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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

#welcome to projection central #hand wrote this during a lecture today bc i was bored and realised a lot of ppl write/hc eddie as autistic and w adhd #but usually those are the only kinda neurodivergencies i see in fan content #(pretend thats a word)#but then i thought eddie having tics would make sense for his character and i have Experience to write from so #(disclaimer i was not bullied in school nor was i removed from classes (unless i left on my accord bc i wanted to hide in the bathroom))#(some kids teased me or mimicked me or told me to 'do it again' but i dealt w them)#(and the one kid that was really a dick ended up being rly nice by the time we graduated he's cool)#(and i got lucky w my teachers i think they were all very sweet and considerate)#(but i thought this story would make sense and go along with eddies story in the canon)#anyway give eddie tics #anotther hc that his tics calm down/stop when he's playing guitar and playing d&d #mine arent as bad as they were in high school but back then (and on bad days now) they usually calm down #when im focused on something or doing something i enjoy (ie drawing or painting or st)#steddie #steddie oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

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doubledyke · 7 months

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Now lets talk about Ed:

1: His intelligence. He's just a doofus, or is he smarter than he looks?

2: Is he this 100% pure cinnamon roll, or he's a kind of jerk just like everyone else (yeah, I find him to be a jerk in some episodes, just like Your Ed Here)?

3: Is he so genuinely sunny and carefree, or is this a mask and he's secretly depressed or struggling (you know, his abusive homelife and all more)?

thanks for giving me some food for thought! i do just wanna say that any and all (okay, most) interpretations and opinions, including unpopular ones are valid, even if i have different ideas. im but a humble dumbass that spends my free time blogging about a cartoon. no one needs a green light from me to feel a certain way about any character. the fun of participating in goofy fandom stuff is to hear opinions from people with different experiences that shape their perception.

that being said 🤔

i've posted here before that i think ed became gratuitously stupid later on, especially for season 5. maybe he got brain damage from eddy using him as a battering ram so often. but he's got some lucidity sprinkled on top of his oafishness throughout the series. i don't think he's "stupid", i think he just stays in his own little world and that his brain works differently than others'. early on he comes off more as a dopey guy who hangs with eddy because they're both outcasts and can be themselves around each other. not a lot of options, if you get my drift. of all three eds he has the least culpability when it comes to their eventual injurious antics, in my opinion. he's kinda just there because he hangs out with eddy (and edd) and that's what eddy does. there's a true friendship there, don't get me wrong. but i don't think the eds started hanging out because they found each other interesting or cool lmao. that's comes later as they get to know each other and experience trauma together.......anyway, im getting off track.

i think ed is just as multi-faceted as anyone else, it's just maybe those facets aren't explored as much as they are for the other two idiots.

that being said, i don't see him as a jerk personally, but he has his moments i'm sure. i think it's moreso that he doesn't have much of a filter and just says what he thinks. and it's obvious that his doting on sarah is not because he actually gives that much of a shit but because he gets in trouble if she tells their parents. not that it really matters because she makes shit up all the time. he's probably said a lot more jerk-ish things but they're made incomprehensible by his use of nonsensical literary devices. little ed blue is one of my favorite episodes because as we get to see ed when he's upset and irritable which is rare and always fleeting. i'll leave it at that and recommend @gettingfrilly's recent post about that scene where ed is on the tree stump just fuming. they're way more qualified than i to examine this type of stuff 🥴 i'll reblog it after i post this. but i do find it hilarious that he grabs eddy by the face and throws him into a tree. with edd, he gives a warning and pushes him away. there are lots of examples of him being notably gentler with edd and probably even jimmy and others a few times. overall i feel like he's not really intentionally violent with anyone besides eddy. i have a terrible memory so despite watching every episode several times by now, i tend to forget stuff often. so i could be wrong. anyway, again i digress. in 'your ed here' he makes a few playfully sassy remarks when he's playing tic tac toe with edd, but i don't really see it as him being a jerk per se. he thinks he's good at the game so he's doing his weird version of bragging and teasing. and I think a lot of times he comes off as aloof when someone (eddy) is being humiliated and/or getting their ass kicked but i think that has to do with him again, being in his own world and not necessarily because he doesn't care. and finally, with him laughing at eddy and edd's middle names, i just don't find it to be mean-spirited. he thinks the names are funny and so, he laughs.

one example of him being snotty that comes to mind right now is from another of my fave episodes, 'thick as an ed'. it's hilarious to see him try to clap back at edd by saying "stinky hat" over and over. he's expressing genuine annoyance at double dee being well, fucking annoying as usual. to me it's unlikely that edd's hat actually stinks so that means ed came up with something he knew would get under edd's skin. you could argue that it's a bit of a dick move! but given the context of the episode, he's reached a breaking point after his friends have done nothing but try to take his beloved lucky cheese chunk. i can't believe i'm writing this right now.

anyhow, there's definitely a theory out there that ed is putting on an act of being stupid and clumsy just to essentially spite eddy, or foil the scams. it's just not my own personal take on things. interesting nonetheless!

yeah man, ed has an unquestionably awful life at home. his maladaptive daydreaming is definitely a coping mechanism for his shitty reality and probably helps him make sense of the things going on around him. i think ed has a bit of a lack of object permanence (for lack of a better phrase) so once he's away from his house and sarah isn't around, he might be able to put his hardships on the back burner for a while. with the other two eds, they wear their emotions and trauma on their sleeves. there's a lot in what they do, say, and how they react that are tells for their less than ideal upbringings and lack of emotional well-being. a big difference is that they try to hide it and don't explicitly state that things are though back home. with ed we mostly gain insight from his interactions with sarah, the neglected state of his room and personal hygiene, and the random things he discloses about his parents a handful of times. he doesn't even express his opinion about how his parents or sarah act, he simply recalls his past experiences. he's smart enough to grasp cause and effect, even if it doesn't ways show in his actions. his cheerfulness might come off as him being blissfully unaware and i think that's because he essentially is?? at the very least when he's not being actively lambasted by his mother, he's able to hardcore dissociate and go off into ed-land to escape the horrors ™.

TL;DR: i don't think ed's thick-headedness detracts from his distinct personality. he is a loveable oaf and that's perfectly fine in my book. i don't think he's a "cinnamon roll", but i also don't think he's a jerk. my opinion is that he leans waaaaay more towards benevolence. and yeah i absolutely think he's experiencing a lot of neglect and trauma, no doubt about it. i don't see his sweet disposition as a mask necessarily, but more as the result of masterful compartmentalization.

#thanks again! i have a headache so im gonna spare everyone any further attempt to form cohesive thoughts at the moment #@gettingfrilly don't roast my poorly expressed takes too hard #text

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eddieslov3 · 2 years

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Birthday's suck..

This one was requested by @thegreencanary and its so cute I needed to write this.

I didn't proofread so pls be nice and I hope you like it.

Content warning⚠️: talk of the upside down, hospitalized!reader. Birthday sucks. Mutual pining and fluff. Also steve blindfolds reader but its sfw. Also the ending sucks I'm sorry

You hated this. Things have been worse but you hated this. You were sick on your birthday and naturally had to spent it alone since you were in the hospital. It made you wanna cry, since it wasn't the first time you couldn't celebrate your birthday on the actual day. You should have been used to it by now but it didn't make it any better. Since you hated being alone and it was even worse on your birthday. Crying the whole morning didn't make you feel better though. You didn't wanna cry about it but you couldn't help but feel lonely.

You had another week left, but since you had some type of weird sickness(the upside down had had its toll on you and the doctors thought it was contagious.. spoiler alert: they weren't) no one was allowed to visit you. So you couldn't be mad about no one visit, especially if Steve had made sure to show up anyway every day. You were thankful that your room had a window because that's where he stood every day at around 4pm but today he didn't show up. By 5:30 you had given up hope, silently staring at the wall hoping that the day would just end. You hated feeling this miserable.

Not even you book could cheer you up anymore at 6pm you tossed it aside groaning at yourself. Calming down by running a hand through your hair, sitting up. "God I hate this" you sigh and get interrupted by a nearly silent knock. "Hi hi birthday pal" a very familiar voice says. Looking up you can see Steve, hes holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a ballon in the other. Again, you start to cry, but this time out of Happiness. "I thought you had forgotten my birthday.." you mumble and walk over to the window. As you walk closer you see the others, the kids, Eddie, Nancy and Robin.

"you didn't think we'd forget you, right?" he reminds you smiling. "I did think that" you then reply honestly. Quickly wiping your tears away you smile widely. "Thank you guys" you say smiling. "No need to thank us, this was Steves doing" Dustin says grinning. Steve blushes slightly, not exactly hiding the fact that this boy.. this man was in love with you. Like really.

Naturally you start blushing too and wave it off. "Thanks you then Steve" you reply smiling. You smile.

They all stayed for an hour until they all had to leave, steve being the last one to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asks rubbing his neck slightly. You nod. "Tomorrow sounds good"

And then he leaves, he has a hard time leaving you alone as he always does.

Steve was your best friend since diapers, you had seen him be a douche, a jock, be with nancy and all that jazz. You we're also relived when Henderson was responsible for his massive change, that made you like that lil guy more.

You had the staff give you the flowers and balloon so you could feel the love that they had brought you. This made the week you had left to stay less awful.

___________

The week had gone by and Steve had been there every day. One day he had brought erasablemarkers to play tic tac toe on the glass of the window. "You're cheating Harrington!" you stated pouting. Slightly laughing he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just playing the game, babe. I don't know what you mean" babes was a nickname he commonly used for you. Among other nicknames like sweetheart or love, you liked babe the most of you were completely honest. It made your heart flutter and your head turn red.

Two days after that he made the stuff roll out a tv with an vhs player so he could watch the goonies with you. You loved the movie. "Thanks for spending your time with me" you said during a quiet moment and leaned into the cold glass, he did the same but you missed the cuddles you usually got while watching a movie with him.

___________

The day you finally got to leave the hospital had come and you packed your stuff and now are waiting for Steve to actually pick you up. The upside was that you got to leave the hospital already, waiting infront of it. Breathing in the fresh air and being more than thankful for the wind that's flowing through your hair. Slightly sighing und strech as Steve finally rolls by. "Hey Babe" he greets you winking at you, making you giggle. You get into the car. "Hi Baby" you say back making him rub his chin smiling. Your heart is making backflips by now.

"You look so good" he comments making you blush. "Thank you.. I felt like dressing up after wearing that stupid hospital gown for two weeks straight..." you mumble putting your seatbeld on while he turned the car. You didn't think much of it, since he said he was gonna drive you home. "You're welcome Babe.. you deserve to feel good about yourself after these idiots locked you in for no reason" he says leaving you all blushy not really paying attention where he was actually going. You two bicker about the doctors mocking them a little which makes you laugh. God hos much he loves your laugh.

When he took a left turn instead of a right you were confused but didn't say anything, he has his reasons. He then stops and looks at you. "So I have a surprise for you and I'm gonna put a blindfold on you, if you're okay with that" he says holding his bandana you definitely recognize. You look down at the bandana for a moment before you nod. "Yeah go ahead. I trust you" you then say. "Thank you sweetheart" he then mumbles, carefully putting the bandana on you. Slightly tickling you in the process making you giggle in his face. He blushes, turning crimson red. He was definitely glad you didn't see him.

"Is that okay?" carefully pulling the ends of the bandana into a rather tight but not uncomfortable knot. "Yeah thats fine.. thank you" you state smiling. You can feel him adjust himself and continue driving. He turns on the radio, humming along with the tunes until he stopped after what felt like years to be honest.

"so I'm gonna guide you, just let me" he says parking the car and getting out. You bite your lip and patiently wait for him. As the door opens he takes your hands. "Careful don't bump your head" he says putting a hand on your head while guiding you out of his car. The door slamming. You have no idea where you are but you can hear some hushed voices. Not really thinking anything of it while he guides you, what feels like, into a garden. "Okay.. we're here. Are you ready?" his calm voice, laced with excitement makes you nod. "Yes I'm ready".

As he takes off the blindfold a swarm of voices errupts and you have to blink a few times to fully grasp what is happening. "Happy late Birthday!" They scream along with you name. You can't help but tear up at this cute gesture. "You did all of this for me?" Your eyes scan the garden and you can see a grill, loads and loads of Fingerfood and baked stuff, beautiful decorations and of course your friends.

"I hope you like it" is all steve says while blushing. You nod and just look at him. "This was your doing wasn't it, Harrington?" you tease grabbing his hand. "Yes it was!" Max and Lucas confirm while handing you each a cupcake, both of you take them gratefully. "Thanks Max" you say and can't fully function as Steve suddenly pulls you closer. With a quick look at your lips he then dips his head in your direction, kissing you softly.

You gasp lightly before returning the favor and kissing him back. As you break the kiss all your friends are cheering and Eddie hands Dustin ten bucks. "Finally" says Dustin while Eddie mopes looking at you. "I thought you'd do it first!"

"I'm glad I did it though. Not even sorry about this one, Munson" steve says while kissing you again.

#stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve Harrington x gn!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things promt

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bb-babyy · 2 years

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Spring Break of '86 (1)

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warning(s): Mature; swearing; violence;

Summary: Instead of enjoying a lavish spring break with your college friends, you were off running around Hawkins dodging the police with Eddie Munson, your ex.

Word Count: 2.0k

++++

The last thing you wanted to do during spring break was return to the hell hole known as Hawkins, Indiana. Not only was the damn town cursed, but the people were somehow even worse than the mysterious events in it. If it wasn't for your mother's constant nagging about wanting you to visit, you would have most definitely gone home with your roommate and partied until your liver jumped out of your throat from the abuse it would have had to withstand.

You took a large gulp from your cherry-flavored slushie while waiting for your brother and sister in the school parking lot. You kicked your legs as you sat on the edge of the truck bed in your beat-up truck. God forbid having them walk or take the bus or even work a minimum wage job to afford their own vehicle like you were forced to do when you still attended high school.

Gently gnawing on the tip of your straw, you watched the many cliches of high school students run past and hightail out of the parking lot. Five minutes passed before one of the twins appeared. You raised an eyebrow, silently asking where the other one was. "Matty is with his D&D club, while I still have practice. And then I'll be sleeping over at one of my friends' houses since the boy's basketball game is tomorrow, and we want to get ready together," Mary said.

You groaned and hopped off the back of your truck. You held out your sister's favorite strawberry slushie, but she smiled apologetically and waved it off. You shrugged and asked her to carry it anyways before picking your brother's and your beverage up before slamming the tailgate closed; since the damn thing was dingy and rusted, it would hardly close with a soft click like it was supposed to.

"Thanks, sis. I'll let mom know you won't be home tonight," you said and began walking towards the building. Before you could part ways, you gave her an obnoxious kiss on the forehead as a thank you and grabbed the unwanted drink from her hands.

She cringed and wiped the spot your lips were before rolling her eyes and walking in the opposite direction. It was safe to say that you honestly liked your siblings more before they hit puberty and became all ugh. You didn't attempt to take another sip of your drink, knowing that you would most likely spill it or drop the others in the process.

It didn't take long to find the classroom where the club took place, especially the one you had spent countless hours in when you still attended two years ago. You fumbled with the doorknob and pressed the drinks closer to your body as you juggled the multiple tasks. You silently praised yourself from the familiar click of the door opening before using your foot to nudge it open the rest of the way.

You quickly glanced around the room before spotting the second half of the twin set. "Matty! What the hell, dude? I've been waiting for you outside," you said as you plopped all three drinks on the table. You quickly rubbed your arms to bring back the departed heat from where the drinks were pressing into your skin.

You paid little attention to the gaggle of nerds as they peered up at you from where they sat. Matty stood up, alarmed by your sudden appearance, and quickly stuffed many of his books and papers littered on the table into his backpack.

"S-sorry! I-I just wanted to go over the p-p-plan for tomorrow's c-campaign," he apologized. You grabbed his shaky hands in your own and forced him to look up at you.

"It's okay; just give me a heads up next time if you want me to pick you up later," you said. Matty had Tourettes, and you had accidentally caused his shaky hand tic to appear when you spooked him. You dropped one of your hands from his own and brought the sugary drink up to his lips to help ease his nerves. A good brain freeze helped him reset.

You patiently waited until his hands had stopped the incisive movement before letting him go. You could feel the gaze of the rest of his club members on you, which caused you to take a glance away from your brother. You were pleasantly surprised by the familiar faces of Dustin and Mike, two out of four of the boys you had babysat since you were ten, and they were six until you left for college two years ago.

"Dustin? Mike? What's up, guys?" you asked, walking closer to the duo on the other side of your brother. You held out your hand for Dustin, which caused a glimmer of understanding to appear in his eyes before you did your secret handshake.

His lips curled into his loveable smile, which caused you to return one of your own. You would've done the same with Mike; however, he claimed to "forgot" how to do the one he had created with you.

"What are you doing here?" Mike asked.

"I came to pick up my brother?" Your eyebrows furrowed from the obvious question. "N-no! Not here in the room, but in town!" he clarified. You let out a small laugh before throwing your arm around your brother's shoulders.

"I just wanted to visit my baby siblings during spring break," you cooed and lightly pinched your brother's cheek. He shrugged your arm off of him and rolled his eyes.

"Liar," Matty said.

"I mean being stuck in Hawkins in an empty house all day since my baby siblings are too cool for me now or being in Miami with all my college friends and drinking until I forget what major I chose? Of course, I decided to come home!" Sarcasm dripped thickly from your lips.

"No, but for real, my mom said she would disown me or some shit if I didn't come home," you finished sitting on the edge of the table. The rest of the members grimaced in understanding how crazy your mom could get from the stories Matty had told them.

You slid the unwanted slushie across the table towards Dustin and Mike's direction in a silent offering, which Dustin took graciously. You gave him a wink as he thanked you around the straw.

Just as you were getting ready to leave, the door was kicked open, and a voice, loud and arrogant, rang throughout the room. You could feel your throat tighten as you took in the appearance of the person who walked in.

It felt like time had stopped as familiar big brown doe eyes connected with your own. The words on his tongue died out as he took in the sight before him. Eddie Munson, your ex, the boy who broke your heart, was standing right in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sight of him.

He looked exactly as he did a year ago; however, a few tattoos peeking under his shirt were new.

His mouth opened and closed before he finally spoke up. "W-What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, Munson." Your face was wiped clean of all emotions the longer you looked at him. "W-well, you know what they say, the third time's the charm," Eddie said humorlessly as he waved his arms as if he was presenting the room before you. He had a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Your eyes widened in the realization that he meant he had been held back another year since the last time you saw him.

You nod in understanding before addressing your bother again. "Let's get going before mom goes into cardiac arrest from us being late," you said, gesturing your head towards the direction of where Eddie stood.

Just as you were getting ready to pass Eddie, you could see his hand reach for you, which caused you to flinch and look at him. He jerked back, and his eyes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that his eyes were beginning to fill up with tears.

"I-It's nice to see you again," he said, lowering his arm to his side. You paused and just looked at him. You brought your straw to your lips and gave an obnoxious slurp to your empty cup before breaking eye contact and finished making your way out the door and away from Eddie.

+++

"We should get married once we graduate," Eddie said, looking up at you as his head was nestled on your chest. Your hand froze mid-twirl on one of his perfect curls.

"W-what?"

"I mean, why not? I can't even imagine a future without you in it. You're literally everything and more than what I could've dreamed of! I would be a complete idiot if I let you go," he said earnestly. You could feel your chest heat up from his words and how sincere his voice was as he spoke.

You had been together since sophomore year, and now as seniors, you were more than eager to start a new chapter of your life, and knowing that Eddie wanted more than anything to have you with him for the rest of his life caused you to choke up.

Tears began to bubble up in the corner of your eyes. You attempted to tilt your face further up from your laying position, but it was futile as they slipped right onto the pillow underneath your head.

"Of course, I would say yes, Eddie. I can't picture a future without you either," you sobbed. His eyes softened, and he climbed up to meet you eye to eye. His eyes began to water as he planked on top of you.

"I'll go wherever you go. Just me and you against the world, I promise," he said. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer as you began to kiss him with so much passion and love you could put into a kiss. As your lips were intertwined, so were your tears as if to seal a promise that would hopefully be kept in two months.

+++

Not even the joint between Eddie's fingers could keep his mind at ease. All he could think about was you. It was always the same memories on quiet nights like this that seemed to plague his mind. They suffocated him; they made him realize how worthless and pathetic he was. He gave up the one good thing in life and had no one to blame but himself.

He let the smoke invade his lungs for a few beats before exhaling. The high he attempted to chase was on the brink of his mind before it faded. You were the best high he could ever achieve, as cliche and cringe as it sounds.

The eyes that once admired him as if the stars had aligned now looked at him as if he was nothing. He could feel his heart constricting in his chest; he knew that he had fucked up royally. Seeing you today just made a wave of new, hurt emotions come crashing down on him. Deep down, he knew he didn't deserve to have this pity party, but he couldn't help it.

Nothing had truly felt right with him since he broke up with you through his final letter. He felt as if he was holding you back. The freak who got held back while his partner achieved great things in college.

The long-distance did work for a while, but then it got to him, with the help of his bullies, that he finally realized that he was a washed-up nobody. Why on earth would you stay with someone as stupid as him? You could have and be with anyone you wanted, so why settle for less?

He knew it would rip both of your hearts out, but he had no choice. You deserved to be with someone other than the Freak of Hawkins.

He reached over to the ashtray as he finally reached the butt end of his joint and snubbed it out. As he once again envisioned you laying next to him, playing with his curls, lulling the both of you to sleep as you did all those years ago.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things x reader #eddie the freak munson #eddie my love #stranger thing s4 #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #fem reader

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danpuff-ao3 · 1 year

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Hermione, Luna, Fleur 🧡

Hi there Anon! Thanks for the asks! 😄

Hermione Granger: A subject you know a lot about.

Gotta be ASTROLOGY, am I right? 🤣 That shouldn't surprise anyone here. Harry Potter, also. (Those books came out when I was 5 and I've basically been reading them since then.)

But for a little extra...astrology is, essentially, a language of symbolism and storytelling. (Also more math than I like to think about, so let's not get into that bit of it.) Well I, as a writer, am very drawn to the storytelling bit, but I'm also pretty well-versed in symbolism in general.

Color symbolism. Animal symbolism. Flower symbolism. I'm very fascinated by symbols, and history, and stories, and sort of tying it all together. The idea of there being deeper meaning, and deeper power, in all things. Seeing beauty and magic all around us.

That's what made Orange Blossoms so fun to write, just fully leaning into floriography. It's why I have a deep fondness for rhapsodizing about eye color; color and meaning and what all I can compare it to, and the meaning behind that. And in astrology, the elements, and the symbolism there; I blend the elements into my work where I can, too, using what I know of its symbolism.

There was a bit I was writing once where Severus was reflecting on his feelings for Lily and Harry, and I was aiming for a lot of airy comparisons for Lily (an Aquarius) and fiery descriptors for Harry (a Leo.) Fully self-indulgent and I never quite finished it!

Anyway, there I go babbling, per usual, LOL.

Luna Lovegood: Something about you other people find weird.

Hmmm. Probably a lot. But people don't generally tell me what they think is weird about me. 🤣 My laugh, maybe, or at least that's what I'm self-conscious of. I think it's loud and obnoxious, and I also happen to laugh way too much.

I also take great pleasure in very simple things. Which maybe sounds nice until I'm raving about how sweet Eddie is for bringing home a Midnight Milky Way and everyone else is like "wtf why are you telling me this." Cuz I'm HAPPY. I'm VERY HAPPY. I love dark chocolate and that was so nice!!! (Eddie is my partner btw for those who dk.)

I also have OCD and ADHD (bad combination that), so my brain is very weirdly particular about things. I'm 1000% sure people think many of those are weird. I also have tics which I hope to god no one notices but if they do, I'm sure they think that's weird, too.

Aaaand...Well. My level of obsessiveness and enthusiasm. I live in the South (U.S.) where everyone religiously follows football, wears merch for their favorite teams, and even play Fantasy Football, but I'm weird for wearing Hufflepuff t shirts and writing fanfiction. 🙄

Also I babble/ramble a lot, but I've gotta be feeling pretty comfy to talk at all so...🤷‍♀️

On the whole I embrace my weirdness so while I can be a bit self-conscious and overthink, I also love all of what makes me unique! And best of all...my weirdness brings in other weird people, who I'd rather hang out with anyway!

Fleur Delacour: What physical attribute do you like most about yourself?

MY. HAIR.

If you know you know. 😂 I'll thank my Leo Rising for great hair (Or I could thank my dad for the genetics, but...I'd rather not. I'd rather thank my Leo Rising, which means I can thank my mother instead for giving birth to me at the optimal time for great hair.)

(Okay we're getting off track, and probably oversharing a bit.)

AHEM.

I don't think I'm especially pretty, and I'm a bit insecure about a lot, but one thing I have never doubted is my hair. Dark brown (I dyed it red for years, but I went back to my natural color some years ago!) LONG...as in, nearly to my butt when fully dry. And best of all: SUPER CURLY. I have 3B hair, to give people a better idea.

I love it even more since my partner likes to tell me that I have so much chaos and liveliness in me that it sprouts out of my head that way. My hair, the ultimate representation of all my...[gestures wildly]

Anyway, maintenance is a pain in the behind. I braid it every night for bed and let me TELL YOU...getting to the end of the braid is a pain, worse still if I have to redo the braid. My arms get TIRED. Also curls tangle like crazy. I could not move at all after brushing it and somehow all of my curls start making friends.

But you know what? It's soft. It's pretty. Having long curly hair makes me feel like a fairytale princess, I won't lie. Flipping it around? Charm. The wind whipping it all over? Magic.

Also fun fact, when it's shorter, it's super springy and has a lot more volume. (The length weighs down the curls a bit.) So when my hair was short it actually kinda looked like a lion's mane. Which was cool. Especially relating to my Leo Moon and my Leo Rising (which is to thank for said hair to begin with.) Leo...lion...lion's mane. Get it?

Okay, I'll see myself out.

If you've not had enough of my babbling, you can send me more HP Name Asks.

#asked & answered #ask game

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sunflowersandsapphires · 2 years

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Because they are some of my current faves, let’s discuss the signs of the fruity 4 from stranger things. (As analyzed by me, someone who knows nothing about astrology but loves it anyway.) I don’t know if their birthdays/signs exist somewhere but I’m making these up.

Nancy: I feel like initially I want to say Virgo but I don’t think that fits entirely. I think Nancy has an incredibly high degree of emotional intelligence and intuition which makes me think she’s a Cancer. She sort of alternates between emotion and logic throughout the series but always ALWAYS trusts her gut and is highly intuitive. They’re also known for valuing genuineness and honesty which Nancy clearly does.

Robin: As obvious as this is, Aries. The two Aries traits that stand out to me for Robin are fiesty and creative. This woman is so sarcastic and intelligent but open-minded as hell! Aries individuals are known for bringing life and enthusiasm to things and while Robin isn’t always necessarily enthusiastic, I’d say she’s ALWAYS energetic.

Steve: this one was the trickiest because I didn’t know which of Steve’s qualities to pick and choose. Ultimately, I think he’s an Aquarius. He is thoughtful and honest, empathetic and charismatic, and values relationships with others.

Eddie: Leo. Hands down. Eddie is Dra-ma-tic. He has a magnetic personality to anyone willing to give him the time of day. He’s endlessly creative and exudes warmth and enthusiasm. I love him so much and I feel like this fits.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steddie #ronance

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siswritesyanderes · 3 years

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Hi! I’m curious: if you had to be the obsession of one yandere from each of your favorite fandoms, who would you choose and why?

Oh, that’s such a good question! I hope I don’t forget any fandoms. (Every time a question like this comes up, I forget all of my interests, lol.) I’m going to go ahead and include a lot of fandoms in this post, regardless of how much I like the thing itself. (I’m clarifying this because you said “favorite fandoms” and these aren’t necessarily my favorites, lol.) Boy, here’s hoping I don’t learn anything about myself, answering this question. Okay, in no particular order:

Harry Potter:

Okay, I’m thinking Newt or Tom Riddle. Newt is really good at caretaking, he’s soft-spoken, and I know from Les Mis that Eddie Redmayne is able to sing (which, in my mind, means Newt can and he’d sing lullabies). Meanwhile, Tom is powerful and, pre-Horcruxes, not too bad-tempered. He’s got followers, which is good for many reasons; he’s not sadistic like Bellatrix; on the whole, he’s a fairly balanced yandere with a surprising number of benefits.

Or Fred and George; they’re prodigies at what they do (They’re pretty much inventors); they’d be self-aware and fun as yanderes; and also they’re canonically kind of ruthless. Yeah, I think I’m settling on Fred and George for this one.

Twilight:

By the metric of appearance, Seth or Caius. But if I’m taking everything into consideration, maybe Demetri? His power has great yandere potential that would only backfire on me if I’d already escaped, which I probably wouldn’t manage anyway, since I’m a human. He’s high enough in the Volturi that I’d be safe from most everything, but not one of the main three, which is good because I think being Caius or Marcus’s mate would invite a lot of scrutiny from Aro (and he killed Didyme), and being Aro’s might invite sassiness from Caius; just generally, I wouldn’t want to get in on whatever bond they have unless it was a poly thing where they all cared about me. Also, I’d rather avoid Aro’s power if possible, though I suppose having him be yandere for me would be like empirical evidence that even my entire history of thoughts is attractive, which would boost my ego to an absurd degree. You know what, maybe Aro.

Then there’s also Benjamin, who has a chill personality, awesome power (especially since fire is the thing that kills vampires; being able to control it is like extra immortality on top of the existing immortality), and the innate freedom of not being a part of the Volturi. Yet, if he were to be recruited by the Volturi, you know he’d be as high-ranking as Demetri, if not higher. Again, safety. Demetri, Benjamin, or Aro, on the vampire side. (No Cullens, since they’ve actively provoked the Volturi and I don’t trust their ability to keep me safe. If Cullens were on the table, though, Jasper and Alice.)

Wolf-wise, I feel like Leah would be a really considerate and protective yandere, and since she’s the fastest of the wolves, I think she could get me out of most danger. Maybe Jared, since the only things I know about him are that he has a sense of humor and he can be SUPER manipulative (Like, that “Lee-lee” thing from Breaking Dawn was ruthless.), and that’s a valuable skill in a yandere’s tool belt. But ultimately I guess I would have to choose Jacob, since any of them would be physically unable to disobey him, even under yandere circumstances, so there’s no guarantee they would protect me no matter how much they wanted to. (Also I wouldn’t have to go through the turning process, if I’m with a wolf instead of a vampire.)

Final answer, Aro, Benjamin, or Jacob.

The Hunger Games:

Boy, I would say Snow, because I know he would pull strings for me and give gifts and stuff, but I also feel like he’d be kind of a selfish yandere. Like, he’d be kind when it’s convenient, but he’d ultimately be looking out for his own happiness. I love Finnick, but I feel like yandere traits for him would manifest too selflessly; like, I’d be worried about Finnick, as a yandere. Johanna “There’s no one left I love” Mason would be fiercely protective, but not worryingly selfless. She’d be clingy and spirited and probably beat some people up over me.

Divergent:

Definitely Peter! He stabbed a guy in the eye in canon! He’s got an intersection of creepy and pragmatic going on, kind of like a human version of Jasper from Twilight, but without the racial baggage. I get that a lot of people thirst after Eric, and Eric definitely has more power than Peter, but his personality doesn’t interest me.

Percy Jackson:

Percy or Leo. Powers and personalities are perfect for yandere. Nico and Will, if they’re bi; I’m not caught up on Trials of Apollo, so I’m not sure.

WAIT, maybe Reyna?? The confidence, the metal dogs...Yeah, Reyna is awesome, too.

Descendants:

Harry, Uma, and Gil as a unit. Just all three of them at once. They’re pirates, they’re already so steamy and intense about their relationships in canon (or Harry and Uma are, at least), and they’re all very attractive. If I had to choose one, I think Uma. Or Ben, since he’s a really nice guy with a strong moral compass, at least in the first movie (meaning a yandere interpretation of him would most likely become extreme in his morals, rather than corrupt), and he’s the king.

Detroit Become Human:

(I’m literally only making this a category because I find it unbelievable that any yandere Markus is characterized as, like, a rough and dominant yandere.) Markus was a caretaking android for an old man; he would be very loving, understanding, and supportive. His revolutionary energy is not turned against his loved ones. Nothing in canon suggests he would ever be rough with someone he loves. (Connor, meanwhile, is an android cop who is rough with his friends in canon, but lots of fan works characterize him as soft. Puzzling. Maybe uncomfortable, from a racial standpoint, since Markus is a man of color.)

Also, Ralph is the absolute perfect mix of well-meaning and delusional and intense. Ralph is perfect as a yandere. Why isn’t there more yandere Ralph?? I love Ralph.

And also Jerry, because he’s cheerful and there’s a lot of him. Just a thousand of this one guy, all in love with one person? Yandere gold.

Undertale:

Sans. Or Asgore. Let’s move on. 😅

Legacy of Orïsha:

Roën. Easy. Another pirate, with emotional intelligence and a sense of humor! Self-aware but with a loose moral compass. I love him.

Avatar: The Last Airbender:

Having thought it through, either Jet or Mai; Jet is a charming yet hot-headed rebel, and we’ve already seen what it’s like when he’s like when he takes his ideals to an extreme. He would absolutely flood a town for his loved one, which, now that I’m saying it, shouldn’t be phrased like a desired outcome, but we’re talking yandere here, so it’s fine.

Mai, meanwhile, would seem dry and casual while also doing the most. She would be satisfied with just sitting in silence, which is chill. And given her wealth, she might ‘gilded cage’ me. Then again, she’s not very forthcoming with praise or positivity in general.

Actually, yeah, just Jet.

MCU:

Listen, I really dislike Wanda in canon, but Wanda and Vision would be the best yanderes. Their powers, Wanda’s tendency to not take responsibility for her actions, there’s a lot there. And, like, she’s generally nice to people she cares about (and Vision is a Mjolnir-lifting sweetheart); she’s pretty much exactly right to be a yandere.

Maybe Nebula, since I want to give Nebula a hug and let her win at tic tac toe or something. She would fire the very biggest guns at anyone who made themself a threat to me, but one-on-one she’s so soft and frank and I love her.

(I want to say M’Baku because Winston Duke seems so lovely, but M’Baku the character seems too strict; we’ve never seen him with a loved one.)

Dandelion: Wishes Brought to You:

Jieun, in his good end, or Jisoo, in his bad end. Look, my friend got me into this game in high school; don’t look at me. Jieun is smart, psychic, very chill, and a king. Jisoo is practically the opposite. Both work very well as yanderes.

#male yandere #female yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere dbh #yandere atla #yandere mcu #yandere hp #yandere pjo #yandere hoo #cheritz #danelion wishes brought to you #legacy of orisha #jisoo bad end #jieun good end

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

what billy doesn’t know won’t hurt him | r.t.

when things get heated between bill and richie, richie takes it a step further. now things are heated between bill, richie, and bill’s girlfriend.

word count: 7,429

warnings/included: nsfw (smut but it’s vanilla), cheating, pining, angst(?), fem!reader

a/n: this concept is awful and this whole fic was written for my own self indulgence so i hope you’ll forgive me

It was no surprise that Bill would be the first of the Losers to get a girlfriend and Richie knew this. What’s not to like about Big Bill? He had a certain leadership quality and charisma to him that no girl could resist. His stark auburn hair and tall figure probably didn’t help either.

Richie first met Bill’s new belle at the arcade. The Losers made plans to meet each other there one Friday night in celebration for their exam week ending.

“Guh-guys, I’m br-bringing my guh-guh—”

“Guacamole? That’s cool and all, Billiam, but I’m sure you can just get some there.” Richie erupted into a fit of laughter because that was the thing about Richie; he always laughed at his own jokes whether they were funny or not.

Bill’s backhand flew to the underside of Richie’s chin and Eddie cringed at the jarring sound of skin on skin. Bill grew tired of Richie’s incessant interruptions. His friend never seemed to let him finish a thought.

“No.” He let out an annoyed sigh, hoping it would come across as an indication for Richie to maybe, for once in his life, get his head out of his ass. “Mm-my girlfr-friend.” Once he finished his sentence, he made sure to shoot Richie a smirk. It looked the same as his smirk he wore when he finished beating him at chess or when one of the other Losers’ got in the last word instead of him. This time Bill got in the last word.

“That’s good for you, Bill!” Bev piped up. “We need another girl around here.” She looked to the room of all boys in slight disgust. “Not that you guys aren’t great —”

“Well... Now you’ll have someone to have ‘girl talk’ with.” Ben looked around to Bill, Richie, Stan, and Eddie. All except Richie nodded in agreement.

“Tough crowd. You can count me in on the girl talks, though.” Beverly slapped the suggestive look right off Richie’s face which he yelped at.

“Richie, you’ve been slapped so many times, you should be numb to the feeling by now.” Stan shook his head as a disappointed mother would, but his smile said differently.

Their conversation continued; ranging from what grades they received on their finals and what time they would meet up.

They decided on six.

But Bill was late. Bill was never late.

“Where’s Bill?”

The Losers were squeezed together in one of the booths the lounge area of the arcade had to offer. Beverly and Ben’s shoulders pressed together while they sucked down the same strawberry milkshake. Mike sat beside the couple, because neither Stan nor Eddie would, while picking through the fries to find the crispy ones.

Eddie, Stan, and Richie sat on the other side. Stan kept complaining to Mike about how he “shouldn’t touch every one of the fries” and that he was “hogging all the good ones.” Eddie, on the other hand, ran his mouth about the multiple diseases Ben and Beverly could catch from sharing their food (or anything for that matter).

“Probably getting one-off in the bathroom with—”

“Beep Beep, R-Richie!” It was the man of the hour. Bill silenced his friend to which the rest of the group was thankful for. Even though Richie’s anecdotes could be entertaining, they did not want to hear about their friend’s sex life: made up or not.

“Hey, Big Bill!” Richie turned a ninety in his seat to see the look on his friend’s face, but he didn’t expect to be met with the scene of Bill and his arm wrapped around some girl. A hot one at that.

Bill kissed her temple before directing his attention to the group. “Everyone, th-th-this is—”

“I’m y/n.”

“Mmm-my guh-girlfriend.” Bill said this almost too proudly.

“I didn’t know Billiam was actually capable of getting some.” Richie fell into a fit of laughter and held up his hand for a round of high fives he was expecting. But instead of a slap on the back and a “good one, Rich”, Richie was given a variety of bored and ‘are-you-serious’ looks.

“Anyway,” Stan broke the silence. “y/n, you wanna pull up a chair? Sorry, we didn’t get a table big enough…”

“It’s ff-ine,” Bill said as he was climbing into the booth next to Richie. “There’s room.” He gave y/n a suggestive look, raising his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth upturned slightly. His girlfriend ducked her head; embarrassed in front of Bill’s friends she had never met before. She could feel her cheeks heating up and the group’s stare on her when she went to sit on Bill’s lap.

To that, Richie whistled and said, “What’s next, are you gonna make her give you a lap dance?” Anger took over Bill’s body. His muscles tensed under his skin and it became harder to conceal his scowl. “Don’t worry, doll.” Richie started whispering into y/n’s ear. “If Bill gets hard you won’t—you won’t notice since he’s —”

Richie couldn’t finish his sentence. Partly because his laughing prevented him from doing so. Bill had also jabbed him in the shoulder causing Richie to pull away from the couple.

“Gee, Bill, I didn’t know you could—”

“Richie, that’s enough!” Bill, no longer able to keep his composed expression, raised his voice.

All the Losers watched intently. Bill never raised his voice, so to say that this was a rare occasion was just as much of an understatement as saying, “Stan liked birds.”

“Luh-look, Richie, I th-th-hink you’re a funny guy. A li-little too vulgar fo-or my taste, but yo-you make the room laugh. But luh-late-ly you’ve been making a lot of juh-jokes regarding muh-me—”

“Or what you don’t have.”

“Th-this is what I’m ta-talking ab-out.” Bill watched his friend sternly, waiting for an apology. Even the smallest sorry would be good enough for him.

Richie stayed silent.

“You… you know, it-it’s funny that you muh-make all th-these jokes ab-about mm-me when you’ve nev-her had a girlfr-hend. God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back?” He recalled all the times Richie had been rejected. How Richie must be the least desirable kid in school with his track record of turn downs.

Stillness filled the air. Aside from Bill’s lengthy speech, none of the Losers had said anything for the past five minutes. What was there to say? Even Richie was left speechless.

“We’ll b-be guh-going now.” y/n slid off Bill’s lap. She waited passively for him as he got up from his seat. Bill wasted no time for goodbyes. He walked out of the door with a swagger that none of the Losers had seen on him before. But y/n stayed behind, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“It was nice meeting you all…” Her attempt to ease the uneasiness between them was admirable. “I hope we can do this again sometime, yeah?” She was a sweet girl. The words that left her mouth were... genuine, not just being said because of the unexpected outburst at the table.

She parted from the group shortly after, not wanting to keep Bill waiting long. Richie’s eyes were glued to y/n’s backside while she pranced towards the door. The way her hips swayed were captivating and even though her dress was loose it was just short enough to—

“Richie, you’re staring.”

“Am I?” Richie averted his eyes away from Bill’s girlfriend, now finding the voice who’d scolded him.

“Yes, and it’s disgusting,” Stan scoffed. He shot Richie a glare but not his usual glare. Stan was actually disgusted. His eyes were squinted slightly, and Richie could tell his brain was trying to figure out what was going on in Richie’s own.

“Okay, everyone agrees with me that y/n is way too hot for Bill, right?” Richie asked the group. A little gossip never hurt anyone right?

But the responses were lackluster.

“I think Bill and y/n look cute together!” Beverly was the first one to defend Bill. Ben nodded after her because let’s be honest, that boy agreed with everything she said just to keep himself on her radar.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this behind Bill’s back.” Mike was next and he wore an uncomfortable look on his face. Multiple Losers (everyone except for Richie) had agreed with him on that one.

“y/n seems nice—”

“Exactly!” Richie could almost jump out of his seat as he cut Eddie off. “Bill doesn’t deserve her!”

“I think someone’s jealous.” Richie snapped his head to look at Stan who wasn’t doing the same. He was too busy wiping off the condensation from his drink glass.

“Why would you say that?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the accusation and there became a burning need for an answer that grew inside him. The rest of the Losers had also become intrigued.

“First of all, you think she’s hot—”

“Richie thinks anything with legs is hot,” Eddie said, and everyone forgot what the conversation was about for a moment as they took a minute to laugh at his remark.

“Richie, why don’t you think y/n’s good enough for Bill?” Stan asked.

There was no response while Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Mike, and Stan had their eyes on him. Although Richie usually handled himself well under pressure and in social situations, he felt a bad concoction of the coke he had just downed and the fries he was snacking on creeping their way back up his throat for a second taste.

“Hey, Stanny, I didn’t ask for ya to go all Freud on me.” Richie chuckled; trying to brush off the funny feeling in his stomach.

Richie felt a sort of relief wash over him when he was let off the hook. Ben and Beverly were playing a game of tic tac toe on a napkin and Mike, Stan, and Eddie found themselves in a three-way debate: Jurassic Park versus Jaws. Eddie was offering The Wizard of Oz to the table since his mom hadn’t let him watch either yet, but Stan and Mike wouldn’t budge.

But it didn’t help that Richie’s thoughts drifted back to Bill’s words earlier that night. God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back? Could he? A swarm of unwanted memories infiltrated his mind. Cierra from math class who had laughed in his face after he said, “Are you a forty-five angle? Because you’re a-cute-y.” Or when he asked out Elle, his longtime crush, to homecoming only to be told she had a boyfriend. The list goes on.

Those words apparently had such an impact on Richie because they followed him to the weekend which was spent laying on his bed as Bill’s voice echoed through Richie’s brain over and over again.

You… you know, it-it’s funny that you muh-make all th-these jokes ab-about mm-me when you’ve nev-her had a girlfr-hend.

“Never had a girlfriend, huh?” Richie thought aloud to himself in the safety of his own room. Just like a lightbulb would, Richie’s eyes lit up as an idea took place in his head. It was totally selfish, evil, and went heavily against the ‘bro code’. But who would Richie be to not go through one of his plans?

The bell signaling dismissal had just rung when Richie finalized his plan.

Meet y/n at her locker.

Drive her home from school.

Show her what she’s missing.

Serve Bill some sweet, sweet revenge.

Richie was the first one out the door—as always. But instead of his usual pace which solely relied on his long legs to carry him, he dashed for the hallway—like a prisoner making a break for it.

After peering through the sea of people long and hard, he spotted the same silky hair and small figure he’d seen the other night at the arcade.

“Hey, beautiful.” Richie propped himself against the row of lockers attached to y/n’s.

“I have a name.” And if it weren’t for the smile on her lips, Richie would’ve thought she was actually annoyed at him.

“You got a ride tonight?”

She shook her head while closing the door to her locker. “Yeah, actually.” y/n swung her backpack strap over her arm. “My boyfriend’s taking me home.” She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her face turned a bright shade of red in front of this boy.

“That’s a shame.” A disappointed clicking sound left his mouth. “I got a seat next to me in my car that’s calling your name.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” y/n offered. Her tone sounded just as angelic as it did the other night.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Richie left y/n with a wink and nothing more.

Richie, did in fact, hold y/n to that. And to Richie’s surprise, y/n did keep her word. The next day followed like the last. His shoulder slanted against the metal doors while he watched the girl pack her stuff. Even her smallest actions were mesmerizing.

“You know, doll, I’m surprised you took me up on this offer.”

“Oh, really?” y/n’s eyebrow raised slightly, almost as if she were challenging him.

“Kind of.” Richie forced himself to chuckle. He turned so that his back was now held up by the lockers. “Won’t your boyfriend be mad?” He was now rethinking his plan. This awful plan of his that would most likely be the end of his and Bill’s-

“Nah.” The sound of metal slamming startled Richie and he was now standing upright. “Besides, what Billy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She threw a suggestive wink in his direction. Did Billy know his girlfriend was a cheater?

“Jeepers, babe. Don’t tell me you’re only kidding.” A quizzical look sprawled itself across Richie’s face and his eyes searched hers as if he were looking for something.

A giggle so saccharine it was probably drenched in maple syrup beforehand left the girl’s glossy lips. “I’m joking.” She shoved Richie with her elbow as they walked side by side. “Bill doesn’t know.” Her voice lowered, “but you’re his friend so it’s not like that matters, right?”

“You betcha’.” Richie had to swallow down one of his stupid remarks just to make himself sound convincing. He looked down, once they’d got to his car, and tried the handle only to be met with the fact it wouldn’t budge. A string of curses fell off his dirty mouth and he could hear a series of muffled laughs coming from the other side. “Ha. Ha. Laugh all you want, hot stuff, I’m here all week.” It took Richie long enough to realize that his car was locked.

Begrudgingly, he fished the keys from his pockets and finally got the door open.

“You’re a great chauffeur.” y/n rolled her eyes while buckling her seatbelt. “Hot!” She seethed, cradling her left hand that touched the hot metal from the buckle with her right.

“Aw. You need someone to kiss it better?” Richie cooed, delicately taking her hand in his.

“I’m good.” If y/n were any other girl Richie swore she would’ve flicked his head and called him an idiot. Instead, she coyly retracted her hand and looked out the window—actively facing away towards him.

A few seconds of quietness passed between them before y/n decided to break it. “So, tell me, Rich.” Richie had to keep himself from taking his eyes off the road. “Why’d you offer to drive me home?”

“Is chivalry so dead I can’t drive a gal home?”

“I mean…” She took a moment to stare at the car’s ceiling so she could find the right words. “Bill’s your best friend.”

“Don’t pretend what happened on Friday, like, didn’t fuckin’ happen.” Richie was being sarcastic, of course.

“I know he said some harsh words but—”

“Hey.” His voice calmed. “If Bill and I are best friends, then he shouldn’t have a problem with this. Right?” Richie looked over at y/n to see if she’d agree with him. “Right?”

“Okay,” she gave in. She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes, but it was enough confirmation for him.

“So, what’s the story between you and Big Bill?” Richie drummed on the steering wheel while y/n mulled over an answer.

y/n felt herself shy away at the question and as she recalled the events of Bill asking her out.

They first met in chemistry. Somehow, y/n had managed to let the dean switch her schedule so late in the year since Henry Bowers had accidentally spilled an aluminum chloride mix on her brand-new jeans.

“I’ll be deciding your lab partners today. Ever since last time I don’t think I can trust you guys to pick your own partners anymore.” Mr. Davis looked tired and y/n couldn’t blame him. In her head, she kept track of everyone who got paired together. Once he’d gotten to Gretta Keene, she soundlessly thanked god that she had been paired with Stacy. “y/n y/l/n and Bill Denbrough.”

y/n almost missed the bored voice as she was too lost in her thoughts.

Bill Denbrough?

Her eyes curiously darted around the room, searching for the sea of students in the desks surrounding her.

A pair of bright blue eyes finally caught hers. A pair of bright blue eyes that had to belong to Bill Denbrough.

“You-you’re y/n, rih-right?” Bill was now standing in front of her. She didn’t realize when he got up from his seat.

“Yeah.” y/n stood up to reach his eye, but she still stood noticeably shorter than him.

Bill’s once apprehensive demeanor visibly morphed into an expression filled with calmness and relief. Aside from his friends, she was the only other person who wasn’t impatient with his stutter. He felt he could immediately be vulnerable with her—not that he would be. But if this chemistry lab were the only time he would find himself interacting with this girl, Bill would seriously beat himself up for it.

The rest of their story was, essentially, history.

y/n liked having Bill as a lab partner. He was smart. He did his share, unlike her past partners who would pass notes to pass the period while y/n slaved away on the project by herself. He also didn’t hold any of the chemicals they were working with dangerously close to her, pretending as if he were going to spill them on her and then actually spill them on her.

It was on a Thursday morning when Bill met y/n on her way into school. Even though his watch showed seven-thirty am, the moon was still out and the only light in the sky was from the lampposts cemented into the sidewalk.

“H-hey, y/n!” It was odd to be as enthusiastic as he was this early, but y/n brushed it off—it must be post-coffee jitters and the effect was still wearing away.

“Hello.” Her voice still had a tiredness to it from when you first wake up in the morning.

“I was… I was won-wondering ih-if you wuh-would…”

“Yes?” y/n prompted. She glanced at him, making eye contact, which only worsened Bill’s nervousness.

“Would… would yo-you want to go ou-out wih-with me?”

Waiting for an answer felt like forever.

“I thought you’d never ask!” y/n beamed, and all signs of grogginess seemed to leave her body.

From then on, Bill and y/n went on dates. They were casual for the most part. y/n never felt the need to dress up and Bill never felt the need to buy her flowers. The only thing he did end up getting her was a stuffed bear which was twice her size.

The carnival would only be in town for a few days and y/n practically begged Bill to go—not that he needed much convincing. You could count him in as long as she was there.

Bill didn’t normally bother with carnival games—he knew they were rigged. But maybe it was the way the carnie teen running the booth talked to y/n that night. Or maybe it was the way y/n stared adoringly for the stuffed animal hanging from the plastic tent. In either scenario, Bill still spent twenty-five bucks and wasted an hour in the frigid air to eventually hook the ring over the milk bottle and win y/n that stupid bear.

“I think I’ll call it Bill,” she whispered as she squeezed the plush doll close to her chest.

“I-it’s the luh-least you cuh-can do.” Bill wrapped his arm around her even though he was the cold one.

“Wuh-wuh-we’re here,” Richie said. His voice masked with Bill’s stutter pulled y/n out of her dream-like state.

“That’s not nice, Rich.” But y/n couldn’t help to let out the smallest of laughs. She unbuckled her seatbelt only to find it wasn’t her house he drove her to once she opened her side of the door. “This isn’t my house.”

“Oh… it isn’t?” Richie never missed a beat; making sure to put on his ‘I’m-a-big-stupid-head’ act that his teachers never bought. It was worth a try.

“Take me home.” y/n crossed her arms and kept herself planted in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, which was just Wentworth’s old one that he’d given to his son once he splurged on a new one.

“Shit, toots. I thought you’d wanna stay a while. Have some fun.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows and wore a clown’s grin. How could she say no to him?

“We can have fun another time.” Like that apparently. “I really do need to get home, though.”

Richie’s been rejected loads of times before and he’s resented every one of them. He couldn’t resent y/n though—with her puppy dog eyes and the way she had him like a worm on a hook. She was something else.

“Alright.” Richie gave in. He keyed the ignition and started for the road again. His arm slung around y/n’s seat as he backed up and y/n couldn’t help but feel fuzzy at the small action. “So, you’re tellin’ me Big Bill never got you flowers?” Richie’s eyes never left the road no matter how much he wanted to stop the car and pin y/n down right then and there.

“Nope,” y/n said, popping the ‘p’ sound. “But I don’t mind.”

y/n minded.

Richie could tell she minded when he greeted her at her locker with a bouquet of daisies. He was sure if y/n didn’t already have a boyfriend she would’ve jumped him right then and there.

Oh right. Boyfriend.

“Are these for me?” y/n gasped, in awe at the dinky looking bouquet. It was just ten flowers held together with the same twine you’d use to tie a package with, but it was ten flowers she’d cherish.

“Who else would they be for, sugar?” Richie scoffed and handed off his homemade bouquet to the most stunning girl he’d laid eyes on.

y/n gave him a sly look and shoved him in the arm.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Ready to go where?” A look of confusion was drawn on her face and Richie couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“I’m takin’ you home again, aren’t I?” But Richie was disappointed when y/n just chuckled in response instead of interlocking hands with his and skipping off into the sunset with him.

“I didn’t know you changed your name to Bill.” y/n brought the daises up to her nose. They didn’t have a scent, but her eyes fluttered at the petals tickling her nose and her stomach did backflips.

“Bill-Bill’s taking you?” His expression faltered and he had to swallow to keep his cool.

“I don’t know who else would,” y/n said this as if she just forgot what happened yesterday.

“I’ll be going then.” Richie pointed to behind him with his thumbs and looked back. He took one last look at y/n until he noticed a Bill Denbrough coming into view: a sign he really needed to leave.

His head hung low and his back hunched forward as he walked out the doorway. It was useless. y/n was utterly in love with his best friend while he was—was he in love with y/n?

No.

Richie Tozier does not love unless it’s his mom and rock n’ roll vinyls.

And y/n did not love Richie Tozier.

Richie felt himself mope all the way home at the thought of him being unlovable. Hell, he moped all the way to the weekend.

After his last encounter with y/n, Richie couldn’t bear to face her again. Embarrassment filled his chest every time Bill mentioned her at lunch, and he felt like shoving himself in a locker any time he spotted her in the halls.

That was until seeing her became unavoidable.

At first it was at the quarry.

Stan had already arranged for the group to meet up over the weekend and of course none of the Losers would pass up an opportunity to hang out with each other.

What Richie didn’t know was that Bill would be bringing his girlfriend. It seemed he’d be doing that a lot from now on.

“Is bringing y/n gonna be, like, a regular thing?” Eddie whispered in Bill’s ear.

Bill laughed awkwardly, unsure if he should reconsider taking y/n to the next hangouts he’d already planned to. “Wuh-when yo-you start dating, yo-you’ll under-sta-hand.” Bill then gave Eddie a pat on the back and walked off, looking for a rock he could leave his clothes on before he started for the water.

“Yeah, Eddie.” Stan laughed from behind Bill. “Wait until you’re older. Then, maybe, you’ll understand.”

Richie, on the other hand, was watching his friends from afar. He became uncharacteristically quiet as soon as y/n and Bill showed up. Only until Bev called that the last one in would be a rotten egg was when he finally shed himself of his clothes and raced the others to the water.

“Guess you’re the rotten egg, Eds!” Richie swam over to Eddie, splashing him in the face while doing so. Anything that would distract him from y/n would do. Even if it was a stupid conversation like this to pass the time.

“I told you to not call me that,” Eddie said crossly. “And if you’re going to splash like that, aim anywhere else but my face because who knows what’s been in this water—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cute story, Eds.” But Richie didn’t care for yet another lecture of Eddie’s. His eyes began to wonder. He was looking for y/n and good grief he had to stop himself before he was in too deep.

But it was a little late for that.

“Are you even listening to me?” Eddie swatted at Richie’s arm just like the times Richie had done to him.

“No,” Richie admitted.

Luckily, the contact between him and y/n had been limited. The only time he had to talk to her was when he was about to part from the group and say his goodbyes.

“Looks like I gotta blast, guys.” Richie looked down to the wristwatch Stan was wearing and Stan sneered at his friend for standing so close to him.

“Bye!” y/n was the last to call out, but her voice was the most prominent of the group’s.

The next two times the group met up, y/n included, Richie had also been able to get by with the least interactions as possible between her and him.

It was only until one lowly Sunday night when Bill and y/n had gotten into a fight when avoidance had become impossible for Richie.

“I can’t believe you would say that about me!” y/n had somehow accomplished being louder than the music blasting from the jukebox sitting in the back of the arcade and the sound of machines running combined. “I thought you were better than that, Bill.”

“I-I don’t guh-guh-get wuh-why you’re s-so off-f-hended.” Bill maintained a calm composure which only bothered y/n more.

“I think it’s the fact that you think I’m a prude that offends me so much.” y/n scoffed. Her arms were crossed, and she wore a stare that could kill.

“Yo-you know… i-if you-you’re so mm-mad I don’t underst-stand why you cuh-came.” The anger bubbling inside y/n started to radiate onto Bill.

“Because we have to talk about it!” She grabbed onto Bill’s arm when he tried to walk off.

“Can’t wuh-we juh-juh-just talk about th-this later?” Bill said in a growl. But later for him meant never.

The beginnings of what felt like tears started to form in y/n’s eyes. She let go of Bill’s arm and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered, “we can talk later.”

Richie watched his best friend and girlfriend argue for what seemed like forever but was only about five minutes. He’d witnessed arguments before but none of them ended like this. When the couples at school argued they would usually make out right after. But this was different. y/n was hurt, and Bill was beyond annoyed.

“Hey.” Richie walked up to y/n as soon as Bill joined Stan and Mike for skee ball. “What was…” He traced his fingers against the brail of one of the arcade machines, doing everything he could do evade eye contact. “What was that about?”

“Will you take me home if I tell you?” A stray tear made its way down y/n’s hot cheek.

“Sure thing, babe.” Richie offered his hand for y/n to take. She did; her fingers intertwined with his and the pad of her thumb ran along the rough skin of the back of his hand.

When the two got to his car, Richie opened the door for y/n (as a gentleman should). This was followed up by a thank you and a shy smile.

“So, I’ll listen while you just sit back, enjoy the drive, and pour your goddamn heart out to me.” Richie started to turned his keys into the ignition. “Sound good, sweetheart?”

y/n’s heart jumped a beat and she could feel herself grow near feverish. She fiddled with her thumbs and swallowed her spit, hoping she’d find the courage to soon speak.

“It started last night,” her meek voice spoke up. y/n’s eyes were glued to Richie’s dashboard. It was covered in dust. “I was at Bill’s house and it was getting late.”

Bill craned his neck so he could find the time on his alarm clock that sat on his nightstand. He could’ve just asked y/n to check, but she seemed so at peace. He didn’t want to disturb her.

“It’s nine,” he said. His lips touched the shell of her ear, making y/n shiver.

“Should I go home?” y/n asked. She perked up and rubbed her eyes. She’d been dozing off, but even in a tired state, Bill found her perfect.

“Nah.” Bill tightened his already tight embrace on her. “I-I can tth-hink of some-something we can d-do.” He ducked his head so he could brush his lips against the sensitive skin on her neck.

y/n winced at his touch. Yet she still turned within his hold and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Her voice hushed and fragile.

“Yuh-yeah,” Bill said shamelessly. He cradled her head in his palm. His blue eyes bore into hers. The same blue eyes that had found her when their chemistry teacher paired them together. “C’m-mmon.”

“Bill, I…” y/n’s eyes danced across his features. His beautiful features she’d grown infatuated with from the moment they met. “We’ve gone over this, I thought.” Any sort of confidence she had was now lost.

Bill took a moment to study the girl in front of him. He loosened his hold around her and sat up, propping himself against his headboard. “I f-feel like we… like I’ve juh-just been wuh-wuh-waiting.”

y/n copied her boyfriend’s movements, making sure to not break their gaze as she adjusted herself. “And I respect that,” she said softly.

“Yeah b-but yo-you’re muh-my girlfriend.” He took her hand in his. “I wuh-wanna do guh-girlfriend and b-boyfr-hend things.”

“I thought we did do ‘girlfriend and boyfriend things.’” y/n’s left eyebrow started to raise.

“Th-there’s only s-s-so muh-many times a guh-guy can get himself o-off.” Bill immediately regretted the words that had just walked right out of his mouth and presented themselves to his girlfriend.

“Bill…” But that’s all y/n could seem to say. She sat there, confused. Bill would never say something like that. But he just did. The Bill y/n knew was kind, thoughtful, and patient. This wasn’t the Bill she knew.

“Do-do you tr-trust me?” Concern struck Bill’s face.

y/n was conflicted. “Trust doesn’t equal sex, Bill.” She drew her hand away from his and started mindlessly picking at the skin on her thumb. She got up from the bed and made her way to the door. Bill couldn’t quite read her expression as she did, but just her getting up was enough for him to tell she didn’t want to be around him.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

y/n nodded before walking out.

But tomorrow was just as bad, or even worse, than that night.

y/n had spent the whole night ruminating over what Bill had said, and once he had arrived at her house, she was livid.

“What did you mean? Last night?” y/n began the car ride with a debriefing.

“I-it was s-stu-stupid, r-really,” Bill said nonchalantly.

“No.” y/n was relentless. “What did you mean?”

“I wuh-was ho-horny, y/n/n. B-but, god. It wuh-wouldn’t kuh-kill you t-to not be a pr-prude ff-or once i-in your luh-life.” y/n couldn’t believe what bullshit her boyfriend was spouting at her.

“Our fight continued until we got to the arcade,” y/n said, still sobbing from her previous encounter with Bill.

Richie was at a loss for words. All he could do was keep his eyes on the road and drive the two to their destination, which didn’t take long. Either y/n’s house was closer than he thought or just her company made ten minutes feel like three.

“Stop here,” y/n informed.

Richie slowed to a stop in front of a two-story house that looked like the others it was built next to. There was a bench swing that hung from the patio roof and a family of potted plants that resided in one corner of the porch. The house’s paint was dull and lifeless, resembling the rest of Derry.

“Thanks for taking me home.” y/n spoke again, drawing Richie from his thoughts of wondering what her room looked like.

“Ye-yeah. No problem-o.” He took in a deep breath and tapped his foot against the floor of his car.

y/n leaned over, as much as her seatbelt let her, and felt her lips graze his cheek.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Richie was quick to pull away. He stared at y/n with his big doe eyes and her glassy, soulful ones helped his case none. Isn’t this what he wanted?

“Really, Rich.” y/n then made sure to take off the seatbelt which was restraining her from doing anything further and scooted closer to him, ignoring how uncomfortable the gear stick felt as it dug into her thigh. “You’re sweet.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag but I do pride myself on being-“ y/n cut him off with a kiss to his lips this time. Richie sighed into her mouth. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t help it.

God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back? The words he’d clung onto ever since that one Friday night made their way back to his frontal lobe. It must’ve been a month, yet the sentence stuck.

And Richie kissed back.

He swore he heard the faint sounds of fireworks clapping in the distance as his lips pushed into hers. Her soft, pouty lips that sent tingles down his back every time they connected with his. Richie’s right arm coiled itself around the small of y/n’s back and he found his left hand stroking her cheek. And just as fast as y/n planted one on him, she sprung back.

“You alright?” No, she’s not alright, dumbass. She just got into her first fight with her boyfriend and she’s coming to his best friend as a therapy session.

Much to Richie’s dismay, y/n nodded. “Your car’s uncomfortable.” Was all she said before opening the door to let herself out. Richie was about to curse himself out for letting her slip through his fingers and kissing his best friend’s girlfriend until he flinched at the sound of a knock on his car window.

It was y/n.

She opened the door for him like he had once done for her and waited for him to join her in the now moonlight. “Do you want to come in?”

“Christ.” Before then, Richie had never been so fast to take off a seatbelt.

The two hurried up the lawn and eventually her porch. Richie’s hand was squeezed by y/n’s smaller one. He reveled in the feeling of her holding onto him as if he were to float off if she didn’t. The two stood outside her front door like a shy kid, hesitant to ring the doorbell because it’s their first time over.

“Are your parents home?” Richie questioned, trying to get a peek through the windows even though they were closed off by the curtain.

“I don’t know,” y/n mumbled while she riffled through her mini purse. She was searching for the house key. “Finally!” She held up her key chain proudly before inserting the shiny, golden key striped with white nail polish into the lock. “Stay.” She looked to Richie like he was a puppy in training school.

y/n walked in reluctantly. Her hands messed with the strap of her purse. “Hello? Is anyone home?” She looked around the house for any sign of her parents. After a good few seconds, y/n turned to Richie with a slap happy grin on her face. “The coast is clear!”

Richie strolled in, acting as if he had all the time in the world. He made sure to shut the door behind him and y/n grabbed him by the collar as soon as he finished locking it. “My room is upstairs,” she said in between a needy kiss.

Richie didn’t need to be told twice as he ran up the wooden stairs with her. She surprised him with her lips on his once they got to the top. Her tongue swiped his bottom lip to which Richie granted access. y/n grew hungry with lust as her tongue danced with his. The only reason she broke apart from him was to better guide him to her bedroom. Surely, they couldn’t have sex in the hallway.

Richie was given no time to admire the yellow paint and magazine clippings that decorated y/n’s room. Instead, he was left to find y/n’s sweet spot and the lingering scent of her vanilla perfume as his lips roamed every crevice of her skin. He brought her down to her bed and he knows he’s never seen such beauty when her hair fans out against her sheets in every which way.

“Rich.” His name only leaves her lips when his aren’t on her. The same lips he’s tasted a thousand times already but would always be surprised at the taste the next time they collide. The same lips Bill’s claimed.

But this was Richie’s turn.

y/n’s hands dared reached for his dark roots, eliciting a moan from Richie that was downright animalistic.

“God, Rich. I didn’t even do anything,” y/n said, playing the innocent card.

“We can do something about that.” Richie offered. He licked the desperation from his lips as he waited for an answer.

“Okay.” y/n giggled and lifted her arms up. A sign for Richie to find the goddamn clue and undress her already.

Richie complied. He begged his excitable hands to stop shaking as he began to raise the fabric, revealing just how perfect y/n really was. Eagerly, his lips urged a kiss to hers once he got both their shirts off. It was quick and the start of his trail of kisses which lead down, down, down. His chapped lips tickled against the sensitive skin of her breast.

His mouth wrapped around the petal, causing y/n to squirm, entangling their legs together.

“Do you like that?” Richie teased. y/n moaned in response.

Taking the hint, Richie parted from her left nipple and began giving her right the same attention.

“Rich—” y/n was cut off by her own sigh of pleasure. “Do something.” Her voice was breathy and not at all stable. Richie grinned. He could listen to the noises she made any day.

Reluctantly, he broke his contact with her so he could undo his jeans. The sound of denim hitting the floor made y/n groan and she pulled him close again. They laid skin to skin. Richie was so close, y/n could tell he’d been smoking earlier.

Her arms encapsulated him and if this were any other girl under any other circumstance, Richie would’ve questioned it. But this was y/n.

He dipped down so he could connect his lips with hers and he could feel ten crescent shaped markings carving into the skin of his back. He didn’t have to be told twice to give y/n what he knew she wanted.

Richie slowly peeled off y/n’s skirt, the gradual pace left her yearning for him even more. He slid his index and middle fingers in at the same speed he took off the skirt.

y/n threw her head back at the touch. The whines escaping from her mouth egged Richie on even more.

Faster, faster, faster.

His thumb swept against her clit in circular motions. His strokes against her sensitive nerves drawing y/n closer to the edge. Her hips jerked up to feel closer to his touch. Her want had Richie chuckling. No girl would give him the time of day before her. Richie wanted to bask in the feeling forever.

“Do something, Rich.” y/n gasped and attached her lips to his neck. “Please.” Richie’s breath hitched in his throat at the request.

He hesitantly pulled his fingers from her heat, replacing them with him. Her folds slicked his length as she willingly let him stretch her walls.

“You’re so hot,” Richie whispered into y/n’s ear. He cringed at the words once he heard himself. “You feel so good.” The affirmations sent shivers down her spine. y/n fell into a state of bliss as his speed picked up. He hiked her legs up his waist and she ardently wrapped them around him.

His pace quickened. Richie felt like he was going to explode and the girl beneath him was close.

“Rich, Rich, Rich.” His name rolled off her tongue wonderfully and he would give anything to hear it til the end of time. Another cry fell from her beautifully parted lips. “Rich, I’m—”

“I know, doll face.” He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead while he pulled out. He took his thumb from previously, rubbing the bundle of nerves until she matched his high.

He collapsed onto the covers next to her as soon as they both finished. A final grunt escaped his throat while doing so.

The two were spread across y/n’s bed in silence for a while. y/n stared aimlessly at the ceiling; Richie doing the same. It had just then occurred to Richie that he fucked his best friend’s girlfriend. Guilt took the form of a teenage boy as he looked over at y/n. He still couldn’t help but think of how alluring she was. There was mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Sweat running down her brow bone. And her hair was a mess. He had more than enough energy to go at it again, but he knew better than that.

This was Richie’s cue to leave. He got up, throwing on his clothes. He didn’t even care that his shirt was on inside out. He just needed to get out of there.

He was almost out the door until a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Rich.” The same voice he’d give anything to hear for eternity.

“Yeah, baby?” Richie was about to curse himself out for calling her that if she hadn’t replied so soon.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He could’ve creamed himself at the words. He could’ve ripped off his clothes again and taken her once more.

But Richie knew better than that.

He didn’t even look back; only nodded and strolled out the door as if nothing happened. Because as far as Bill was concerned, nothing happened.

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anotherdayinchuckletown · 4 years

Text

They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 1

Hey, guys! How’s it going? I’ve been writing for about ten years now, but this is only the second ever fic I’ve shared anywhere, so I’m super nervous!!!

This is basically my take on a Harley Quinn origin story tailored to the universe of Joker (2019). It’s going to be Harley like we’ve never seen her before, with lots of Arthur, lots of Sophie, lots of original characters, and lots of twists and turns.

I’m SO beyond excited to finally share this with you guys, and I hope you all enjoy! Please like, comment, reblog if you do so that I know if you guys love reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it! This fic is also posted to my AO3 account (https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve), so you can also read it there if you’d like!

Without further ado, heeeere we go!!

Chapter 1

The apartment building at Eleven-Forty Anderson Avenue is an eyesore situated in the midst of a likewise ugly city called Gotham. A pimple on a face only a mother could love. A pariah among pariahs.

Management has long since stopped caring about its maintenance, leaving it a patchwork of leaking ceilings, cracking foundations, and broken windows haphazardly boarded shut. Even the most seasoned resident of Gotham City would quicken his pace when passing the telltale archways which separate the apartments from the rest of the city.

Sophie Dumond is currently doing her best to avoid saying any of that out loud.

“It’s really not that bad,” she lies. “Definitely a far cry from where you’re living now, but once you get used to it, it’s not the worst.” Although she is on the phone, she looks down at her shoes anyway, so as not to look her guilt in the face. A crack in the tile beneath her feet stares back accusingly.

“Really? My brother told me his appliances never work, and the maintenance crew is impossible to reach,” the voice on the other line replies skeptically. It belongs to another young woman by the name of Emma Boulanger – Emma Scott, actually, ever since her marriage – who has been Sophie’s best friend since the two of them met in elementary school. She is also the godmother of Sophie’s five-year-old daughter, which was an unpopular decision she had been made to justify more times than she would have liked (honestly, though, her sister could call her if she ever became less of a pretentious bitch).

This phone call marks the first time Sophie has heard from her in one month, two weeks, and six days. Not that she’s been counting or anything.

It’s just strange not to talk to her, as she’s always the first to know of any big changes in her friend’s life. Emma is certainly the first to know about changes in Sophie’s life as well. She’s there when they both open up their letters of acceptance into Gotham University, whooping and cheering and dreaming of finally, finally leaving this shithole, getting glamorous jobs in the big city. She’s there when Sophie is curled up on her bathroom floor, crying and clutching a positive pregnancy test, wanting the best for the child growing inside of her, yet fearing she would never be able to provide it.

That’s why it’s so odd when Emma’s twin brother is the one to mention in the hallway one day that his sister has filed for divorce. And furthermore, that she’s returning to Gotham to live with him until she gets back on her feet.

“Like I said, Emma, it’s not perfect,” she relents. “But hey, at least it’ll be nice to hang out again. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, it really has! I moved, what, almost two years ago?” Emma’s voice brightens marginally, and Sophie can nearly see the lopsided grin spreading across her face, so familiar is she with every tic, every tell, every minuscule inflection to her words. “Metropolis is boring as hell, by the way. I almost miss Gotham - call me crazy.”

Sophie huffs, knowing full well that Emma is playing it cool - trying not to let on how much she dreads moving back to a city she called a living, breathing prison for so many years. Best to keep things lighthearted then. Empathize with her, acknowledge her feelings, but never, never pity her. “You’re definitely crazy, Em,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly does it for you, the enormous rats or the graffiti dicks?”

An almost imperceptible chuckle filters through the receiver. “Well, no one ever really escapes Gotham, do they? I figure I might as well develop a little Stockholm Syndrome.”

Sophie doesn’t immediately respond to the bleak sentiment. It’s simply a joke, of course, and as a matter of fact, very on-brand. But there’s enough truth to it to cause a momentary lapse in the lightness of their conversation.

Sophie has found gradually that Emma was right growing up. Gotham truly seems less like a place and more like an entity. It has a certain way of taking, taking, taking from a person, and when that person has nothing left to give, taking just a little bit more. The citizens meander like restless spirits, doomed to wander to and from their low-wage jobs for eternity. The air is heavier out there, tugging their faces down into sour expressions, aging them prematurely. A reflection of their surroundings.

Sophie often wonders if she looks the way they do.

If Emma notices the shift – which she certainly does, she always does – she politely ignores it. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers… It was nice of Eddie to let me stay with him on such short notice.” Fondly, she adds, “He may be a bit of a shithead, but he’s a good brother.”

Before Sophie can stop herself, she laughs aloud. “No comment. We do live on the same floor, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Do you two ever hang out?”

“Not particularly.” Sophie doesn’t dislike Eddie – quite the opposite, in fact. She always chalks up her lack of chemistry with him to simply having nothing in common. He and Emma share nothing but a birthday, a head of golden hair, and a pair of striking ice-blue eyes.

Rapid footsteps make their way into the foyer, breaking Sophie out of her reverie. “Mommy, look what I drew!”

Muttering a quick “hang on a second” into the receiver, she turns toward the source of the sound, and a sheet of paper is practically shoved in her face from below. She is met with a mish-mosh of various shapes and colors, one large brown figure taking precedence in the middle of the page.

She smiles warmly. “Wow, that’s very good, Gigi! What’s that a picture of?”

The artist beams with pride. “It’s the roach you killed in the bathroom yesterday!”

Son of a bitch.

“Can we put it on the fridge, Mommy?”

Blinking owlishly, Sophie scrambles for a response. They really don’t teach her this shit in those parenting books she sometimes finds at Gotham Central Library.

She settles on, “Honey, you already have so many nice ones up there, I just can’t decide which ones to keep! Let’s put this one away for now, and I’ll think about it, okay?” She offers her free hand to take the drawing so that she can accidentally misplace it later.

It does the trick. “Okay!” her daughter chirps, proudly handing over her portrait. Encourage, then swiftly change the subject – a motherly sort of manipulation that works in everyone’s favor.

“Holy shit, I haven’t even asked about Gigi yet!” Emma exclaims. “God, she must be getting so big! She starts Kindergarten this year, right?”

“Yeah, in the fall. And she comes all the way up to my waist now, isn’t that insane?” Unmistakable pride colors Sophie’s response.

“That’s so awesome! Did she miss me at all?” comes over the receiver as Gigi simultaneously begins an onslaught of “who’s that, Mommy, who’s that?”

“Miss you? Are you kidding? Listen to this.” Sophie crouches next to her daughter, holding the phone away from her ear, but nearby so that Emma can hear. “Gigi, your Aunt Emma’s on the phone. She’s coming to live here again soon, isn’t that great?”

The resounding shriek is a good indicator that she agrees. And that Sophie is going to have to bring the neighbors another gift basket so they don’t complain about her to the landlord.

“Can I talk to Aunt Emma, Mommy? Can I, can I, please, please, please?” Tiny, impatient hands grapple for the phone as laughter pours in from the other line.

“Come on, if I let you talk to her now, we’ll be stuck here forever.” A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearing eight o'clock. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed soon?”

Gigi wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Sophie cuts her off before the complaints can begin. “No arguments, Gigi. Go start your bath – I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She receives a defiant huff; nevertheless, Gigi stomps her way to the bathroom, and Sophie waits for the sound of running water before she returns to the previous conversation.

“So anyway, Eddie tells me you’re holed up in a hotel room until the weekend. I’m guessing that Daniel didn’t take the…the breakup news very well?” she asks, somewhat cautiously. Talking about Emma’s husband – now ex-husband – is a mixed bag, even back when they were dating.

“You could say that,” Emma responds sheepishly. “It wasn’t pretty, let’s leave it at that. I thought it would be best for me to get out of the house right away, give him some time to himself.”

It makes Sophie nervous that she is skirting the question, but then again, Emma’s in a vulnerable position at the moment. And she’s rarely one to talk at length about her own emotions in the first place – she’s much more of a listener.

Sophie would like to ask what she means by “it wasn’t pretty”, but decides against prying. She would also like to ask why she ever married that jackass in the first place, since their relationship had been obviously strained from day one. It was always as if the two of them were tightrope walking over a volcano – bubbling quietly, boiling and threatening to swallow them both whole. The smallest change in the wind, the most harmless comment about Daniel not picking his towel up off the floor could send them tumbling into the inferno. She supposes one of them finally fell.

Something about that man has always creeped her out, but she gave up voicing her discontent with him after about the thirtieth time Emma brushed her off. She won’t say “I told you so”, since she wouldn’t want to belittle whatever pain Emma is going through. Still, she can’t help but feel a little relief – that doesn’t make her a terrible friend, right?

All of this can wait, though. It can wait until they’re seeing each other face-to-face again. Until Sophie isn’t on a strict time limit. She needs to wrap up the current conversation quickly because if she doesn’t, she could possibly be dealing with a flooded bathroom shortly. Five-year-olds do not generally care about the cost of repairing water damage if it seeps into the downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, with…you know…everything.”

“Of course!” Emma reassures her. “I’m perfectly fine. Like I said, I’m looking forward to being home. Honestly.”

Sophie is not convinced, and frankly, it sounds like Emma is not either. She wonders if her friend has been checking in on the worsening condition of their hometown from Metropolis. The homeless population is growing by the day, and the working class is becoming more and more restless due to low wages and poor working conditions in the inner city. Rumor has it that sanitation workers are chief among the dissatisfied, and a garbage strike is all but guaranteed by winter.

So much she wants to say. So much she can’t say. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

_______________________________________________________________

Emma remembers around this time last year taking a trip to Paris, France. She saw the premiere of a musical there called Les Misérables – it was based off of her favorite book by Victor Hugo, so naturally, she begged and begged to go.

And what a payoff! The show was spectacular, from the costumes to the stage design to the music. Oh, the music! Despite being there with her then-husband, she had the most fun she’d had in years, letting the melancholy chords turn her as light as the air and the lyrics carry her far, far away in the wind.

Even more than the music, she was captivated by the plot. She could practically feel the plight of the poverty-stricken citizens. One of the opening scenes depicted the starving masses singing of their grief over the way they were snubbed by the wealthy, left to rot in the streets.

That is the scene Emma finds herself stepping into today. Only this time, she is not a passive observer, watching the events unfold without being affected. From today on, she is one of the characters.

From the moment she arrives in downtown Gotham City by taxi, the tension claws at her with icy hands. It digs into her ribcage with each glare aimed her way, even in the mild September breeze. She knows she sticks out like a preacher at a Pride parade in her obviously expensive skirt and heels. It’s not like she had time to go digging around her closet for something more appropriate that night she left her house.

Handsomely tipping her driver, she climbs out of the car and rushes underneath a set of archways and inside the apartment building where she’ll be living for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t look very closely at it from the outside, so desperate is she to get off the street and away from whatever the hell that smell is.

Emma uses the opportunity to finally look around a bit, taking her surroundings in with narrowed eyes. The lobby is dimly-lit, with no color to it whatsoever. The walls are painted a chipped-up brownish yellow, which could have been white many years ago. It reeks of mold, to the point where the smell outside might be the lesser of the two evils.

Leaning carefully against the nearest wall, she mutters, “Not that bad, my ass.” From her purse, she retrieves her recently-purchased copy of a new novel titled Jumanji, and she waits.

And waits.

…

Emma’s eyes snap open - she hadn’t consciously closed them to begin with. She realizes with embarrassment that she almost fell asleep standing up. God, she’s more exhausted than she thought. How long has she been standing down here anyway?

“I’ll be home from work around four; I just need a little time to tidy up before you head over,” Eddie had said on the phone the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby and walk you up at six, okay?”

“That works,” Emma had replied. “As long as you’re actually there at six.”

“Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never exactly had a reputation for being punctual.”

“Jesus, Em. You think I’m gonna leave you hanging out down there alone?”

“We’ll see.”

Shutting her book, Emma checks her watch.

Six forty-five. That fucking flake forgot.

She groans, pushing herself languidly off the wall and scanning the room for assistance. No one at the front desk - in fact, there hasn’t been anyone there since she arrived, making her wonder briefly if she’s even in the right building.

Her eyes next land on the myriad of mailboxes against the opposite wall, closed off from the rest of the lobby by rusted wrought-iron bars, most likely to protect the postman. She walks through the open gate tentatively, and upon closer inspection, each mailbox has a sticker labeling the residents by apartment number. Bingo!

It doesn’t take long to find what she’s looking for. On the eighth floor, perfectly spelled out for her, she sees both S. Dumond in 8B and E. Boulanger in 8H. Why not visit the one who didn’t leave her stranded for an hour first? She could always call Eddie on Sophie’s phone anyway - the asshole probably smoked a joint as soon as he got home and passed out on the couch watching Magnum, P.I.

She heads for the elevator and presses the call button. As it whines slowly and almost menacingly down the shaft, she hears someone softly trudging along behind her, the very first sign of another life in here. As she enters the elevator, she politely holds the door open, and makes room for the clown getting on after her.

No, not a silly person. An actual clown. Painted face, red nose, neon green hair and all.

Of all the weird people she might expect to see in a place like this… Not even two hours in Gotham, and the evening is already shaping up to be quite the roller coaster.

Emma can’t help but stare as the doors shut and the clown punches the button for, coincidentally, the eighth floor. She settles into the far corner as she discreetly analyzes him. His posture, his defeated gait, the pitiful expression underneath his painted-on smile… His aura permeates the entire space, seemingly enough to weigh them both down, causing the elevator to drag slowly up the shaft like molasses, screeching all the way.

This is without a doubt the saddest clown Emma has ever seen. And she’s seen Pagliacci.

Around the third floor, there’s one long, particularly loud screech. Emma’s heart leaps to her throat as their ascent suddenly comes to a complete halt, and the lights in the tiny elevator space flicker on and off once. Is a three-story drop enough to kill a person her size? She prays that this isn’t how it ends - in this dingy elevator, terrified, with no one but a fucking clown. A clown who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time.

Thankfully, after a few seconds that seem to drag on for a lifetime, they start to slowly crawl up the shaft once more. Emma breathes an audible sigh of relief, and the clown seems to finally notice her, tossing a quick look of sympathy in her general direction.

Once she’s certain she can speak without her voice quivering, she does so. “Does…that happen often?”

Her voice really gets his attention. He whips his head around so fast she almost worries his little hat will come flying off like a frisbee. He blinks at her once, then twice, as if processing the fact that she is addressing him. For a split second, it looks like he’s going to say something.

Then, remembering himself, he simply shrugs bashfully. Emma lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

She notices the decorative red flower adorning his lapel, one of those prop flowers that’s actually a tiny water gun. Smiling in a way that she hopes is charming instead of ill-at-ease, she points to it. “I, uh…I like your flower. It’s very pretty.”

The clown tilts his head curiously. After a beat, he wordlessly reaches up and into his bright plaid coat, holding said flower slightly out toward her. Offering for her to come closer, to lean in and smell it.

Emboldened, she grins, shaking her head at him. “No way, mister. I know how that trick ends.” She’s kidding around with him, but she really can’t afford to get her clothes wet right now; she only has the ones on her back, after all.

Still, his lips at last curl upward, a real smile that reaches the lights of his eyes. And it’s then that Emma can see the color in them, an enchanting seafoam green that inexplicably draws her in, pulling her away from the corner and toward his side. He watches her carefully and intensely with an expression she can’t quite read. When he turns to face the doors once more, it’s not without keeping her settled in his periphery.

Most people would probably be a bit nervous being…examined so thoroughly. However, Emma finds his mannerisms endearing in an odd way. She’s never cared much for clowns before, but this one doesn’t seem so bad.

They ride in comfortable silence for another few moments. When they reach their destination, Emma is the first to exit.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely taking the stairs from now on,” she says.

The clown nods in response as he exits behind her, giant red and blue shoes flopping comically over the threshold.

The hallway is a bit noisy, voices of the residents drifting through the paper-thin walls like a mist, creating a fine haze over everything. The walls are just a touch too close together, making Emma claustrophobic and urging her to get to 8B as quickly as possible.

Not wanting to come off as rude, she introduces herself. “I’m new to the building, by the way - my name’s Emma. It’s a pleasure.” She extends a hand to shake.

The clown does return the gesture, but not before staring her hand down for an abnormally long period of time. And his grip through the rough material of his gloves is so soft and careful, it’s as if it’s barely there.

She’d honestly like to chat with this fascinating new neighbor of hers a bit longer, but instead, she pulls her hand away, settling for a polite nod and a cheerful “good night”.

She does not look back to see that the clown’s unwavering gaze follows her all the way down the hall.

#joker 2019 #Joker (2019)#joker #arthur fleck #sophie dumond #harley quinn #my fic #joaquin phoenix joker

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deafwestnewsies · 5 years

Text

the world is quiet here

stanley uris is finally in control.

suicide ment.

read it on my ao3 and ff.net!

stanley didn’t mind the empty space before him, if he was going to be honest. and generally that’s exactly what he was, good and kind stanley uris, good and reliable stanley uris, good and faithful stanley uris.

he was now good and dead. good and gone. good and slashed-his-wrists-in-the-tub.

people probably didn’t view him as good anymore, but great, a hero within his own right, because that’s what people would do when others took to a razor blade instead of a therapist. hell, stan had done it himself back in junior year of college, when the kid three doors down from him jumped off the balcony with a note pinned to his chest. he had shed the crocodile tear and made the poor bastard out to be someone they would all remember for years to come. the irony, the wry thought crossed his mind, is that i can’t remember his name. and they won’t remember mine.

patty would, of course. the one of seven people he felt guilty leaving, the good and demure patty uris, patty uris who would cry at the funeral but be able to cover the expenses on her own because that’s the kind of woman he married. she was the most stable of wives and doted on him like her life depended on it, and in some instances he supposed, it did. life was not easy for a child growing up jewish in the nineteen fifties, and she would whisper with a dry throat what a nightmare it was to be a child growing up jewish and female in the nineteen fifties. her nails would rake across her arms like a nervous habit when she told him these stories until he had the sense to hold her until she stopped trembling. the tics went away eventually but the rasp in her throat when she repeated “Peacock Patty” never faded. he had dealt with his own share of names stan the man the jew with the plan but nothing that left him reeling in bed on nights when it was hard to shut his eyes.

so yes, patty would remember. his parents too, but he didn’t need them to do him that kindness, he wouldn’t have minded being forgotten by donald and andrea uris. they had been good parents as any tried, but in the end slowly ebbed to the back of his mind with the rest of Derry. stanley always thought this was odd and patty always thought he was lying to her, but he had no recollection of his childhood. there was a name and a spot on the map with a red pin stuck through, but names and faces were troubling to recall. the only thing he could recount with complete certainty was the losers club, billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben. they were names he did keep from patty though, because maybe it was for the better, maybe it was for her safety, or maybe it was for his.

eventually it would have come to this anyways. either the stupid dancing clown could bring him to this quiet world, or he could deliver himself. stanley had always enjoyed being the one in control, but not the man in charge. he would mastermind the projects, keep the schedule, and ensure that the work was done right, but he stepped aside for someone with a loud mouth to make sure it all happened. when things fell out of his control, when he cleaned his glasses four times but they still sat wrong on his face, when he flicked the light switch eight times but he still had to call patty to make sure she was okay, that’s when the fear would settle deep inside of him.

the same that reached through his intestines and pulled on his ribcage when mike billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben hanlon had called him, when he asked for stan to do the impossible. give up his control.

his last exertion of power had led him here, and he really didn’t mind it, if he was being honest. which he was, because that’s just who stanley uris is. good and honest and nice and good and stanny boy and kookie kookie and a sliver of a coke bottle and dead.

___

eddie hated it here. the walls were all fucking white but there actually weren’t any walls it was just white empty nothing that he just kept walking towards with no goddamn avail. if he had a watch he would have to guess that he had been here for at least three hours, but time and space didn’t seem to fucking matter when you’re in a white never-ending nothing.

he kept walking because what else was there to do.

he called out for richie once or twice, though. no one answered.

___

stanley sat with his legs crossed, because any other way would’ve made him feel sick. he looked out into the vast blackness of the new world he inhabited, until a voice cut through the eternal silence. “richie? are you there?” a faded figure in the distance, just a shadow of a man. billstanrichieeddiebeverlymikeben. stanley tapped on his knee in groups of four.

“rich i swear i’m not mad!”

taptaptaptap

“if this is a joke it’s really not fucking funny dickwad!”

taptaptaptap taptaptaptap

“richie?”

taptaptaptap

“richie are” taptaptaptap “you there?”

“please.” the voice broke. stanley now lie in the aftermath.

“please be there.”

taptaptaptap taptaptaptap

if stanley wasn’t smarter than that, he could swear that the man calling out was little eddie kaspbrak the asthmatic with an ass all grown up. against all of the white, he could see the blood dripping in a trail behind him. he could understand the mess, because his wrists made their own. this is how stanley uris knew he was not looking at eddie kaspbrak, because that boy would have never let himself bleed freely. (nonviable tissue, ischemia, haematoma, immunosuppression) (robin, blue jay, sparrow, bald eagle)

“richie!” stanley almost reached for the man’s hand as he trailed by, still wailing for a man that was never going to come. he thought better of it, though. he didn’t know this man. taptaptaptap. he didn’t know what would happen. taptaptaptap.

eventually the voice faded and stanley was left again, alone with the clean white room. and he didn’t mind it, because it reminded him of the puffy clouds against a bright blue sky, standing on the tip of the world with billstanrichieeddie- what were their names again? billstanrich- how long ago had it been? bill- what promises, mike? what did we promise?

stanley didn’t mind the empty space before him, if he was going to be honest. and he always was, because that’s the kind of man everyone needed him to be.

___

eddie hated it here. it was so fucking empty.

i just adore writing from stanley's point of view esp. when there's no romance it's just stan being the man. also BIG sad react for eddie in this, it made me rly sad to write. please leave a comment and i will attempt to murder a killer clown with a baseball bat after yelling "welcome to the loser's club asshole!" for you

#it #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter one #it chapter two #stanley uris #wyatt oleff #andy bean #eddie kaspbrack #jack dylan grazer #james ransone #stanley uris fanfiction #it fanfiction #it chapter two fanfic #it fanfic #it chapter two spoilers #it 2019 spoilers

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useless-blog-dont-bother · 5 years

Text

NYGMOBBLEPOT THE MUSICAL - THE SCRIPT

Disclaimer: I swear I’m not on crack. It’s just that I write this when I desperately want and need to sleep but just can’t. And of course I don’t own any of the songs, nor the characters. And no it’s not the regular writing style, it’s written like a script.

PART 1

SCENE 1 – STREETS OF GOTHAM

The streets of Gotham are busy as usual. Some say the hectic streets of this city are a literal madhouse. But those people obviously never set foot in a real madhouse and especially not in the hell reserved for the criminally insane: ‘Arkham Asylum’. And yet they’re complaining.

GOTHAMITES: There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit,

And the vermin of the world inhabit it,

And its morals aren’t worth what a pig could spit,

And it goes by the name of Gotham…

At the top of the hole sit a privileged few,

Making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo,

Turning beauty into filth and greed…

And if you’ve sailed the world and seen its wonders,

You’ll know the cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru,

But there’s no place like Gotham!

A kid, her backpack on one shoulder, is on her way home after a long day at Gotham High. A grown man pushes her and snatches her backpack.

KID (on the ground): Ugh, not again!

That kid is actually lucky, being robbed isn’t the worst thing that could have happened there. But it is the third time this month that she loses her bag. Only in Gotham.

SCENE 2 – OUTSIDE THE ICEBERG LOUNGE

Two men are getting out of a club called the Iceberg Lounge. A limousine is waiting for them.

EDWARD (about to open the limousine door): I’ll get the door!

OSWALD (going in the limousine): Oh, you’ll get much more!

BOTH: Either way we can’t go wrong…

With how shamelessly and how famously we’re both just getting along…

The smallest of the pair takes his partner’s hand and eagerly pulls him inside the limousine.

BOTH: We’re get, get, getting, get, get, getting, getting along!

OSWALD: So, what have you planned? I’m confident you didn’t make me close the lounge and got us the limo for nothing.

EDWARD (talking fast): We haven’t had date night in a while so I thought we, you know, we might as well make it a bit fancier than usual since it hasn’t happened in days, in weeks actually because of the lounge and the occasional robberies and the meetings and –

OSWALD (amused): Slow down, Ed.

EDWARD (blushing as he adjusts his glasses): I – Sorry, I –

OSWALD: No need to apologize, nor explain. I know how that brain of yours can be sometimes.

EDWARD: Hey!

OSWALD: You know I didn’t mean that in an offensive way. And you know I love everything about you. From your schemes to escape the GCPD to your way of fidgeting with your glasses when you’re nervous.

EDWARD: Everything? Even the riddles?

OSWALD: Especially the riddles.

EDWARD (chuckling): Now you’re just lying to make me feel better, Oswald.

OSWALD (smiling): What? No, I’d never do that.

SCENE 3 - RESTAURANT

Oswald and Ed are sitting at the best table of an expensive restaurant.

OSWALD: You really weren’t kidding when you said ‘fancier’.

EDWARD: Only the best for you.

OSWALD (resting a hand on Ed’s hand): For us, dear.

EDWARD: He’s touching my hand…

OSWALD: He’s looking kind of funny…

EDWARD: Wait, he knows I’m gonna propose?

OSWALD: Is this because I touched his hand?

EDWARD: Well, I guess…

OSWALD: Well, I guess…

BOTH: I’ll just go with it…

EDWARD: The very first time I saw you,

A very long time ago,

I have to admit,

I liked you a bit,

But I didn’t want you to know.

OSWALD: When we were roommates,

All I could do was stare,

And I can’t refute,

You looked pretty cute,

Tying that guy to a chair.

BOTH: I guess we’re doing this,

See that look in your eyes,

How could I resist?

It’s meant to be because we’re allies,

Time to move in for a kiss,

Just go with it and don’t ask why,

I guess we��re doing this…

WAITER: Are you, sirs, ready to order? Oh, I’m awfully sorry. It seems I’ve forgotten to give you the wine card earlier. I’ll be back in a second with it.

OSWALD: Well he couldn’t have had a worst timing. Where were we?

EDWARD (standing): I – I have to go to the restroom.

OSWALD (winking): Want me to accompany you?

EDWARD (laughing as he turns red): N – No, I’ll be back in a second.

SCENE 4 – MEN’S RESTROOM

Edward is muttering to himself while frantically washing his hands. As he looks up at his reflection in the mirror, Edward gasps.

THE RIDDLER: Long time no see, right?

ED: I thought I was done with you.

THE RIDDLER: If you really wanted to be done with me, you shouldn’t have taken those pills earlier.

ED: It was to help me with –

THE RIDDLER: Yes, I already know. Too nervous to propose to Pengy. We share a brain, you know?

ED: No, we don’t share a brain. You’re a figment of my imagination, an hallucination due to pills I should definitely throw away.

THE RIDDLER (resting a hand on Ed’s shoulder): Oh please, I’ve been in your head way before you started taking those pills. And I’m much more than a mere hallucination. I’m you and I want to help you, to help us.

ED (adjusting his glasses): Do you think he knows?

THE RIDDLER: Well, you did force him to close the lounge for the night and dragged him to Gotham’s fanciest restaurant. And I’m sure he’s aware that it’s been exactly a year since he’s been released from Blackgate.

ED: Oh crud…

THE RIDDLER: Also, another dead giveaway. Just look at us.

ED (dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief): Yes, I know.

THE RIDDLER (mockingly): We look like we just ran a marathon! I’ve never seen us sweat that much. And, Christ, quit blushing each time he looks at you.

ED: You’re really not helping.

THE RIDDLER (with a sly smile): You’re right. But maybe -

ED: Don’t even think about it.

THE RIDDLER: You really think the stuttering mess that you are is gonna be able to pop the question?

Ed briefly stares in the mirror before looking down. The Riddler’s smile grows bigger.

THE RIDDLER: I thought so.

ED: It’s such a bad idea…

THE RIDDLER: It’s a brilliant idea. Let me help you, Ed. We want the same thing, we’re the same. I’m just, well, stronger.

All your nerdiness is ugly,

All your stammering’s a chore,

Your tics and fidgets are persistent,

And your charm is non-existent,

Fix your vibe then fix some more.

ED: But -

THE RIDDLER: Oh, everything about you is so terrible,

Oh, everything about you makes me wanna die.

ED: Jesus Christ…

THE RIDDLER: So, don’t freak out,

And don’t resist,

And have no doubt,

If I assist,

You will be more chill.

ED: Alright. But you better not mess this up. I -

THE RIDDLER: Don’t worry, Eddie. Penguin’s wrapped around our finger anyway. He would never say no.

Ed sighs as his doppelgänger disappears. He is about to walk up to the door but he decides to glance one last time at his reflection. He smirks. The Riddler has taken over.

EDWARD: Let’s get to work.

#gotham #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot the musical

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strangerthanfiction · 4 years

Photo

and it's wrong, wrong, wrong (but we'll do it anyway 'cos we love a bit of trouble)

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“i don’t want to be just a nothing, a sick blank, withdrawal into myself forever. i just want something, beside the emptiness i’ve carried around in me all my life.” –– allen ginsburg

“a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it into the river but then he’s still left with the river. a man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands.” –– richard siken

"i was not a lovable child, and i'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.” –– gillian flynn

“you will always be fond of me. i represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” –– oscar wilde

“power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.” –– george orwell

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Rabastan Edric Lestrange NICKNAMES: “Rab” by most, “Bash” by those who know him best, “Eddy” by his grandparents AGE: Twenty-six BIRTHDAY: April 13th, 1954 GENDER: Male, cisgender PRONOUNS: He/him/his

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Sabine Lestrange (nee Avery) (52) FATHER: Gaspard Lestrange (48) SIBLINGS: Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange (sister-in-law), Narcissa Lestrange (sister-in-law), Lucius Malfoy (brother-in-law), Andromeda Tonks (sister-in-law)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Penn Badgley BUILD: Fit, muscular, and clearly works at maintaining it. Wishes he was taller always. HAIR: Longer than it should be, according to his mother, growing out of the buzz cut he got in November, thick and wavy. He’s also sporting stubble that’s quickly turning into a beard. HAIR COLOR: Dark brown, almost black EYE COLOR: Hazel on a normal day, amber on a sunny day, murky brown on a cloudy day SKIN COLOR: Pale, thin and translucent, like parchment. Anyone can see when he’s hungover or had a shitty night of sleep because his eyes look hollow and the skin underneath it looks almost purple. DOMINANT HAND: Right ANOMALIES:

TATTOOS: The Dark Mark on the inside of his right arm, a sketch of the sculpture of Laocoon and His Sons sketched out from the top of his left rib cage to his hip, the first lines of the Iliad on his collar bone, stretching from his left shoulder to his right shoulder, a stick and poke of a muggle ghost on the inside of his ankle, and, perhaps his favorite of them all, the word “TERROR” on the inside of his bottom lip. He charmed it so that, any time he flips his bottom lip out at the world to show the tattoo, the letters pop out in a magical version of a jump scare.

SCARS: His elbows and knees are shredded up from years of Quidditch and not following proper rules when it comes to healing potions. He’s got the slightest scar in his left eyebrow from falling off his broom when he was nine. Plus, he’s got the scrapes and scars of a fighter, a soldier, and he wears his ragged skin with the brashness and boldness of someone unafraid of battle.

SCENT: Tobacco, crisp linen, and, if he’s getting all dolled up, he puts just the tiniest dab of amortentia at his throat, because, well, “then I always smell good.” ACCENT: RP because his mother wouldn’t have her children sounding like scoundrels. But his Northern accent slips out every now and again when he’s particularly hammered. ALLERGIES: Bees. DISORDERS: Rapidly developing alcoholism. Slowly developing PTSD. FASHION: Punk but make it pureblood. Lots of silver rings with huge gemstones inset or crests carved into the metal. Amazing shoes always – be it chunky black combat boots, beautiful leather loafers, or the occasional (slightly) healed Chelsea boot. Skinny jeans and slouchy hoodies on his days alone in Manchester. Pressed shirts rolled up to the elbows and perfectly fitted trousers on his days at Lestrange Manor. His favorite robes are black velvet, with a gold clasp across the chest in the shape of a skull. And, of course, his clubbing outfits. Leather, mesh, crop tops (yes, Rab wears crop tops, and no, none of you will ever see it because he’s CAREFUL heh), muscle tanks, and the odd denim shorterall (with nothing underneath) moment. NERVOUS TICS: He used to bite his fingernails as a kid, but the nannies spanked that out of him. His oral fixation has been replaced with cigarettes – any slight bit of tension, and he’s lighting up. QUIRKS: He doesn’t know how to sit normally in a chair because he’s gay.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Lestrange Manor 75% of the time. His own flat in Manchester 25% of the time. BORN: In France, while his parents were on holiday. He wasn’t supposed to be due for another three weeks, but his mother’s water broke while she was on the beach, and Rabastan was born five hours later. RAISED: In Yorkshire, with every other summer abroad (France most years, but sometimes Italy or Spain, and one very special year, Norway), until he went to Hogwarts. PETS: Gunther, a black Great Dane, who lives at Lestrange Manor, and technically is both his and Rodolphus’ – their mother got the dog for them as a means to help them bond, but really, Gunther is Rabastan’s and only gets attention from Rodolphus when their mother is around, so as not to offend her. And, in Rabastan’s eyes, but probably not in the eyes of other, more progressive individuals, Iphigenia, the Lestrange family house elf.

CAREER: Spending the Lestrange fortune. Being a Death Eater. EXPERIENCE: He’s been doing it his whole life. Nine years. Since his final year at Hogwarts. EMPLOYER: Voldemort.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Death Eaters / Pureblood values. BELIEFS: Purebloods created this world, and now it’s their time to defend it. The Dark Lord is the only one capable of leading them to victory, and the purpose of men like Rabastan is to give him the aid he needs, no matter the personal cost. MISDEMEANORS: Truancy, defacing Hogwarts property, breaking curfew, bullying, tardiness, breaking dress code, and infinite more. He was never quiet about his rebellions, always laughing in the face of authority. And, now that he’s no longer at school, there’s nothing he can’t buy himself out of. FELONIES: Well. He’s killed more than a few people and gotten away with it, so. You do the math from there. DRUGS: Rabastan likes muggle drugs a little too much. Cocaine, particularly. He’s also been known to dabble in expensive, experimental potions from an alchemist the Lestranges have been using to cure their every ail and malady since Rabastan was a boy. SMOKES: Religiously. He started because every young boy wants to be just like their father at one point or another, and then he just never stopped. ALCOHOL: Rabastan’s rarely without a drink in his hand. It’s a glass of brandy as soon as he comes home, flask of whisky constantly at his hip, a Bloody Mary and some pepper up potion to eliminate his hangover first thing when he wakes up. It’s not a problem, he can stop at any point, or so he says. He learned how to be a functional alcoholic from all of the men he observed around him at a young age, and he’s found a very specific line – enough to feel gently numb, to feel invincible, but not so much that he’s incapacitated. And more and more, in recent months, especially since the disappearance of his brother, has he crossed that line. He’ll go through spurts of detoxing, of getting painfully sober for a few days, and then, he’ll be so overwhelmed by the world around him, by how loud it is, by how unforgiving, by how painful it can be, and then he’s right back where he was, with a bottle in one hand and a bump on the back of the other. DIET: Rabastan eats extremely well. Mostly vegetarian, except for fish, lots of legumes and greens, lots of fiber, etc. He knows how much crap he puts into his body, and while he doesn’t particularly care about the fact that he’s shortening his life, he does care about what it does to his physique. And, of course, the trade off is never going to be equal, but he does try to eat as cleanly as he can.

LANGUAGES: English, French, German, and self-taught Latin

PHOBIAS: If you asked him, he’d say he has none. And that’s mostly true. But there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about getting outed to his family and then being banished by the Lestranges for his deviant behavior, and there isn’t a day that goes by where the very thought is enough to turn his blood to ice. HOBBIES: Drinking, fighting, fucking. When he’s not indulging his vices, he’s actually quite a scholar – he’s read through every book in his father’s study twice, and he taught himself Latin when he was thirteen. He also loves flying and still takes to a broomstick when he needs to clear his head. He’s also surprisingly adept at tending to plants (he effortlessly got O’s in Herbology his whole time at Hogwarts), and he’s got a lovely, melodic voice. TRAITS: { + }: Quick-thinking, fierce, loyal, playful { - }: Reckless, vulgar, lazy, submissive

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Spiny Serpent, specifically the secret fight club in the basement. It’s his favorite place in the world, the one place where he actually feels alive and free. He’ll heal all of his visible injuries with magic, but sometimes, he’ll leave a bruised rib or a tweaked knee because the pain of it reminds him that he’s alive, he’s present, he’s real. SPORTS TEAM: Wimbourne Wasps (and United ever since he started living in Manchester, but he’d rather be caught dead than admit to following the muggle Premiere league) GAME: Quidditch and he’s trying to start his own Swivenhodge league MUSIC: Much to his mother’s distaste, he’s an avid Hobgoblins fan, and his father begrudgingly took both his boys to meet Stubby when they were fifteen and eighteen respectively. Rab would never admit to listening to Celestina Warbeck, but after he’s had a few, he’s been known to do his own rendition of, “A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love” MOVIES: Too muggle. Absolutely not. (But he’d fucking love ALIEN if he knew it existed) FOOD: Venison, so rare it’s still bloody BEVERAGE: Double whisky on the rocks COLOR: Gold

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Slytherin WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 13 inches, Holly, Dragon Heart String, Brittle AMORTENTIA: Pine trees, cigar smoke, candied ginger, and the unmistakable musk of all the men he’s ever fucked (oops) PATRONUS: A Deerhound BOGGART: A blue ticket. Even though he’s no expert in muggle history, he spends enough time in queer muggle spaces to know what they are, and the first time he found out about that, the first time someone told him about dishonorable discharge because of something so seemingly trivial, it made his blood turn to ice. He couldn’t shake the image, the idea of it, and to this day, he avoids boggarts at all costs because he knows it’ll give away his secret.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral MBTI: ENFP MBTI ROLE: The Campaigner ENNEAGRAM: Type 6 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Loyalist / the Skeptic TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Aries CHINESE ZODIAC: Horse PRIMAL SIGN: Hammerhead Shark TAROT CARD: The Devil TV TROPES: Beard of Sorrow, Millionaire Playboy, Black Shirt, Draco in Leather Pants, Lovable Rogue, Punch-clock Villain SONGS:

1. balaclava by the arctic monkeys 2. bury a friend by billie eilish 3. to be so lonely by harry styles 4. make up your mind by florence & the machine 5. winter of our youth by bastille 6. broken crown by mumford & sons 7. i’m still standing by elton john 8. people by the 1975 9. ball and a biscuit by the white stripes 10. let’s have a kiki by scissor sisters (am i joking? idk)

IDEOLOGIES:

Adores birthdays and refuses to let people get away with not celebrating them. He loves any excuse to drink and party, and he knows he gives a mean toast, so people might as well fucking celebrate so he can put his skills on display. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Despite the contradictory nature of this, he doesn’t hate all members of the Order / all blood traitors on principle. He understands that they’re just trying to defend their place in the universe, and frankly, he respects the survival instincts he’s seeing play out. Of course, he knows his side is going to win – that’s inevitable. But it’s still admirable to see them all go down with such a valiant fight.

Hates cats. Period, full stop.

Refuses to go to St. Mungo’s, or any hospital for that matter. His uncle on his maternal side went there for a minor illness and came out in a box. Rabastan was seven, and his tiny brain came to the conclusion that the hospital was what did in his uncle, not his illness. And now, Rab knows how illogical it is, but he’d rather pay the family healer to come take a look at him than go to the doctor.

Would rather stand on public transportation than sit next to a stranger because he loves his own personal space just a little too much

As much as he does spend his family’s money a little too freely, no one can ever accuse Rab of hoarding his wealth. He always buys a round for everyone in the bar, picks up the check without being asked, buys things for his friends that they want but don’t need, lets people crash at Lestrange Manor whenever they need to. He’s not miserly in the slightest, not like Rodolphus.

Never makes a crucial decision without consulting a seer first. His mother taught him the habit.

Always flips one cigarette in the pack when he buys a new one.

No matter what time he wakes up, breakfast food has to be the first food he eats.

#dulcetask #*prompts #*biography #[ ch: i'm jack's smirking revenge ]#me: [busts back onto the dash with too many thoughts about my fuckin egg]#*aesthetic

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reddogf13 · 5 years

Text

Covenant ch 8

summery: They did it, IT was left to die alone in the tunnels under Derry. months have passed and the losers thrived after what seems to feel like a curse lifting off the town. if only Beverly had not decided to make a last minute deal with IT on its death bed. will her choice to let IT live destroy all that she holds dear?

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore

prev chap: Covenant ch 7

next chap: Covenant ch 9

_____________________________________

~ch: 8 The usual suspects~

“shit.” Richie mumbled out.

Beverly couldn't bare to look at the wall. All their deaths were her fault. For the rest of her life she'd know herself as the one who brought back a child eater Derry was almost rid of. She had to face the truth now that there was no denying it. She held back the tears in her eyes for a few reasons. Telling herself she didn't deserve to cry. Not wanting any of the guys to worry over her.

“look at the addresses. They're all around the same area where they were last scene. None are in town.” Mike pointed across a few posters closest to them.

“forest brook, campers rest, the small lake, rocky gorge-” Ben listed a few locations off. “all these places surround the quarry. Why only the quarry?”

“ o-o-old tree field too. T-t-that's where the boy scouts gathered. L-l-lots of them up here.” feeling his stutter still too hard he continued his saying. “He thrusts his fists a-a-against the post, and still insists he sees the ghost.” repeating quietly.

“aside from easy pickings IT must have moved. We do know where its nest is in the sewers. would be dumb to stay in the same place.” Mike gave a possible answer.

“that m-m-means we have to find its new nest. Somewhere in the q-q-quarry.”

“that's gonna take us century's!” Richie scoffed. “the sewers at least had a map in the old archives to follow!”

“not to mention easier to get through.” Eddie added. “aside from all the grey water infested with disease the whole place was stable. The quarry is filled with crumbling cliff sides, avalanches, snakes that can rot your skin off with a bite! I don't want to step into some snake den then be airlifted to a hospital!”

“we have to l-l-look. We'll all wait after school for Bev to get out of detention-”

“you want us taking Bev to the quarry with her mangled ankle?!” Eddie gestured toward her injury.

“its fine, I'll go. Better for us to all stick together anyway.” Beverly spoke up. Feeling hugely responsible for this disaster she felt required to help solve it. If she was harmed during the scouting it would only be considered karma biting her.

“w-w-were going today.” Bill set the matter in stone. “only to look for the nest. A-a-after we find it we'll prepare the next move tomorrow.” he went on over how they were to prepare. Beverly blanking him out to look closer over the posters. Feeling dead inside over all those gone forever. Pausing to look longer over the one showing the principles son.

MISSING:

Jake Maulker

a large black and white photo of a kid barely 7 years old.

Last seen 9/20 7:18pm on the boy scout grounds around dinner serving. Left to the restroom attended by one scout master. Entered bathroom then after a time the scoutmaster grew concerned over not hearing the boy. Discovered he was missing, may have sneaked out of the bathroom window. Reasons for running away, unknown.

“9/20? that was 2 days ago. The principals kid was missing for a whole day before getting a notice?” examining the strange date. “7:18 … the clown had been with me by then. He couldn't have grabbed that kid. Is this the one case it was an actual animal attack? … why'd the kid leave? Why did nobody tell his dad right away?” her train of thought broken by mike calling her.

“Bev!” he shouted for who knows how many times. she turned her attention to mike. “we're heading to school now.” he informed.

“the last place I want to be today.” mumbling as they walked to the car.

Hearing a “yeah.” in agreement from mike.

The group returned to school earlier than usual. Keeping a watch for anything suspicious. For any possibility of kids they usually saw not arriving. Any glimpses of a certain clown coming to mock them. Yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Classes started going up to lunch break. Beverly stopping by her locker for books.

Body locking up at the sight of another fresh lunch bag. The clown had stopped by again to drop off a lunch, but why?

She couldn't even look at it. Tossing it into the nearby trash can without a second thought. Her appetite thoroughly ruined after this morning. Carrying on to meet the guys to pretty much stay as watching posts. Separating back to their scheduled classes at the end of lunch. Her stomach twisting into the most sickened of knots at the schools end approaching. Meeting the principal for her last day of detention.

Passing by the man writing over paperwork at the English teachers desk. The missing poster of his son clawing into her mind. Wanting to ask what happened, but asking about his dead son so soon would be incredibly disrespectful. Sitting down in one desk to blankly stare down toward the wood surface. Carved in images of tic-tac-toe, names scribbled, or some art of little turtles. Looking away down to her bag to start homework. Yet, the back of her mind itching without relent to go forward on the news of Mr. Alkos son.

Her normal speaking turning softer when she began. “the news on your son … came late.” she meant it to be a question, but it didn't come out that way. The man paused his writing to glare up at her.

“what?” his tone asking seriously.

“your son was missing for a day before you were notified … Do you know why?”

“no. why?”

“ … I don't know why, but isn't that strange? He went missing from a camp in the night and that camp took a whole day to report him going missing.”

“they found him dead from an animal attack. They knew where he was, but didn't want to immediately say.” the man glared.

“He ran away for some reason. Escorted by one of the councilors to the bathroom only to disappear for what? I think someone needs to look into that. Even if an animal got him, he still ran away into the woods in the middle of the night. No kid does that for no reason.” the mans glare burning into her the entire time she brought up the strange details.

He stood up. “I need to make a call.” walking out of the room.

Beverly went quiet with a look back down to the desk scribbles. “fuck. Did I do the right thing?” she asked herself while looking over the carved turtles. Pulling out school work to start on. Writing past her anxiety while the principal was missing from the class.

Noticing him to be gone for almost the entire detention period. Returning right as Beverly was packing her things to leave.

“marsh, how long did your English teacher keep you on your first day of detention?” asking her suddenly. Alarmed by the question she hesitated on answering truthfully. Why did he want to know now on the last day?

“she kept me until 7.”

“that's what I thought. You'll be staying until that time.” he stated.

“why?! My aunts not going to be happy!” exclaiming in shock.

“I already told your aunt you'll be staying late again. Sit down.” he ordered. Leaving the classroom again soon after.

“should have kept my dumbass mouth shut.” scolding herself in thought as she sat back down in her seat. “fuck, the guys are stuck outside waiting for me.” remembering their meetup that was suppose to happen. “sorry guys, I was stupid.” scolding herself while thinking of an apology for later. “brought up the principals recently deceased son is why. He, of course, got pissed about it.” continuing to herself with eyes switching between the clock to the window. Waiting for the time to leave by how far the sun was falling. The oranges of the colored sunset turning to reds that glowed inside the darkening classroom.

“I guess I can go?” looking toward the wall clock reading 7:00. walking toward the door when the principal entered.

“sit back down.” he ordered. She was about to argue when she saw a large knife in one of his hands. Backing up around some desks to be between him and her. He slapped down a piece of paper on one of the desks. Setting a pen on top of it all while continuing to glare her down.

“you're going to write a murder confession.” he told her.

“what?!” questioning wide eyed.

“you're going to write a letter on how you killed my son.” he clarified.

“I didn't kill your son!”

“i don't care. Write the note, now.” threatening on a wave of the knife in front of her. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she glanced at the blank paper. Eyes snapping back to him giving further orders.

“write how on the 20th you left detention normally. You were angry about getting detention and wanted someone to pay. You ruined your teachers brakes, but that wasn't enough. You went after my son and lured him out into the woods. You abandoned him out there to die because you were angry over detention.”

“that wont fit.” trying to get herself out of this. To convince him this setup would backfire on him. “ I can't-” even her own excuses weren't working. She did have the time to leave school and visit the boy scouts place. She wasn't popular anywhere in town and everybody would agree on some rumor that she was a murderer. Even eddies own mother would go on trial to claim her an evil troublemaker. Her only witness that could save her skin was a clown that Derry didn't know existed. “my aunt called that day!”

“she called me. I didn't know where you were. Write the letter.” he repeated.

“I didn't-!”

“you did! Write it!” he interrupted, not wanting to hear anything she had to say.

“i-i cant i-” interrupted by him grabbing her by the collar of her shirt.

“come on, move it.” dragging to pushing her along. Forcing her to abandon her school bag next to her crutch in the room. Forcing her down the halls by the knife prodding at her spine the entire way.

“ow! what are you doing?!”

“shut up and move!” forcing her through the cafeteria to the loading back room. Parked inside was a large white van. Catching her eye was something dark splattered across the front windows.

“Jacobs!” the principal shouted at seeing nobody in the van. “dammit, screw him!” mumbling the last bit to himself. Pushing Beverly along toward the back of the van.

He got half the back door open when a blood stained white glove grabbed his throat. Shoving him backwards to step out was the tall grinning clown splattered in blood.

Grinning large sharp teeth IT asked “what are you doing to my child?” grin dropping as the principal swung the knife to carve a gash across the clowns chest. A hissing growl released from its throat out of pained anger. Tossing the man away to examine the wound. Blood floating up to dissolve from the fresh wound. The sight of it only angering the clown more.

The man shoving Beverly to flee out the open garage doors into the darkened water canal near by.

“who is that?!” the man demanded to know of Beverly. A question she wasn't sure how exactly to answer.

“hes IT.” was all she could think to say as a knife was threatened to pierce her side.

“what?!” shoving the knife further into her side.

“ IT.” she whimpered out. Shoved to the ground for giving an answer he didn't like.

“you stupid girl! I wouldn't be mocking anyone holding a knife. Whatever! I don't care! I'll kill him too!” raising his knife up causing Beverly to flinch under him. Opening her eyes after hearing the man scream by sharp claws tearing into his face. Ripping him off of her as easily as pulling a sheet from a table. Making beverly able to squirm away off to the side. Watching the events that were to follow the man vs Pennywise.

In a flash of claws swinging down the man's chest was carved open to pour out blood in a waterfall. Watching the man squirm around in pain to desperately hugging his chest to stop the blood.

“fucking fool.” the clown mocked. Shoving him down into the leaf litter forest floor. Cracks sounding out from the forced collapsing of ribs. Worsening the bleeding in the mans panic to defend himself. Chunks clawed away to gleefully cause more pain to the screaming man. The grin of the clown stretched unnaturally wide to make space for the layered teeth extending. Jaws opening over the mans face to ooze drool down onto his carved skin.

Beverly looked away to not see the jaws clamp down on the man's skull. Although she heard the sickening crushing pop of his skull being eaten in one bite. Eyes opening wide, startled by arms wrapping around her right after.

“can you stand?” Pennywise asked uncharacteristically gentle. Stopping halfway through picking her up when she didn't stand right away.

“yes.” answering as she quickly gathered control of her shaky limbs. Wanting to sit for a moment, but not wanting to appear weak in front of IT either. Freaking out when IT patted her up and down.

“what are you doing?!” stepping away as she pushed away his hands.

“stop moving! You're covered in filth!” IT scolded as if a mother would to a small child. Moving close to continue brushing dirt off of her. Stopping around one part of her side. “your injured.” catching her attention to look where he was. A stain of blood growing where the knife was held against her. Off all her building adrenaline she wasn't able to feel the injury.

“hold still so I can fix it.” ordering her. Stretching a hand into something smooth and black. Long slender fingers appearing like the legs of a black spider. Tapping the tips of his fingers together to then separate with a spreading silver web between each. Stretching the threading over the wound back and forth. Smoothing it down to finally cut the threading clear.

“the threading won't help it heal fast enough. I'll have to take you to the den for that.” about to pick Beverley up when she protested.

“Whoa, wait! I won't go to the den or anywhere!” blurting out with a limp away to keep from being picked up.

“you're injured! That needs to be fixed which I can only do at the den!” IT snapped down at her.

“have you been eating kids?!” confronting him outright. While her blood was still rushing on adrenaline to do so. Not afraid of IT in that moment, only angry that her trust had been abused. Alone, and injured, with IT in the woods may not have been the best of places for this confrontation.

#It (2017)#pennywise #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ben hascom #stanly uris #mike hanlon #covenant ch 8

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d0gdaze · 6 years

Text

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references

Chapter 6/?

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Word Count: 4494

Eddie’s playlist

Seven uninspired oral presentations and a valiant attempt to set Richie on fire with his mind later – one day he would actually accept the fact he wasn't telekinetic, he swore he would – the bell rang and class was dismissed, and Eddie followed the outpour of students into the hallway. He scanned the sea of people, locating the maroon-clad boy fairly easily with his newfound height advantage. He strode over, completely ignoring and bypassing Beverly's questioning stare, and pulled Richie aside rather aggressively, so he had him pretty much trapped between himself and the wall of lockers.

“What the hell, Dick,” he spat through his teeth, attempting to keep his voice low to avoid capturing attention. (Sidenote, it didn't work, Eddie was just a habitually loud person, but considering what the rest of the school had witnessed in the cafeteria the day before, no one really gave the couple as much as a second glance. Most of them assumed it was probably just Trashmouth Tozier spitting some empty threats at the Kaspbrak kid, and nothing more. Which, sidenote, wasn't that far from the truth. All in all, time was sparse, classes needed attending, and no one really cared enough to watch a second fight in two days between the same two weirdos. Eddie could have probably been screeching at the top of his lungs and no one would bat an eyelid. Such is highschool. Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled programming.) “AC/DC? Are you serious?”

“What, not your taste?” Richie smirked, thoroughly amused with himself. “Should I have gone with someone in the Weather Girls instead?”

“Why didn't you just give the presentation you wrote for yourself?” Eddie's face, like his voice, was an interesting mix of anger, desperation, and terribly faux collectiveness. Richie thought his eyebrows might get permanently stuck with how hard he was creasing them.

“Mine wasn't supposed to be until next week,” Richie said, matter-of-factly, “I wasn't even gonna start thinking about it until at least next Tuesday.”

Eddie nearly blanched, as if hearing that should have been even slightly shocking.

“Richie, I swear to god if I fail that class because of you I'm gonna-,” he brought his hand up and back, and Richie flinched, bracing himself for the incoming slap. Eddie exhaled shakily and dropped his arm back to his side, then closed his eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. “What do you have now?”

“Art, you?”

“P.E.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie dragged his hands down his face in exasperation, then sighed again, as if to make some sort of point that Richie was pretty sure had already been made.

“Okay, this is fine,” he said, though judging by the complete lack of composure on his face, he was lying. “We're fine,” he repeated, “just-, try to get through today without ruining my entire life, think you can manage that?”

“Depends,” Richie crossed his arms over his chest defensively, “can you?”

Eddie sighed for a third time. Richie, quite frankly, was getting a little tired of Eddie's overdramatic ass.

“Just-” he tried to come up with a comeback, then decided against it. Because they were late enough to class as it was, of course, and not because he couldn't think of one. “Let's go to class.”

Richie nodded, though somewhat reluctant to agree and very much content to not go to class at all.

Eddie turned heel and left before the confrontative side of his brain could win him over.

Bill often dragged Ben and Eddie along to the art studios when their free periods overlapped or sometimes during lunch breaks if they decided they'd rather not brave the cafeteria. Bill would continue whatever new passion project he was working on, Ben would listen to music and read or study, and Eddie would consider doing homework and then do anything else, usually involving rambling on about whatever while Bill politely pretended to listen. It was decidedly one of the nicer aspects of the school, with big windows covering one wall and an abundance of posters and prints of famous paintings covering the others, student projects cluttering up shelves and racks and easels, coloured acrylic splattered on every surface, air filled with the mingling musty scents of clay and paint and something vaguely septic. And for someone with no sort of artistic talent whatsoever, Eddie had a quiet appreciation for it. It didn't feel like a classroom. If anything, the organised chaos and laid-back atmosphere gave it a very homely feel. He could understand why Bill was so content spending most of his free time there.

People were still milling around when he got there, settling onto paint stained wooden stools situated around three long tables. In the middle of each sat a woven basket overflowing with assorted fruit, spilling out onto an artfully crumpled stretch of sheen fabric. He made his best effort to look casual as he waited for most seats to be filled before he sat down, letting process of elimination aid him in figuring out which seat was Richie's regular one. He eventually pulled up a stool in between two occupied ones, one by a rather eccentric looking lass with several piercings that he could see (and undoubtedly plenty he couldn't), haphazardly applied makeup, and a hairstyle that surely had to be against school policy, the other a boy wearing a beanie that was pulled down nearly over his eyes and a black t-shirt with a band logo on it that Eddie had never heard of but already hated. He shuffled slightly in his seat, subconsciously folding in on himself. Sure, first impressions aren't always right, and he knew they were probably pleasantly decent and decently pleasant people, but that didn't mean he had to brush elbows with them. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to take much notice of him anyway.

He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and brought it around to sit on his lap, and opened it up. There really wasn't much in it, a few loose scraps of paper, homework handouts and the like, a few more that were crumpled up into balls, a pen or two floating around, a couple of cheap lighters, a small brown paper bag that he was not going to investigate, a notebook – which he had discovered in History class contained the written work for all of Richie's classes with no obvious attempt at categorisation whatsoever – and a spiral bound sketchbook. He pulled the last item out, sitting it on the table in front of him and letting the bag slide to the floor by his feet. He flipped the book open.

Name: Seymour Butz.

Class: Easy Credit.

Eddie restrained himself from rolling his eyes and turned the page, wary yet intrigued about what the rest of the book looked like.

It turned out to be a mixed bag of crude stick-figure comic strips – most unfinished or completely nonsensical –, a handful of pages just scribbled on until there was no white space left, a number of tic-tac-toe games that he seemingly played with himself, and, very occasionally, actual classwork.

And dicks.

A lot of dicks.

An abundance, one might say.

Like, on almost every page.

And not in the tasteful nudity figure study way either. While there were a few more detailed spectacles, most were more on the cartoonish, bathroom stall graffiti side, you know the ones. In all colours, shapes, sizes, and artistic mediums.

Eddie was disappointed, but really not surprised, and a little flustered thanks to one particularly intricately shaded double spreader.

He quickly flipped through until he found a blank, phallic-less page, just as the teacher – he didn't know her name – brought the class's attention to the board and informed them they were doing still lifes – a term Eddie had never heard before and was honestly a bit confused by, fruit is not alive – in any medium they feel like, and then left them to their own devices. A bit of quiet chatter picked up, but nothing irritating. He grabbed a graphite pencil off the table, stared down the centrepiece, and got started.

Richie got to the gym in a record breaking time of sixteen minutes, the main contributor to his tardiness being that he previously had no idea where it was. Four years of avoiding any sort of sport, career fair, or school assembly left him with a pretty limited mental map of the school. He had his daily route that took him to his necessary classes, the cafeteria, and his regular smoking spot under the bleachers. And he had never found any sort of issue with that. Until now.

He dumped his backpack onto one of the benches in the boys locker room, and immediately wondered why Eddie would ever go in there. Everything smelt like perspiration and dirty socks and boy. Everything looked dewy and unclean. Every flat surface had been graffitied and vandalised – his eyes drifted to a tag he recognised as one Bev used to use, and he was definitely going to ask her about that later. There was a bandaid stuck to the floor by his feet. It was gross – and if Eddie could get worked up to the point of a public standoff because a stain on his shirt, surely he would never willingly step foot in a locker room.

Richie, however, was right at home.

He zipped the backpack open and shuffled a few books around before pulling out a plastic bag with, assumedly, Eddie's school uniform in it. After a second of consideration, he ripped the plastic to get it open rather than untying the knot, and grabbed the clothes before letting the empty bag fall discarded to the floor. He quickly shucked the shirt he was wearing and pulled the new one on. Just as he began to work on undoing his jeans, his eyes fell to the shorts. And he remembered.

Oh fuck no.

He lifted the bright red monstrosity, pinching the elastic waistband with both hands so they were on full display, and damn near scowled. Somehow they were more hideous up close. And so much shorter than he recalled, if that was even possible. His expression then could only be described as pure desperation. He should have just packed up and went home.

But he couldn't even do that, he thought, it's not his home anymore.

He sighed in defeat. Whatever scrap of dignity he still had left buried deep inside him was shrivelling up and dying.

He put the shorts on.

To add to his complete and utter dismay, Physical Education class apparently involved a lot physical activity. He was welcomed into the gymnasium by a chorus of shoes squeaking on vinyl flooring, with the occasional whistle blow accompanied by a booming voice shouting orders like “knees up! No slacking! Quit being a bunch of pussies! I have a power complex to compensate for my tiny dick!”

Well, maybe not those words exactly.

They were doing laps. Running. Richie would rather gnaw through his own ankles.

No one really seemed to take much notice of him skulking around near the entrance – that or they didn't care –, and he was about to make like a tree and get the hell out of there when -

“Dude, coach was totally bugging out, where were you?”

He turned around to see one of Eddie's nerd friends – the one without the stutter, though that's about the extent of the information he had – who was panting lightly and looking at him like he had just committed a crime – which he was sure he hadn't, unless wearing gym shorts two sizes too small counts as criminal, which it should, in Richie's opinion –, the tone of his voice indicating that he must have actually been walking around the school lost for three and a half years and not just sixteen minutes. Richie blinked at him.

“Everything okay?” Nerd Friend asked, starting to look worried.

Richie wanted to scream. No!, he would say, nothing is okay! I've got a curse on me! I got kicked out of my own body! I would barely be five foot five in stilettos! I can't reach the top of my locker! My worst enemy is walking around looking like me and dressed like a mormon! And he stole my ride to school! I'm pretty sure everyone can see my entire ass in these shorts! The weather is terrible! And now I'm getting chastised for showing up slightly late to a class I don't even want to be at! Nothing makes sense and nothing is okay!!!

“Yeah,” he said, “sure.”

A harsh whistle blow interrupted the start of Nerd Friend's next question, and they both turned their heads to look towards the coach, who was glaring at them and looked to be a couple of seconds away from marching over and dragging them back by their ears.

“Come on,” he said, and jogged back over, falling into a gap before working up to matching the rest of the class's pace. Richie took a deep breath and followed.

Eddie left class with a barely half finished and poorly executed fruit portrait – he had spent so long trying (and failing) to get the shading on one particular grape and ended up wasting a good portion of the hour. So he wasn't the best at time management, big deal – and a grey lead smudge on the side of his right hand hand that wasn't coming off and was really just getting worse with how much he was rubbing at it.

He had about a five minute timeframe to find Richie and swap schedules, because he was apparently too busy being annoyed to remember to do it earlier, so he walked with purpose, which turned out to be difficult when your legs have been replaced with knobbly stilts and you're approximately three feet taller than any human should be.

He was passing the language department when someone was suddenly linking their arm with his and pulling him off his course.

“Where're you off to in such a rush, buttercup?” Beverly M- something crooned, flashing him an easy smile that he didn't understand the meaning behind. She easily navigated them through the crowded hallway, headed towards the heavy doors leading out to the field.

“Uh,” he responded, sidestepping quickly to avoid colliding with someone's elbow as they widely swung their backpack on. Beverly's steps did not falter for a moment. “Class?” He continued, wondering why that was not the obvious answer. She responded with a laugh, unashamed, bright, and boisterous.

“Wow, first the new wardrobe and now you're skipping out on skipping? Who are you and what have you done with Richie Tozier?”

You have no idea, he thought. She punctuated her sentence with a grin and tightened her grip on his arm, walking through the doors and down the small flight of stairs just as the bell rang.

She led him out along the abandoned path around the skirts of the field until they reached the bleachers, standing proudly in all their rickety glory. Eddie didn't trust the bleachers; the support beams looked too frail and a few sections were in dire need of repair. Luckily, he never really had any need to use them, having no interest in attending football or baseball games, or rallies unless they had something to with his track, in which case he was on the field anyway.

He especially didn't feel like sitting underneath the bleachers, where, besides the risk of the whole thing collapsing on top of them, it was also dirty, and smelled like something that Eddie was pretty confident wasn't a legal substance, and there were so many cigarette butts littering the ground and so much chewing gum stuck to the underside of the seats that they may as well have been sitting inside a dumpster. Beverly did not seem to share the same concerns as he did, though, as she proceeded en route to the second stand over, and then proceeded to sit. On the grass. Wearing a skirt!

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a red and white carton and a plastic lighter decorated in variously coloured star-shaped stickers. She flicked a cigarette out of the case and put the end of it between her lips before lighting it.

She seemed to lose herself for a moment then, closing her eyes when she inhaled. Eddie watched, mildly curious, as she took it between her fingers and held her breath for what felt like a few seconds too long before breathing out, the greyish smoke filtering through slightly parted lips and then dissipating in the air between them. She smiled, barely, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Are you waiting for an invitation or something?” she said, blinking one eye open and disrupting his thoughts.

“Huh?”

She patted the ground beside her, and managed to make it look sarcastic. He realised he was either going to have to sit down and be filthy and uncomfortable and risk lung cancer, or look like an insane person and hightail it out of there.

He sat down.

“So,” she started, after taking another drag. It smelt awful. He did his best to hide his disgust. He was only really successful in that because she wasn't facing him. “What's the 411 babe?”

Before he could even start to form a coherent sentence, she was offering him the open carton, holding it up in front of his face. He swallowed, leaning away from the box as if it might start spitting acid. (And it might have! For all he knew it could detect his fear!) He tried to think of a plan of action, but any option that immediately came to mind didn't really feel like it would be subtle enough. Smack the box out of her hand and stomp it into the ground, grab it and throw it as far away as he could and then bolt when she went to retrieve it, just start screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, tell the principal, call the police, call his mom, call child protective services, etcetera.

(He did not, at any point in this state of internal panic, think to politely refuse.)

“Rich?”

“YOU'RE GONNA DIE.”

Beverly, for some reason, looked rather affronted by the … warning? Threat? Prophecy? Nihilistic realisation? Whatever it was, though Eddie was just about as shocked, possibly even more so.

“Uh,” she started after an extended pause, when the echo produced by his sudden outburst faded out, “okay?”

“Cigarettes,” he said, the part of his brain that was definitely not the logical one deciding to take the reigns and push him further into his hole, “they're really bad for you, and smoking is the leading cause of cancer, and your lungs are gonna go black and all your teeth will fall out and you'll get mouth ulcers and burn holes in your throat and then you won't be able to eat and you'll have to put a tube in your stomach and it'll be horrible and painful and slow and then you'll die.”

She stared at him, then glanced back down to the cigarette still burning in between her fingers, then back at him. He regretted not running.

Then she laughed. Well, more of a snort than a laugh, and put the cigarette back between her lips.

“Is that like, one of your new characters or something?” she asked, words slightly muffled as she talked around the object in her mouth. “It's kinda shit, but alright.”

Eddie watched as she continued to smoke, even after he assaulted her with the most sudden and blunt anti-smoking campaign to ever be presented.

“Ha,” she continued, blowing the smoke out of her nose this time, like a dragon, or a tea kettle, or something, “work on it and you might have a decent Kaspbrak impression on your hands. That'll be some good ammo for ya.”

Richie did not like running.

He really did not like running for thirty minutes straight.

And he especially did not like running for thirty minutes straight while getting aggressively ordered around by some middle aged balding dude in a baseball cap. There were several times during the lesson when he had to stop himself from marching up to Mr. Tinydick and shoving that silver whistle so far up his ass that it got lodged in his throat and he choked to death.

He nearly crawled back to the locker rooms at the end of it, worried that his legs would just give out at any second, or that he would straight-up pass out from exertion. There was sweat literally dripping off him and his heart felt like it might actually burst out of his chest.

“Jeez,” Nerd Friend had said to him as he was slumped over on the bench seat with a towel around his shoulders, focusing all his remaining energy (of which there wasn't much) on staying conscious, “I've never seen you this tired out from a run.”

He wanted to return with some vulgar comeback, the first to mind was, 'oh yeah? Should have seen me with your mom last night. Yowza!' but what actually came out of his mouth was a drawn out, croaky whine, like the last sound you imagine a raccoon to make after it gets run over by a semi-trailer. Nerd Friend laughed softly and held out his hand.

“Okay, you really need a shower. Let's go.”

And so, after spending way too long standing under a busted shower hear with lukewarm water running down his back, making very little effort to actually, you know, clean himself, he was back in the locker room with a bunch of other dudes in various states of undress. Great!

He quickly got dressed and shoved the shorts as far as he could into the backpack, vowing to burn them as soon as he got home.

He made his exit just as the bell rang, – which was annoyingly loud on this side of the school. Between that and the coach's whistle, no wonder Eddie was so fucking tone-deaf. The hallways started to flood with students once more, the majority of them taking absolutely no notice of him as he tried to navigate through, being rammed into and jostled around like a human pinball until he could make his way to the side of the walkway. He huffed in frustration, standing against the wall as he waited for the crowd to disperse a little.

Damn shortstack, he thought, how do you live like this?

When the coast was relatively clear and the danger of getting actually trampled by his peers was gone, he kept walking. It was Wednesday, third period, which meant he was supposed to be meeting Bev to go smoke. He had no fucking idea what Eddie did during this time – probably attended class, like a prep, which he really was way too tired to even think about doing.

He decided to go find Eddie, though he wasn't entirely sure what he would do or say once he did. He walked out the double doors leading out to the quad, his calves protesting every step with a dull ache. From where he was, he would half to walk at least halfway across the field to get to the their usual spot under the bleachers, which, despite really not being that big of a deal, felt like he was being asked to climb Mount Everest in that moment. Except he wouldn't get to meet the president and get a cover story in the newspaper, or whatever it was that people who climbed Mount Everest were awarded with. Maybe it was just satisfaction and bragging rights. That sounded stupid. He would at least want a medal.

And so he began his ascent. It took all of a minute and a half for him to get close enough to see that Bev was already there – with Eddie. Of course. He couldn't help but feel a twang of betrayal, even though he knew that she had no idea what she was doing. For all she knew, that was Richie, just … dressed different. And more of an asshole than he was yesterday. And probably – definitely – not willing to touch a cigarette with a ten foot pole, all of a sudden. Yeah, she would have no reason to question the situation whatsoever.

Neither of them had seen him yet, but he could hear Eddie frantically going off about something that was undoubtedly out of character for Richie. He groaned. This boy was never going to make it in the world of show-business.

“Speak of the devil,” Beverly said, nodding towards the approaching figure. Eddie's head whipped around to see Richie – who looked horrifically dishevelled and so not up to his standards, dear god – trying to get his attention with jerky hand gestures. “Is he waving at you?”

“Uh,” Eddie replied, trying to figure out the what message Richie was trying to send through this weird interpretive dance, “I have to go.”

He stood and brushed off the seat of his pants more than he needed to before walking over. She said something that he didn't quite catch but didn't turn back to ask.

“What are you doing?” he asked through clenched teeth, pulling him into a stride beside him back in the direction of the school building.

“Trying to stop you from making a complete idiot out of me,” Richie replied.

“Yeah, you do that enough on your own,” he spat back, smugly.

“Not the time, shit-for-brains.”

“Says you.”

“Says your mom.” “That doesn't make sense.”

“Your mom doesn't make- argh,” he stopped walking, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Really not the time. You need to seriously chill out, dude.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What I'm talking about is you can't be giving lectures, washing your hands fifteen times an hour, or freaking out about everything. You need to not be yourself,” he huffed, “you need to be – uh –”

“You?”

“Exactly. Me. Be cool.”

“Okay, well, I can be one or the other, I mean –”

Richie gave him a pointed look. Eddie sighed.

“Look, it's not that easy, okay? In case you couldn't tell, I've never been in this fucking situation before.”

“You think I don't know that! I – fuck!” He all but smacked himself in the forehead, eyes blown wide. “What?” Eddie asked, tilting his head with his brow furrowed.

“The play,” Richie said, “I've got a rehearsal after school.”

“I though that was yesterday? You said they only happened once a week.”

“Yeah, well, we have to do extra rehearsals sometimes. It opens in like two weeks.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

Eddie bit his lip, trying to think.

“What do we do?” he asked after a minute, worry written on his face. Richie looked at him, clicking his tongue. Eddie couldn't read his expression.

“Well,” he said, finally, his lips forming into a subtle smirk, “how do you feel about Shakespeare?”

Tag list (bolded won’t tag): @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier@panicatbakerst@howellhxlic@musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay @bust-a-move-bev@reddie-to-go@richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages@reddietofall@flowersiren@lousytrashmouth @get-fcking-reddie@finnwollfhards @bjrdies@steve-harringtwin @thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts@valenschmidt@grasshoppper @80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc@little-miss-hellraiser@okay-i-get-it-alreddie @finn-trashmouth@kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth@turtleneckrichie@reddieforanything @vitomire @its-stranger-than-you-think@spooky-risley @ohheydatsme @hoteltozier @holystanlon@apatheticphotos@dewdropseddie @ill-float-too @peterparkerwithoutacause@sir-furry @ailecstuff @bird-uris @iamworried7 @beepbeepbitchard @trashcanonlegs@11leggomyeggo11@bisexual80scliffjumper @reddieseggrolls

#writing #vice versa fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #it 2017 #in which .. shit happens idk

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takealottodragmeawayfromreddie · 6 years

Text

Morning!Reddie headcanons

—Winter is absolutely the best thing ever because they always wake up spooning.

—Richie will hug Eddie from behind and they’ll just lay there in their cozy cove made of sheets and pillows, warm and pure and in love.

—Richie likes to think he always wakes up first, but, actually, Eddie just likes to pretend he’s asleep so Richie will snuggle him for a little more.

—Of course, since it’s Richie, he will usually grab Eddie’s butt and stuff. And Eddie will just take it and cuddle because he lowkey loves it? And early in the morning is the only time of the day he doesn’t have to pretend he hates it? Yeah.

—Richie, obviously, notices how much he likes it. So he just leaves his hand there and everything is perfect and domestic and dreams do come true, until he, also pretending to be asleep and with the clear intention of waking Eddie up, whispers “Eds would kill me if he found out about us, hm, Mrs. K?”

—And Eddie just… do you remember that Spongebob episode when Spongebob would get into Squidward’s bed and Squidward was so sleepy that he just allowed it? And when he notices what’s going on his eyes suddenly open wide in such a memeish way? That’s Eddie’s reaction everytime Richie murmurs something like “gotta love that ass of yours, Mrs. K”.

—"DUDE, WHAT THE HELL". Sitting up and ruining all the magic bc seriously wth.

—"Oh, there you are, Eds. Sorry, same old dream I’ve been having everynight since we hit puberty".

—Eddie barely represses a psychotic tic of his right eye as Richie explodes in a uncontrollable laugh and puts his arms around him and pulls him to his chest (Eddie lowkey can’t breath and will beat the shit out of him with his clueless, bare hands if he doesn’t let go of him).

—But he doesn’t let go, he just lets him raise his head a bit so he won’t die suffocated. He’s still on top of Richie with him holding him down. And they stare into each other eyes and it’s so perfect.

—Obviously, Richie can’t see, so Eddie, trying to avoid every chance of a sappy, awkward moment happening, takes the glasses from the nightstand and roughly puts them on his face, saying something like “you look stupid trying to see without them”.

—But he’s clearly lying bc Richie looks so cute in the mornings when he makes an effort to see bc he’s to lazy to stretch out an arm to get his glasses and aAaAaAaAAAAA why is he like this Eddie is internally screaming.

—"You like me stupid", Richie smirks and Eddie just… melts. But of course he can’t admit it, so he rolls his eyes and let himself be flipped and pushed down to the bed by Richie’s weight.

—More cuddles!

—Eddie yawns and Richie just… melts. Like, so cute! And he holds him there and starts saying fluffy stuff and kissing all over his face.

—"Such a… *peck on the forehead* cute… *nuzzle on the neck* little thing… *peck on the cheek* aren’t you? *kiss on the temple* Soft… *peck on the other cheek* sleepy… *peck on the nose* boy… *peck on the lips* cute… *kiss* cute… *kiss* cute! *super hardcore and sweet smooch*

—Eddie feels in heaven. But he can’t let this damage his reputation of chaotic evil, so he puts his hand on Richie’s face, pushes him back so he can get out from under him and says “morning breath”, getting out of bed.

—He starts looking into the closet for his clothes and Richie lies down on his stomatch and whines into the pillow like a dying whale.

—"Edssss, why do you have to leave meeee"

—"I’m not leaving you, we always leave together. But it’s late and you know it. So get up".

—"But I don’t wanna go to work. It’s booooriiiing".

—"You work at the radio station because you chose it".

—"But, baby, it’s cold outside".

—"You’re a fucking child".

—"You work at a children hospital. I just prepare you for that".

—"I work at a children hospital but I’m not your babysitter".

—"That’s what you think".

—They argue until Eddie is ready and Richie finally agrees he’s getting out of bed (they have this rule that says they only cancel plans before one of them is fully dressed, so he can’t do nothing about it and he just accepts his fate as an adult).

—As Richie gets ready in front of their mirror, he usually pulls Eddie with him and wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin on his shoulder, making him look at himself in the mirror and telling him “look at how cute that guy is! Oh, and is that devilish handsome man behind him his husband? It looks like he is!”

—Eddie just laughs and rolls his eyes. And then Richie says “just brushed my teeth. No morning breath anymore” like he won some strategy game and Eddie says “ok” and gives him a quick kiss over his shoulder before leaving the room.

—Richie always makes breakfast bc the only thing he can cook is hotcakes. Still, he’s so careless and messy that Eddie would rather do it himself.

—The thing is… they don’t have that much time. So Eddie’s boss (who is a cool guy, but he likes things being well done) calls him and Eddie lies saying he’s stuck in the traffic.

—Richie will catch up the conversation and start making street noises and scream things like “LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, ASSHOLE! OH, YEAH? YOU WANNA FIGHT? GET OFF OF THAT CAR AND FACE ME”. And Eddie tries so hard not to laugh.

—It’s all okay until Richie’s lack of attention while cooking backfires and he accidentally lands his hand on the stove and ScReAmS.

—Eddie worries about it, but, most important, he almost drops his phone and when he handles it back his boss asks for an explanation. Then diva!Richie takes the stage.

—"EDS, WATCH OUT, AN OLD LADY, OH NO, YOU’RE ON THE SIDEWALK, YOU’RE ON THE FUCKING SIDEWALK!!! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, AM I GONNA DIE? I DON’T WANNA DIE! OH, NO, THE POOR OLD LADY! THE KIDS!!! LOTS OF KIDS EVERYWHERE, THEY ONLY WANTED TO GET TO SCHOOL, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE. Look, here comes the ambulance! *takes the phone and starts to scream to it* WEEE OOOH WEEE OOOOH! Thank God, we’re saved! OH NO THE CAR IS ON FIRE! THERE’S DEAD BODIES EVERYWHERE! WHY GOD WHY?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO US! WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO US! WHY MUST THE GOOD DIE YOUNG? WHEN WILL GOD HAVE MERCY ON THESE POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS! Myhandhurtsgoodbye". Click.

—Eddie looks ready to kill him but his poor baby burned his hand and he needs help so fanny pack powers activated you’re so in trouble Richard we’ll talk about it where does it hurts honey.

—When they take care of his hand, they sit to have breakfast. And, even when all the domestic magic is back, they’re in a bit of a hurry. So Eddie makes the mistake of telling him to eat fast and Richie fucking ROLLS UP his hotcake and starts eating it like it’s a burrito.

—"RICHIE WHAT THE FUCK YOU CAN’T EAT HOTCAKES LIKE THAT".

—"Oh, sorry *still chewing*, forgot the syrup *grabs the syrup bottle and directly puts half of its content into his mouth*“.

—”…“ *dies*

—"Want some, Eds?”

—"…“ *dies again*

—”…“ *smile full of food and syrup*

—"Beep beep, Richie”.

—Since the hospital where Eddie works is on the way to the radio station, Richie always gives him a ride.

—They cruise the town in his shining classic car with 80s music blasting on the stereo or Richie’s voice changing the lyrics of famous TV shows themes.

—Tozbraks, meet the Tozbraks, they’re the modern gay age family. From the town of Derry, Maine, they’re a page right out of gaystory��

—"You can’t put the word ‘gay’ in every song and pretend it fits us, Rich".

—"Oh, I can’t, Eds? I can’t? Are you sure? I can’t?“

—"Uh huh”.

—"You’re right. I should put the word 'cute’ if I want it to fit you".

—"Fuck you" *blushes while internally screams*

—When they arrive to the hospital, it’s time to say goodbye. Of course Richie doesn’t need to get out of the car for that, but he does it anyway. And they just hug and kiss at the hospital’s sidewalk, and they don’t care about what anyone could think.

—"See you at dinner, Eds", Richie says as he gets back to the car. “Love ya”.

—"Love you, too, Rich" *InTeRnAlLy ScReAmInG*

—He loves this man so much.

—And he has so many explanations to give to his boss.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fluff #cute #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #it #it (film)#it (1990)#it (movie)#it (2017)#it (book)

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lyricalt · 6 years

Text

[ovw] House Rules (1/??)

Rating: T Characters: Jesse McCree, Gabriel Reyes. (More cast to come.) Summary: An AU where McCree joins Blackwatch after Genji. Everything is mostly the same, just a little bit worse.

Thank you, Eddi, for suggesting the AU and then when I said “I don’t think much would change”, responded with a single DM that kind of destroyed me? Anyway, to quote her, she wanted something like “[…] seasoned blackwatch agent genji under orders to whip an older but no less bratty deadlock mccree into shape”. She also asked me if it was hot or not. Maybe..? Maybe.

Happy (early) birthday, Eddi. Fiend.

Notes:

Ages are the same, only Genji has seniority over McCree as an agent.

Genji was recruited to Blackwatch at 20. He is now 25. (edit: with Retribution canon released, I’m throwing up my hands and following Blizzard’s example with being super vague about dates. Genji is still 25. McCree is 27.)

I’ll try to update once a week, or more. I have written… a lot of it. I’ll move it over to AO3 once I’ve got… hopefully… more chapters.

[part 1 | [part 2] | [part 3]

It was McCree’s own fault that he ended up in Blackwatch. Twenty-seven years old and thinking he was all subtle cleverness when he demanded to see whoever was in charge, and in came Commander Gabriel Reyes without a smile.

“You wanted to see me?” asked the Blackwatch Commander. He sat across from McCree, the little room bright with white walls and a soft light that wasn’t too harsh on the eyes. It felt more like an office than a cell for prisoners.

McCree shifted his hands, chained to the table where he rested them. Of course, most offices didn’t have furniture with metal fixtures and bolts, and a door made from both steel and hardlight. He took stock of Reyes, making a judgement call to keep his face as serious as possible. It wasn’t going to be like bargaining with the other lowlife gangs where McCree could get away with a cocky grin and a hand to his gun. Reyes didn’t look the type to respond well to humor.

“I’d like to make a deal,” said McCree, confident but not desperate. Like he knew what was what, and that his offer wasn’t just some panicked grab for freedom.

Reyes snorted, expression still unsmiling but there was a spark of amusement in the way his eyes crinkled. “You’re in no position to do that.”

“Whoops. ‘Scuse me, guess I worded it wrong. Believe me, I know I’m in no position to make any demands, but I figured I throw out an offer anyway,” McCree said, ducking his head a little. Made him look contrite and embarrassed for the most part, and in a way, he partially was—though he kept other tics to show for it.

“I see. Well, since I’ve got so much time on my hands,” Reyes said, voice a slight drawl to indicate that he did not, in fact, have a whole lot of time on his hands. “Let’s hear it.”

McCree inwardly winced, knowing somehow there were going to be repercussions for him if he ended up wasting Reyes’ time. But repercussions didn’t mean shit when he was already cornered and bookended. He had been too high up on the Deadlock chain of command to get off scot free, and too old to go anywhere but prison. He thought of Joel, who was seventeen when the raid caught them, and after asking around found out the boy was going to be tried as a minor. McCree felt a little relieved at that; Joel hadn’t killed anyone, was only a runner boy when it came down to it.

It was a shame now that McCree hadn’t been in the same boat; he had killed at least a dozen of Overwatch’s agents during the raid before a stray bullet had caught him in the chest and he’d blacked out with a sudden sharp pain between his eyes. As for the rest of Deadlock, McCree assumed most of them were dead or half a step away to rotting in prison like him.

He leaned forward, ignoring the way the tacky bandages shifted across the wound over his chest.

“I’ll be honest, if this doesn’t work out, you can count that I’ll go to court, guilty as charged. I ain’t stupid enough to think I’ll get away with anything,” McCree said. He threw Reyes a considering look, calm settling in his bones. He wasn’t as good with his words as he was with his gun, but the leveled feeling was the same. “And I’ll serve my time for that good long while, for everything I’m convicted of. Quiet and meek as a mouse.”

Commander Reyes’ eyes narrowed. “You have information.”

“Sure I do. I’ll tell you everything related to my trial, of course. I know what I’m guilty of. I’ll cooperate.”

“You have no choice but to cooperate with us, but I appreciate the willingness.”

McCree figured Reyes for a smart man. The commander knew how to negotiate between the lines and it showed in the way he was conscious of allowing McCree to speak obliquely. He trusted the white room to be monitored, though he wasn’t sure what kind of hold Reyes had over the bureaucratic end of Overwatch—and McCree did believe Overwatch had a hand in with Blackwatch. And Blackwatch, he knew, was just as legal as Deadlock, only with a bit more funding and friends in the right places.

“I do love to be useful,” McCree demurred.

No legal organization would fight the way Blackwatch did during the raid. His heart ticked upwards, remembering how they painted the Deadlock walls red with blood.

Reyes didn’t answer him right away, but neither did it look like he was contemplating it very much.

Unable to help himself, McCree raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re just wastin’ your own time here.”

Reyes didn’t seem pleased by his comment but he wasn’t baited. “I’m just wondering how useful you’d be.”

McCree let out a short breath. He’d been holding it, and Reyes’ gaze flickered, ever observant. Damn.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you an example right here, right now,” he said, pushing forward. No use holding back now. “I happen to know that Deadlock had a planned shipment with Los Muertos sometime later this week. ‘Course, they’ll know that Deadlock’s outta the business by now, but play your cards right and you might be able to catch some of ‘em hanging ‘round their safehouses nearby.”

Reyes’ started to look a little more attentive, which McCree thought was already excessive. The man had eyes like a hawk.

“Locations,” Reyes said, with all the ease of a commander used to giving orders. It certainly hadn’t been a question.

So McCree gave them.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said, once Reyes got up from his seat.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Reyes said, and left McCree to wait in his cell once more.

It was two weeks before McCree saw Reyes again. By then McCree was bored out of his mind and halfway to being stir crazy. Prison was going to be a downright bastard of a time if he couldn’t bargain his way into Blackwatch.

“So? How’d it go?” McCree asked, bored enough to have the suicidal impulse of acting cheeky. He was back in the white room. Same table but no cuffs. He took it as a good sign.

“You are useful,” Reyes said, sounding so surprised that McCree could only assume he was being condescending. He dropped a tablet in front of McCree, reports and images projecting into the air between them.

There were pictures of bodies, lists of inventory, and a roster that seemed to imply casualties on the Los Muertos’ side—plus a few names that rang familiar in McCree’s mind, though he could’ve sworn they had belonged to other gangs. This was more than a few safehouses, more than what McCree had told Reyes two weeks ago.

“No bullshit this time. I’m gonna speak plainly,” Reyes said. “Your information was very good. We were able to extrapolate a few more locations from other sources, using your information as a guide.”

McCree shrugged. “Figured you guys might. And?”

“Ruthless, aren’t you?”

“Useful,” McCree corrected with emphasis.

For some reason, Reyes didn’t look too satisfied by the answer, only more wary. “You think you can keep being useful?”

“Even more so, if you good folks are recruiting.”

“We might be,” Reyes replied blandly. “You got any terms? I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

“Wouldn’t dream of making demands,” McCree murmured politely. “I’d be happy to just not rot in prison.”

To his surprise, Reyes stood up from his chair.

“I thought so,” Reyes said. He motioned to someone outside the cell, and the hardlight door flickered for a second, allowing a duffle bag to be tossed into the room. Reyes picked it up and let the whole thing drop into McCree’s lap. “Get up. Put on the jacket.”

McCree clutched at the bag, unable to move. “What?”

“The jacket’s in the bag,” Reyes said patiently.

McCree unzipped the duffle bag and pulled out the jacket, the Blackwatch symbol pressed to one sleeve. He stared.

“I thought… maybe this would’ve taken another week,” he tried, glancing back up.

Reyes scoffed. “I was planning to recruit you two weeks ago when we first met, but you started talking all on your own. Didn’t think you’d be an informant at the time.”

McCree could feel his blood run cold, hands gripping over the Blackwatch uniform. His new uniform.

“I like your initiative though,” Reyes added, though it was like pouring salt on the wound. “And you are very good with a gun.”

The shock was wearing off. McCree knew he ought to be grateful, but instead he was angry. He glared at Reyes. “So I’m in? Just like that?”

“Well, you didn’t have any terms, and I did ask. Lack of negotiations tends to speed things up,” Reyes said. To his credit, he didn’t laugh or look too smug about it.

McCree opened his mouth, wordless, and then snapped it shut. It wouldn’t do any good to state his terms now. He’d been so focused on trying to not go to prison, he hadn’t thought beyond getting into Blackwatch. And it had been that easy, at the high cost of his pride.

Reyes must have noticed his furious silence. With something that sounded suspiciously like sympathy, he added, “Word of advice; next time, don’t try to mess around so much with Overwatch. You’re a gambling man, yeah? So go ahead and play your cards right, but you should know by now the house always wins.”

More silence. Reyes waited.

McCree pulled the jacket over his shoulders.

[part 1 | [part 2] | [part 3]

#jesse mccree #gabriel reyes #blackwatch #overwatch #fic: house rules

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