#well i am a shaking wet-eyed dog talking to literally anyone else

[jfouler]

one thing i have learned after rping on tumblr for a while is that 90% of us are all equally afraid of each other. just small shaking chihuahuas all in a room

[spacegaywritings]

The Wonders of Sleep - You are a Nightmare (4/5)

Summary: Remus is in another chaotic frenzy and refuses to calm down, so Virgil has to step in and convince the Dark Creativity that sleep can be fun too. At least Thomas well get to rest with this.

Tags: Remus things! Talks about murder, death, violence, inflicting pain etc on others/self (your basic favourites in intrusive thoughts), weapons, brutality, Remus, virgil, dukexiety, the duke of nonsense and bullshit, caps, angery remus, moth man/ rat man mentions, sexual innuendo, food, (eating) worms, plants, weird living conditions, disgusting room description, absolute chaos, caring about thomas, mutual care, fluff, domestic fluff, swearwords, lotsa cursing, dismissive nicknames, self harm (mention)

Tumblr : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 . Ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / all.

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Story under the cut: (<2k)

A gargantuan mace hit the ground, sending splitting stones and other pieces of damaged ground flying through the heart of the imagination.

 “KILL HIM, I SAY!”

 Dark Creativity screeched into the air. He ripped the mace out of the ground with great effort and immediately struck the ground with a loud war scream.

His deafening screams and yells filled the vast emptiness of the mindscape. Other than that, the slightly more silent noise of Remus consistently breaking and devastating the rocks and mountains of the desert he was in.

 “Thomas just needs to get a simple baseball bat and SMASH HIS SKULL IN!”

 Remus repeated his motion of shattering the bleeding ground as he hurled his mace out and behind his back for the maximum amount of swinging power science would give him.

 “No more PAY! No more BILLS!”

 He worked the mace down into the ground, his whole body following the movement. His upper body went down with the large weapon and stopped just shy of the unsteady ground, splitting it.

A growl could be heard. It erupted from the depths of the ground could as the dark floor slowly drove itself away from one another in two halves.

 The Duke’s rage had halved the currently imagined world.

He freed his mace and brought it back to his chest. One of his hands brushed over the end of it, the one without stabby spikes! Still a pretty side, to Remus.

A little light bubble, dark pink, grew at said end with a bit of distance to the stick-part itself.

 Remus shook the mace, letting the spikes give way to nothing but a long, black stick. Once the hurty spikes were gone, he YEETED the consistently expanding bubble in front of him and repeated.

 “KILL HIM!”

 The bubble manifested itself in the air, sticking to the invisible laws of the Duke’s whimsy. Slowly, a picture started to fade onto the dark background. Thomas could be seen, holding a bat. It was just as Remus had predicted.

The scene became crystal clear and with a simple snip of his fingers, Thomas moved as if trapped in the gifset of a violent mind. He bashed into his head, again, again, again and again as Remus chanted in moral support.

 “GO! YES! GO! AGAIN! MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-”

 “Remus.”

 The Imagination shifted at once, the bubbling magma morphing into a small river while the dark ground, the stones and rocks and destruction turned into a field of grass.

While the air remained heavy, the bubble popped and Remus’ stick became nothing but an elegant twig.

 “Why are you up so late?”

 Creativity growled in response and shook his body like a wet dog. His flouncy outfit floated as if in timelapse.

 “Why are you up so late? Stop asking me silly questions. I am creating.”

 Virgil hopped over the small river and turned to look directly at the raging side.

 “You look as if you are pouting”, he stated calmly, much like Logan would, “what got ya stinki mood up, poopy boy?”

 Remus glared back at the smaller side and cleared his throat. He bowed to pick up his twig.

 “My mace.”

 That was definitely a pout. Remus’ lips were pursed into a pout, even his words seemed to pout despite his sentence being so short of them.

The mustache seemed to stretch his face into a long, sad face. Maybe he was actually manipulating his appearance, maybe the facial hair really put an extra emphasis after all.

 “You are the Duke of Creativity. If you want it back, you do that. Now, how about we give this financial discussion a break and fucking chill for a minute.”

 Remus threw the twig away and shook his head, arms crossed in front of his chest.

 “Yeah, you would like that. How about Thomathy here gets it on with a hot dude and I will shut up?”

 Virgil rolled his eyes.

 “We could eat that cockroach Thomathy squished this morning! I will get it from the trash!”

 The Duke started running for time before the other could even react. Anxiety kicked in, shifting the imagination in a way, they found themselves in Remus’ messy bedroom.

A huge vine came out of the closet and ended mid-room before the bed.. or whatever one wanted to call the mess of clothing. There was a glowing blue trail of splatter on the floor. Weapons and.. hair??? were cluttered all over the floor.

Virgil could hear a distant slapping of meat.

The floorboards seemed rather loose and rattled.

 “My room! ROOM ROOM ROOM!”

 Remus drew Virgil close.

 “Emo! Look at my plant! It is really cute! It will love you!”

 Virgil clung to the ever-changing mess of ideas and shook his head.

 “I want to sleep, Remus. Shut up and go to sleep with me. You can wreck havoc and reek tomorrow but Thomas needs to sleep or else he will be shit in the morning.”

 The man in question bounced.

 “If I make Thomathy beat up himself, he will look like shit for sure!!!”

 The emo rolled his eyes and nudged Remus towards the bed. He had not even expected the room to look as bad. Maybe he should have taken this to the living-room or literally any space that had a comfortable ground to lay on. He was a metaphysical being who could not really perceive pain after all - the choice to sleep was really just allowing Thomas to deal with things more calmly, at least in the case of Anxiety. Also, only given that Virgil did not deliberately clock out in order to spare Thomas any effect from his side.

 “Nah, that is work. Work sucks. We wanna sleep forever and eat weird shit, right?”

 Remus grumbled.

At heart, he sort of agreed. Right now, he was driven to do things, to be active and creative or destroy and simply do as much as he could because he had that energy.

 “Nap time, Dukey.”

 Virgil tugged him towards the bed.

 “Oh, Virgil ~ I did not know you were into this kind of thing ~”

 The addressed side blushed but shook his head.

 “In your dreams, fucker.”

 He stepped closer to the unmoving wall of Creativity. Confidently, he let their chests collide, sending Remus backwards.

The wavering Duke gasped in surprise and squeaked insolently.

 “EmO!”, he screeches with a voice that got scratchier and scratchier by the minute. His arms flailed into any direction until he drew them in front of his chest to cross them.

“How can you be cunning and cunt-y?”

 Virgil could hear his brain yell a conditioned “language!” response at him. He literally heard Patton scold Remus in his brain. Judging from the sour look on the other’s face, the anxious trait assumed he could hear it too.

 “Now you know how tiring it can be to hear something in you, that you can’t stop? Pretty fucking shitty, huh? Move, babysitting you is tiring.”

 The reveal of a long, pink tongue was the response but Remus kicked off his boots and patted his clothings until they dissolved into some sort of magical glitter dust. It silently trickled down onto the floor and was blown into all directions of the room.

This place really had a mind of its own. Not that Virgil really minded this.

 “Good Remus”, Virgil praised softly as he joined the other on the bed. They laid down together and Virgil kicked a bundle of weapons and books off the bed, “oops. My bad. I thought it was your pet raccoon.”

 Remus giggled.

 “No! That is you!”

 Virgil shook his head, grinning into his oversized mess of a self-ruined jacket. The Duke looked at him in his own naked glory and patted the space next to him. To join him on the fun, he eyed the stack of his dirty single socks collection and gave it a strong kick.

 “PARTY!”

 “Nooo, nap time. We wanted to be nice to Thomas and fuck shit up tomorrow.”

 Creativity blinked at Virgil. A rare occasion. The blinking and directly looking at someone. He usually just stared into something nobody but him could see. It was chilling and so deeply terrifying, Thomas would feel it in his bones when anyone but Logan or the (former) Others interacted with him.

 “You will join me?”

 Virgil threw his head back as he slowly snuggled up to Remus, filling the spot he had previously patted. A groan escaped his lips and he let his head roll against Remus’ shoulder.

 Instead of answering, he clapped his hands together, summoning a little bowl he thrusted into Remus’ hands.

The bowl was full of little gummy worms which looked surprisingly disgusting with how slimy and wet they appeared to be. They had a certain shine to them and the colour was so unnaturally neon orange, they were glowing in the dim lighting of the Duke’s room.

 “Have a cursed snack and get your creative energy into a fucked up sex dream instead of making Thomas uncomfortable. He’s got some shit to do tomorrow.”

 Silence took over the room.

Virgil caused some rustling sounds as he curled up next to Remus. The room was surprisingly un-stinky compared to what he had expected.

Loud chewing sounds interrupted the momentary silence.

 It was good while it lasted but Virgil was willing to trade his own discomfort for the sake of Thomas’ well-being. He needed his sleep with another tough schedule coming up.

 “Virgil?”

 He hummed in response.

 “Are you anxious because of the new projects they planned?”

 The former dark side curled further into himself, shaking his head stubbornly.

Chewing sounds continued for a bit until Remus took a small break and suddenly snapped his head back and emptied the whole bowl into his mouth. Without even moving his jaw to chew, he swallowed his big ball of cursed sweets and made a lewd lip-smacking sound.

 Virgil opened his mouth to comment on how disgusting the other was but he interrupted him.

 “Come cuddle. It is okay to be scared. I will eat your mean anxiety.”

 He shook his head. The Duke turned to pull Virgil into a hug. The anxious side chuckled.

 “This is not how I work.”

 “Yeah, but it is how I work.”

 “Whatever, Remus. Shut up if you wanna cuddle, you rat man.”

 It was Remus’ turn to chuckle.

 “You just wish I was moth man!”

 Virgil shook his head, smirking into Remus’ neck. He finally allowed himself to close his eyes and hold onto the other.

 It was silent.

For real.

Within minutes, Remus was asleep and Virgil was ever so silently snoring, nobody could hear it.

[charlesxavirs]

Do you think we could get a sneak peek of that Reddie AU you're writing 👀👀👀

this has been sitting in my ask box for the best part of a week and honestly this is the first time i’ve been able to get to my laptop. i know i promised this au at the end of last month but college has literally been eating me alive so far so i’m hoping that i should be able to get it finished for the end of this month, fingers crossed. i’m gonna tag anyone who’s on the taglist in this but if anyone wants to be added or taken off lmk !!

It was a good hours drive from the airport to Galway, and when the taxi finally pulled up at the address Eddie had given the driver, he thought there must have been some confusion. O’Donoghue’s pub was unassuming from the outside, with a simple black and white sign, a large glass window and a heavy door. It was exactly what Eddie was expecting his temporary home to be, yet as soon as he crossed the threshold, his mind started to boggle. As soon as he walked through the doors, Eddie was greeted with the sight of shelves piled with bread, fridges holding bottles of milk, and, heck, even a stand with cleaning products. Eddie had walked into a corner store, he was certain of it.

He exited the shop, and checked the address again. Confirming that this was, indeed, the right place, Eddie glanced again at the name on the building before entering through the door again only to find himself standing, once again, in a shop. The difference this time, however, was that there was a tall woman standing behind the counter, rearranging a stack of chocolate bars.

Cautiously, Eddie approached the small checkout, daintily clearing his throat when the woman didn’t look up.

Eddie felt taken aback by how bright her eyes were in contrast to her jet black hair that was greying elegantly around her face.

“Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack! I was miles away.” The woman chuckled, holding her hand dramatically over her heart. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh softly at her reaction, finding the smile on her face particularly infectious. “Can I help you there at all?”

“Um, yeah, actually.” Eddie replied, scratching the back of his neck. “Am I in the right place? I’m supposed to be renting a room an-”

Eddie couldn’t finish because he was quickly cut of by the woman brightly grinning.

“You must be Eddie!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her jeans before coming out from behind the counter, reaching out to shake his hand. Eddie accepted her open palm, a surprised giggle bubbling from his lips at her enthusiasm.

“I’m Maggie Tozier. My sister runs the pub and I work the shop.”

Eddie was too distracted by her accent to fully register what she was saying, but his brow furrowed as he dropped her hand, the words connecting in his head. “Wait wait wait. The pub?”

Maggie only grinned, taking one of his bags from his hands. “Follow me.”

Eddie trailed behind her towards the back of the shop, and it was clear now what she was talking about. Between a shelf full of biscuits and the wall was a walkway about the width of a door, leading through to a bar, and Eddie instantly felt warm.

Warm yellow lights cast the pub in a heavenly glow, washing over the cracked burgundy leather of the booth seats and the well worn black and white lino on the floors. None of the tables matched each other, and neither did the seats. Barstools and cushioned chairs and even, Eddie noticed, an old church pew surrounded mahogany desks, an old dining table, round coffee tables and a couple of work desks. Despite their mix matched status, Eddie thought each table and chair had a charming sort of quality about them, and it’s not like the customers cared as they laughed and drank and, in the case of one old man in the corner, sang together. Eddie thought the pub was slightly chaotic, much like the woman leading him through it, but he found it oddly endearing all the same.

At the centre of the chaos, though, was the bar. The dark wood of it almost blended completely against the wood panel walls. Well, what Eddie could see of the walls, anyway, as they were covered in Guinness signs upon county flags upon missing dog posters. The whole wall behind the bar was filled head to toe with bottles of every alcohol under the sun, and dotted in between was a few pictures, some black and white and some newer, of patrons and regulars, grinning under the harsh flash of the camera, pints brandished proudly in their hands. The most jarring thing about the bar, the thing that caught Eddie by surprise, left him fuzzy brained and dry at the mouth was the man working behind it.

If Eddie was staring, he must’ve been doing an awful job at hiding it, because Maggie was suddenly talking about him.

“That’s my gobshite of a son behind the bar there.” she explained, pointing at him with her free hand. Eddie made a small noise of acknowledgement, hoping that the topic would be brushed past altogether until Eddie was a little less jet lagged and could at least run a comb through his hair, but Maggie Tozier seemed to be having none of it.

“Richie,” she called, waving him over. “Come here to me.”

The lilt in the woman’s voice was almost enough to distract Eddie from the tall boy moving out from behind the bar and walking over to them.

“Eddie, this is Richie. Richie, don’t be a dick.”

Eddie snorted as he took in the other boy, and up close, he was so much more than Eddie initially thought he was. His eyes looked huge behind the thick frames of his wire rimmed glasses, his nose looked crooked, perhaps from being broken, and his lips could barely stretch over his front teeth, pulling his mouth into a perpetual grin. Freckles peppered his face like paint splatters, and Eddie would bet a lot of money that there were more than a few hiding under the unruly curls that swept over his forehead. To anyone else, Richie looked goofy, but to Eddie, he was nothing short of beautiful.

The same, however, could not be said for his clothes. A worn gaelic football jersey hung to the boy’s frame, obviously a size or two too small. The deep maroon of the Galway colours contrasted extremely with the garish lime green long sleeve shirt he was sporting underneath it. His black jeans were almost a complete fit, coming up a little short on his legs, pocket stuffed with a dish cloth, but they only highlighted the ‘Kiss Me I’m Irish’ socks he’d pulled up over his ankles. The whole ensemble was completed with a pair of Vans, a totally sensible choice if one of them wasn’t red and the other one black.

Eddie could feel the cool metal of his rings brush against his fingers as Richie grabbed his hand and forcefully shook it, making Eddie’s whole arm move like a wet noodle.

“Pleasure to meet you Eddie. Richie Tozier’s the name and pulling pints is the game.” He winked, and the first thing that hit Eddie was that, unlike his mother, Richie’s accent was undoubtedly american, only few twangs giving away his heritage.

Eddie’s brain told him to be smooth, or to introduce himself politely and then hurry the fuck to bed, but all Eddie could blurt out was: “What the fuck are you wearing?”

There was a pregnant pause, a beat of silence in which Eddie began to blush. He opened his mouth to cover his tracks, but he quickly closed it again when Richie began to cackle, his whole body curving into it as he leant back and both his arms came up to clutch at his stomach.

“Looks like someone knows how to get his chucks!” Richie cajoled, pretending to wipe his tears with the rag in his pocket before shoving it back in, grinning up at Eddie. “C’mon Eds, let’s get you a drink.”

“Oh, I should probably take my bags up.” Eddie tries to excuse himself, giving the duffel bag in his hand a jostle to punctuate the point furter.

“Don’t be daft.” Maggie cut in, and for a moment, Eddie had completely forgotten the woman was still stood there. “I’ll take these up to your room. Richie, get the boy something.”

“But-” Eddie tried to argue, but the woman had already snatched the bag from his hand, now carrying both of them with ease, and disappeared through a door close to the passageway they had just come through, leaving Eddie completely alone with the boy.

As if he was reading his thoughts, Richie grinned brightly at Eddie and grabbed his hand, leading him into the pub. “Follow me, Eds.”

Glad that Richie had turned around away from him, Eddie willed away the blush rising on his cheeks and he shuffled after Richie.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Eddie grumbled as he watched Richie move back behind the bar, not missing a beat as he refilled glasses and joked with the customers. Eddie was content to watch him for a while, basking in his own little bubble. It was abruptly burst, however, by a grinning Richie.

“Like what’cha see Eds?” He grinned, drying a pint glass with the cloth that was tucked into his pocket.

“Shut up.” He mumbled, his cheeks burning at being caught looking. But it’s not like Eddie could help it. “What happened to that drink?”

Richie placed the pint pot rim down on its shelf before holding his arms up in mock surrender. “Yes sir. What can I get ya?”

Eddie pondered this for a moment, dramatically eyeing the bottles of spirits hung snugly in their optics before he planted his elbows on the bar top, leaning forward towards Richie. “Surprise me.”

If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say that Richie’s eyes followed the sweep of his tongue over his bottom lip, but he quickly dismissed the idea as Richie started to bustle once again, moving down to one of the draughts over the other side of the bar before returning, glass in hand and cardboard beer mat between his teeth.

Plucking the mat from between his teeth, Richie slid it over to Eddie before carefully placing the pint down on top of it. Eddie eyed it suspiciously, his brow furrowed and his eyes flicking between the glass and Richie, who was staring at him expectantly.

“What the fuck is that?” Eddie finally asked, trying not to turn his nose up at the dark liquid.

“It’s a pint of Guinness.” Richie said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re supposed to drink it.”

“Do I look like I drink pints?” Eddie quipped, not actually expecting Richie to take it as an invitation to check him out.

It didn’t last long though, as soon enough, Richie was chuckling and pushing the pint closer to Eddie. “Drink. It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

Eddie didn’t even bother to think of a snarky remark, instead looking up at Richie who wiggled his eyebrows at him, before taking a tentative sip, his face contorting as soon as the drink hit his lips.

Ignoring Richie’s raucous laughter, Eddie quickly put down the drink. His eyes immediately went back to Richie but he was preoccupied, eyes trained on Eddie’s upper lip. Eyebrows furrowed, Eddie brought his hand up to the top of his mouth but Richie’s beat him to it, and his breath caught in his throat as Richie wiped away the foam from the stout with the pad of his thumb.

Eddie couldn’t look away as Richie pulled his hand back and wiped his finger on his cloth as casually as ever, gulping as Richie looked back at him. “That stuff is fucking disgusting.”

Richie’s eyes lit up, and Eddie feared for the worst.

“Aye, but that’s how we do things over here, so it is.” Richie drawled, his accent heightened to be a near perfect imitation of his mothers as he started to clean the bar. “We wean the youngens on the porter and begorrah they grow up strong.”

Rolling up his eyes, Eddie picked up his glass again, taking another cautious sip. “That makes sense. Only alcohol could make you dress like that.” He deadpanned, motioning towards the whole of Richie’s frame. “Drunk toddlers and fashionably inept barmen. Oh what a day it’s been.”

Light seemed to beam from the dark haired man’s face as he smiled, and Eddie tried his best not to be blinded as he hid his responding grin in his pint of offending black sludge.

“That’s just a typical day in the auld Emerald Isle, Eds.” Richie grinned, slinging the cloth he used to wipe down the bar over his shoulder. “Welcome to the foine, foine county of Galway.”

After managing to hold down half his pint and after fighting with Richie over the small detail of actually paying for it (Richie insisted it was a welcome gift; Eddie leaned over the bar, pulled him closer by the belt loops and shoved a ten in his pocket) Eddie trundled off to bed, falling asleep to the faint sounds of the bustling pub below him, the thrill of a new place to explore lighting all of his nerve endings on fire.

If his first meeting was anything to go by, Eddie was sure he wouldn’t be disappointed.

TAGS: @stanleydenbroughuris @richietoaster @roobarrtrashmouth @lilgeorgie @richieshawaiianshirts @qwertykevin @white-duvet