer: LEEEEEEEEEERROOOOOOOY JEEEENNNNNNKINS!” - @Lance_Bradley

“IF THE TITANIC HAPPENED TODAY: “Sir, we’re heading straight for that iceberg. / That’s a fake iceberg. / Sir, it’s a mountain of ice and it’s right in front of us. / Full speed ahead! / Sir, we just hit the iceberg and now we’re sinking...Sir?...Women & children first, Sir...” – Jeff Daniels

“Hot on the heels of his triumphant rebranding of MySpace, Justin Timberlake brings sexy back to the NFL.” – Kevin M.

“Derek Jeter is so freaking hot. I hate the Yankees!” – Greg’s friend Kat’s mother

"Marty Jannetty couldn't buy a date..." thankfully 24 years later Marty will make sure his dates don't share his DNA...” - Dane

“Next year's State of the Union should have an In Memoriam montage with everyone who's been fired.” - Nedeff

“What can bring an end to an angry dance montage? FUCKING ‘NAM!” – The Cinema Snob

“IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BUNNY! ………… Is it about the Bunny? ………. No, it’s not about the bunny.” – Tommy “Hawk” Hill

“WARREN WHAT DID YOU DO!?!?” -Jimmy Kimmel after the Oscar Best Picture fuckup

“GOODBYE AOL INSTANT MESSENGER GO FUCK YOURSELF” – The Iron Sheik

“A producer pitches a show to an NBC executive.

"Wow me."

"Okay- it's The OJ Simpson Trial... but wacky!"

"Go on..."

"It's a procedural comedy where we don't know whether he did it until the end of the season!"

"But... this is a murder, right? Someone dies?"

"Oh, yes- good 'n' dead."

"I see... and who were you thinking would play the role of the is-he-isn't-he murderer?"

"The Trinity Killer from Dexter, John Lithgow."

"Dick Solomon?! GREENLIGHT THAT ISH" - Fard

“EVERYTHING TRUMP TOUCHES DIES!” – Rick Wilson

“Can’t believe Weinstein didn’t go with the old “locker room talk” defense.” – Matthew Yglesias

“So here's what we're gonna do. Without my knowledge, my husband came to you for a loan of $20,000. You were nice enough to give it to him. But he should never have been gambling like that. I'm gonna pay you back. Now, at my bank, where we make less than one percent interest on what little money we have, people would be turning cartwheels just to get 25 percent interest on any loan, and that is what I'm generously gonna give to you right now, $25,000. That is my first, last, and only offer to you. What kind of world are we living in where people can behave like this? Treat other people this way without any compassion or feeling for their suffering? We are living in a dark, dark age, and you are part of the problem. Now, I suggest you take a good, long look at yourselves because I never want to see either of you again.” – Janey-E Jones

“If professional wrestling isn't real why have I spent the past hour watching Bobby "The Brain" Heenan videos quietly alone in my hotel room?” – Tom Arnold

Gordon Cole: “We’re not anywhere near Mount Rushmore.”

Albert Rosenfield: “I brought a picture for you.”

Gordon Cole: (Looks at picture) “There they are Albert, faces of stone.”

“This is pretty exciting to be apart of this nomination for @VeepHBO especially since my mom watched the entire last season of Madame Secretary and was confused why I was never on it.” – Paul Scheer

“Nice to know that while other industries are turning to tablets and screens, game show hosts are still plugging away with those little cards.” – SC Duncan

“We will remember the unappreciative, ungreatful, evil, awful, Anthem owl men and the man who’s fond of slapping nuts on how they treated us on our exodus from Impact Wrestling YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” – Matt Hardy shooting on Double J’s business practices

“Steve Bannon gets tonight’s Last Word – which for him, is the complete silence of utter humiliation” – Lawrence O’Donnell

“SHOVEL YOUR WAY OUT OF THE SHIT!” – Dr. Lawrence Jacoby

“Sorry I took your suit. I mean, you had it coming. Actually, it turns out it was the perfect sort of tough love moment that you needed, to urge you on, right? Don't you think? Let's just say it was. Look, you screwed the pooch hard. Big time. But then you did the right thing: you took the dog to the clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies... alright, not my best analogy. I just wanted to mention that I think with a little more mentoring, you could be a real asset to the team. There's about 50 reporters behind that door, real ones, not bloggers, so when you're ready...” – Tony Stark

“In the Alabama Senate Race, the predicted result among many pundits was a narrow margin of victory. Roy Moore himself, however, was hoping for a shocker in the teens.” – Nedeff

“Sports Illustrated called and said I was probably going to be Sportsman of the Year, but it was going to take a long photo shoot and interview. I’m not proud of my recent perm and have a interpretive dance class at the interview time so I turned it down! No Thanks SI!!” – Noah Syndergaard

“Wow, if I had invested $1,000 in Bitcoin last week, today I would have... still no idea how Bitcoin works.” - @StephenAtHome

“In a confusing twist, Han Solo's name will be revealed to be Luther Campbell.” – Jeff Gerstmann

“Lordy, I hope there are tapes!” – James Comey

“This is the water, and this is the well. Drink full, and descend. The horse is the white of the eyes, and dark within.” – The Woodsman in Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return 

“We need some loving profiles of a small town in northern Alabama that thinks obstruction of justice is fine because Drumpf respects cops.” – Matthew Yglesias

“Why are Greg Gumbel and Seth Davis sitting at a desk for ants?” – Andrew Bucholtz

How many more of these things will Tumblr tolerate? Stay tuned...