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anincompletelist · 3 months

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[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv | vol v ]

firstprince fic recs: hurt/comfort edition! :D

some of these have more angst than others before the comfort, so please be sure to check the tags! but I tried to choose some of my personal favorites that I always return to when I need something comforting to read <3

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

talk me down | seafloor | G | 2k

It never gets easier, but with Alex, it’s less exhausting. [Henry gets triggered, and Alex is there for him.]

Mr. Body Pillow | @inexplicablymine | T+ | 21k

Two boys cuddling on a couch right on top of each other because they are in fact very gay™. Inviting over a complete stranger for cuddles because you are touch starved might be the worst idea Henry has ever had, or the best.

the clementine thing | @saintlynomenclature | T+ | 6k

And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company. Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him. [Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor]

sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 85k

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here.

I ask you how you're doing (and I let you lie) | @matherines | M | 6k

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones. “God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.” [Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.]

Aftercare | @whimsymanaged | M | 2k

When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

Dream a Little Dream of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

Burnt Offering | justicefortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service. [A look at FirstPrince’s love through each love language: Acts of Service]

I would stay forever (if you say don't go) | @coffeecatsme | T+ | 6k

The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away. A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was. To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Don't Give Up Your Ghost | @nocoastposts | G | 1k

Healing is not linear. When Henry first heard this phrase, he brushed it off as a cliche. An evergreen proverb for those who didn’t know what else to say. As his anger morphed into crippling sadness, he began to understand the sentiment. Henry never knows when the grief will become all-consuming. A perfectly fine day can shatter instantly, with no preamble or warning given. The most trivial things - a scent, a laugh, a song - can utterly and completely devour him. Learning to accept the ebb and flow was not easy. He knows that the dark days will never cease completely. He also knows that Alex will brave the storm with him, time and time again. Henry is eternally grateful for this. [Or, Henry reflects on some common platitudes of grief - then and now.]

outta luck to spend | potentiallyunloveable | T+ | 9k

“Nora ignorin’ ya?” a voice says from beside him, and Henry startles, turns to his left, is suddenly frozen. The man who’s slid into the seat next to him, silently, without Henry noticing, is quite possibly the most beautiful man Henry’s ever seen in his life. He’s got the widest smile, sweet dimples, soft brown skin and impossibly long eyelashes. He’s wearing a fucking Stetson, and Henry feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Or: Henry (lost, hopeless) meets Alex (bright, hopeful), in a bar in Texas.

thunderstruck | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 2k

“Alex, slow down.” Henry pulls away softly from Alex’s taut grasp. “Are you feeling alright now?” “Y-yeah, I think I’m okay.” Alex smiles back meekly at Henry’s heedful gaze. Alex feels like he has gotten way ahead of himself. “I'm just a huge astraphobic, ever since I was little. I guess I never grew out of it.” [or, Alex has a fear of thunder so Henry comforts him]

fell apart (in the usual way) | @hypnostheory | E | 12k

By the time they’ve reached the landing, Henry is shaking his arm out of Alex’s grip. “The picture of grace under fire,” he says, the words snapping from his mouth. Alex blinks at him, before his face smooths into its professional mask. “You can’t pick a fight with the Queen’s equerry, no matter how averse you are to the concept of the monarchy.” Alex looks Henry up at down, his mouth forming a tight line. “I don’t pick fights, Your Majesty,” he says, adjusting his grip on Henry’s suitcase. Henry can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Shaan called me a few weeks ago to go over every single thing that made you miserable about the holidays. It was a very long phone call.” Henry doesn’t doubt that. “I’m going to help you avoid as many of those items as possible.” [Henry is a mess around the holidays, and he's expecting to have a tremendously horrid time without Shaan. Fortunately, Alex has plans to make his Christmas both merry and bright.]

ocean waves | seafloor | E | 10k

Henry Fox wakes up with a toothache one morning, and has a lot of feelings about certain things for days afterwards.

I'd hold you as the water rushes in | @saintlynomenclature | M | 11k

“—lex. Alex.” Fuck. Where had his mind gone? Alex snaps his eyes to Henry’s, forcing his attention back from where it had drifted. “I’m listening, I’m listening. What were you saying?” Anyone else would probably be offended, or would just laugh at the clearly conflicting statements that had flown thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Instead, Henry’s brow crinkles, lips downturning as he scans Alex’s face. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all night.” Those blue eyes are much easier to deal with through FaceTime. Alex has to look away from them, less he caves and spills everything to Henry. He pastes a smile on, “Fantastic, Your Highness. All this bubbly is going to my head, the sugar’ll get me in the morning.” [Or, Alex drops on New Year's Eve]

never be so polite (you forget your power) | Standinginmoonlight | M | 6k

The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

while you were sleeping (I fell in love) | @kill8a | M | 3k

As their relationship progresses, Alex notices that Henry’s sleeping habits start to progress as well. Notably, more naps, less insomnia, and a knack for falling asleep at any hour of the day.

that's all for now!

hurt/comfort is one of my all time favorite tropes, so feel free to rec me some if they aren't on this list, or to reach out with ideas for other rec lists in the future! <3

-- sarah / anincompletelist xx

#fic recs #my fic recs #rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic recs #red white and royal blue fanfic #Alex x Henry

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piratefalls · 6 months

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oh my god this got obscenely long. you're welcome?

list one. list two. list three. list four.

Any Beat of Your Heart (Gets Me Through the Night) by stellarmeadow

Alex throws out the first pitch at the Opening Day baseball game, but things go horribly wrong.

kiss me once 'cause you know by ninzied

Of all the things they’ve been to one another—sometimes-rivals, reluctant allies, tediously cordial seatmates at international events—Henry never thought that he and Alex would end up being something like friends. (In which Alex sort of moves in and they don't talk about what it means.)

Mr. BodyPillow by inexplicablymine

“It is hard enough trying to get a date out here when all I really want is to curl up with someone’s head on my chest and play with their hair” “I could do that for you sweetheart” _______ Two boys cuddling on a couch right on top of each other because they are in fact very gay™. Inviting over a complete stranger for cuddles because you are touch starved might be the worst idea Henry has ever had, or the best.

Little Moments by politics_and_prose

Five significant moments in Alex's political career and one in his personal life.

The Case Of The Fucking Curse by everwitch

Henry gets inflicted by a deadly royal curse. The only way to break it is to have sex with a person who possesses the correct physical compatibility, so the crown puts out a desperate plea for people meeting the right criteria to enter a screening process. You’ll never guess who turns out to be the final candidate at the end. Or: the most wholesome Fuck Or Die you’ve read in your life.

You Got Me, and Baby I Got You by princebutt

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, charismatic center for the NHL's Dallas Stars, is completely and utterly smitten with the posh British librarian he met by complete accident. Tonight is the night, and he's got a plan to completely woo Henry and get his man.

cowboy like me by stutteringpeach

Alex was looking for money tonight. And with Henry Mountchristen-Windsor, the gorgeous young heir to the Windsor Group, he sure as hell found it. If Alex is looking to charm someone out of their millions, it might as well be someone he’s going to enjoy stealing from.

but if you could see us from a distance, you'd know i've always been so close to you by anincompletelist (soldouthaz)

Objectively, standing half-soaked from rainwater with a stitch in his side and an uncomfortable, raging hard-on outside his worst enemy’s door is not Henry’s finest moment. It’s not even on the list. -- or, henry is afflicted with a curse-gone-wrong that stipulates that only his sworn enemy, alex claremont-diaz, can touch him.

(did my love aid and abet you?) by alasse

That night in Kensington Palace, Henry told Alex to leave. Eleven years later, Alex watches on the news as Henry comes out, and abdicates. A story of what came before, and what comes after.

It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally free. It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally out. It’s been eleven fucking years, and Alex Claremont-Diaz still hasn’t learned how to be normal about Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight) by annesbonny

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.” Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

lover, tell me if you can by loyaulte_me_lie

Henry has a wobble on their first anniversary. They practise healthy communication and everything ends happily.

Debasing the Prince (And Other Inappropriate Decisions) by orphan_account

Henry in a suit and tie turns Alex into a combination of the heart-eyed and drooling emojis. He can't help it that the goddamned prince of England looks glorious all dressed up. So he meets him in his bedroom and does super inappropriate things with the tie and the prince. This is basically Tale of the Debauchery of a Prince™.

Soon You'll Get Better (Because You Have To) by wafflesandkruge

Two nights after the shooting, Henry receives an email with a pre-recorded video from Alex. He gets one every night, and although it breaks his heart to see Alex happy and alive, he's terrified of when they'll stop coming.

(when you look like that) i never ever wanted to be so bad by hipsterchrist

“How many times have I told you now?” Henry asks, voice still quiet. “In the bedroom, we’re equals.” Alex knows a door left ajar intentionally when he sees it.“ But we’re not in the bedroom, are we?” he mutters. Henry smirks and turns away. Alex nearly falls over trying to follow the loss of Henry’s hand on his face. “It certainly would seem that way,” Henry says, loud and clear, leaning against the wall again. “And so I will have to insist on some degree of deference. Do you think you can manage that?” Or, Alex has a fantasy involving a tack room and Henry's polo uniform, and Henry is all too happy to fulfill it.

if i ever saw you try to be a saint by inmoonlightigetseasick

He turns back, waiting for further instruction from Luna when Henry actually gets up and approaches him to talk. “I must apologize about the hour,” he says, faking sincerity so well Alex recants his doubts about Henry’s acting chops, “this was my fault, I have a shoot for a music video later today and after that I’m on a flight back to jolly old England as it were, loads of publicity for the latest album.” “You sound like a busy guy,” Alex says, with a small, tight smile, “sure you’ll have time for our little movie?” “I will make the time,” he says, his eyes are a bottomless blue, they shine, deceptively truthful, he turns to Luna, “I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be considered for this role. What you’ve done here,” he gestures to his script, “I think it’s amazing.” Alex hates that Henry is right. -- AU in which Alex is an up-and-coming actor slated to star in in-demand director Rafael Luna's highly anticipated queer coming-of-age film. For Alex, keen to share his own bisexuality with the world, it's the perfect project to be his true starmaking vehicle -- but for one thing-- his nemesis Henry Fox, a wildly popular rock star, might end up playing his love interest.

searching low in the night by saltfics

“Just say it's okay. I just need to hear you say that.” Henry steps outside for just a second, but when Alex goes to find him, he finds only empty streets and an excrutiating feeling of dread in his place.

whenever you're ready by perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)

“Pez. Please, will you stop tagging me in TikTok thirst traps?” Henry asked as he stepped into his friend’s car. Pez lowered his Gucci sunglasses on his nose, looking at Henry without anything obscuring his vision and just laughed before pushing them back up with his middle finger. “Don’t fucking lie to me, I know you love them.” Or: the one where Henry falls in lust with a TikToker making pottery and leaves drunken thirst comments

hold me close (when the cameras are off) by viciouslyqueer

Henry Fox is a very well-known model. It’s hard to name a magazine he hasn’t been on the cover of, or a photographer that isn’t ready to drop everything just to book a shoot with him. Now he’s barely smiling, slightly parted lips, yet somehow still looking kind as the photographer behind the camera takes picture after picture. His pristine blond hair is delicately styled so it doesn’t fall out of place, and the cherry blossom flowers next to him and beige background give him an angelic look that makes people in the studio stop what they’re doing just to watch. He looks beautiful. Alex hates it. — When models Alex and Henry have to pose together for a shoot, Alex realizes he might not hate Henry after all.

it was you he gave me by coffeecatsme

The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?” Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?” Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

yours for the afternoon by railmedaddy

“Another day then, tomorrow? Or Saturday, I can do Saturday, I’ll give you my number,” Hunter says, starting to reach for Henry’s phone. Henry knocks it off the table and prays it doesn’t crack. Christ. Is he going to have to leave the coffee shop to get rid of Hunter? He bends down to pick his phone up and when he rights himself, Hunter is waiting expectantly with his hand out for Henry’s phone. He drops it into his bag under the table. “Very kind of you Hunter, but I’m really quite booked up and—" “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” comes a drawl Henry vaguely recognises. OR Henry is quietly minding his own business in his favourite coffee shop, when he’s rudely interrupted by an insufferable man attempting to flirt with him. He’s rescued by none other than Alex – a fellow cafe regular who he’s long admired from a distance – posing as his date.

Háblame dulce by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

"Alex gently drew Henry back to the waking world on a lazy Tuesday morning in their brownstone with a kiss, a cup of Earl Gray, and the words, “Hoy, hablamos español.” Also known as: Henry is learning Spanish for Alex, and Alex is happy to help him.

5 Times Alex Went Viral (+1 Time Henry Did) by clottedcreamfudge

Alex downloads TikTok on a Saturday and by Monday he's completely obsessed. Henry is clearly a little bewildered by this, but he doesn't seem to mind when Alex starts singing sea shanties and trying - with limited success - to harmonise with himself in the shower. *** aka FicTok (aka ‘Five times Alex tested TikTok trends on Henry and one time Henry got his own back’) (aka 'Five times Alex made life hard for Henry and one time Henry just made Alex hard' - you can blame ifyoustay for that one)

Slide, Crawl into the Shades of Light by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

Eventually, they part long enough to buckle their seatbelts, and then the car eases forward in the direction of Kensington Palace. Alex reaches across the seat and cups Henry’s cheek. “You’ve been biting your lips again,” he notes, rubbing a thumb over the rough skin. “When we get back to the apartment we should run a bath, and maybe after, I can make you some tea.” Henry smiles – and it nearly reaches his eyes – and covers Alex’s hand with his own. “That sounds wonderful,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long week.” (Post-movie; Alex and Henry doing that transcontinental couple life thing, and Henry's had a shit week. Alex gives him several orgasms about it.)

A Tiny Shred of Hope by cmere

Henry reacts in the immediate aftermath of his first kiss with Alex.

Most Cordially Invited by aldiara

In which a formal invitation is extended, a royal mirror is defiled, and Alex cusses a lot.

The Bet by bleedingballroomfloor

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault. Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

Play Me a Song by allmylovesatonce

Every night, like clockwork, Alex's upstairs neighbor plays the piano for two hours, giving Alex the motivation to sit and do his own work so that he can listen. One night, he leaves a letter for his neighbor to thank him for the music. When his neighbor comes to his door to thank him for the note, he finds it's the same cute guy he's been running into in the lobby.

Speak for Yourself by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex could have walked out of the Williamsburg apartment at any time. Instead, he decides to sign up to twelve months of Henry. OR Alex makes a rash decision and Henry inexplicably runs with it. (The "accidental housemates" AU that literally no-one asked for).

london bridge has fallen down by indomitablelove

Alex can feel the eyes of the room on him as Shaan approaches his side. Then, Shaan quietly murmurs in his ear. They’re words he’s thought about before, distantly wondering about what might happen when they were finally uttered. How their lives might change. There’s nothing that can prepare him for the reality of it though, nothing that can prepare him for how his breath hitches when Shaan speaks. ‘London Bridge is down, Sir.’ --- Queen Mary is dead. Henry doesn't know how to feel.

i wouldn't stop for red lights by matherine

There are flowers on Henry’s desk when he comes into work. They’re pretty, really – chosen by someone who knows him, because there are hydrangeas and white roses and daffodils, and certainly not enough baby’s breath for the bouquet to have been cheap. Not that Henry would make assumptions, nor that he’s the sort of person that would look up the cost of a gift, but he knows who put it here. Even before he looks at the little card attached to a rose’s stem, he knows, because he gets flowers every April 15th.

Water over Blood by happinessofthepursuit

5 times a member of the British Royal Family was in love with Alex + 1 time they loved Henry

The Prince of Sex: A Collaborative Nightmare by aceinadeck, fairycat, ifigo, MaikkaPakka, ohgaywarden, Princess_Nales

"Alex is waiting for his lover Phillip, when he arrives in the bedroom Alex's jaw drops. Philip is wearing a pair of tight leather pants the outline of his massive horse cock is clearly visible and Alex can't wait to have it pump thick squirts of warm cum inside him and his butt." *** It started as a joke, something that Pez found in the depths of Real Person Fiction on Wattpad that none of them really wanted to explore too much. But he brought it up as a drinking game, something that would get all of them absolutely wasted since this was the first time they were able to get together in almost four months.

An Open Heart by absoluteaudacity

"But, and I hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long to get to the point, they listened and hugged me and told me they loved me no matter what. I gather they feel very guilty that I felt I had to keep my sexuality a secret. Mum had to stop Dad from going straight down to Buckingham and yelling at Gran; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. They’ve agreed that we’ll keep it to the family for the moment but they’ve made it clear I have their support if I ever want to come out publicly. We’re a long way from that, I think, but at least I know the way is partially clear for us. At least I don’t have to pretend anymore."

It's Getting Hot in Here (So Hot!) by Celaestis

Henry’s firm and unwavering belief in Alex’s hetrosexuality does wonders for their relationship. He can coexist with Alex in the same lobby for entire half-minutes at a time while checking for post, he can make solid eye contact during glances in the hallway. Alex is still the most beautiful man he’s ever beheld, and maybe Henry’s hook-ups are tending towards the Latino types more than they ever did in the UK, but still. Alex is straight. Henry is fine about it. Really.

i'd fall to pieces on the floor if you weren't around by karish

Suddenly, Alex feels like he’s gonna throw up and he feels cold all over. Because this sounds like a goodbye. It sounds like a suicide note. Fuck. God. Please no. AKA: Alex wakes up to find a note from Henry and jumps to the worst possible conclusions.

Wedding Talk by maritinkerbell

“You know, H, I’m not sure anything is going to give me greater pleasure than forcing all your homophobic cousins to smile and make nice while I put a fucking ring on it.” OR An upcoming family wedding leads Henry and Alex to discuss marriage for the first time.

Little Secrets Grow Up To Be Big Lies by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Henry meets Alex in a café as he's hiding from the Crown, the media and the public in general. But Alex is charming and alluring and draws him in right away. Alex also has no idea that he's a Prince.

Give Me Comfort, Give Me Help by dwell_the_brave

“I’ll be back by Thursday,” Philip promises, giving Martha a hand up the jet’s steps. She gives them a brief wave from the top of the stairs before disappearing. “Make sure you don’t ski off a cliff!” Bea calls after him as he follows his wife into the jet. He waves a hand dismissively at her and then withdraws into the darkness of the cabin. That’s the last thing any of them say to him. - Philip dies, and Henry becomes heir.

i could be a better boyfriend by bananzie

It wasn't that Alex didn't like telling people about Henry—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that no one ever believed him when he did. An AU in which Henry is one of England’s most famous rugby players, Alex met him during an exchange year, and they’re so in love it’s sickening, but no one believes him.

Just like that. by myheartalive

“I’m so glad my subpar sexual encounter has fed the brain worms. Something’s got to keep the little guys going.” Henry’s more relaxed now that he’s teasing Alex, and looks a lot more like his normal self. It feels a little easier to talk to him, to actually say what he’s thinking. “It’s just… I realised if that was me, I also wouldn’t know how to do it. How to find your…” “Prostate?” “Yeah. That.” — When Henry comes home from a date frustrated by the guy’s lack of expertise, Alex starts having thoughts. And then, because he’s Alex, he sticks his big foot in his even bigger mouth.

Kinda think that I might be his type by kiwiana

“Bea.” He clambers onto his knees, grabbing her hands in his own. “Bea, take me to Thanksgiving with you.” Bea blinks. Blinks again. “What?” “Bea, I could terrorise your gran until she’s begging you to stay single forever.” Or, Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

until next wednesday! if you want me to tag you in future lists, let me know!

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex and henry #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #Alex x Henry #fic rec #RWRB fic rec #RWRB fanfiction #rwrb rec list

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baronetcoins · 2 years

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Dear Yuletide Writer 2022

This is my very first year doing Yuletide, so I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m going to endeavor to make myself as much of a good participant as I can. To that end, this letter! And thank you so much for taking the time out of your year to do something nice for someone else.

General Likes Either things that are cute and fluffy, or very introspective, character focused works. I’m as much of a sucker for a happy ending as I am for a really good tragedy, so whichever floats your boat. I like witty dialogue, interesting metaphors, enemies to lovers, good-old-fashioned touch starved characters, being meta about the idea of Story and Narrative, and resiliency in the face of extreme adversity—anybody who won’t give up. Dislikes Explicit sex scenes are not my favorite, and I don’t like endings without some kind of catharsis. I’d also prefer to stick away from drowning, and I don’t like soulmate tropes about 9 times out of 10. Other I don't typically mind AUs (other genres, settings, put magic in there, the works) but I don't think they work super well with any of the things I was otherwise thinking of this year? But if you have a good idea go wild.

Thoughts On Specific Fandoms Henry V Whenever I’ve tried to sit down and analyze this play in my head, I keep coming back to the idea of Henry as a character who’s aware of the importance of image and narrative—not so much that he’s aware he’s a character in a play, but that he does know all the world’s a stage if that makes any sense. I’m most interested in him, and I’m least interested in the gang of side people from his old life. Also, after having seen the Kenneth Branagh film version… several times over, I can’t stop conceiving of him as being at least a little homosexual. Fellas is it gay to tell the person who just betrayed you to your enemy that he knew the very bottom of your soul? Doesn’t have to be the focus, but if you want to make it a part PLEASE be my guest. The Expanse I’ve seen all of the show, but I’ve only finished reading up through about two thirds of Cibola Burn. However, Joe Miller (and subsequently the Investigator) have my whole heart. Don’t worry about spoiling me though, I’m not too bothered. I’m trying to think of specific prompts and coming up dry, but if you want to bring in Holden and talk about that dynamic, that’s rad. Also love eldritch vibes if that’s the mood too. Jurassic Park I won’t lie, I’m not familiar with this as a fandom at all but the idea of reading Jurassic Park fanfiction appeals to me. I think it would be fun. In this one, I’d prefer to stay away from darker themes? Those are absolutely fine in the other two but I think I’d rather read something with a happy end here.

And that’s it I think! Thank you so much again, I can’t wait to read whatever it is you come up with.

#cannot emphasize enough how much I don't know what I'm doing #but thank you for reading anyway

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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Just scared and confused

A/N: This was requested by @reddie-fangirl24 I hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think!

Summary: Since I love your fic where Eddie has a nightmare, could you write a fic where Richie has a nightmare. It is up to you if you would like to write a similar plot line, or make it different.

Warnings; curse words, and some internalised homophobia

When Richie opens his eyes, he sitting at their kitchen table. He doesn’t remember how he got there, or even what he did before sitting there, but he is.

He looks around in confusion, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. His hand are shaking though, so Richie places them firmly on the surface of the table, feeling the indents of woods under his touch.

Their kitchen table is made of wood. Eddie chose it, despite Richie’s claims that they could use his old table he used to eat on. Eddie had scoffed, in the way that Richie knew meant he had something stupid, before Eddie had said that he wanted a new table, because his table was old as shit and who knew what had happened on there.

As the two looked for a new house to move in together, they chucked out all old furniture and in place of those they went shopping. Eddie hated it, but Richie had never had so much fun in his life before. He drove Eddie crazy by plowing down into beds, pretending to eat on tables and stretching out over couches as if he already owned the damn thing.

‘I’m going to fucking leave you’, he had said after they were thrown out of another store. The fleeting feeling of absolute panic in Richie disappeared after he saw Eddie’s fond smirk, but the words stuck with him. After he and Eddie got together, Richie discovered that he was a teeny tiny bit touched starved. Alright a lot touch starved. He never would have expected Eddie to want to be with him, never even considered the possibility that all the emotions Richie was holding in, bright in their intensity, could be reciprocated by his childhood best friend.

Richie never even dared to look too much into the lingering touches they shared as kids, and then later as adults, terrified that if he examined and dissected the sensations he got after touching and being close to Eddie, other people would just know. Just like Henry Bowers did, just like Stan did. He never wanted to be put in a spot where he would have no choice but to come clean, to share his feeling with Eddie and make him uncomfortable, to make Eddie hate him.

When they became lovers as he had so jokingly called them, a flashback to the time where Eddie had broken his arm, but also a memory of times where Richie had to hide the core of his very being, Richie used every opportunity to touch him. Eddie selflessly allowed him, reciprocating with the same ferocity, and yet still Richie didn’t feel at ease.

Just like when he was a kid, he was scared that if he truly showed Eddie how deep he loved him, he would be disgusted, and see Richie just like he viewed himself, as disgusting.

As a result, he consistently felt anxiety, whether it was going on a date with Eddie or making love for the first time. The task of taken the lead had fallen on Richie, which he didn’t mind, but he was always stressed when he wanted to initiate something new into their relationship. He was scared Eddie would wake up one day and come to the conclusion that Richie isn’t enough for him.

To no one’s surprise, Richie kept those thoughts to himself, withering away with the weight to put upon him.

Because the table consisted of wood, Eddie demanded that they had placing mats on the table at all times, terrified of stains seeping into the new table. They’re a light green color, which fits in the room beautifully, at least that’s what Eddie’s been saying to him. Richie doesn’t mind them, but he wouldn’t care whether or not there were stains anywhere in the house. It a sign that there are living people in this house. Regardless, them being missing is what ticked Richie off that there was something wrong. They weren’t there anymore, and when he looks around, he doesn’t see them anywhere either.

Richie’s heartbeat picks up even though he wills it away again. He’s being stupid, he tells himself. Eddie probably just wanted to clean them and he didn’t notice, everything is fine.

Except that it’s not. He hears before sees Eddie come out of the room with a giant carton box in his hands. It looks heavy, and Eddie puffs with exhaustion before dumping the box next to the others.

Richie only now takes notices of all the box placed neatly upon each other, right in front of the door.

‘Eds’, Richie asks trailing off. He freezes, all his muscles tighten up and panic washes over him like ice cold water, as soon as Eddie looks at his direction.

It’s clear Eddie’s been crying, his eyes red while the rest of his face is an icy white. He looks sick to his stomach, his mouth trembling as if trying not to talk or cry anymore. He’s failing.

‘What are you doing’? He asks when Eddie doesn’t respond to Richie calling out his name. Even though Richie is panicked, he knows that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to take Eddie’s pain away, they’ve been through so much, and Eddie deserves the whole galaxy as far as Richie was concerned.

He told him that once after they woke up in the same bed for the first time since they were adults. Their limbs were woven, Eddie’s head on Richie’s outstretched arm, while his arm was tracing random patrons into his skin. Richie had pressed a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, while mumbling that all he ever wanted to do was make Eddie happy. It had been a serene moment, one that Richie would hold close, written in his heart.

Right now, he jumps up from his chair, rushing towards Eddie, but he stops dead in his tracks when Eddie flinches away from him. His chair makes a shrieking sounds as it drags across the floor, Richie whines, knowing Eddie absolutely hates that sound. He doesn’t respond though, and that worries Richie’s.

‘Don’t do this again Richie.’ He mumbles, and he sounds so tired, like he’s 80 years old. Just hearing the sound of that makes Richie want to cry. He pushes back against the burning feeling of tears forcing their way down his face, but he suspect that makes it even more obvious to Eddie that he’s going to start crying.

‘Don’t Richie’, he says, his voice hard like a jagged edge of a knife. It cuts through Richie, leaving him deflated and confused. He standing a few feet away from Eddie, contemplating whether or not he should touch Eddie.

‘We’ve already talked about this. I’m leaving. I’m going back to Myra and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Richie world feels like it has been shattered. He takes a few stumbling steps backwards, falling back down unto the couch. ‘What’, he croaks out, and this time he’s helpless to stop the tears rushing like waterfalls from his cheeks.

Eddie rolls his eyes, not in a playful way like he usually does, but in a truly annoyed fashion, Richie’s heart crumbles further. It this what a panic attack feels like, Richie thinks delirious. He sits on the edge of their couch, having never felt so dejected before.

‘I’m moving back in,’ he pauses for a second, and Richie who was never good with silence, feels even more suffocate by this one. ‘Richie, this was a mistake. I thought I loved you, but I realized that I just missed you. You’re my best friend, but I don’t love you the way you love me. Quite frankly Richie, it’s really disgusting.

And Richie knows this, he fucking well knows. He spend most of his childhood trying to not be gay, trying to kiss girls and convince himself that he liked it, but the reality is that doesn’t. It’s who he is, and before coming out it was always like Richie was completely alone. Nobody, not a single soul knew who he really was, and the reason for that was that he kept such a huge part of himself hidden, And he was so vulnerable when Eddie woke up, that without thinking he just blurted it out.

Not that he was in love with Eddie, that had taken several months of therapy and adjusting the idea that Eddie wasn’t revolted just because he was gay, but he had confessed to Eddie that he likes men, and only men. And when Eddie had just accepted him, he had been shocked beyond believe. He could finally start to be open towards others and himself, And he was on this journey with Eddie where both of them were learning to love themselves along with each other, and maybe Richie had managed to make himself believe that he wasn’t disgusting.

But hearing Eddie say it right now made him realize that he very much was. All Richie suddenly wanted to do was lay in bed, cry and hide from the world, even from Eddie.

‘Eds, please.’ Richie tried. He was so fucking selfish, but he didn’t think he could live now that he had a taste of how life was like with Eddie. He didn’t think he would be able to spend his days in a house where he and Eddie had bought stuff, the place they made their home.

Richie had never had that before. He had houses, sure, but never a home. He wasn’t ready to loose that. He wasn’t ever ready to say goodbye to Eddie.

‘Don’t fucking call me that’, Eddie spat out, ‘I used to like it when you called me that but now that I know the intent behind it’, he shuddered in disgust. ‘Don’t call me that, in fact don’t call me anything at all. We’re done, I can’t be friends with, with someone like you.’

Something was off with Eddie, and if Richie wasn’t so busy channeling hysteria all through his body, he might have had the mind to pick it up. Eddie has never been this cruel. He has been straightforward and sometimes a little blunt, but only with an intent to help, never to harm. Eddie would never speak to Richie or anyone like that, regardless of what that person did.

Richie leaps of his seating place when Eddie opens the door. The panic Richie feels is all consuming, to the point where he’s not even sure what he’s doing, just that he wants Eddie to stay.

‘Please Eds, Eddie fuck. Please don’t go, please.’ He’s sobbing, not even aware of the embarrassing picture he must present.

‘Can’t we talk about this? I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that made you wanna leave, I can be more calm, I can talk less, I can do whatever it is that makes you happy, just please don’t leave me here by myself.’

He places his hands on Eddie’s shoulder, wanting to hug him close and kiss him, to just be close to him.

Eddie however recoils in horror, whipping at his shoulder at the exact place Richie’s hand had just been.

‘Iel, do you even know what you just did?’ Did you know the bacteria that I could have gotten from you? I don’t want to become you, so don’t you ever fucking touch me again.’ Eddie snaps, his eyes wild in rage, and nothing of his previous sadness is still visible.

‘It’s not about you talking too much. It’s about you being a pathetic excuse of a human being. I’m not fucking gay, Tozier. And even if I was, I would even consider you.’

Eddie reaches for the door knob, twisting it and opening it up despite of Richie’s please.

‘Please don’t leave me Eddie.’ Richie begs, one last attempt to get Eddie to stay.

Eddie doesn’t even give him a glance, picking up one of the boxes and storming out of the house as if it’s the last place on earth he ever wants to be. He does stop for a second to break the final pieces of Richie’s heart. ‘I wish you wouldn’t have asked again Richie, it made it that much harder for you.’ Then he trudges away to a car which is presumably driven by his wife.

Richie feels all the energy seeping out of him as he watches Eddie go. He doesn’t even try to stop him, knowing that it would be futile. Furthermore, nothing that Eddie said was a lie, he’s a fucking nobody, why would anyone as magnificent as Eddie ever want to be with him.

He laughs, like a lunatic, laugh and laughs until it actually hurts, and then he can’t breathe. He tries to take a deep breath in, but aside from a bit of a miserable stuttering piece of air, nothing reaches his longs. Then he panics. He can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breath, he can’t.

He wakes up to a hand slamming his shoulder.

‘Fuck Richie’, he hears a voice swear loudly, but he can’t focus beyond anything but the fact that still can’t breathe. His eyes are open, but it’s pitch black inside the room he’s in, not a sliver a light shinning through anywhere.

The hand is still on his shoulder, grounding him a bit, before he realizes that it’s Eddie’s hand. His hand traces the flesh of Richie’s skin until he slowly caresses his cheek, all the while Richie is still heaving in breaths.

When he sees it’s Eddie he jumps up in fright, accidently flinging himself off the bed. He lands harshly on the floor letting out a pained yelp as he does so. His back protests, but he doesn’t give himself much time to think about it or to even let it rest, instead his scrabbles up against the nightstand he knows is next to his bed.

‘Richie’, Eddie says worriedly, jumping out of bed to see if he’s okay. Richie’s head hurts. He recognizes he’s in his bedroom now, after his eyes have had some time to adjust to the darkness the room is coted in. It just doesn’t make any sense, he had just watched Eddie walk out of his life, without him being able to do anything about it, how did he end up in bed again with Eddie sleeping next to him.

He starts sobbing, bringing his hands up though his hair, pulling as hard as he can. ‘Richie stop, fucking stop doing that you idiot.’ Eddie reaches out to grab Richie’s hands, but all that does is cause Richie more panic. Richie slaps his hand away pushing himself as far away from Eddie as possible.

Eddie hisses and brings his hand back to his chest with a worried glance. ‘Rich, talk to me’, he begs, but Richie doesn’t do anything but shake his head.

Maybe Eddie decided to stay with him one more night, maybe he felt bad for Richie and decided to check up on him, and that’s why he’s here. No matter what the reason might be, Richie can’t handle it.

He whimpers when he tugs on his hair so hard that a bursts of pain radiates from his skull, almost like he was pulling out pieces of his hair, the hair which Eddie told him he liked so much. All lies.

He scrambles up from the floor, expertly dodging Eddie who tries to stop him. He rushes towards the bathroom locking it up as soon as the door closes behind him. He falls to his knees as soon as he does, having no energy left to do anything else.

Eddie bangs on the door in alarm. ‘Richie, Richie listen to me. Richie please open the door. It’s alright you just had a nightmare. Let me in baby.’

Richie hear him, but he doesn’t interpret the words. It’s like he’s trying to grasp water, but everytime he focusses on the meaning of one word, the other words escapes him.

While Eddie is still trying to open the door, Richie stretches as best as he can, trying to get the faucet running while he still’s seated. He’s hoping Eddie gets the memo and leaves him alone, but from the sounds of it, Eddie not planning on moving any time soon.

When Richie finally manages to get the water running, he grips the edge of the sink, gathering all his strength to pull himself up. His hands are tingling, having not much feeling in them, and he vaguely recalls that as a sign of an anxiety attack.

The water is ice cold, as it always is, and he cups his hands under the stream, splashing it in his face in an effort to calm down. It helps, albeit slightly, and he drops his head against the edge of the sink. ‘Deep breaths’, he mumbles, and then when Eddie is still trying to talk to him he adds, ‘please shut up’. He feels guilty as soon as he says it, mostly because Eddie doesn’t deserve it, but also because he has never been so rude to him before.

He tries to remember the techniques his psychologist taught him, but it’s hard when everything was still so hazy. He knows he’s supposed to place a hand on his chest and stomach though, taking a deep breath in and feeling his chest expand with it, and then exhaling while feeling his other hand move with his belly.

He opens his eyes, not sure when he had closed him, seeing Eddie’s toothbrush, and Eddie’s bathrobe, and Eddie’s favorite towel, and Eddie’s perfume and everything Eddie, and he chokes again. He can’t be here, he can’t be in a place that has so many memories of Eddie present. He looks towards the door. The banging of Eddie’s fist have stopped, but his voice is still slipping under the door. Richie wants the voice to stop, but he also doesn’t.

He wants to be close to Eddie, but he also can’t, because if he’s given that, if he’s allowed to hold him, than he might not ever be able to physically let him go. Emotionally he already knows that he’ll never be able to get over this heartbreak, but hopes that he can get past his own selfishness, Eddie shouldn’t have to suffer for Richie’s mistakes.

His hands shake when he reaches for the doorknob, so it takes him a lot longer to fumble the door open than it usually does. When he does manages to open it, Eddie is still standing in front of it. He might be small and compact, but with the way he’s positioned, he’s blocking the entire door entrance.

If he had any breath left, Richie would ask him to move out of the way, but he doesn’t even have to try, for Eddie already rushes to the side. Richie sees him grab a glass of water he must have gotten while he was in the bathroom, but he doesn’t take it.

Instead he slips past him, speed walking towards their front door while he searches for a jacket he’s sure he threw around here somewhere. Eddie drops the glass on their bedside table swiftly, following Richie as close as he can.

‘Richie, what are you doing? Rich?’ He asks, reaching for any part of Richie that he can touch.

‘I need to go’, Richie answers him, ducking to the ground when he finally finds his coat, pulling it on in a hurry.

‘Richie, stop. I don’t know what you’ve dreamed about but whatever it is, it was just that, a dream.’

He tries to snatch a shoe away when Richie pulling one on, but Richie anticipates this and holds it just out of his reach.

When he glances up at Eddie, he sees that he’s near tears, looking frightened out of his mind. Richie struggles to understand why he hasn’t left again or yet, he’s not sure. ‘Eds, Eddie’, he correct himself again. Eddie looks like he was punched by the correction. ‘I can’t see you leave again, please, don’t wait until I get back to leave.’

‘Richie It was just a dream, get back inside’, he hears Eddie calling out to him, but he’s already out the door and rushing down the street. ‘Richie’, Eddie yells out one last time, then Richie is too far to hear anything he says.

He walks around his neighborhood for a while, inhaling the fresh air that the cool winter night brings forth. He’s absolutely freezing, but it’s only when he looks down that he notices that he’s still wearing his pajamas.

He shrugs it off, there’s nothing he can do about it now anyway. He keeps up a fast pace until he can see the small park that Richie had discovered when they were house hunting. Only then does he feel like he can breath again. His anxiety attack has passed, but his sadness has not.

He can’t believe he’s fallen back to the scared little boy he was when he was growing up. Repulsed by himself, back to yearning for Eddie but not being able to come to close to him.

He chooses a bunch that’s slightly covered by trees, a sort of hidden spot. He likes it, and he’s been there a few times when Eddie was at work and he felt lonely, or sad. Like when he had gotten a very negative comment after a standup show, or when his aunt had opened her mouth about him being gay again. There was something about that spot that made Richie feel like everything would be okay again.

When he sits down, he cries. He weeps for so long and so hard he forgets all about how cold he feels, or that it must look ridiculous to people who were passing him. An adult man, a celebrity no less, crying in his stupid flannel pajamas at god knows what hour.

When the tears dry out and his head clears up, he conflicted about what to think. He was sure he had seen Eddie leave, but Eddie was also there when he had woken up. He can’t separate reality from imagination. He mulls everything over in his head, but the fogginess remains. This is his worst nightmare coming through, Eddie leaving him, and for him to go back to his shitty wife.

Richie had met Myra only once, and he absolutely hated everything about her. He hated her even more than Sonia, and that was saying something. Richie sniffled determinately. If Eddie was leaving him, Richie was going to make damn well sure he wasn’t getting back together with his shitty ex.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the trail leading up to the bench. Beverly’s face peaked out from behind a few branches?

‘Oh’, Beverly lets out a sigh of relief when she spots him. ‘Richie, thank god.’ She runs up to him, opening her arms and bringing him in a warm and gentle embrace. Richie allows her.

‘Oh thank god Richie, do you have any idea how worried we all were?’

Richie shakes his head, feeling guilt already building up inside him. ‘Richie, honey, I’m going to take you home alright?’

Richie shakes his head resolutely. He wants everything but to go home. Ideally, he would stay here on the bench for a little while longer, but now that his minds is no longer occupied by crying, he notices how cold he really is.

‘Can’t be there when Eddie leaves,’ he mumbles as quietly as he can. Beverly caresses his hair, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

‘Oh no Rich, he’s not leaving. He loves you honey. Just trust me alright, let’s go home.’

She holds his hand all the way until they get to her car, before she buckles him in the car as if he’s a child who can’t do it for himself.

When she gets into the drives seat, she takes out her cellphone out of her pocket. ‘I found it,’ Beverly tells the person on the other side of the phone call. Richie can just make out that she’s talking to Eddie, but he can’t hear what Eddie says.

He suddenly feels dead tired. He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning his head against the window. It’s not long before they start driving home. ‘how did you know where I went?’ He asks when they’re nearly at the beginning of the street he lives in. It takes a while for the car to get there, but Richie can’t remember having walked so far.

‘Eddie called in a panic,’ Beverly answers his question. ‘He was all panicked saying that you had a nightmare and you had run off, and that he needed help to find you.’ She places her delicate, soft hand on his arm. ‘He was so worried Richie. If he was planning on leaving you, he wouldn’t have gone through this much trouble. He loves you so much.’

And yeah, maybe she’s right, Richie thinks when the car comes to a stop. Maybe he was panicked and couldn’t think straight, but he had been so sure that Eddie was leaving him, and a little doubt stayed in his mind regardless.

Eddie’s already waiting on the porch when Richie staggers out of the car, meeting him halfway. He’s been crying, just like he did when he told Richie he was leaving, or in his dream, Richie’s still not sure. He still looks so beautiful, no matter what the circumstances are.

He stops a step away from Richie, looking like he would want nothing more but to hug Richie, but he expects that it probably won’t be accepted from him right now. He’s wrong, Richie wants a hug from Eddie so bad that can’t manage to think of anything else.

‘I’m sorry,’ Richie blurted, before circling his arms around Eddie, who reciprocated immediately.

Eddie swipes his hand over Richie’s back, all the way up to the nap of his neck, where he caresses the strands of his hair as lovingly as he can. It a far mile from the Eddie he usually is, energetic and intense. Now he’s slow and doing everything softly.

‘It’s okay Rich. But you need to know that I would never, ever leave you okay? You’re never getting rid of me.’ He chuckles reassuring.

When Richie shivers Eddie pulls back, but keeping his arms still around his middle. ‘Let’s get inside okay?’ He waits for Richie permission before they both step inside. Eddie stands op his tiptoes to press a kiss to Richie’s forehead. ‘Go to the bathroom okay? I just need a second to talk to Bev and Ben and the other losers on the phone, and then I’ll be right there.’

The sick feeling of guilt crawls through Richie’s body again. He made all his friends so worried, and all of them were awake in the middle of the night because of him.

He drags himself up the stairs, now that he’s back into his home, he’s feeling exhaustion pulling at his bones. He want to take a bath so he can warm up, but mostly he just really want to spend some time with Eddie, to help calm down his racing heart. So he gets into the shower and washes himself off in record time, until Eddie is coming to the bathroom, and he brought along a new set of shirt and a comfortable sweatpants. He lays them out on the counter, waiting until Richie pulls them on before grabbing a brash and carefully combing his curls.

They do this often, an effective way of calming them down. It works this time too, and by the time Eddie is done gently brushing his hair, Richie is half-asleep on his feet. Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, one time, then a second and a third, before Eddie is grabbing his hands and guiding him to their bed.

Eddie thumbs sweeps over the back of Richie’s hand. He pulls back the covers, both of them shuffling to the middle with their hands still clasped together tightly. It’s dark again in the room, but Richie can still perfectly make out the shape of Eddie’s face.

He is still looking worried, but he smiles when Richie looks at him. ‘I’m sorry’, Richie repeats again, meaning it more everytime he says it.

Eddie shushes him. ‘It’s okay Rich, we’ll talk about it in the morning. Another kiss is pressed to his forehead. ‘Just get some sleep,’ Eddie mouths against Richie’s skin.

Then he pulls back, tugging at Richie until he gets the memo and places his head on Eddie’s chest. The scar that Pennywise gives him creating a rift in an otherwise perfect skin, and though Eddie hates it, Richie loves it. It’s a sign that Eddie is still alive, still here.

Richie places a hand on the scar to feel it. He can hear Eddie’s heartbeat under his ear, lulling him towards sleep. Just before he get pulled under, he can make out Eddie voice, nearly inaudible humming along to a song Richie’s too tired to make out.

‘I love you, and only you Richie, don’t you ever forget it. You’re the only one that has ever made me feel completely happy and complete. There’s not a bone in my body, that would ever even think about leaving you. Now go to sleep so I can make fun of you in the morning.’ Eddie says playfully.

‘I love you too’, Richie manages to slur out, and the last thing he takes notice of, before he is pulled under, is the laughing that radiates from Eddie. Richie beams with it, the knowledge that he can make Eddie laugh. When Richie wakes up the next morning, Eddie is still there, just like he’ll be for the rest of their lives.

Not even an a day after the horrific night Richie’s had, Eddie proves to him he’s in it for life. He proposes on the same bench Richie had sat when he cried. He cries again, but this time, it’s from happiness.

#reddie #reddie imagine #richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #My writing #eddie kaspbrack #eddie imagine #it chapter 2

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insane-control-room · 5 years

Text

The Concept, Chapter One

The First Thoughts

How Johan Ramirez became Joey Drew.

This is the first part of Johan’s canon. This is not a happy story. This is not a fun story. There will be warnings at every turn.

Read at your own risk of deletion.

Chapter Two

Joey opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling of his “home”.

An abandoned apartment building, half rotted and falling apart.

Despite the quality, it was much better than the Ramirez Estate.

So much better.

He was alone and it felt both terrible and wonderful. The terrible all encompassing loneliness contrasted by the wonderful, exalting, beautiful, freedom. Freedom after being trapped for so long.

Terribly poor quality of living, merely an illusion of it, but at the same time, pure, glorious freedom to be who he was, who he wanted.

Was that not the definition of life? To be free and living, to breathe without fear, to love without being hit?

Or were those basic human rights…?

He shivered, tightening his tattered shirt around himself. He was hungry. Food sounded disgusting. He hated being so indecisive. He hated everything about himself. He was wide awake and exhausted, he was too feminine, he was too tall, he was too dark, he was too jittery, too hideous and malformed, too stupid, he was gay (that in and of itself was a curse), and this blasted headache and chill!

Joey groaned, tilting his head back.

Part of him said he never should have left home.

That part of him was wrong.

He got up, prying himself off musty floorboards, dusting himself off. He went to the unfinished bathroom, smiling at himself in the mirror.

Freak.

He looked horrible, tired, gaunt, like a half starved mongrel. He scrubbed at his face in the cloudy mirror, trying to fix his lengthy hair, pushed back his short - but getting long - beard. His hair fell back over his eyes. The dark blue black seemed to swallow him up, kept people looking away from him. Kept him safe and alone. It reminded him of ink.

His father, his real father, not his step father, said it was wonderful.

His stepfather said it was abominable.

So he grew it long.

Little rebellions.

He was never going back, no matter how much he loved Night Vale.

The world outside of his little town was so confusing and convoluted, but he changed, he adapted.

Brooklyn, huh.

New York.

Swell place.

Great state.

Noisy as hell in the city.

He hated it, the sounds scared him.

Made him feel like there would never be anyone’s voice masking it, no one’s touch protecting him from it. No one’s caress gently pushing it out of sight and mind.

So he hid away from it all.

Slipping down the creaky stairs of the empty should have been home, he exited out into the cold air outside, shuddering with the blast. He rubbed his head, walking briskly to the city, entering the post office and pulling open his box, not expecting anything within, simply going for the sake of the normality of it.

A dark letter was inside, unmarked.

He stared at it, taking it out with trembling fingers.

He glanced around, and upon seeing no one, he ripped it open.

Johan, come home for dinner at least. Mommy misses you.

Liar.

She hated him, otherwise she never would have removed him from the will.

She never would have conspired against his father.

And she would have never, ever, married the man she did.

He threw away the letter on his way out, going off to work.

It was freezing in the open air. Johan had nothing to shield himself, and so he gripped his pride pin.

And he walked to work.

The cold nipped at him and the wind snapped at his nose, and he tucked his chin in against the icy January air.

He briskly got to work as fast as he could, trying to get out of the freeze.

He slammed shut the door of the newspaper building, clocking in and heading down to the lower levels of the place, sighing with relief as warm air heated his neck and hands, spreading to the whole of his body. He flicked on the lights, the fluorescent painful at first, but he quickly adapted. He always adapted. He had no other choice but to change and flow with the world.

The ones and zeroes always were in the corner of his vision, but he always ignored them, not knowing what they meant, and they had not caused him any harm yet.

The warmth of the building made his eyelids droop as he worked, stocking the papers and editorials and dating each item properly. He could hardly read them at this poin….

“RAMIREZ!”

Joey snapped awake.

Shit shit shit shit!

He was at work!

His head ached and then pounded more with the smack it received.

“There are white people who can do your job, you know!” his boss roared. “Snap to it!”

“Yes sir,” he gulped, rushing to the papers, resetting the machine he hated so much. Goddamned printing press. The amount of ink used for the thing was ridiculous. Another hit made him work faster. Insults were thrown at him. He kept his cool in check. He made sure each edition of book or editorial came out correctly, adding new paper, making adjustments and the such. His head hurt today, and the rumbling of the machine kept making it worse and worse. He put all his focus onto the work, ignoring the pain in his stomach and head. A tap on the shoulder made him spin around with a flinch. One of the other workers looked at him with worry. “Can I help you?”

“It’s your lunch break, Joey.”

“What?”

“It is. Time. For you. To take. A. Break.”

“Oh,” the Chicano flushed, swallowing down the lump in his throat, the words ‘I need help.’ The statement ‘Can I have something to eat?’ ripped at his stomach. He said a quiet, “Okay.”

He grabbed a paper and a pencil, going out to a secluded corner. He drew. He drew the character that helped him through so many different situations and different problems.

A little demon smiled at him.

The little demon was everything he was not.

He was soft and round, fluid and bouncy, such a charming and charismatic character. Lovable.

He stared at it, folding the paper over and making a motion. Another paper was added. More and more. The motion became fluid, and soon he added a background.

An animation. So smooth and lovely.

“Ramirez! Back to work!”

He was about to get back to the monotonous machinery, but he looked back at the flipbook in his hand.

“Joey! Get your ass moving!”

It was something he could do that took his skill, not his lack of it.

“No.”

Everyone in the workshop looked up. Even the machines’ hum became quiet.

“What was that?” His manager’s voice was shook and angered. “No? How dare you?”

“No, I refuse,” Joey stood up, rising to his full height, towering over everyone. “I hate this job.”

A hand whistled through the air to smack him.

It never managed, and the boss stared in shock at Johan’s hand holding back his wrist from his face, gently, delicately, like a thorny rose.

He put no effort into it.

He tilted his head, clearing having a massive headache.

He yawned, still holding him back.

“I quit. This clearly is not something that I should be doing. I should be doing art, animation, nothing of this sort,” he rolled his head. “Please give me my final paycheck and I will be taking my leave of this facility.”

An hour. It took an hour.

“Good fuckin’ luck,” his boss bid him. He shrugged in a reply. “You’ll never get a job in this economy. We’ll be waitin’ for you to come crawling back.”

He snatched a pair of scissors before leaving.

He stood in front of the mirror.

Snip snip, bitch. His hair fluttered to the floor.

His head felt so much lighter.

His hair was still a mess, but so much neater.

He trimmed his beard as well, leaving it short.

Johan ran a hand over it, walking out of could have been bathroom. One grabbed his suitcase, flipping it open, rummaging through the few things he had.

Something black caught his eye.

He carefully pulled it out.

Oh.

He did not mean to take that.

One of Rico’s suit jackets, and it felt so weighty in his thin hands.

The black glared at him.

He stared at it for a long moment before un pinning his pride button, pulling the fancy, the too fancy for him, to regal, jacket on.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The jacket made him look bigger, more confident… better.

He swallowed roughly.

Ricardo Josef Drew.

He flinched.

He looked nothing like his step brother, but he knew - he knew - that Ricky would be a much better match for this suit.

It was too big on him by the chest, too short by the sleeves, but it was unnoticeable unless one would stare at it trying to see what was off.

He looked respectable.

He went off and saw to his bank account, buying a small studio for himself, and a mattress! An actual bed!

Joey Drew Studios.

(No one knew him. No one knew Johan Ramirez. Joey Drew sounded white. Johan Ramirez was clearly a colored person.)

That was the first day the facade existed.

The day he woke up with a headache in an empty abandoned building, snapping out of the grip of overuse, and then he became Joey Drew.

Joey Drew felt like a layer of skin not sitting quite right with the rest.

That was what he called the place, despite the crawling feeling of wrongness.

Joey Drew Studios.

For many months, he was the only person working there, in the small little place, him and a light table, his piano and guitar, his highly dangerous second hand projector, a pencil and a dream.

People loved Bendy.

(He bought a goddamn refrigerator.)

Those who saw him, at least.

(A new pair of glasses, rose pink, helping him see colors despite his color deficiency.)

Ratings were high for the amount that did.

(Ignoring his scars was so much easier now that he had something to push for.)

He was minorly successful, making enough to live off of.

(Eating when he wanted and able to actually purchase food and not swipe it felt so good!)

It filled him with happiness.

(He was finally at an uneasy contentedness.)

Henry Stein came into his life, an animator after his own heart, who wanted to see the man behind the Bendy cartoon.

A knock on the studio door.

Joey swiped a hand over his head, yawning and going to receive the visitor.

“Hello?” he greeted, rubbing his eyes. He froze as he saw his guest.

Blonde hair streaked with strawberry pink.

Flashing, bright, icy, spellbinding blue eyes.

Short, with the most beautiful curves.

Radiating confidence and the knowledge that he was just as good or better than you.

Pale smirking lips and twinkling pink cheeks, and such a dazzling smile.

Johan snapped back to reality from the smile growing wider. He stuttered, flushed, holding open his door for the man to come in. “My name is Johan. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a marvelous being as yourself?”

“I’m just Henry Stein,” the man, Henry, coolly replied, entering into the little studio. He rose an eyebrow at the bed and fridge, making Joey blush even more. “You live here?”

“Well, I ca-”

“I like it.”

“Excuse me?” Joey breathed, his eyes wide. “You… like the fact I live in my studio?”

“Of course,” Henry snorted, and Joey fell so hard for that little laugh, his breath hitching. He swallowed roughly, trying to keep in mind his age. He was so young. Henry had to be much older than him. “Shows your work ethic. You probably work on those toons every second you can, huh?”

“Yeah,” Joey confessed, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m not one to be afraid of commitment.”

“I like that in a man,” Henry hummed, flipping through one of Joey’s latest animations. Joey melted in his skin, for once in his life grateful for his dark color. Henry turned back to him with that alluring smirk. “Are you hiring? I’ve got two things going for me, medical school and my daughter, and a bit of extra cash would help.”

“I… I can’t pay that much,” Joey mumbled, looking off to the side. He has a daughter. Oh, Aramis…. “And I’ll have to purchase a second light table, so that may take some time. “Though I would be honored to have you working with me.”

“We can talk legalities later, eh Johan? Now, tell me…” Henry pondered for a moment. “How does one month sound? I’ll come back then if that’s how long it will take.”

“No no,” Joey shook his head, not wanting him to leave. “It’ll take me about a week to prepare. Can you come back in… let’s say five days? So we can discuss pay and the such.”

“Sounds great.”

He and Henry not only became employer-employee, but fast friends, and then business partners, and the studio was successful just between the two of them. While Henry drew Joey composed, and while Joey drew, Henry manned the projector. They made Boris together in that time. It was such a great year, 1925.

Joey was already like a second father to Linda.

Diane kept drawing Henry away from work, Henry often leaving Linda with Joey or her grandmother to be with his girlfriend.

It was a good time, more or less.

Years went by.

(Joey fell in more and more love, painful, aching, love.)

Linda called Joey Papa.

(He cried.)

Henry and Diane got “closer”, but Joey could tell she never loved him.

(He wished he warned Henry.)

The company grew into something stable, just them, but firm in the television industry.

(Joey would always freshen up the studio with various wildflowers he found as spring wore on, hoping and fearing Henry would know their symbolism.)

They were moderately successful, both comfortable in their living, both enjoying the other’s company, sharing the warmth.

(They woke up tangled together one hot day in the summer after passing out while drawing, and they laughed about it, neither uncomfortable with the situation.)

Joey, despite the weather getting colder, never felt warmer.

(Henry looked gorgeous in the crisp autumn air, his cheeks and lips an ensnaring bright red and his eyes flashing and smiling.)

Then the stock market failure.

(Good thing he did not release stock of his own.)

So many people who needed jobs.

(His old boss had asked if he could spare any money. He gave him fifty dollars.)

Not he.

(Their animations became more popular as people turned to them to assuage their pain.)

There were those in need though, and so….

(He knew what it was like to be hungry.)

He wrote out an advertisement.

(He froze at the name, again.)

Artists of all kinds, projectionists, musicians, and animators alike, apply to

Joey Drew Studios.

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anghraine · 5 years

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⭐⭐⭐ :)

Three stars! Well, then.

#1: from the words are all escaping (Tumblr / AO3)

Even in bed, they slept tangled up instead of sticking to the careful distance they once maintained. They’d been too starved and nervous to dare more, at first. But when they had nightmares, or worked themselves into dead exhaustion, or got sedated for some reason or another, Cassian would curl himself about her, and Jyn started to feel cold and uneasy when he didn’t. She didn’t say so; that stayed the same. Instead, she yanked him hard enough that he ended up sprawled over half her body, face against her shoulder and arm braced over her waist. They both laughed, but they did sleep that way more often than not, mostly because Jyn rested better with an arm over his unguarded head or back, and Cassian with her heart beating against him.

Huh, never realized this paragraph was that long. Anyway:

I am (obviously) a total sucker for the bed-sharing fanon, and since the now you’re the future series (/Script AU) is kind of the core post-Scarif storyline for me, I definitely wanted it there. And I wanted touch starvation alongside it, because it’s pretty probable, but I wanted it to be deeper than just saying the phrase.

And I always see them as a bit codependent (especially in this universe), so I tend to like the idea of not just sharing the bed but wrapping themselves up in each other. And I wanted to highlight that as a character thing—have it not just mentioned in passing but to go over its evolution and their reasons for it.

But I can’t say it wasn’t mostly influenced by @sempaiko’s lovely picture here.

#2 from First Impressions (Tumblr | AO3)

And of this place, I might have been master. With these rooms, I might now have been familiarly acquainted. Henry looked around in a sort of daze. Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them my uncle and aunt. But no—he caught himself—I should have had to force her to invite them.

This passage existed in my head from very early—before I really even started brainstorming in earnest. It was one of the things that made me want to write it, actually, because FI is partly my gay love letter to Darcy, but partly playing around with gender roles and expectations. I retold the story as much like the original as I could specifically so the changes due to gender would jump out. And this was definitely one of the main ones for me.

In the original, of course, Elizabeth thinks that she would not be allowed to invite them and her family would be lost to her. And she thinks that because she still thinks Darcy is a controlling, bad-tempered asshole in his domestic capacity, as well as merely snobbish—that’s why Mrs Reynolds’s testimony matters so much. Some of that is there with Henry’s view of Catherine.

But the idea of Henry meekly accepting Catherine’s dictates (even if coming from the same fundamental inclinations on her side) was ludicrous. They’re his family; of course he’d insist on them being invited to Pemberley, whatever Catherine privately thought about it.

Understandable as that might be, though, the shifting framework of power and control made this straightforward reversal of the original passage pretty nasty to me. Forcing Catherine to do anything is a pretty repugnant thought—even something she should do. And I wanted it to be a little chilling in that way.

#3: The Jedi and the Sith Lord (Tumblr | AO3)

Spoilers for … idk, anyone who might read my f!Luke series but hasn’t gotten to this?

It’s the third part of the series, which has mostly followed canon in plot. However, at the end of the second, Vader convinced Lucy to surrender and go into carbon freeze as the price of Leia et al’s lives. They are now en route to his castle.

The girl couldn’t be expected to see reason, not yet; she couldn’t be permitted to remain with her Rebel friends; she certainly couldn’t be left to the tender mercies of the Emperor. It’d been all Vader could do to convince him that a daughter might be of any use at all. At the slightest inconvenience, Palpatine would end her life and her great potential.

No, there had only been one alternative. She must be kept here, within his own stronghold on Vjun, safe from the rest of the galaxy, and under his control.

He would have liked to test her, but his first priority had to be capturing her, and that accomplished, transporting her to Bast Castle, out of sight of the Emperor.

So. I wrote the end of the second fic in a rush (to meet the deadline for the exchange it was part of), which is … probably apparent. In particular, I didn’t really develop the rationale for the twist ending of The Imperial Menace, and that’s what I was trying to do here.

The thing is, I usually prefer to accept and confront aspects of canon I don’t like rather than headcanoning them away. So the premise of the Lucyverse (beyond f!Luke) is that the extreme male domination of the OT (+RO, later) reflects a very real male domination in the GFFA, especially in the Empire.

That has to square with the PT, where we did see a lot more women, but it wasn’t difficult; the whole idea of the OT is that things have gone drastically downhill with the rise of the Empire. A new government sweeping away the moderate achievements of the previous one was not difficult to imagine, even back then. And it seemed most likely that a drastic shift in policy would come from the top down.

So the change operated on the assumption that Palpatine is profoundly misogynistic, while Anakin/Vader thinks it’s one of the many ways in which Palpatine is wasteful and inadequate. And that’s what’s going on in his head now—he would have preferred an elaborate trial, but his main goal was removing Lucy from both the Rebellion and the Empire until he could turn her to the Dark Side.

And take over the galaxy as father and daughter, obviously.

#ladytharen #respuestas #meme prattle #fic talk #/#//#///#script au #first impressions #lucy skywalker #star wars #austen blogging #otp: welcome home #otp of otps #cleft chins psychotic rage and cyborg hands

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